#I want to work with mangrove and cherry

[acids-and-basses]

Should I just play Minecraft on my second YouTube account?

[varteeny1234]

MARM FIC TIME! FEATURING SOME LITTLE DETAILS OF HER LETSPLAY SERIES (both 1&2) THAT I OVER-THOUGHT WAY TOO MUCH :D

Summary:

Marm's magical journey, through her different worlds.

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 1535

Warnings: None (she does necromancy once but like. it's three brief sentences with very little detail, and also she canonically does necromancy in sbk so it's fine)

I am actually proud of this one! I just hope it makes sense- it was kinda hard to tag lmao :'D

Marma1ade stared up at the tree she'd just grown with a singular raised eyebrow. It was a beautiful tree, in the perfect place next to her magical castle. It added a lot to the area, visually and otherwise, and overall, there wasn't any reason she should be upset with it!

And she wasn't, really. It was just that the tree had decided to grow in a... familiar shape. Inside the river of water that pooled at the top of the cliffside before cascading down the side. Its branches stretched up before reaching far out to the sides, and its roots were solidly growing in the mud with the water splashing around them. 

Her finger twitched. 

She was ecstatic when she discovered that she had magic, and could grow plants, and make small objects float, and a bunch of other silly things. There were even some little green buds beginning to sprout in her hair- she didn't know what plants they were, but she thought they were adorable! She'd used her magic to try and grow some small trees before, which had turned out alright, but they looked a little bit wilty. This one was perfectly healthy. 

...And, apparently, was a mangrove tree. Or at least it was almost a mangrove tree. 

Marm hadn't even meant to grow one! It had just happened! Was this part of her magic? She could only grow big trees that were similar to mangroves? 

Inexplicably, she suddenly felt a tug, a desire to travel back to her original living space- the mangrove swamp. 

She could work out her magical weirdness later, she supposed...

~~~~

Marm's theory was correct, that she could only grow big mangrove trees. So far, anyways. As it turned out, her magic was from the swamp itself! It was biome-sourced magic- there were a few books that she'd skimmed through in the castle's grand library before she'd had to leave. 

The crystals were too powerful. The magic was so, so much. The spell she'd tried had... done something to them. She couldn't go back, she couldn't be near them, she'd abandoned the entire world-

Move on!

The mangrove swamp didn't like that she'd left it, that she was living in a different biome. She tried to go back and visit it, because she still did like the swamp and she also wanted frogs, but everything around her was trying to kill her. Her sense of direction was completely useless, there were monsters everywhere, and- if she wasn't going just a little bit crazy- the mud itself was trying to swallow her up. 

Surely, Marm hadn't angered it seriously, if she had, then she'd have definitely not made it out of there alive. It was more along the lines of... maybe grumpiness? 

Yes, that was it. The swamp was grumpy at her.

Why, oh, why did she have to gain a magical connection to the pettiest of all biomes?!

~~~~

Her magic being biome-sourced had resulted in a few different quirks! Firstly, and most obviously, the plants growing in her hair changed on their own to reflect her surroundings- she lived in a cherry valley, now, so she had a head covered in cherry blossoms. At first, they'd been absolutely everywhere. She could hardly turn her head without pink petals floating to the ground. Their growth had slowed down to a manageable degree, as she learnt more about how her magic worked, but her head was still bright pink.

Secondly, because her magic was gifted by the mangrove swamp, she was connected to it. Her plant magic was becoming stronger. She could grow fields of flowers with hardly a wave of her hand, and trees were coming more naturally to her, even if they weren't easy yet. 

But they had to be near water, still, or else they wouldn't be able to grow strong and healthy. 

Marm's solution to this was to dig out a series of rivers alongside the mountains, all connecting together into a giant pool, where the centerpiece of her new village was located. The largest tree she had ever grown, though it looked like a cherry tree, fed off the water and mud and mangrove magic. She sighed- she liked the tree, of course, but it just wasn't behaving the way a cherry tree normally should. 

She pulled a flower out of her hair, rolling the stem between her fingers. Cherry blossom flowers were beautiful!

...That didn't stop her from feeling like she was missing something. She knew that returning to the swamp would help. But she wasn't ready to. Not yet, not after what had happened the last time she went digging too far into the magic.

~~~~

It had been a mention of the void.

Marm had stayed up far too late one night, and while she was poring over some of the older tomes in the far backs of the bookshelves, she'd come across a record of the strangeness of void magic. Very little was known about it, or even about the void itself, other than that if you fell into it- touched the plane below the surface of the overworld, dipped below to the place of no return- your only chance at survival was to leave as quickly as possible, and hope you didn't go too far. Apparently, there were even worlds where the overworld was made entirely of floating islands, surrounded completely by the nothingness.

There were one or two spells in the book. She only remembered one of them- a necromancy spell, of a sort. It could pull something out of the void that had suffocated and died, bringing it back, even if it was just a reanimated skeleton. It could also just bring back a body, but the fact that it was powerful enough to bring things out of the void itself was truly a testament to its strength.

Who wouldn't have tried that?! Even if she hadn't lost anything to the void, this was a new type of magic that she needed to learn. After all, the very castle she was in was a magic school. She was a witch! Strange magic should come naturally to her!

She didn't want to try it out on just a random animal. 

Something bigger- like a villager- would be easier to get a reading of. 

And hey! Marm's magic was strong enough that she'd succeeded. The villager had come back to life, as a skeleton, but it didn't attack her. It just... sat around. 

The experiment had been performed underground, so she'd had no idea whether or not it would burn in the sunlight, and she'd also not known that the void magic would completely throw off the balance of the world's magic. 

The layer of bedrock kept all the void's energy below, and everything else above. Maybe, just maybe, if Marm had broken a hole in it, the crystals wouldn't have been so charged with violent magical energy that she had to flee back underground through her portal. 

The world was collapsing around her as it vanished, and her last regret was that she didn't take the book about void magic with her. 

Well, at least she knew she'd never forget the spell. Something like that was not only useful, but it wouldn't be leaving her memory any time soon.

This new world, with the cherry trees, was bound to be better. 

And she wouldn't corrupt this one. 

~~~~

Her eyes were definitely purple. Was this related to the void magic that she'd done in the past? Anything was possible...

She hadn't even used any since that first spell. This side effect could have just been greatly delayed, of course, but it was still strange to see her reflection in the window of a house and notice something was off. 

It had happened right after she'd visited the End to defeat the dragon. The dimension that was pure void.

Marm didn't think the void was evil or anything, no, no part of nature was evil. Everything just had a place in the natural order, the ecosystem, and she'd lost her world because of something that she'd done. It wasn't the void's fault!

The village was done, now. She didn't know what she could do next. She still felt like she was missing a piece of herself. She needed to go back to the swamp...

Or.

Or....

Did she need to go back to the void? Would everything be better if she just accepted that she'd ruined the balance by transferring magic through the bedrock layer, and give up all of her magic to reinstate that balance?

She didn't want to think about any of these things. Noticing that she was standing next to the giant cherry-mangrove tree, she waded into the shallow water. She followed one of the rivers at random, going uphill. 

She found herself in front of her nether portal- this one was much more grand than her original, not dug out of the wall of a cave, but placed here on purpose and decorated with all different kinds of plants. 

It felt different than it normally did- almost as if it had changed, leading somewhere new. 

A new world...

Perhaps, another fresh start could help to clear her mind.

[theladyheroine]

Types of Wizards! ✨

❥ This was just a fun idea since I’ve been reading lots of fantasy headcanons, I wanted to try! Plus I don’t see too many for magic-y stuff out there so this gave me a good idea!

❥ Also! Most of these are female centered but some of this can be for boys too! I just prefer the term wizard because it sounds cooler lol. But thank you! Enjoy!

Storybook Wizards 🤎

Usually has an owl or sparrows as a companion.

Quills are made from barn owl feathers.

Wands are made from cinnamomum trees, elm trees, or hazel trees.

Likes to feed the crickets that sing on the bookshelves. Some think it’s gross but they’re very nice!

Uses golden wax seals for nearly everything.

Collects old trinkets they find or receive from friends. They don’t work anymore or are just old, but has tried fixing them up.

Loves both books & scrolls, but thinks books are easier to hold onto. That one friend who decides to read one more chapter, but ends up reading all night.

Loves to wish on stars or dandelions but is too embarrassed to tell anyone.

Seems like a bit of a hermit, but is actually really friendly! Loves to interact with people & exchange different interests, quite talkative at times.

Either works at an archive or some kind of library, has a special little key that works only for them.

Weather Wizards 🌩️

Usually has a bird of prey as a companion, but don’t worry they’re friendly 😅🙏

Quills are made from crow feathers.

Wands are made from maple trees, pine trees, or baobab trees.

The ultimate bird parent!! Birds love them & they’re always putting out bird seed feeders or scraps of veggies.

Lives alone in a tall tower in the middle of the woods. Only goes to town when necessary & will turn into a grumpy pants if you knock on their door.

Sometimes storm clouds or rain will swirl around their house, usually due to spell testing or potions.

The weather is actually pretty nice when they’re around! Cool breezes, clear skies, warm sunny days; tries to deny it’s their work until the sunshine gets brighter.

Collects clean water in mason jars or glass bottles when it rains.

Likes to climb rooftops & chart the stars.

Can always sense when a storm is approaching, doesn’t matter what kind they’re spot on. Likely their job is to keep them at bay as a guardian or lookout.

Love Wizards 💝

Usually has a dove or a type of songbird as a companion.

Quills are made from white swan feathers.

Wands are made from cherry trees, camellia trees, or jasmine shrubs.

Has an easier time communicating with fauna.

Ladybugs are automatically attracted to them & will usually bring good luck to them throughout the day.

Stores their potions in old perfume bottles but will make perfume as a small side job. Has to label everything though.

Has a small rose bush growing outside of their window; likes to talk to it & believes plants have feelings.

Super affectionate! Either the mom friend or the cutsey clingy child friend.

Never forgets Valentine’s Day!! (I’m sorry I know it was last week!) Goes over the top every year & everyone either gets a bouquet or a little goodie bag. The size of the gift depends on who you are sometimes.

Business is a postal service for relationship problems but gets a lot of love letters to proofread. A bit embarrassed receiving one addressed to them.

Swamp Wizards 🐸

Usually has a crane or even a heron as a companion. But sometimes that makes it hard to get in them the house...

Quills are made from duck feathers.

Wands are made of mangrove trees, dogwood trees, or lilypad stems.

Defined as the oddballs of wizardry. They are known to travel a lot but usually live alone.

Uses an old timey ferry boat to get around, but has to use magic to get the paddle wheel moving. It’ll creak & stop like an old engine.

Probably the most experienced in floral/nature magic & their house is like an absolute jungle. Will even let moss grow out because “it wants to be there.”

Has tried more than once to kiss a frog & see if it’ll turn into their true love, but carries medicine around just in case.

Really loves milkweed flowers & will set up cute bundles in their home to make it smell good.

The best cook in the world but mostly uses magic to help.

Probably the friendliest person you’ll meet! Will tell all sorts of stories about their travels, the different kinds of people they’ve met, where to find the best berry bushes, how to care for tadpoles— It might be awhile before you can introduce yourself…

[sergeantsporks]

Trick or Treat!

WELL this is later than I said it would be, but better late than never!

Overgrown Memories

Rating: Teen, Gen

Terra erased memories, memories Phoenix wants back.

Or, at least, he thought he did.

“Here.” Jason handed Evelyn a walkie-talkie. “From Luz. It’ll make staying in touch easier. Just push this button here…” he tapped the speaking button, and the walkie-talkie screeched. “Ah! Well, wait for us to be further away. I promise they work.”

“I believe you.” Evelyn turned to Phoenix. “Are you sure about this?”

He nodded. “I know Belos had my memories of Petro erased. I want to—I need to know if he took anything else from me. I want to trust my own memories again.”

“Even though it means Cherry and Jason will see everything?”

Phoenix’s eyes fixed on the two of them, and the level-headed certainty behind them made Jason shiver. “There’s no one I’d trust more.”

A warm glow sparked in Jason’s chest. Phoenix had come such a long way. He just hoped that he and Cherry could help. Sure, Cherry had been in a mindscape before, and Jason had gotten second-hand information about Terra’s memory-wiping brew from his friends, but they still had no idea how the tea worked inside of the mindscape. Raine had tried to help, but since they’d only really taken about a dose before figuring out Terra’s game, they didn’t have much more information.

Evelyn drew a golden spell circle, and Phoenix dropped backwards into bed like a bag of rocks, his face oddly peaceful. Evelyn’s attention turned to Cherry and Jason. “And are you two sure about this? We don’t know what you might find in there. Seeing someone’s innermost memories and thoughts can be… I don’t want…”

A grim smile twitched across Cherry’s face. “Believe me. I am the last person to judge what someone’s done in their past.”

“Nothing could make me think less of Phoenix,” Jason declared, “Whatever we see in there—it won’t change anything.” That, he was certain of. Everyone had a history they didn’t like talking about when it came to their time as the golden guard. Jason could count the number of things he knew about Cherry’s past on one hand. But at the end of the day, it always came back to Belos. And how could Jason hold that against anyone?

Evelyn took a deep breath. “Alright. Remember to keep an eye out for the Inner Phoenix—this is something Phoenix wants, so his inner self is likely to be helpful. Let me know when you’re done.”

Jason held Cherry’s hand tight while the room around them collapsed into golden magic. When the floating lights cleared, they stood in a swamp. Sunlight filtered through mangrove tree branches, making the dark water sparkle, and Jason could swear that something in the trees was breathing.

“Huh.” Cherry tilted his head. “This isn’t like Petro’s mindscape. There’s a lot more li—

A dark blur shot past Jason, slamming into Cherry and sending him flying backwards in a spray of muddy water.

“Cherry!”

Jason whirled around. Some… thing stood atop Cherry’s chest, growling. Jason’s eyes seemed to slide off it every time he tried to look, but he managed to catch several glowing blue eyes, and his heart stuttered in his chest.

Is that…?

“Down. Down!”

Phoenix ran past Jason, wrapping his arms around the thing and dragging it away from Cherry.

“No—it’s okay, it’s okay. They’re here to help. Shshshshshhhhhhh…”

Jason ran to help Cherry up, shaking the lingering panic away. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Cherry said breathlessly, “Just—took me by surprise.”

Jason turned to face the Inner Phoenix. He seemed almost… unreal, glowing in a way that made him look less substantial, despite how solidly he’d hauled Cherry’s attacker away. The creature crouched—at least, Jason thought it was crouching—behind him, snarling softly. “Is that…?”

“The curse,” Inner Phoenix confirmed, “Ever since the whole… well, it’s a little defensive about other people showing up in my mind. We’ve got an understanding, though.” Inner Phoenix gave the curse a soothing pat. “It’ll leave you alone as long as you’re with me. I think.”

“So—you know why we’re here?” Cherry asked, “Can you help us?”

“Yes, and yes. I know exactly which memory is the problem. Follow me.”

Inner Phoenix and the Curse took off. Inner Phoenix’s feet sat atop the water of the swamp, while the curse seemed to delight in sinking down, bounding through the liquid in pounces. Jason took the walk a little slower. Photograph memories sat nestled in the tangled roots of mangrove trees, protected by the thick wood like a cage.

“Oh!” Jason grabbed Cherry’s arm, pointing at a picture of a stocked dining room, and a heavily-bandaged Phoenix lurking uncomfortably in the background of his own memory. “Look—it’s when he met us.”

Inner Phoenix smiled fondly. “We were so awkward.”

The curse nudged the memory, all of its eyes swiveling to look back and forth between the memory and Jason, then Cherry. A ripple spread across the water, accompanied by a low rumble, and the curse nudged Jason’s hand like a griffin seeking pats.

“I told you they were friends,” Inner Phoenix said, amusement playing across his face, “Don’t slow down. We need to go further in.

As they walked, the trees grew thicker, their branches spreading shadows over the pictures they housed. Jason caught a glimpse of gold armor, and he understood immediately why the pictures were hidden. He stared studiously at the water swirling around his ankles. Phoenix trusted him to be here—he wouldn’t break that trust by breaking into the memories Terra hadn’t squirreled away. No matter how curious he was.

The curse seemed at odds with itself here, slipping through the memories with ease, yet at the same time, avoiding touching any of them. Jason remembered what Phoenix had told him about the curse before—how it was a little bit of destroyed palisman, a little bit of Belos, and a little bit of Phoenix, all rolled up and mixed into something new. Jason wondered if being in these memories—one of them that he quickly looked away from involved green palisman blood—affected the curse.

“It can’t be easy for it, seeing the person it came from,” Jason whispered to Cherry, nodding to the curse, “I mean, it remembers things from Belos, but it also remembers being Phoenix, and the palisman. If what Phoenix says is true, it’s scared of something that’s also a part of it. Poor little guy.”

A smile crossed Cherry’s face. “Leave it to you to empathize with a curse,” he teased gently. Jason stuck his tongue out.

“We’re here,” Inner Phoenix announced. Flowers and vines curled around the roots of this tree, nearly blocking the photograph completely. Jason caught a glimpse of a throne, white and gold shining through. Inner Phoenix’s hands clenched.

“I know this isn’t right,” he murmured, “I know it isn’t true. I saw the real thing myself, and I remember seeing the real thing happen. But this is… still here. It’s like trying to put a square peg in a hole that can’t decide which shape it wants to be.”

Cherry put a hand on Inner Phoenix’s shoulder. “We’re going to fix it,” he promised, “Jason? Let’s see what we’re working with.”

The surface of the photograph rippled like water when Cherry climbed in, and Jason found himself holding his breath as he passed through. He found Cherry on the other side looking at the frame they’d come through.

“That’s different than Petro’s,” he remarked calmly, “Good to know that we can get back out on our own without waiting for the memory to end.”

Jason’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh—there he is!”

Jason was used to Phoenix towering over him. He hadn’t expected a smaller, skinnier version, scrapes, bruises, and dirt smudging his skin. The kid in front of him was unscarred, but had a similar perpetually-worried on his face. Jason reached out, wishing he could take pre-teen Phoenix by the hand and tell him everything would be alright. But his hand fell through his shoulder, and the little Phoenix scrambled over a fence like he wasn’t there.

“Petro’s waiting in that alley,” Cherry murmured, “He tries to kill Phoenix.”

Jason jumped over the fence, watching out for any sign of the rogue grimwalker, even knowing there was nothing he could do to stop him. But all he saw was Phoenix, climbing on top of garbage cans and reaching for the nearest roof. Jason smelled a sweet scent, something familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. Little Phoenix scrambled up on top of the garbage cans, reaching for a ball, reaching and falling. He landed on his arm with a sickening crack.

Rose petals. The smell is rose petals, Jason realized, and the memory blurred. Little Phoenix sat in a healing clinic, his arm in a sling. Coven scouts flanked the door, and moments later, Belos walked in. Even knowing he was nothing but a memory, Jason’s gut clenched at the sight of him. Belos called Phoenix special, told him that he’d been looking for him for such a long time, and Jason wanted to scream, wanted to tell Phoenix to run, to do anything but smile in a happy, confused way, and accept Belos’ offer to join the emperor’s coven. Cherry’s hand found his.

The memory blurred over again, the smell of rose petals so thick it clogged Jason’s nose. Phoenix knelt at Belos’ feet, telling him in a sad, but not terrified way how he’d failed to capture a group of wild witches. He apologized, but before he could explain any further, Belos lashed out, and Phoenix reeled backwards, clutching his eye. Cherry’s hand squeezed Jason’s, and Jason looked up to see a roiling mix of pain and anger glinting in Cherry’s good eye. Jason leaned against him. He’d always heard how Belos had treated the others, how he’d lashed out for mistakes, but it was another thing entirely to see it play out in front of him.

“This isn’t right,” Cherry said in a clipped voice, “The memories in Petro’s mind didn’t fade in and out like this.”

Jason tapped his nose. “The rose scent.” The words rolled out easily. Anything to avoid talking about what they’d just seen. “Didn’t Terra used to call Phoenix ‘Rosebud?’”

“They’re definitely connected,” Cherry agreed, “Let’s go back. See what we can figure out.”

Inner Phoenix was already pacing back and forth when they exited, the curse on his heels. “It’s not real,” he growled to himself, “It didn’t happen, it’s fine if they see—oh! Did you find anything useful?”

“Not much we didn’t already know.” Cherry studied the tree. “Have these flowers always been here?”

Inner Phoenix’s eyes flicked to the side. “Hard to say. Why?”

“Well—” Jason knelt to examine the flowers. “Isn’t it odd that they’re only on this memory, and not on most of the others? They definitely didn’t grow on the recent memories, from after Phoenix died.” He wrapped a hand around one of the flowers. “Surely it can’t be this easy,” he murmured, and ripped it out by the roots. The other flowers seemed to shudder and shrink away from Jason’s hand as he reached for them.

So I’m right, he thought grimly, and pulled away more and more of the growth. Cherry fell in beside him, tearing up flowers. Bit by bit, the roots of the tree reappeared.

“Make sure you get them by the roots,” Jason advised. Cherry didn’t have the same experience he did. He knew from hours spent with Mole in the garden that ripping away the petals, stems, and leaves wouldn’t be enough. The flowers needed to be gone, or they’d just sprout again the moment Cherry and Jason left.

Jason pointed at the growing pile of flowers. “Is there a way to get rid of them completely? There’s a risk they’ll re-root themselves if we just leave them here.”

Inner Phoenix picked a flower up, shrugged, and tossed it at the curse. The flower sank into its mass, dissolving as it went. Jason blinked, unease tugging at the back of his mind. “Is that… safe?” he asked.

“It eats magic. It’ll be fine. Might even keep it satisfied for a bit, which is good for all of us.”

Cherry tore out the last of the flowers. A long root tugged out of the ground, unwinding itself from the tree. As Cherry pulled, the photo in the tree changed—instead of a throne room, an alleyway appeared. Belos was replaced with an angry Petro.

Cherry tossed the flower to the side. “I’ll check to make sure the whole memory is correct.” He held one palm out to stop Jason. “Stay out here? I know you can handle yourself, but it’s… it’s a rough memory. No reason to make you see it if you don’t have to.”

Jason nodded and watched Cherry disappear into the memory. Annoyance tugged the corners of his lips into a frown. He didn’t need to be babied. But at the same time… Cherry had seen this memory before. It would be the least intrusive to Phoenix if Cherry was the only one to see it again now. Jason perched on a tree root to wait, taking turns with Inner Phoenix tossing flowers to the curse.

“It didn’t use to be like this.” Inner Phoenix gestured at the swamp. “Used to be pine trees and dry ground.”

“What happened?” Jason could guess, but he got the feeling it was a story Inner Phoenix wanted to tell.

“Curse showed up. Everything started getting muddier. When we started taking the elixir…” Inner Phoenix nodded to the water. “What do you think that is?”

Jason scooped up the water in his hands, examining it. When he held the liquid to the light, it shimmered with a golden sheen. “Oh. And the trees?”

“They adapted. Or they’d have been lost.” Inner Phoenix hissed out. “A lot of damage could have been done. It almost was done—our memories started to get overwritten by Belos’.”

“That’s how Phoenix and Mom found Ghost,” Jason remembered.

“Yeah. But it could have been worse. What happened when we went berserk and mauled those coven scouts? That could have been all the time.”

Jason shuddered. Phoenix had learned to live with the curse—he’d even learned how to use it sometimes, although the effort always wore him out. He didn’t like thinking about how badly it could have gone. How badly it could still go if Phoenix slipped up.

Cherry clambered back out of the frame just as Inner Phoenix tossed the last flower at the curse. “Seems to be alright. Have you seen any other memories covered in flowers like this one?”

Inner Phoenix glanced over his shoulder. “Not covered. I’ve seen a few flowers sprouting in places, though—you should check those memories out before you leave. This way.”

He drifted further in, and Cherry followed. Jason hopped off the roots, but before he could splash his way after them, he felt something cold and slimy nudge his hand. He recoiled on instinct, then immediately felt guilty as all of the curse’s eyes drooped.

“Sorry.”

It nudged him again, then backed away, heading the opposite direction as Cherry and Inner Phoenix. After a few feet, it stopped, looking at him expectantly. Trotted up and nudged his hand again. Glided back, watching him with its glowing blue eyes.

Jason glanced after Cherry and Inner Phoenix, a call humming in his throat, but something in the curse’s eyes told him it wanted to keep this secret. He climbed back onto the Petro memory’s roots, hopping quietly from one tree to the next to avoid splashing in the water and alerting Inner Phoenix that he’d gone the opposite way. Cherry would notice he was missing before long, but hopefully Jason could resolve this before he caught up. Or at least convince the curse that Cherry would help.

The curse flitted through the trees, and like a silent shadow, Jason followed. More and more memories showed gold and white—they were headed back into Phoenix’s time as the golden guard. For a brief moment, Jason wondered if following a volatile curse further into a hostile area on his own was really the best decision, but before he could think too hard about it, the curse halted in front of a memory so overgrown with flowers, Jason almost wasn’t sure he’d be able to get through the frame. How had Inner Phoenix missed this one? Or—no. That wasn’t the right question. Why had the curse felt the need to show Jason the memory without Inner Phoenix there?

“I need to go in to see what the corrupted version is,” Jason whispered. He was almost certain that Inner Phoenix and Cherry were mind-miles away, but still. The patches of sunlight here were few and far between, and goosebumps coated his arms. “Is that okay?”

The curse slithered to circle the tree’s trunk, its many eyes watching the swamp in all possible directions. Jason took that as permission, and stepped through the frame.

Phoenix swept through the hallways of a building Jason had never lived to see, but knew from keeping an eye on Hunter. The keep. Phoenix walked stiffly, professionally, and his mask hid any expression, but Jason watched him tug out a lock of hair, twist the strands between his fingers, tuck the hair back, and repeat three or four times, a nervous tic Jason knew well. He finally pushed open a massive set of doors. Jason followed inside, wishing once again that Phoenix knew he was there, but knowing the memory had to play out as it had happened. Or—rather—as it had been corrupted to appear.

Phoenix knelt. He’d grown since the last memory—this was the full-sized, hulking Phoenix that Jason had come to know. But in this throne room with its high-arching walls, at the foot of a dais housing a cold stone throne, he seemed just as small as he had back in the alleyway. The doors swung shut behind him.

Belos leaned forward on his throne. “Good news?”

Phoenix removed his mask, but didn’t speak for a long moment. “Sir,” he started tentatively.

“Ah. Less good news, I see.” Belos sighed, seeming almost more… boredly disappointed than angry. Nothing like he’d been in the corrupted memory before. “Let’s have it.”

“The escaped prisoners, they… they got into the lower levels of the Conformatorium. We tracked them down, but they’d released the prisoners down there as well.” Phoenix’s voice turned brisk, businesslike, stating facts quickly and efficiently. “Most of the squadron was decimated the moment they tried to cast a spell, and the magic of my staff was destroyed as well. I managed to physically restrain one of the original escapees, but the rest were able to flee unhindered.” Phoenix took a deep breath. “Sir, if I may… why are we keeping basilisks alive?”

“You may not. Still.” Something like cruel amusement laced Belos’ voice. “I’m surprised you know what they are.”

A sour taste filled Jason’s mouth at the dismissive words, and the tips of Phoenix’s ears turned pink. “With all due respect, Uncle, they’re dangerous creatures. Even only the three we had detained could wreck havoc on the population—”

“Which is why you should not have failed to apprehend them, hm?”

“S-sir. Yes. I’m simply thinking. Perhaps—instead of recapturing them, lethal force may—”

“No.” Belos stood. “You will bring them alive.”

“Understood. Another concern—where did they come from? I thought basilisks were extinct.”

“You are an unexpected bastion of knowledge today, aren’t you? It’s nothing you need worry about.”

“But if there’s a surviving nest somewhere, then—"

Belos turned away. “It doesn’t concern you, Hunter.”

“Or, if not a nest, then someone’s managed to bring… them… ba…” Phoenix looked up at Belos, his careful mask of calm politeness slipping into horror. “You didn’t. How did you even-?”

Jason had never really gotten used to just how fast Belos could move when he wanted to. He didn’t even see the turn—one moment Belos stood with his back to Phoenix, and the next, Phoenix was sent skidding backwards in a spatter of blood on tile, clutching his side, and Belos faced him, arm extended in a long blade. Jason put a hand to his mouth.

He’ll be okay, he reminded himself, he makes it out of this.

Belos looked coldly down at Phoenix. The scent of roses hung heavy in the air. “Take care of that,” Belos said dismissively, “Then find your missing prisoners.”

“Sir,” Phoenix choked. The memory blurred into a haze of pink petals so thick Jason almost couldn’t breathe. They’d known about the memory with Petro—they knew how badly it must have been altered to cut Petro out completely. But this? What was being hidden? What had happened? And why was Terra’s influence even heavier here than it had been in the last one?

The flower petals settled, and Phoenix stood in an empty training room with Darius. He didn’t wear his armor—of course he didn’t. A cloak could be easily replaced. The armor Belos must have broken in order to wound Phoenix would take more time to repair or replace. Jason’s eyes picked up the lump under Phoenix’s shirt that denoted where the bandages must be, but Darius didn’t seem to notice. Rose petals still drifted around the corners of the room, and the air was sickly sweet with their scent.

Phoenix twirled a staff in his hands. The movement was slow, sluggish. Jason caught a mishandling that almost dropped the staff, but Phoenix recovered the rhythm quickly. “Right, then. Come at me.”

Darius grinned, dropped into a puddle, and reappeared behind Phoenix. Phoenix blocked easily, turning his body so that even if Darius did land a hit, it wouldn’t hit his injured side. On and on they went, exchanging blows, Phoenix just quick enough to block Darius but never enough to land his own attack.

Darius feinted. The flick of his eyes told Jason where he intended to strike but Phoenix fell for it’ Darius’ abomination-coated fist swung into Phoenix’s injured side. Phoenix dropped his staff, and fell to his knees, clutching his side. Darius laughed, triumph in his eyes that quickly dropped to horror when Phoenix cried out.

“Hey—you’re joking, right? You’re exagger—” Darius caught Phoenix’s shoulders as he pitched forward. Blood seeped through his shirt, and he groaned. Darius let him slump against his shoulder, his pupils frantic pinpricks.

“Help!” he called, “Somebody—call a healer!”

The rosepetals swirled around again as Phoenix’s eyes drooped shut, and he lost consciousness. Jason stumbled backwards, tripping over the frame of the memory.

Strong arms caught him, and Cherry’s face peered down at him. “Hey—are you alright?”

Behind him, Inner Phoenix paced back and forth. “You shouldn’t have gone in there,” he muttered, “You shouldn’t have—you shouldn’t have—”

Jason lurched back to his feet. “Something’s very wrong with that memory. Terra’s practically rewritten the whole thing.” He reached for one of the blooms, but before he could make contact, Inner Phoenix’s hand closed around his wrist.

“Don’t.”

Jason slowly pulled his hand back. “This is what he asked,” he said quietly, “Phoenix didn’t ask us to just fix the Petro memory. He wanted us to fix any corrupted memories.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking to do. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for. Leave this one.”

“It’s better to know,” Cherry argued, “Whatever happened, Phoenix can handle it.”

“No! You can’t do this to him—and you can’t see it. You wouldn’t—you wouldn’t understand!”

“Whatever happened—” Jason started, but before he could reassure Inner Phoenix, the projection reached towards the curse.

“I won’t let you,” he hissed. The curse shuffled nervously, but leaned into the touch, twisting around Inner Phoenix and sinking over him like a second skin. Wings covered in eyes sprouted from his back, and his hands turned to claws. The water around his feet bubbled and hissed. The eyes on the creature’s wings blinked mournfully at Jason, as if to say, I tried to warn you.

Xxx

Evelyn rubbed her temples with a sigh. How long should this be taking? She was almost certain Cherry and Phoenix hadn’t been in Petro’s mind for half as much time.

Phoenix mumbled something incomprehensible, and Evelyn spotted sweat beading his forehead. She’d known the memories they’d uncover wouldn’t be friendly, but it hadn’t occurred to her that Phoenix might remember them now in nightmares. She reached for his hand, but it squelched against her skin, and she recoiled. Phoenix’s arms roiled, the flesh shifting to mud and back again almost too quickly to tell which phase they were in. Evelyn reached for her walkie-talkie.

“What’s going on in there?”

Xxx

Cherry sized up Monster Phoenix. “You don’t want to do this,” he said quietly, “You know what happened in Petro’s mind when he challenged me. It didn’t end well for him.”

Inner Phoenix nodded to his claws. “He didn’t have help.”

The walkie-talkie clipped to Jason’s belt crackled to life.

“What’s going on in there?” Evelyn’s voice asked over the speaker, “Are you two okay?”

All of Phoenix’s eyes darted to the walkie-talkie. “This is your last chance,” he said softly, “Get out. Leave this memory behind.”

Cherry crossed his arms. “Or what? You’ll kill us? You think Phoenix will be able to live with that?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“Jason? Cherry?” the walkie asked.

Cherry nodded to Jason. “Take care of the memory. I’ll deal with him.”

Monster Phoenix lunged. Cherry grabbed his wrist and twisted him around to hold his arms crossed against his chest in one fluid motion.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he grunted, “Nobody here wants to hurt Phoenix. Just let—us—help.”

Jason pressed the walkie-talkie button. “We ran into a bit of trouble. Don’t worry. Cherry’s handling it. We’ll let you know if we need out.”

For a long moment, the walkie-talkie said nothing. Its crackle back to life sounded almost like a sigh. “Be careful. Let me know the moment you think you can’t handle it.”

“Will do.”

Jason turned his attention on the flowers. He didn’t have the time to be careful with this one—Cherry had Inner Phoenix pinned for now, but that couldn’t last. Jason tore up the flowers with wild abandon. He still made sure to dig out the roots, but now he barely cared about the amount of soil he was churning up.

Mole would kill me if he saw this, he thought ruefully, but it did the job. The last flower ripped free, and Jason took a deep breath.

Let’s see what’s been hiding behind Terra.

“NO!” Inner Phoenix howled, but there was nothing he could do. Jason stepped over the frame.

Once again, Phoenix swept through the halls of the keep. Once again, Phoenix tugged nervously on his hair before entering the throne room. Once again, Phoenix knelt, and the doors soundlessly swung shut behind him.

Belos leaned forward on his throne. “Good news?”

Phoenix removed his mask, and Jason waited, counting down the seconds before he spoke. “Sir,” he started tentatively.

“Ah. Less good news, I see.” Belos sighed with that same bored disappointment. “Let’s have it.”

“The escaped prisoners, they… they got into the lower levels of the Conformatorium. We tracked them down, but they’d released the prisoners down there as well.” Phoenix’s voice turned brisk, businesslike, stating facts quickly and efficiently. Jason examined him closely. Was there a wobble? Did he know what was coming? “Most of the squadron was decimated the moment they tried to cast a spell, and the magic of my staff was destroyed as well. I managed to physically restrain one of the original escapees, but the rest were able to flee unhindered.” Phoenix took a deep breath. “Sir, if I may… why are we keeping basilisks alive?”

“You may not. Still.” Definitely-cruel amusement laced Belos’ voice. Did he already know what he was going to do? Was it planned? “I’m surprised you know what they are.”

Hearing the casual dismissal wasn’t any easier the second time around, and the tips of Phoenix’s ears turned pink once again. Jason shot Belos a dirty look he knew the memory couldn’t see. “With all due respect, Uncle, they’re dangerous creatures. Even only the three we had detained could wreck havoc on the population—”

“Which is why you should not have failed to apprehend them, hm?”

“S-sir. Yes. I’m simply thinking. Perhaps—instead of recapturing them, lethal force may—”

“No.” Belos stood. “You will bring them alive.”

Where did this memory change? When had he first noticed the smell of rose petals?

“Understood. I have another concern—where did they come from? I thought basilisks were extinct.”

“You are an unexpected bastion of knowledge today, aren’t you? It’s nothing you need worry about.”

“But if there’s a surviving nest somewhere, then—"

Belos turned away. “It doesn’t concern you, Hunter.”

“Or, if not a nest, then someone’s managed to bring… them… ba…” Phoenix looked up at Belos, his careful mask of calm politeness slipping into horror. “You didn’t. How did you even-?”

Even though Jason knew it was coming, he barely caught the attack—and like Belos’ cruel taunts, it wasn’t any easier to see the second time around.

Shards of shattered gold dropped to the ground, but too many more lodged in Phoenix’s side. Still, Phoenix only took a step back, biting down on one leather glove while the other hand moved to cover his wounds.

This was where the change happened, Jason realized. What was it about this that Inner Phoenix was so determined not to remember?

“The risks—” Phoenix tried, and although his tone was determined, his voice already wavered with weakness from the attack.

Before he could say another word, Belos’ hand closed around his face. His eyes glowed feverishly blue, an expression of malicious glee that Jason had never seen before lighting up his face. “You really are too foolish to know when to shut up, aren’t you?” His grip tightened with his words, and Jason flinched at the sound of Phoenix’s jaw cracking.

Phoenix stumbled back with a cry. Belos flowed down from the dais, gliding behind Phoenix and putting a hand on his shoulder before he could take another step towards the door. “I didn’t dismiss you,” he hissed.

He’s playing with him.

Belos’ hand squeezed Phoenix’s shoulder so hard that Jason’s own shoulder ached in sympathy. The emperor pushed down, forcing Phoenix to one knee.

“That’s better. I am your emperor—show some respect.”

Something lit in Phoenix’s eyes, something desperate and hopeless all at the same time. He stayed genuflecting, even when Belos released him and returned to his dais. Quiet desperation flickered across his face, an expression Jason knew in the sickness of his stomach.

Stay still. Hope if you play along, he’ll let you go.

How many grimwalkers knew that lesson like the back of their hand? It was one thing to know. It was another to watch Phoenix huddle in half-worship, his blood slowly dripping in a puddle beneath him.

Phoenix started to sway slightly, and slowly, a horrifying realization hit Jason—Belos wasn’t going to let him go. He wasn’t just playing with him—he was going to let Phoenix die slowly in front of him, kneeling the whole time. He’d dropped any pretense of kindness, hadn’t bothered with any lie that this was Phoenix’s fault for trigging the curse—how had Jason not realized it sooner?

But this wasn’t right—Jason knew what had happened to Phoenix. He knew that Phoenix had confronted Belos about previous golden guards, had been blasted with artificial magic and tossed into Belos’ graveyard pit. He couldn’t die here.

Just as the thought crossed Jason’s mind, the door swung open with a bam, and young Darius strode in like he owned the palace. If Jason hadn’t been so scared what the interruption would cost him, Darius’ familiar confidence would have been comforting.

“You are late—” he started to complain, then stopped dead, his eyes widening and his face turning ashen as he took in the scene in front of him. The moment the doors opened, Phoenix collapsed completely, his cloak soaking up the red on the floor.

Immediately, Belos’ whole demeanor shifted. Jason caught the barest hint of annoyance on his face before he gasped, breathing raggedly and clutching his chest. “Ah—hah—quickly now—the assassins will get away—”

Darius dropped next to Phoenix, gripping his hand. Jason saw Phoenix’s blood-stained fingers twitch slightly, as if trying to squeeze his hand back. Darius’ eyes widened, and he pulled Phoenix’s cloak off, cramming the material into the gash. “He’s still alive!”

Jason wanted to scream at the fake concern plastered onto Belos’ face. “Then find him a healer at once. The golden guard must live.”

Darius nodded, summoning an abomination that scooped Phoenix up easily. The abomination marched out, but Darius lingered at the door. “Sir, will you be… should I…?”

Another slight twitch of the mouth that Jason recognized as irritation. But Belos shook his head. “Leave. The attempt has passed. My guards can handle my protection.”

Jason followed Darius away, the details of the keep turning fuzzier and harder to keep track of as Phoenix slipped in and out of consciousness. Jason’s own mind wasn’t any clearer. He still couldn’t find a reason that Inner Phoenix wanted this memory changed. It had been hard to watch—Jason could only imagine how the memory would hurt Phoenix. But it wasn’t any different from the many other times Belos had tried to kill Phoenix. Surely it wasn’t worse than the memory of Petro killing Phoenix’s only friend in front of him. But Inner Phoenix had been fine with that memory being restored.

The world came into sharp focus as Phoenix howled, his hand twitching like he wanted to lash out while a healer cleaned his wound. Darius sat huddled and quiet in a corner, his coven-scout robes stained with Phoenix’s blood. That was another inconsistency—why change how Darius had found out? Why make a memory that Darius could easily dispute? Why turn the memory into something that put Darius at some kind of fault, even if only a little, when Darius had saved Phoenix’s life in reality?

One by one, the healers disappeared, and only Darius was left, keeping careful watch. Jason winced. He knew from Evelyn that when faced with big, life-threatening injuries, it was best to leave smaller injuries alone, and to focus on the most pressing issue first. He knew healing took time, even aided by magic. That didn’t make seeing Phoenix’s swollen, purple jaw any easier, nor did it make seeing the obvious bandages beneath a hospital gown hurt any less.

Now that the healers were gone, Darius moved his chair closer to Phoenix, taking his hand again. This time, Phoenix’s fingers closed around Darius’, and he watched his student with half-closed, but grateful eyes. The hospital room started to blur just as the keep had, but Jason couldn’t smell roses.

Splat

Splat

Splat

The sound echoed clear in Jason’s ear, and the room sharpened back into focus as Phoenix’s eyes slowly dragged themselves to the ceiling. Cursed mud dripped slowly from the ceiling, landing in a splash on Darius’ hand. Darius had fallen asleep, head resting on the edge of Phoenix’s bed, and didn’t notice a thing. But Phoenix’s breathing sped up, and he knocked Darius’ hand off the bed, out of the mud’s path.

Darius woke with a start, blinking blearily. He rubbed his eyes, and Jason noticed the mud was gone. Had Phoenix imagined it? Or had Belos removed himself before Darius could see?

“The healers said not to talk,” Darius said immediately, “They don’t want you to move your jaw too much.” He sat up. “So… assassins, huh?” Darius’ eyes darted quickly across Phoenix’s face, as if looking for something.

He doesn’t believe the story Belos told, Jason realized, He has doubts. Phoenix realized it too, based on the consternated face he made. He slowly gave Darius a thumbs-up.

“Yes, you’re lucky to be alive.”

Belos swept into the hospital room, seeming to loom and fill the space completely. Darius jumped up, snapping a salute. One gloved hand rested on Darius’ shoulder. “Your student was quite brave, rushing into the throne room. Without him, you’d be dead.”

To an outsider—and to Darius—the words and the gesture would sound like praise. But Jason and Phoenix both knew what he really meant. Darius had gotten in Belos’ way. And there would be consequences.

Darius blushed. “I didn’t know about the assassins—I didn’t even know the emperor was in there. A couple of scouts told me you were alone in the throne room. I wouldn’t have barged in like that otherwise, sir.”

Scouts jealous of his prowess, Jason clocked, hoping to get him in trouble. Even though the scouts couldn’t know just how dangerous Belos was, Jason still felt a flash of irritation at them for tricking Darius. He could have gotten seriously hurt, or killed. Still, he supposed their jealousy had saved Phoenix.

Belos gave Darius’ shoulder a squeeze, and let him go. Darius’ back was to Belos, but Jason caught Belos quickly wiping his hand on his cloak, as if the contact with a witch was somehow more disgusting than his own melting form. “Well, whatever the case, I wish you a speedy recovery, golden guard. The assassins, I will leave to you once you’re well again.”

He swept out the door, and Darius sat back down. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” he promised Phoenix, “I know he said the assassins are your assignment, but I don’t like that they’re out there. If they could land such heavy hits on you, they must be powerful.” His eyes searched Phoenix’s face again, looking for clues to the lie, but Phoenix didn’t give him anything but a slight shake of the head.

“Well. Anyway. Don’t worry. Like he said, focus on recovery.”

Darius left, and something in Jason’s gut screamed at him not to go. Some sense of foreboding that he couldn’t shake. Phoenix didn’t seem to feel the impending doom. The room blurred again—not quite asleep, but not quite awake either.

Drip

Drip

Drip

Glowing blue eyes glared from the ceiling, and Phoenix watched them, still helpless in bed. Jason watched them, too, almost certain that Belos would drop fully from the ceiling and finish Phoenix off. But he never did. The cursed mud disappeared and reappeared just often enough to make Jason wonder if he was going crazy.

He’d experienced this tactic first hand—in the human realm, Belos had seemed to haunt him. He couldn’t imagine how stressful this was for someone who knew with absolute certainty that Belos was alive and could come for him at any time. No one would stop him. Jason couldn’t tell what Phoenix was thinking, but the room seemed to get ever-so-slightly darker.

Time passed. Healers bustled in and out, checking on wounds, pouring their healing magic into Phoenix’s recovery. Darius dropped in to visit and give Phoenix updates on his search for the assassins that didn’t exist. But still, Phoenix didn’t move. Jason wondered if it was the wound, or if Phoenix simply didn’t want to.

Drip

Drip

Drip

Phoenix stared dully at the ceiling, the bags under his eyes darker than Jason had ever seen them. When had he last truly rested? Surely the memory would have ended if he fell asleep. But it only ever fell into that half-haze, everything in the room blurred except the glaring blue eyes watching.

Drip

Drip

Drip

The puddle of mud dripping to the floor spread with each drip, uninterrupted. Jason wished Darius or one of the healers would come in, wished that they’d open the door and banish Belos’ influence. But no one appeared.

Drip

Drip

Drip

The puddle was roughly the same size as the shadow Belos’ robes would make on the ground underneath him now. The mud twisted in a sickening swirl, spiraling upwards into the masked form Jason knew too well.

“Hello, Hunter. We haven’t gotten a moment to ourselves, have we? Always someone… getting in the way.” Belos shook his head. “But you’re not due for a healer for another few hours. And your little student is busy chasing a lead down a dead end. So let’s talk.”

Jason searched Belos’ face. Phoenix’s memory was still a little fuzzy at the edges. But still, he thought he could read Belos even now. He didn’t see a lie—didn’t see an intent to kill. Not yet.

Belos sat down on the bed, on the side of Phoenix’s injury. “The healers tell me that despite their efforts, you’re recovering slowly. You wouldn’t be reopening that wound on purpose, would you? Trying to avoid your duties?”

“No.” Phoenix croaked the word with a wince, his voice dusty from days without use.

“I suppose you wouldn’t, would you?” Belos sighed. “Ever the dutiful one. But you did question my judgement, didn’t you?”

Fear flashed in Phoenix’s eyes. “Won’t… happen…”

“No, it won’t.” Belos clucked his tongue. “That student of yours, though. He’s a tenacious one, isn’t he? Barging into my sanctum like that, even if he didn’t think I was there? And now attempting to take an assassination investigation head-on? If he wasn’t clawing at the wrong tree, I almost would admire his commitment.” A slight smile crossed his face, not quite matching the malicious blue glow in his eyes. “But he is clawing at the wrong tree, isn’t he.”

Belos leaned back, his hand resting on Phoenix’s bandages. He wasn’t hurting Phoenix, not yet, but Phoenix watched him closely. Jason could see his pulse pounding, his veins stark against his skin. “What if he does find the assassins? What if he finds the kind of person who could do this? Do you think he’s ready for that truth?” He pressed down on Phoenix’s wound, still not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind Phoenix he was there. “I don’t think you or he are ready for a run-in with them, are you?”

Belos smiled again, one of his kind, friendly smiles that hid a tempest underneath. “But it would be so difficult for that to even happen when the two of you are spread out like this, away from the keep.” He removed his hand, standing up briskly. “Food for thought, hm? A shame he can’t just forget the whole thing.”

He swept out the door, and Phoenix let out a deep breath, sinking back into the pillows. He stared at the ceiling again, his eyes narrowed. Jason’s narrowed to match. Why hadn’t Belos killed him? It couldn’t be just because of the publicity. He could have made it look like an accident. Or not—others being around hadn’t stopped Dagger’s death, after all.

So why? Was he really going to let Phoenix live after all this? He couldn’t be planning that much mercy. He’d never trust Phoenix again. Was he just playing with him? He’d done it before, when his golden guards cared about someone other than him. Cyrus’ partner, AT’s best friend… but Darius survived. Jason knew that. And Phoenix lived past this, Jason was almost certain.

Phoenix fell back into that fuzzy half-sleep, healers talking over him in low, worried voices. Jason wished he could tell what they were saying, but Phoenix either couldn’t hear, or didn’t care to.

Drip

Drip

Drip

The mud disappeared when Darius pushed through the door. “Hey—”

“You have to stop.” Phoenix winced with every word, but he kept talking. “Stop investigating the assassination attempt. It’s my job.”

“The more information you have to start with, the better, right? Besides the trail will go cold if no one—”

“Darius, no.”

Darius shook his head like a stubborn pony. “Why?”

Phoenix grasped for his hand. “Please. Promise me you’ll stop. It’s dangerous.”

Darius sat down next to him. “Tell me what’s going on. I can help.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“You’re lying to me. You’ve been acting like a caged animal. The healers said that you’re not healing as quickly as you could because you’re too stressed, and you’re not sleeping right. They wanted to put a sleeping spell on you—”

Phoenix paled. “No!”

“I talked them out of it. But that doesn’t give me an answer.”

“You can’t help me. Except by staying safe. Stop. Poking. Into it. Promise me.”

Darius stood up. “I’ll compile all the leads I’ve chased so far. No use in you repeating my mistakes.”

He disappeared out the door, and Phoenix sighed. Jason did, too. Was this conversation the reason Inner Phoenix wanted this memory gone? Because he’d dismissed Darius, and failed to convince him to stay out of it? That couldn’t be right. Phoenix had plenty of regrets about mistakes he’d made trying to teach Darius. What was one more?

Darius was right about one thing, though—Phoenix wasn’t getting any better. His skin still held a deathly pallor, and the bruises around his jaw didn’t seem to be getting any smaller. He couldn’t keep going like this—he’d collapse, Jason knew it. He spent more of his time in that fuzzy grey half-sleep then he did conscious.

A healer with kind eyes, pinched up in concern approached Phoenix, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We’re releasing you,” he said quietly, “Your healing is nowhere near done, but you’re not recovering here.”

“Hm?” Phoenix asked dreamily.

“We’re sending you home. Back to the keep. Hopefully once you’re a little more comfortable, once you’re back in your own space, you’ll be able to recuper—”

“No!” Phoenix grabbed the healer’s arm. “Don’t—don’t—”

“You’re confused,” the healer said gently, “You’ve been hypervigilant here, and it’s been impacting your healing. I understand your worries about returning after the attempt, but the keep is the safest place on the Isles. It won’t happen again.”

Phoenix slumped against the healer, drained by his outburst. He mumbled something that was incomprehensible to the healer, but Jason could hear perfectly clearly: “Don’t make me go back.”

Hold on, Jason willed him, Please, just hold on. It gets better.

“To make the transfer as easy on you as possible, the emperor sent another coven head to transport you. He said you knew her well—Ma’am?”

Jason already knew who was coming in even before he heard her fake-kindly voice at the door.

“Oh, Rosebud, you have gotten yourself into a mess, haven’t you?”

Of course he’d sent Terra. Jason hadn’t needed many conversations with Phoenix to know how uncomfortable the old plant coven head made him—surely Belos wasn’t oblivious to Phoenix’s feelings either. Jason rocked back on his heels. This memory had to be coming to a close, didn’t it? Surely Terra would wipe Phoenix’s memories right here, and it would be over. Heavy plant fronds curled around the edges of the memory, whisking Jason away and bringing him back to the picture frame.

“What?” Jason’s own voice startled him. This couldn’t be right. He still had no idea why Inner Phoenix wanted this memory buried. Still, he swung one leg over the picture frame.

Cherry caught his arm, helping him through. “Easy.”

Jason had been so wrapped up in Phoenix’s memory, he’d almost completely forgotten Cherry’s fight with Inner Phoenix. “Where’s…?”

Cherry nodded to a figure huddled in the swampy water. Phoenix’s curse paced a worried circle around Inner Phoenix, who sifted through discarded flowers, desperately weaving drooping vines around the roots of the tree and muttering to himself.

“The fight went out of him once the flowers were gone and you went inside. I don’t think the curse really wanted to fight either.”

“It showed me where to find the memory. But… I’m still not sure why this memory was buried. Belos tried to kill him—really tried. I can’t figure out why he decided to wipe his memory instead.”

Cherry ducked under the roots of the nearest tree, disappearing around the edge of the frame. “It’s double-sided,” he called from the back.

“What?”

“There’s a second memory. Come here.”

Thin, strong fingers gripped Jason’s wrist. Inner Phoenix looked up at him, desperation shining out of the hollows that were his eyes. “Please,” he whispered, “Help me plant the flowers again. Help me fix this. Don’t go in there.”

Jason gently detangled himself from his grasp, clasping Inner Phoenix’s hands in his own. “Whatever we see in there, we’ll work through it together. Okay?”

Inner Phoenix didn’t respond, but he let go. Jason took a deep breath, and followed Cherry into the memory.

“What happened to him?” Cherry murmured, gesturing to Phoenix. He had returned to the keep, returned to a room Jason had only ever seen through a crystal ball. Phoenix wasn’t any better. He held a pillow over his ears, but even so, Jason could hear the drip, drip, drip. He caught Cherry up in a low voice—even though he knew the Phoenix in the memory couldn’t hear him, it still felt rude speak any louder.

Drip

Drip

Drip

A note sat on the dresser, opened. Jason tried to read it, but through Phoenix’s memories, the letters seemed to swim around, nearly impossible to decipher. He managed to catch Belos’ loopy signature at the end, but that was about it.

“I thought you were dull. Predictable.”

Phoenix flinched at the sound of Belos’ voice, rolling over to face him. The emperor sat in a chair scooted close enough to the bed that Jason was almost certain it was usually Darius’ seat.

“You’ve always done what’s asked of you. Never a flicker of rebellion in those eyes of yours. And yet, I was so certain that surely, this would be the end of it. I thought surely you’d take that student of yours and run as far away as you could.” Belos leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “But you came back. You stayed with those useless healers, and then you came back here. And you’ve let your student come back, too! I have to ask: why didn’t you run?”

Phoenix didn’t answer, his eyes flicking around the room. Jason saw him open and close his mouth a couple of times, but still, no words came out. Was he trying to think of a response that would keep he and Darius safe? Or did he just not know himself?

“You’re our emperor,” he said finally, and left it at that.

Vague. Ambiguous. But sounded flattering enough to Belos, Jason was sure. And sure enough, Belos leaned back, the voracious curiosity in his gaze replaced with amusement.

“Yes, I suppose I am. So interesting, then, that despite that fact, your student continues to investigate the attempted assassination.”

Phoenix’s expression flickered, his hand twitching as if he wanted to tug on his hair. “He won’t find anything.”

“No. He won’t.”

Simple words. Nothing in them to suggest malicious intent. But Jason knew that tone of voice. Cherry knew that tone of voice. And Phoenix’s eyes widened at the threat underneath.

“I’ll stop him.”

“Oh? You’ve done such a job of it so far.”

“Please.” Phoenix reached out, not quite touching Belos’ hand. He hunched over, touching his forehead to the bed in a half-bow. Cherry growled. “He’s my charge. Let me take responsibility for his misbehaviors. Please.”

Belos froze, his eyes getting that faraway look that Jason had never known what to make of before meeting Caleb. The look that he knew now meant Belos was remembering something his brother had said or done. It only lasted for a moment, but when it passed, Belos’s eyes almost looked kinder. Though they still held that cold light, that you’re walking on dangerous ground glint.

“Hm. And if he proceeds?”

“He won’t. He’ll forget about it.” Phoenix squeezed his eyes shut. “We both will.”

“See that you do.”

Belos disappeared, and Phoenix slumped backwards, but only for a moment. He rolled out of bed and staggered to the door. A scout waited outside, snapping a salute when Phoenix emerged.

“Sir!”

“Get me Coven Head Terra. Tell her it’s urgent.”

“Sir?”

“Now.”

Jason’s heart sank to his stomach. “Oh, Phoenix,” he murmured. Belos hadn’t erased this memory, had he?

Terra didn’t take long to burst out of the ground in the maws of a giant carnivorous plant. “Well, well, Rosebud, seeing you twice in such a short amount of time—aren’t I a lucky lady?”

“I need something that will erase memories.”

Terra clucked her tongue. “Oh, dear, I’m afraid that’s not my area of expertise. You might try asking our esteemed potion—”

“Cut the act.” Phoenix leaned forward. “I know you have something. I know you’re always experimenting with those plants of yours. Give me what I need.”

A grin stretched across Terra’s face, unnaturally large. “You know better than to make demands without offering something in return.”

“Your proposition to limit the use of palistrom wood. I’ll back you up on it. That’s more than a fair deal for some leaves.”

“Tetchy, aren’t we? Careful, Rosebud, you’re tipping your hand.”

“Can you help me, or not?”

Terra’s smile somehow widened even further. Jason thought her face might split in half if she tried to show any more teeth. She pulled a pouch off of her belt and held it out to Phoenix. “There you are. I certainly hope you aren’t planning on making me forget your promise.”

“How does it work?”

“Intent matters. Relay the memory you wish to erase. Put the leaves into any liquid, and they’ll do the trick. But oh, Rosebud? This kind of memory erasure can be difficult to master. If the subject doesn’t want to forget, then the mind will resist, and you’ll have to re-administer the tea every so often.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“If you say so. And Rosebud? If you’re planning on drinking it yourself, do me a favor and write down your promise, mhm? Alright, ta.”

Terra stepped back into her plant and disappeared back into the ground. Phoenix took a deep breath, sent the scout out for Darius, and whispered to the bag of leaves, shuffling to an attached kitchenette and setting a kettle of water on the stove. He set out two cups, dropping a pinch of Terra’s leaves in each.

“Oh, Phoenix,” Jason said again. His skin crawled like a thousand firebees swarmed over him. He didn’t want to see this. He wanted to step out of the picture frame, and pretend it hadn’t happened. But he stayed rooted in place, unable to look away.

Cherry wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Hey. Remember our promise. No matter what we see.”

“No matter what we see,” Jason echoed dully.

Darius arrived just as the kettle started to whistle, and he bounded over. “Go sit down,” he told Phoenix with fake crossness, “I’ll take care of it.”

Phoenix started to protest, but Darius poured the water, completely ignoring him. If he knew anything was off about the tea, he didn’t show it. He handed Phoenix one cup, and sat down in his chair with the other. “What did you need from me?”

Phoenix looked down at his cup. “Darius. About your investigations.”

“I think I’m really getting somewhere.”

“Darius.”

“I’ve tracked more dead leads than I know what to do with, but I talked to your healers to get some more information about the wound, and they said some pretty interesting stuff.

“Darius.”

“They were telling me the wound was deep, but clean. That whoever did this was powerful, and had a sharp weapon. Now, that sounds like the work of a beastkeeper and their demon’s claws to me. So I was talking to Eberwolf, and—”

“Darius!” Phoenix took a deep breath. “I asked you to stop.”

“I know, but—”

“It isn’t safe for you to investigate!” Phoenix burst out, “I don’t want you going any further. You need to forget this ever happened if you want to be safe.”

“But what about your safety? If they come back—”

“They won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Drink your tea,” Phoenix replied tersely. His fingers drummed nervously on the cup. “Just trust me.”

“Knowing that you’re hiding something doesn’t make trusting you easy.”

“Darius, they won’t come back. I know who they are already, and it’s being taken care of. Forget about it, and drink your tea.”

“What? You’ve been letting me run around after dead ends for the last week when you knew who was behind this the whole time? How… could…” Darius looked at Phoenix, horrified. “You know them. You’re protecting them.”

“Darius, I…”

“How could you? They hurt you! How could you protect them after…” Darius gestured furiously at Phoenix. “…this?!”

“It doesn’t matter!” Phoenix set his cup on the table with a thunk. “It doesn’t matter who it was. It doesn’t matter what happened to me. All that matters is that you’re safe, so drink your tea.”

“Why are you so insistent on this te—” Darius’ eyes widened. “What did you put in it?”

“It’s not harmful.”

“Were you just going to—to drug me without me knowing?”

“It wouldn’t matter if I did tell you, because you’d just forget anyway!” Phoenix sighed. “Besides. I knew you wouldn’t drink it without asking what was in it first. I’m surprised it took this long.”

“Oh, that’s so much better. A memory wiper? Really?”

“You didn’t leave me many options!” Phoenix pinched the bridge of his nose. “I asked you to stop investigating. But you wouldn’t listen to me, and now? Now this is what we have left. Forgetting that the whole thing ever happened.” Phoenix looked up at Darius. “Please Darius. This is what will keep you safe. You don’t know just how far over your head you’ve gotten yourself, and I don’t want… please.”

Darius swished the tea hesitantly. “Forgetting about the assassination attempt and the investigation will really keep me safer?”

“I promise.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Because it doesn’t matter? Since I’m going to forget anyway?”

“Titan, Darius. I wish we didn’t have to—”

“Forget it. Well—I suppose you will. But… will this keep you safe? I know you think I’ll be in less danger if I forget. But will you be in less danger? Or will it be worse for you?”

Phoenix took just a little too long to answer, but when he spoke, his voice was confident. “Yes. We’ll both be safer.”

“He can’t know that,” Cherry said quietly, “Belos could kill him anyway.”

“Okay.” Darius took a deep, shaky breath. “I’ll do it. To protect you.” He swirled the tea again with a sad smile. “I’m sorry. That my investigations put us in trouble, I mean. I just wanted to help you.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Phoenix replied softly, picking up his own cup, “I wish it hadn’t gone this far.”

Darius clunked his cup against Phoenix’s in a mock toast. “Bottoms up.”

Rose petals swirled over the memory, and the frame appeared in front of them.

“You ready?” Cherry asked.

“No.” Jason took a deep breath and walked towards the exit. “But we can’t stay here.”

The curse greeted them at the exit, perched on one of its roots. It eyed them lazily, then slunk back around the tree. Jason and Cherry followed.

He didn’t see Inner Phoenix until he’d nearly tripped over him. The water of the swamp rose up to his waist even though it barely reached Jason’s ankles. Inner Phoenix hid his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he moaned, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Hey—” Jason knelt down next to him. “You… took care of the flowers, didn’t you?” he asked quietly, “Terra said the tea wouldn’t work unless you wanted it to. She meant you.”

Inner Phoenix nodded, still hiding his face in his hands.

“Oh,” Jason sighed. He wasn’t sure what else to say. He’d come prepared to see terrible things happen to Phoenix. He’d even been prepared to see Phoenix do terrible things in return. He knew no one was blameless in Belos’ reign. But he hadn’t been prepared to see Phoenix inflict this on himself. He almost understood why Inner Phoenix wanted to bury the memories forever.

“I hurt Darius,” Inner Phoenix said in a small voice, “I made him forget.”

“Hey—we can fix it. We can do this for him, too. We know what we’re looking for now. It’ll be quick and painless.” Jason knew that wasn’t quite true. If Darius didn’t remember either, then his inner self had to be taking care of the flowers, too. But Inner Phoenix didn’t need to hear that part right now.

“You don’t understand.” Inner Phoenix peered at him through a crack in his fingers, his eyes wide and wild. “How could you understand? I’m not like you. We should have taken Darius and run. We should have left. We knew what he’d do to us. We knew what he planned. But we crawled back to him.”

The curse shifted anxiously, responding to Inner Phoenix’s distress with a low growl.

“That should have been our moment. That should have been when we rebelled, not years later.  But instead we stayed with him! We committed to doing what he wanted, to hurting people, to keeping Darius in danger. We were cowards. Stupid cowards. Belos was right about us.” His eyes latched desperately onto Jason. “Not like you. You saw the harm he was causing, and you ran. But we’re not good and brave like you, we’re just—we’re just—”

Jason reeled back, stunned. “I’m not…” he whispered helplessly. How long had Phoenix felt like this? How long had he thought Jason was better than him, just because he’d run away more quickly?

Forever, a small voice inside of him whispered, ever since you told him your story.

He seemed to have forgotten the part where Jason had planned to return to Belos. Still, Jason didn’t know how to respond. What was there to say? If he tried to reassure Inner Phoenix, he’d widen the distance between them. Even if he tried to step off the pedestal he’d been put on, Phoenix would just bury himself deeper to keep the gap.

“Darius will never forgive us,” Inner Phoenix panted. He’d sunk up to his chest in water, burying his head in his hands again, “He shouldn’t forgive us. We should have died then, before we hurt him, before we hurt others, we should have—”

“Hey.”

Cherry splashed down next to Inner Phoenix. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He just knelt next to Inner Phoenix in the water, hands on his knees.

“I knew Belos was lying,” he said finally. His eye darted to Jason, mournful for a moment, then determined. “He was still Phillip, then. I knew that we weren’t messengers of the titan. I knew that everything about him was a sham. And I helped him sell it.”

Inner Phoenix’s eyes widened, following Cherry’s flick to Jason and back. “Cherry—you don’t have to—I know you don’t want what you did to…”

“We went town to town,” Cherry continued, avoiding Jason’s eyes, “Telling witches about the titan wanting covens. Proclaiming the dangers of wild magic. We’d stage wild magic attacks to make him look plausible. I planted explosions in the stage and set them off.”

Jason sat so still he thought he might stop breathing. Cherry didn’t like talking about his time with Belos. No one really did, but Cherry was especially tight-lipped. It was the one thing he refused to share with Jason. He’d quickly learned not to push it.

Cherry took a deep breath, hissing out through his teeth. “I knew that Belos planned to lure witches into his following, then kill them.”

Jason bit on his lip to keep a gasp in. Of course now they knew that had been his plan, but Cherry had known before? And he’d gone along with it?

“He didn’t try to hide as much from us then. And… he didn’t need to. He told me that witches were evil. That I was evil for being one, even a powerless one, and… and the best I could do was try to take out as many of them as I could. And I believed him.”

Cherry twisted his shirt in his hands. “And when we couldn’t lure any witches to join us? The explosions got… bigger.” Another deep breath. “I went along with it for too long, Phoenix. Even though I knew we were hurting people. Even though whole towns burned under these hands.” He held his hands out. They shook slightly, until Inner Phoenix took them, dripping mud and golden water.

“I’ve never liked who I was. You know that.” He glanced back at Jason regretfully. “And I’ve never wanted anyone to know who I used to be. Especially the people I cared about.” Cherry took a deep breath. “I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same in your situation. If I’d been able to wipe my own memories, forget about doing it to protect myself from Belos. I would have done it just to sleep at night. Darius will understand. I think he understood then, too.” The ghost of a smile crossed Cherry’s face. “I don’t think you could ever make Darius do something he didn’t want to do. Not now. Not then.”

“It wasn’t cowardly.” Jason bounced up and down in place, unable to hold his words in anymore. “Well, maybe that’s not true, strictly speaking. You’re right, you could have rebelled, and refused to continue doing what he wanted. But running wouldn’t have helped. I saw the way Belos acted. He wanted you to run. That was what he expected. And he would have killed you and Darius for it.

All those threats, all the lurking over your shoulder? It was so you’d panic and he’d have an excuse. I know it seems like you shied away from doing the right thing, but you were right then. It was the only thing to do, the only thing that would keep you and Darius alive. You took a risky gamble.”

“Can I really say it paid off, if it meant I was his weapon for that much longer?” Inner Phoenix asked gloomily, “If it meant I got deeper in the debt I owe the Isles?

Jason snapped his mouth shut. “It’s… I…”

He looked helplessly to Cherry, who gave Inner Phoenix a nudge. “You know what Caleb always says.”

“It’s about how we fix it going forward,” Inner Phoenix sighed, “I know.” He wrung his hands. “I just… wanted to protect him. Remembering would have killed him.”

He wasn’t talking about Darius anymore.

“He can survive it now,” Cherry said quietly, “Trust him. Trust us. He already knew he was missing something. It was only a matter of time.”

“I know.”

Cherry and Inner Phoenix clutched each other’s arms, using each other to stand up. Inner Phoenix gave Jason an awkward smile.

“I’m sorry I tried to stop you.”

“I’m just glad Cherry didn’t haul you off into another memory like he did to Petro,” Jason said, shooting a grin at Cherry. Cherry didn’t return it. He wouldn’t even look Jason in the eye.

“Me too. Thank you. Both of you.” Inner Phoenix put one hand on the curse’s head. “And… thank you. For doing what I couldn’t. I never thought you’d be the one looking out for him.” He gave the curse the stink-eye. “Although maybe you just wanted him to get upset so you could take over.”

The curse rippled, as if purring, before slinking off to explore the uncovered memory. Jason took Cherry’s hand and clicked the walkie talkie.

“We’re ready.”

Golden light swirled around the two of them, and they stood back in Phoenix’s bedroom. Cherry dropped Jason’s hand like it had burned him, staring at the floor.

“Taken care of. His memories are fine.”

Evelyn’s eyes flicked from Cherry to Jason, summing them up in quick, shrewd movements. “And are you fine?”

“Just peachy. Let me know when he wakes up.”

Cherry left the room. Jason shrugged helplessly, and ran after him, closing the door behind him. He closed the distance and wrapped his arms around Cherry’s waist.

“Stop,” Cherry said, his voice cracking, “Don’t be nice to me right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason murmured, “I’m sorry if you thought you had to hide from me. I’m sorry you were forced to tell me something you didn’t want to.”

“I did want to. Or—well—no. I didn’t.” Cherry sighed. “But I knew if I didn’t say it then, I’d never say it. And I would always be scared you’d find out some other way.”

“I don’t care who you used to be,” Jason said fiercely, “I saw a lot today.” Almost too much. He’d seen a side of Phoenix he hadn’t wanted to see. Hearing Cherry’s past after hadn’t been any easier. “But it couldn’t make me hate Phoenix. And it won’t make me hate you. You don’t have to be perfect to be Cherry.”

Under all the upset, under all the horror at what Phoenix and Cherry had done, Jason knew that fact to be true. He’d figured out how to feel about Caleb. He’d figure out how to feel about Phoenix and Cherry, too. Even if it couldn’t all be blamed on Belos, that didn’t matter. Because he knew Phoenix and Cherry. He knew who they were now—who they’d been as long as he’d known them. And that was enough to cover everything else.

“Oh,” Cherry said thickly. He wrapped one arm around Jason. “Okay. Okay. Okay.”

“We can talk about it, or not talk about it, whichever you want. But at the end of it? I’ll still be there.” Jason gave Cherry one last squeeze, and stepped back, looking up at him. “We’re going to be okay?”

Cherry sniffed, giving Jason a watery smile. “We’re going to be okay.”

[honourablejester]

Random Minecraft

I was playing around in superflat with the preview of the new tuff blocks we'll get in 1.21. And I couldn't help but notice that the new Chiseled Tuff Bricks make a great column cap/finial:

So I started playing around with various column/pillar materials, just for fun:

Left to right: Stripped Mangrove with Glow Lichen, Quartz Pillar, Coal Block with Glow Lichen

L to R: Warped Hyphae, Crimson Hyphae, Smooth Basalt

L to R: Polished Basalt, Calcite, Coal Block

L to R: Gilded Blackstone, Stripped Mangrove, Bone Block

L to R: Cherry Wood, Crying Obsidian, Soul Soil

All together:

I really quite like Smooth Basalt and Soul Soil, wasn't expecting to like those so much. The nether woods and the glow lichen effects are good for very fancy settings, as if the Gilded Blackstone. The paler colours, Bone and Quartz and Calcite, I'm not sure they do so well with the tuff finishers, but they're not bad. I do think that columns like these, though, definitely need a bit of texture patterning. Though Stripped Mangrove holds its own quite well too, to be fair to it.

The Glow Lichen pillars also have a side benefit of providing some light to the colonnade if you don't want to be obtrusive with lighting.

Soul Soil and Smooth Basalt really do work surprisingly well, though.

[panie-wanie-dean-bean]

hmm... by any chance how would you imagine MC met each of the MinecraftHybrid! boys? Like was Joseph violent at first like how wardens normally are in the Ancient City and chilled as he got to see they were harmless? I think I saw you mention how they met Shaun and he probably helped them meet Jack and Rory soon too if I'm guessing, but I am just interested in learning how MC got to know each of the boys.

Ok, so you actually meet Ian first! You two meet in the cherry grove where he lives. He didn't talk to you for the longest time, simply watching you as you did your thing. The first time you catch more than a glimpse of him is when you save him from a zombie hoard

After a while Ian tells you about this wolf that will not leave him alone so you go out to deal with it. Bo doesn't trust you for anything until you pull a few bones from your bag. The bones worked a bit too well because now he keeps calling you master and refuses to leave your side

Bo kept asking you for a leash for his collar so you found a mangrove swamp to get some slime. What you didn't expect to find was a whole ass man just out in the woods. You could tell he was trying to play down his own excitement at seeing you so when he offered for you to come over some time you couldn't say no

During one your hang outs with Shaun Nick stopped by for his medicine. He loves water but it burns his skin if he touches it so Shaun makes him water res potions so he can take a bath every now and again, and not die in rain storms I guess. He's not very talkative but he gives you a poppy by the end of it so you think it went well

Seeing as you wanted to beat the enderdragon at some point you need to go to the Nether for blaze rods but Shaun stops you before you go. He says there might be a different way to get blaze powder that doesn't involve you getting in danger. He has a portal that leads right to a fortress and a very friendly man. Jack thinks you're great, doubly so when you and Rory get along, but he doesn't know about you taking his blaze rods. You two strike a deal that if you help him color-ify the fortress he'll get you those blaze rods

While stocking up for your battle with the enderdragon Shaun asks you to come with him while he gets more dark oak wood. He says there's ghosts in there but you're skeptical. That is until you meet the guy Shaun is so scared of. He looks like an allay but once you start to trust him he tries to stab you, so not the best first impretion

After finally killing the enderdragon you meet Jean, or Jean Jr seeing as his now dead mother was also named Jean...Wait what? "Yeah, that was my mom, thanks by the way, she was real bitch" Jean's kind of a hot mess in the overworld having never seen anything outside of the End but he's pretty cute

And, finally. You knew it was stupid, you knew it was a bad idea but you just had to. You had to find an ancient city. Once you get there you get a bit reckless and summon a warden. It's terrifying, your vision goes dark and all you can hear is your heart racing in your ears as you try and hold your breath. As he comes into view you see this warden looks more...person like than what you were expecting. In a last ditch attempt at saving your own skin you whisper a small apology. After that Joseph calms down, he didn't know you were a person, he doesn't think he could live with killing a person

And that all of them!

[bellshazes]

moved my iron farm (the two buildings) into a very pretty grove in a big circle of mountains, where I'm also working on a modest trading hall. I want to never have to AFK for iron, but always have small tasks I can do when a farm is running in the bg. i like this playstyle generally, but it feels more urgent when this is large biomes and the nearest like, swamp is fully 15k blocks away. relatedly i wish i had mangrove for this build :( but the cherry is very fun to play with

[awkwardbluefish]

Hearts of Passion

-

Summary: Pamela Isley didn't know what to expect when she felt someone else in her orchard. She isn't expecting a skinny kid dressed up as Robin, picking fruit from her trees without a care in the world. He's an interesting Sapling, that was for sure.

Warnings: Swearing

-

Pamela Isley didn’t know what she was expecting when that distant tug in the back of her mind caught her attention. Someone was in her orchard and that someone was shifting through her garden, through her mind.

Not many people knew that the plants Pamela grew were a part of her. They were attached to her, to her mind and to her very being. She felt them grow, felt them live. She also felt them die. It was never a pleasant experience, and she doubts it ever would be. But now someone was in her orchard, in her garden. They trekked along the grass, boots scuffing at the back of her mind. They weren’t hurting her plants but there was always the possibility. Blood red hair brushes her shoulder as she cocks her head to the side, lips pressing together in a purse as her eyelids hide her irises in a wary slit. Her plants, and therefore her, wanted to investigate, to ease that twitch of curiosity thrumming in their shared veins. What on Earth was this person doing?

Very few people trekked through the groves of Robinson Park. It was common knowledge that Pamela Isley, no, Poison Ivy resided among the vines and moss at the depth of the parks. The only ones that willingly entered Ivy’s mangrove were Harleen and Selina, the two woman Isley has reluctantly grown attached to throughout the years. There were two other visitors her garden has grown familiar with, two which were not welcome but seemed to welcome themselves in either way. Batman and Robin.

Herleen, the idiotic woman, was currently in Arkham. The joker had once again twisted her thoughts, manipulating the blonde in such a way that Harley felt like she had no free will, felt like she couldn’t disobey her puddin’. Isley wasn’t happy, far from it. Despite being a psychiatrist Harley could never seem to pick apart that things mind enough to understand he was using her. He didn’t love her and he never would. Not like she could. If Joker ever came within the range of her and her plants, Ivy would choke him.

Selina and herself were planning to get Harleen out. Normally they wouldn’t go near Arkham with a ten foot pole, but Harleen was family and right now she was being exploited by a man that wanted nothing but chaos and destruction. They had to get her out, to help her. It would take a while and Harley would go through relapses but she was family, their friend, so they would try. For her.

Her mind tugs, pulling in the back of her brain. Her plants were curious, thrumming with energy. The need to know, to touch, to understand flowed through the link with such a searing intensity that Isley felt her pulse buzz and heighten in response. It was clear to her now that this being wasn’t here to hurt her babies, they were searching for something, exploring. Interesting. She lets the vines tug at her mind, their desire to investigate just as intense as her own.

She hums softly, the sound bubbling in her throat and echoing quietly around her. Each step she took were careful but graceful as she follows the tugging on her mind, letting the ebb pull her to the source. Flowers curl around her ankles, a soft sensation enough to tickle at her skin, vines brushing along her collar bone in a warm greeting before retreating, blending in with their own kind. Her babies part for her, green leaves tickling her cheeks as they make an opening for her, a door to the source of their excitement today.

A boy, young and far too skinny and dressed in familiar colours stare up at her, white lenses wide and muscles coiled. This was Robin but the small sapling was new, smaller than the first. It seems Batman has gotten another flower to blossom in his slowly but surely growing garden. Interesting indeed.

A vine curls around her wrists, cold leathery skin reassuring. Ivy doesn’t move, watching the boy with interest. The young sapling had been careful with her babies as he tugged fresh juicy fruit from her trees. Pamela liked this one already. The other Robin was far too energetic, not seeming to care for the babies that provided life to their world. Sure, the first sapling didn’t seek out to hurt her plants, only when he deemed it necessary, therefore when Poison Ivy was using her babies for revenge against the chemical companies. Still, he had hurt her babies so maybe Isley was being bias.

“Those are my fruit young Sapling.” She waves her palm, the vine slithering away from her wrist to wrap around the boys’ basket. An indignant shout escapes the boys lips but Ivy has to give him credit when its due, he doesn’t go after the basket.

The vine places the wooden basket down by her feet. Cherry red apples shimmer under her gaze, as well as blood red tomatoes. What on earth was the young sapling doing?

“You may control the plants but that doesn’t mean you own them!” Robin grumbles, lips twitching into a frown. The boys shoulders were tense, arms crossed tight to his chest. A barrier made instinctively between them, covering his heart as well as other vital organs. Smart. He was subtly defensive, as if to not to trigger her. Now that was interesting. Not that it would do much if Isley wanted to attack.

Isley chuckles, curiosity peaked as she lowers herself to her knees. She reaches into the basket, plucks out a tomato that sinks into her palm. Ripe and just perfect to be eaten. But the boy wasn’t eating, he was collecting. “Oh contrary little sapling. You are right, I do not own these babies or control them. I protect them and they let me. Now would you like to tell me why you’re collecting fruit from my garden?”

Robin frowns, face flushing red, a stark contrast to the black domino resting along his cheekbones. A foot begins to bounce and Isley watches the boy flounder with cool green eyes, seeing his limbs lock up in a freeze, sees his chest raise in slow controlled breaths. He was trying to get control of his anxiety; he was a smart one. He sure did hide his emotions better than the first one, but he was still a child and they were as plain to read as an open picture book. Isley lets him think, rearranging the fruit to prevent bruising. No need to bruise perfectly good food because of the packaging.

“And I should tell you why?” The boy grumbles, a chin jutting out and arms tightening around his chest. Isley snorts softly to herself, understanding the kids’ wariness but finding it amusing all the same. Unlike what the media likes to portray, Isley does not attack innocents, especially children. The first Boy Wonder however hadn’t left her too much of a choice. Its survival of the fittest in Gotham and there was no way she was being sent back to Arkham simply because she wanted to protect and grow her babies. She made sure to never seriously harm the older Robin though. Despite his treatment to her babies, he still managed to wiggle a way into her green heart.

“I’m just curious sapling,” she continues to kneel, willing moss to grow beneath her. There, now that was much more comfortable. “If you have a good reason, I’ll let you take the fruit home. I don’t just let greedy little children take my freshly grown produce only to waste them.”

The boy bristles, shoulders tensing in anger. The arms tighten before throwing down to his side, foot flattening the grass beneath his pixie boots in the stomp of anger. Ivy was expecting his defiance but she assumed it would be on his own behalf. But that wasn’t the case. Robin was angered over someone else’s behalf. Interesting.

“The kids in crime alley aren’t greedy little children!” He roars, words laced in that familiar Gotham drawl Ivy has gotten used to since moving here from Seattle.  “They’re just trying to survive! They’ve been left on the streets to die and without nutrients in their systems it’ll be sooner rather than later! They are the farthest thing from greedy when referring to fuckin’ food! Yes, they steal, yes they might be pests but it’s not like food is handed to them on a silver platter like the majority of the people in this selfish city!”

Ivy hums, throat vibrating as a smile pulls at her glossed lips. She stands up, gripping the basket handle as she goes. Robin goes stiff, attempting to cool his features from his righteous fury. It doesn’t quite work but the effort was valiant if nothing else.

“That’s quite a statement little one. A statement I’d have to agree on,” Robins jaw drops and Pamela chuckles, a familiar warmth bubbling in her stomach. She was getting fond of people far too easily these days. “You have passion in this subject so I guess asking your opinion on an upcoming project of mine would be best.”

“What project?” Robin growls and Ivy’s smile goes a little less mischievous and a little more warm. She wasn’t only passionate about plants after all.

She strides forwards, makes her form lax. She didn’t want to frighten the child; she was not about to harm him. Robin still tenses and Pamela can feel his gaze making holes through her body. “I’ve been thinking of this little project for a while now. Of course, if I just begun it without consulting with a trusting authority then it would be a mere waste. I wish to grow fruit and vegetables in crime alley. Of course, that’s only the beginning, I hope to grow food for anyone in need in Gotham where they have free access.”

Isley meets his whiteouts in a gaze, knows the boy is assessing her. His shoulders are tense, muscles once again coiled but he doesn’t run. He doesn’t attack either. He’s interested, hope taught in his form. But he won’t bite, not yet. If he had Pamela would call Batman herself, demanding the boy to be put under more training. To not trust so easily, not without all the details. This sapling was a bright one.

“What do you get out of it?” The kid demands, once again coming in defence to protect the street kids. Interesting. There just had to be some history there. No one was protective of street kids, not unless they were one, had been one or had enough compassion and sympathy that just did not belong in Gotham.

Isley hums, a small smile twisting at her strawberry coated lips. she would have to dig into that later. “What do I gain hmm? I gain nothing. Nothing but being relieved at not seeing children die, to see kids fight over a mouldy piece of bread. If I’m lucky, I’ll also be able to see these children smile, live like the children they are. But I cannot do that by myself.”

Robin doesn’t take the basket, not yet, but Isley can see his form relaxing, melting at her words. He wants this to, with a burning passion that Isley feels towards plant life. It was important to this boy. There was definitely some history there that Isley was just dying to find out. Later though. Right now, was a chance to put her long waiting plan to action. A chance to put her gifts to good, to use her powers in a way the was seen as socially acceptable. There was a need within her that never seem to abate, the need for acceptance. This need couldn’t just be filled by her babies, no matter how hard they tried.

“Why not?” It’s snapped out, words meaning to be harsh but Isley smiles. He couldn’t quite be menacing when the hope in his voice seemed to outshine even the sun. Cute.

“People would stop me. They would believe I was up to something, that I plan on poisoning innocent children or wanted something in exchange. The police would blow up my babies, maybe even arrest some street kids on the way if they were near. Batman would cut up my babies, arrest me too most likely. Despite the medias propaganda, I do truly wish to help.”

Robin’s expression had lifted, lightening during Isley’s small speech. The frown had tugged up, not quite a smile but definitely not a frown either. His head had tilted, much like a curious puppy as she talked, relaxing in an open body posture. He wasn’t tense, wasn’t in defence. He was completely curious, interested. Eager almost.

“To help plants,” Robin points out and Isley smiles.

“They’re one in the same, are they not? I wish to help plants to help people. I wish to help plants to help the Earth. Plants are being killed off and so are the oxygen supplies, the food. Plants are what I’m passionate about but they lead into so many other things.” Isley admits. She always wanted to help people and plants could do that. Humans were too dense to make sense of it, however.

Robin gazes at her, past her walls and her crimes. It was like being truly seen for the first time, by someone other than Harleen and Selina. It was frightening but it also felt undeniably good.

“You really mean it don’t you? You just want to help.” Robin’s expression is open, cheeks flushed and lips parted. He gazed up at Isley in awe, as if she were a one of a kind. She almost felt embarrassed. The kids shakes his head, a grin full of teeth. A smile, full of childish wonder nearly blinds her as he takes the basket from her outstretched palm. “Next time maybe don’t attack big companies? It might do some good for your image!”

Isley laughs, chest rumbling and a warmth coiling its way around her heart. There was no doubt about it, in a few minutes she had grown undeniably fond of this kid, the new Robin. Harleen and Selina would never let her live it down.

“Thanks Dr. Isley! I’ll talk to B-Man and sort something out! Just don’t go attacking anyone and I think he’d be okay with it!” A flutter of a cape and the click of a grabble gun and Isley is alone with her babies once again.

She smiles, pets a vine curling around her wrist. “He’s a cheeky sapling, isn’t he?”

Her babies agree and Isley knows she isn’t the only fond one of the boy.

[doggendoodle]

New Horizons Status Report #21 (Day 12)

Session 1

The sakuras have started blooming now. Bunny Day is right around the corner, and Olaf has moved in

There's something just outside my house in the ground, so I dig it up thinking it's a fossil, but it's actually an earth egg! Looks like the hunt is on, boys! I get my stuff from the mailbox - a letter from the Bank of Nook confirming that interest is real, and my Nook Shopping stuff. I also shoot down an egg-coloured balloon containing a recipe for a Bunny Day lamp, a couple containing sky eggs and another containing a recipe for a Bunny Day wall. I accidentally shake down some more eggs from a sakura tree, and then head to the plaza

I meet Aurora there, and she says Jeremiah isn't feeling well. Thankfully I have medicine in storage, but before I grab it I give Aurora her windflower wreath and she gives me 936 Bells for it. Saharah is right outside Jeremiah's house, so I visit her quickly and get one of each rug and the wallpaper. I receive a simple small orange mat, a pink heart rug, a botanical rug and a mangrove wall

Jeremiah is seriously sick and sneezing everywhere, so I run back to my house to grab my doctor's mask and some medicine and head back over, catching a common bluebottle on the way. I give Jeremiah the medicine and he starts to feel better, so he gives me a whole chef's outfit as thanks

With Jeremiah on the right track, I donate the bluebottle to Blathers and head back to the plaza to talk to the weird, deformed bunny- dear God, he speaks in rhyme. His name is Zipper, and he tells me about Bunny Day, and assures me that he is definitely-100%-not in a costume. He tells me to find eggs all around the island and then bring them back to him, and he also gives me a recipe for a Bunny Day bed. He says that if I find and craft all the recipes, he'll give me a reward. Speaking of, at that very moment a balloon containing a recipe for a Bunny Day table floats by

While egg-hunting, I actually find some real fossils - a stego tail (new!), a diplo neck (which we already have), a pachysaurus skull (new!) and a mammoth torso (which means the Mammoth is complete!) - and catch a darner dragonfly and a locust. I also find a recipe from "Knox" (who tells me not to tell anyone) for a log dining table, and a recipe for a green grass skirt from Pinky

I visit Resident Services and Tom Nook is stressing out about Project K, but Isabelle and I reassure him that it'll all work out. I talk to him about the last step of the plan, which he says is... improving the image of the island! He says Isabelle is in charge of collating feedback, but before I talk to her, I pay 10,000 Bells to sell some land for a house. Isabelle talks to me about island evaluations, and we currently have 1 star out of five. Her suggestion is to get more residents, which sounds like a solid plan to me. I set aside some land on the southeast beach for the new house

In egg-related news, I shoot down a recipe for Bunny Day flooring and fencing, and enough sky eggs to come up with DIY recipes for a sky-egg shell, outfit and shoes. Boots runs up to me while I'm fishing for water eggs to talk about Project K, and give me... a ball. I also catch a Rajah Brooke's birdwing while gathering windflowers for more wreaths, and take a stroll through the bug wing of the museum

Session 2

I did some research, and Bell trees above 10,000 aren't guaranteed to produce three times what you put in, so that's a shit ton of money down the drain D:<

Jeremiah is fighting fit again, hooray! While looking for water eggs, Boots gives me a recipe he found for a Bunny Day crown! I shoot down a recipe for a Bunny Day wreath. I'm slowly converting my back room bedroom into a Bunny Day room, replacing furniture as I craft each recipe

I redeem a Nook Miles Ticket to try and find more resources on mystery islands. I find a recipe from "Chrissy" for a log garden lounge (which I already know), and discover that I can find islanders on mystery tours again! However, the villager I encounter on this tour is Claudia, whose design is cool but who I'm not a huge fan of, so I don't invite her. I collect resources from the island (including a gold nugget!) and gather enough eggs to come up with the recipes for the stone-egg and wood-egg looks. I made the Bunny Day wreath and crown, get stung by wasps >:/ and return home

When I return, Boots comes up to me and fucking sneezes on me, ew- Oh no wait it's just the Reaction. That doesn't make me feel any better, but at least I won't get sick. I get two more Nook Miles Ticket and strike out into the unknown

Second mystery tour takes me to a three-tiered island with a bunch of rocks at the top. I meet Mitzi at the top, and I invite her to my island because she's actually really cool. I gather the resources and head home

Back on Ryland, I sort my stuff and shoot down a recipe for a Bunny Day rug

Third mystery tour doesn't have a villager, I guess because I've sold our only open plot. I want to move some buildings around and sell some more land once the natural ramp is paid for and built, but for now I just gather resources, collect up enough eggs to get the water-egg and leaf-egg clothing recipes, make some Bunny Day items and go home to shoot at the sky

When I get home, I try to give Boots a spare Bunny Day lamp I made because I have way too many wood eggs, but he's too busy being itchy. So I hit him with my net and catch a flea. He gives me a spare worker's jacket in exchange for the lamp

Session 3

I visit the Able Sisters and buy some random stuff, including a couple of jester's masks. I buy some mysterious flooring from Saharah and turn the floor into lava. Then I invite a friend over for a bit. After he leaves, he sends me a letter with a doctor's mask and I get a rubber apron from Paula, who suggests pranking Boots with it if I don't like it. Then I gather Nook Miles to buy one last Ticket, shooting down a recipe for a Bunny Day wall clock along the way and getting the recipe for the Bunny Day bag from Pinky

Our fourth and final mystery tour of the day lands us on another three-tiered island. I dig up enough earth-eggs to unlock the final egg outfits - the earth-egg ensemble and the Egg party hat and dress. However, since earth eggs are so hard to come across, I want to wait until I have plenty more before I make any more clothes. I do make something though - namely, the Bunny Day bag and rug - before I head home and go to bed

ADDENDUM:

Friend mailed me a Prince's tunic, and I shot down recipes for a cherry-blossom umbrella, pond stone and clock, and the Bunny Day festive balloons and a stool

I wrote Olaf a welcome letter, and attached a cherry-blossom umbrella as a gift

I found Dory, but at the cost of my fishing rod

[dianagabaldonthegoddess]

“Fergus,” Fergus repeated, with a note of strain in his voice. Fergus was the only name he had ever had—bar his original French name of Claudel. Jamie had given him the name Fergus in Paris, when they had met, twenty years before. But naturally a brothel-born bastard would have no last name to give a wife.

“Fraser,” said a deep, sure voice beside me. Fergus and Marsali both glanced back in surprise, and Jamie nodded. His eyes met Fergus’s, and he smiled faintly.

“Fergus Claudel Fraser,” he said, slowly and clearly. One eyebrow lifted as he looked at Fergus.

Fergus himself looked transfixed. His mouth hung open, eyes wide black pools in the dim light. Then he nodded slightly, and a glow rose in his face, as though he contained a candle that had just been lit.

“Fraser,” he said to the priest. His voice was husky, and he cleared his throat. “Fergus Claudel Fraser.”

“Do you think it’s safe to leave him loose like that? What kind of soup is this?” The last spoonful had left a delightful, lingering taste on my tongue; the next revived the full flavor.

“Turtle; Stern took a big hawksbill last night. He sent word he’s saving ye the shell to make combs of, for your hair.” Jamie frowned slightly, whether at the thought of Lawrence Stern’s gallantry or Ishmael’s presence, I couldn’t tell. “As for the black, he’s not loose—Fergus is watching him.”

“Fergus is on his honeymoon,” I protested. “You shouldn’t make him do it. Is this really turtle soup? I’ve never had it before. It’s marvelous.”

“Jamie was unmoved by contemplation of Fergus’s tender state.

“Aye, well, he’ll be wed a long time,” he said callously. “Do him no harm to keep his breeches on for one night. And they do say that abstinence makes the heart grow firmer, no?”

“Absence,” I said, dodging the spoon for a moment. “And fonder. If anything’s growing firmer from abstinence, it wouldn’t be his heart.”

“That’s verra bawdy talk for a respectable marrit woman,” Jamie said reprovingly, sticking the spoon in my mouth. “And inconsiderate, forbye.”

I swallowed. “Inconsiderate?”

“I’m a wee bit firm myself at the moment,” he replied evenly, dipping and spooning. “What wi’ you sitting there wi’ your hair loose and your nipples starin’ me in the eye, the size of cherries.”

I glanced down involuntarily, and the next spoonful bumped my nose. Jamie clicked his tongue, and picking up a cloth, briskly blotted my bosom with it. It was quite true that my shift was made of thin cotton, and even when dry, reasonably easy to see through.

“It’s not as though you haven’t seen them before,” I said, amused.

He laid down the cloth and raised his brows.

“I have drunk water every day since I was weaned,” he pointed out. “It doesna mean I canna be thirsty, still.” He picked up the spoon. “You’ll have a wee bit more?”

“No, thanks,” I said, dodging the oncoming spoon. “I want to hear more about this firmness of yours.”

“No, ye don’t; you’re ill.”

“I feel much better,” I assured him. “Shall I have a look at it?” He was wearing the loose petticoat breeches the sailors wore, in which he could easily have concealed three or four dead mullet, let alone a fugitive firmness.

“You shall not,” he said, looking slightly shocked. “Someone might come in. And I canna think your looking at it would help a bit.”

“Well, you can’t tell that until I have looked at it, can you?” I said. “Besides, you can bolt the door.”

“Bolt the door? What d’ye think I’m going to do? Do I look the sort of man would take advantage of a woman who’s not only wounded and boiling wi’ fever, but drunk as well?” he demanded. He stood up, nonetheless.

“I am not drunk,” I said indignantly. “You can’t get drunk on turtle soup!” Nonetheless, I was conscious that the glowing warmth in my stomach seemed to have migrated somewhat lower, taking up residence between my thighs, and there was undeniably a slight lightness of head not strictly attributable to fever.

“You can if ye’ve been drinking turtle soup as made by Aloysius O’Shaughnessy Murphy,” he said. “By the smell of it, he’s put at least a full bottle o’ the sherry in it. A verra intemperate race, the Irish.”

“Well, I’m still not drunk.” I straightened up against the pillows as best I could. “You told me once that if you could still stand up, you weren’t drunk.”

“You aren’t standing up,” he pointed out.

“You are. And I could if I wanted to. Stop trying to change the subject. We were talking about your firmness.”

“Well, ye can just stop talking about it, because—” He broke off with a small yelp, as I made a fortunate grab with my left hand.

“Clumsy, am I?” I said, with considerable satisfaction. “Oh, my. Heavens, you do have a problem, don’t you?”

“Will ye leave go of me?” he hissed, looking frantically over his shoulder at the door. “Someone could come in any moment!”

“I told you you should have bolted the door,” I said, not letting go. Far from being a dead mullet, the object in my hand was exhibiting considerable liveliness.

He eyed me narrowly, breathing through his nose.

“I wouldna use force on a sick woman,” he said through his teeth, “but you’ve a damn healthy grip for someone with a fever, Sassenach. If you—”

“I told you I felt better,” I interrupted, “but I’ll make you a bargain; you bolt the door and I’ll prove I’m not drunk.” I rather regretfully let go, to indicate good faith. He stood staring at me for a moment, absentmindedly rubbing the site of my recent assault on his virtue. Then he lifted one ruddy eyebrow, turned, and went to bolt the door.

By the time he turned back, I had made it out of the berth and was standing—a trifle shakily, but still upright—against the frame. He eyed me critically.

“It’s no going to work, Sassenach,” he said, shaking his head. He looked rather regretful, himself. “We’ll never stay upright, wi’ a swell like there is underfoot tonight, and ye know I’ll not fit in that berth by myself, let alone wi’ you.”

There was a considerable swell; the lantern on its swivel-bracket hung steady and level, but the shelf above it tilted visibly back and forth as the Artemis rode the waves. I could feel the faint shudder of the boards under my bare feet, and knew Jamie was right. At least he was too absorbed in the discussion to be seasick.

“There’s always the floor,” I suggested hopefully. He glanced down at the limited floor space and frowned. “Aye, well. There is, but we’d have to do it like snakes, Sassenach, all twined round each other amongst the table legs.”

“I don’t mind.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “it would hurt your arm.” He rubbed a knuckle across his lower lip, thinking. His eyes passed absently across my body at about hip level, returned, fixed, and lost their focus. I thought the bloody shift must be more transparent than I realized.

Deciding to take matters into my own hands, I let go my hold on the frame of the berth and lurched the two paces necessary to reach him. The roll of the ship threw me into his arms, and he barely managed to keep his own balance, clutching me tightly round the waist.

“Jesus!” he said, staggered, and then, as much from reflex as from desire, bent his head and kissed me.

It was startling. I was accustomed to be surrounded by the warmth of his embrace; now it was I who was hot to the touch and he who was cool. From his reaction, he was enjoying the novelty as much as I was.

Light-headed, and reckless with it, I nipped the side of his neck with my teeth, feeling the waves of heat from my face pulsate against the column of his throat. He felt it, too.

“God, you’re like holding a hot coal!” His hands dropped lower and pressed me hard against him.

“Firm is it? Ha,” I said, getting my mouth free for a moment. “Take those baggy things off.” I slid down his length and onto my knees in front of him, fumbling mazily at his flies. He freed the laces with a quick jerk, and the petticoat breeches ballooned to the floor with a whiff of wind.....

“Oh, Lord!” he said. His hands tightened in my hair, but he wasn’t trying to push me away. “This must be what it’s like to make love in Hell,” he whispered. “With a burning she-devil.”....

“Is this what a succubus does, do you think?”

“I wouldna doubt it for a moment,” he assured me. His hands were still in my hair, urging me back.

A knock sounded on the door, and he froze. Confident that the door was indeed bolted, I didn’t.

“Aye? What is it?” he said, with a calmness rather remarkable for a man in his position.

“Fraser?” Lawrence Stern’s voice came through the door. “The Frenchman says the black is asleep, and may he have leave to go to bed now?”.....

“Ah…is Mrs. Fraser feeling somewhat improved?”

“Verra much,” said Jamie, with feeling.

“She enjoyed the turtle soup?”

“Greatly. I thank ye.” His hands on my head were trembling.

“Did you tell her that I’ve put aside the shell for her? It was a fine hawksbill turtle; a most elegant beast.”

“Aye. Aye, I did.” With an audible gasp, Jamie pulled away and reaching down, lifted me to my feet.

“Good night, Mr. Stern!” he called. He pulled me toward the berth; we struggled four-legged to keep from crashing into tables and chairs as the floor rose and fell beneath us.

“Oh.” Lawrence sounded faintly disappointed. “I suppose Mrs. Fraser is asleep, then?”

“Laugh, and I’ll throttle ye,” Jamie whispered fiercely in my ear. “She is, Mr. Stern,” he called through the door. “I shall give her your respects in the morning, aye?”

“I trust she will rest well. There seems to be a certain roughness to the sea this evening.”

“I…have noticed, Mr. Stern.” Pushing me to my knees in front of the berth, he knelt behind me, groping for the hem of my shift. A cool breeze from the open stern window blew over my naked buttocks, and a shiver ran down the backs of my thighs.

“Should you or Mrs. Fraser find yourselves discommoded by the motion, I have a most capital remedy to hand—a compound of mugwort, bat dung, and the fruit of the mangrove. You have only to ask, you know.”

Jamie didn’t answer for a moment.

“Oh, Christ!” he whispered. I took a sizable bite of the bedclothes.

“Mr. Fraser?”

“I said, ‘Thank you’!” Jamie replied, raising his voice.

“Well, I shall bid you a good evening, then.”

Jamie let out his breath in a long shudder that was not quite a moan.

“Mr. Fraser?”

“Good evening, Mr. Stern!” Jamie bellowed.

“Oh! Er…good evening.”

Stern’s footsteps receded down the companionway, lost in the sound of the waves that were now crashing loudly against the hull. I spit out the mouthful of quilt.

“Oh…my…God!”

His hands were large and hard and cool on my heated flesh.

“You’ve the roundest arse I’ve ever seen!”

A lurch by the Artemis here aiding his efforts to an untoward degree, I uttered a loud shriek.

“Shh!” He clasped a hand over my mouth, bending over me so that he lay over my back, the billowing linen of his shirt falling around me and the weight of him pressing me to the bed. My skin, crazed with fever, was sensitive to the slightest touch, and I shook in his arms, the heat inside me rushing outward as he moved within me....

I love these moments because we finally get to see some happiness in the Fraser clan. Fergus is officially a son to J&C and they finally get to have a fun married couple moment that we haven’t seen in a while. Definitely fun, exciting, heartwarming moments.

Favorite J&C Moment Season 3:Ep Uncharted Countdown to Season 4 Day 40

(Gifs from different sites)

[art-now-china]

mangrove, Zhan Yang

Because of his behavior, because of the appearance of a woman who was married to Japan, she became obsessed with Japanese culture. I am longing for the romantic leisure of the cherry blossoms and yearning for the bravery of the Bushido spirit. This year, I went through all the films of Akira Kurosawa and Kitano Takeshi and carefully studied the prints of Katsushika Hokusai and the three-nation portraits of Chuan Guofang. Ukiyo-e during the Edo period, Otomo's music, nohs, and musicals, I can't find any concrete objects in my works. Only attracted by those symbols of aesthetic abstract image. I am obsessed with symbols, infatuated with one by one not knowing the sign. One color block, like a coral bubble. What I want is only the strong vitality they transmit. It is the kind of elegance, psychedelicism, and form. Inexplicable beliefs. All of my art's direction is to bring others this kind of faith that can survive. The tenacity of the samurai, Samurai's elegance, samurai's loyalty. At the same time, my behavior works are also trying to spread this form, this kind of tenacity. It is abstract. It is detached from the world. Life is but one form. The form is larger than real, and the form itself is real. Several years After that, we were all dead, leaving only some forms. The truth that we are struggling to follow today is nothingness. All I can do is to try my best to make it perfect. There is no God, only the cross. There is no Buddha, Only rosary.

https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-mangrove/1088620/4243906/view

[thegirlwiththecoffintattoo]

Is this really turtle soup?

I’ve never had it before. It’s marvelous.” 

Jamie was unmoved by contemplation of Fergus’s tender state. 

“Aye, well, he’ll be wed a long time,” he said callously. “Do him no harm to keep his breeches on for one night. And they do say that abstinence makes the heart grow firmer, no?” 

“Absence,” I said, dodging the spoon for a moment. “And fonder. If anything’s growing firmer from abstinence, it wouldn’t be his heart.” 

“That’s verra bawdy talk for a respectable marrit woman,” Jamie said reprovingly, sticking the spoon in my mouth. “And inconsiderate, forbye.”

 I swallowed. “Inconsiderate?” 

“I’m a wee bit firm myself at the moment,” he replied evenly, dipping and spooning. “What wi’ you sitting there wi’ your hair loose and your nipples starin’ me in the eye, the size of cherries.” 

I glanced down involuntarily, and the next spoonful bumped my nose. Jamie clicked his tongue, and picking up a cloth, briskly blotted my bosom with it. It was quite true that my shift was made of thin cotton, and even when dry, reasonably easy to see through. 

“It’s not as though you haven’t seen them before,” I said, amused. 

He laid down the cloth and raised his brows. 

“I have drunk water every day since I was weaned,” he pointed out. “It doesna mean I canna be thirsty, still.” He picked up the spoon. “You’ll have a wee bit more?” 

“No, thanks,” I said, dodging the oncoming spoon. “I want to hear more about this firmness of yours.” 

“No, ye don’t; you’re ill.” 

“I feel much better,” I assured him. “Shall I have a look at it?” He was wearing the loose petticoat breeches the sailors wore, in which he could easily have concealed three or four dead mullet, let alone a fugitive firmness. 

“You shall not,” he said, looking slightly shocked. “Someone might come in. And I canna think your looking at it would help a bit.” 

“Well, you can’t tell that until I have looked at it, can you?” I said. “Besides, you can bolt the door.” 

“Bolt the door? What d’ye think I’m going to do? Do I look the sort of man would take advantage of a woman who’s not only wounded and boiling wi’ fever, but drunk as well?” he demanded. He stood up, nonetheless. 

“I am not drunk,” I said indignantly. “You can’t get drunk on turtle soup!” Nonetheless, I was conscious that the glowing warmth in my stomach seemed to have migrated somewhat lower, taking up residence between my thighs, and there was undeniably a slight lightness of head not strictly attributable to fever. 

“You can if ye’ve been drinking turtle soup as made by Aloysius O’Shaughnessy Murphy,” he said. “By the smell of it, he’s put at least a full bottle o’ the sherry in it. A verra intemperate race, the Irish.” 

“Well, I’m still not drunk.” I straightened up against the pillows as best I could. “You told me once that if you could still stand up, you weren’t drunk.” 

“You aren’t standing up,” he pointed out. 

“You are. And I could if I wanted to. Stop trying to change the subject. We were talking about your firmness.” 

“Well, ye can just stop talking about it, because—” He broke off with a small yelp, as I made a fortunate grab with my left hand. 

“Clumsy, am I?” I said, with considerable satisfaction. “Oh, my. Heavens, you do have a problem, don’t you?” 

“Will ye leave go of me?” he hissed, looking frantically over his shoulder at the door. “Someone could come in any moment!”

“I told you you should have bolted the door,” I said, not letting go. Far from being a dead mullet, the object in my hand was exhibiting considerable liveliness. 

He eyed me narrowly, breathing through his nose. 

“I wouldna use force on a sick woman,” he said through his teeth, “but you’ve a damn healthy grip for someone with a fever, Sassenach. If you—” 

“I told you I felt better,” I interrupted, “but I’ll make you a bargain; you bolt the door and I’ll prove I’m not drunk.” I rather regretfully let go, to indicate good faith. He stood staring at me for a moment, absentmindedly rubbing the site of my recent assault on his virtue. Then he lifted one ruddy eyebrow, turned, and went to bolt the door. 

By the time he turned back, I had made it out of the berth and was standing—a trifle shakily, but still upright—against the frame. He eyed me critically. 

“It’s no going to work, Sassenach,” he said, shaking his head. He looked rather regretful, himself. “We’ll never stay upright, wi’ a swell like there is underfoot tonight, and ye know I’ll not fit in that berth by myself, let alone wi’ you.” 

There was a considerable swell; the lantern on its swivel-bracket hung steady and level, but the shelf above it tilted visibly back and forth as the Artemis rode the waves. I could feel the faint shudder of the boards under my bare feet, and knew Jamie was right. At least he was too absorbed in the discussion to be seasick. 

“There’s always the floor,” I suggested hopefully. He glanced down at the limited floor space and frowned. “Aye, well. There is, but we’d have to do it like snakes, Sassenach, all twined round each other amongst the table legs.” 

“I don’t mind.” 

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “it would hurt your arm.” He rubbed a knuckle across his lower lip, thinking. His eyes passed absently across my body at about hip level, returned, fixed, and lost their focus. I thought the bloody shift must be more transparent than I realized. 

Deciding to take matters into my own hands, I let go my hold on the frame of the berth and lurched the two paces necessary to reach him. The roll of the ship threw me into his arms, and he barely managed to keep his own balance, clutching me tightly round the waist. 

“Jesus!” he said, staggered, and then, as much from reflex as from desire, bent his head and kissed me. 

It was startling. I was accustomed to be surrounded by the warmth of his embrace; now it was I who was hot to the touch and he who was cool. From his reaction, he was enjoying the novelty as much as I was. 

Light-headed, and reckless with it, I nipped the side of his neck with my teeth, feeling the waves of heat from my face pulsate against the column of his throat. He felt it, too. 

“God, you’re like holding a hot coal!” His hands dropped lower and pressed me hard against him. 

“Firm is it? Ha,” I said, getting my mouth free for a moment. “Take those baggy things off.” I slid down his length and onto my knees in front of him, fumbling mazily at his flies. He freed the laces with a quick jerk, and the petticoat breeches ballooned to the floor with a whiff of wind. 

I didn’t wait for him to remove his shirt; just lifted it and took him. He made a strangled sound and his hands came down on my head as though he wanted to restrain me, but hadn’t the strength. 

“Oh, Lord!” he said. His hands tightened in my hair, but he wasn’t trying to push me away. “This must be what it’s like to make love in Hell,” he whispered. “With a burning she-devil.” 

I laughed, which was extremely difficult under the circumstances. I choked, and pulled back a moment, breathless. 

“Is this what a succubus does, do you think?” 

“I wouldna doubt it for a moment,” he assured me. His hands were still in my hair, urging me back. 

A knock sounded on the door, and he froze. Confident that the door was indeed bolted, I didn’t. 

“Aye? What is it?” he said, with a calmness rather remarkable for a man in his position. 

“Fraser?” Lawrence Stern’s voice came through the door. “The Frenchman says the black is asleep, and may he have leave to go to bed now?” 

“No,” said Jamie shortly. “Tell him to stay where he is; I’ll come along and relieve him in a bit.” 

“Oh.” Stern’s voice sounded a little hesitant. “Surely. His … um, his wife seems … eager for him to come now.” 

Jamie inhaled sharply. 

“Tell her,” he said, a small note of strain becoming evident in his voice, “that he’ll be there … presently.” 

“I will say so.” Stern sounded dubious about Marsali’s reception of this news, but then his voice brightened. “Ah … is Mrs. Fraser feeling somewhat improved?” 

“Verra much,” said Jamie, with feeling. 

“She enjoyed the turtle soup?” 

“Greatly. I thank ye.” His hands on my head were trembling. 

“Did you tell her that I’ve put aside the shell for her? It was a fine hawksbill turtle; a most elegant beast.” 

“Aye. Aye, I did.” With an audible gasp, Jamie pulled away and reaching down, lifted me to my feet. 

“Good night, Mr. Stern!” he called. He pulled me toward the berth; we struggled four-legged to keep from crashing into tables and chairs as the floor rose and fell beneath us. 

“Oh.” Lawrence sounded faintly disappointed. “I suppose Mrs. Fraser is asleep, then?” 

“Laugh, and I’ll throttle ye,” Jamie whispered fiercely in my ear. “She is, Mr. Stern,” he called through the door. “I shall give her your respects in the morning, aye?” 

“I trust she will rest well. There seems to be a certain roughness to the sea this evening.” 

“I … have noticed, Mr. Stern.” Pushing me to my knees in front of the berth, he knelt behind me, groping for the hem of my shift. A cool breeze from the open stern window blew over my naked buttocks, and a shiver ran down the backs of my thighs. 

“Should you or Mrs. Fraser find yourselves discommoded by the motion, I have a most capital remedy to hand—a compound of mugwort, bat dung, and the fruit of the mangrove. You have only to ask, you know.” 

Jamie didn’t answer for a moment. 

“Oh, Christ!” he whispered. I took a sizable bite of the bedclothes. 

“Mr. Fraser?” 

“I said, ‘Thank you’!” Jamie replied, raising his voice. 

“Well, I shall bid you a good evening, then.” 

Jamie let out his breath in a long shudder that was not quite a moan. 

“Mr. Fraser?” 

“Good evening, Mr. Stern!” Jamie bellowed. 

“Oh! Er … good evening.” 

Stern’s footsteps receded down the companionway, lost in the sound of the waves that were now crashing loudly against the hull. I spit out the mouthful of quilt. 

“Oh … my … God!” 

His hands were large and hard and cool on my heated flesh. 

“You’ve the roundest arse I’ve ever seen!” 

A lurch by the Artemis here aiding his efforts to an untoward degree, I uttered a loud shriek. 

“Shh!” He clasped a hand over my mouth, bending over me so that he lay over my back, the billowing linen of his shirt falling around me and the weight of him pressing me to the bed. My skin, crazed with fever, was sensitive to the slightest touch, and I shook in his arms, the heat inside me rushing outward as he moved within me.

His hands were under me then, clutching my breasts, the only anchor as I lost my boundaries and dissolved, conscious thought a displaced element in the chaos of sensations—the warm damp of tangled quilts beneath me, the cold sea wind and misty spray that wafted over us from the rough sea outside, the gasp and brush of Jamie’s warm breath on the back of my neck, and the sudden prickle and flood of cold and heat, as my fever broke in a dew of satisfied desire. 

Jamie’s weight rested on my back, his thighs behind mine. It was warm, and comforting. After a long time, his breathing eased, and he rose off me. The thin cotton of my shift was damp, and the wind plucked it away from my skin, making me shiver. 

Jamie closed the window with a snap, then bent and picked me up like a rag doll. He lowered me into the berth, and pulled the quilt up over me. 

“How is your arm?” he said. 

“What arm?” I murmured drowsily. I felt as though I had been melted and poured into a mold to set. 

“Good,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Can ye stand up?” 

“Not for all the tea in China.” 

“I’ll tell Murphy ye liked the soup.” His hand rested for a moment on my cool forehead, passed down the curve of my cheek in a light caress, and then was gone. I didn’t hear him leave.

Voyager: CHAPTER 56 – Turtle Soup

[thechasefiles]

The Chase Files Daily Newscap 2/11/2019

Good MORNING #realdreamchasers! Here is The Chase Files Daily News Cap for Monday 11th February 2019. Remember you can read full articles for FREE via Barbados Today (BT) or Barbados Government Information Services (BGIS) OR by purchasing by purchasing a Daily Nation Newspaper (DN).

MORE LAYOFFS TO COME, PM MOTTLEY SAYS – Workers at State-owned enterprises are being put on notice that there are still more layoffs to come as Government seeks to manage a huge wage bill. “We’ve sent home so far just about 1,000 [people],” Prime Minister Mia Mottley said today on the call-in programme Down To Brass Tacks on Starcom Network Inc. “There are still a few more layoffs, what I call the peak structural layoffs, to come in one or two State-owned enterprises.” The Prime Minister said the additional layoffs will come during Phase three of the Government’s restructuring programme for the Barbados economy. “Phase three starts in April this year and goes to December 2020 to deal with some of those State-owned enterprises that require a greater amount of time and process to go in and do what has to be done so that you don’t end up without the services that have to be delivered.” Noting that Government’s entire wage bill was $780 million, she said some 10,000 people would have been placed on the breadline if her administration had not undertaken the Barbados Economic Recovery and Transformation Plan (BERT). “No wonder you heard the former Governor of the Central Bank talking about sending home about 5,000 or 6,000 people . . . But imagine what would have happened if we’d sent home five times that [1,000], if you have the kind of crying and dislocation that we’ve seen, legitimately so, from what we sent home,” Mottley said. The Prime Minister also addressed what she said was the recent chatter about overtime, noting that she has no fundamental issue with a suggestion made by the trade unions. “The restriction of overtime was not a suggestion of the Government. It was a suggestion that came from the unions in the social partnership. We think that it is a fair comment because if we can restrict overtime to allow less people to be sent home and laid off, I think that is a fair thing,” Mottley said. “These are some of the things that we have been dealing with and I ask Bajans to stay focus. You cannot say that the Government does not have a growth programme when the same Barbados Economic Recovery and Transformation is premised on a growth programme and not only austerity measures.” (BT)

PM PROMISES TO UPDATE COUNTRY SOON ON EXTERNAL DEBT SITUATION – Prime Minister Mia Mottley today promised that she will update the country soon about the Government’s external debt restructuring plan. “Those discussions are continuing, and the public will be advised shortly of what we will be doing with respect to the foreign debt situation,” Mottley said on the call-in programme Down To Brass Tacks on Starcom Network Inc. “The truth is, the foreign debt has always been the smallest part of our overall debt, it’s just over 20 per cent. But we do anticipate that we will have to bring resolution to that within the next few weeks to months.” External creditors have been awaiting word from Government on debt-restructuring following Mottley’s announcement, shortly after taking office, of a suspension of payments due on debts owed to external commercial creditors. Mottley said then that her government had inherited more than $15 billion in public debt. An upbeat Mottley today sought to assure Barbadians that the country will be successful in building a new society, that gives people opportunity, that is rooted on the premise of fairness and justice and that give Barbadians a sense of pride again. “Barbados is coming back economically and socially. We’re not there yet, we have to stay the course, we have to remain focused,” she said. “The community – regionally, internationally and locally, the majority of people with whom I interact – feel that Barbados is coming back and want to give us that chance, but they recognize that this is not a 100-metre race. This is a marathon. We are passing all the right signs, we’re doing all the right things, but we cannot replace time. Time has to be gone through in order for us to finish the course.” She described the Barbados economy as a patient that was suffering for a decade. “The truth is that the medicine has only been applied for the last six months – so let’s give it a chance. So far, the medicine which is being applied is far less bitter than it might otherwise have been,” Mottley said. “There are those who did not believe that the domestic and the foreign debt restructuring should be part of the equation; and we said no, because the saving that we get in interest are approximately $500 million and the savings that we will get this year in amortization and principal is about $800 million.” (BT)

PM DENIES GIVING DIPLOMATIC PASSPORT, $100,000 WAIVER TO HARTLEY HENRY – Prime Minister Mia Mottley on Sunday rubbished reports that she had given political consultant Hartely Henry a diplomatic passport and waived $100,000 in duty on a car for him. Speaking from Washington on Sunday on the call-in programme Down To Brass Tacks on Starcom Network Inc., Mottley said to the best of her knowledge, the car that Henry is driving he’s had for more than two years. “So, I would have had to have had extraordinary powers to grant him those duty waivers from the Opposition benches,” she said. “To the best of my knowledge Mr. Henry certainly does not have a Barbados diplomatic passport. In fact, when I asked him, he told me that the only time he’s ever had any form of official passport was in 2008 and he surrendered it when [Prime Minister] David Thompson died.” The Prime Minister said those spreading the rumours are seeking to destabilize the country, adding that other rumours and other forms of fake news have been abounding almost on a weekly basis within the last two months. “But that is what others would want to divert the country with when they can’t speak to us on substance,” Mottley said. “But I imagine that there are those who feel that they have to stand up for something. Although, I must tell you, that if you get less than one point five per cent of the popular vote, or if you get beaten 30-love, I would want to believe that you go back to your philosophical roots if you are the established party.” The Prime Minister said to continue to engage in distractions that can only seek to destabilize the country is unfortunate. She said Barbados has enough to contend with on its own and she is urging the country to stand with her as she works to make a difference. “Believe you me, I still am of the view that if we work together . . . we’re going to carry the country in the right direction and hopefully at the right pace to make a difference to more and more of our people,” the Prime Minister said. (BT)

SIR DAVID’S CALL – Barbados needs an anti-corruption unit to monitor the activities of key officials in Government departments in order to help root out public corruption. And its work should be separate and distinct from that of any team of investigators the Mia Mottley administration is planning for the proposed Integrity Commission now being considered by a select committee of Parliament. That recommendation has come from the former attorney general and chief justice Sir David Simmons, who has also headed commissions of inquiry in Trinidad and Tobago and Jamaica. “It should not be an Integrity Commission unit. I don’t want it to be confused with the Integrity Commission that is being contemplated to monitor integrity in public life in Barbados. That commission would have three or four investigators and their work shouldn’t be confused with the anti-corruption unit,” said Sir David. (DN)

LANDFILL OFF LIMITES –There is to be no recurrence of people trespassing on the premises of the Mangrove Landfill and removing items dumped there. This warning has come from chairman of the Sanitation Service Authority (SSA), Senator Rudy Grant. He was weighing in on the article Landfill Shame in last Tuesday’s DAILY NATION in which several men were seen rummaging through waste in the landfill for discarded items. “As long as the landfill is operating, there is to be security in place and security must always be there to ensure that those types of challenges do not exist. “I have had some discussion with the management of the landfill in relation to that to reinforce what is already a policy position,” the chairman said in an interview. (DN)

BWA EXPERIENCING LOW PRODUCTION AT  BOWMANSTON PUMPING STATION – The Barbados Water Authority wishes to inform residents and businesses in parts of St. Joseph and St John, who are currently experiencing low pressure or intermittent outages that it is due to reduced production from the Bowmanston Pumping Station which is, in turn, impacting Golden Ridge and Castle Grant systems. As a result, the areas which may be affected by low pressure and outages are as follows: FROM BOWMANSTON TO GOLDEN RIDGE: Stewart Hill, Massiah Street, Rose Hill, Pot House, Newcastle, Gall Hill, Cherry Grove, Pool, Four Roads, Lemon Arbor and surrounding areas. FROM GOLDEN RIDGE TO CASTLE GRANT: Horse Hill, Suriname, Chimborazo, Lammings, Sugar Hill in St Joseph and Edgecliff, Hortons Village in St. John and surrounding areas. Water tankers have been dispatched to assist the affected areas.  (DN)

FATS, OILS AND GREASE BLAMED FOR ODOUR AT BRIDGETOWN PLANT – Over the past few days, the Barbados Water Authority (BWA) received intermittent reports of malodours in the immediate vicinity of the Bridgetown Sewage Treatment Plant. In a press release, the BWA said they had traced the source of the problem to a build-up of grease entering the Plant. “This increase forced personnel to make adjustments and carry out additional cleaning of sensitive equipment in order to combat the issue. The excess grease was taken off and trucked out of the facility and as a result of its removal, the situation is being successfully resolved, “ the statement said. Marketing Officer at the BWA, Yvette Harris-Griffith said, “these circumstances bring to light the position that persons connected to the island’s two Sewage Treatment Plants need to be reminded of - no Fats, Oils or Grease (FOGs) are to be put into the sewer lines.  FOGs compromise the treatment process at the Plants and cause plant upsets and malodours” Harris-Griffith underscored that the Authority continues to advise commercial and domestic users of the sewerage system to service their individual grease traps regularly and avoid putting any grease into the sewer pipelines. Instead, what is recommended is the collection and proper disposal of all FOGs.  (DN)

FAKE TENANT EVICTED - Ten months of free living came to an abrupt end for a St Peter “tenant” yesterday. Mark Daisley had been shacking up in an unfinished wall house at Lot 14 Leslie Gardens, Maynards, without the owner’s knowledge, far less permission, but it all ended yesterday under the eyes of the law. He had to move out all his possessions – including a living room suite, washing machine, two fridges, two stoves, a large flat screen TV, as well as a dog tied up and living on the inside – when he was eventually found out. Carlos Yearwood, acting on the behalf of his brother Lincoln Harris, owner of the property, came with members of the Royal Barbados Police Force in tow and ordered Daisley to clear out from the private house. Daisley claimed he was living at the unfinished wall house with the permission of the owner, whom he referred to as Chris, after doing some work for him. He explained that due to his girlfriend falling ill and him losing his job, he was in dire straits and needed somewhere to go desperately.  (DN)

PROTEST NEAR US EMBASSY IN SUPPORT OF PRESIDENT NICOLAS MADURO – Members of the Friends of Venezuela Solidarity Committee stood along the roadside in Wildey, holding placards protesting against Juan Guaido’s declaring himself president. The were also protesting against what the called the undemocratic approach of the United States. Standing s short distance away from the United States Embassy, the group led by secretary general David Denny; attorney-at-law Lalu Hanum, who is the chair of the Barbados Bar Association’s Human Right’s Committee; public relations officer of the Pan African Coalition of Organisation, John Howell; and University of West Indies political science lecturer Dr Tennyson Joseph. Speaking with Barbados TODAY about the peaceful demonstration, Denny said the group applauded the non-interventionist and non-interference stance by the CARICOM Heads of Government, to maintain the region as a zone of peace. He said that the group only recognized President Nicolas Maduro as head of state as he was democratically elected with 67.8 per cent of votes cast in the last election. Denny said the demonstration should serve as a warning to countries such as the United States, Canada, Germany, Spain and France, who have disregarded the Venezuelan electoral system and supported Guaido as the president of Venezuela. “We want to let the western countries know that there are people in the Caribbean region that will continue to fight against war that will continue to demand peace in our region because such a war would also affect Barbadian people, Caribbean people and we don’t want to create such problems for our region,” said Denny. “The majority of people in Venezuela are in solidarity with the government and people of Venezuela,” he added. Meanwhile, Joseph, lecturer in political science at UWI Cave Hill Campus, said the stance taken by the US was an attempt to rebuke alternatives to neoliberal forms of government and was an excuse to assert power. “It is essentially a pretext to invasion. We do not take seriously at all to the claims they are making to the interim leader. It is really a pretext to invade the country and what it has done it has diminished the legitimacy of the electoral process not only in Venezuela but all over the world,” said Joseph. “All they want is a context for war. Nobody takes serious [Guaido’s] claims about being an interim leader but it is to be taken seriously when you think about the number of countries that have actually stood up and say they recognize him and the context it has created for an internal invasion of the country . . . What Venezuela represents is an alternative to neoliberal forms of government and that is what this is about. They really want to crush that example because a country was not supposed to become socialist after the Soviet Union collapsed.” Given Venezuela’s close ties with the Caribbean, Joseph said that the CARICOM states would not escape the aftershocks of the unrest in the South. He stressed that the Heads of Government need to exert their influence and let their voices be heard on this extremely concerning issue. “We don’t take this war as something that is distant or not germane to our very existence We support the CARICOM stance because our struggle here we recognize that the one thing we can do is to influence our governments … our governments have to take the proper stance on the international arena,” Joseph stated. (BT)

WOOD KNOCKS WINDIES – England took complete control of the third Test against the West Indies on day two yesterday, thanks mainly to the bowling exploits of fast bowler Mark Wood and spinner Moeen Ali. On a day in which 16 wickets fell, the tourists established a healthy first innings lead of 123 runs, which they duly stretched to 142 having reached 19-0 in their second innings. The hosts had initially wrestled the momentum away from England in the opening session, with Kemar Roach grabbing four quick wickets to help bowl England out for 277 after they had resumed on 231 for four. Roach ended with four for 48, as England lost their last six wickets for 46 runs. He has 17 scalps in the series. But a fiery Wood grabbed his first five-wicket haul in Tests and Ali snagged four wickets to rout the Windies for 154 and give England a sizeable lead. It was a pathetic batting display from the West Indies, with only John Campbell and Shane Dowrich putting up significant resistance. Skipper Kraigg Brathwaite and Campbell gave the West Indies a good foundation with a 57-run opening stand. However, once they fell within two balls of each other, the middle order collapsed. Brathwaite’s struggle against the off-spin of Ali continued when he tried to hit him out of the ground but found Jimmy Anderson on the boundary to fall for 12. Next ball, Ali trapped Campbell leg before wicket for 41 to leave the score 57 for two. Campbell asked for a review of the decision but replays showed the ball crashing into leg stump. (DN)

TRINI COUGARS CHAMPS AGAIN –The Trinidad & Tobago Cougars came and conquered for the fourth straight year with their speed, stamina and brilliant baton exchanges at Saturday’s 16th Barbados Relay Fair at the National Stadium. Despite the sterling efforts of local club Elite Distance Programme (EDP), Cougars raced away with the girls’ title, amassing 113 points. EDP had to settle for a worthy second place on 80 points, with a resurgent Combermere third on 60. Lodge (38) and Alleyne (30) were fourth and fifth. Cougars also dominated among the boys, finishing with 103 points to be double crowned champions. Rising Stars were second with 59 points, with Elite (52) third, followed by Lodge (40) and Alleyne (33.5). Back-to-back (2016 and 2017) CARIFTA Games Under-18 Boys’ 400 hurdles gold medallist Rasheeme Griffith brought the meet to a thrilling climax on the Harrison College’s (HC) anchor leg in the Under-20 Boys’ 4x400 race.  (DN)

HOLETOWN FESTIVAL OPENS –The 2019 Holetown Festival is officially open. Though a bit more low key than in previous years, the event opened today at the Holetown Police Station grounds, a move from the customary location at the Holetown complex in St James. Delivering the feature address, Minister of Tourism Kerrie Symmonds encouraged all to come out and support the annual event. He urged all, to reflect on the true meaning of the festival. It was also noted that this year, there would be no Queen of the Festival Pageant. At the opening, they were many cultural presentations as well as performances by Paula Hinds and ambassador for the event Hypasounds. (DN)

For daily or breaking news reports follow us on Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter & Facebook. That’s all for today folks. There are 323 days left in the year. Shalom! #thechasefilesdailynewscap #thechasefiles# dailynewscapsbythechasefiles

[staciejcc]

Everyone is always asking the cast about the print shop scene, I’m looking forward to the turtle soup scene “Turtle; Stern took a big hawksbill last night. He sent word he’s saving ye the shell to make combs of, for your hair.” Jamie frowned slightly, whether at the thought of Lawrence Stern’s gallantry or Ishmael’s presence, I couldn’t tell. “As for the black, he’s not loose—Fergus is watching him.”

“Fergus is on his honeymoon,” I protested. “You shouldn’t make him do it. Is this really turtle soup? I’ve never had it before. It’s marvelous.”

Jamie was unmoved by contemplation of Fergus’s tender state.

“Aye, well, he’ll be wed a long time,” he said callously. “Do him no harm to keep his breeches on for one night. And they do say that abstinence makes the heart grow firmer, no?”

“Absence,” I said, dodging the spoon for a moment. “And fonder. If anything’s growing firmer from abstinence, it wouldn’t be his heart.”

“That’s verra bawdy talk for a respectable marrit woman,” Jamie said reprovingly, sticking the spoon in my mouth. “And inconsiderate, forbye.”

I swallowed. “Inconsiderate?”

“I’m a wee bit firm myself at the moment,” he replied evenly, dipping and spooning. “What wi’ you sitting there wi’ your hair loose and your ni**les starin’ me in the eye, the size of cherries.”

I glanced down involuntarily, and the next spoonful bumped my nose. Jamie clicked his tongue, and picking up a cloth, briskly blotted my bosom with it. It was quite true that my shift was made of thin cotton, and even when dry, reasonably easy to see through.

“It’s not as though you haven’t seen them before,” I said, amused.

He laid down the cloth and raised his brows.

“I have drunk water every day since I was weaned,” he pointed out. “It doesna mean I canna be thirsty, still.” He picked up the spoon. “You’ll have a wee bit more?”

“No, thanks,” I said, dodging the oncoming spoon. “I want to hear more about this firmness of yours.”

“No, ye don’t; you’re ill.”

“I feel much better,” I assured him. “Shall I have a look at it?” He was wearing the loose petticoat breeches the sailors wore, in which he could easily have concealed three or four dead mullet, let alone a fugitive firmness.

“You shall not,” he said, looking slightly shocked. “Someone might come in. And I canna think your looking at it would help a bit.”

“Well, you can’t tell that until I have looked at it, can you?” I said. “Besides, you can bolt the door.”

“Bolt the door? What d’ye think I’m going to do? Do I look the sort of man would take advantage of a woman who’s not only wounded and boiling wi’ fever, but drunk as well?” he demanded. He stood up, nonetheless.

“I am not drunk,” I said indignantly. “You can’t get drunk on turtle soup!” Nonetheless, I was conscious that the glowing warmth in my stomach seemed to have migrated somewhat lower, taking up residence between my thighs, and there was undeniably a slight lightness of head not strictly attributable to fever.

“You can if ye’ve been drinking turtle soup as made by Aloysius O’Shaughnessy Murphy,” he said. “By the smell of it, he’s put at least a full bottle o’ the sherry in it. A verra intemperate race, the Irish.”

“Well, I’m still not drunk.” I straightened up against the pillows as best I could. “You told me once that if you could still stand up, you weren’t drunk.”

“You aren’t standing up,” he pointed out.

“You are. And I could if I wanted to. Stop trying to change the subject. We were talking about your firmness.”

“Well, ye can just stop talking about it, because—” He broke off with a small yelp, as I made a fortunate grab with my left hand.

“Clumsy, am I?” I said, with considerable satisfaction. “Oh, my. Heavens, you do have a problem, don’t you?”

“Will ye leave go of me?” he hissed, looking frantically over his shoulder at the door. “Someone could come in any moment!”

“I told you you should have bolted the door,” I said, not letting go. Far from being a dead mullet, the object in my hand was exhibiting considerable liveliness.

He eyed me narrowly, breathing through his nose.

“I wouldna use force on a sick woman,” he said through his teeth, “but you’ve a damn healthy grip for someone with a fever, Sassenach. If you—”

“I told you I felt better,” I interrupted, “but I’ll make you a bargain; you bolt the door and I’ll prove I’m not drunk.” I rather regretfully let go, to indicate good faith. He stood staring at me for a moment, absentmindedly rubbing the site of my recent assault on his virtue. Then he lifted one ruddy eyebrow, turned, and went to bolt the door.

By the time he turned back, I had made it out of the berth and was standing—a trifle shakily, but still upright—against the frame. He eyed me critically. “It’s no going to work, Sassenach,” he said, shaking his head. He looked rather regretful, himself. “We’ll never stay upright, wi’ a swell like there is underfoot tonight, and ye know I’ll not fit in that berth by myself, let alone wi’ you.” There was a considerable swell; the lantern on its swivel-bracket hung steady and level, but the shelf above it tilted visibly back and forth as the Artemis rode the waves. I could feel the faint shudder of the boards under my bare feet, and knew Jamie was right. At least he was too absorbed in the discussion to be seasick. “There’s always the floor,” I suggested hopefully. He glanced down at the limited floor space and frowned. “Aye, well. There is, but we’d have to do it like snakes, Sassenach, all twined round each other amongst the table legs.” “I don’t mind.” “No,” he said, shaking his head, “it would hurt your arm.” He rubbed a knuckle across his lower lip, thinking. His eyes passed absently across my body at about hip level, returned, fixed, and lost their focus. I thought the bloody shift must be more transparent than I realized. Deciding to take matters into my own hands, I let go my hold on the frame of the berth and lurched the two paces necessary to reach him. The roll of the ship threw me into his arms, and he barely managed to keep his own balance, clutching me tightly round the waist. “Jesus!” he said, staggered, and then, as much from reflex as from desire, bent his head and kissed me. It was startling. I was accustomed to be surrounded by the warmth of his embrace; now it was I who was hot to the touch and he who was cool. From his reaction, he was enjoying the novelty as much as I was. Light-headed, and reckless with it, I nipped the side of his neck with my teeth, feeling the waves of heat from my face pulsate against the column of his throat. He felt it, too. “God, you’re like holding a hot coal!” His hands dropped lower and pressed me hard against him. “Firm is it? Ha,” I said, getting my mouth free for a moment. “Take those baggy things off.” I slid down his length and onto my knees in front of him, fumbling mazily at his flies. He freed the laces with a quick jerk, and the petticoat breeches ballooned to the floor with a whiff of wind. I didn’t wait for him to remove his shirt; just lifted it and took him. He made a strangled sound and his hands came down on my head as though he wanted to restrain me, but hadn’t the strength. “Oh, Lord!” he said. His hands tightened in my hair, but he wasn’t trying to push me away. “This must be what it’s like to make love in Hell,” he whispered. “With a burning she-devil.” I laughed, which was extremely difficult under the circumstances. I choked, and pulled back a moment, breathless. “Is this what a succubus does, do you think?” “I wouldna doubt it for a moment,” he assured me. His hands were still in my hair, urging me back. A knock sounded on the door, and he froze. Confident that the door was indeed bolted, I didn’t. “Aye? What is it?” he said, with a calmness rather remarkable for a man in his position. “Fraser?” Lawrence Stern’s voice came through the door. “The Frenchman says the black is asleep, and may he have leave to go to bed now?” “No,” said Jamie shortly. “Tell him to stay where he is; I’ll come along and relieve him in a bit.” “Oh.” Stern’s voice sounded a little hesitant. “Surely. His…um, his wife seems…eager for him to come now.” Jamie inhaled sharply. “Tell her,” he said, a small note of strain becoming evident in his voice, “that he’ll be there…presently.” “I will say so.” Stern sounded dubious about Marsali’s reception of this news, but then his voice brightened. “Ah…is Mrs. Fraser feeling somewhat improved?” “Verra much,” said Jamie, with feeling. “She enjoyed the turtle soup?” “Greatly. I thank ye.” His hands on my head were trembling. “Did you tell her that I’ve put aside the shell for her? It was a fine hawksbill turtle; a most elegant beast.” “Aye. Aye, I did.” With an audible gasp, Jamie pulled away and reaching down, lifted me to my feet. “Good night, Mr. Stern!” he called. He pulled me toward the berth; we struggled four-legged to keep from crashing into tables and chairs as the floor rose and fell beneath us. “Oh.” Lawrence sounded faintly disappointed. “I suppose Mrs. Fraser is asleep, then?” “Laugh, and I’ll throttle ye,” Jamie whispered fiercely in my ear. “She is, Mr. Stern,” he called through the door. “I shall give her your respects in the morning, aye?” “I trust she will rest well. There seems to be a certain roughness to the sea this evening.” “I…have noticed, Mr. Stern.” Pushing me to my knees in front of the berth, he knelt behind me, groping for the hem of my shift. A cool breeze from the open stern window blew over my naked bu**ocks, and a shiver ran down the backs of my thighs. “Should you or Mrs. Fraser find yourselves discommoded by the motion, I have a most capital remedy to hand—a compound of mugwort, bat dung, and the fruit of the mangrove. You have only to ask, you know.” Jamie didn’t answer for a moment. “Oh, Christ!” he whispered. I took a sizable bite of the bedclothes. “Mr. Fraser?” “I said, ‘Thank you’!” Jamie replied, raising his voice. “Well, I shall bid you a good evening, then.” Jamie let out his breath in a long shudder that was not quite a moan. “Mr. Fraser?” “Good evening, Mr. Stern!” Jamie bellowed. “Oh! Er…good evening.” Stern’s footsteps receded down the companionway, lost in the sound of the waves that were now crashing loudly against the hull. I spit out the mouthful of quilt. “Oh…my…God!” His hands were large and hard and cool on my heated flesh. “You’ve the roundest arse I’ve ever seen!” A lurch by the Artemis here aiding his efforts to an untoward degree, I uttered a loud shriek. “Shh!” He clasped a hand over my mouth, bending over me so that he lay over my back, the billowing linen of his shirt falling around me and the weight of him pressing me to the bed. My skin, crazed with fever, was sensitive to the slightest touch, and I shook in his arms, the heat inside me rushing outward as he moved within me. His hands were under me then, clutching my br**sts, the only anchor as I lost my boundaries and dissolved, conscious thought a displaced element in the chaos of sensations—the warm damp of tangled quilts beneath me, the cold sea wind and misty spray that wafted over us from the rough sea outside, the gasp and brush of Jamie’s warm breath on the back of my neck, and the sudden prickle and flood of cold and heat, as my fever broke in a dew of satisfied desire. Jamie’s weight rested on my back, his thighs behind mine. It was warm, and comforting. After a long time, his breathing eased, and he rose off me. The thin cotton of my shift was damp, and the wind plucked it away from my skin, making me shiver. Jamie closed the window with a snap, then bent and picked me up like a rag doll. He lowered me into the berth, and pulled the quilt up over me. “How is your arm?” he said. “What arm?” I murmured drowsily. I felt as though I had been melted and poured into a mold to set. “Good,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Can ye stand up?”

[newyorktheater]

A Soldier’s Play

Medea

Grand Horizons

My Name is Lucy Barton

Below is a selection of New York theater openings in January, organized chronologically by opening date.* Three shows  are opening on Broadway this month —  Laura Linney in “My Name Is Lucy Barton,” David Alan Grier and Blair Underwood in “A Soldier’s Play,” Jane Alexander and James Cromwell in “Grand Horizons.” There are also a handful of exciting shows Off-Broadway — Rose Byrne and Bobby Cannavale in a modern update of a Greek tragedy; Charles Busch in his lastest comic melodrama. What makes January one of the busiest months of the year for theater in New York are the annual January theater festivals.

Although several of these festivals have died recently, those that remain offer collectively more than 70 theater pieces; most are experimental, often hybrids that redefine what theater is, and are often difficult to describe; many run for as little as one or two performances.

The festivals seem to set the tone for some of the non-festival works this month. When else but in January would there be two adaptations of Medea, and a trio of plays from New Zealand?

Each title below is linked to a relevant website. Color key: Broadway: Red. Off Broadway: Black or Blue.. Off Off Broadway: Green. Theater festival: Orange. Immersive: Magenta. 

*The festival shows and many Off-Off Broadway don’t have official opening nights, so they are listed according to their first performance.

January 2

Exponential Festival, though February 3

The festival begins with “Fear in the Western World” (Target Margin)

Digital puppetry that examines the apparatus of fear by telling the story of a young couple whose young daughter is attacked and kidnapped by spirits

January 3

Term of Art (Exponential at Jack)

In fragmentary scenes with four actors moving through many voices, the piece draws on recent transcripts of Supreme Court justices wrestling with how to police the borders of citizenship in order to deny rights that ought to be inalienable.

January 4

Wild Dogs Under My Skirt (Soho Playhouse)

In this first of three plays from New Zealand this month at Soho Playhouse this stage adaptation of the poetry of Tusiata Avia examines and celebrates what it means to be a Samoan woman

Or, An Astronaut Play (The Tank)

The Astronaut School has four students—but only one can actually make it to outer space.

January 6

Love, Medea (The Center at West Park)

Part theater piece, part dance show, part haute couture runway and part art installation, this adaptation of Euripides’ play presents the title character as a woman who was stripped of voice and homeland, who sacrificed her heart to put a man’s heroic epic before her own, but will stay in the shadows no more.

January 7

The 8th (The Secret Theater)

A year after the death of their father, an Irish family argues over the suspicious circumstances surrounding his demise, while outside the people of Ireland are equally divided as they prepare to vote on whether to repeal the eighth amendment and legalize abortion i

January 8

Under The Radar Festival through January 19

The festival begins with six shows (listed in order of what time they begin today):

To The Moon

A virtual reality experience created by Laurie Anderson and Hsin-Chien Huang.  During the 15-minute experience, the viewer is shot out from Earth, walks on the surface of the Moon, glides through space debris, flies through DNA skeletons, and is lifted up a lunar mountain.

Ryan J. Haddad: Falling For Make Believe

A memoir full of show tunes whimsically recalling the “Haddad Theater” he ran as a child.

The Shadow Whose Prey The Hunter Becomes

The story of a public meeting, whose topics include “the ethics of mass food production, human rights, the social impact of automation and the projected dominance of artificial intelligence in the world.”

Grey Rock  

A play by Palestine’s leading playwright/director, Amir Nizar Zuabi in which a Palestinian man dreams of reaching the moon, building a rocket inside his shed in the West Bank.

Susan

Ahamefule J. Oluo’s darkly comic musical portrait of his mother builds one story out of many, a journey from Section 8 housing in 1980s Seattle, to the mangrove swamps of the Niger Delta, to the Clallam Bay Correctional Facility.

Triple Threat

Casting herself in all the main roles, McCormick will attempt to re-connect to her own moral conscience by re-enacting the New Testament via a Nu-wave holy trinity of dance, power ballads, and performance.

Queens Row (The Kitchen)

In a near-future America after a civil war has left the country reeling, three women one by one get on a pedestal and tell the story of their struggles.

January 9

Prototype Festival through January 19

The festival begins with Blood Moon (Baruch), an opera-theatre piece with puppetry and a Taiko-infused score, in which three characters encounter the past on the night of a full moon: a nephew who returns to the mountain-top where he left his aunt to die forty years earlier, the ghost of the aunt he abandoned, and the moon that presides over this night of reckoning.

Modern Maori Quartet: Two Worlds (Soho Playhouse)

In this second of three shows from New Zealand this month, the group sings songs and tells stories.

January 10

Cartography (New Victory)

Inflatable rafts on the Mediterranean. Dark holds of cargo trucks. Family photos hidden carefully in a backpack. Hear the stories of young refugees in this multimedia theatrical work for ages 10 and up;

  Iron and Coal (Prototype)

A rock opera by Jeremy Schonfeld that weaves together his personal experiences with excerpts from his father, an Auschwitz survivor, brought to life through animation, a rock band, an orchestra, and 200-member multigenerational choruses.

January 11

Contours of Heaven (Soho Playhouse)

In the last of the three plays from New Zealand, this verbatim work is based on interviews with six rangatahi (Maori youth.)

January 12

Medea (BAM)

Rose Byrne and Bobby Cannavale star in writer-director Simon Stone’s rewrite of the Euripides tragedy.

Daydream Tutorial (Under the Radar)

Japanese collagist, animator, and puppeteer, Maiko Kikuchi, mixes mediums in this solo show, inviting us to the whimsical nexus of her surreal series of daydreams.

January 15

My Name Is Lucy Barton (MTC’s Samuel Friedman Theater)

In this solo play adapted from the best-selling novel by Elizabeth Strout, Laura Linney stars as Lucy Barton, a woman who wakes after an operation to find – much to her surprise – her mother at the foot of her bed. They haven’t seen each other in years.

January 17

Miss America’s Ugly Daughter (Marjorie Deane Little Theater)

Barra Grant explores her life growing up in the shadow of her mother Bess Myerson, the first and only Jewish Miss America.

January 19

Josh Lamon as Prince and Lesli Magherita as Princess

Emojiland (The Duke on 42nd Street)

A musical that  is set inside a smart phone, with the resident emojis facing a “textistential” crisis —  the phone is due for a software update. That’s in the first act. In the second act, they face a virus.

My review of Emojiland when it was part of the New York Musical Festival

  January 21

A Soldier’s Play (Roundabout’s American Airlines Theater)

The Pulitzer Prize-winning mystery about the murder of a black sergeant on a Louisiana army base in 1944 comes to Broadway for the first time, starring David Alan Grier and Blair Underwood.

Paris (Atlantic)

Emmie is one of the only black people living in Paris, Vermont, and she desperately needs a job. When she is hired at Berry’s, a store off the interstate selling everything from baby carrots to lawnmowers, she begins to understand a new kind of isolation.

January 23

Grand Horizons (Helen Hayes)

In this new play by Bess Wohl, James Cromwell and Jane Alexander portray Bill and Nancy, who have spent 50 years as husband and wife. But just as they settle comfortably into their new home in Grand Horizons, the unthinkable happens: Nancy suddenly wants out. As their two adult sons struggle to cope with the shocking news, they are forced to question everything they assumed about the people they thought they knew best.

Fire This Time Festival through February 2

seven ten-minute plays by writers of African descent.

January 26

Das Barbecü  

A nod to Wagner’s Ring Cycle merged with a comedic Texas fable, the songbook ranges from Broadway to Texas swing, from jazz to twangy country and western as mismatched lovers meet on the day of their double shotgun wedding with five actors playing more than 30 characters. It takes place at the Hill Country Barbecue Market, which is a restaurant and nightclub in the Flatiron District.

January 29

The Confession of Lily Dare (Primary Stages at Cherry Lane) The latest comic melodrama written by and starring Charles Busch tells the story of one woman’s tumultuous passage from convent girl to glittering cabaret chanteuse to infamous madame of a string of brothels.

January 30

Sister Calling My Name (Sheen Center)

A brother reluctantly holds a reunion with his developmentally disabled sister who has become an extraordinary artist.  When he discovers his sister’s guardian, a nun, is a woman he knew from his past, the three are all thrown into an emotionally charged encounter that leaves them forever changed.

January 2020 New York Theater Openings Below is a selection of New York theater openings in January, organized chronologically by opening date.* Three shows  are opening on Broadway this month --  Laura Linney in "My Name Is Lucy Barton," David Alan Grier and Blair Underwood in "A Soldier's Play," Jane Alexander and James Cromwell in "Grand Horizons." There are also a handful of exciting shows Off-Broadway -- Rose Byrne and Bobby Cannavale in a modern update of a Greek tragedy; Charles Busch in his lastest comic melodrama.

[electricoutdoors]

Step-by-Step: How to Smoke Food on a Campfire

How to Smoke Food on a Campfire

Have you ever wondered how to smoke your food on a campfire? It can be difficult to do if you don’t have any experience, but don’t worry! Follow these simple steps to perfect smoking every time!

How do you smoke meat over a campfire? Start smoking meat over a campfire by building a bed of coals 1" to 2" deep, the coals should have little to no flame. Position an adjustable metal grate over the coals and place the meat on the grill. Monitor the meat as it smokes to adjust the height of the grill and add more wood as needed.

Smoking food on a campfire can be a great way to both cook and preserve your food while you’re out on the trail. [wc_toggle title=“Table of Contents” padding=“” border_width=“” class=“how-to-smoke-food-on-a-campfire” layout=“box”]

How to Smoke Food on a Campfire

Smoking Food on a Campfire

Cold Smoking

Hot Smoking

Does Smoked Meat Have to be Refrigerated?

How to Set Up Your Campfire for Smoking

Gather Wood

Build the Fire Pit

Get the Coals Ready

Prepare the Grill

Start Smoking!

Choosing What Wood to Use When Smoking

What Kind of Wood is Best for Smoking Meat?

What Kind of Wood is Best for Smoking Fish?

What Kind of Wood is the Best for All-Around Smoking?

What Wood Should You Not Use for Smoking?

Softwoods

Wood Containing Toxins

Lumber Scraps

Chemically Treated Wood

Painted or Stained Wood

Moldy Wood

What Meat is Easiest to Smoke?

What is the Hardest Meat to Smoke?

How do You Cook a Brisket Over a Campfire?

How do You Smoke Trout While Camping?

How do You Know When Smoked Trout is Done?

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Smoking Food on a Campfire

Smoking meat is a great way to add flavor to your favorite meat and fish, but most people think it has to be done in a purpose-built smoker. Luckily, you can actually smoke food over a campfire pretty easily.

Cold Smoking

Cold smoking is normally used as a way to preserve meat and not really as a way to prepare food for dinner. Meat is usually brined, salted or dried as it’s cold-smoked so it can be preserved for use down the road at a later date.

Cold smoking doesn’t cook your food, it just uses the smoke (without the heat from the fire) to add flavor and help preserve it.

Hot Smoking

Hot smoking food is what most people are talking about when they just say smoking. Hot smoking is done by using very low heat and suspending or capturing the smoke around the meat to cook and flavor the meat at the same time.

You want to make sure the temperatures are high enough to cook your meat but low enough to cook it slowly. If you get the temps too high, you run the risk of overcooking or charring the meat.

Does Smoked Meat Have to be Refrigerated?

Smoking meat infuses the meat with chemicals that make it more resistant to bacteria and microbes than unsmoked meat, but it still needs to be refrigerated. You should treat it the same way that you would any other kind of cooked meat.

Smoking can be used as a way to preserve foods when you cure or dehydrate the meat. When a majority of the moisture is removed from the meat and impregnated with the formaldehyde and alcohols that smoking adds, meat and fish can last almost indefinitely without refrigeration.

How to Set Up Your Campfire for Smoking

Smoking over a campfire is a primitive technique that is more feel than an exact science. You’re probably not going to have a meat thermometer with you (but you should if you’re planning ahead of time) and you certainly won’t have a knob on the side of your fire to control its temperature.

Gather Wood

If you didn’t bring wood specifically for smoking your food, start by gathering enough wood to keep your fire going for a few hours. It doesn’t need to be a ton of wood since you’re going to be keeping the fire very low (where it’s almost entirely coals).

Build the Fire Pit

If you already have a fire pit that you’re going to use then you can skip this step if you really want to. I like a separate fire pit sometimes if I’m not sure what wood we’ve been burning or I know that we’ve been burning wood that we don’t want to cook over.

The fire pit should be large enough for the grill that you’re going to cook on to fit over it and still have a place to add more wood when you need to. The wood should burn down next to the grill not under it. You can then move the coals from the burnt wood under the food to keep the heat where you want it.

Get the Coals Ready

You can set up the grill first if you want, but I prefer to get the fire going first so you get a nice hot layer of coals in the bottom of the campfire.

Let the wood under the area that you’re going to set up your grill burn down until it’s just a layer of coals about one or two inches deep. Spreading the coals out lowers the heat and helps promote smoking.

You want little to no flames on this side of the fire pit! This is the area that’s going to be smoking your food.

The other side of your fire pit can have wood-burning down to coals or for cooking other items that need more heat.

Prepare the Grill

It’s easiest to set up your campfire for smoking if you have an adjustable metal grate over it. This gives you a place to lay your meat or fish and it allows you to raise or lower your food as needed to control the temperature being applied to it.

Put your grill over the side of your fire pit with the hot coals.

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This Stromberg Carlson Stake and Grille is a great option to take along with you so you always have an adjustable metal grate when you’re cooking over a fire.

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If you don’t have an adjustable grill you can use rocks or bricks to adjust the height of the grill as needed.

If you don’t have a metal grill you’re going to have to get a little creative. You can build one with green branches and should be okay since they shouldn’t ever be in direct contact with the flames.

These branches could influence the taste of the food so make sure you use wood that’s good for smoking.

If you want to get really primitive you can just skewer the meat and lay the skewer above the coals.

Start Smoking!

Place your meat on the grill starting with it about 12" above the coals. Exactly how much heat is coming off the coals will depend on the design of the fire pit and the coals themselves.

Monitor the food as it smokes to make sure that the temperature stays low enough to not burn your food and high enough so it is still slowly cooking it. Add more coals or adjust the height of the grill as needed to keep the heat where you want it.

The exact time that it will take to finish cooking is going to depend on the cut of the meat and the temperatures involved. You should use a meat thermometer to determine the interior temp and make sure that it’s warm enough to make it safe to eat.

Choosing What Wood to Use When Smoking

You have two options when selecting wood to smoke your food over a campfire. You can either bring the best wood for the type of food you plan to smoke or you can collect the wood from the surrounding area.

Oak, hickory, maple, pecan, mesquite, apple, alder and cherry are all great for smoking meat and fish. Depending on where you are, any hardwood will work well.

What Kind of Wood is Best for Smoking Meat?

Meat usually has a stronger flavor than fish. It lets you use a heavier smoke than fish.

Oak is probably the best all-around choice for smoking meats. It’s stronger than apple or cherry and imparts a medium smoky flavor.

What Kind of Wood is Best for Smoking Fish?

Fish often have a more delicate flavor than meat. This means you should use a wood that creates a more gentle smoke.

Alder is one of the best woods for smoking fish. It has a mild, somewhat sweet flavor that goes really well with salmon but is good for all fish.

What Kind of Wood is the Best for All-Around Smoking?

Apple is a solid choice as a good all-round smoking wood. It adds a mildly fruity and sweet flavor that complements a wide range of foods.

What Wood Should You Not Use for Smoking?

There are a lot of different types of wood that you shouldn’t use when smoking food. Some are pretty self-explanatory and others aren’t all that obvious.

Softwoods

Don’t use wood from conifers like pine, redwood, fir, spruce, cypress, or cedar. They contain high levels of sap and terpenes that can make your food taste off and may even make some people sick.

Elm, eucalyptus, and sycamore can also give your food a weird taste.

Wood Containing Toxins

There are quite a few trees, shrubs and bushes out there that have toxins in them that will cause you to get pretty sick. Mangrove, poisonous walnut, sassafras, oleander, yet, tambootie, and laburnum are all in this category and shouldn’t be used for smoking.

Lumber Scraps

Never use lumber of any kind for smoking. You don’t have any way of knowing if it was treated, what it’s been used for, what kind of wood it is, where it was stored, or what kind of chemicals may have been on it. Any one of these things could make lumber poisonous to you and your family.

Chemically Treated Wood

Chemically treated wood is definitely not safe for smoking! Many of these chemicals are hazardous to your health and make people sick.

Lumber is the obvious source of treated wood, but pallets, furniture, and scraps from manufacturers of these products are also likely to be chemically treated. Pallets may have also been used to carry hazardous chemicals…another reason to avoid them for cooking reasons.

Wood from old orchards presents a problem as well. Many growers spray their trees with pesticides and other chemicals that can potentially impregnate the wood.

Painted or Stained Wood

Painted or stained woods will make your food taste bitter. It can also release toxic materials in the smoke which will get into your food.

Moldy Wood

Fungus or mold on old wood can make your food taste bad. It’s also possible that they’re poisonous to humans.

You can use good hardwoods that have fungus on them if you burn them down to coals first. This will remove any of the possible toxins that were there due to the fungus.

What Meat is Easiest to Smoke?

Pork butt is one of the easiest meats to smoke. It actually comes from the upper part of the shoulder and usually weights somewhere between 5 and 10 pounds.

It needs to cook for about 10 hours so make sure you have plenty of time to watch the coals and keep them going for the whole time. If you have options, hickory or pecan is great for smoking pork butt.

You can tell it’s done when the bone comes out in one gentle twist. Otherwise, cook it until the internal temperature reaches 205 degrees.

What is the Hardest Meat to Smoke?

Beef brisket is the hardest meat to smoke for most people. If it’s not prepared properly, then it ends up being tough.

Some people say that ribs are the most difficult for them. It’s really a personal thing with most people leaning toward brisket.

How do You Cook a Brisket Over a Campfire?

Cooking brisket over a campfire is pretty tough and probably not going to go great the first time that you cook it this way!

Make sure to put whatever rub that you’re going to use onto the brisket the night before. Then, before you start getting your fire pit set up, you should bring out the brisket to start warming up.

When your fire pit is set up and the coals are ready, you can start cooking the brisket. Begin with it about 12 inches above coals then raise it or lower it needed to get the brisket started cooking.

Once the brisket has some good color on it, (around an hour) you can wrap it in foil and continue to cook it. The thickest part of the brisket should be at 160 degrees when it’s done. If you like a bark on the outside, you can remove the foil about an hour before the brisket is done.

Plan for the brisket to take about 1 hour per pound to cook this way but you need to continuously monitor it to keep the temperature relatively constant and add more wood as needed. The key to this technique working well is cooking it slowly over low heat!

How do You Smoke Trout While Camping?

Trout is one of the most common fish in North America and it’s likely to be on the menu if you spend any time fishing while you’re out camping.

Here’s how to smoke trout to perfection:

Start your fire just like we discussed above.

Clean and butterfly your trout.

Season the trout to taste. This can be as simple as adding some coarse sea salt.

Set the grill so it’s around 12 inches from your coals and put the trout on it.

Monitor the grill until the trout is done in 2 - 3 hours.

That’s it!

How do You Know When Smoked Trout is Done?

Meat really needs to hit certain temperatures to make sure it’s completely done and any parasites and diseases are killed that could be transferred to you. It’s not really the same with fish.

As long as the temperatures in the fish hit about 140 degrees, then you should be good to go.

You can test if your trout is done by using this simple trick:

Stick a fork or other piece of metal into the fish for about 10 seconds. When you pull it out, feel it to see if it’s warm or not. If the metal is warm to the touch, then your fish is done and you can stop smoking it.

The previous post Step-by-Step: How to Smoke Food on a Campfire is courtesy of: https://readylifestyle.com

Step-by-Step: How to Smoke Food on a Campfire published first on https://readylifesytle.tumblr.com