#Because the few slugs and things we have tend to get picked off by them before they do serious damae

[yourdeepestfathoms]

self-help

y'all liked my first fic, so here is another!

TW: Blood and injury; wound descriptions

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“Are you all alright?” Alcina asked, looking over each of the three creatures assembled in front of her. The blonde was slightly roughed up, but still stood up tall; the brunette bore a particularly nasty cut across her cheek, though it didn’t seem to bother her; and the redhead was slathered in man blood from getting to kill the intruder that had foolishly entered their castle and tried to murder them.

“Yes, Mother,” the blonde said, always quick to answer Alcina.

Alcina nodded. She looked at her other two daughters. “And you two?”

“I’m okay,” the redhead chirped. She seemed delighted to have killed something that day.

The brunette lightly touched the cut on her cheek, winced, then nodded, “I’m fine. It isn’t that bad.”

“We should still make sure any of that man-thing’s filth didn’t get into you,” Alcina said. She opened an arm and began guiding her middle child down one of the hallways. “Daniela, do what you will with the body. You’ve earned it.”

The redhead perked up, beaming, and bounded down a different hallway to where the corpse of the man had been left. Once she was gone, only the blonde was left behind in the foyer, and the girl instantly doubled over with a moan of pain, holding her stomach.

“Fuck,” Bela hissed. She was lucky for the dark material of her dress or else the blood seeping through the fabric would have easily been seen by her mother and sisters, and worrying them was the last thing she wanted. It was her own fault that she was shot. There were better things for them to focus on, anyway. Like Cassandra’s cut! Yes, that was definitely more important. She didn’t need any help.

Bela stepped forward and immediately crumpled to her knees when a spasm of pain rippled through her stomach. She bit down firmly to keep from crying out and tasted blood when her teeth pierced her tongue. Usually, the metallic tang would be rather appetizing, but something about it right now made her guts churn and twist up into knots, which definitely didn’t help her discomfort.

Kneeling, still holding her stomach, Bela rocked back and forth while taking several calming breaths. Breathing deeply furthered the strain in her stomach, while not breathing at all just made her chest hurt- she couldn’t win. All she could do was grit her teeth and bear with it like she did with everything. Don’t be a burden, don’t be a burden.

“Lady Bela?”

Bela looked up. A wiry, ash brown-haired maid was lingering at the opening of one of the cavernous hallways, shifting on her feet. Her dark amber eyes displayed nervousness, curiosity, and worry. The last emotion wasn’t an uncommon thing to see, at least towards Bela. Because of her general politeness to the castle workers, they tended to show more concern over her. The perks of not killing them for no reason, she supposed.

“Yes?” Bela said, forcing her voice to stay level and not quaver beneath the fiery edge of her own agony. She didn’t want to cause a scene, but she especially didn’t want to cause a scene in front of a maid. That was almost as bad as her sisters seeing her in such a state--though, for what it was worth, the maids wouldn’t tease her endlessly.

“Are you alright?” the maid asked, taking a small step forward. She was looking Bela up and down, most likely searching for any wounds, and Bela once again thanked Mother Miranda for black fabric.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Bela answered. At the same moment, however, a second wave of pain roared through her and her vision was suddenly spotted by black snow. Did someone open the window? And how long had snow been black? None of her books ever said anything about this��

“Lady Bela?”

Bela blinked harshly, and the storm disappeared. No windows were open. Snow was not black. The maid got closer.

“Ahh--” Bela swallowed hard. “Yes?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” The maid seemed to be trying to hold herself together. She was probably fearing for her own life if something happened to one of Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters under her watch. Bela would prefer to not have this one die, as she was nice enough to actually check on her instead of ignoring the situation like other maids would, even if Bela denied her physical state when she asked how she was.

“Yes, yes,” Bela said, nodding. “I’m alright. Just…stomach cramps?”

The maid blinked. “Do you even go through a menstrual cycle?”

Bela splayed her fingers open with a shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

The maid actually laughed, which was a rare thing to happen. But the laughter was quickly cut off when her eyes focused on something, clouding over with concern, and Bela realized she was staring at her hands.

There was blood on her hands.

Her blood.

Bela balled her fists and cleared her throat. She looked up at the maid. “Go.”

The maid opened her mouth, but thought against whatever she was planning on saying, not wanting to test Bela’s civility--not that Bela would have hurt her if she had stuck around to speak whatever was on her mind. She dipped her head and scurried off, glancing over her shoulder as she went.

Bela sighed. She wiped her hands on a part of her dress that wasn’t damp. She needed to do something about her problem before her mother or one of her sisters found out.

Standing up was difficult, and Bela was sure Cassandra or Daniela, most likely both, would have teased her if they saw her like this. When she began to walk, she felt blood slither in slow trails down her legs, itching her skin. She fought the urge to scratch until she made it to the privacy of her bedroom, then instantly began shredding her dress with her claws, throwing the tatters of wet fabric to the floor to be picked up later. Once the gown was off, she turned to her mirror to inspect the damage.

Red. The entire front of her body was smeared in red. And beneath the red, there were holes, some as small as her pinky, some as big as a coin, each even darker than the blood and packed full of shrapnel.

Bela had been a fool to go after the man-thing on her own. As reckless and wild as Cassandra and Daniela were with their fighting, they were strong, much stronger than she was. She had seen them withstand vicious stabs and strikes and shots that would have killed any normal person and keep slashing their claws as if nothing had happened, but it took a blast from a shotgun to put her down. She was so blinded by the idea of killing the intruder to impress her mother that she didn’t even think to create an actual plan until she became well-acquainted with leaden bullet chunks against her midsection.

The buckshot was evenly spread out along her abdomen, and maybe it could have passed as paint splattered all over her body if it wasn’t for the malevolent grey peeking out from liquid red. There was a particularly large cluster of holes on her left side, where an entire chunk of meat had been blown free from her waist, but they reached all the way over to her navel and up to the underside of her chest. The bullet pieces were the seeds of her agony, and she desperately needed to reap them from her flesh.

Bela began rummaging through one of her drawers, straining the lead lodged in her skin, and pulled out an old cotton gown she hadn’t worn in years. She walked over to the rocking chair in the corner near the window and sat down. She loved this chair, and it was a shame that it was going to be bled all over, but wood was easier to clean than cloth. She didn’t want to risk staining her bed right now.

Biting down on the gown, Bela began going over the buckshot. There were eighteen holes in total, all of them full of lead. She nearly miscounted a few times because she thought some of them were empty, but then realized the bullets were just buried in her tissue. There was one in particular that she didn’t even see, but could feel shifting around beneath her flesh like a hungry maggot. It made her stomach roil in disgust.

This was not going to be fun.

Bela’s hands were shaking as she brought them down to her stomach. Simply brushing the skin sent waves of torture shivering through her nerves, and she didn’t even want to think about what it was going to feel like to actually remove the slugs, but she didn’t have much of a choice. She couldn’t just leave them inside of her.

Taking a deep breath and biting down hard on the gown, Bela stuck her pointer finger and thumb into one of the holes. Instantly, her vision flashed black, then red, and then white, and she was sure she had passed out for a few eternal seconds. Even when she pried her eyes back open, all she saw was a messy mishmash of swirling colors, and she wondered if she had somehow gone blind. But then sight slowly oozed back to her, and she was able to see the grotesque image of her fingers stretching the edges of a bullet hole.

She swallowed down acidic bile and grasped the sides of the piece of lead.

For a moment, the stubborn little thing didn’t want to come out, and Bela began to fear that it was just a part of her now, forever fused with her flesh, burrowed within her like a leaden parasite, but then it popped out with a small spew of blood and she was able to catch her breath. She dropped the ball, which was no bigger than her pinky finger, and watched it bounce across the floor before rolling beneath her bed. She would get it later. Right now, she had its stupid siblings to deal with.

Breathing in deeply again, clamping down on the gown like before, Bela dug her fingers into a second hole that looked easy enough to scoop out. And it was, surprisingly. The blood proved to be a helpful lubricant and the bullet slid right out when she tugged, not bothering to put up a fight. She peered at it for a moment, squinting her watery eyes.

“You are an asshole,” she spat.

The bullet winked at her in response, the bright red blood coating its surface catching on the light inside the room and making it twinkle like a ruby. She flicked it away, and it left a line of crimson across her polished floors. She would clean that up later, too.

Third time’s a charm. Bela prepared herself again, breathing in and biting down, and dove into the next hole.

She didn’t know why she thought the process of pulling out bullets would suddenly be easier just because she succeeded with the first two. She was an idiot when she had gotten shot and she was an idiot now, trying to rid herself from the consequence of her actions.

Her claws slipped on the slickness of her blood and accidentally pushed the bullet in deeper.

Bela would have screamed if it weren’t for the blood that crawled up her throat, clogging her esophagus. She coughed, thinking that the bullet was going to come out of her mouth, and red splattered across her bare chest, staining her bra. Tears sprang to her eyes and poured down her cheeks. Her shaking hands hovered over the hole, but she couldn’t see the slug anywhere.

“Oh no, no, no, no,” Bela muttered. Did she push it so deep it breached one of her organs? What would happen if it did? How was she going to get it out?

She tried to stretch the edges of the wound, but stopped when she nearly threw up from the pain. She sobbed. What was she going to do? Bela leaned back against the chair, causing it to rock slowly. Maybe she could just leave the bullets inside of her. They probably wouldn’t kill her. She and her sisters were able to endure more than normal creatures could, so it would probably just be very uncomfortable. For the rest of her life.

She swallowed blood and bile. Having to spend the rest of eternity like this didn’t sound very appealing. In fact, it sounded like the complete opposite of appealing. Unappealing.

A sound snapped Bela out of her muddled thoughts; the doorknob was wiggling. Someone was coming into her room.

Lunging forward, nearly slipping on a tiny puddle of her blood, Bela slammed the door shut before it could be opened completely and pressed her weight against it. From the other side, she heard a noise of surprise.

“Bela? What is the meaning of this?”

Her heart sank into her bullet-infested insides. It was her mother. She just slammed the door in her mother’s face. Oh, she was in for it now.

Bela nearly opened up right then and there and got down on her knees to apologize, but one glance down at her horribly-scathed body made her think better of it. She had told Alcina that she was fine, and now she needed to live up to it, even if she felt like she was being swarmed and eaten by her own insects. She had to swallow down her hopeless devotion to her mother to keep her from worrying over her.

“Sorry,” Bela said, hoping her voice wasn’t wavering as much as she thought it was. ��I, uhh-- I thought you were Cassandra or Daniela. They always barge into my room without knocking. I don’t appreciate it very much.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but she still didn’t feel good about making up an excuse.

From out in the hallway, Alcina was quiet for a moment, and Bela wondered if she was going to break down the door and let herself in. But then she chuckled and said, “I see. I remember the time you tried to set traps for them when they kept interrupting your reading time.”

Bela laughed, which morphed into a groan of pain when her stomach strained. SHe masked it with a cough, then replied, “They were good traps!”

“Darling, you set up a board full of nails for them to step on.”

“My point still stands.”

“And a tripwire that would trigger a pot to swing into their face and knock them out.”

“You got to admit that it was pretty impressive that I was able to make that.”

Alcina chuckled again. “Yes, you have always been my most resourceful little one.”

Bela’s chest warmed with pride. The praise momentarily made her forget about the pain she was in.

“Now, can you let me in? I need to talk to you.”

And like that, the pain was back, the soothing warmth chased off by icy cold dread. Did her mother know? Did that maid snitch on her? She swallowed thickly.

“Umm-- can’t we just talk like this? It’s just as effective.”

“I would prefer it if I was able to see you when I speak to you,” Alcina said. She paused for a moment. “Why can’t I come in?”

“I’m-- I’m naked.”

Also wasn’t a lie, technically.

Alcina was quiet for a moment.

“Bela, I watched you come out of a mass of insects as naked as a babe. I do not think there’s anything left to be seen that I don’t know about already.”

You’d be surprised, Bela thought, looking down at her marred form.

“It’s-- it’s just embarrassing for me!”

Alcina sighed. “Then why don’t you put some clothes on?”

Realizing she wasn’t going to get out of this conversation, Bela said, “Right! Okay!” And then began scrambling for something to wear. The exertion made the two empty bullet holes pucker like hungry mouths and drool out even more blood that drizzled down her legs like snakes. She didn’t have time to clean herself up, so she just threw on the first gown she could reach in one of her drawers--a dark blue one she had sewn herself--wiped her hands off, kicked the tattered black dress under the bed, and smeared the blood on the floor until it couldn’t be seen against the hardwood. Then, she put on the most believable, while also innocent expression of normalcy and opened her door.

“My lady,” she said with a wide sweeping motion of her arm, trying to be funny, trying to hide the fact that she was in immense pain and simply being on her feet made her lightheaded, trying not to worry her mother.

Alcina didn’t laugh at her joke. She seemed rather suspicious as she ducked into the room--not that Bela really blamed her. She was definitely being very suspicious.

“What did you want to talk about?” Bela asked, looking up at her mother.

Alcina looked around her room, but Bela had been smart enough to clean the floors. Not well, but they were clean. When she found nothing, she studied Bela, and Bela held herself as she usually did--maybe a bit too formally.

“I just wanted to check on you all after the attack,” Alcina finally answered, meeting her eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, Mother,” Bela said, and she hated lying to Alcina, but she didn’t have a choice. She hated being a burden even more and that was all she was going to be if Alcina found out about her wounds.

“Are you sure?” Alcina narrowed her eyes at her.

“Yes, Mother,” Bela repeated. Then, trying to change the subject, she asked, “How is Cassandra?”

“She’s okay,” Alcina answered. “She will heal. The cut wasn’t very deep.”

“And Daniela?”

“Feasting. I wouldn’t go near her if I were you. She may just maim you and add you to her meal.” A smile came to Alcina’s lips, and Bela let herself laugh.

Unfortunately, that laughter quickly turned to coughing as her body seized with pain. She tasted blood as the bullets seemed to rattle within her, flesh clenching down around lead. She wiped her mouth before pulling her hand away.

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Alcina didn’t respond for a moment. Her entire face was knitted with great concern, and Bela already felt bad for worrying her.

“Bela, are you sure you are alright?”

For a fourth time that day: “Yes, Mother.”

Alcina wasn’t going to let it go that easily, it seemed, because she questioned further: “Have you caught a chill?” She walked over and pressed a hand to Bela’s forehead. Bela couldn’t help but lean into it, always eager to be touched by her mother. “You shouldn’t be coughing like that.”

“I just had a tickle in my throat.”

“I don’t like being lied to, Bela.”

Bela’s resolve nearly broke beneath her mother’s stern gaze, but she kept her facade from falling through sheer willpower alone. She said, “I’m not.”

Alcina’s eyes narrowed. She pulled her hand back and went to say something when she appeared to slip on something. Steadying herself, she looked down at the ground, and Bela’s breath caught in her throat when she realized what exactly her mother had staggered on.

Alcina bent over and picked up the buckshot.

Bela didn’t let her panic show on her face as Alcina examined the tiny lead ball. Its siblings, still lodged deep in her stomach, seemed to giggle at the predicament she was ensnared in when a fresh bout of pain quivered through her nerves. She stayed calm as flashing yellow eyes slid back over to her.

“Bela,” Alcina said slowly, and Bela already didn’t like the tone she was using. “What is this?”

Bela considered playing dumb, but then she remembered that she was the smart, bookish one. She could use her multitude of knowledge as an excuse.

“That’s buckshot, Mother. It comes from a shotgun. Did you know that they have enough firepower to blow a head off? It’s because it has several bullets in one shot instead of a singular one, which means more power behind each blast.”

Alcina held a hand up and Bela instantly shut her mouth.

“Why do you have it?” Alcina asked.

“I was studying it,” Bela answered. It was believable enough. It did sound like something she would do, but Alcina didn’t seem very convinced.

“Your blood is on this, Bela,” Alcina said. “Why is your blood on this bullet?”

“I-- I--” Bela’s act was beginning to crumble.

Alcina turned to her completely, clenching the buckshot in her fist. “Were you shot?”

“Mother, I--”

“Were you shot?”

“Yes,” Bela blurted, unable to hide it anymore. “But-- but it isn’t that--”

“Show me.”

“Wh-what?”

“Bela Dimitrescu, show me where you are hurt. Now.”

Flinching at her mother’s severe tone, Bela removed her dress and revealed the mess on her stomach and chest. When she heard Alcina gasp, she quickly said, “It isn’t that bad. You don’t have to worry about me, Mother. I can take care of it.”

“You fool!” Alcina exploded, and Bela flinched away. “What were you thinking?! Why would you hide this from me?!”

“I-- I thought I could--” Bela was having a hard time collecting her words. If there was one thing she really hated, it was when people raised their voices, even if it wasn’t directed towards her. When Cassandra and Daniela would get into fights, she always left the room and got as far away as possible so she wouldn’t have to hear them yelling. But, as bad as their shouting was, it was nothing compared to their mother when she was worked up.

“I--”

“I asked you if you were alright!” Alcina roared on. “If you were okay! You said you were! And then I come in here and find you with bullets in your flesh?!” She shook her head, nearly dislodging her hat from her head. “What do you have to say for yourself, Bela?”

Personally? Bela really wished they weren’t having this conversation when she didn’t have a shirt on.

Dipping her head shamefully, the only thing that Bela could manage was a pathetic, “I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Why can’t you just let me help you for once?”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” Bela confessed. “Or worry you.”

Alcina sighed and rubbed her face slowly. “Bela, I am more worried and disappointed because you hid this from me.”

Bela could only squeak out a feeble, “Oh.”

Alcina knelt down in front of her and lifted her chin. “Honey, why would I be disappointed in you for coming to me for help?”

Bela couldn’t meet her mother’s eyes. “Because-- because I got hurt. And I shouldn’t have. I’m a shitty fighter and got shot and I should have been stronger.”

“Your strength has nothing to do with this,” Alcina said. “Cassandra got hurt too, you know.”

“Cassandra probably didn’t care.”

“I beg to differ. You should have seen her while I was rubbing honey into her wound. She was wiggling around like a little worm!”

Bela laughed slightly, then whimpered immediately after. Alcina glanced at her bullet-filled body, then cupped her cheeks.

“Do you know what I would have done if you had died from these wounds?”

Bela tried not to look at her.

“I would have done everything in my power to get you back to me. I would tear down the sun and moon for you, my darling.” There was so much love in Alcina’s words, so much tenderness and care. Bela was drawn to it. “Please tell me you will come to me next time something happens. I cannot fathom the thought of you being in any more pain.”

Whether or not she actually would when the time came, Bela nodded. Alcina smiled at her warmly and placed a kiss against her forehead.

“That’s my good girl,” she said. “Now…” Her eyes slid down to the bullet wounds. “To handle this.”

“I tried to get them out myself,” Bela said. “I promise I tried. I got two out, but then-- but I couldn’t--”

“Shh,” Alcina stroked her hair. “You tried. That’s all that matters. But I am so proud of you, darling. It must not have been easy.”

Bela shook her head with a whimper.

“Alright,” Alcina stood up straight. “Come on. Lay on your bed. We need to get those little devils out of you.”

Bela didn’t disobey. She had already disobeyed enough for one day. She crawled onto her bed, whimpering each time her body bent in a way the bullets disagreed with. They felt like festering parasites inside her stomach. She was lightheaded.

“Mama,” she moaned. She was the last to stop calling Alcina such a thing. Cassandra was first, then Daniela, and when they both heard her still referring to their mother in that way, they teased her. While it had been done playfully, it was still enough to embarrass Bela and get her to stop to avoid risking further humiliation. But now she didn’t even care. She was far too uncomfortable to care about anything her sisters had to say.

“Mama…”

Alcina caressed the side of her face. “I’m right here, baby. Lay back for me.

Bela, as loyal as a hound, did as she was told. Her head rested against one of her fluffy pillows, but it did little to stop the room from spinning like a top. She looked over at Alcina anxiously, but her mother had an expression of focus and calm.

“Alright, my dove,” Alcina said, cupping one of her clammy, pallid cheeks. “I need you to lay as still as possible for me. Do you think you can do that?”

Bela nodded feebly.

“Very good. I’m going to start now, alright? Just stay still and breathe. I’ll work as quickly as I can.”

Another nod.

“Here I go.”

Even with the warning, Bela’s body still jolted when she felt the sharp stab of her mother’s claws against one of the bullet holes. Her eyes snapped open, but she was blind for several seconds before details bled back into awareness. To her own credit, she managed to keep from crying out, but only because she clenched her jaw so hard she chipped one of her fangs. Cassandra and Danieal were definitely going to tease her over that later, but it was the least of her problems at the moment.

The third bullet slid out with relative ease, lubricated by her blood, and, Mother Miranda, she was only just realizing she had fifteen more to go.

“One down,” Alcina said, flicking the buckshot to the floor. She lifted Bela’s chin to examine her broken tooth. “Hmm. It’ll grow back, don’t worry. It didn’t chip that much.”

“I was using a gown,” Bela said, her words coming out wheezy and weak. “To bite down on.” She pointed to the dress left on the rocking chair. “Can I use it again?”

Alcina followed her hand, spotting the bundle of fabric. “Oh, clever girl!” she praised, rubbing Bela’s head. She picked up the gown and gave it to Bela. “As I said before: you are my bright little daughter.”

Bela smiled shyly before biting down on the gown. She gave her mother an affirmative look to begin again.

The next three bullets went out smoothly--or as smoothly as little masses of lead wedged in sensitive tissue and muscle could be. But then Alcina got to one of the deeper slugs and it didn’t come out when tugged on, causing Bela to cry out and jerk away.

“Breathe, darling,” Alcina said, settling her back on her back when she tried to roll over. “Breathe. It’s alright. This one is a little deeper. A lot of them are going to be, but I need you to stay still and stay calm for me. Can you do that?”

“I-- I don’t know,” Bela said honestly.

Alcina frowned. She stroked her face, wiping away tears. “I know you can. You’re strong, Bela, regardless of what you think. And just know that I am so proud of you.”

Bela reached up to grab her mother’s hand. She pressed into the warm palm like a kitten seeking heat in the middle of a winter storm. Finally, she relented, “Okay.”

“Thank you, darling,” Alcina crooned. She went to return to her work, but Bela didn’t release her hand. “I need you to let me go, Bela.”

Bela was unwilling to part with the warmth, so Alcina did it herself, easily peeling her fingers away. She touched her cheek tenderly for a moment before saying, “Bite down and breathe, baby. I’m starting again.”

Bela did as she was told, grinding her teeth into the gown as claws returned to her sore stomach. She flinched, but didn’t try to squirm away again, grounding herself by grasping handfuls of the sheets beneath her.

Seven, eight, nine, ten… Alcina worked diligently, expertly removing the buckshot from Bela’s body. When she got to the eleventh one and it proved to be rather reluctant to leave its host, she stopped for a moment to give Bela time to breathe and prepare herself.

“You’re doing so good,” Alcina cooed, stroking Bela’s hair, which was wet with cold sweat. Bela had started to tremble at some point, though she didn’t exactly know when, but she hoped it wasn’t making the bullet removal harder than it already was.

“Mama,” Bela mewled. “It hurts…”

“I know,” Alcina hushed her. “I know. I’m almost done. Just eight more to go.”

“Hurry-- hurry--” Bela panted.

“Are you sure? You can wait a moment longer to catch your breath.”

Bela shook her head. “Please.”

Alcina pursed her lips, then nodded. “Alright. Here I go.”

Bela braced herself.

“Eleven…”

Bela breathed.

“Twelve…”

Bela bit down.

“Thirteen…”

Bela--

Bela screamed.

Bela screamed because the fourteenth bullet was buried deep within her flesh, burrowed in her warmth like a maggot in a corpse. She kicked out her legs and tried to yell for Alcina to stop, but blood mixed with bile lurched up the back of her throat and her mouth was clogged with fluids. Alcina ripped out the pellet with enough force to slit the edges of the hole with her claws, threw it to the floor, and then lifted Bela’s head so she wouldn’t inhale her own blood and choke. Bela coughed, staining her chest in a fresh layer of red.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry--”

“Shh,” Alcina stroked her thumb with her cheek. “Nothing to apologize for, darling. You’re doing very well. We’re so close to finishing.”

Bela looked at her, breathing heavily, her throat thick with blood. She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded weakly. Alcina set her head back down on the pillow.

“Here we go, my sweet. Just a little longer.”

But Bela wasn’t able to handle it when the fifteenth was removed. She grabbed her mother by the wrist when she reached for the sixteenth one, clinging tightly.

“No more, no more--” Bela begged.

Alcina frowned. “I have to get them out, baby. You’re so close.”

Bela shook her head. “No, no-- can’t we-- can’t we just leave them in?”

“Bela. You’re smarter than that. You know we can’t.”

“But-- but it hurts,” Bela wept. “I can’t-- I can’t take it anymore. Please, Mama. Please just stop .”

Above her, Alcina looked incredibly worried. She ran her bloody claws through Bela’s hair, soothing her.

“I have to,” Alcina said. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Bela sobbed, but didn’t stop her.

With a cruel yank, the sixteenth bullet dislodged with a spit of blood. Bela shredded the sheets beneath her.

The seventeenth took some digging, with her mother stretching the tender edges of the hole with one hand, picking out flesh with the other. She nearly threw up at the disgusting squelching sounds that filled the air, but managed to save herself from the humiliation by swallowing hard.

The eighteenth, the one she had accidentally pushed in deeper, was the worst. It was like having a hot knife thrust into her soft stomach over and over again. She shivered with pain and blood loss as she felt the bullet being tugged on in her ragged flesh. It was a sickening friction of skin sucking against the force of her mother’s claws. She didn’t even know if it came out fully because her eyes rolled to the back of her head and everything went black.

——— ——— ———

Wiping her claws of blood, Alcina frowned down at her eldest daughter. Bela was unconscious. It seemed the pain was finally too much for her little body. Though, she made it all the way to the end. Alcina was expecting her to pass out a lot sooner.

And she said she wasn’t strong.

Scooping her up into her arms, Alcina carried Bela to her bedroom, telling a maid to clean up the bloody mess left behind. Once inside her chambers, she ran Bela a hot bath, washing her of all the blood that stained her body. The warm water seemed to rouse her daughter because shiny amber eyes peeked out from under heavy eyelids as she was cleaning out her hair.

“Mama,” Bela breathed out.

Alcina smiled at her lovingly. “Hello, my sweet.”

Bela looked around sluggishly. She seemed dazed. “I’m… huh?”

“You passed out,” Alcina informed her.

“The buckshot…?”

“All out,” Alcina reached out to caress her cheek. “It’s over. You did it. I’m so proud of you, baby girl.”

Bela, always wanting affection, pressed into her hand. “Finally…”

Alcina chuckled. “I’m just going to finish washing all this blood off and then you can lay back down. You need lots of rest to heal.”

“Can you…?”

Alcina smiled again. Her heart swelled with adoration and love towards her daughter.

“Yes, I will lay with you.”

Bela had definitely earned it.

[hpdabbles]

Secret Sweater Sweetheart

"Who exactly is R. Lupin?" Sirius demanded standing in his brother's doorway. He attempted to imitate Uncle Alphard, when the man was displeased, hoping the wide stance with the cross arms gave the same feeling of guilt.

If there was one thing he learned after his uncle gain guardship over them was that Uncle Alphard could weaponize guilt like no other. Sirius had never felt bad about letting down an authority figure until the man stood before him in the position.

"What?" Regulus's words slur as he tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes. Not a surprise seeing as Sirius made sure to wait until their uncle went to bed before comforting his little brother.

The man just happened to stay up until three in the morning but needs must.

"You heard me. R. Lupin. Who is he?" Sirius grabs the offensive clothing he discovered while his brother had been away earlier that day. It had been pushed under Regulus's bed, towards the wall, next to a potions textbook and a ripped sock. Sirius had seen it when he went about, picking up all the random clothes threw through the mess of a bedroom.

Despite adoring Kreacher in their old home, Regulus had never been tidy and the fact their uncle didn't believe in owning house-elves meant the brothers had to clean up after themselves. Sirius did the house laundry every Wednesday, which just so happen to be the day his little brother went to his muggle violin classes.

"Sirius, did you seriously wake me up to ask about a sweater?" The teen groans. "This is my summer break, the point of it is that I get to sleep!"

"Oh! So now you're worried about sleeping? When you sneak a boy into your room, you don't worry about sleeping then do you!?" He accused giving the hideous striped abominations a few shakes.

Regulus threw him the finger, rolling his eyes. "I didn't sneak Remus-"

"So his name is Remus!"

"-into my room. We were in muggle London, and it got cold. I forgot a coat so he lent me his sweater. That's it." The seventeen-year-old finishes not paying mind to the interruption. "We have the same violin teacher and had a class together since she doubled booked by accident"

"A likely story!" Sirius growled pacing inside the room, feeling like his animagus form that he perfected two years ago. It earned him a top score on his Transfiguration final project at Ilvermorny, enough to make him the best student of his year. A side effect of being a dog animagus was that its protective streak tended to blend into his human side. "If he wasn't a secret boyfriend why was his sweater hidden instead of returned hmm?"

"Because I thought I lost it and bought him a replacement. Hoesntly Sirius, you're making a big deal at of nothing." Regulus grumbled.

"Right, I'm making a big deal out of you calling this Remus by his first name, and keeping his sweater with his name stitched into the tag, am I?" Sirius barked, his words just the bit off of a growl "The person you happen to met once at a violin practice because your teacher double-booked?"

"I never said I met him at practice. I just happen to run into him there."

"Oh! Pardon me, I'm getting that one detail wrong. Where did you meet the secret sweetheart that you've been sneaking into the house behind Uncle's Alphad's back then?"

Regulus rubbed a hand down his face sighing as if this wasn't a valid thing to be worried about. Not only was he too young to bring boys over like this, especially with non the wiser, but if Uncle Alphard found he could become angry.

The man hasn't had a reason to seen them back to their parents yet but what if this was it. What he realized that he had made a mistake in taking in Sirius and Regulus when Sirius had come running to him all those years ago.

Yes, it's been nine years, but Sirius sometimes still wakes in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat and his mother's voice haunting his nightmares screaming Crucio again and again.

His uncle may have felt bad for him then, a sobbing ten-year-old whose rain-drenched body kept shaking from the pain, and he may have taken his parents to court just to raise them both but that didn't mean he couldn't change his mind.

Uncle Alphard is a free spirit, Magic knows he had no idea what to do with kids, so Sirius always feared one day he would grow tired of them and send them back.

He would not survive if he ever went back. The very idea of being around his birth parents or anything connecting to them sends him into such a panic he tended to stop breathing correctly.

He had a meltdown when they bought his first wand because Ollivander made the mistake of telling him it was the perfect kind for a future Slytherin. A Slytherin, just like them.

Hogwarts was not an option for him.

Uncle Alphard had instead arranged for Sirius to study overseas, while Regulus requested to remain in Scotland. He didn't see his brother that much throughout the year but that didn't stop Sirius from fearing for his brother's chastity.

Who cares if he was technically a legal adult? Regulus is sensitive and easy to trick. Sirius knows what kind of boys tend to sniff around someone so innocent.

"Siri, seriously there is nothing going on between Remus and me. I call him by his first name because we went to Hogwarts together and were part of the same study group. I don't see him that often anymore since he graduated."

"How long ago did he graduate?" Sirius barked.

"Two years. Same as you."

"I thought your study group was kids from the Slug Club?" Sirius narrows his eyes when his brother huffs again.

"Remus was in the Slug Club."

"Then why was he studying with people two years younger? Shouldn't he been one of the smartest the school had to offer?"

"Remus was the tutor!"

"A likely story!"

Regulus threw his hands into the air "I can't talk to you when you're like this. It's way too late for you to be barging into my room like some lunatic. Look, if it bothers you that much I'm meeting up with Remus tomorrow at a cafe and you can meet him. Once you do, you'll realize why I wouldn't date the bloke, okay?"

"Oh, you bet I'm going to meet him!"

Sirius had been confident that he would scare that creep so he marched right out of his brother's room. He sleeps for a little while but once he was up at six he prepared to intimate. Grabbing the leather jacket with spikes, the knuckle braces, and the steel boots he gave his reflection a no-good hooligan a smirk, knowing the sweater-wearing violist may have a heart attack when he saw him

Regulus let him know at breakfast he would be meeting Remus at nine so Sirius left before him sending an owl to Remus Lupin, claiming the time charged to eight.

He picked the table least likely to be seen by anyone in the cafe and instructed the waitress to lead the man to him.

The asshole was late by ten minutes which did not make Sirius like him any more than he already did. Who knew you could go further than rock bottom?

"Are you Sirius Black?" A voice asks politely. Sirius turns his murderous glare upwards only to promptly chock on his spite.

A man around his age with soft brown hair, multiple face scars, and a jean jacket raised an eyebrow at him. He was smoking a cigrate, that somehow went nicely with the steel tip boots he was wearing.

His outfit looks raggy and mismatch, as if though the man slept on the street. The fact it was clean let him know it wasn't a homeless approaching him but rather someone who chooses to look like a mess on purpose.

He looked like a hooligan, not the type that Regulus usually goes for, but Sirius certainly did. Too bad his brother already beat him to the punch. Damn.

"Yes, I am. And you are?"

"Remus Lupin. I-"

"Are you fucking my brother?"

The bloke blinks. "No."

"Are you lying?"

Lupin frowns at him in a way that promises pain. Sirius feels a shiver run up his spine that is bother fear and anticipation. "No."

"Alright. Just know I'm on to you, secret sweater sweetheart." Of course the other would lie. Sirius isn't that dumb.

"What did you just call me?" Lupin looked utterly bewildered as the dangerous tone of his voice disappearing in his confusion.

"Sit. We have much to discuss."

It was an hour later when Regulus arrived that Sirius noticed the time went by faster than he thought it would. Somehow, the two ended up talking about themselves instead of Remus' relationship with Regulus, caught up in the pleasant company Remus turn out to be.

Sirius hasn't had this much fun with another person in so long he almost forgot to intimate him. He would just have to see the Gryffindor again it seemed.

[isitgintimeyet]

Just A Friend

And onto the next chapter. Thanks for your support for this story, it means a lot to me.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta.

Hope you enjoy the next chapter

AO3

Previous

Chapter 8: From Dresses to Disco

I don’t have a huge wardrobe but, generally, I can lay hands on an outfit for most situations. For work, if I’m not in scrubs, I tend to wear plain black trousers and a shirt; for relaxing, I have more than enough jeans, leggings and comfy sweaters; for holidays, I have the usual range of shorts, t-shirts and sundresses.

I realise as I flick through the hangers in my wardrobe that what I am missing are outfits in the ‘dinner-dance-purely-platonic-plus-one’ category. And, what’s more, I don’t actually know how formal this thing is going to be.

Jamie was no use at all when I spoke to him about it.

“What sort of thing will your sister be wearing?” I asked as we met for coffee and a bacon sandwich two days ago.

“I dinna ken. A dress?” He hazarded a guess, looking a bit perplexed that I would even ask him.

“Long or short?” I persisted.

“Yes.”

“Well, which? Long or short?”

“Aye, one of them.”

“What are you wearing then... kilt? Black tie? Lounge suit?” This might give me a clue as to the dress code.

“I dare say I’ll be wearing a suit and tie.”

And that was as much assistance as I got from him.

I make the decision to go short. Partly because I don’t want to feel overdressed on Saturday, but mainly because the only long dress I have in my possession was purchased for a university Medics’ ball in 2008. And it’s crinkly satin with a side split and a wide leather belt that went with an over the top diamanté headband around my forehead.

Obviously, I will never wear it again, but I’m loath to part with it anyway. It reminds me of my time at university. Plus, it may come in handy… for a fancy dress party perhaps?

********

Geillis has decided, on the spur of the moment, to ‘jes’ pop ‘round fer a wee glass of wine’. That’s just a cover. What she actually wants is a ‘wee glass of wine’ while supervising my dress selection.

She takes a sip and reclines on my bed, casting a critical eye as I pull a few dresses out of my wardrobe and lay them next to her.  She’s not giving much away as she continues to study them.

“Well?” I stand at the end of the bed and stare at her, waiting for her comments.

“I canna give ye ma answer ‘till I’ve seen them all,” she replies.

“That’s it. That’s all my fancy evening dresses.”

She stares at me in disbelief, before gazing once more at the three dresses displayed on the bed.

“Ye dinna have any more cocktail dresses, then?”

I shake my head. “‘Fraid not. When I go cocktail drinking, I tend to wear something more casual. There’s not a great call for fancy frocks when it’s two for one cocktails at the ‘Slug and Lettuce’.”

She sighs very loudly and grimaces. We’ve had these conversations often enough over the years. She despairs about my lack of interest in fashion. It’s true, I can’t tell a Marc Jacobs from a Marks and Spencer. Well, I possibly could, but you get my drift. I tried to be fashionable back in 2008 and look where it got me— wearing a dress that resembled a sweetie wrapper with a headband that brought me out in a rash.

I sometimes wonder if the real reason that she has asked me to be a bridesmaid has less to do with being best friends and more to do with being able to control what I’m going to wear. I’m joking of course, it’s because we’re best friends— Geillis choosing my dress is just an added perk for her.

“So, I think ye wear this one.” She gets up, moves me to one side and quickly rifles through the wardrobe, giving a cry of triumph as she finds what she’s looking for.

I knew it—I knew she would remember that dress. She was with me when I bought it— a late night Sauvignon Blanc fuelled online purchase. She describes it as my “hello boys” dress. I’ve never worn it and this is not the occasion for its inaugural outing.

I mean, it’s a lovely dress— black with an off the shoulder bardot neckline and very, very form fitting. But totally not the message I want to send to Jamie.

I shake my head. “Nope… no way. Not that one.”

I point instead to a dress lying on the bed, originally bought for a hospital fundraiser last year. It’s very nice and infinitely more suitable— black with sparkly red splodges; a slight v neck and fitted bodice going into a flared skirt. It even has pockets.

Geillis raises her hands in exasperation. “Fine. Have it yer way. But, Claire, do ye no’ want tae mebbe try it?”

I grab the dress from her and stuff it back in the wardrobe, ignoring her last comment. But she doesn’t give up so easily.

“See what could happen, eh?”

I turn to face her. “I know what could happen. He’ll think that I’m after him and that I’ll be it. End of friendship.”

“But mebbe—“

I interrupt her. “No maybe about it. Besides all this is missing the point. I want Jamie in my life as a friend, the same way that you and Mary and Anna are in my life. I don’t want anything more from him. I don’t need any romance. Can you understand that?”

“Aye but—“

She’s still not willing to drop the subject and I’ve had enough. I drain my glass of wine and start to walk out of the bedroom.

“No buts. That’s it. Just drop it, please.” At the doorway, I pause. “Now, do you want another glass?”

She starts to follow me. “Of course. And sorry,Claire, I dinna mean tae annoy ye. It’s jes’—“ she stops herself before saying anymore.

“Ok... Shall we order a takeaway,then?”

As I head into the living room, with Geillis following, I’m pretty sure I can hear her muttering under her breath about taking chances.

***************

Jamie said he would pick me up at seven. I’m clearly still working on Frank time, as I’m ready with fifteen minutes to spare. I perch on the edge of a chair, trying not to crease my dress, smudge my mascara or run my fingers through my hair.

I must admit, I have enjoyed the whole formal dressing up process. It’s not something I do too often— my socialising tends to be of a more relaxed nature. But this makes a welcome change.

With five minutes to spare, the bell rings. I gather up my pashmina and clutch bag and make my way downstairs, my high heeled sandals making a clacking sound against the old floor tiles.

Jamie is waiting outside, next to his old french blue Triumph Stag sports car. Like he said, he’s wearing a suit—dark grey instead of his usual navy blue. Still with a white shirt and a rust coloured paisley tie. His auburn curls nestle against his jacket collar. He looks immaculate.

In a parody of a chauffeur, he touches his forelock, bows and opens the passenger door for me. “M’lady,” he adds with his customary half grin.

“Thank you, Parker,” I reply primly and arrange my skirt under me as he scoots around to the driver side.

I do like this car. It’s old, a bit threadbare in places and smells slightly of damp. But it positively oozes vintage style and glamour. Fortunately the hardtop is on as the clouds are gathering ominously overhead.

“I thought we were getting a taxi. Are you not drinking?” I ask as he starts to drive.

Keeping his eyes on the road, he snorts with laughter. “No’ drinking? What kind of rugby ‘do’ d’ye think this is? No, I’ll leave the car at the club and we can get a taxi, if that’s ok wi’ ye.”

We drive on in silence for a couple of miles. Not an awkward silence, just a we-don’t-really-have-to -make-small-talk kind of silence.

“I’d have thought you’d be wearing a kilt tonight.” I comment.

“Hmm, weel, I do like tae wear it fer special occasions, but, when the rugby lads get together, who kens what can happen. Trousers tend tae be the safer option.”

“You could always wear underpants,” I suggest.

He looks horrified at the suggestion. “Dinna be saying that tae a true Scot, Sassenach.”

“I consider myself suitably chastised.”

“Glad ye realise that.” He smiles and changes the subject totally. “Sae, on our table this evening, there’ll be ma sister Jenny and her husband Ian, and Rupert, ye ken Rupert, and his wife Morag.”

“Oh, so you know Rupert— outside of work, I mean.”

“Aye, we grew up together. And Ian too. Mind, he was a couple of years older than Rupert and me— same age as Jenny—and always used tae follow her around like a wee pup. I’ve only known Morag a couple of years though. She’s nice but verra quiet. She lets Rupert do most of the talking.”

“I liked Rupert.”

“He’s a great bloke. Best decision I made, asking him tae join me at FraserFoods. Ian’s a great bloke too. Ye’ll like him.”

Jamie pulls the car into the rugby club car park,  and switches the engine off. He sits still for a moment, staring through the windscreen. I can hear music coming from the large marquee lit up with lanterns and residing on one of the rugby pitches. Even though it’s early in the evening, there’s plenty of raucous laughter coming from that direction too. No doubt the bar has already seen plenty of action.

“Well?” I elbow him in the ribs.

“Sorry. I was jes’ thinking about how best tae describe Jenny.” He turns and smiles. “She’s the best sister a chap could want and a true friend— once she gets tae know ye. She can be a wee bit, shall we say, prickly, at first. And she thinks she kens what’s best fer me, as only a big sister can. She thinks ma life is no’ complete… no’ wi’out a wife and a couple of bairns.”

“Have you explained that this isn’t a date… that we’re friends?”

“Aye, I’ve told her that,” he gives a little laugh and nods his head towards the marquee.  “Sae she’ll most likely be in there right now scouring the place fer any suitable contenders.”

He gets out of the car and is at the passenger door before I’ve had a chance to unfasten my seatbelt and gather my pashmina around my shoulders.

“M’lady,” resuming the chauffeur role, he opens the door for me.

I clamber out, somewhat ungainly and wait as he locks the car. Even with my highest heels on, I still have to crane my neck to look at him as he stands up straight and adjusts his jacket.

“Shall we?” He gestures the marquee with his hand.

“God, yes. I could do with a gin and tonic. I’m parched.” Plus, I reckon I need a stiff drink or two down my throat before I meet Jenny. She sounds formidable.

“C’mon then.” And he leads the way into the marquee.

[accioromione]

Things that people/characters judge Ron by /use as a joke that makes 0 sense to me

So as we all know. We read the books from Harry’s point of view. Here are my issues with how Ron was treated. 

1. His food habits - this has to be the most annoying part about the series. J.K Rowling is partly to blame. She is always highlighting how Ron’s on his ‘sixth chocolate frog’ or how he’s always hungry, or going further on about his food habits, that it overrides moments of when Ron shares food or plates it for other people. For instance

 'Course, once Dumbledore turned up on your side, there was no way they were going to convict you,' said Ron happily, now dishing great mounds of mashed potato on to everyone's plates. 

One sentence, simple, no elaboration, just a simple ‘on to everyone’s plates’, much easier to forget than something like this

'Oh, yes,' said Nick, who seemed glad of a reason to turn away from Ron, who was now eating roast potatoes with almost indecent enthusiasm. 'Yes, I have heard the Hat give several warnings before, always at times when it detects periods of great danger for the school. And always, of course, its advice is the same: stand together, be strong from within.'

 'Ow kunnit nofe skusin danger ifzat?' said Ron.

 His mouth was so full Harry thought it was quite an achievement for him to make any noise at all.

 'I beg your pardon?' said Nearly Headless Nick politely, while Hermione looked revolted. Ron gave an enormous swallow and said, 'How can it know if the school's in danger if it's a Hat?'

 'I have no idea,' said Nearly Headless Nick. 'Of course, it lives in Dumbledore's office, so I daresay it picks things up there.'

 'And it wants all the houses to be friends?' said Harry, looking over at the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was holding court. 'Fat chance.'

 'Well, now, you shouldn't take that attitude,' said Nick reprovingly. 'Peaceful co-operation, that's the key. We ghosts, though we belong to separate houses, maintain links of friendship. In spite of the competitiveness between Gryffindor and Slytherin, I would never dream of seeking an argument with the Bloody Baron.'

 'Only because you're terrified of him,' said Ron.

 Nearly Headless Nick looked highly affronted.

 Terrified? I hope I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never been guilty of cowardice in my life! The noble blood that runs in my veins -'

 'What blood?' asked Ron. 'Surely you haven't still got - ?'

 'It's a figure of speech!' said Nearly Headless Nick, now so annoyed his head was trembling ominously on his partially severed neck. 'I assume I am still allowed to enjoy the use of whichever words I like, even if the pleasures of eating and drinking are denied me! But I am quite used to students poking fun at my death, I assure you!'

 'Nick, he wasn't really laughing at you!' said Hermione, throwing a furious look at Ron.

 Unfortunately, Ron's mouth was packed to exploding point again and all he could manage was 'Node iddum eentup sechew,' which Nick did not seem to think constituted an adequate apology. Rising into the air, he straightened his feathered hat and swept away from them to the other end of the table, coming to rest between the Creevey brothers, Colin and Dennis.

 'Well done, Ron,' snapped Hermione

As you all see, J.K Rowling went out of her way to make the way Ron is eating noticed, and the way Harry and Hermione react to it. I absolutely hate this. I hate how the characters look at his food habits and I hate the way readers now remember him by. Ron is about 6′3 (maybe even taller), he is a teenage boy who is GROWING, and is also skinny. It is COMPETLEY NORMAL for him to eat like how he does. He is the YOUNGEST SON of 5 older brothers, he is used to having to eat food quickly. I don’t understand why this became a thing of judgement, he is allowed to be hungry. When other character’s are hungry, it’s fine, no one addresses it, but when it’s Ron of course Hermione has to look disgusted. Meanwhile, look at the reaction’s the occur when Harry is hungry... 

"So you persuaded Horace Slughorn to take the job?"

Harry nodded, his mouth so full of hot soup that he could not speak.

"He taught Arthur and me," said Mrs. Weasley. "He was at Hog-warts for ages, started around the same time as Dumbledore, I think. Did you like him?"

His mouth now full of bread, Harry shrugged and gave a noncommittal jerk of the head.

"I know what you mean," said Mrs. Weasley, nodding wisely. "Of course he can be charming when he wants to be, but Arthur's never liked him much. The Ministry's littered with Slughorn's old favorites, 

No looks of disgust from Mrs. Weasley? If it was Ron I bet you Mrs. Weasley would have been like, ‘slow down Ron!’ or something to shame him for being hungry and this is just not O.K. LET RON EAT. LET HIM BE A GROWING BOY. WHY DOES HE HAVE TO BE SHAMED FOR BEING HUNGRY? 

Okay onto number 2. His insecurities. 

In my opinion, it started off O.K and then after GOF it became something that was like..characters were like ‘yeah O.K Ron’s insecure we get it,’ like in GOF Hermione goes from understanding him to the point where she explains to Harry, don’t you see, it’s hard for him always being compared to people, to OOTP where she’s like shut up with your jealousy Ron you’re sooo annoying. It particularly pisses me off in HBP when Hermione is like going out of her way to compliment Harry and Ron is clearly annoyed with it. And Hermione just ignores Ron like it’s an inconvenience that he’s insecure. I personally would never go out of my way to compliment one friend and ignore the other, especially when tha other friend looks bothered. We see this trend with other characters, who make fun of him for being insecure. The whole Weasley is our King is literally a song that abuses Ron’s lack of confidence in order to make him choke up in quidditch, and no one thinks nor cares about the seriousness of just how insecure Ron is that even other houses can recognize it to use it for their advantage. They just roll their eyes at it like ‘ugh Ron stop being insecure’ and I feel like he deserved more sensitivity, rather than make it like, Ron needs to stop being an insecure prat. Harry is the KING of brushing out other peoples problems because he’s Harry Potter and he has BIGGER PROBLEMS. They ignored Ron to the point where Harry was surprised as to what was coming out of the locket, Harry should have known, he should have not treated it like a minor inconvenience. 

Number 3. His lack of ‘compassion,’ or ‘empathy’ 

We see it highlighted a few times. Harry has described Ron as lacking empathy in situations, or in being too blunt. And these situations tend to be, well, not serious situations, they’re also situations where he is 14 years old. However, when Ron is showing empathy and emotion it’s always brushed off. Like how he cried during Dumbledore’s funeral. Or how he was dealing with Harry’s tantrums, or how he was able to diffuse tension with jokes. It makes Ron appear as if he’s emotionally underdeveloped, but this is not the case, Ron lacks in lady knowledge, what teenage boys don’t? The reality is that Ron knows when to be serious, he IS emotionally mature. When Sirius dies he doesn’t interrogate Harry like Hermione does, he knows when to draw the boundary and respect space. 

Number 4. His status.

It’s often highlighted how he is poor, is a ‘nobody’, or is Harry’s friend by other characters. We see it in HBP with the slug club, we see it with the Slytherin’s. Here is my issue with this...yes he is a Weasley..but let’s look at all the Weasley’s. We have Bill, a curse breaker who married a Veela, Charlie a dragon hunter, Percy, who is high up in the ministry, Fred and George, who have a funny swagger and are popular with everyone, and Ginny, Ms. Badass. I just don’t understand why he was the only Weasley who really got made fun of for being well, a Weasley, why was it RON? Even in the slug club I don’t get it, Slughorn liked people with connections, wouldn't he have had connections by Bill being is brother, or like his aunties? Cormac was taken in because of his uncle...And of course Ginny get’s invited. 

Number 5. The downplay of his accomplishments and the highlight of when he messes up. 

By convenience we don’t get to see How Gryffindor won the quidditch cup in fifth year because of Grawp, but we got to see him failing miserably before-hand. We don’t see him duelling the death eaters in the ministry, but we see him with the brains, although we know what he’s done, due to another character, or Ron telling us what he’s done, the readers get a limited amount of how many times that is actually described. 

Number 6. The tone J.K Rowling uses with Ron’s descriptions. 

Huge pet peeve of mine was how J.K Rowling decided to describe Ron’s owls marks. She gave Harry’s all laid out, and all we get for Ron is ‘Harry saw no O’s’ only to see that next book, they’re cleared for the exact same classes, meaning he got Exceeds Expectations in everything Harry did, like wtf? With ‘Harry saw no O’s’ that could mean 11 P’s, the only reason we know this is not the case is because Ron highlights how he only failed divination and history of magic, and how Molly says he got more than the twins combined. Without this, readers could have assumed anything as all they had to go by was ‘Harry saw no O’s,’ UGH it still bothers me. 

All in all, I think there was a tone implied in the novels that tried to downplay Ron’s character. And it’s sad because I think J.K Rowling knew she created such a likeable complex character, so she downplayed it. Making Ron suffer in the process. 

[norisxfics]

NCT 127′s Dorm Maid: Ch.2 - Mark

NCT 127's Dorm Maid: Chapter 2 - Mark

Title: NCT 127's Dorm Maid

Genre: smut

Chapter: 2

Character: Mark x OC/reader

Chapter Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Contains: Masturbation, hand job, blow job, a bit of face fucking

Summary: When NCT's Dorm maid falls ill, her niece takes her place and becomes NCT's new dorm maid. NCT weren't unfamiliar with the girl as she has substituted for her aunt many times before. But this time it was different, this time she was going to become their permanent dorm maid as her aunt was forced to retire because of her health. NCT members quickly grow fond of the girl, but little did she know this also meant that she was going to be a hell of a lot more busy than she expected.

Authors Note: It would be really nice and appreciated if you guys could reblog this if you enjoyed it so that I can get more readers. Liking a post shows me you enjoy it but no one will ever see a content creators content if all you guys do is like the post. Especially now since I’ve heard the tags are being fucked up and not all posts are showing up in the tags 

The thing I enjoyed about working for NCT is that I was not expected to tend to both dorms in one day. We had decided to keep a schedule, one day 5th floor, the next 10th floor. If I saw I had time or energy I would tend to both. I wasn't required to always cook either but on days I knew they had busy schedules I would cook for them and again if I saw I had time I would still cook.

Today I was tending to the 10th floor dorm. The dorm was empty except for Jaehyun, I saw him when I came in and he said he was going to just "chill" in his room.

Before I started working I plugged in my headphones and turned my music on. I took my time cleaning, humming and dancing to my music as I did. I soon entered the bathroom to clean and rolled my eyes as I saw the tube of toothpaste not closed.

This happened quite often and I'm determined to find the culprit, I bet whoever left it open was also responsible for the pile of clothes on the bathroom floor that had somehow just missed the laundry basket.

"Whoever did this, I will find you and I will kill you," I said the last line while imitating Liam Neeson. I picked up the laundry basket and began humming along to Rain's "Rainism" as I walked to the washing machine "I'll let you rainism on me any day Rain...whatever that means."

"You're a fan of Rain?" I turned to the owner of the voice, taking my headphone out of my ear.

"I mean who isn't? He's a damn legend, what about you, Jaehyun? Are you a fan of him?"

He nodded his head "like you said, the man's a legend, anyway I just wanted to let you know I'm heading out to see some friends, so you can be more comfortable cleaning my room."

I gave him a thumbs up "got it, have fun!" He gave me a small smile, his dimples shyly greeting me. I kind of wanted to poke them.

Once he left I began to clean their bedrooms, the last room left was Mark's. I opened the door and let out a gasp, to my surprise Mark was home, I didn't realize he was since Jaehyun hadn't mentioned it.

But Mark's presence in itself isn't what made me gasp "oh my god I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were home..." I apologized as Mark panicked and pulled his blanket over himself, his face turning as red as a strawberry.

If you haven't guessed it yet, I just caught Mark...well how do I put this, Jackin' the beanstalk, polishing the pearl, spanking the monkey, or tugging the slugs if you will. I think you get the point now.

"N-no it's okay it's my fault for not letting you know I was hear, um...I should have locked the door...oh god this is so embarrassing..." He stuttered with his words and I found it cute. It triggered my inner demon to be quite honest. I absolutely enjoyed teasing cute shy boys like Mark, and hey no one was home. I held back a smirk and I coyly bit down my bottom lip.

"Well...you know, I am your maid and I am here to do anything you need me to you know..." I stepped inside and closed the door behind me before moving closer to him "when I say anything I mean anything," I was now standing right in front of him, my eyes never leaving his as he stared up at me. His Adam's apple bobbing up then down, I reached down to trail my index finger up along his thigh that was now covered by his blanket "that includes helping you out with you're little problem here."

He was flustered, he began to stutter again his ears turning red as he blushed "I-I um uh...fuck...I wouldn't want to make you do anything you're uncomfortable with...ah shit what am I saying," my lips involuntarily formed into a smirk. I lowered myself onto my knees in front of him, gently tugging against the blanket.

"I assure you, I am completely fine with this...the question is, are you?" I asked softly as I finally moved the blanket off of his lap and to the side before I adjusted my position between his legs. I looked up to meet his gaze which was filled with nervousness, but also eagerness.

"I...what if we get caught? Jaehyun is next door..."

"Jaehyun went out, we're alone," I reassured him before letting my gaze fall to his still erected length. I wrapped my fingers around it and began to slowly and teasingly rub gentle circles around the tip, my eyes meeting with his again "I bet you've been craving for a girls touch for a while now huh?" Mark gulped at my words, my wrist now slowly moving, stroking his erection "you're just too busy to find a girl these days, so you just come home, tired and stressed, all have is your imagination and your hand..." Mark's chest began to rise and fall as his breath free heavier. I picked up the pace of my wrist as I jerked him off "mmm....it's sad really, any girl would love to take a cock as nice as yours," I heard a quiet curse escape Mark's lips, I couldn't help smirk.

I moved my face in closer to his cock, I let out a soft hot breath against it and watched it twitch. My tongue darted out and I pressed it against the base of his shaft before slowly dragging my tongue along it until I reached the tip. My tongue swirled around the tip before latching my lips around it, softly sucking on it with a hum.

"Shit..." he cursed, letting out a quiet whimper as I moved my head lower, taking his length deeper into my wet cavern. I began to bob my head in an up and down motion, emitting a groan from Mark "shit, noona...keep going don't stop," my bratty self then kicked in. I pulled my head back and released his length from between my lips with a pop "oh, oops...I just stopped, I wonder what you're gonna do about it,"

"Fuck, shit, please don't tease me I really need you...to, to keep going...please,"

"Make me then, grab my hair and force your cock down my throat, make me gag on it, Mark," I licked over my lips before taking his tip between my lips again. I could feel Mark's hand hesitantly grip onto my hair.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded and his grip tightened before he finally forced my head down onto his length, triggering my gag reflex. I began bobbing my head up in down and quicker pace than from before. Mark's moaning music to my ears, he hissed and cursed, encouraging me to continue. His hips soon began to thrust up as he fucked my mouth. After a few thrusts he finally reached his climax, thick strings of cum flowing into my mouth and I of course swallowed it. I pulled back and met eyes with Mark, who's chest was heaving as he caught his breath.

"Shit that was, amazing,"

I smiled up at him before standing, fixing my clothes and hair.

"If you need me again just me know,"

Mark nodded his head in response and I walked out of his room. Getting straight back to work.

[thanksjro]

Dark Cybertron Chapter 6: This Sure is a Comic I’m Reading.

The Dinobots are chilling out by the standing Titan, because Slag went and got his ass kicked by the super death wave a few issues back.

Excuse me, Slug.

There’s real-world context for this change- you see, in England, the word “slag” is often used as a derogatory term. Specifically, it’s either used as a stand in for “prostitute” or “whore”, or in more of a generalized “I greatly dislike this person” sort of way. It’s typically aimed at women, which is likely why Arcee said something to him as opposed to anyone else.

This little exchange is interesting, since Dark Cybertron Chapter 6 was published in 2014. Our boy Slug here first showed up in the original cartoon, back in the 80s, and was in the Marvel UK comics, where they didn’t change his name. A good portion of the IDW creative team, including 50% of the writers for this event storyline, are also from the UK. Seems like someone finally got sick of calling a whole-ass robot dinosaur a slut.

Not that there’s anything wrong with enjoying casual sex, or being a sex worker, but slapping labels on other people without their input is sort of a shitty thing to do, especially when you’re doing it in a franchise typically aimed at younger audiences, and with a surprisingly large following in the UK, where that term is used.

Anyway, while this conversation was happening, the Titan moved, and when it did, it kicked up a shit-ton of dust. Astrotrain, who is laying off to the side with his legs and an arm off, offers Swoop his binoculars. When asked why the hell he has binoculars- which doesn’t seem so strange to me, given that they’re standard military equipment in a lot of places- he tries to explain that he’s got shit eyes, and didn’t want Megatron to know about them. This would be an interesting glimpse into the inner workings of the Decepticons and how they view disability, if Swoop actually gave a damn.

But he doesn’t.

So it’s not.

Swoop sees with his special eyes that the guys who went down into the Crystal City have escaped, and are currently trying to outrun the Titan, and also the title of this issue.

Watch out, that typography’s gonna fuckin’ get you!

The Dinobots start firing on the Titan, which does fuck-all, and Prowl yells at them to head for Iacon, since that’s where the Titan’s going. Bumblebee, Skywarp, and Megatron are revealed to be MIA. Bummer.

Over on that weird water planet the Lost Light landed on a few issues back, the Rod Pod gang have puttered into Metroplex’s eye socket, and are currently making a Fantastic Voyage. Getaway asks where the hell Metroplex’s eyeball got to, but nobody has an answer for him, least of all Metroplex. Strange happenings on this weird water planet.

Ratchet gives everyone the skinny on Titan physiology theory- thank god he came along on the trip so I could at least get a little lore to feed my brain through this slog.

So, Metroplex’s spark could actually be out right now. Even though the lights are still on, that doesn’t mean anyone’s actually home, because the power of his spark needs time to actually travel through the body, and it needs a lot more time than the average robot, because he’s just so goddamned big. Humans also need time for their animating force… or, uh, blood to travel through the body. This is why we have a pulse. If it was instantaneous, we wouldn’t, but we’d probably also explode, because our squishy little bodies wouldn’t be able to handle that shit.

The gang starts scanning for life signs, even though they’re not even sure if they’ll be able to pick anything up. Brainstorm theorizes that the water could be causing degradation to Metroplex’s body. Getaway is still stuck on the Rod Pod existing. He’s having a moment. He’s been having a moment, really, ever since he saw the damn thing.

The results from the life-scan come in, and it looks like Metroplex might actually be okay, because there’s a blip for everyone in the Rod Pod, plus one! Hooray!

Nobody tell them about the hanger-on who’s basically glued himself to the ass of the Pod. We’ll let them have this little win, if only for a moment.

Ratchet suggests they head for the brain to check things out. Brainstorm reads back the report on the water sample he took, holding his data pad as precariously as he possibly can as he does. There’s admium flakes in the water. Nobody knows what this means, so they try to call Swerve, who is a metallurgist, for his professional opinion. The call goes to voicemail. Pity, that.

The fellas show up at the cranium, and there’s a small issue; Metroplex’s brain isn’t there. It wasn’t yanked out, either- it’s clean as a whistle in there, all things considered. Next stop- the spark. Hopefully they can get there before all the lights go out, because it’s beginning to look rather grim for ol’ Plexy.

Back on Cybertron, Starscream is asking about the fatality rate of the death wave, which is a bit funny to read now that I’ve typed it out. Tankor- who is our tie-in issue character today- decides he’s going to start some shit with Starscream, even as people are evaporating around him in the medical center he’s volunteered to assist at. Starscream takes the verbal stripping down with a straight face, because at this point, it’s just par for the course for him. Being head honcho of a whole planet kinda sucks, as he’s quickly finding out.

Flatline, who is also here, makes a crack at Starscream’s expense, and Starscream decides that that’s going to be the straw that breaks his camel’s back, as he starts getting dangerously sarcastic with the guy. Too bad this isn’t the time for that, however, because the Titan just showed up at the city limits.

Wow, Titan really said “fuck those two guys on the left in particular.”

Over in the Dead Universe, it turns out that the massive fiery laser blast from last issue DIDN’T kill everyone, and doesn’t actually seem like it was ever intended to. I suppose it was some sort of transport beam that Nova Prime used for his entrance, like the dramatic bitch he is. That’s neat, I guess.

Hardhead’s pretty upset by Nightbeat’s betrayal, not that Nightbeat really cares- being brainwashed tends to have that effect. Hardhead starts slamming his skull against the containment cube, living up to his name and also making himself look like a fool. Cyclonus is beginning to regret agreeing to this trip. Orion Pax punches the wall and starts yelling at Nightbeat for being a traitor, pretty much breaking his hand in the process. Rodimus tries to get him to chill out, and gets a knuckle sandwich for his troubles.

Also, this whole thing is a ruse. Orion managed to crack the cube, and he’s gonna try to get them out, but he can only do it if Nightbeat doesn’t realize what’s going on. Once Rodimus is let in on the plan, he tries to butter up ol’ Ikea Johnson, who notices the very mysterious something that’s on Rodimus’ palm. The thing that’s NOT his forcefield generator, that we don’t get to know about just yet.

Seeing the mysterious something makes Nightbeat fall to his knees, clutching his head in pain. At least, that’s what Orion says happened. I don’t know what happened or why, or why Orion would fucking know what happened or why. Or even, really, if it was Orion making the claim in the first place.

Not even any feet to try to connect to characters. I’m just guessing on previous panels.

“Dark Cybertron” makes me so, so tired.

Anyway, Nova Prime tells everyone to get on their knees, lest he shoot them with his big honkin’ back turrets.

Back inside Metroplex, the fellas have exited the Rod Pod and are on the hunt for Metroplex’s spark. Someone’s gone and drawn arrows pointing in the direction of the spark chamber, though who exactly is a mystery. Lots of mystery going on this issue. The boys decide to see where the graffiti takes them, leaving the Rod Pod to whatever fate might befall it while they’re gone.

Nobody likes the Rod Pod very much.

Also, that hanger-on from earlier is still there. This’ll turn out great, surely!

We get treated to a double-page spread of Escher proportions, as the gang tries to traverse the inner workings of Metroplex, until they hit an arrow that seemingly hits a dead end. When they brute force their way through the ceiling, it’s bad news bears; they’re right back where they started. Whirl, our most volatile friend, takes out his frustration on the Rod Pod, only for more bad news to reveal itself: the Pod’s been rigged to explode by the hanger-on!

And that’s a series wrap on the Rod Pod Squad! Let’s give ‘em a hand, folks!

Back in the Dead Universe, Nova Prime is busy deadnaming Orion, and generally just being an asshole. He notices Cyclonus off in the corner, and starts being an asshole at him too, because that’s how Nova interacts with the world. It’s all he knows.

It’s at this point that Cyclonus gives Hardhead the signal, and Hardhead bashes through the crack in the cube. Too bad it reseals itself directly behind him. Hardhead goes to punch Nova Prime, and gets his hand crushed into pulp for his troubles. Then he dies, because that was his forcefield hand.

And that’s a series wrap on Hardhead!

Nova Prime informs everyone that he’ll be taking them to visit a pal of his.

You know, this reveal would be a hell of a lot more poignant if I could FUCKING TELL WHO THE SHIT THAT’S SUPPOSED TO BE.

[inkwell1013]

Garden Woes - Good Omens

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley

Genre: Angst with a happy ending, Oneshot

Word count: 1335

Warnings: Arguing/Domestic dispute

Summary: Crowley always bullies his plants. Aziraphale babies them. They both think they are doing what’s best for their plants and its causing some conflict in their otherwise perfect relationship. One day, all the tension that's been building up explodes and an argument ensues.

Notes: I completely forgot about this fic. It’s been on ao3 for ages, but I forgot to post it here. I hope you all enjoy!

- - - - -

Armageddon had been stopped and all was well in the world. Crowley and Aziraphale had both been fired of course; that was to be expected after what they had done. Neither of them wanted to associate with either side now anyway.

Aziraphale’s awkward confession was accepted and requited and the two of them decided to move in together. There was just one small issue with that. They couldn’t decide who should move in with who.

Crowley’s studio apartment was too small for the two of them and quite frankly, Aziraphale didn’t really like Crowley’s neighbourhood. There was nothing wrong with it really, but Aziraphale didn’t enjoy being in areas full of negative energy and hatred. It made him feel unwell. Also, whenever he met someone going down a bad path, he felt a strong urge to show them the glory of God, which did not make him a popular person in those parts. Old habits tended to die hard after all.

They tried to move Crowley into the top floor of the bookshop but that didn’t work either. Aziraphale was far too protective of the books he sold and Crowley tended to pick them up with dirty hands or dog-ear the pages, infuriating Aziraphale to no end. There was also Crowley’s unfortunate habit of walking around the bookshop shirtless, completely oblivious to the shocked stares of the customers. None of Aziraphale’s customers seemed to like Crowley very much and Crowley was always picking fights with the customers who got angry and threatened his angel.

Neither option was working. When Crowley was flipping through a newspaper early in the morning, he found an advertisement for a cottage in the outskirts of London’s suburbs. It was perfect. It had enough space for the both of them, an empty home library for all of Aziraphale’s books and a huge garden for all of his many plants.

He brought it up with Aziraphale and was met with positive feedback. They met with a realtor and arranged the purchase of the house, buying it with their collective savings and moving in on a rainy spring afternoon. The house itself was dusty but otherwise clean. The garden however was full of weeds and overgrown grass. It was a bit of a fixer-upper but with time, it would be manageable.

The two fell into a comfortable rhythm of unpacking their things and fixing up the garden. Aziraphale was apprehensive at first, worried that he would mess it up, but got into it pretty quickly. The grass was mowed and weeded. They whipped up a few raised beds and sowed a few seeds. When they didn’t start growing straight away, Aziraphale got annoyed and Crowley had to remind him that these things took time.

Aziraphale wasn’t the best at waiting for things; whenever he wanted something to be ready it was, all it took was a small miracle. The only thing this didn’t work on was plants. He had tried it a few times before but they always withered away from his ethereal energy. The only thing to do was wait.

The waiting itself was excruciatingly boring, but when the plants first began to sprout, they were both really excited. A few weeks passed, and they were growing well. There was only one problem.

They just couldn’t agree how to treat the plants. Crowley insisted on what he called tough love, whereas Aziraphale tended to baby them. So they divided the plants between the two of them.

Crowley watered his plants daily and pruned the dead branches. If they grew, they grew. If they died… then… they died. He also yelled at them to make them grow better, which they did out of pure fear. Aziraphale thought this was just cruel and would go behind Crowley back to be kind to the plants, giving them compliments and encouragement.

Aziraphale on the other hand carefully watered his plants regularly and spread fertilizer on a weekly basis. He weeded the beds and gave the taller plants support beams so that they could grow straight. He was always chatting to them and complimenting their appearance, making them grow brilliantly, trying to please him. Often he found himself searching through his once forgotten gardening books for new tips and tricks or to help him diagnose some obscure disease or insect infestation

Their tactics couldn’t have been more different. That was where the arguments came from.

It was a quiet Sunday morning and Aziraphale was in the garden spraying insecticide on his cabbages and scattering some slug repellent when he notice black spots on some of the leaves of Crowley’s roses. He had heard of this before. Diplocarpon rosae. It was an invasive fungal infection that could decimate rose plants if nothing was done.

Crowley would probably just cut off the affected branches and burn them. Aziraphale planned to tell Crowley when he got home and went to go inside but he stopped himself. He had some fungicide in the shed and Crowley didn’t have to know. He fetched the fungicide and sprayed it on Crowley’s rose bush, before going inside.

Crowley got home from the city, where he worked. He didn’t tell Aziraphale much about it because he never really asked. It was dull but well paying. He took of his coat and went to check on the roses – his favourite plants. When inspecting them, he caught a waft of something strange. It was a sharp and chemical smell. He took a closer look and smelt it again.

He recognized it. Fungicide. Aziraphale had tampered with his plants. He was pissed and went to confront him about it. Crowley thundered into the kitchen. Aziraphale was sat at the kitchen table sipping his tea. Crowley slammed his hand down on the table, making Aziraphale jump.

“Crowley, Dear, I hadn’t realised that you were-“ said Aziraphale before Crowley cut him off.

“You tampered with my plants didn’t you? We agreed to keep our plants separate. You promised me that you wouldn’t mess with my plants!”

“It’s not my fault that you’re so mean to them,” mumbled Aziraphale.

“What did you say?” asked Crowley.

“It’s not my fault that you’re so mean to your plants!” yelled Aziraphale, standing up and raising an accusing finger. “Your so mean to them all the time and it’s not fair on them,”

“My methods work Aziraphale! Babying them will do them no good in the long run,” Crowley muttered.

“I don’t have to deal with this,” said Aziraphale, throwing up his hands in defeat. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” He stormed up the stairs, leaving Crowley alone. As soon as he saw Aziraphale leave, he regretted what he said. Sighing, he put his head in his hands.

Aziraphale was reading while sat cross-legged on the bed. He was furious at Crowley. Why was he being like that? He angrily turned a page. When the door cracked open, he didn’t look up. Crowley cleared his throat and spoke.

“I’m sorry. I guess everything got a bit much for me. It’s difficult for me to admit but I miss the way things were sometimes. When everything was familiar you know? Everything is so new now” he said sheepishly.

Aziraphale closed his book and set it on the table. “I think I know what you mean. It’s been months but I still try to call the head office and worry about getting caught with you. It makes no sense but in a strange way, I miss it. Having a purpose and a place to be, I suppose,” he said, laughing weakly. “I think we’re both a little in the wrong here, dear. Shall we shake hands and move onwards?”

“Yes,” said Crowley. “I’m sorry,”

“So am I,” smiled Aziraphale “But try to be nicer to your plants, okay?”

“I will,” agreed Crowley, with a yawn. “Are you about done reading for the night?”

“I think I am,” said Aziraphale, switching off his lamp.

“Goodnight dear,” he said as Crowley crawled into bed next to him.

“Goodnight Angel”

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Brooklyn 99 AU? If you haven’t seen that, just think like an Office or Parks and Rec-esque work sitcom

“Make Terry do it,” Santiago whispered.  “He’s good at babysitting.”

“Make Terry do what?”  Jeffords looked up from his yogurt, expression concerned.

The informal conference in the precinct break room exchanged a glance.

“We may have arrested a few underage tourists from out of town,” Peralta said.  “They may or may not have been drunk, but, uh...”

Peralta glanced at Boyle.  “But we left them unsupervised in the back of the police van for, like, two minutes,” Boyle explained quickly.  “So by the time we got the breathalyzer working, they were all sober.”

“They all puked?” Scully asked, appalled.

Santiago shook her head sadly.  “They all morphed.”

“Wait.  You mean...”  Jeffords craned his neck to look out across the main room.  He caught a glimpse of the group of kids currently sitting in the Nine-Nine’s holding cell, and his expression went slack in horror.  “No.  No.  No, Terry has not had nearly enough low-fat peach-mango yogurt to deal with this today.”

“They’re famous!”  Peralta made jazz hands at the rest of the squad.  “That’s kind of cool, right?  That Marco kid’s a movie star, Tobias definitely counts as a cryptid, and... the others... do stuff...”

“Yeah.”  Santiago crossed her arms.  “They kill people.”

“There was a war on!” Peralta protested.  “Aliens invaded, Boyle’s mom got possessed by a scary slug thing and tried to kill me —”

“She said she was sorry for mistaking the Sharing for a ferret-themed lomage fanclub,” Boyle said.

“Yeah, no, anyone could make that mistake.”  Peralta pivoted back to Santiago.  “The point is, they killed people as part of a war.  And that, like, doesn’t count or something.”

“What’d they do?” Jeffords asked.

"It was only a few murders,” Boyle said.

“Today!”  Jeffords gestured to the front room, where the delinquents in question were clearly sitting in their holding cell.  “Why’d we arrest them?”

Santiago pulled out her phone, calling up the relevant statement.  “They’re claiming they were provoked when, quote, ‘Some guy wolf-whistled Cassie, and then that guy’s biker gang objected to Rachel’s attempts to rip his arms off and feed them to him, and really it was their fault all along.’”  She looked up.  “Signed Jake Berenson.  Which begs the question: did we get ID from any of them?”

“They all morphed,” Boyle pointed out.  “Who else could it possibly be?”

“So that explains the entire cell’s worth of muscular guys with mild-to-moderate grizzly bear wounds downstairs,” Scully said, staring upward in wonder.

“That’s it, we’re all babysitting them,” Jeffords declared.  “And by that, I mean that we’re getting them out of our hair as fast as we legally can, whether or not we charge them with anything in the process.”

“Agreed,” Santiago said, shoving open the door to the main room.

The scene in the holding cell was... not pandemonium.  Jake and Cassie were sitting on the bench at the back of the cell, Cassie’s head leaning on Jake’s shoulder.  Rachel leaned against the bars, picking at her nails.  Tobias sat on the crossbar next to her, preening.  All in all, the kids seemed to be cooperating, which was a mercy.  It wasn’t like the Nine-Nine had the budget for even one-tenth of the equipment necessary to actually contain an Animorph, after all.

Still, it was probably for the best that some wise soul had moved all the other prisoners downstairs.

“...and you can conceal up to 15 knives in the interior pockets alone,” Diaz was telling Marco.  He watched with rapt fascination, leaning over her desk, as she unfolded a butterfly knife one-handed and then swung it closed again.

“Rosa, did you let him out of the cell?” Santiago asked, exasperated.

“Nope.”  Diaz shrugged.  “Must’ve broken out on his own.”

“He didn’t break anything,” Jake called from inside the cell.  “Marco has not damaged or defaced any government property, nor have any of the rest of us.”

“And yet somehow, there are not one but two delinquents meandering unrestrained around my precinct.”  Holt had emerged from his office, and was now looking slowly from Marco to Ax.

“Yeeeaaah, he’s not technically under arrest.”  Peralta jerked his chin at Ax.  “Seeing as he’s not from Earth, we probably can’t arrest him?  And even if we can, it definitely wouldn’t be worth the headache of trying to charge him with anything in intergalactic courts.”

“If you’re not under arrest, you may leave,” Holt told Ax sternly.

Ax straightened up from where he had been eating... something... off the floor of the microwave.  “I am not going anywhere without my friends!”

“That’s so beautiful.”  Boyle swooned against the door frame.  “It’s like you share a six-way love whose unmatched intensity pours out of you...”

“Not in front of the kids, Charles,” Peralta said.

“What?  I was just—”

“If you’re allowed to leave, could you at least go get us some hot dogs or something?” Rachel asked Ax, ignoring the cops.

“Nah, hot dogs are a Chicago thing,” Jake pointed out.  “Go for knishes, or pizza, or... what else is in New York?”

“Those little paper packets of honey-roasted peanuts,” Cassie suggested.

Everyone glanced over when there was a loud thud from across the room, and then back to the conversation when they realized it was just Marco trying, and failing, to get one of Diaz’s knives to stick in the surface of her desk.

«Tacos.»  Tobias looked unerringly at Scully.  «There has to be a taco truck around here somewhere, right?»

“Don’t you worry.”  Scully pulled his partner to his feet, gasping at the effort of unsticking Hitchcock from his comfortable chair.  “Me and Hitchcock’ll show him all the best food trucks in Brooklyn.”

“How many — any — are there?” Ax asked eagerly.

“Two hundred seven, if you don’t count pushcarts or ice cream vendors,” Hitchcock said immediately.

“We shall return with a bounty as great as three sets of human arms can bear,” Ax promised Rachel.

She flashed him a thumbs-up.

“Hot wings!” Cassie called.  “That’s a New York thing, right?  Hot wings?”

“Have we got a sauce for you,” Scully promised, a hand on Ax’s shoulder.

Jeffords ran to intercept them at the door.  “You can’t just wander in and out of the precinct with suspects, Scully!”

«If you don’t like Ax coming and going, you could always just arrest him,» Tobias said acidly.

There was a long silence.  During this silence, Ax slipped out the door with Hitchcock and Scully behind him.

“Kids these days and their attitudes,” Jeffords complained, spinning around too late to intercept Ax and then turning back to give Tobias his sternest stare.  “I should speak to your parents or guardians, young man.”

Tobias laughed.  «Joke’s on you, since I don’t have any parents or guardians.»

“What?”  Jeffords ran forward to press himself against the bars, appalled.  “Do you want to come home with me?  Cagney and Lacey keep telling me they want an older brother, and Sharon makes excellent chicken cacciatore — you don’t have any food allergies, do you?”

“He’s ours and you can’t have him,” Rachel snapped, standing up to get in Jeffords’s face.  She didn’t seem to care much that she had to tilt her head back at a 45-degree angle to make eye contact, and somehow succeeded in conveying that she was looking down at him.

“Duuuuuuude!” Marco exclaimed loudly from across the room.  “You really mean it?”

“Sure.”  Diaz rested a hand on the hatchet that lay across her desk.  “I teach people how to throw ‘em all the time.”

“Marco!”  Rachel turned away to whack on the bars.  “Quit fraternizing with the enemy.”

Peralta gasped loudly.  “We’re the enemy?” he asked in delight.  “Are we your nemeses?  Does this mean that we’re as scary as the Yeerk Empire?”

“Why?”  Jake stood up, making eye contact through the bars.  “Do you want to be?  Are you saying that you’re controllers?”  He took a step forward, not breaking his stare.  “Or was that just an expression of sympathy for their cause?”

“Uh.”  Peralta laughed nervously.  He’d taken several steps back in the last few seconds.  “You know what, never mind.  We’re cool, right?  Alllllll cool.  Super cool.  The coolest.”

“That’s easy to say for someone currently holding us against our will.”  Jake still sounded unamused.  “We have complied fully with your demands up until now, and will continue to do so unless you give us a reason not to.”

“Are you threatening my detective?” Holt asked, very mildly.

“Are you charging me with additional crimes?”  Jake’s voice wasn’t mild at all.

“Have I mentioned that I’m a big fan of you guys’s work?” Peralta asked, making a grand gesture to include all of the Animorphs.  “Because I’m thinking maybe that didn’t come through.  Huge fan.  Love the way you squash those yeerks.  It’s a delight having you here.”

“Of course we’ll go along with whatever you think is best, Officers.”  Jake sat back down.  He had yet to look away from Peralta.

“Amy I think I changed my mind about having kids,” Perlata said all in one breath, smiling and nodding as he continued to back away from the cell.

“No, chicks dig hatchets,” Diaz was explaining to Marco.  “Guys tend to get all weird about it if you start flinging weaponry around.”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense.”  He was still hanging on her every word.

“The trick with guys is to pull out a little bit of that feelings shit.”  Seeing the expression on his face, she shook her head.  “You don’t have to go full-hog and reveal your real name on the first date or anything.”

Marco laughed.  “Oh good.  Because I am not looking for that kind of commitment.  I usually don’t want any commitment to anyone, ever.”

“Good policy.”  Diaz clapped him on the arm.  “Nah, with dudes it only takes a little bit of sappy stuff.  I’m talking a moderate-tier confession, like...”  She considered for a second.  “I keep one of my knives hidden in my boot, and it doesn’t set off metal detectors when I gotta work government buildings.”

“Uh-huh.”  Marco bent over the sheet of paper on his lap, scribbling frantically.

“Are you taking notes?” Rachel called, disgusted.

“More importantly, is he taking notes on the back of his own arrest form?”  Santiago rushed across the room to rescue the rest of the paperwork from Marco’s defacing.

“Nah, it’s cool.”  Diaz held up the back side of Marco’s paper.  “It’s just the arrest sheet where Peralta made four attempts to spell ‘Aximili’ before declaring that we probably couldn’t arrest an alien anyway.”

“Those two events were entirely unrelated!” Peralta said loudly.

“Of course, we all believe you.”  Santiago leaned over to pat him on the arm.

“If they can’t arrest Ax, can they arrest you?” Cassie asked Tobias.

He shrugged, or at least it looked like that’s what he did.  «They still haven’t processed me, so I suspect not.»

“We are going to process you,” Boyle said, “just as soon as we figure out how to scan your fingerprints.”

«But I’m not under arrest yet, am I?»

“Aren’t you guys legally required to release him, then?”  Cassie turned back to the room at large.

“We can hang on to all of you for twenty-four hours,” Santiago called back.

“The question is,” Peralta muttered, “do we want to?”

“I’m gonna keep this one around to bring me iced coffees and gas up my motorcycle.”  Diaz was watching Marco polish one of her axes.  “For a kid, he’s pretty dope.”

Marco gasped, a hand over his heart.  “You don’t mean it!”

She held up a finger.  “Too sappy.”

“I have a hatchet?”  He held it up in offering.

“Better.”

“Speaking of our legal rights,” Rachel said, “can I call my mom?  She’s a lawyer, after all.”

“Yeah, well my mom’s a teacher,” Peralta said immediately.  “And you don’t hear me bragging about it.”

“That’s not the point.”  Santiago sighed loudly.

“The point is,” Holt interjected, “she asked for a lawyer, and we need to provide her with one.”

«Can your mom be my lawyer too?» Tobias asked.

Rachel shrugged.  “Sure.  I think.  Jake already took his phone call, and Cassie wasted hers on checking in at the hospital—”

“I just wanted to be sure that we didn’t permanently injure that man,” Cassie said mildly.  “Only showed him the error of his ways.”

“You did that, all right,” Diaz said.  “I like your style, for what it’s worth.”

Rachel rolled her eyes.

“I like your style,” Marco breathed, staring up at Diaz.  “Teach me everything.”

“You want to be a cop?” Cassie asked him.

“What?  No!”  Marco turned quickly to Diaz.  “No offense, it’s nothing personal, they don’t mean it, but also...”

“Nah, it’s cool.  You’re a smart kid,” Diaz said.  “Cops are losers.”

“Excuse you,” Santiago said, “Could a loser win both the ‘Most Organized Seminar’ and ‘Highly Relevant Community Announcements’ awards from the same commissioner in one year?”  She gestured pointedly to a matching set of plaques on her desk.  “Checkmate.”

“I have brought a bounty of wings!” Ax declared.  At least, it was presumably Ax speaking from behind the teetering stack of take-out boxes that went clear over his head and somehow didn’t include the four additional plastic bags of Chinese food hanging off his arms.

«Ax-Man, you are a god among insects,» Tobias said.

“Not on top of the binders!”  Santiago lunged to shield them with a drawer before Ax’s tower of food boxes could topple onto the front desk.

“Can I have some?” Peralta asked wistfully, watching as Ax slotted an entire pizza box through the bars to where Jake and Cassie could pry it open.

“Here Jakey, we got you a tub of Wing Slut sauce.”  Scully set it reverently on Peralta’s desk.

“Really, you shouldn’t have.”  Peralta scooted his chair back several inches, eyeing the tub with suspicion.

As the better part of the Nine-Nine watched in horrified fascination, Tobias tossed his head back and swallowed a Buffalo wing whole.  After a second he made a hacking sound and spit up the bone, now completely cleaned of all meat.

“You eat wings?” Boyle asked, leaning in to peer through the bars.  “Is that cannibalism?”

“It’s an open question,” Cassie said.  She folded a paper plate taco-style to protect the lo mein inside, sliding it out to Ax.  “Can you make sure Marco eats something with lots of carbs before he goes hatchet throwing?”

Ax took the plate, saluting her with his free hand.  “The sauce is most excellent, sell-lent, when consumed through a straw,” he told Peralta in a conspiratorial whisper as he went by.

Peralta pushed to his feet.  “Yep, I am never having kids, and I am never eating food ever again.”

“Human bodies do not continue living if you do not consume sufficient nutrients.”  Ax pointedly set the lo mein in front of Marco.

“Ha!” Peralta said.  “That’s what everyone said about drinking water, and yet!”

Marco grabbed a handful of noodles straight off the plate and dropped them in his mouth.  “The bagels might be better here, but you can’t beat California’s Chinese takeout,” he concluded after chewing for several seconds.  “Sorry,” he added, glancing up at Diaz.

“If you suck up any harder, you’re going to injure something,” Rachel snarked.

“Why, are you jealous?”  Marco batted his eyelashes at her.

“No, she just remembers that we’re all under arrest right now,” Jake said loudly.  “And that we’re under no obligation to say or do anything without a lawyer.”

“Which is why I’m here.  To ensure you do not talk yourself into any more trouble than you already have.”

Everyone turned to look at the newcomer.

“Hi Aunt Naomi,” Jake said, voice small.

Rachel rounded on him.  “You used your phone call to contact my mom?”

Jake held up both hands.  “I didn’t say anything about the alcohol!”

“Alleged alcohol,” Naomi said loudly.  “Which these minors have not admitted to purchasing or consuming, because they have not made any statement admissible in a court of law, because you have been holding them all here illegally without an advocate.”

“Ma’am, I think you’ll find that we made every effort to secure advocacy and legal representation for these children with all due haste.”  Holt moved smoothly across the room to shake her hand, and then ushered her into a chair.  “Detective Peralta deemed it necessary to hold them here for their own safety until such time as we could obtain statements from everyone involved.”

“Has anyone pressed charges yet?”  Naomi sat in the folding chair like a queen on a throne, and glared at Holt until he — with a wincing glance at the dust on the seat — sat across from her.

“No, ma’am.  The only person likely to do so is still at the hospital,” Holt explained.

“Oh yeah, he said he wasn’t going to,” Cassie called over.

“What,” Peralta said, laughing.  “You just called him on the phone and talked him out of it?  Just like that?”

Cassie shrugged.  “I asked nicely.”

“It’s Cassie,” Marco told Diaz in a stage-whisper.  “She does stuff like that.”

“Hardcore.”  Diaz looked Cassie over.

“But I’m still more hardcore than her, right?”

“Too desperate.”

“I have four knives?”

“Better.  Only four?”

“Where else am I gonna put them?  I can’t morph and wear a leather coat at the same time.”

“Point.”

“If they’re not being charged with anything,” Naomi said overtop all of this, “and they’ve already given their statements, then you need to release them from custody.”

“I’m not comfortable doing that if we’re not releasing them into the hands of a parent or legal guardian,” Holt said.  “I’m given to understand from their earlier statements that Jake is your nephew and Rachel is your daughter?”

Naomi nodded.

“Then I can only release those two to you.”  Holt seemed genuinely regretful that this was the case.  Then again, it was Holt, so it was hard to tell for sure.

«Look, if Jake can go with his aunt, I can go with my uncle, right?» Tobias said.

“Yes, that would be acceptable,” Holt said.

“Thank you, human captain.”  Ax gave a small bow to Holt.  “I accept this responsibility.”

“Wait, wait.”  Santiago looked Ax over.  “No, we’re not going to just... How old are you, anyway?”

“I am eight-six years old,” Ax announced.

“Eighty-six,” she repeated.

Ax stared back at her, implacable.

Holt sighed.  “Obviously, he is referencing the fact that andalite years are approximately point-two-four-one-zero-nine times the length of human years.  However, since the law does not specify whose years one must count in order to determine whether an individual is over the age of eighteen, I believe I take his point.”

“Does this mean I’m eighty-six too?” Marco asked quickly.

“Were you born on Earth?”  Santiago raised her eyebrows at him.

“Uh.”  He glanced at Diaz.  “Wouldn’t you like to know!”

Diaz gave him a subtle fist-bump.

“My son is not an adult, nor does he mean to indicate that he wishes to be charged as an adult,” Naomi said quickly.

“‘Son’?” Marco squeaked.

“‘Son’?” Holt asked, frowning.

“Yes?”  Peralta stuck his head up, took stock of the scene, and quickly sat back down.

“Son.”  Naomi stared straight at Holt.  “In fact, I will be taking all four of my children, both adoptive and biological, when I leave here today.”

“You adopted me?” Marco demanded.  “Do I get a say in this?”

“Do you have proof to back up your assertion that you are these children’s mother?”  Holt hadn’t broken Naomi’s stare either.

“The way I see it, you have two choices.”  Naomi reached into her purse, pulling out one of her own business cards and setting it on the desk between them.  “Either you allow us to walk out of here, in which case I promise you’ll never see any of us again... Or you continue to hold these minors without formal charges and without counsel, in which case I promise to pursue legal action against whatever stray bricks of this precinct are left standing after my daughter and her friends exercise their legal right to exit the building with as much force as they deem necessary.  Which option would you prefer?”

“See?” Jake whispered loudly to Rachel.  “I knew I made the right call by calling your mom.”

“I take your point,” Holt said, after a moment of consideration.  “Very well, you and your children may leave.  Do keep them out of trouble in the future, won’t you?”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Captain Holt.”  Naomi shook his hand.

Boyle was quickly fumbling for the lock on the cell door.  “Can I have your autograph?” he asked Rachel as she went by.

Rachel looked him up and down, and then kept going without a word.

“Here, I’ll do it.”  Cassie took the paper and sharpie from him.

“Can you make it out to ‘Nikolaj’?” Boyle asked, eyes wide.

“Maybe.”  She uncapped the pen.  “Can you spell that?”

“N-I-K-O-L-A-J, oh and can you add something about always listening to his dreams, and also the music of Diana Ross?”

Slowly, Cassie looked up at Boyle.  She capped the pen — she’d settled for “to Nikolaj, from Cassie” — and handed everything back to him.

“Marco, dude, we’re going,” Jake said.  He currently had both arms around Marco’s waist and was pulling him backward from Diaz’s desk.

“But... but...”  Marco looked up at Diaz.  “Call me?”  Immediately he shook his head and said, “too desperate?”

She smirked.  “Nah, you’re cool.”

He let out a lovelorn sigh and went limp, which was all the excuse Jake needed to haul him over one shoulder and head out of the building.  Cassie and Ax followed, Tobias fluttering up to land on Rachel’s shoulder as she headed out too.  Naomi brought up the rear, casting a pointed look around the room as she went.

“Man,” Jeffords sighed, “I should’ve gotten an autograph for my kids too.”  And then he rounded on Peralta, midway through sneaking the Wing Sluts sauce tub into the trash can.  “What did we learn today, Peralta?”

He considered.  “Lawyers suck?”

“No!” Jeffords said.  “Well, they do, but... Santiago?”

She looked up from where she’d been making an incident report to this exact effect.  “Next time we’re thinking about arresting a whole batch of superpowered child soldiers on questionable misdemeanor charges... don’t?”

Holt nodded gravely.  “Well said, Santiago.”

[evolutionsvoid]

Though the savannas are a rather simple looking environment, they are one that is filled with a huge amount of life. Migrating herds can cover the landscape, with fields of browsers and grazers stretching all the way to the horizon. While places like rainforests win out with diversity and the bizarre array of life, the savanna wins by the sheer amount of animals you can witness in plain sight. A fresh morning and a good chair has let me see more creatures in a single day than I have seen in months in other places! This terrestrial sea of life is truly incredible to witness, but these places aren't always packed full. You will notice odd holes and gaps in herds, or stretches of land where no herbivore wishes to step foot. In a world where being in a group is vital for survival, it is strange to see loners sitting out in the open. Usually these avoided creatures are predators, which the reason should be obvious. Some may be for massive creatures that are given a wide berth as no one wishes to be stepped on or knocked about. For one beast, though, there is a special reason. They aren't elephantine or vicious carnivores, but the Catoblepas are certainly dangerous to everything around them. Found grazing in grasslands and savannas, the Catoblepas is quite the peculiar sight. Their bodies are shaped quite normally for a stout herbivore, with a hefty frame and a humped back. The large armored scales are certainly an interesting addition, but not too strange since other herbivores grow their own armor. Their long scaly tails give a reptilian vibe, but still nothing too out of the norm. Then you get to the head of this beast and things get weird. While other creatures hold their heads up high, or at least just hold them up, the Catoblepas lets its noggin just sit on the ground. It isn't temporarily down there for grazing, it stays down there for good. Their long neck seems permanently pointed downward, to the point where old tales say that lifting it upward would suffocate them as they wouldn't know how to breathe or function in this position. This certainly isn't true, but since they rarely ever lift their heads up, you can see why it got started. One of the reasons they may not pick up their heads is because it is a bit bigger than your usual noggin. Looking at their skeleton is a bit comical, because you got this long thin neck and than a chunky skull sitting at the end of it. With their head always sitting on the dirt, one wonders how they move or function. Well, the Catoblepas has come up with some special adaptations to make such an odd position work! If you look at the bottom of the mandible, you will notice it is covered in thick hairs that sprawl all over the place. It is like a beard that is being used like a skirt, but that isn't the weirdest part. Hidden beneath all that hair is a bizarre structure that is made through a unique formation of muscles. The developing and enlarging of these muscles has created something that is akin to the foot of a snail. It is pretty much a fleshy pad of muscle that allows the Catoblepas' head to slowly slither about like a slug. This makes their movements quite interesting to watch, as they must lead with their head anytime they wish to walk. Since this form of travel is sluggish, their body is left waiting for their head to move forward before they can take a single step. When grazing, they will only need their face to get the job done, so their whole body will be sitting still while their head slithers all over the place. Quite bizarre! Still, this mandibular foot does not answer all the questions about the Catoblepas' day-to-day life. If your head is stuck on the ground and you travel with your chin, how do you eat? Once again, this problem is solved by specializing certain muscles. Their lower lip is elongated and specialized to create a proboscis that is similar to an elephant's trunk. This appendage is packed with muscles that give it incredible dexterity and strength, allowing it to pull apart vegetation or yank up buried roots. It also quite sensitive to touch and taste, which it uses to probe out viable food sources. With their heads so low down, eyes aren't really that helpful. You can see this with the messy tangle of hair that constantly covers them, as they don't have much use. Instead it relies on its powerful nose to sniff out food rich areas, than its lip will locate the individual pieces. Grass will be torn and swollen roots will be pulled up and fed to its maw. The Catoblepas chews its food with a front-to-back motion rather than side-to-side, which is assisted by its mandibular foot. It spends a lot of time chewing, making sure it's ground up to an absolute pulp. This is because its dinner has to be forced up its neck to reach its stomach, so the squishier and softer the meal is, the easier it is to swallow! As a strict grazer, the Catoblepas spends a large chunk of its day seeking out and eating vegetation. This lengthy process is mainly because these creatures move at a snail's pace. They are quite slow and never in a hurry to get anywhere. When night falls, they often just sleep where they are, then wake up in the morning and continue their dining. So we got a slow loner herbivore that doesn't take cover at night and has terrible eyesight. Surely these creatures are vulnerable to predators, right? The Catoblepas is not a species that fears running into predators, it is a beast that predators are terrified of running into.

While their goofy appearance and slow ways has made them quite famous around the world, they have another thing that makes them notorious. If one already does not know the answer, then perhaps a look at its colorful display may give a hint. Lots of creatures use their coloration to hide or blend in, but there are some who choose to stand out for a very specific reason. You see, the diet of the Catoblepas is mostly vegetation, but they have specific foods they like the most. Plants tend to develop toxins and poisons to keep herbivores from eating them, and that is what the Catoblepas seeks out. Any poisonous vegetation is free game to this species, as they seem to have an incredible immunity to practically any toxin. As they consume these deadly foods, the toxins and noxious fluids are absorbed and moved to special organs. Located near the respiratory system, these vessels mix these poisons with their own secretions, turn that soup into a vapor and release them on each exhale. This results in the Catoblepas literally breathing poisonous clouds, surrounding itself in a deadly fog. One good breath will get you a lungful of Catoblepas poison and whatever plant toxins it had ingested. This dietary mixture is what makes this weapon so dangerous, as its properties are affected by what it has recently eaten. That means making an antidote or building an immunity is useless, as each cloud will contain a unique mixture of plant poisons. The side effects of inhaling this vapor will also be different each time, as it may result in things like vomiting, paralysis, blindness, swelling, itchiness, muscle spasms and so much more. Whatever the poison of a plant can do to you, the Catoblepas can weaponize and put it in the air. I heard that an Ivy Dryad once fell asleep on a hunting trip and woke up to find a Catoblepas licking her. Though she ran off before it started chewing, that particular beast spent the next few days spraying her burning oils everywhere, which the locals were not a fan of. This incredible defense is why every creature gives a Catoblepas a wide berth. Herbivores and carnivores alike want nothing to do with these beasts. There are a few creatures that can withstand this deathly fog. Dryads can tolerate it, but sometimes it can even be dangerous to us. Some plants create toxins to halt the growth of surrounding competitors, and this poison can be added to the mist. It may not be lethal to us, but it will certainly mess you up for a week or two. Ivy Dryads and their hybrids seem to have the strongest immunity, for the obvious reasons. Funny enough, some say that the art of the Venoness was inspired by the Catoblepas. You can definitely see where one would get that idea! One of the other beasts that may survive the aura of the Catoblepas is their cousins, the Khalkotauroi. These hulking brutes have been seen happily grazing besides their brethren, unfazed by the poisonous air. Honestly, if you see this duo out in the wild, keep far far away. This pairing is certainly one of the most dangerous combinations out there. A mouthful of poison will leave you choking for air, just long enough to get your body splattered across the savanna by the Khalkotauroi. As if those ornery behemoths weren't dangerous enough as it is! With this deadly aura ever present around them, you can see why very few things ever try to eat them. Any attempts must be done during windy days, when the weather blows their clouds away. Even then, one must stay upwind so that the poison isn't blown onto them, but this allows the Catoblepas to smell the attack coming. When agitated, these creatures will snort and churn out even more poison. The best method to take one down is to bait it into using up all its poisonous gas, which will take a bit. Once its stores are all used up, you may be able to attack. This still doesn't guarantee a safe kill, as the Catoblepas has another line of defense. Since it spends all its life marinating in its own vapors, the gas tends to leave a toxic residue on its body. A single cut or scratch from its scales or tusks will introduce the poison into your body. It is best to kill it from afar, aiming for its vulnerable neck. Though I have heard of some tribes hunting Catoblepas before, I certainly wouldn't do it. Every inch of them is poisonous, and the method of making their meat safe to eat is quite lengthy. Seems more trouble than it's worth! I have heard that certain Catoblepas cuts are considered a delicacy in some higher circles, and that baffles me. I have had the chance to eat their meat before and it certainly isn't anything special. It is just beef with a bit of sharpness to it, that is all. For the locals who hunt them, I understand that they need whatever food that they can get. For the rich idiots who call it a delicacy, it seems like nonsense to me. They are just eating it because it is hard to get and expensive. Maybe I should start selling Swamp Basilisk livers for a high price and see how many oafs buy it. Yeah, it taste like bog and death, but it is a delicacy! I swear! As famous creatures, you can imagine the Catoblepas has made quite the impact. Their notoriety and bright colors make them a must-see for travelers and tourists. Their colorful pelts and shiny scales are sought after by collectors and hunters, though they must be very careful when handling them! This same armor is also popular for native warriors and hunters, as it offers great defense. Practitioners of Thericorium also value the sturdiness and strength of these scales. The added color is also a nice touch! While some good can be made from these beasts, Catoblepas are very much feared when they are alive and walking about. Their poisonous fog can create a whole lot of problems, and many of these issues can lead to death. Just breathing it in is an obvious danger, and it is hazard that can take out anyone. Hunters and travelers are advised to keep close attention to their surroundings, as a nearby beast and a strong breeze can be fatal. Local hunters often refer to these beasts as the "Killer of Fools" and a tool of the gods to weed out the sloppy and stupid. In their eyes, every hunter should be aware of their surroundings and be mindful of the beasts and environment. To be caught in the cloud either means you missed the big colorful ungulate that was shuffling about or you weren't paying attention to the wind which is vital for taking down prey undetected. Screw any of those two up and you are no hunter! Those out hunting the wilds, though, aren't the only ones who must fear its poison. Farmers and livestock owners must be sure to keep any of these beasts away, lest they poison their animals or leave a toxic residue on their crops. This can destroy one's livelihood, but some have found an advantage to this deadly fog. One local tale speaks of a farmer whose crops were spared from a locust plague due to a Catoblepas being nearby. This taught the people the idea of pest control, and using specialized poisons to protect their plants. There is a famous plantation in these lands that is run by Ivy Dryads and actually keeps several Catoblepas on the property. Immune to its poisons, they feed these beasts certain plants and mixtures so that their fog is tuned to warding off pests and parasites. It also has the added bonus of keeping away thieves, as these crops are poisonous until they are properly cleaned. It seems like a risky bet to me, but apparently their produce is top notch, so what do I know? To properly and thoroughly wash my fruits and vegetables is what I know! Catoblepas are also carefully watched to make sure they don't go near the village's water source. Though the small amount of fog that touches the water may be diluted and neutralized, having a Catoblepas dunk itself for a bath will certainly cause some havoc. There is even a famous story that speaks of two greedy brothers that angered the gods, which involved one of these incidents. Apparently this duo was taking more from the land than they were giving, hunting and killing every beast they saw. A Catoblepas was sent by the gods to stop them, but the clever brothers drove it into a pond where the water washed away all its poison. They then killed it and hacked off its tusks as trophies. After a few more days of butchering the local wildlife, they headed back home to their family for a celebration. The whole family cooked up their spoils and had a feast. During this indulgent banquet, though, everyone grew sick and died. It turned out that the mother of the two had gone and drawn water from this pond after they had killed the Catoblepas. This poisoned drink was unknowingly served to the whole family and struck them down. This tale no doubt drove many to come up with ways to keep these beasts away from their homes and resources. Funny enough, one of the ways to ward off these creatures is to put up low fences or sharp stakes on the ground. Since it can't really lift its head, any obstacle that it can't crawl over is avoided. I mean, if you had to walk with your face, you wouldn't be all that adventurous either!         Due to their anatomy and poisonous aura, the Catoblepas has been used to describe a certain condition. It is called Catoblepas Syndrome, and it plagues researchers, archivists and students alike. It arises during long periods of intense research, or when exams are on the horizon. Those who hole themselves up to study and read for hours on end, burying their faces in books and scrolls. Permanently hunched over their desks and work stations, their necks forever point downward into their notes. As they feverishly read and write, they neglect proper hygiene and cease to bathe, resulting in the most putrid of smells! Friends, families and coworkers alike are driven away by this deathly cloud, fearful of the monster that created it! Truly this tragic disease has claimed many obsessed researchers, nearly taking me in its clutches! Thankfully I was saved by a coworker who got me to take a break and a bath! Disaster averted! Ha! But seriously, for all you studious folk out there, be sure to take a break from your work from time to time. A strong mind is a healthy mind! And be sure to bathe too, the whole world will thank you for that!   I do have to say, I am very thankful that my work on these creatures is done through writing and not through verbal presentation. Their name is an absolute nightmare for me to pronounce and I am happy I have not humiliated myself on stage trying to say it. Props to the researchers who do speak to audience about the Catoblepas and nail the pronunciation every time. If it were me, people would be learning about the wonders and adaptations of the Catobleyplebusmoos. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian ------------------------------------------------- This thing took me waaaay too many tries to draw. I would get halfway done and think "nah this sucks," then try again. After three times, I finished the piece, colored it in and said "nah this sucks." The colors were what killed the last version, as I went with bland grays and browns. I was trying to do the dumb "mammals are drab earthy colors" thing, but that is a boring restriction I somehow have. Mammals come in all sorts of colors, so there is no excuse. Then I also got to thinking that poisonous animals rarely want to blend in, as they advertise their dangerous nature quite blatantly. I figured a famously noxious creature like the Catoblepas would believe in aposematism and would make sure the whole world knew they were there. My sister picked out the ring-necked snake as an inspiration (which turns out isn't all that dangerous, but dang those colors are good) and I went with that! So these beasties are a lot more colorful now! May seem quite odd out in the middle of a savanna or grassland, but I think any creature would respect the visual warning from a beast that spews clouds of death.

[jaybug-jabbers]

Top 3 Pokemon Types

I thought it would be fun to do this. Several months back I saw people listing their favorite pokemon of a given type, and I didn’t participate at the time. So, here are my top 3 types. Starting with my most beloved:

Bug

Many folks have mocked me for having Bug as my favorite Type, and that’s ok. I’ve always been a fan of the underdog, of the underappreciated.

And the truth is, I have loved bugs in real life since I was a teeny tiny lassie. I studied them a ton, wrote about them, kept all kinds as pets, and my mother was even understanding enough to once allow me to capture mosquito larvae (mosquito pupae are called tumblers, incidentally!) and feed them and let them develop into mosquitoes. (We, uhh, we kept a stocking/netting over the bug bottle top so they could not escape and released the adults outdoors away from the house, haha.) I also would go out in the early hours of the morning with my little brother with a giant bucket, and pluck all the slugs and snails from the garden and go dump them in a field, so that my parents wouldn’t kill them.

Also, err, my brother and I had a bug club. It had a newsletter. Look, we liked bugs OK XD I’m getting off track OK BACK TO POKEMON

Anyone who is a fairly big fan of pokemon is probably aware of how Pokemon’s creator, Satoshi Tajiri, was first inspired to create pokemon. Yep, he was a major bug collector as a child, and it was this passionate hobby of his youth blended with his love of video games and inspiration drawn from toy capsule machines that led to the idea of collecting capsule monsters in a Gameboy game.  As such, I feel like it’s actually very fitting to give Bug type its dues in these games. They are the spirit of pokemon in its purest form, in a way.  Satoshi Tajiri wanted folks to connect with nature and not forget about it completely in the modern world, and for me, humble bugs have often been that connection.

Another reason I feel bugs are a very pure form of the pokemon spirit is because pokemon has always been about not simply training the ‘strongest’ species. It’s about the idea that everyone, every person and pokemon, has potential if they put effort into finding and developing that potential. Bugs are often taken for granted, underestimated, and even feared or hated. But they deserve love and deserve a chance like everyone else, and if you care for them, they just might surprise you with what they can accomplish.

Besides, I like a challenge. :P

Flying

This is another type I love in large part because of how much I adore the real-life counterparts. Birds have been really important to me for a while. I actually spent a huge chunk of my youth deeply invested in a birdkeeping and bird breeding hobby. I owned several large flights, an aviary, and eventually built a bird room in the garage with a bunch of breeding cages. I helped teach classes about birds at a community center, I sold offspring to petshops, I was an avid participant in birdkeeping mailing lists, I volunteered at wildlife rehabs and took in a number of rescue birds. I was pretty serious about things and at the time, and wanted to pursue a career in animal husbandry or veterinary medicine.

I also was a passionate bird-watcher. These days I don’t own birds, and I rarely go bird-watching (seems I’m too busy usually, alas), but my love of all things avian has never really left me. There’s a feeling of joy and peace that comes from just being around birds; it’s hard to describe. I’ve also always had a strong fondness for being in high places, and … well, to use a popular meme, I guess you could say birds (& bugs) are my “spirit animal.”

In terms of the Typing in the actual game, Flying pokemon tend to be very versatile and practical. Offensively it’s a great type to use, hitting most things for neutral damage, with no immunities and a couple important super-effective uses, as grass and fighting are really common in-game. Defensively, it’s a pretty good bet too, with a really nice immunity and relatively few weaknesses. But, again– its primary strength as a Type is its versatility. Like the Normal type, it just tends to be a good bet for hitting most things for solid neutral damage, and Flying pokemon are flexible and useful in a variety of situations. I really enjoy the all-purposeness of that, and they tend to be my stalwart, reliable teammembers, as well as my dedicated HM flyers, yes. (well! Until Sun/Moon.) Time and time again, when I do in-game runs, I tend to get very close to my Flying types on the team, sometimes even moreso than my Starters. Despite not being rock types, they tend to be my rock.

Dragon

Now, I know what you’re thinking. After all my praise for the humble bugs and the common yet versatile birds, I’m going to go and pick ‘dragon’ as my third favorite type. To you, I say, you’re not my dad, I can do what I want.

But seriously, I just really like dragons. Always had a love for mythical creatures. They’re just COOL! Honestly, that’s my only reason behind this one. It’s not even that dragon types tend to be super powerful, though that’s cool too. It’s just that they’re neat. Rarrrarr dragons rarr.

I mean, while other little girls my age were dressing as fairy princesses and such on Halloween, I was dressing up as a dragon. ‘Cos dragons.

I’m sorry-- I wish I had more to say here, but my love of dragons is just that simple, I suppose. Honestly it’s funny because I don’t even LIKE a lot of the more popular dragons in pokemon– I don’t care for the designs. (Dragonite looks too goofy to me, Altaria is poopy,  Salamence looks dumb …) But a ton are really bad-ass! They may be rarely on my actual team, and there may not be a lot of pokemon even for this type, but I still love them enough to be my third favorite type.

My 3 least favorite Types are Fairy (most are very pink and girly, and I’m a gal who just tends to not like excessively pink, frilly things. just not my cuppa), Fighting (I don’t like a lot of excessively-humanoid pokemon designs) and Steel, I guess (honestly it’s a little OP, not my playstyle, and I just don’t happen to like most of the designs for steel types).

That’s it for now!

This is a repost on a new blog. The original post was on Feb 19, 2017.

[frunbuns]

Salamanders and Porcupines

Chapter 6: Hogsmeade

Newt, Leta and Tina enjoy an afternoon in Hogsmeade and Newt, Tina and Queenie share some candy in the Hufflepuff common-room.

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Read on Ao3

It was the first weekend of October and therefore the Hogwarts students’ first, very anticipated, Hogsmeade weekend. Newt, Leta and Tina walk up to the village at a comfortable pace, none of them are in any rush to get to the stores, unlike many of their peers who are practically running to the small shops. Especially third years who have never been to the small village before and are very enthusiastic about it.

Unfortunately Queenie wasn’t allowed to come because she’s only a second year, much to her annoyance. Begging hadn’t worked for her, but Tina had promised to buy her something from one of the stores. It had made Queenie a little less annoyed about it, but she was still rather irritated by the whole ordeal.

“So this is your first time in Hogsmeade?” Leta asks.

Tina nods. “Well yeah,” she replies. “This is my first time in the UK too.”

Leta laughs, practically face palming. “Of course. I’m an idiot.”

Newt snorts.

“Honestly, I’m lucky I still got to come after I set off those dungbombs in  Prendergast’s office,” Leta says with a laugh.

Tina raises her brows, but doesn’t say anything. She just looks at Newt, who shrugs nonchalantly, all too used to Leta’s shenanigans by now.

“I would have gotten away with it too, if Newt would help me make Polyjuice potion,” Leta says. “He’s brilliant at Potions, you see.”

“I really don’t think giving you Polyjuice is a good idea,” Newt says.

Leta scoffs in mock offense. "Says the one who has a stash of his brother in his room."

Tina stifles a giggle behind her hand.

"I don't use them anymore!" Newt says, hurriedly. He looks down at the ground. "Theseus had a fit when he caught me last time…"

Leta sighs exasperatedly. "Blimey, Newt," she says. "I told you to be more careful."

Newt shrugs.

They stop just before the shops start. Tina looks down the crowded street with wonder in her eyes. They practically sparkle as she takes it all in, an expression of awe on her face. Newt can’t help but smile at that, a warm feeling spreading in his chest. He shares a look with Leta, who smirks bemusedly.

“Is it true that there aren’t any wizarding-only villages in America?” Leta asks.

Tina shakes her head. “Not that I know of, no.”

“Well - I’m going to Zonko’s Joke Shop first,” Leta says, jovially, and starts walking towards it confidently. “There are a few things I need to buy.”

Newt purses his lips. It sounds like Leta is looking for more trouble, which rarely turns out well. For him or her. She always has a way with dragging him into her messes, too caught up in her own world sometimes to notice. Sometimes, too cunning and persuasive for her - and his - own good. Not that he ever was a stickler to the rules either. He’s always too much of a Hufflepuff to let her go down alone.

Besides, someone has to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself in the process.

They glance at each other and quickly follow behind Leta, jogging to catch up with her. She stops in from of the door for a second, before grabbing the handle and opening the door.

The shop is full, filled to the brink with people. All of which are chattering loudly between themselves. Newt quickly swallows down the feeling of discomfort and walks in with Leta and Tina.

They squeeze past a group of fourth years towards a shelf by the register. Leta glances at the artifacts thoughtfully. Her eyes settle on some Hiccough Sweets. She picks up a tin and inspects it.

"Should I buy Hiccough Sweets?" She asks.

"What's 'Hiccough Sweets'?" Tina asks from behind Newt.

"They make you hiccough when you eat them," Newt explains. 

Tina's brows raise, but she doesn't say anything about it.

A group of fourth years walk past them, bumping into Newt, who stumbles and bumps into Tina. She stumbles, having not expected the extra weight and bumps into a couple of shelves along the wall. Thankfully, nothing gets knocked down.

Newt looks at her panicked. "So sorry!" he apologizes, heart beating rapidly against his rib cage. "I'm so sorry!"

Tina brushes off her robes and smiles at him. "It's okay, really," she says. "It wasn't your fault."

Leta turns around, two tins of Hiccough Sweets in her hand, and smiles. "I'm getting two," she says. "Maybe I can trick the first years into eating some. The muggleborns are especially gullible, you know."

Newt purses his lips. He already feels bad for those first years. It's a harmless prank, but it's not always pleasant to fall victim to Leta's shenanigans. Besides, it really does not give them any reason to like her, which no one seems to do in the first place.

Leta turns to Tina. "You wanted to buy something for your sister, right?"

Tina nods.

"We should go to Honeydukes then," she she says. "I bet she'll like some candy from there. They have the best chocolate."

Leta pays for her Hiccough Sweets and leads them out of the store and over to Honeydukes, not far down the street. Honeydukes is even more full than Zonko’s Joke Shop was, full of bustling students eager to buy some candy. Most of them likely hasn’t had any sweets since the train ride to Hogwarts.

Leta shows Tina around the shop and they end up buying a couple Chocolate Frogs and Jelly Slugs, as well as some other sweets that looked interesting, for them and Queenie to share back at Hogwarts. After they’ve paid for it all Leta drags them over to the Three Broomsticks for some Butterbeer after hearing that Tina’s never had one.

They don’t head back to Hogwarts until the sun starts setting. They bid Leta goodbye and head to the Hufflepuff common-room where Queenie waits for them. Tina watches as Newt knocks on the barrel in the rhythm of ‘Helga Hufflepuff’. The door swings open and they step in.

“Are you sure I’m allowed in?” Tina asks, sounding unsure. “It’s just that the Gryffindors are very particular about it.”

“I’m sure,” Newt says. He smiles a little. “Hufflepuffs are quite different from the other houses, you see.”

They pass by a group of younger Hufflepuffs and Tina lets her gaze flick over the room. Her expression becomes on of awe. Newt can’t help but smirk bemusedly at her.

The fireplace crackles from the other side of the room, casting the whole room in a warm, comforting glow. The room is filled with quet chatter. In one end of the room a couple of students are playing wizarding chess, in the other, some first-years are frantically reading through a Potions book.

“Teenie! Newt! You’re back!”

This seems to snap Tina out of her trance.

“How was it?” Queenie asks excitedly. “What did you buy?

She drags them over to the couch in front of the fireplace and forcibly sits them down. Tina snorts and empties her pockets onto the table. Newt does the same and Queenie practically bounces out of her seat. She grabs one of the chocolate frogs and takes it out of the box before taking a huge bite out of it. A collectible trading card fall into her lap.

“Oh, what’s this?” she asks, studying it. “Almeric Sawbridge?”

“They’re - They’re collectible cards,” Newt answers. “You trade them. Theseus used to collect them. He gave them all to me when he graduated.”

“Cool,” Queenie says.

She pops the last half of the chocolate frog into her mouth and grabs another chocolate. She opens it and looks at the card in that one.

“Andros the Invincible… Cool.”

Newt fiddles with his hands in his lap. “You could - You could have them if you want,” he mumbles, looking at the sisters gingerly through his fringe. “I don’t really care for them all that much.”

“I couldn’t do that!” Queenie says.

“I really don’t mind. I’d rather you have them than having them be forgotten at the bottom of my trunk.”

Queenie contemplates for a moment, but eventually relents. “If you insist,” she says.

Tina picks up a jelly slug from the table.

“it’s really nice here,” she says. “A lot different from Ilvermorny, to be honest.”

Newt grabs a chocolate frog and gives the card to Queenie. 

“Really?” he asks. “How so?”

“Well - we don’t have as many ghosts for one,” Queenie says.

“And the houses are different,” Tina adds. “They have different criteria I guess.”

“What house do you think I would be in?” Newt asks.

Tina picks up a chocolate frog.

“Um - I could see you in Thunderbird, I think,” Tina says. “But I might just be biased.”

“Or Pukwudgie,” says Queenie.

Tina nods. “That too.”

“What do they mean?” Newt asks.

“Thunderbird represents the soul. It tends to favour adventurers.” Tina explains. “And Pukwudgie represents the heart. It takes healers.”

“Interesting…” Newt mutters. “You really think I’d be a good fit for any of them?”

“Maybe even both,” Queenie says.

Newt’s brows furrow. “Both?”

“You can be picked by multiple houses and then decide which one you want to be in,” Tina says. 

Newt pops a sweet into his mouth. 

“That could never happen here,” Newt says. “You’re either a Hufflepuff or you’re not.”

Tina tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“What houses do you think we’d be in then?” she asks.

Newt looks at them thoughtfully for a moment. “Actually, I think Queenie would make an excellent Hufflepuff.”

“Ooh!” Queenie coos.

He looks at Tina and smiles shyly. “I can see you being a fierce Gryffindor - or even a brilliant Ravenclaw.”

“You really think so?” Tina asks.

Newt nods. “You have a lot of qualities that would go well with either.,” he says. “You’re smart, but you’re also brave - even if you’re a bit shy sometimes.”

Tina blushes. “Thank you.”

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 42: The Show Must Go On

Becoming The Mask

It felt so good to jump back into his usual routine on Monday morning. Jim hummed as he diced vegetables for omelettes. He'd need to go grocery shopping after school, or maybe shop tomorrow and do coupon clipping today. How much leftover pizza did they have? Enough for dinner?

Maybe dinner for one, he confirmed, checking the fridge, so he really should pick up something more substantial. Unless …

Yes, there were cans of mushroom soup in the cupboards, so if they had that for dinner tonight, Jim could put off grocery shopping for one more day.

He brought Barbara's breakfast upstairs. She'd remembered to take off her own glasses last night. Jim kissed her forehead on reflex, and then froze.

Barbara didn't stir. He let out a whisper-soft sigh.

For the past week, Jim and Toby had been brushing their teeth side-by-side, since the Domzalskis only had one bathroom and there was only so much time in the morning before school. Jim had started checking on Jay-Jay using his cellphone instead, even after Toby learned he was a Changeling. Today, brushing his teeth alone, he spat on the mirror again.

Toby deserved something special for lunch, Jim thought, considering how well he had been handling all the strangeness and stress that Jim dragged into his life. Let's see, there were still more eggs …

Jim went through the first few steps of making French toast, but as soon as one side of the bread was finished and flipped, he put cheese on top to melt. He was frying thin slices of onion and tomato and some diced red peppers as well.

Toby loved Chef Jim's Famous Ultimate Grilled Cheese.

Jim left Barbara's lunch in the fridge, like usual, and left to bike to school with Toby, like usual.

It felt wonderful to cook in his own kitchen again.

+=+ 

Jim seemed chipper, Walt noticed. He hoped that meant the boy was in positive contact with his Familiar's mother again, not that Jim was putting up a façade.

Of course he wanted Jim to be able to hide his feelings well, especially vulnerability. Such thespianism was a vital life skill for any Changeling. But he could hope for Jim to genuinely experience whatever positive emotions the young Changeling expressed as well.

"I've got some worrying news," Jim announced, popping into Walter's office after school. The words were at odds with his tone, grin, and bouncing step. "We have a ticking clock, of sorts? The kids want to tell their families trolls are real. Mom hasn't met them but she knows they exist and she's given us a month to do it before she starts trying. So, they're trying to persuade Vendel it's a good idea. Thoughts?"

Walter just gaped. Jim had barely gotten the door closed before he started bubbling out this very disconcerting information. He was still adjusting the piano stool.

"I suppose the possibility of a troll being photographed or filmed and spread by social media could make it worth attaining human allies who are beyond adolescence."

Mrs Nuñez was a local politician, and Mr Scott was a police officer. The scope of damage control they could truly offer in the event of a secrecy breech was limited but existent. Truly, Dr Lake would probably be the best 'respectable figure' to calm the public, if it came to that, since many humans assumed their politicians and law enforcement were corrupt in any case, but first it would be best to try discrediting the evidence and minimizing its exposure.

"Yeah, Mary pointed out basically every human has a camera at all times now." Jim turned idly side-to-side on the rotating stool. "I'm worried about Enrique, though. If Claire exposes him to their parents … He can't 'stay with a friend' like I did while they cool down. But if they're only letting him stay for appearances and don't get a chance to calm down –" He spun all the way around. "D'you think we can talk her out of it?"

"You know Ms Nuñez better than I. Do you?"

Jim made a whining noise high in his throat and spun the stool again, in the opposite direction this time.

"If it's any comfort," Walter offered, "I've seen Ms Janeth's rehearsal and performance schedule for this week, and I imagine Ms Nuñez will be too thoroughly occupied with the Montague-Capulet feud to want to create additional family strife off-stage."

There was a rehearsal for the first three afternoons that week, with the full dress rehearsal Wednesday, opening night on Thursday, and with Friday and Saturday performances to follow.

He should tell Jim about his own worrying news, his plans to leave Arcadia once he found a deputy who wouldn't be subverted or murdered, but Walter hesitated. Face to face with Jim, he found himself wondering if he ought to leave at all. His presence offered some token protection; Otto knew, even if the Polymorph survived a fight with the Trollhunter, Walter would bring about consequences. But if Walter were gone, Otto would have time to disappear.

But Jim was an excellent fighter in his own right, Walter chided himself. The boy had successfully stabbed Bular and lived to tell the tale! And he'd be safer still if – when – Walter's plan succeeded.

Still, he hadn't found a deputy, so perhaps he needn't add to the boy's worries yet.

+=+

"There's a school play," said Jim, apropos of nothing, at dinner on Tuesday night. "Later this week. I'm not in it, but, do you want to go anyway?"

"That sounds nice," said Barbara. "I'll try to clear my schedule."

"It's three nights. I could get tickets for all three. You know, school fundraisers, they're not going to turn down extra money."

"What's the troll school system like?" Barbara had decided to try to ask this sort of thing casually whenever a conversation seemed like it could flow in that direction, to get Jim used to telling her things about trolls and get herself used to hearing it.

"I have no idea. I've never seen a school in Trollmarket, though, so they might do an apprenticeship instead of general education? I'll ask Blinky. Or you could ask Blinky."

Barbara hesitated. She wasn't sure she had the nerve to go back underground yet. "You should invite him to dinner some time."

Jim laughed. "I don't know if you'd want that if you knew what trolls ate." He gasped at his own words. "I meant garbage! The stuff trolls eat is usually really unappetizing to a human. Smelly socks are tasty snacks. I mean, we've – Changelings – we've found some stuff that tastes good in both forms, but I don't know how good they'd be to an unaltered troll."

+=+

"Where have you been, young lady?"

"Dress rehearsal?" Claire frowned at her parents. "The school play, remember?"

Enrique made a happy noise from his doorway-mounted baby-bouncer. Sometimes that dispelled the tension. Tonight it didn't.

"We're very proud you're keeping your commitment to the school," said Javier. "But you have to call us when you're going to be out late. We were worried."

"I told you when you dropped me off this morning!"

She had. Enrique had been in his car seat right behind her. He hated that thing. It was cushioned, and his Familiar's parents had been very fussy about making sure the straps weren't too tight when they noticed he always cried when they put him in it, but that wasn't the point. He hated not being able to move. He couldn't wait until he got big enough not to need it anymore.

"You at least remembered you promised to come tomorrow, right?" Claire continued, narrowing her eyes.

Ophelia checked her phone. Behind the parents' backs, Enrique winced.

"Of course. For opening night."

+=+

"Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance," said Logan – Mercutio – to Steve.

"Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes, with nimble soles. I have a soul of lead, so stakes me to the ground I cannot move."

"Steve's a better actor than I thought," Toby whispered to Darci. He and Nana had ended up beside her and her parents. Darci's dad was a huge, muscle-y guy who had given Toby a suspicious look when the teens greeted one another by name, but hadn't tried to stop them from sitting next to each other.

Steve seemed utterly woebegone, being dragged by his friends to a party to make him forget the girl Romeo liked before meeting Juliet. Toby hadn't known Romeo had a past love – he'd never actually seen the play, but he'd thought part of the point of it was that first love made the characters reckless?

Mercutio launched into a speech about some fairy queen creating nightmares until Romeo interrupted him – "Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talk'st of nothing!" – and Benevolio pointed out they were missing the party they'd planned to crash – "This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves. Supper is done, and we shall come too late."

Toby had to choke back a laugh, midway through the next act, when Romeo approached his priest friend and Friar Laurence fretted that young people didn't tend to be awake so early, and so Romeo must not have slept.

"The last is true. The sweeter rest was mine."

"God pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline?!"

Who knew Shakespeare had snuck so many raunchy and risqué stuff into his work? When Mary, as the Nurse, thought Juliet was simply sleeping in as opposed to faking her death, she teased that Juliet's arranged marriage would be keeping her up late soon and so it was best Juliet got as much sleep as she could before.

"Why, lamb! Why, lady! Fie, you slug-a-bed! Why, love, I say! Madam! Sweet-heart! Why, bride! … What, not a word? You take your pennyworths now. Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, the County Paris hath set up his rest, that you shall rest but little. God forgive me," she added idly, in that way that meant she was only apologizing because it was expected, not because she was truly sorry.

There was a curtain across the stage, dividing Nurse from Juliet's 'bed' while the audience could see both of them.

"Marry and amen, how sound is she asleep! I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam!" Mary pulled the curtain back. "What, dressed and in your clothes, and down again? I must needs wake you." She started to shake Juliet, growing increasingly frantic as Claire appeared limp and unresponsive. "Lady? Lady! Lady!"

Mary's last cry was a full-on scream that made everyone jump.

It wasn't really all that different from a soap opera. Even with all the death and tragedy, Toby was quite enjoying the play.

At least, he was, up until the last scene.

"What's here? A cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end. Oh, churl – drunk all, and left no friendly drop, to help me after? I will kiss thy lips. Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, to make die with a restorative."

Juliet leaned over Romeo. Toby had heard, once, somewhere, that the hardest role in theatre was a dead body, because the actor would feel the urge to move or laugh. Steve let out a brief little "ha!" at the kiss, and then went back to being dead.

"Thy lips are warm … Then I'll be brief. Oh, happy dagger," drawing it from Romeo's scabbard, "this is thy sheath!"

Toby, and several others in the audience, gasped as Claire pressed the prop weapon to her stomach.

"There, rust … and let me die."

"What?" Toby whispered. "Juliet dies in this? No!"

The curtain closed, and Eli came out to deliver the epilogue. "A gloomy peace, this morning with it brings. Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; for never was a story of more woe, than this of Juliet and her Romeo!"

The audience applauded, and cheered, and whistled, and Claire and Steve got up and started bowing. But all Toby could see was his friend collapsing from a stab wound.

"Toby?" said Darci, putting her hand on his. "You okay?"

"I can't believe Juliet died …"

Jim kept warning them that troll stuff could get them killed. Toby had tried to take the warnings seriously, he really had. This, though, actually seeing Claire die – even a staged death she got right back up from, like Juliet's first, fake death with sleeping potion – this hit Toby harder than all of those warnings all at once.

He forced himself to his feet, forced a congratulatory smile onto his face, and forced his hands into applause.

+=+

Previous Chapter (Vendel is reluctant to let more humans learn trolls exist)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (Toby has an emotional breakdown)

Whee, I figured out a way to make Romeo and Juliet plot relevant!

I actually read a transcript of 'Romeo and Juliet' to prepare this chapter. I really wanted Mercutio's Queen Mab speech, but couldn't justify quoting the whole thing, so I just referenced it happening on stage. (No, I didn't study this play in school. The Shakespeare plays we studied were Twelfth Night, Julius Ceaser, Hamlet, and the Scottish play with the cursed name. You know the one.)

Logan is the guy partnered with Mary in the flour babies episode. Darci mentions, "Logan and Mary already killed theirs. They gave Dwight D. Eisen-flour a bath and he turned into mush." Based on screenshots of the classroom, I think Logan is also the unnamed boy seen in the seats at play tryouts.

My high school typically did three performances of the school play, on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Arcadia Oaks High School seems to do only one performance, but I think that's because the first half of the first season ends on opening night and the writers were done with that plotline. The next episode starts a month later, according to Toby's dialogue. That's plenty of time for more performances.

In other news, I’m thinking of doing a podfic for this story. My computer has a decent microphone, but I can’t seem to convert M4A files into MP3s, except by using external websites. I’ve followed the tutorial for doing the conversion with Windows Media Player exactly and it doesn’t work. I need MP3s if I’m going to post podfic on tumblr because tumblr can’t accept M4A uploads.

Apparently I’ll need to have the files hosted on another website, because AO3 can’t accept audio files downloaded directly or works imported from tumblr. SoundCloud sounds like it would work? Do people have recommendations or suggestions? 

[lethesomething]

Campaign resources: Torotuga, the pirate den

After three days of sailing, land finally came into view. A large island, with a small fortified city on one end, cut off from the rest of the island by steep mountains and dense jungles.  To my dismay, however, the captain curved away from that crest of civilization, turning the ship in a large arc towards the back of the island, where nothing but dense forests and swamp greeted us.

“Hoist the flag” the captain shouted, and one of the crew came out with a piece of black cloth, which he unfurled to show a white painted, rather crude depiction of a turtle. With that, a hush fell over the deck and the ship veered into a large mangrove forest, a maze of brakkish water, low fog and bleached trees. I swear I saw movement in those trees. Little flickers of light, be they lanterns or will o’ wisps, and the occasional glint of steel. It was clear to everyone traveling with me, that we were being watched. (from ‘The Sea-Faring Adventures of Milton Hornswaddle’)

Torotuga is your prototypical Pirate’s Den. It lies on the swampy half of Rhea Island, in the middle of a heavily contested region in the ocean. The island itself ‘belongs’ to the sea-faring and conquering nation of Pardoba, and it holds an outpost in the form of the military fort town of Santa Gasso. However, most of it is densely forested and if not unexplored, then at the least uncontrollable, blocked off as it is from the fort by a sheer mountain range and dense jungles. It is here, deep in a mangrove maze called the Forest of Skeleton Fingers, that you can find the bustling city of Torotuga.

The ship continued on through these treacherous waters, narrowly avoiding collisions with trees and rocks, until we finally reached what I had feared all along, a dead end. It was then that the captain came out and marched up to the bow. “Oy! Open the facking gate, ya crusty cumstain!” To my wonderment, I heard a voice coming from the nearby trees. “State your name and business,  cuntwaddle” “Marston ya old pissdog, you know damn well who I am.” There was a moment of silence, and I held my breath at such signs of incivility, praying for the gods to save me from the arrows that were sure to befall us, when the ship’s captain sighed. “I am Captain Orsric Graverobber Bones, of the Drunken Elephant. Me and my crew kindly request entry,” he said, in a tone that suggested ennui to a point i would not be able to muster. “Good enough for ya, ya vomit covered sea slug?” And with a creaking sound, a wall that had appeared to only be dead trees blocking our path, was lifted, revealing a hitherto unseen waterway further into the forest. (from ‘The Sea-Faring Adventures of Milton Hornswaddle’)

A Safe Harbor

The town of Torotuga holds about 500 semi-permanent residents, a number that can be boosted up to 2.000 by visitors.

The populace holds a few notorious criminals that have settled down far away from the law, as well as travelers and actual colonists that have stuck around. About a third of the permanent residency, however, consists of escaped slaves, either native  to neighboring islands or brought here from far-off places to work on the plantations and farms of Pardoba and a few other nations.

Trade

It is clear almost immediately to any somewhat intelligent adventurer, that the economy of Torotuga is mostly illicid, and largely circular. This is a trade hub and stock-up place for privateers and pirates, though adventuring parties, specialized traders and even certain military groups (of the underground variety) also frequent the place.

The largest trade here is ‘entertainment’. The economy of Torotuga consists for about 60 percent out of brothels and bars. Coming off a boat in the bustling harbor part of the town means  weaving your way through runners and trade deals, to be met by a veritable row of… very friendly people. Men and women beckon you, wearing bright clothes, some quite revealing, and made up with red lips and dark eyes.

Another large trade here are pawn shops or, if they try to be fancy, ‘antiques stores’. On the outskirts of the town you’ll find fishermen and a few farming communities, eking out a living on the edges of the jungle.

Architecture and craft

Torotuga gets most of its supplies from passing ships, and it shows. Most of its buildings are made out of scavenged wood and smelted or otherwise repurposed parts. Newer buildings use a mixture of ancient techniques, such as woven vines, and parts made out of metal or imported bricks.

Everything about this town has a distinct improvisational feel. The furniture and decorations are either made out of barrels, stolen off of ships or built new, with themes that remind you of the cultures native to the islands here. The whole town is a mishmash of styles, techniques and bits and bobs. True master craftsmen, however, are few in number.

There are a few carpenters, mostly specialized in boats. Apart from that you can find some relatively skilled weavers, leather workers and woodworkers, as well as smiths. Any mastercraft weaponry or armor found here is probably found or plundered, though.

It is, however, important to know that you can find Anything here, if you search hard enough. The people of Torotuga are good at finding ways, certainly if there’s coin in it. If you let them know you need a seamstress, for instance, they will absolutely find someone, even if it is the cook’s old nan, to do your thing for a pretty price.

Safety

Torotuga runs on ‘pirate’s honor’, which is to say, controlled anarchy. The place does not have a single point of authority, but instead had several factions who look out for their own. Some of the most feared of these are the Whores Patrol, a group of vigilantes that see to it that the prostitutes of the island can do their jobs safely. The artisans also have a neighbourhood watch of sorts, which is Extremely Protective of its members and most shops and bars will employ a very ostentatious group of guards.

Since there is no justice system, those caught committing a crime against someone in Torotuga will need to appeal to one of the factions or lose their hand and/or life.

Food

Torotuga has a mixture of different cuisines from the islands, mixed with the kind of stuff the pirates would know from home, in so far as this can be found. The different inns and bars serve mostly beer, but will whip you up some soup or bread and cheese, or grilled meat, when asked. Notable delicacies can be found in The Temple Bar, which serves a special stew, made of rice, wheat, sharp spices and seafood. There’s a bunch of not particularly identifiable stuff in there, but it’s very tasty. From food stalls, you can buy a simple type of taco, made of flatbread folded around a mixture of meat or poulty, mixed with random vegetables and spices. Most of the best and cheapest food can be procured from the smaller sellers, such as The Baked Potato and Kulita’s.

Notable shops

The largest pawn shop in town is The Hoard, run by a steel dragonborn, Dimitri Helfdal and his mate, a sapphire dragonborn named Irin. This shop stands in the very center of town and has carved stone walls, seemingly built out of the ruins of some ancient structure that stood here before. It is a fairly large building, with a stone and wood front and a large shop sign bearing a carved wooden dragon head, apparently an old masthead. Inside is a quite literal hoard. Dimitri and Irin tend to get the pick of any treasure troves that come to Torotuga, so you can find the best and most expensive stuff here.

Sulejman Sirk runs the apothecary, the Glass Shoal. It’s meticulously clean and organized, seemingly made out of the hull of a downed ship that was outfitted with a brick and windowed front and plated with iron shales. The centerpiece in this store is a large chandelier, a mobile of glasswork fish surrounding a steel brazier that lights up the place. He has your basic health potions and a Very Expensive set of water breathing things (like, super overpriced, guys). Also stocks an impressive amount of poisons.

Davy Jones Locker is a thrift shop of sorts. The proprietor, Antanen ‘David’ Jonesin, is a halfling that collects the mundane and the useful. The interior of this classic brickwork building is made with a number of treasure chests that have been stacked and arranged along the floor and on tables and sideboards. These things are not what typical pirates care for, but he does good business because they do tend to be things sailors Need. His store has stuff like barrels of rope, caltrops, a few smoke bombs found on drowned assassins. He has oil skin bags to keep books and letters safe from the water, sealing wax, forgery and climbing kits, a few block and tackles, fire stones, that sort of thing. Nothing magical, nothing glamorous, but exactly the kind of thing you need to survive.

The Silt Reader is a very small book shop that specializes in literature and poetry. Mostly second hand, a lot of them waterlogged. This store is owned by a half-elven woman, Runa Pavalur,   who keeps it very organized, with tomes neatly stacked on shelves and arranged by category. Each book has been outfitted with a bookmark made of thin rope, with a little card attached to it that gives a short summary of what the book is about. Most of the books in The Silt Reader are travel diaries and novels, a fair amount of those of a ‘popular’ variety. This is why, apart from categories like Studies, Travel, Political etc, the shop has shelves named things like the Rose section (hetero romance), the Heather section (mlm romance), the Calla section (wlw romance) and the Orchid section (straight up porn).

For maps, it is best to go is the Crow’s Nest Cartographer. This is a very small house that has one entire wall made up of shelves holding a large amount of rolled maps. It is owned by two gnomish brothers: Illilniss and Omulnis. They will also pay for coordinates of places that have been discovered, or were hitherto unknown.

Lavar’s Smelter: Lavar is a fire genasi, who isn’t too crafty, but is very good at, well, smelting. He’s the one that melts down all the anchors and random steel and iron that is hauled here, something that should not be possible with a smithy as small as his. Is smithy doubles as a blacksmith for basic tools. When asked, he can shoe a horse and provide stables overnight.

Shell and Shield: The only somewhat skilled smith in town. The Shell and Shield is owned by a tortle named Perrahar, whose main trade is tools. She sells non-magic weapons and some simple armor as well but mostly she’s very interested in learning new things. Bring her some new metal that she’s never seen before and she’ll happily craft new things out of it.

Other establishments

There is a church, The Temple Bar, dedicated to Dionysus, the god of wine. It’s not clear if this is a sanctioned church or not. Mostly it appears to be one of the largest bars in Torotuga. Its purveyor is a dwarf and beer connoisseur named Mazzoum Hornmail. The interior is decorated with fake grape vines and filled with assorted furniture. This one is fairly fancy, with a little orchestra playing, and a dance floor. The rooms upstairs can be rented by the hour. The bigger ones are outfitted as meeting rooms, serving the purpose of neutral ground for pirates to strike deals or talk strategy. The smaller ones tend to just have a bed and a washing tub.

Despite the name, The Baked Potato does not sell potatoes. It does sell yams and sweet potatoes, stuffed with a variety of fillings and baked in an oven.

Kulita’s sells a lot of fried things, including fried fish and fried chicken, combined with dumplings, corn bread and pickled vegetables or stewed beans

The local bath house is called the White Whale. It rents out large, round tubs in private rooms to interested parties. These are pretty nice and use, important, ground water, so any visitor can finally get all that salt out. Rooms are outfitted with scented oils and soaps and come with one complimentary towel. The rooms are priced fairly reasonably, but the rate goes up quite a bit if you opt for one of the companions or masseuses that are offered.

The Sickly Shrew: A Very Seedy bar and one of the cheaper establishments to acquire a room for the night. Also a great place to find, like, a specialist to kill someone for you.

The Foghorn Inn: The most boring and basic of inns that Torotuga has to offer, if you’re into that kinda thing.

Assorted locations

Thaba’s Hut

Take the road out of town, past the farm fields that have been planted here, and into the swamp. Follow the set of foot bridges and walkways, till you reach an island, a clearing in the dense foliage. Standing here is an ancient looking hut, built on stilts. It has a thatched roof and a porch, with stairs leading up. The railing of the porch and the stairs looks solid from afar, but upon closer inspection, they are laden with offerings of a sort. Little dolls hang from string tied to the wood, shells, glass vials, trinkets and shiny objects, all tied to the outside of this house. In front of the hut, a small crackling fire burns in a fire pit, tended to by a tall, broad-shouldered man. This is Thaba’s hut, and if you are in need of special magical services, this is where you go.

You pay Thaba for entry, and for the privilege to see the wisewoman inside. Should you enter, you’ll find that the entire place is overstuffed with jars and more dolls and trinkets. A bunch of objects, too, are suspended from the ceiling, much like they were wrapped around the railings. Some tools hanging from twine off a crossbeam, glass and brass pitchers, something that you very much hope is a wig. There’s dried herbs, ham, but also bones, something that looks like a dead snake. There’s… a lot. The hut is where Iyabo, sitting in the middle of the floor in a magic circle, performs magical services. Most likely this will be along the lines of identifying items, removing or placing curses etc. Nahin’s fighting pit

Walking around town, you may hear a number of shouts and just general noise, originating to a dirt square just on the outskirts. Here, you’ll find a small mound of dirt that serves as a brawling ring. Two figures are squaring off here. One is an apparent halfling in monk clothes, fairly lean build, the other, on this day, is a goliath, a large, looming tank of a man, in somewhat soiled sailor’s clothing. They’ve drawn quite the crowd. On one end you see what seems to be the rest of the goliath’s crew, a number of sailors jeering and egging him on. On the side of the smaller figure are also supporters of a kind, albeit a bit more demure. You see a number of humanoids, all in fairly ratty clothing, most of them dark skinned and weathered looking. They’ll occasionally clap but they’re mostly looking. Bets are being made by the crowd, with bookies walking around trying to get any visitors to have a little go. But as soon as the fight starts, a heavy groan goes through the crowd and it becomes apparent just how skewed this match-up is. Within the first second, the goliath has already been kicked in the face. The smaller figure jumps up onto his chest, kicks him in the chin and backflips off, down to the ground. The goliath swings and the smaller figure leans back easily to avoid it, jumping up over a second swing, before turning in mid air and swiping at the shoulder, following that up with two swift kicks. This goes on for a little while, before the goliath says ‘You  little shit’, and he pulls out a crossbow. The crowd starts booing. You hear the people behind the smaller figure yell ‘unarmed only!’ but the fighter themselves holds up their hand. “Learn’, they say, and sinks into a defensive stance. The goliath shoots once, twice, point blank, and you watch as the smaller fighter plucks both out of the air before they reach. As the goliath starts reloading, angry now, the other fighter moves. They jump up onto the crossbow and run up their opponent’s arm, before leaning down and kicking the goliath in the sternum. The giant goes rigid, for a moment, their eyes at this point confused and fearful, as the other fighter jumps down, dashes around and swipes at a spot right behind the knee. The goliath. Topples. The crowd erupts in shouts and you can see a well dressed man, apparently the goliath’s captain, walk up to the smaller figure and hand them a pouch. “Sorry about that,” he says. “Temper, that one. But you won fair and square.” The smaller figure bows and returns to their friends, as the crew, with some trouble, pull up the goliath and the crowd slowly disperses.

Kobinahin, or Nahin for short, is a higher level monk that fights for coin and has a little outdoor dojo going. Nahin is always itching to learn new tricks and will gladly match or teach adventurers.

Characters

Merchants and assorted service people

Thaba: A tall, broad-shouldered dark-skinned man, clean shaven and wearing modest but well-kept clothes. He has milky white eyes and a deep voice. He serves as a guardian or manager of sorts to Iyabo. He can usually be found sitting in front of the fire pit by his house.

Iyabo: This wise woman is a multiclass druid – bard with some wizard thrown in there. She is a tiny woman, potentially gnomish in nature, but it’s hard to tell. Her hair is quite a bit longer than her body, a mass of tiny braids, embellished with rope, ribbons, glass beads and brass rings that obscures her shape almost completely. From what you can tell, the hair may have been dark in color once, but it’s been painted with clay. Individual strands are red, ochre, green or a chalky white, the whole thing giving the impression of a gloomy, if colorful, bead curtain.  The hair makes it almost impossible to see her face, but when her arms emerge from the curtain, her skin appears to be greyish blue, mostly because that, too, is rubbed with some kind of dust. Her hands are studded with different rings, her wrists covered in bracers and rows of bangles. Iyabo jingles when she walks, and you can discern the rustle of fabric, as well as the sound of many, many necklaces or chains clinking together. She doesn’t so much talk as whisper harshly , also with vague southern accent.

Dimitri Helfdal: A man of smallish stature, stocky and broad, with medium gray skin. Mid forties and fairly jovial, incredibly curious about new treasures and things. He wears a monocle and light linen, embroidered pants, with a sleeveless shirt. Dark grey scales line his shoulders, hands and head, glinting with a brushed steel look that makes him seem , in a weird way, armored. He does not have a tail.

Irin: A dragonborn woman of dark olive skin, fairly tall and with a long tail that whips back and forth between the folds of her long skirt. She wears a beautiful silk tunic, with cropped pants lines in copper thread and a long skirt consisting of four almost see-through loose panels. On her head, and down her back and tail are long crystalline dark blue spikes and the scales that adorn her skin are strangely see through, giving the impression of dark blue gems. It also seems like she has filed some of them to resemble jewelry, the ones around her throat and down her chest looking like a very elaborate necklace.

Sulejman Sirk: A black man in his late thirties, with corn rows tied into his hair, and a cropped full beard. He tends to smile widely and has a prominent gold tooth. He has several gold earrings in one ear and wears a dark grey v-neck kaftan of sorts, with embroidery on the shoulders.

Runa Pavalur: A red haired half-elven woman, fairly young looking, very pale with freckles. Basic hippie attitude, she wears what appear to be several crocheted tablecloths stitched together, and her hair falls down her back in two long braids. Speaks in a gentle, slow  tone and has very obviously read every single book in the store.

Illilniss and Omulnis: Gnome brothers, both with heavy mustaches, kindof tanned skin and an almost inky blue hair. They finish each others sentences and then get grumpy about it.

Antanen ‘David’ Jonesin: An elderly halfling with salt-and-peper hair that poofs up around his head like a cotton ball. Wears tiny round glasses and looks rather clerical, but very businessy attitude. His voice is clear and fast, like an american radio dj.

Mazzoum Hornmail: A very serious dwarven man who looks jovial and fat and jolly. He gets quite stern when people don’t treat him with the right amount of respect. It is said Mazzoum has spent years sailing the oceans, and kinda just settled down here because he got tired of the floor moving.

Kobinahin: A dark skinned halfling monk of indeterminate gender. Dark, golden ochre skin, long black hair usually tied in a ponytail. Fairly elegant features. They wear a dark grey jumpsuit with cropped pants and sleeves tied with cloth strips. It is cinched in at the waist with a large strip of cloth. Kobinahin fights for coin and essentially teaches the prostitutes and the escaped slaves self-defense. It’s not clear why they left home to travel the world and fight. (the reason is this DM needed to introduce the Monk class). Speaks in serious, shortish sentences. Very no-nonsense.

Lavar: A fire genasi with tanned skin and flame red hair who serves as a smith. A practical sort who, despite his fiery nature, doesn’t really get upset easily. Always looking for find new ways to make coin.

Perrahar: A seemingly young tortle, though her shield is quite damaged with little black spots. Very curious in nature but extremely chill in attitude. Speaks Very Slowly and pretty damn deadpan. Very little gets to her.

Back-up NPC’s

Loughlin Nic Cadhla: An older woman, lots of scars, with frizzy brown curls in almost an afro, and pale freckles skin. Hard of hearing, from standing next to cannons most of her life. Retired pirate.

Tran Phu Nguyen: A forty-something man who is immaculately dressed and must have been utterly gorgeous when younger, still quite handsome.  Ex-prostitute.

Hamisi: A slender, dark skinned man, bald with a short beard. He’s missing an eye and has some horrific scarring, mostly on his wrists that you can see. Missing two fingers on his left hand. Wearing a loose shirt and simple cropped pants, no shoes.

[trashforhockeyguys]

Wholeheartedly /6/ Auston Matthews

You helped Jake lace up his skates while Auston helped with Brian. You honestly thought both boys might pee themselves with excitement. The Leafs hadn’t had a family skate in a while, and both boys were always begging to get on the ice with the guys.

Jakey was practically bouncing as you finished tying his skates. You almost wanted to tell him to calm down, but you knew he wouldn’t. He didn’t sleep at all last night after Auston told the boys that there was a skate tonight.

You thought they might be a little sad that your family had left not long after they brought the boys back home. But the second Auston came back from the rink and told them about the skate, it was like they didn’t have room to be sad.

“Uncle Freddie!” Jake cheered, seeing the goalie walk into the locker room.

“Are you coming to play with us, little man?” Freddie asked.

“Yes!” Jake yelled, “I’m going to score!”

You stifled back a laugh as you finished up with his skates. He hopped off the bench and ran to Freddie, who scooped him up and took him right to the ice. Brian went running out behind them a few seconds later.

You grabbed your own skates and started to lace up. You hadn’t been on the ice in a long long time. Normally you were on the bench filming the boys while they skated with Auston. Or you were holding onto Jake as he learned how to skate. But you hadn’t really skated on your own since before Brian was born.

“Do you need me to tie those for you?” Auston asked.

“Cute,” You replied, tugging on the laces, “I think I can manage.”

He shook his head, smiling down at you. You made a face as you finished lacing up your own skates. Once upon a time, you’d been able to out skate Auston. You’d put to the test quite a few times before Brian came along. The guys used to give him so much shit for it too.

“Still think you’re faster?” He questioned as you walked out to the ice.

You shrugged, “You’re the hockey player.”

“Didn’t make a difference last time,” He stated, laughing slightly.

“Well, that’s because I was still playing then. Things have changed a bit since then,” You pointed out.

He shot you a grin before stepping onto the ice. Jake somehow managed to hop on Freddie’s back and looked more than happy to be carried around the rink. B was skating around with Morgan, who seemed to be explaining something to B.

You started to skate around when Auston came up next to you and grabbed your hand. Across the ice, Mitch nearly busted his ass while trying to do something cute with Steph. Almost all of the team started to chirp him for it too, your little boys included.

Eventually, the kids all brought out their hockey sticks and started playing around together. At some point, the guys joined in. You watched with the rest of the families as they all played. Brian was blowing past everyone laughing hysterically as he went.

He was teasing Mitch, who wasn’t moving fast enough for B. You wished you had your phone on you so you could record the boys, but luckily the Leafs were filming for their website. But the only downside to someone filming, was that your boys tended to show off a little more.

“You don’t need to take it easy on us Uncle Mitch,” B stated very clearly, “I might be a kid but I can still take you.”

“B, dude, I don’t want to hurt you,” Mitch explained.

“Uncle Mitch, you’re almost my size!” Jake yelled, “If daddy were playing, he’d have to take it easy on YOU because you’re so small!”

You had to cover your mouth to keep from laughing. Steph skated over towards you, trying not to laugh. Mitch looked over at Auston, almost like he was looking for help. Auston just gave him a smug smile and just shrugged.

“He just roasted Mitch,” Steph stated.

“Yeah, I know,” You laughed, “We need to put Jake on a leash or something.”

“Maybe I should put Mitch on a leash,” Steph casually joked.

You and a couple of the other wives laughed at her comment, but no one protested. Meanwhile, across the ice, the boys dove into a full on scrimmage. Auston helped out the younger team, along with Willy and a couple of the other guys. Mitch took Kappy and Zach for his team, saying he needed backup.

Which seemed funny, since the only people coming after Mitch were the little kids. He kept being paired up with Jake, which for some reason was more than hilarious, because of how small Jake was in comparison to Mitch.

At one point, Jake whispered something to Mitch before a faceoff and pointed over to Auston. Jake had a wicked grin on his face, which lead you to believe that he was probably saying something that he wasn’t supposed to.

“Auston come control your kid!” Mitch yelled, half laughing, “Or at least explain to him that I’m not dropping my gloves.”

“Well that’s because you’ve never fought!” Auston yelled from the other end of the ice.

“I’m not fighting your kid!” Mitch replied, “Y/N!”

“Hey, I’m not playing!” You stated, throwing your hands up, “It’s all you Mitchy!”

He cursed and slammed his stick. One of the guys made a crack about how Mitch couldn’t handle Jake, which only boosted Jakey’s little ego a little more. You knew if they kept egging him on, that eventually he’d do something stupid, and very Jake-like.

Jakey swatted at Mitch’s shins with his stick. Jakey laughed and quickly skated away, so Mitch couldn’t get him. You knew Auston should probably tell Jakey to cool it, but you also knew your husband would just let it run it’s course.

“Seriously Aus, tell Jakey that I’m not going to be rough with him!” Mitch begged.

“Mitch, just tap him back,” Aus chuckled, “It’s not like he’s going to do much-”

“Come get some Little Man!” Jakey yelled, flinging his stick on the ice.

Mitch only had time to turn around before Jake was flinging himself on Mitch. The three year old was able to knock Mitch off of his feet, causing them both to hit the ice. You looked over at Auston, who almost looked amused and horrified at the same time. Neither one of you thought Jake would actually fight. Or at least, you thought he might at least try someone his own size.

Jake then started trying to hit Mitch, with his gloves on. Mitch was laughing as Jake kept trying to punch him. You wanted to be horrified as some of the guys started yelling for Jake to get Mitch, but somehow a small part of you was almost proud. Even though you were more than against either of your boys fighting at any point, you were proud that he at least knew what to do.

Jake kept slugging punches at Mitch, who was still laughing at him. You knew that Jake couldn’t do any damage to Mitch, what so ever, but the fact that your youngest, your little baby boy, was fighting made you more than uneasy. But you didn’t move to stop him.

Brian was cheering for Jake, as were the rest of the kids and players. Auston finally made eye contact with you, you raised your eyebrows and gestured to your son who was still mid brawl. Auston shrugged, mouthing that it was fine.

“Take that!” Jake yelled.

You pointed to the boys again. Mitch was now trying to hold Jake away from him, since Jake had now decided to go for the face. He wasn’t doing any real damage, but being hit in the face was never ideal. Auston finally started to move towards the two of them. He had to literally pry Jakey off of Mitch, which was probably more entertaining to watch than the fight was.

“Okay slugger,” Auston chuckled, finally pulling Jake off of Mitch, “That’s enough.”

“Don’t mess with me Uncle Mitchy!” Jake grumbled.

Auston was carrying Jake over to you, because apparently you could control the little rascal better than he could. Auston skated passed you and set Jakey down in the penalty box, but left the door open.

“Five minutes for fighting mister,” He told Jake.

“But daddy! You were fighting that guy at the last game!” Jake whined.

“Yeah, Auston! He was just trying to be like his dad!” Willy chimed in.

Sighing, Auston turned to look back at you, “Alright, what do you think, Mama?”

You glanced at everyone else, who was trying not to laugh at the whole situation. You couldn’t blame them, you were having a hard time keeping a straight face too. You still couldn’t stop thinking about Jakey tackling Mitch onto the ice.

“Two minutes, and no mini hockey when we get home,” You told him, “Got it?”

Jakey hung his head low and mumbled a quick yes. William winked at you before skating over to the box and stepping in. He pulled Jake onto his lap, telling him he was going to serve his little ‘penalty’ with him. That made Jake smile.

Everyone went back to the game and various conversations. When you finally told Jake he could come back out of the box, William decided he was going to carry him around on his back. Claiming that way Jakey couldn’t get into any more trouble.

After the family skate was over, a good majority of you went out for lunch. At which point, Jakey went over and apologized to Mitch for fighting him. Mitch only laughed and said with a little training, he wouldn’t be a bad hockey player. You wanted to smack Mitch, because Jakey was still a few years away from being able to play, and he didn’t need anymore encouragement. But you knew by the big smile on Jakey’s face, hockey was all he wanted to do.

When you all got home, and after you’d eaten a couple hours later, you all climbed on the couch to watch your nightly movie. This time they picked The Mighty Ducks 2, because they said they’d seen the original enough times by now.

“I can’t wait till Jakey and I can play together,” Brian suddenly spoke up.

“Baby, you and Jakey are going to be in different age groups,” You carefully told B.

“No we won’t!” Jake protested, “Bubby and I are going to be on the same team!”

“It doesn’t always work like that Little Man,” Auston explained, “You’d have to work really really hard so you could play up. It’s okay to not be on the same team.”

“NO!” Jake exclaimed, “I’ll work hard, Bubby and I are going to be on the same team.”

You looked over at Auston and couldn’t help but smile. You’d made the same promise when you were Jake’s age, swearing you’d do the same so you could play with Peter. Then, once Peter got older and started playing hockey elsewhere, Lucas made the same promise to play with you.

You understood their wanting to play together. Truthfully, putting both of them on a line would be deadly for the other team. Even though they were still so young, and still had so much to learn, they definitely had their father’s natural talent for hockey.

You’d always had to work hard growing up, not to say that Auston didn’t, but you knew it came easier for him. But he still put in the long hours to get to where he was, there was no denying that. But then they boy’s got old enough, you’d give them the chance.

You and Auston never wanted to force them into doing anything they didn’t want to do. In sports or any other aspect of their life. You weren’t going to force them to be hockey players, simply because you and Auston were. But you knew they both loved it, you could tell by the way their face seemed to light up when they were talking about it.

Brian got the same look that Auston alway did when he was talking about hockey. He looked almost mischievous, like he was getting away with something. But there was a gleam in his eyes that was nothing but pure joy. Anytime B started talk about hockey, he got that look.

Jakey would sleep with his hockey stick if you’d let him. Chances were, he probably snuck it into his bed at night sometimes. He’d slept in his very first hemet. He refused to take it off for almost a full day. You still weren’t sure how Auston finally got him to take it off.

“I’m going to play in the NHL, just like you daddy,” Jakey added.

“You don’t have to, Little Man. No one is going to make either of you play hockey,” Auston clarified.

“But I want to,” Jakey’s eyes were all big and almost watery, “I want to be like you, and Uncle Mitchy, and Uncle Willy, and everyone.”

“Me too! I want to play for Coach Babs when I get older,” B said looking up at you.

“Really? That’s what you want?” You questioned, knowing he was still a kid and would probably change his mind more than twenty times before he’d even be close to having to think about taking hockey seriously.

“Jakey and I can both be Leafs! We already have jerseys!”

Jakey cheered and gave his brother a high five, “Yeah!”

“Well, it looks like we have two future NHL players,” You laughed, looking at Auston.

He laughed and ruffled Jakey’s long hair, “I don’t think the league is ready for you, Little Man.”

“I’d kick everyone’s butt!” Jakey cheered.

“Yeah, okay, Little Man,” You laughed, “It’s time for bed though. C’mon you two.”

Both boys groaned but crawled off the couch and started to make their way towards the stairs. They both got into their pajamas without much of a fight, which surprised you.  Normally you had to fight them to get their jerseys off. You’d have to wash both of them before Auston’s next game in two days.

“You two be good for Mommy while I’m away, okay?” Auston questioned before tucking in both boys.

Brian promised he’d look after you, which was adorable coming from him. He then gave his dad a quick hug and wished him luck. Jakey on the other hand, tried to give Auston the tightest hug he possibly could, and then planted a kiss on Auston’s cheek. Auston smiled and tucked Jake in before kissing his forehead.

Two days later, you and the boys were on the couch at home watching the game. Both boys couldn't sit still in the third, not that you could blame them, you were actually gripping the edge of the couch. In the end though, the Leafs couldn’t pull out a win, resulting in both boys being more than disappointed.

Getting them to both settle down enough to go to bed, after they were screaming about how unfair the refs were, was a challenge. They both wanted to stay up to watch the highlights, and then they wanted to talk to Auston when he called later on.

It took you well over an hour to finally get them to both get in bed and fall asleep. Once you were absolutely sure they weren’t going to wake up, you Facetimed Auston like you’d promised. The two of you talked for nearly two hours before you finally told him that you needed to get some sleep.

You’d finally fallen asleep when you felt someone crawling into the bed next to you. You pried your eyes open to see Brian crawling under the covers. He didn’t say anything as he curled up next to you.

“Are you okay? What happened?” You questioned worriedly.

“I’m okay, I had a bad dream,” He replied quietly.

“Aw, it’s okay, I won’t let the boogie man get you,” You assured him, wrapping your arms around his little body.

A few minutes later, Jakey wondered in and climbed in next to Brian. You smiled as Brian then wrapped his arms around his little brother. The two of them really only did this when Auston was gone. But some mornings you’d go to wake up the boys and they’d both be in the same bed, or one of them would be on the other’s floor.

“You too Jakey?” You asked.

“No, but I heard Bubby come in here, and I wanted to cuddle too,” He shrugged.

You laughed and pulled them both closer,” Just don’t tell Daddy I let you guys do this when he’s away.”

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 40

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 7. Go to previous. Go to next. These tears are shaken from the wrath-bearing tree. That’s... not an old fashioned, is it, Liv?

____________________________________

The dark walls, pale carpeting, and little furnishings of the general’s office belied the actual dimensions of the somewhat small space. At her ebony dry bar, General Francis poured the two of them each an old fashioned, with dried rind curls 'Choly imagined were mutfruit. The ghoul placed one in ‘Choly’s gracious hands where he sat, and took hers to her leather office chair opposite the desk. She took a sip and slicked at her side-shaven asymmetrical blonde french twist with a tense sigh.

“Call me Olivia. Please. I hate the rank and pomp of being the last breathing wretch on base. Ghoul or not, I’m still a person, you know?”

‘Choly nearly murmured a whooped and then some. His tongue sneaked against the back of his teeth behind a faint smile. He lingered in the numbness of an iced drink in his palms, and stared into the handcrafted cocktail a little too long before remembering it was for drinking.

“Olivia, it’s... really been just you here for all... or most of this time?” He held the short glass to his cheek, eyes glazing out of focus. “--Gosh, ice. You’ve got a working ice machine.”

“Imagine if you’ve been milling around for a few months now, you’ve come to appreciate most prewar commodities as current day luxuries.” Olivia downed about a third of her drink before setting it down to lace her leathery hands on the desk. “It’s been just me and the robotics fleets for a very long time, yes. I’ve whiled the decades doing maintenance on them all. I consider them a sense of found family. They keep plugging alongside me, and they keep me plugging.”

She drew a cigarette from the silver case on the desktop, and lit it with a gold flip lighter. After taking a deliberate puff, she offered up both with a genial gaze. Not to shy from her hospitality, he nodded and followed suit. A long exhale melted him into a comforted disillusionment.

“It really has been a jarring adjustment. Especially not having soap every day. Menthols and muddled cognac on the rocks. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to coax me into a tough patch.”

“You’ll find a great deal of the amenities on base have been repaired and maintained.” A grin pulled her thin lips across her teeth and she sat back, sustaining eye contact. “Deenwood in every way has kept me busy.”

“And the Rust Devils?” he asked over his sipping. His attentive oily eyes skimmed her wasting features, to skirt the acknowledgement she hadn’t dismissed his supposition. “They’re keeping you even busier?”

“Don’t tell me they’ve expanded operations outside Lowell,” she growled, suddenly furious. “I’ve lost twelve robots to them just this year. Bastards took to the RobCo Towers. It’s a wonder I’ve managed to stay as ahead of them as I have been, further encrypting the Sentry Bots and Assaultrons especially. And the front doors, of course.” When he watched her expectantly, she snorted through another slug of her cocktail. “RobCo Towers was the company’s home base for Pip-Boy development and manufacture.”

“Encrypted the... front doors?” He frowned thoughtfully, somewhat distant. “Aside from confrontation with a Mister Gutsy, I didn’t have any trouble getting on premises.”

“Your bars have RFID encryption technology in them.” With a sneer, she pointed her smoke hand at his Pharm Corps coat. “The system’s biometric scanners have a two-factor screening process. You were smart enough, to turn up in enough of your uniform, to look the part of an officer--and lucky enough, to still be human enough, for the system to be able to match your genetic scan. Honestly, when I heard an officer had made it on base, I thought the Rust Devils might have figured out a way to sheepskin their way in here.”

“I guess it is a bit of luck, that my service uniform survived all this time. It’s one of the few belongings I still have. I don’t recognize the flavor of these bitters, but damn if this isn’t smooth cognac.”

Olivia topped off his glass with more cognac from the decanter on her desk, which he accepted greedily.

“The licorice, or the mint? It’s some East Central Commonwealth label. I like it well enough. These days, you tend to take what you can get your hands on. The cognac, though. That’s my favorite.” She shrugged in the direction of her liquor cabinetry, uninvested in getting up to scrutinize the exact identity of the liqueur. “Don’t discount, either, that you still have your Handy. A lot of my maintenance on Deenwood’s robots hasn’t just been to keep them running. It’s so they can continue defending themselves, and stay out of raider hands. To this day I haven’t determined a more effective approach than to be proactive. They just keep trying.”

Angel had stayed out in the hall to chat with robots it hadn’t seen in two hundred years.

“I wouldn’t be alive right now, if Angel weren’t with me. I know that much.” ‘Choly picked the desiccated rind curl out of his drink and chewed at it. “I’ve had my run-in already with raiders myself. I’ve half a mind to think Lexington’s still on fire because of me. Ha!”

Her dark eyes wilded, more punch-drunk from delivery than she was from the spirits.

“You can’t just drop that on me and leave it.”

His sheepishness poorly contained how oddly tickled he felt then by such a traumatic experience. Unmistakably, the physical condition of his company had everything to do with his craving to impress.

“After I came out of the vault outside Concord, I holed up in the Walden Drugs in Lexington. I got along with the raiders in the Corvega factory for a few months. They... pushed me around, and I... I.” A self-conscious grin tugged at him, unable to tell if the modus operandi were appropriate to divulge. He noticed he’d let the cherry fall off his unattended cigarette onto the leg of his Vault Suit. He brushed away the ashes and deposited the half-smoked thing in the crescent shaped ashtray. “...In so many words, I overdosed their leader on opiates. So they Molotov cocktailed the pharmacy while I was asleep, and chased me out of town.”

Olivia’s head kicked back in a sharp, barking cackle, and she only calmed herself enough to start on a fresh cigarette.

“Sounds like you’re more uniquely suited to the Wastelander life than you give yourself credit for. And believe me when I tell you, you don’t have to skirt talking about CM anymore. It hasn’t been restricted to your pay grade for a hundred eighty years, and the DIA’s bit the dust just like the rest of the government proper.”

‘Choly’s face slacked in culpability. He avoided eye contact a tic, and set down his half-finished half-cocktail to fold his hands under his legs.

“I’m proud of the way I’ve adapted Syringer rifle darts. CM’s... surprisingly versatile weaponized.”

She gave him a sleazy, approving grin when he admitted what she’d intuited.

“I don’t remember that we got along all that well back in the day, but damn if I’m not glad to see you. Not speaking ill of my chrome family, but I don’t get to see a flesh and body face all too often these days. It’s not going to be easy for you to get back out, now that you’re in, I’m afraid. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Maybe after you get some rest and think on it, we can form some kind of a game plan to deal with these assholes down the street once and for all?”

Struck dumb that she’d not torn into him for what he’d done with his military intelligence, he sat frozen at length. He found himself staring at the chrome Pip-Boy on her left wrist, vaguely nagged by his inability to identify the model. Her proposition soaked into him slowly, and he picked his drink back up to work on finishing it. He sucked on an ice cube and feigned anything but total adoration.

“You said that the residential block got hit hard by the fallout. Is... any of it still standing?”

“Most of it, yeah. But it wasn’t prepped to shield that heavy a rad barrage, is what I meant. The rads have since aired out of the majority of the lot. You’ve got your pick of any townhouse on the lot, except mine.” She straightened, drawn back to reality a ways. “There’s just the one thing. Only drink or wash in the water from the compound. Residential plumbing still runs for the most part, but you’re a smoothskin. Don’t risk the rads.”

He choked on the acknowledgement of the fundamental difference between the two of them with a nervous chuckle. The supposition she might be immune to radiation titillated him.

“...About that. I’ve... come across a good number of ghouls since I woke up. But you’re the first fully rational one I’ve met. I think I’m only now finally understanding what people meant when they called a ghoul feral.”

Olivia gave him an uncomfortable grimace.

“Fortunately, you won’t have to deal with ferals on base. Deenwood is monstrously secure, so nothing can get in. They make me a might bit skittish myself. Don’t like the thought of encounters with them being only a bubble off looking in a mirror. Anyway...” She cleared her throat to punctuate that she’d noticed just how much he’d been caught staring, and he flinched. “Enough nightmare talk. We have an early morning of it. I still keep military hours, even though I’m the only non-robot here. Makes the robots happy, so it makes me happy. Habits die hard.”

“--Don’t they ever. I’m just glad that, now that I’m back, we’re not right back glued to cooking up CM and testing formulations on soldiers. Chase’s R&D’s the nightmare talk for me.”

She topped off her glass one more time, and ate her dried cherry.

“No, we’re far past that now, aren’t we?” Olivia rose and ushered him out of her office, meeting objection. “Imagine you don’t need me to show you around, even two hundred years later. The Gutsies and Handies can help you, if you’ve forgotten your way. I typically stay close to the Robotics wing, if you need me. We’ll meet back here at, say, oh-six? That’s plenty of time for breakfast first, mm?”

His head slurried with him standing. He glanced at his Pip-Boy. Already seven o’clock. He gave her an uncertain but obeisant nod with a little too much rattle in it, too cowardly to press her continued company.

“Goodnight, Carey.”

He stopped her from pushing the heavy paneled wooden door shut, and he continued holding out his arm a good ways after doing so, tottering on his feet.

“I, you. You said you prefer to be called Olivia. I’ve made a bit of a name for myself in the past few months.” She looked to him with attentive fatigue. “Melancholy. ...‘Choly.”

After thinking on it a moment, she patted him on the cheek.

“Really rings what’s survived of your accent. Goodnight, Melancholy.”

The door clicked shut, and he heard it lock.

When Angel didn’t come up on its own, he belted out an insistent, deep whistle that cut down the corridor both ways. And he waited to be escorted... home. He shuddered, and couldn’t quite say why.

Go to Next »»»

[nanonaturalist]

Yo! I’m an Anthropology student but I’m super fascinated with entomology n’ the like. Any tips for how to self study entomology/get started? How did you become the bug lover you are today?

Sup! I am a HUGE animal lover. Like, I don’t think you understand how much I love animals. Back when google image search was this crazy new thing, I would google things like “puffer fish” and literally start crying from how cute and precious they were. I don’t remember ever not liking bugs. I was bringing in caterpillars when my age was single digits, which I named and kept in shoe boxes, and who would invariably wander out and make a random cocoon somewhere.

STORY TIME! (what? you wanted a short answer? Sorry!)

… (actually check out this post from a while back [link] about tips for getting started, it was written for a high school student but most of the things I mention are good for all ages)…

Thing is, this was the point in history when you needed to use a card catalog to look a book up in the library. No idea what I’m talking about? That’s how long ago this was. If there was a book about bugs in the school book order form, I would ask for it (and sometimes I’d get one), but that was the full extent of my knowledge pool for things that we weren’t directly taught about in school. In 4th grade, we had a unit on marine animals (with the most amazing field trip on a research boat ever, omg the scuba divers brought up things for us to touch, and we got to look at plankton in the microscope eeeeeee!), and it was like I was reborn. I memorized everything we learned, including the taxonomy of cnidaria (jellies, anemones, corals) and strange eating habits of echinoderms (starfish, urchins). I got REAL into this stuff, to the point where 4 years later, I told anybody who asked me that when I grew up, I was going to get a PhD in Marine Biology.

There was just one problem. You can’t get a degree in any kind of animal biology without doing dissections or killing things. Remember, I’m an animal Lover with a capital L. I wanted to be a vegetarian starting at age 4 (parents said no, but I picked meat out of everything until I made it official at 12). So I gave up on biology real quick. Flash forward about ten years to 2006. I had graduated from college (with a psychology degree that cost me $70,000), was working soul-sucking jobs, and needed a hobby. But wait, DIGITAL CAMERAS ARE A THING! WOW! So I picked up “crappy nature photography” as a hobby. And what did I take pictures of with my First Ever Digital Camera when I bought one that summer?

I found this longhorn beetle on the hood of my car at a rest stop somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Missouri. But back in 2006… What are you going to do with pictures of bugs when you have no background in biology? I posted some on LiveJournal, and that was that. What kind of bug was it? I couldn’t even tell you that it was a beetle at that point. And when I was going through my old photos more recently, I couldn’t even remember seeing it.

I still took photos of basically everything I saw, but nothing ever really happened with them.

Who are these? At the time (photos are from 2006 to 2009), the most I could have told you was “dragonfly, wasp, spider, caddisfly larva.” Which is pretty good, I guess, but I didn’t even realize how much diversity I was missing out on by not going any deeper. 

Me + Slugs: Left - Banana Slug in Redwood National Forest, CA (2008); Center and Right - Chocolate Arion Slug at my apartment in Redmond, WA (2006)

Time passes, nature photos are taken. I will take photos of any bug I see, but I don’t intentionally seek them out and I never know what any of them are. Now flash forward to 2013, when I moved from Seattle, WA to Austin, TX. 

My mind was blown. The bugs were huge, strange, and EVERYWHERE. I NEEDED TO KNOW WHAT THEY WERE! But… It was still hard. At this point, looking things up on the internet was just what you did, but … what was I supposed to look up? “Giant screaming thing in my potted plant that looks like a leaf?” “Pile of handsnails?” I took pictures, shared them on Facebook (nobody used Livejournal anymore!), and went about my day. 

At this point, I had gone back to college to study engineering (I moved to Austin for grad school), and somehow ended up watching a lot of youtube. SciShow got me onto VlogBrothers, which got me onto The Brain Scoop (@thebrainscoop), which got me onto tumblr *waves*. And I was thinking some hard thoughts about what I actually wanted to do when I grew up because I was tired of soul-sucking jobs. Hey, I love museums (that’s actually where most of my science knowledge came from), so I started thinking about careers in science museums, and I followed UT’s collection page on Facebook. One day in 2015, they shared an event for a Bioblitz, sponsored by several groups associated with UT and Texas Parks and Wildlfie. What’s a Bioblitz? I had no idea. So I clicked. 

Basically, you take as many pictures of living things as you can. There were subject matter experts who would lead you on hikes and tell you what things were and how you can tell them apart (WAIT, WHAT?!?). The event required that you download this new nature app called iNaturalist (@inaturalist), which is where you would post the photos you took. With the data you posted from the app, other users of the website would identify your photos, and the state park we were at would use that data to create species checklists to track what occurred there. Your iNat account kept a permanent log of all of your observations. I tend to be extremely skeptical/resistant to new technologies and being told to do things, so at first I wanted to know what was wrong with the way I took photos NOW, I didn’t need some stupid website telling me what to do.

But then I started testing it out before the event.

Two of my first iNat observations (both butterflies). Left: Henry’s Elfin caterpillar; Right: American Lady butterfly. Links to iNat observations.

I had no idea where to start with identifying either of these, and the Henry’s Elfin caterpillar took me a few years to ID myself. But the American Lady? People told me what it was within hours of me posting it. Within hours.

About a week later, the Bioblitz happened. It was perfect. For the first time in my life, I was surrounded by people who were just like me. They wanted to go on long slow walks through nature, turning over logs and walking directly into ponds and poking at insects, all while taking photos of things and identifying them. I was spending the weekend with real life biologists and I was learning everything I could. And the things I saw?

HOLY CARP. Texas has dung beetles?! (top left) Parasitic wasps REALLY DO THAT? (braconid wasp cocoons on inchworm caterpillar, top right) Diving beetles?! (water scavenger beetle, bottom left) Giant fishing spiders?! (bottom right)

This event was the moment I “got started” with entomology. I regularly used iNaturalist, and in the process of trying to identify my observations with BugGuide.net [link], I quickly began to learn some of the “basics.” For example, stink bugs are a thing. So are green lacewings. And there are a LOT more kinds of spiders than orbweavers and wolf spiders (who knew?). I was so smitten with iNaturalist that I professed my love for all to read on tumblr [link] (all being… 3 people?). I used iNaturalist regularly, but still, unless I was on a bioblitz, I didn’t seek things out. I mentioned I was a grad student, right?

Then 2016 rolls around. I’ve had enough of school and drop master out of my program. I get a Real Engineering Job and Buy a House with a Yard. I started my new job when I was finishing up my thesis (probably not the best idea…) and so my back yard took on a life of its own. By the time I had finished my thesis, the grass was hip height, and the HOA had no rules about what my back yard had to look like, so I just never mowed it. And the bugs… oh man, the bugs. The bugs were good. By January 2017, I was getting more confident in my Bug Knowledge, and I was using iNaturalist every week. I had joined clubs centered around nature (Texas Master Naturalists and Travis Audubon). I signed up for a birding trip in Malawi. Then in April, I found a pile of butterfly eggs and a chrysalis. And the guy leading the Malawi trip (one of the directors at Travis Audubon) asked me to do an insect table at their outreach event. Then City Nature Challenge 2017 happened (and I am *very* competitive). And… uh… I guess I just never looked back?

The thing to remember here is: the more I learn, the more I realize I don’t know. What I love about iNaturalist is that I can create a time capsule showing what I did and didn’t know at the time. And what I didn’t know is… really amazing. I taught the entomology class for my Master Naturalist chapter’s training course this year, and I told the people in the class that one year ago, I didn’t know any of the things I was going to talk to them about. I know it sounds like I’m putting on a commercial for iNaturalist (which is actually exactly what I’m doing, I love that website), but besides the curiosity about nature that I had to begin with, iNaturalist is the single most important thing that has enabled me to nurture and grow my love for our invertebrate friends.

Through my use of iNaturalist, I have met real people and made real friendships. Many of the people I meet are professionally biologists, but there are just as many randos like me who crawled out of the internet to hang out with nature freaks. One of the great things about this community is there is no elitism, and even professional entomologists are just as willing to admit they have no idea what something is and will listen to me explain what I know, as they are to explain something I don’t know and answer my questions. The people I have met are absolutely awesome, and the general attitude people on iNat (online and in person) tend to have has really rubbed off on me. If someone I’m talking to doesn’t know something that tends to be commonly known (example: my coworker is a gardener, but hadn’t heard about the ant/aphid relationship), oh boy, it’s awesome, let me TELL YOU about ANTS fighting off PREDATORS so they can DRINK APHID PEE!!!

Above: Crematogaster ants farming keeled treehopper nymphs on sunflower SO THEY CAN DRINK THEIR PEE

One of the best things you can do to get more into entomology is to just be observant. Look. Notice patterns. Pay attention to relationships between “higher” and “lower” organisms. When you travel, look there too. What is different from home? What’s similar?

The other best thing: meet people. Find groups/clubs for people into nature. Go on hikes with entomologists. Go to “nature days” events (these are always geared towards kids, but ADULTS ARE WELCOME!). A lot of nature clubs and organizations are heavy on the retiree demographic, which means the meetings may not be easy to learn about online. I actually joined the Austin Butterfly Forum after hearing about it from the people I was sitting next to at a Travis Audubon event (Victor Emanuel’s autobiography had just published and he kicked off his book tour with a live interview in Austin), and I’ve met several new friends through ABF. 

I don’t even know how to explain it, but naturalists are a totally different flavor than any other person I’ve known. It’s like, there are other people who would rather be crawling through the swamp in 105°F weather for 8 hours straight than sit and watch TV? There are other people who will skip two meals and stay up until 2 am to get really good bug pictures? I mean, I can’t describe what it feels like to be slowly picking through the deserts of west Texas with 15 other people, when one of them yells, “SNAKE!” and suddenly EVERYBODY RUNS TOWARDS THE SNAKE AND IMPATIENTLY WAITS THEIR TURN TO HOLD HIM. 

I know this is long and maybe not entirely what you were expecting, @marichuu, but want to make sure that anybody reading this knows that if you like nature, even if you don’t know very much about it now, there are a ton of people like me and those weirdos up there who are so excited to share the world with you that you can’t even imagine it now. Want to stay online because you’re nervous about meeting new people? That’s great! Tons of us are online! But if you’re ready to put yourself out there and meet people in person, chances are, they’re awesome and will love answering your questions (and if they’re not awesome tell me and I’ll YELL AT THEM FOR YOU YOU DESERVE BETTER). 

Anyway. Bugs are awesome and I hope they think you are just as awesome. Also anthropology is super neat and there’s a lot of intersections with entomology [link] that you can look at from an interesting angle.

Posted June 4, 2018