#hello??? where are mine????? - algae

[the-cookie-jar-system]

@collectioncrow

tummy kisses tummy kisses tummy kisses tummy kisses tummy kisses tummy kisses tummy kisses tummy kisses

[tadpoles-yay]

HELLO TADPOLE PERSON!! !

i have babies in a vat of ditch water i collected and i would like to know what i should feed them when they get big. boiled lettuce is a familiar one but don't they get carnivorous later on? very excited to see Little Guys grow :]

Greetings human being that I don’t know, I am here to answer your inquiries.

First off, it all depends on the species, so I’ll go in general.

Food wise, boiled lettuce or plant matter in general will do, but you can also feed them fish flakes for omnivorous or herbivorous fish that you poke at the surface of the water till they sink. When they are younger though they don’t need much food because they will eat the egg jelly.

Age and time wise,

🤷‍♂️

It really depends on the species.

If I use some local species of mine as an example, the time difference is insane;

For example, American toads develop fast, going from rectangle with 4 cells to tiny frog in around 2 months

American bullfrogs however can take up to three years, but that makes sense considering they are the largest North American frog.

So in conclusion, raising tadpoles depends on the species. Food wise they are generally mostly herbivorous feeding on algae and plants, but will eat meat if they have the occasion (for example a fallen brethren). Time wise; usually shouldn’t take too long, depending when they hatch, and where they were found, it should take enough time so that they fully metamorphose for the end of summer. For example with American toads, they start breeding as soon as it gets a little warm, and they raid the shores (yes raid is an appropriate term) in august so that they have enough time to develop and grow before winter.

I hope this book of text is helpful, I have only raised tadpoles twice and so far the results are 50/50.

Forgot to mention the weekly partial water changes because they poop a lot

[bunnyfrail]

The Feeling of Loneliness

Chapter 1

Outside the arched casement window, the fog stretched out on the forest floor. It was dense, almost as if created by smoke machines. The grounded clouds in the view looked like smudges on a photograph. What was underneath was distorted with a blurred airbrush like quality. I could still discern silhouettes of trees in the distance, but only because I assumed that’s what was there. The evening sky was a faint algae green.

The window in front of me had a broken lock. It had the hook dangling by a screw but not the metal piece it was supposed to latch onto. Being an old thing, the window didn’t close properly. The cool mist crept in like a bandit and clung to me like a second skin.

I was becoming acquainted with my bedroom. A light, polka-dot rain jacket was tied around my hips over my skirt, but I kept it there. I only had love for the cold. Even now, as it snuck up on me, I knew I’d quickly adjust. The bedside I sat on had a gentle give to my weight. My shoulders were slumped over while looking out the window. Falling back onto the bed, the ache in my back I had gotten from slouching stretched itself out. On the ceiling, I caught a glimpse of a tiny spider observing me.

I wasn’t made aware by those who sold me this place that I was going to have a roommate, but a non-human one was something I could handle. The spider remained still as I tried to steady my footing on the bed. On my tip-toes, I reached my hand up as an offering of my friendship. I wasn’t tall enough for my arm’s length to let me touch the ceiling. The little one probably noticed this before descending into my palm by spider silk. For a house spider, it looked far different from those I’ve seen before. It was cuter, with big eyes and short black and white legs. I wouldn’t want to accidentally squish such a sweet thing in the future, especially since it was so nice as to not scurry away. There were no webs built in the room, so I assumed the spider was just passing through to say hello. I slowly got down from the bed, and we both left out the bedroom door.

This house was made in the early 1800s, and I certainly appreciated the few preserved charms while strolling down the second-floor hall. There were many doors. Some doors opened to rooms, while others uncovered narrow hallways. It was a confusing layout to me, specifically when discovering a separate hallway and bedrooms connected to the master bedroom. I chose the room across from that one as my own. I liked my bedroom to only have one entrance.

The wood flooring was coated by a thin carpet down the center of the walkway. Carpet bristles hardened over years of being stomped over; it felt rough against my bare feet. Faded wallpaper covered the walls. Floral details were carved just beneath the ceiling. I didn’t know what that would be called, but it was pretty. The ceilings here were very tall, so I held my head back to get a good look at everything. At eye level, my less impressive and unsold paintings were freshly hung beside me. I would say I was not proud of them, since no one else took interest, but then what would’ve prompted me to display them? I still looked away.

The stairs were a little steep, and going down them made me nervous about falling. They weren’t the stairs I was used to, back at my old home. I cupped the surprisingly still spider in between my palms in case I was to stumble. My hands became a little house for it, where my finger gaps were windows. I was grateful to the carpet for preventing me from slipping on the wood beneath. My new home and I were getting used to each other.

I picked this house myself. The furniture inside was chosen by someone else long before I was born, and now it’s mine with the property. No road leads here, as what makes sense when you're in the forest, but there is a dirt path that's slightly intact before the front doors. It fades away the farther into the surrounding trees it goes. A forty-minute walk away, my car is parked by the nearest road. There might’ve been closer roads before, over a hundred years ago, but they’ve disappeared in being closed off. People have made the abandoned town less accessible with time. That place is why I chose this strangely available house kept up nearby.

Plainwood— the town which birthed whispers in upstate New York. There have been strange sightings of creatures and ghosts and reports of kids never growing up until they leave. At least, I’ve read articles online about such things. Those weren’t considered factual or even acknowledged, but it is illegal to trespass on Plainwood territory. Sometimes police patrol the forest perimeter for certainty that more alleged rumors aren’t made. Those rumors are what made me excited, though, while staying up late imagining coming here.

Down the steep steps, the light from the outside sun replaced the artificial one above. Low in the sky, it peaked through the trees and came to visit me through the windows in the foyer. Two windows stood tall beside the monumental doors, and a curved one was built above them all. I could spot little specs that floated in the air with the new, gentle light. It made me think of fairy dust as it glowed rather than actual dust. Walking through it, I tried to look out at the bright show the sun puts on before it ends its performance every day. The sun battled through the fog to shine. I couldn’t do much about foggy windows, though. Trying to peek through a cloudy window made my view blurry. These windows were well aged with corners that look frosted. Not being able to spot much of anything exciting outside, I noticed the beautiful faint green tint that came from the hazy glass.

The sun isn’t setting just yet, but it’ll be soon. My fingers unclasp. If I lean against the window with my hands, hold my face closer, maybe that’ll help me see through. Though, when my hands opened, the little spider I was carrying crawled between my fingers and rested on the joint in the middle of one. I accidentally forgot about what I was doing down here. Not getting distracted would be difficult for anyone, though, when the foyer is as pretty as it is right now. My new spider roommate was a pretty thing, too. I turned my left hand around so the knuckles and spider faced up for me to see.

“Would it be okay if you stayed right there— please?”

The spider moved in that instant at the sound of my voice. It wasn’t to crawl around but to turn its body around. Its sights now rested on me. The little spider seemed aware, and maybe that was the case with all the spiders near Plainwood! The ones here could be super-smart, friendly spiders that could be companions to people. Or maybe my searching for signs of abnormality made me eager to believe things that weren’t so. That’s been the case before.

My eye contact was broken with the spider as I walked towards the hall to my left. I passed the entryway table while leaving the sunlit foyer. The table had a framed mirror hung above it and a gorgeous electric lamp that seemed to be a more recent edition to the house. The lampshade was made of stained glass in several radiant colors. When I was moving in the few boxes I had earlier, I unplugged the lamp. There was no use in having it plugged in if I wasn’t using it. Passing the mirror, I avoided looking at my reflection in it. I wasn’t going to get distracted again.

Here, the halls had sleek wooden flooring. There was no carpeting downstairs as there was on the second floor. The walls beside me were painted a muted green above the paneling that covered the bottom one-third of them. The color matched the wallpaper upstairs. I stopped in my tracks to peek into the room to my right. This space would make a perfect little tearoom. It wasn’t my stop, but I felt compelled to go inside. Looking down at the spider on my hand, I tried to ask permission with my eyes. The spider didn’t seem to be on a tight schedule, and I had all the time in the world. I walked through the doorway, losing focus once more.

Inside the room, there was a cute round table and chairs in the center. The walls in here were painted baby pink and had two wooden trunks up against them to the left. To the right of me was a massive wardrobe. I looked towards the wide window ahead. It was the kind of window built as a display. It didn’t open, so no one could go through there. On the other side of the glass was the porch made to the left side of the front doors. The view through this window was clear.

I seated myself before one of the trunks at the bottom of the left wall. Used as storage chests all over the house, I had no idea what treasures could be hidden inside them. Though, I awed at the beautiful dolls placed above the florally painted wood of this one. Precious and made of porcelain, their delicate builds were dressed in many patterns and lace trims. My fingers touched the celadon ribbon that peaked through the beading lace making up the straps of my tank top. The majority of these dolls looked like miniature versions of me. They had soft, round features, like a round nose and faded pink cheeks. Blonde hair flowed down their backs, albeit, unlike mine, they hadn’t had jet roots that contrasted the bleached color. From my face, people could tell I couldn’t be a natural blonde, so I was happy as a bleach blonde. My attention turned towards one of the dolls who, silly enough, wore a bib. It made me giggle, but I couldn’t judge her. The way the ruffled lace trim squares around from the edge of my shirt straps to the bottom of the eyelet lace covering my chest kinda makes me look like I have a bib on too.

“Hello there.”

There wasn't a reply to my greeting, but in the silence, I sensed the feeling of a welcome. My hands touched the flowers hand painted onto the chest. If I wanted to, I could fit inside it if I were to ever play hide and seek. The giant wardrobe behind me, too, could be a nice hiding spot. Dust covered my fingers, even with how light the touches I gave to the trunk were. Where did dust come from anyway? I rubbed my fingertips together to brush it off. The spider shuffled down to the back of my hand from my fingers. The fast movements must’ve made it difficult to stay still. I have all the cleaning products needed to deal with this dust another time. I was especially thrilled about the tiny brush I got with thick bristles that weren't very bendable. It would be great for scrubbing small spaces, like between tiles or planks of wood.

I dashed out of the room painted pink and took air down the long hallway. Holding out my hand away from my body, my arm swayed as if it were a roller coaster cart. The gentle movements were only to entertain my tiny friend. At the end of the hall, I faced a giant cabinet. I could turn right to a dead end and walk by the counters and glass-doored cupboards on both walls leading to another window. Those cupboards were empty, with nothing inside to look at. Maybe this was once where they stored fancy tea sets for tea parties? I could have fun collecting things to display there, but it was strange to think of collecting something for myself that could make someone else happy. I wouldn’t even be able to share my things with anyone. Nobody nearby knows of me yet.

Walking to my left could lead me three ways; right to the kitchen, straight towards the dining room, or left again down another hall. Where I wanted to go was at the end of the hall parallel to the one I just went through. This one had more doors than the other. Shut closed, I tried to recall which ones lead to what. There was a half-bathroom modernized as modern as the eighties is to now and a shabby, secret stairway too. The last door at the end of the hallway I was sure was the basement. Although, maybe it would better be described as a cellar.

The door swung outwards into the hall. My hand in the doorway, I held it still to see how the spider would respond. It crawled down my hand to my fingernails, towards the darkness ahead. I leaned in through the doorway and pulled down a chain. The wooden stairs were illuminated by the lightbulb dangling over me. Going down the steps, they creaked while used. At the bottom of the stairs, I stood where there was not exactly a room but a jagged pathway with separate spaces openly connected to it. The light didn’t reach far enough to see deep into these areas. As if it could, the spider jumped from my fingertips to the floor. It was eager to embrace the shadows.

“You’ve been here longer than me. I hope you’re okay with sharing.”

My legs were cold. It was cold in a way where touching your skin was like touching the glass door of a freezer. The blood ran warm under my skin, but touching the surface felt clammy like the condensation. Crouched down with my knees to my chest, I watched close as my roommate scurried away. I think I’ve read somewhere that their legs don’t have bones, and that they’re extended by fluid pumping through them. Our short goodbye was fitting for a short meeting. It would’ve been impolite to take the spider outside. My gaze lifted from the floor to my surroundings at what I was able to see in the light coming from the top of the stairs.

There was firewood kept down here in the place between dark spaces, piled on an iron shelf. Several fireplaces were built in the house, which I’ve only admired as decoration so far. A tool rack was built on the brick wall next to the wood. The tools hung up in a line were made of rusty metal. They all matched, besides the vividly colored plastic shovel. Plastic would make it much weaker than the metal one that would’ve come with the set. My weight shifted to my palm pressed against the concrete floor as I hoisted myself up from the ground.

I won’t be coming down here often. Up the stairs, I went back to the top on my tip-toes. Being barefoot on wood could get me a splinter, but I felt more secure in my steps on my toes. The chain above clinked when the light was turned off. There was a chain lock on the inside of the door. It was puzzling, with that being the lock installed when the door opens in an opposing way. The embellished door knob felt like ice. It could have been made of steel or iron. If these were of iron, then it might draw away fairies. That would be good for the mischievous and cruel ones, but if there happened to be a nice one I’d never get to meet, I would be upset with that. The door creaked when it was pushed closed behind me. I was alone now in this isolated house, though not entirely I suppose.

The kitchen ceiling was the height of two floors. My sights lifted up while leaving the hallway. Orange and chartreuse lit the area up from through the windows. They weren’t as tall as the walls that towered. Glossy tiles made up the floor I walked on. My shoes were next to the kitchen door across the room, in front of the elevator-sized vestibule outside. There was a blockage before the exit by my wagon I had left there in the morning. Bungee cords with plastic hooks dangled off the sides like snakes. They were used to stack boxes in the wagon of stuff not in my luggage. Instead of an island, a wooden table was at the center of the kitchen. An empty box and one full of dishes and cutlery were on it. I only ever used the same bowl and spoon. I slid over to the refrigerator which now stored the groceries once in the empty box. Surprisingly, I haven’t been hungry since arriving here at the beginning of dawn. My hand gripped the jug of orange juice in the fridge. I might as well get some vitamins if I wasn’t going to eat.

The artistry in the designs of this house were breathtaking. Even just being able to see the rings in the wood cabinets instead of a solid white on particleboard made me very happy. I was thankful for all of it, not only to possess but to behold the lovely gift. This was technically a last goodbye present before I weaned from my parents. Jug placed on the table, I pulled a glass from the box beside it. The sink behind me turned on by lifting the handle connected to the spout. My cup wasn’t dirty, but maybe it was. Water rinsed my glass clean, and my hands as I washed it.

My orange juice seemed more yellow than any other color. Especially in the miscolored light, it was gold compared to the hour named after the metal itself. A golden juice, all too like the golden tomatoes in the family garden. Flowers never bloomed there unless they were a foresight to fruits yet to come. Flowers don’t last too long. My father preferred enduring stuff, something without a fleeting end. Agreeing with him, my mother always chose to invest in more practical things; tomatoes, mint, rosemary plants and apple trees. It was nice to spend time with them on the grounds when they weren’t busy. As a child, I’d slip away to town to admire the blossoms on the other side.

At the wooden table, I poured the juice into my glass. These jugs never poured in a steady stream, rather they plopped and crashed against the side of the glass. Putting the jug away, the bright light inside the refrigerator was harsh on my eyes. I realized then, in comparison, the sunlight had cowered away in the corner as the sun was setting on the other side of the house. I turned, sipped the sweet orange juice and decided to follow the fleeing sun. The last glow in the kitchen waved goodbye as it flickered and left for the day.

Besides the money I made on art commissions, the house was paid for by my parents. A detective cap is unsuited to me, yet I wear one in searching for clues in their actions to know that they love me. It’s as if they’re hiding it like a secret. Although, that may only be from my perspective. Buying me stuff seems to be less impactful on me, since I know we have much money to spare. It was worthwhile on this occasion, though. I felt my heart dance inside knowing that this is real. If only it didn’t come with the feeling they were better off to watch me leave. The speed of my steps slowed while leaving the kitchen empty handed. I wasn’t thinking very happily at the moment. I came to an abrupt stop in the hallway.

Hidden between layers of lace, my phone was kept in a hidden skirt pocket. I pulled it out in hopes to reroute my train of thought. It usually speeds down the rails of many destinations, but now it’s made a stop in a desolate place. There were several tabs open of songs online, from fairy movie soundtracks and darkwave artists I’ve clicked on because of the album cover art. Looking at the titles, I hear the music in my head and decide against it. I’ve played these same songs too often to find the joy needed. The Home Screen stared at me as I drifted out of the moment. The bad thoughts were coming back.

The pressure straps onto me in the form of invisible hands on my head. Dull nails struggle to pierce my brain as they crawl. The tight grip was on the sides of my scalp. In my brain, there wasn’t any ache. There was a numbness and fog up there, where I only found discomfort in being held onto by it. My hands curled into fists. My movements were fast and echoed in soundless bangining only I heard in my ears. I felt my knuckles on the left, but where my hand still gripped my phone on my right, I felt the impact of the heel of my palm instead. The vibrations caused soreness which brought an end to the edge. The invisible hands disappeared with the collisions. My phone slipped easily back into my skirt pocket. I wandered again into the tearoom. 

It was a new sight to get caught up in— a room I’ve just met, and from another angle too. I lay on the floor and kick my feet up on the wall. It was funny, because you’re not supposed to stand on the wall. It’s impossible to walk on walls. I kinda am though, in a way. I can pretend I am. My feet moved up slightly in tiny steps by walking motions. Back still glued to the floor, it was my anchor to gravity as my legs were lifted. Smudges and shoe prints were probably left behind on walls all over from me doing this multiple times before. Whenever I’m looking at things from a different angle, I have to focus on that to adjust to the change; I’m too busy laughing at myself to remember what I was thinking about before. That’s why I do it. It was something different, that even when I’m in the same room, I can change my view. My head bobbed side to side as I treaded in place.

The last moments of bright sun were against the wall above me. Sunlight doesn’t fade in an instant, not quickly, but it takes with it the vibrant colors. It left everything a little less saturated, with only the memory of the sun. There was still the remaining light that peeked over the horizon; the few moments before the end of the day that prepared you for the night. This time of day always gave me the most despair, in having to watch something end slowly. Looking around the floor, there were dried clumps of dirt scattered across the wooden planks. Luckily, the tearoom didn’t have any carpet, so it would be easy to clean off a wood floor. I told myself I’d get to that soon enough.

Ruffled lace tiers of my white skirt bunched together as they slid down my thighs. Their usual formation of a bell shape as I stood couldn’t be upheld when I was on the floor. Each tier was with a different design embroidered onto them. I had hand stitched the pattern onto a bobbinet tulle to create the first one. Although not technically laced to be considered true lace, machine made net rather than needle made grounds, my needlerun stitching made it into a limerick lace. My limp hair was flat on the floor underneath me. I didn’t mind getting it dirty when I could just shake or brush it out. My back rose a tad from the wood to pull my hair out from beneath. From under my neck, my hands swept and reached as far out as I could. The platinum strands now stretched themselves almost three feet from my head. Suddenly having the back of my neck uncovered made me feel squeamish. My hair dragged over the planks to slump down my back as I sat up.

“Thank you, sun.”

As bright as under the covers while hiding your face, the room gave way to darkness as the kitchen had. I fluffed my hair to bring some life into it. Loose strands took some time to untangle from the thin silver chains draped from the corners of my barrette. I adjusted the green eye pendant made from emerald colored glass and diamond inlay silver enamel. My skirt did not have any dirt to fall while dusting it off. I wished the dolls a good evening and rushed to enjoy the last few seconds I had of this time of day left. At the entrance of the living room, I hopped through the doors that were kept open as could be and took a spot in the chaise lounge before the far window. Peering at the trees and smog, my imagination took liberties deciphering the silhouettes in the distance. Maybe some of them weren’t trees? I could see a lamppost, or a pitchfork. Even a giant stick-bug creature made its shape partly clear with a tilted head. I never read about an urban legend like that, but there was already so much possibility for stuff beyond the books! The white lace curtains were scratchy against my fingers as I brushed them out of the way. Looking side to side, to my left I saw a trellis built up against the house. Trellises give opportunity for flowers to stretch to greater heights, though this one carried ivy which branches stretched past the diamond-patterned lattice. It grew tall, but not enough that it grew over my bedroom window.

Sleeping in a different bed hadn’t seemed so overwhelming until now. There was a new room unfamiliar to my routine, and I’ll be sleeping there tonight. I was excited about the experience but dreaded being all alone. I’ve only ever slept by myself, that was not new, but no one else would be there under this roof with me too. Though I could not see it, I knew my nose had turned red as heat swelled in the inner corners of my eyes. Only inhaling, my breaths were timed with sniffles which took in but didn’t let anything out. The contestant sniffing was too much. I pinched my nose and squeezed my eyes. The steam under my lids became worse, but I held tight. I was such a messy crier, and I couldn’t cry when I decided to be here.

The sobbing was not for the loss of those I never had, but for the end of an era of hoping that it could’ve gotten better. I wasn’t a kid anymore, as much as I wanted to still be. My graduation from my mom’s university had made the end of that chapter clear. Light flickered through the trees, as its end was near too. No sun to highlight the leaves, dulled was the scene. The last bit of life was surrounded by a dark green. I felt at even my young age that I was being timed— my seconds to become someone of importance were running out. Simple wishes on dandelions of being important to just a friend seemed as if they’d never grow into reality. I sometimes wished my hope would finally die. Isolation, I thought, would help me to become less needing of other people. A tear trickled down the curve of my cheek and rested under my chin. I let go of the grip on my nose to wipe it away.

Turning around from leaning on the back of the chair, my knees untucked from the crease between the backing and the pillowed seat. Trunks and branches of trees were left only black silhouettes. There were no small details to get immersed in. Besides surroundings, personal projects prevented me from thinking too much. A bag of small canvases with pieces begun and kept in the same first stages of creation was upstairs. My sketchbook was also up there, inside my backpack. I would like to work on all of them, and so I've avoided working on any because I couldn’t decide. Wheat colored and rectangular, the rug I crossed was centered in the room but didn’t cover the whole perimeter. It was placed under the cabriole sofa to frame a little seating section, but the rest of the floor exposed the panels underneath.

Going up stairs with a faster pace than down, I bounced from step to step. I wondered how many I could jump over at once. Testing myself with little goals helps me stay out of my head. Hopping over two, I was satisfied for today. Gradual improvement is better than putting too grand expectations on myself. Though, I have pushed myself to hold my breath in the tub for two minutes and forty-nine seconds. That was my best time in a consistent record beating that only I know of. The bathroom was just before where I stood at the top of the staircase. Hand on the wall, a little click emerged from the lightswitch. My motivation was as dim as the hall now was, having the light above the stairs turned off. Tomorrow will be a better day for a bath.

“Thank you house, thank you trees, thank you fog,..”

Chilled blankets on the bed were as fluffy and plush as marshmallow frosting. Reaching over the edge of the bed, I pulled up from the floor the scrunched socks I had littered there before. Rolling them up over my knee, I sat at the front of the bed and quickly slipped them back on. Momentum pulled me down into the comforter’s embrace.

My voicing of gratitude to things which could not hear was not something commonly done, but if I don’t say it out loud, they wouldn’t feel how much I appreciate them. I didn’t want to take anything for granted. It was especially in the moments of extreme luck when I had the need to declare it. Lucky was the word to summarize my finding of this property. Pulling out my phone from my pocket, I tried to place it on the bedside table next to me. My arm was too short, so I had to flip over to slip it on the wooden surface. With my index finger, I typed out a goodnight text to mom and dad and turned without shutting it off. The subtle blue glow on the ceiling served as a temporary nightlight.

A comment on a blog seems so small, but that was how I was led here. Searching for any reading material on Plainwood, as limited as it was, I stumbled upon a supernatural blog full of exaggerated journalings. Though, I would read anything about Plainwood because of how fascinating the stories were and how it was close enough to be in the same state as me. The comment on the Plainwood entry specifically was a link to buy this house on this hidden website which didn’t pop up on normal search engines. It was like finding a pirate’s secret treasure chest, but on the internet! I had done much digging myself. United States of Supernatural Occurrences; Northeast Edition only made a passing and nameless mention of the town until it went on to describe more commercial places near NYC and Long Island. That book itself was obscure, so I understood when more recognized titles hadn’t known of an overlooked nowhere land.

“Thank you cold, thank you autumn. Thank you.”

A final thanks to anything I might have missed, I ended myself off with an undirected thank you before I drifted away to dreamland. Socks and clothes still on, I lay over the covers so fabrics couldn’t rub against each other. The socks will keep my toes from any freeze. Looking out the window, the sky was not completely black from the clouds spread over above. Their bumps, thick like soap foam, gave some dimension. Mossy tinted skies eased over shadow hidden evergreen, burgundy and marmalade trees. My gaze turned away with my head, and slowly my eyes shut too. I fell asleep to the patter of hail.

[yeoldontknow]

HI HELLO PLEASE GIVE ME A SNIPPET, A DROP, A CRUMB OF VENA SERA AND A TASTE OF YOU

MINE LOVE yes you can have both of these <3333

Vena Sera -> Bangchan x Reader (oc; female) -> soulmate au Eren Lake is not known for having the clearest water.

Pushed back amongst the evergreen trees of Downland Forest, the manmade lake spanned twelve miles and was often covered by patches of algae along the shoreline. If by boat, or by exceptional swimming skill, you could make it to the middle, you would be graced with clear views all the way to the bottom of the lake bed.

And this is where, everyday at 5PM, when the sun had just started to make its descent, is where Bangchan could be found, eyes closed and floating.

While the sun dips behind the dense tree cover, Bangchan is floating in the lake and concentrating deeply. Something about today felt urgent, like he needed to be in the water to find you. He'd made a run for it, hopping onto his motorcycle immediately after his boxing class without so much as a word to anyone else. Lately, summer has been doing its best to bleed into fall, the air full of ice and biting at his cheeks. It's almost too cold to be in the water today, but he doesnt care, the chill on his skin makes it easy to focus on where he can feel you the most.

Han watched him leave with a smirk he tried to keep hopeful, boring holes into Chan's back as he unwrapped the tape from his hands. Not long after he hit highway 95, his phone pinged with a text. He didn't look. No doubt, Han was chastising him, saying if he needed you that badly he could just ake a shower.

His connection with you is never as complete as when he's swimming, fully immersed along every nerve and synapse in water. In the lake he feels you not just in his blood but in his skin, and he can almost say he feels you in his bones - he is certain that must be what the bone bond is like, even though he will never really know.

His bond with you is limited to blood. But in the water...in the water you are everywhere.

Today the water is heavy, emulating your spirit.

He does not know your name, does not know your face, does not even what you truly look like. All he feels is your emotion, your spirit, and he grimaces deeply sensing that today, you are sad.

A Taste of You: CEO!Bangchan x Escort!Reader -> general premise: Bangchan is your Thursday, which is to say: every Thursday night, from 8PM until the dawn breaks Friday morning, you belong to him. He pays you handsomely, fucks you sweetly, sometimes even too gently, and makes sure you are safe, held, adored. Bangchan makes Thursdays feel like sugar, even if you aren't really looking for it. When he buys the girlfriend experience, $15,000 for Friday to Sunday, a date to an event that weekend, and overnight stays at a hotel, you are pleased to see him pay in cash, up front. If he makes a weekend feel as sweet as a Thursday, you can't imagine a better way to pass the time. Saturday evening, the sun starts to set and Bangchan says he loves you. He is in love with you, and he wants you to be his.

You are an escort. You belong to no one.

Refunding him for Sunday and the missed Saturday hours, you terminate the weekend and your time with him. It can't get personal. Love can never come into play. Partly because you are an escort - business never mixes with personal - and partly because you are already engaged. Your partner knows all about your sex work. He does not judge, he does not mind. He only cares about your safety, that you are protected, and that you enjoy it. The moment neither of those things become true, you know he will encourage you to quit.

You never thought your sweet Thursday would be the reason you no longer feel safe.

wip ask game

[zenalios]

Untamed Seas; 4 - Enalios, β

Index (R18+)

Summary

Amphitrite, sea goddess, and daughter of Nereus, is less than willing to marry an Olympian, let alone Poseidon, the very god who overthrew her father. She does so nevertheless, in a desperate move to protect her sisters following Nereus’ absence.

The marriage is beneficial to them both: Poseidon gains legitimacy through a union with her, effectively solidifying his control over the seas, and Amphitrite guarantees her sisters' safety, along with all prestige due her status as queen.

The catch? She finds his domineering personality utterly insufferable, and he, the most fearsome god, resents being stuffed into an unwelcome marriage.

They have all eternity to make it work.

TW // Abuse - Verbal and Physical ; Abusive Relationship ; Forced Marriage

A sharp slap echoed through the kitchen.

“What were you thinking?!”

The Nereid held a hand to her smarting cheek as her mother continued to lecture her. Escaping Zeus had seemed like a great idea until her sisters had returned in hysterics, crying about how the new king of the gods took Erato away before everyone’s eyes. Amphitrite could not bring herself to look at them now since it actually was her fault for walking right into Zeus’s trap. But she hadn’t told them exactly why she had run from the Olympian. 

She had only confessed to offending Zeus, and to being the reason Erato was missing —at which Doris grew even more agitated since she had been led to understand that Zeus would not attend.  

“His attendance may have been pure coincidence altogether, how you even managed to offend him is beyond me,” Doris ranted at her and to her family and nobody else in particular, throwing up her hands as she spoke. “Gaia above, Nereus, just look at the sort of degenerate your daughter has become!” 

A tongue clicked at that.

“Doris,” Tethys, their grandmother, chided. “I’m sure there must be some reason behind it.” 

The titaness turned to Amphitrite, her algae veil gently floating along in the sea nymph’s direction. “Isn’t there, Phi?”

Amphitrite bowed her head to stare at the smooth pebbles lining the floor under her feet, “I—” 

She truly did not know what to say. Perhaps if it had been her grandmother alone who had asked, she might have told her the truth already: that Zeus asked her to marry Poseidon, her response being to run away. Her vision blurred. It was no use, her mother would not listen anyways. 

As if evidencing that fact, a sharp pain suddenly pulled at the back of her skull. Amphitrite yelped, clawing at the hands that had once nurtured her, this time begging for nothing but reprieve. “Give me back my daughter!” Doris seethed.

“Enough!” Tethys roared, rising to her feet, the force of her voice causing Doris to let go. Amphitrite landed on her hands and knees. At once, she scrambled out of her mother’s reach. 

Tethys snapped, “She is your daughter too.”

The Oceanid scoffed, “She’s not. She’s his daughter, not mine.” 

Amphitrite pressed the edge of her palm to her scalp in an attempt to ease the throbbing. Her first time hearing those words had been painful; after that she had simply learnt to accept the fact that her mother coped with grief through denial and anger, all of which she took out on her eldest daughter. It was futile to argue with Doris, anyways —there was no point trying to convince a lunatic who didn’t want to believe who was and who wasn’t her child.

At that moment, someone burst into the cave.

It was one of Tethys’s sons, Amnisos, who lived on Crete where Mt. Zas had been. “Yes, brother?” Doris snapped at the river god, ignoring the stare her own mother gave her. “Have you come to bring more ill-tidings to us now?” 

Amnisos was bent over at the hips, gasping for breath. 

“No,” He wheezed, “No, I brought Zeus himself.”

At once a mass of grey hair arose from its place in the corner. The progenitor of all rivers had been sitting quietly, listening and watching all as he always did. “Zeus has come for an apology?”

“I’m not sure.” Amnisos straightened himself. “But he did ask to speak with her before he returns Erato.”

Doris practically jumped for joy upon hearing the name. Now Amphitrite found herself being yanked from her place on the floor, and towards the entrance, the older nymph’s nails biting into her arm. 

“Then go already, you wretched thing!” Doris cried, throwing Amphitrite forward into her uncle’s arms, who then steadied her. 

Amphitrite nodded gratefully at him. As if I am not also your daughter, Amphitrite thought bitterly. Then again, it would be hypocritical to say that only Doris favoured Erato above all —so did Amphitrite herself, though she doubted Doris would ever let her near the child again.

“Amphitrite.” Her uncle nudged his head at the entrance he had come from. Amphitrite swallowed visibly. “Alright.”

Zeus was seated in a nearby glade she and her sisters had used to conjure up stories for their uncles and aunts. Her heart sank. “Oh, hello, Phi.” Amphitrite cringed at the strange look her uncle gave her —now that was valid cause for concern, she thought sardonically. Outside of family, only lovers used that name, of which Zeus was as of yet neither, and would never be the latter.

“Now, where was I…?” The god trailed off, then slapped his thigh as if he had only just remembered what he’d come here for. “Ah, yes!”

Such a sinister smile. Amphitrite turned away, wishing to see no more of it than she already had at last night’s party. “You. Marry. Poseidon. When?” Zeus dropped each word carefully, as though she were but a child incapable of understanding concepts beyond her years. She tightened her jaw, feeling the shame burn through her cheeks. Behind her, Amnisos sputtered.

Amphitrite grit her teeth. “If my father were here—" She began, only to find herself cut off by the king of the gods. “Yes, yes,” One hand waved dismissively at her; the other prodded at his ear, wriggling his pinky around the hole, and sniffing at the appendage after. Amphitrite wrinkled her nose in disgust. “If your father were here, he would give you a choice.”

“But!” Zeus exclaimed suddenly, leaning towards her as one would when speaking to a child, “Nereus isn’t here anymore, is he?” And whose fault is that?! The young goddess’ fingers curled and uncurled with sheer agony at the way Zeus so casually spoke of her father, his flippant expression causing even Amnisos to look indignant.

“Listen up, Am-phi-tri-te.”

Against her better judgement and folded arms, a heavy shudder tore through her body at the croaking voice that placed emphasis on each syllable of her name, so ominous it seemed to violate her very spirit and leave a crawling sensation behind on her skin. “There are fifty of you Nereids.” He pointed at her. 

“You are the oldest, but you’re not the prettiest.” 

Her breath halted. Subconsciously, her gaze flickered towards her uncle, where it was met with an equally dumbfounded countenance, if not more so. The Nereid twitched ever so slightly. After everything he’d spouted from his filthy mouth, she did not want to guess what he would say next. Zeus chortled. “Your sister Erato, on the other hand.” 

A hand stroked at his short white beard. “She’s very lovely —and so young too.”

“You bastard!” Amphitrite snarled, aggravated enough to lunge at Zeus the same way she had done the night before. Only this time, she was filled with murderous intent. She had moved no further than a step before a pair of arms wound themselves about her, “Amphitrite!” 

She faintly registered her uncle’s voice —it was him who held her back, but before she knew it, she had brought her foot down upon his. 

“Your Majesty!” His pained voice betrayed a cry of reproach.

Zeus waved his hand at the river god. “Shut up before I remove you from my council." 

“Maybe I should make it a point to attend her consummation.” Zeus added, a vicious smile growing again on his features. “Maybe my brother will even let me participate.” 

To add insult to injury, he slowly began to form a little circle with his left thumb and index finger, drawing a finger through—

“I’ll do it.”

Amphitrite choked out then. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling hot tears spill down her cheeks, blazing a trail of molten gold over her cheeks, her sobs hidden only because she had bit down on her lip to keep them in. Her uncle’s arms around her did nothing for the situation; in fact, it made things worse, now that there was one more person to witness her suffering. She flinched at the large hand that clamped down on her shoulder.

“Good.” Zeus said all too cheerfully. “It will be in a weeks’ time then. My wife and sisters will make preparations on your behalf.” The hand tightened briefly. “And I will be coming personally to fetch you, Phi.”

She collapsed to the ground after he left.

Not even the great river father could help her this time. Amphitrite was born of the sea, and now she would belong to the sea, only its depths were no longer on her side.

3 - Enalios, α ; 5 - Shadowed

[sams-sass]

Cursed pt. 4

GIF not mine

Hello! Here is part four to cursed. Not sure if I am going to make another part, but I definitely will if you like it!

Read Parts One, Two, Three, Four, Five, and Six Here: 

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Five

Part Six

Summary: Life gets better for you and Sam. 

Characters: You, Sam, Dean, Cas

Parings: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Implied smut (more like foreplay), language, discussions of past trauma, fluff, pure fluff. 

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

You poured the pancake batter onto the griddle, a smile coming across your face as you dropped the chocolate chips on each one. Strong arms came around your waist, Sam’s lips fell onto your neck. You let out a small moan and leaned your head back against his shoulder. Your eyes fell shut and licked your lips. His mouth left open kisses along your neck, moving his flannel you were wearing slightly to gain access to your shoulder.

“Sam! Let me finish breakfast!” You laughed when his hair tickled your skin.

“God baby, I can’t get enough of you.” His hand came up to cup your cheek, turning your face towards his.

“You already had me like 3 times last night!” You playfully swatted at his hands, laughing.

“Never enough.” Sam’s large hand fully encased your face as he planted a loving kiss on your lips. He let you go, and you flipped the pancakes, a smile still on your face. Sam made coffee behind you, thoughts racing through his mind. Dean walked into the kitchen, his robe open and his hair a mess. He walked over to you and ran his hand down your hair, pulling you to him to plant a kiss on your head. You turned towards him and smiled.

“I’m thrilled you’re ok, kid.” He smiled at you and grabbed your chin between his forefinger and thumb, looking deeply into your eyes. At that moment, you realized how much this whole thing had affected Dean; he also had been scared to lose you. Your heart swelled, and you pulled him to you and wrapped him into a tight hug, your arms closing around his neck. He hugged you back; you heard him breathe in and out heavily before he pulled away. He gave you one last smile and then walked over to grasp Sam by the shoulder and pour himself a cup of coffee. You placed the chocolate chip pancakes onto the table with syrup. The boys settled into their places at the table, and you all ate together.

“Where’s Cas?” You asked, taking a large bite of pancake.

“He’ll be back soon; he went to drop Rowena off at the airport,” Dean responded, finishing off his coffee. You nodded and felt Sam’s hand on your thigh, his thumb moving back and forth over your skin. You smiled at him and let your head fall against his shoulder, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of love. You and Sam cleaned up after breakfast and then retired to your room. Sam sat down on the bed and quickly pulled you into his lap.

“Baby, I can’t. I can still feel it from last night.” You ran your fingers through his hair. His hands were on your hips, pulling you even closer to him. His nose ran up your chest, over your neck, and then into your hair—his lips following the trail. Your breathing quickened, and your eyes closed, your head falling back slightly. “I’m serious, Sam. I’m sore.” You licked your lips and tried to lower your heart rate.

“I know, gorgeous, I don’t need anything right now. I’m just going to take care of you, make you feel good.” He picked you up and laid you down on the bed as his lips fell onto yours and his fingers brushed your cheek, placing a piece of stray hair with the rest. Sam kissed down your body, stripping you of your clothes in his wake. His mouth rolled over you and brought you higher and higher until you snapped and bliss-filled your whole body.

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

You and Sam were tangled in each other on the bed; he laid in between your legs with his arms wrapped tightly around you. His head laid on your chest, and you ran your fingers through his hair lightly, your skin still buzzing.

“You never told me what you saw.” He said, his voice hesitant.

“Saw when?” You asked him, lifting your head slightly. He, too, lifted his head and rested his chin on your chest; he licked his lips before talking.

“When you…when you crossed over.” He said carefully, avoiding the word he couldn’t say.

“Oh, well, I met my reaper, and he took me through some tough times in my life. He wanted me to question staying, the question of is alive. I refused, and he was just about to take me when Rowena cast me back into my body from the other side.” You answered, looking up at the ceiling.

“Did you see your parents?” Sam moved up your body; his face was level with yours so that you couldn’t look away. You blinked a few times before nodding.

“And my sister, I still miss her so much.” You were getting teary-eyed now, and you swallowed thickly, trying to push down the emotion.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.” He held you; you buried your face into his chest and let yourself feel the sadness. You two laid there for a while before Sam looked down at you again, his thumbs wiping your tears away.

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

You decided that you wanted to go for a walk in the woods with Sam before lunchtime. Sam didn’t let go of your hand the entire time, he held you close to him, and you frequently saw him checking on you out of the corner of his eye. You loved the woods, the sunlight streaming through the thick of the forest. The smell of the earth and flowers. You and Sam shared shy smiles and lingering looks as if you had just started dating. There was a sense of passion that never seemed to fade between the two of you; everything about him filled everything about you. You two walked until you came to a pond. The trees lined the perimeter, creating a perfect border. The water was still under the patches of algae and lily pads. A large boulder sat mostly underwater, a frog perched on top. The soft and grassy earth gave under your shoes as you made your way to the edge of the water. Flowers danced in the light breeze as you stood with your feet almost in the pond, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh air.

“It’s funny; I miss carrying you around.” He said as his arms snaked around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Feel free to anytime, Winchester.” You laughed, bumping yourself into him slightly and turning your head towards his.

“Oh, you’re in for it now.” He said, grabbing both your hands in his large one and pulling them in front of him while he moved you behind him. He knelt slightly and bumped his back against your chest, your hands in front of his face. His hands came around to grab your thighs, and he quickly and effortlessly lifted you onto his back. You were both laughing so hard; you were gasping for air by the time he finally got you situated. You laid your head against his shoulder and kissed his neck before he began the walk home with you.

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

Two Months Later

You were in the store grabbing some essentials. You put the milk into your cart and turned towards the cosmetics aisle; you needed somebody to wash and shampoo. You placed your favorites into your cart and walked towards the end of the aisle when something stopped you. What day was it? Your heart rate picked up, and you left your cart in the middle of the aisle, doing the math in your head. Holy shit.

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

You were sitting on your bed, legs crossed under you. Sam’s flannel hung loosely over your body; your hands ran nervously over your thighs. Your breathing quickened, and your lips parted as you gulped in the air. You played with your hair, putting it up in a messy bun and quickly ripping it out several times. The timer on your phone went off, and your blood became cold in your veins. You walked into the bathroom and picked up the little stick on the counter. Your lips parted, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as a small breath left your lungs. You looked at yourself in the mirror and wondered what your next move was.

Three Days Later

You got the ping on your phone that your package had been delivered. You raced to the front door and grabbed the box before Sam or Dean could see it, running back to your room to rip it open. You held it up and pressed your lips together, your eyes watering. You placed it into a box and wrapped it, trying to stop your hands from shaking the whole time.

Sam opened the box again to check all was good. He licked his lips and ran his hands through his hair nervously. He put the box back in his pocket and went into your shared bedroom, just in time to see you shoving something into the closet.

“Hey, is all ok?” He asked, coming to stand closer to you.

“Yeah!” You practically shouted; you had been jumpy the past few days, and Sam was beginning to wonder if you weren’t telling him something.

“Ok, well, I was wondering if I could talk to you about something?” He asked, placing his hands on your biceps, looking into your eyes.

“I actually need to talk to you too.” You said, nodding. Neither one of you could see it on each other, but both of your heart rates skyrocketed.

“You go first.” He said, leading you both to sit on the bed.

“No, it’s ok, you go first.” You licked your lips and hoped Sam didn’t see how hard you were trying to slow your breathing.

“Right, ok.” He ran his hands through his hair again. “Well. Well. I have been thinking, ever since I almost lost you, I can't stop thinking about our future.” He began kneeling in front of you. You connected the dots, and your heart stopped, your lips parted, and you looked deep into Sam’s eyes. “I told you about the first time we met and how I love your freckle. I told you how much you mean to me and that you’re the love of my life. I was wasting time telling you things when I should have asked you; I should have asked you long ago. I love you so much, Y/F/N Y/L/N, will you marry me? Make me the luckiest man in the world.” He pulled out a small black velvet box and held it in front of you, opening it for you. The beautiful ring sat perched in the box for your eyes to see.

“Yes. Holy God, Sam! Yes!” You laughed, tears rolling down your face. He took the ring out of the box and took your left hand in his, sliding the ring onto your finger. You both laughed against each other’s lips as he pulled you against him. He quickly pulled you away from him and looked into your face.

“What did you want to tell me?” He asked; you were in such euphoria that you almost forgot.

“Oh! Right!” You grabbed the box from your closet and sat back down on the bed. “I got you something.” You handed him the box; his eyebrows came together as he took it from your hands. He unwrapped the present and took the lid off; even more, confusion clouded his handsome features as he looked in the box. His large hands lifted the flannel onesie, making it look even smaller. His face opened as realization dawned on him. He looked at you with wide eyes that were swimming with unshed tears.

“Really?” He asked you, his eyes moving down to your stomach and then back up to your face.

“Yes. Really.” You nodded and leaned in closer to him, smiling at him.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” He shouted and jumped to his feet, lifting you with him. He spun you slightly and rained kisses all over your face. He put you back onto your feet and took your face in his hands, and kissed you with so much passion it pulled all the air out of your lungs. He looked into your face, and you looked right back into his—happiness filling both of you to the brim.

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

The two of you were holding hands when you walked into the library. Dean was sitting at one of the tables, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Cas sat next to him, also holding a glass of whiskey.

“Hey, you two. What’s got you so happy?” Dean asked, looking between you and Sam. You glanced up at Sam as he looked down at you, both of you smiling.

“We’re engaged!” You said happily, holding up your hand for Dean and Cas to see. Dean shot up from his chair and took your hand in his, looking at the ring sitting on your finger.

“Holy shit! Yes!” He grabbed you into his arms and hugged you close to your chest. “This calls for a celebration!” He laughed, looking over at Cas as he came to stand next to Dean. Cas also pulled you into a hug before looking happily between you and Sam. Dean poured two more glasses of whiskey and handed one to each of you and Sam. You looked at yours, poured the contents into Sam’s glass, and placed your glass onto the table. Dean and Cas looked at you with confusion on their faces.

“Right, uh well, one more thing uh…I- I’m pregnant.” You finally said the words out loud, and a flutter filled your body. Dean stopped dead in his tracks; his glass half raised to his lips. Cas looked at Sam and then looked at you again.

“Y/N. I- wow- what a freaking Wednesday!” Dean took control of himself and once again grabbed you into his arms. You were all laughing and hugging as Dean and Cas took turns congratulating both you and Sam. The four of you spent the night talking and planning a wedding with all the works. You laid your head against Sam’s chest and closed your eyes to take in a deep breath. Everything you ever wanted was coming true. You laid a hand on your stomach, feeling Sam’s hand come over yours as his eyes watered slightly.

“I love you.” You said, rolling your head back to look into his face.

“I love you too; I am so excited to spend my life with you and have this beautiful baby. I hope it’s a girl, and I hope she’s just like you.” You both laughed slightly. You looked around at these amazing men and just knew this was going to be the luckiest kid in the world.

Tags: @supernatural3002​

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Jercy teacher au? Maybe where their students r tryna get them together but they've been married for years or smthng. I'll take any jercy content tbh aha

AHHHH Darling Anon you made my day with this. Here’s a lil drabble that i hope fulfills your prompt-dreams!

If you want more you just gotta let me know. I am here to serve you my tumblr babies!

Masterlist

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

Percy had woken up this morning with the express intent of getting to the university early and starting on the increasing pile of admin he had yet to attend to. What had actually happened was a ripped pants, a spilled coffee, endless traffic, and a department meeting that resulted in him being an escort for the marine field trip. Today was the definition of Murphy’s Law.

“Good afternoon Doc,”

“Afternoon Katie,”

“Hey Doc,”

“Hello Tyson, Ella,”

Students filed into the lecture venue waving or grunting a hello as they passed him. He tried to keep a smile through the greetings, but the weight of the day hung heavy in his mind. Once most people had settled in he clapped his hands and hopped onto the desk, as he did every lecture.

“Listen up seaweed-brains,” The class groaned at the familiar nickname eliciting a grin from Percy, “I will never understand why you guys don’t find that hilarious. You are marine biologists after-all.”

“It’s unbecoming Doc, and cheesy,” A voice from the middle piped up.

“Hazel Levesque how dare you tell me my favourite nickname is unbecoming,” He mocked hurt, holding a hand to his chest.

The class laughed at that and Percy winked playfully at the small, fierce student. She rolled her eyes but smiled at her professor.

“Alright I got some news which is bad for me and good for you,” They settled down, staring intently at him, “The field trip to the marine conservation center was approved and I have to be the one looking after you lot,” It was his turn to groan.

A series of whoops and excited chatter broke out around the class. It had been forever since they were allowed to visit the conservation center. The university’s budget had been tight for some years, so they had only managed to go once in the four-year degree even though they were supposed to go every year. Percy couldn’t help but smile as he watched his class take in the news, their faces glowing with excitement. He checked his watch, giving them a few minutes to discuss before interrupting them to finally start the lecture.

“Alright you sorry sack of sponges, let’s get to it!”

And with a murmured chortle through the class they started the lecture.

“So most shallow coral reefs have a symbiotic relationship with a photosynthetic algae that-“

A knock on the lecture room door cut off his sentence. Percy frowned, looking over, and then tried very hard to stop the blush creeping up his neck. Standing in the doorway a feint smile on his face was Dr. Jason Grace.

“Sorry to interrupt the lecture Professor but can I have a word,”

The class broke out into hushed whispers, exchanging suspicious glances and gleeful smiles.

“Of course Dr. Grace,” He turned to his students, “Excuse me everyone.”

“Go right ahead Prof, we don’t mind at all,” A curly-haired Latino with a mischievous grin replied.

“Gee thanks Leo, I’m grateful,”

The class snickered and Percy debated giving them all a pop quiz just for it but Jason was waiting, patiently.

He stepped out of the room, easing the door shut behind him.

“Hello Doctor,” He said, hoping the blush would stay far away.

The man looked as good as ever; dark jeans, and a sky-blue shirt with the beautiful addition of the sleeves rolled up his forearms. It was hard not to stare without drooling.

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Jason?” The blonde teased.

“Force of habit,” He winced apologetically.

“I’m sorry I had to pull you out of class, but I don’t have any free time and I wanted to know what I should be bringing on the field trip this Friday?”

Percy’s head shot up, eyes clashing with pools of blue, “You’re the other chaperone on the trip?”

“Yea, they asked me to because I’m one of the only faculty members available this Friday. Everyone in the medical department is going to some charity ball for the Half-Blood Hospital but I had plans I couldn’t get out of so I didn’t accept the invite, and now those plans are cancelled and I’m pretty much free all weekend,” He rambled, eyes darting every which way.

Percy couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him and then with a mortified look he tried to cover it up with a cough. “Well I hope you plan something fun for the weekend now that it’s open,” He smiled.

Jason blushed, electric eyes wide, “Sorry, I tend to go on if no-one stops me.”

“I don’t know if anyone can, it’s kind of adorable.”

That made the blonde blush harder, skin turning as red as a rose fish, “So about the fieldtrip…” He mumbled.

“Right, right yes,” Percy nodded, eyes glazing as he tried to remember what they usually need, “Dress casually, because we often end up soaking wet; someone always topples into a fish tank. Pack water and snacks because for some reason you get really hungry while staring at fish?” He laughed at that. “Oh and a little emergency kit but I’m sure I didn’t have to tell you that Mister Neurologist.”

“I figured the emergency kit was a must since I’m technically first aid on this trip,” His mouth twitched in amusement.

“Guess we’re in good hands then,” He winked.

Jason shrugged, a slow smile tugging at his lips, “I guess you are.”

Percy’s eyes widened, heat beating so loud it was a wonder how his students behind the door couldn’t hear it. He stared, failing to process anything as the deep rolling voice of the man before him played on a loop in his brain.

A throat cleared, ripping Percy out of his hazy thoughts.

“Well thank you for the information. Guess I’ll see you on Friday,”

“Yea, I guess you will.” He nodded, still coming back to the present.

“Bye Percy,”

“Bye Doctor– uh Jason, bye.”

A fading chuckle followed a dazzled Percy back into the lecture room where the rowdy chatter of his students ceased, giving away to dead silence.

“So Doc, how’s Professor Grace?” Someone piped up gleefully.

That snapped Percy right into reality, head finally escaping the intoxicating spell that the neurologist always seemed to put him under.

“Dr Grace is fine Will,” He narrowed his eyes, “Now, where were we?”

“I think we were just about to discuss when you and the doc were gonna get together?”

Percy’s entire body set itself on fire. “Wha- what- what are you talking about?”

“Aw come on Prof, it’s obvious you two have been pining over each other for years. I feel like as your favourite students it would be a great graduation gift to finally see you guys together.”

“Yea Prof, he’s been single for two years now. Mrs McLean is happily married to Mrs Chase.”

“Guys you know I think you’re the best, but we are not discussing my love life right now especially,” He glared at them, “When it’s about a colleague of mine.”

“Aw come on Prof this is much more exciting than the benefits between coral reefs and algae,” Frank pleaded.

“Right but it’s not going to help you get your degree and besides we have to get this done before the trip on Friday so hush up and let me carry on.”

“Wait before you start Doc, who’s the other chaperone?” Leo asked. A round of nods and agreeing murmurs carried through the class.

Percy looked to the ceiling in exasperation, knowing the news would guarantee the class being a lost cause. He looked at those curious faces, who have been under his teaching and guidance for three years, and sighed, “It’s Dr Grace.”

There was a collective gasp around the room before all twenty of them turned to each other and started whispering furiously among themselves.

“Alright, alright, whatever is happening make it stop. We have things to do.”

They all turned back to him, sharp grins on their faces.

“How does Dr Grace feel about swimming with sharks” Katie asked, eyes wide in feigned innocence.

“Absolutely not Miss Gardner. No way.” He gave them a stern look.

Their grins just got wider.

Percy had a feeling he would be diving into a shark tank on a rescue mission come Friday. With a sigh, and a smile he tried hard to hide he turned back to the lecture, salvaging the last few minutes with his favourite, most meddlesome students.

[alri-xo]

Ship of Dreams (Titanic 1997 AU) | Prologue

Gif not mine

A/N: So this fic has been brewing since last month and I put it off because of the list of fics I had in mind. This is special to me because like... I mean I cry every time at this movie. So I would like to thank the people over at the best GC in the world for basically pushing me to do this, especially @witchymegg I love you all. I'm still gonna call the ship Titanic bc I want to. (This will contain actual Titanic references and a lot of revisions in the dialogues.)

Pairing: Original Character x Reader

Warnings: No page break (I always have to say this bc I am on the app)

"We're here..." Mikhail Petrovna says as the two submersibles lower deep into the depths of the Atlantic. Ruins of a once lively ship gracing the cameras that they controlled.

Jared McKinley took the camera they use for documentation, as other people in the submersibles looked out of the small windows. The ship was covered in sea garbarge as fish swam in and out of its crevices.

"It still gets me every time..." Jared says as he filmed through the window, filling the blurry frame.

Baron and Mikhail chuckled and made remarks on their venture to the sunken ship. Going in deeper and deeper as the clock ticked.

"It still gets me every time... to see the sad ruin of the great ship sitting here, where she landed at 2:30 in the morning, April 15, 1912, after her long fall from the world above." Jared narrated as the submersible navigated down, capturing also deep sea squids, floating gracefully in the murky water.

"You're so full of shit, boss..." Baron Martin remarks earning a chuckle from the two other men as they reached target depth.

"Here we are again on the deck of Titanic," Jared says as he documents the rugged deck, teeming with marine algae and sand, "Two and a half miles down. The pressure is three tons per square inch, enough to crush us like a freight train over an ant if our haul fails...

The video camera skimmed over Jared's face as he spilled information on his monologue, "These windows are nine inches thick and if they go," a short pause in his speech as he spoke, looking up to see how deep they've been going under the ocean, "It's sayonara in two microseconds."

One of the submersibles landed on the deck, and the other some place else to get ready to use another piece of technology they had in store.

After his little monologue, they went to work. Baron slipped on the 3D Electronic goggles and held on to the joysticks to control the ROV.

"Walking the dog," Baron says as he controlled the orange box, suspended with a thick wire connected to the database inside the submersible.

It skimmed through the various ruins inside the ship. Ornate wood carvings engraved the interior of the majestic ghost ship, a piano in pretty mint condition given that it has been underwater since the 1910's. The ivory keys and their desire to separate from the ebony ones but they do not move.

The device moves around the grand chandelier suspended in the once alive ship, it's crystals covered in sea dirt dulling it's shine but only for some parts of it.

It ventures further into the ghostly mansion-esque structure, a glass bottle of what it looks to be champagne and fine china, defining that the ship once carried people of high class.

The device then ventures in with its lights illuminating the eerie scene, a woman's shoe and a porcelain doll's head, devoid of its body, hair and eyes.

It then spots one of the grandest suites of the ship, entering room B-52. Jared scolded Baron a little, saying to go slow and not like the day past. He rogers it and slowly enters the room.

The once plush bed now in ruins, the material draping in the movement of the water, it's probably white color now a dark gray because of it's age. The device then moves in a cloud of grey, a mixture of sand and rust.

It then spots an old tub and broken chairs, however it's not of Jared's interest. As it skims further in the room, the camera spots a wardrobe. In a story like this, a thing like a wardrobe can carry the deepest of secrets, even a blessing in disguise.

Jared asks to see what is under the wardrobe. The ROV deploys its robotic arms as it clears the antiques in its way, "Be careful, Martin."

The man who controlled the orange ROV mumbled an 'I will' as the device lifted up debris and antiques off near the wardrobe. They recovered a dark object, not so dark anymore that the light of the Dog shown on its features.

"Ohh McKinley... Are you seeing what I think I'm seeing??" Baron hoots as they recovered the metal box...

Jared scoots closer to the monitor that shows what the device just saw. A rusty metal box covered in silt and sand.

"It's pay day, boys..."

💎

Inside a net, the locked safe ascended from the Atlantic ocean. Everybody cheering as it boarded the boat. Every person on board gathered around the safe as they celebrated.

Baron wrapped his arm around Jared, "Who's the beeest??" He asked excitedly as Jared rolled his eyes playfully at him.

"You... Baron..." he says with a small smile as Baron pops open a bottle of Champagne, its bubbles spurting all over the men on deck.

The safe was being opened by a sharp turning blade, the hot sparks emitted getting sputtered on the orange specks of light as it the metal cracked open. The noise went down as a warm brown sludge flowed out of the decade old safe, pried open by a chain and a tug.

Jared bent down on his knees, the camera man hot behind him as the lenses anticipated the greatest treasure yet. His hand pulled out books and pieces of paper covered in the mixture of silt, rust and water.

He took out a stack of paper, rather large in dimension and paused for a second. He put it down then dug deep in the safe, but found not diamonds, but sludge.

Everybody fell silent in disappointment. His career as a treasure hunter tainted with the failure of his mission. The money spent, the sweat perspired, to waste.

"No diamonds..." one man remarks at the obvious fact that there is no diamonds. The face of Jared as the realization washed over him like a tsunami.

"Shit."

"You know, Gary's career went down and never went up again because of something like this," Baron says lowly, his words toxic like that of poison ivy as it was bearable, as a man like Jared tried to not get such words get to his head.

The camera was at his face, embarrassment and shame gracing his features as the tention increased. He furrowed his brows, "Turn the camera off."

💎

He went down inside the boat, the technicians working to uncover parts of the Titanic long forgotten, and unknown to the other passengers. Just the riches they know, but not the contents it once held.

"The investors want a word with you, McKinley," Derrick Bay says as Jared barks at the camera men, covering the phone.

"Hey, Ryan? Tyler? Yeah... It's not in the safe..." Jared says to the phone, explaining how it could be someplace else in the ship, to not let the investors down. During his explaining his eyes met the monitor in front of him, showing a view of the water cleaning up a painting of a woman, who is casually nude and young.

The water cleared the drawing's bosom refealing between the valley of the woman's breast holding a big diamond, a diamond in a darker color laced on her neck with smaller crystals, assumed to be diamonds in their infamous colorless crystal color.

"W-wait let me see this," he tuts as he asks for the picture of the treasure he's looking for and compared it to the necklace the young woman was wearing.

They further analyzed the drawing which was made with pencil, seeing the date at the bottom and the artist's initial's beside it, with an erasure at the first letter.

April 14, 1912, J BB

"I'll be God damned..."

💎

"Treasure Hunter Jared McKinley, mostly famed for finding Spanish Gold in the galleons of the Caribbean harnests the use of technology and submergence to find out what priceless valuables the sunken Titanic has in store after 84 years. He's with us via satellite in a Russian research center in the Atlantic. Hello, McKinley..." the anchor says in the news, the small television's sounds slightly audible to the ancient woman working on her pottery.

"Hey, Wendy... See, the Titanic is not just a shipwreck. It's the queen of shipwrecks... The elites stayed there..." he went on telling the story of the Titanic briefly, as questions fired at him from the new anchor.

The old woman stands up, her hair away from her face as her frail body hunches as she straightened herself. She wipes the red earth off of her fingers with a rag as her dog Diamond follows after her, nearing to the television.

"Meg, can you please turn up please, dear?" She asks of her grand daughter, Meg Treville.

She obliges as the sound of the television became clearer for her centennial ears, but she saw the drawing as clear as that in her teens...

"I'll be God damned."

💎

"McKinley, there's a call for you on satellite..." Derrick says as Jared ignores him as he instructs men to lower the submersibles for another expedition in the deep.

"Can't you see I'm working, Bay... Take a message..." he says not making eye contact with the man who holds the answers he's not expecting.

"I swear you don't want to turn down this call, Jared." He pleas, a reluctant look paints Jared's face, "You need to turn your voice up, she's kinda old..."

Jared held the phone in his hand, hesitant to speak to a possible poser, "This is Jared McKinley, Mrs..."

"Treville... Y/N Treville..." Derrick says, battling the whirring of the machines behind them...

"Mrs. Treville..." He says politely to the old woman on the other line...

"I was just wondering if you found the 'Heart of the Ocean' yet, Mr. McKinley?" She asks, her voice aged and wise as the two men shared looks of shock.

"I told you don't want to miss this call," Derrick beamed as Jared mustered up a small smile...

"Okay, Y/N... You got my attention... Now, tell me who is the woman in the picture?" Jared asks, as if taunting Y/N... But Y/N was taught at a young age not to lie.

"Oh yes... The woman in the picture is me."

<- Previous | Next ->

A/N: aaand SCENE. So this is the prologue to my very first Avengers series... I hope you enjoyed reading this... and yeah... I hope I did it justice... Stay Safe

-Alri

Taggies ����

@witchymegg @theaussiedragon @amisutcliff @luna4501 @likeit-or-leaveit @underworldqueen13

[skypxllar]

[UNBALANCED] The Shadow Ambush

Despite having the ability to fly to the top of Spear Pillar, Zinnia, Hera, and Violet decided to take the climb up Mt. Coronet on a pilgrimage. The trek was familiar, but it was a little more brutal than they had remembered. After all, weather conditions were worse this time of year, as the heavy snow and hail rained down on the group.

Nonetheless, the group eventually reached the top of Coronet Mountain before looking out.

Dialga was on the top of Spear Pillar. He was alone, seemingly waiting for them. His stance had not changed, even as the three approached.

“Dialga, Maintainer of Time.” Zinnia looked up, smiling. 

“Hello, Dialga.” Hera crossed her arms and smiled.

Dialga finally moved, deciding to look down at the group,

“Good day, Lorekeeper. Good day, Latias. By chance, where is Rayquaza?”

“Rayquaza had to stay home for now. He’s dealing with some… concerns back at home.”

“I see…. Who is it that troubles him this time? Groudon? Kyogre? Deoxys?”

“Kyogre. She’s threatening to flood all of Hoenn again, and even hospitalized Zygarde because of some personal matters.”

Dialga shook his head. 

“She was always a troublemaker, that one.”

“You can say that again.” Hera crossed her arms. “But enough about Rayquaza’s woes. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Please. The pleasure is mine, Latias.”

Violet peeked from behind Zinnia’s cloak. Her eyes widened as she looked upon Dialga. She seemed enamored with him. “[Poiiii…]”

Zinnia turned around and giggled. “Come on, Violet. Don’ be shy. Dialga’s nice.”

Dialga looked towards the small child.

“Ah, yes. This is the purple-colored Little One, yes? Good day to you, child.”

Violet slowly came from behind Zinnia’s cloak. “[Woahhh….]”

Zinnia giggled. “This is Dialga, Violet. Ain’t he cool?”

“[Dee-alga? Deealga so big….]”

Dialga nodded.

“Good day, Little One. Indeed, I am Dialga. I am your… uncle, of sorts.”

“[Dee… alga. So cool. Uncle Dialga so big and cool.]” You can feel the glistening in her eyes.

Hera giggled. “It looks like you have an admirer, Dialga.”

“Heheh. She would not be the first-- hm?”

Violet floated past the stairway and towards the steel dragon. She looked up when she was close to him. “[Soooo big…. Uncle Dialga big like grampa….]” Violet hugged Dialga’s leg. “[Uncle Dialga fwiend. Vi love Uncle Dialga.]”

Zinnia couldn’t help but tear up. “Aww. Ain’ she the cutest?”

--

Hera began to space out. Strangely, there was a feeling of dread surrounding her. For the first time since this visit began, there was a sinking feeling that something was amiss. The aura quickly turned sour. It was as if the space around her was in danger….

Hera quickly looked up. A pink blast were approaching them, and it was heading straight for them.

It was a trap!

“Get down!” Hera tackled the Lorekeeper to the ground, allowing them both to barely dodge the attack and have it crash down on the ground instead.

Violet quickly turned around to figure out what was going on, only to see a crater in the wall and the duo on the ground. “[Mama--POI!]” Violet started to fly towards the duo, but she was quickly hit with a smaller blast, quickly knocking her to the ground.

“Violet!” Zinnia rose back up before attempting to run for the Ultra Beast.

Palkia cut her off.

“The beast’s safety should be the least of your concerns, Lorekeeper.”

Hera got up and squinted. “Palkia…. I should have known.”

Palkia chuckled.

“Latias. I have been waiting for you to encroach on my domain again.”

“...We were invited.” Hera looked over to Dialga. “Really, Dialga? You’re with her? Despicable.”

Violet grunted as she attempted to rise. Dialga noticed.

“Not so fast, Little One.”

Dialga pressed his claw on Violet’s abdomen, unallowing her to move. She wailed in pain.

“Violet!” Tears started to stream down Zinnia’s face, but she didn’t move. 

“[Poiiii… Mama! Help!]” Violet struggled to move. Her arms wailed around, but she couldn’t get Dialga off of her.

Hera yelled herself. “She’s just a baby, Dialga! Let her go!”

“Child or no, she is still an Extradimensional creature. She is a threat to us all.”

Zinnia cut in. “Threat!? Violet can’t even hurt a Cutiefly!”

“SILENCE, mortal!”

Zinnia snapped back. “I don’ take orders from a fuckin’ bully that thinks that hurtin’ children is a good idea!”

“...I see that Rayquaza has not taught you any manners.”

“And I see that Lady Arceus hasn’t taught ya any fuckin’ shame.”

Hera walked forward. “Let her go at once, Dialga!”

Dialga scoffed.

“I do not take orders from a Pokémon not of my realm, let alone a lesser Legendary who allows herself to be some mortal’s pet.”

“YOU WANT A FUCKING FIGHT, DIALGA!?” Hera was getting heated. “I’LL SHOW YOU WHAT A DAUGHTER OF FREYA CAN DO--”

“Hmm… Funny you should say that. I have a… special guest for you, Latias.”

“What are you talking abou--”

--

Hera stopped in her tracks before turning around. The floor besides Palkia began to turn black as glowing, red eyes glared at the two of them. Hera 

Wait. No. That wasn’t Seth. Could it be-- No! It can’t--

Hera turned around and snatched one of Zinnia’s Pokéballs. She sent out Noivern.

“Get out of here and find Rayquaza!”

The three of them looked back over. From the shadows emerged a great dragon of shadow, one who roared loudly into the heavens.

It was a Giratina!?

A wild Giratina has appeared!

Noivern didn’t need to be told twice. She swiftly flew and fled the scene, intent to find her Lord to help them.

Zinnia and Hera turned back around. Palkia laughed.

“What? Did this catch you off guard, Latias?”

“H--how?” Her eyes began to widen. “Wh--what? I--I thought she was--”

The Giratina looked at them, but kept her gaze especially at Hera. It let out another roar.

“L--Lacey?” Zinnia couldn’t keep her own eyes off the Giratina.

Hera shook her head before turning to Zinnia. “I need you to run, too.”

“I’m not goin’ without ya.”

“You have to leave before it’s too late. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I’ll get Violet back, okay?” Hera smiled. 

That alone was a signal for her to go. She knew this was about to get ugly. Zinnia let out a deep breath before nodding. She began to make a break for the exit. 

“You are going nowhere, Lorekeeper!”

The Giratina created two dark orbs before shooting them out -- one at the entrance, and one at Hera.

??? used Shadow Ball!

The first blast slammed itself on the top of the opening, causing rocks to fall and block the exit, and for Zinnia to stop in her tracks. The second hurled straight at Hera, forcing her to protect herself.

Latias used Protect!

Hera shook herself off before lunging at the shadow dragon, preparing a point-blank blast at them.

Latias used Dragon Pul--

Dialga used Roar of Time on Latias!

A beam capable of bending time shot right at Hera. She attempted to dodge it, but was struck on her side, causing her to lose balance and fall to the ground.

It’s super effective!

Zinnia turned back around to see a fallen Hera. “Lacey!” She attempted to run to Hera’s aid--

But Palkia got into the way.

Hera slowly rose, coughing and hacking the dirt that she accidentally swallowed. “That-- was cheap….” She turned to Zinnia. “Zinnia. Get out of here. Please--”

She quickly realized that something was wrong when Zinnia’s expression turned to one of primal fear.

A shadow loomed over her, causing Hera to slowly turn around. Giratina was looming over her, entirely focused on the shiny dragon. “!!!” She gasped. Giratina was landing straight for her.

Hera screamed, but couldn’t get herself to move. Within seconds, she was enveloped in shadow--

--Within moments, she and the Giratina were gone without a trace.

“Lacey! Laaacey!” Zinnia screamed and ran past Palkia before falling where Hera landed.

“[Gamma!]” Violet began to cry. Her grandmother was gone, and there was little chance that her mother would save her.

[handypolymath]

WIP challenge

I was tagged by @ellewritesfiction to post the first sentence of some of my works in progress, and I’ve been struggling with this because I’m only rarely a chronological writer, and I’m currently trying to wrap up a WIP I’ve been posting as I go since last August. I also co-write with @thassalia a lot, so sometimes the first sentence isn’t mine!

So I’m cheating all over the place with this one, in part to reassure myself that finishing and letting go of Electronic Thumb is a good thing, I’ve got some interesting places to land.

Dr. Sock Sez - where they find a baby in a lab jar

Bruce pulls the poor thing out of the gestation canister, flailing and sputtering because they’d taken out the power for the base before they realized the focus of the main lab was this baby in a fucking jar, and the only thing that keeps him from hulking out is not that Tony makes a ‘filthy Bene Tleilax’ joke, but that Steve gets it.

“That’s incredibly inappropriate,” the Captain bites out, “be useful and fetch the Bruce Out Kit.”

Blankets, Bruce thinks, would make it easier to keep a hold of this squirmy damp girl, who’s not much bigger than a handful but is putting up a good fight.

“Hey, Steve’s up to Herbert on the list!” Tony says, “If he’s up to Lovecraft does that mean we can’t call the baby Mi-Go?”

Natasha unfreezes, but her face is still blank with horror as she watches Bruce curl the tiny angry newborn against his shirt. She lunges toward the control panel and starts breaking into the system. She will find out exactly what they had done, were doing, planned to do with that girl.

Chiaroscuro - our Notorious AU

Natasha swings out the tone arm and stops the turntable, lifts the record and slips it back into the labeled sleeve.  She unsheathes the next record and aligns it on the center spindle, starts the platter turning, and sets the needle into the groove.

Dr. Bruce Banner makes very few calls, but the microphones in his apartment catch more than expected.  He’s a mutterer when he’s deep in thought, he hums and whistles depending on mood, and he’s carrying on a rather illuminating screaming feud with a neighbor.  She’s been out of town for a couple weeks on another errand of Carter’s, a field trip with a seasoned agent and yet another test that she passed without issues.  Now she’s playing catch-up on her analysis of Dr. Banner.

Clint has been in Santa Monica since Christmas.  She's teased him that at least he gets to talk to the scientist he’s assigned to, instead of just listening to them whistling along with Maria Callas and trading insults with the cranky old man across the alley.  In turn, Clint had described kimchi.  She’d asked if he realized he was talking to a Russian about cabbage.  He’d sniped that he’d eaten his own fair share of cabbage, thank you, and part of her share, and he wasn’t going to stand for any more even if Dr. Cho took offense.

Natasha sighs, and sets the needle back to the beginning of the track.  It’s stifling in this room, and it’s making her careless.  It’s also the hundredth time she’s listened to Dr. Banner whistle along to this aria from Manon, and a part of her brain has started choreographing a pas de deux to it.

At least he’s getting better at hitting the notes.

Go Out With A Lion’s Roar - just a working stiff on Sakaar

Hulk is sorry, and sorry for himself. He did what he could to make it right, but it’s flowers for a black eye.

The nightmare he was given lingers like a sour puke tongue, makes him feel anger like lava. What he woke up to...the anger turns in on himself.

He makes people sad, and dead. So he flicks off the screen and points the nose up.

The quinjet asks him questions, and he says, “Higher. Faster.” The machine shudders around him and talks to him about oxygen scrubbers. He flexes his hand, and pictures a scrubby sponge. He knows it’s not one of Banner’s memories, because he’s standing on a stool to reach the sink; it’s from the before time, before everything. He wasn’t always a monster. The jet levels out, and tells him about fuel levels and orbit decay.

He opens his fist, and pictures dogs shot into space. Russian dogs. He hopes the dogs weren’t lonely. They didn’t deserve that.

He punches himself in the head. He’s not a dog. He’s not a good boy. For a little while, he didn’t think he was a monster, either, but he’s less sure of that. He already knows Banner’s answer, so he wouldn’t ask him even if he could find him.

For Unlikely Carnal Knowledge - the bodyswapping one

It had been nearly 78 hours of Tony cycling through coffee, mango and algae smoothies, and scotch. Perhaps nibbling a little cheese. Pepper had last slept in her own bed three continents ago, her period was due any moment, and damn it, she was going to use her boyfriend as a heating pad whether he liked it or not.

She gets as far as nodding hello to Bruce, who's scribbling an equation onto a screen with his finger - she uses the same interface but with the financial template instead of half the Greek alphabet - and opening her mouth.

It's exactly like one of those old flash cubes going off. The spike of white blue light, the puffy sounding pop that also sounds like thin crackling glass, the whiff of hot carbon smell. The disorientation makes her grip the counter, but she still knocks her head against the screen and something jams the bridge of her nose. She pushes back, and a pair of eyeglasses go flying.

The Holtzmann Effect - Clint’s apartment building was an early work of Ivo Shandor

Steve isn’t impressed by the amount of material spread across the worktables, sheafs of blueprints and building permits, zoning board meeting notes and cloth-bound library volumes full of archeologists’ hand-drawn illustrations of bullae cuneiform, which Patty describes as Sumerian paperwork.

Steve is daunted.

“Do you drink coffee?” he asks, as Patty pulls out a used yellow legal pad and uncaps her pen with a twinkle in her eye. “I can make coffee, or go get coffee.”

“Not much of a reader?” She narrows her eyes. “Not enough action scanning primary sources for keywords? I thought you also got a boost with information processing, visual memory, that kind of thing.”

“I’m not afraid of hard work.” Steve bristles, “I want to help.”

“Then sit your ass down,” Patty shoves the thickest library book toward him, “and use your eidetic memory to find,” she flips though her pad to show him a page of Sumerian symbols carefully sketched: a stylized fish labeled ‘metal’, an athletic sock labeled ‘dog’, a striped wedge shape with a stem labeled ‘beer’, and a piece of erotic art, “anything that looks like these.”

Her frank expression dares him to give her any more guff.

“Anything to help,” Steve nod solemnly, then takes another look at the page. He points to the large pointed jar in the scene, from which the lady is drinking through a long straw while taking it from behind. “Is it safe to assume that’s also beer?”

Patty’s answer is a playful pout and, “I’m sure people are always bugging you about what you miss from back in the day. Well I wasn’t even alive for that part, but that’s my answer.”

Rust & Ague - that steampunk one

The Iron Man was the exception to every rule. Most airships were chartered cruisers, lumbering luxury liners, and official patrols, with a few oddball private ships here and there, small and ill-funded, or ostentatious fripperies. Stark's ship was a research vessel the size of a cruiser. It ran a small tight core crew, but rotated the bulk of its lower rank hands at every dock.

Those temporary crews were a potpourri mixed by the fine-boned hand of Virginie Petra Potts. She was a dynamo draped in daffodil crepe de chine, sitting on a camp chair behind a cleverly folding writing desk set midway down the dock. The Iron Man rose behind her, gleaming copper in the water, its solar sails furled into scrolls of gold, and she was her gatekeeper.

Main Vein - Jennifer Walters whistleblows on her diabolical law firm

"I...what do you know about Agent Romanoff?"

“You mean before finding out just now that she’s the pocket dynamite from the Battle of New York?” Jen’s look at him is reproachful, but in a teasing way. "I know she got me out of my apartment safe when I thought I’d be dead for sure. I know she had that jacket specially tailored around a double shoulder holster."

Bruce can't help checking the line of Natasha's back, remembering the feel of it snugged against his chest, surging against him slick with sweat. He takes a mouthful of ice water and crunches a cube.

Jen chews her own bite thoughtfully. "I find her skills comforting in a way I wouldn't have suspected a few weeks ago."

"Life is full of surprises."

Which is normally the kind of cliche conversation filler Bruce offers as a dry joke, but that's when the flash bang goes off.

[nanonaturalist]

I've been meaning to message you since the moth appreciation post because like I need to talk/know more about that moth that lays eggs in water? What the f-ing what? That is mental. I didn't know we had aquatic moths! (I currently have lots of Garden Tiger babies at home for a uni experiment. I love my fuzzy babies.)

Hello, Friend! Isn’t that ridiculous?? I only recently learned about Petrophila moths [link], too, and when I read that about their caterpillars, my mind practically exploded. Nature is so weird. But these moths with aquatic caterpillars caught my notice for a totally different reason initially: they are jumping spider mimics.

You can see from these photos that they’re not very large. If you weren’t really paying attention, you may not even notice anything unusual about them. The first time I saw them, I definitely didn’t notice that they were spider mimics. But one night, I went to a talk about moths, and the presenter talked about these and I thought it was awesome! She had a mercury vapor lamp set up outside after the talk for us to see some moths, and a Petrophila showed up. I was super excited! When I went to add the photo to iNaturalist, thinking I’d seen something new, it turned out I had already seen them at least four times.

You may not even be able to see how these are spider mimics. They don’t really *look* like spiders, do they? But remember, our eyes are much different than insect eyes, and we have the benefit of seeing things from far away. We can see this isn’t a spider. But imagine you are a small predatory insect or a spider, and you are in front of this moth looking at it. What will you see?

Jumping spiders above are Dimorphic Jumper (left) and Bold Jumper

Anyway, back to the aquatic caterpillars. I’m sure you know that most moths and butterflies have perfectly normal caterpillars who eat leaves, make poops, and turn into perfectly normal moths and butterflies. So finding out that one type refuse to play by those rules just seems super weird. But is it, really? Or is it just weird because… well, we have an idea of what caterpillars are supposed to be, whether or not that idea is accurate?

For example, look at some other insect orders with complete metamorphosis (they have larvae, pupate, and then become adults). Flies are a huge group. Where do fly larvae live? You know about maggots and food, but what about mosquitos? Those are flies too, and their larvae are aquatic. What about parasitic botflies that grow in animal tissue? What about gall midges who parasitize plants? Caterpillars will grow up in equally diverse habitats (although, I don’t know of an animal parasite… yet). Same with beetles–larvae will live on plants, underground, in water, in wood… 

But let’s look a little closer to moths and butterflies, since most caterpillars are fairly predictable in terms of habitat, and the exceptions aren’t very well known. Here’s a phylogenetic tree showing the evolutionary history of insects. In this tree, branches that are closer together are more closely related.

Note: I found this tree in an image search, but I was unable to locate the original source. I would love to credit it if I can! Let me know if you have seen this in a book before.

In this tree, I have circled the branch including Lepidoptera (moths and butterflies). Look at who else is in that circle: Trichoptera (caddisflies). Below are a couple examples of caddisflies. Chances are you have seen them before (they are pretty ubiquitous near ponds, lakes, streams, and rivers!), but had no idea what they were.

Caddisflies are also very difficult to identify. The one on the left is in the Macrostemum genus (zebra caddisflies), but the one on the right… uh… I’ll get back to you on that one.

There are a lot of moths that look pretty similar to caddisflies, so it’s easy to see that they are closely related.

Left to right: Yellow-headed Lichen Moth, Belted Grass-veneer Moth, Bluegrass Webworm Moth

These look so similar, in fact, you may ask how they even grouped them into different orders. This is easy to answer if you know your scientific names AND Greek! Moths & Butterflies = Lepidoptera (Lepido = scale; ptera = wing)Caddisflies = Trichoptera (Tricho = hair; ptera = wing)

Since I have an electron microscope at work (the “nano” in my username refers to my background in nanotechnology), I felt obligated to illustrate this. The white bar on each image shows the magnification. “um” refers to “micrometer,” or 1/1,000 of a millimeter. A human hair is typically about 100 um wide. (If you have questions about electron microscopes, let me know! These things are fun!)

Typical Lepidoptera (Moth & Butterfly) Wing

Above: Images of the scales on an American Snout Butterfly wing obtained with Scanning Electron Microscopy. Compare the scales in the middle of the wing to those on the edge of the wing.

Typical Trichoptera (Caddisfly) Wing

Above: Images of the hairs on a caddisfly wing obtained with Scanning Electron Microscopy. Note the similarities in the how the caddisfly hairs and butterfly scales attach to the wings.

Looking at these images, it’s pretty clear that they are different. But you have to look *very closely* to notice this difference, and when you look even closer than that, you start to see similarities again.

Guess where caddisfly larvae grow up! If you don’t already know about caddisfly larvae, oh boy, they’re fun!

It may be hard to tell, but I took this photo with an underwater camera. Caddisfly larvae build little cases by cementing together stones, pine needles, sand, or a variety of other things. You can sometimes identify the larvae based on what materials they use and what shape the cases are in. An interesting aside: if you raise these, you can get them to build their cases out of whatever you want. At least one person got creative, and I’m happy to see that she is still selling caddisfly jewelry over 20 years later!

I don’t mean to turn this post into an advertisement, but her stuff is beautiful and super interesting. She describes her process and some info about the species of caddisfly she raises on this page of her website [link]. Photo credits go to her–I totally stole these images.

Caddisfly larvae are exclusively aquatic. Moths and butterflies are slightly younger than caddisflies, so they have had more time to evolve their own method of development (mostly on land). I believe the Petrophila moths are one of the older moth genera (but definitely not the oldest!), so they could be like Cetaceans (you know, whales and such who had gone *back into the water* after they realized they were cooler than land mammals).

I have not yet had the honor of witnessing a little baby Petrophila scooting along the bottoms of ponds, eating algae and whatnot, so I don’t have my own photos to share, but there are a couple on their bugguide page [link] (just click the link for “caterpillars” to filter out all the adults). They more or less look like a normal caterpillar, except … a little wetter than usual. The females will go completely underwater to lay their eggs (they will carry a little air bubble with them, apparently). And typically moths don’t live too much longer after laying eggs, so who knows if they ever fly again. I’m sure the fish don’t mind finding them!

I hope I satisfied your desperate yearning for aquatic moth secrets! The closer you look, the weirder nature gets. Jeez.

Posted June 22, 2018 (finally!) All photos are mine except the caddisfly jewelry, phylogenetic tree source TBD. Everything was seen in Texas except the caddisfly larva was in a stream near Crater Lake in Oregon.

[holding-infinity-and-a-book]

Order! Order, I say! Say it! Mr. Liotta, please sit down! I think it was awfully nice of that bear to pitch in like that. I think the jury’s on our side. Are we doing everything right, legally? I’m a florist. Right. Well, here’s to a great team. To a great team! Well, hello. Ken! Hello. I didn’t think you were coming. No, I was just late. I tried to call, but… the battery. I didn’t want all this to go to waste, so I called Barry. Luckily, he was free. Oh, that was lucky. There’s a little left. I could heat it up. Yeah, heat it up, sure, whatever. So I hear you’re quite a tennis player. I’m not much for the game myself. The ball’s a little grabby. That’s where I usually sit. Right… there. Ken, Barry was looking at your resume, and he agreed with me that eating with chopsticks isn’t really a special skill. You think I don’t see what you’re doing? I know how hard it is to find the right job. We have that in common. Do we? Bees have 100 percent employment, but we do jobs like taking the crud out. That’s just what I was thinking about doing. Ken, I let Barry borrow your razor for his fuzz. I hope that was all right. I’m going to drain the old stinger. Yeah, you do that. Look at that. You know, I’ve just about had it with your little mind games. What’s that? Italian Vogue. Mamma mia, that’s a lot of pages. A lot of ads. Remember what Van said, why is your life more valuable than mine? Funny, I just can’t seem to recall that! I think something stinks in here! I love the smell of flowers. How do you like the smell of flames?! Not as much. Water bug! Not taking sides! Ken, I’m wearing a Chapstick hat! This is pathetic! I’ve got issues! Well, well, well, a royal flush! You’re bluffing. Am I? Surf’s up, dude! Poo water! That bowl is gnarly.

The dinoflagellates are single-celled eukaryotes constituting the phylum Dinoflagellata. Usually considered algae, dinoflagellates are mostly marine plankton, but they also are common in freshwater habitats. Their populations are distributed depending on sea surface temperature, salinity, or depth.

[worryinglyinnocent]

A Brief And Hopefully Humorous Summary Of The 100 From Someone Who Has Not Seen It. 

So, after my weird dream earlier in the week, I was intrigued by The 100 and decided to check it out. On finding it was not available on Netflix, I decided to delve into Wikipedia, TV Tropes, Tumblr and Youtube instead for some recaps and information. 

My thoughts below. No offence is intended to the show or to people who enjoy it, this is all in the spirit of entertainment and I do really want to watch it now - I am sure I will get round to it. 

Season One

100 years after the first of what seem to be infinite nuclear apocalypses, 100 teenage delinquents are sent to a possibly uninhabitable Earth in exchange for not being blown out of an airlock, because... perhaps you won’t die of radiation sickness but you definitely will die of being blown out of an airlock?

Immediately Lord of the Flies mentality kicks in.

Lord of the Flies momentarily put on pause when it turns out that they’re not alone. 

Everyone attempts to survive. Some people do not. There’s murder and suicide within the first five episodes?

Meanwhile back in space with the adults there is Unresolved Sexual Tension. 

A supposedly important main character is in the pilot then never seen or spoken of again.

Teens make contact with adults slightly too late because some idiot broke the radio, there are explosions everywhere, and the adults decide to nope on out of space. 

Season Two

The adults arrive and their attempts to reimpose civilisation on the teens are not well received. 

There’s a not-radioactive mountain full of mutants, sort of. 

Unethical human experimentation.

Unresolved Sexual Tension now moves to the teens. Lead female character one teams up with love interest and becomes my first potential ship. 

More explosions. 

Lead female character two takes several levels in badass.

Lots of betrayal.

The mountain is now radioactive and lots of people are dead. 

Season Three

Where did female lead 1 get red hair dye from?

Former leader of the adults starts a cult. 

The badass beard arrives.

Infighting amongst everyone from space. And everyone from the ground. Charles Vane from Black Sails is also here.

The AI that caused Apocalypse 1.0 comes back for a second attempt. 

Black blood is a thing and is special.

One half of my first potential ship gets killed. 

One half of my second potential ship gets tortured. 

Mind control all over the place. 

Virtual reality skyscrapers. 

The attempt to recruit the pacifists on the oil rig to help with the cause goes about as well as can be expected. 

AI is defeated, but apocalypse 2.0 is on the way!

Season Four

So. Much. Infighting. 

So. Much. Genuine. Fighting. 

Second potential ship gets over the torture and has sexy times.

Female lead 2 turns up on a horse ready to throw down. 

The Hunger Games - pre-apocalypse edition!

The Hunt For Red October The Doomsday Cult’s Bunker.

So. Much. Fighting. Over. The. Bunker.

The teens who originally came to earth decide to nope on out of there back to space. 

Apocalypse 2.0 arrives!

Season Five

Time skip six years and the space crew come back down because they’re sick of eating algae.

At least they weren’t in the bunker. I was correct about the cannibalism but wrong on the timing... 

Sixteen year old girl goes bonkers as a result of everything she has to do to keep the human race alive, and proceeds to be stabbed in the back, thrown under the bus and demonised for it. 

Bunker Battle Royale 2.0: This Time Inside The Bunker!

Female Lead One adopts small child and spends the rest of the season protecting her at all costs to the detriment of some of her other relationships. 

Second potential ship has now become a codependent, drug dependent dysfunction junction. 

Everyone switches sides at the drop of a hat.

Sonic mining cannons!

Everyone is at war over the greenery.

It’s all for nothing because... Apocalypse 3.0 is here!

They all nope on back to space again, this time in convenient cryo-tubes. 

My back-up ship dies.

At least they got to grow old together. 

Season Six

There’s only so many apocalypses the earth can take, apparently, so they nope on out of there to a different planet altogether.

Invasion of the body-snatchers.

Second potential ship dies completely. Note to self, body-snatching is not the best way to say ‘I love you’.

Are any of the adults even left now?

(I mean they’re technically all adults now thanks to the post-apocalypse-2.0 time skip, but hey.)

Have I mentioned that I hate time travel?

Season Seven

Wormholes and time anomalies and doomsday cults and interplanetary travel via weird stones (hello Stargate?), oh my!

Despite promising to do better and not cause another nuclear apocalypse, they almost do. 

Humanity fast-tracks itself to judgement day and nearly fails.

Male lead gets stuck in a snow drift and joins a cult.

Most popular ship in the fandom gets shot down in flames. 

Humanity ascends to a higher plane of existence.

Some of them decide that the higher plane of existence is overrated and return to earth, which apparently did survive Apocalypse 3.0 after all. 

The dog lives.

[alicescripts]

Part 2, Chapter 7: The Monk of Crystal Springs

I’ve been to a lot of rest areas in my life. Hell, I’ve been to a lot of rest areas this week.

Parking is easier, and I kinda like the rustic feel of them versus a cash and shopping area. I like the trees and the grass.  

But for the next few days or weeks – months, maybe – I’ll stop at the truck stops and gas stations instead. The hot dogs under heat lamps, and the tired people who are still a long way from where they wanted to be.

I’ll take that crowd and noise to avoid the quiet rest stops. Or the rest stops I used to think were quiet.

Alice Isn’t dead by Joseph Fink. Performed by Jasika Nicole. Produced by Disparition. Part 2, Chapter 7: The Monk of Crystal Springs.

Gilroy is where a garlic is grown, and you can smell it from ten minutes out. It smells amazing, like diced garlic dropping into a pan of oil. Anyone who lives anywhere near Gilroy must have that smell blasted out of their consciousness, and what a terrible thing to lose.

It reminds me as a kid, going to our local stand right on the edge of a strawberry field. You could buy the berries warm from the sun, their stems still bleeding water. The hours were irregular and dependent on the harvest. You would know that they were open, because they would fly a flag in the shape of a carp. And the stand always smelled so strongly of strawberries as a little bit like soil, the most perfect mixture of smells. And no one who worked there could smell it. The smell had been blocked out by their brains. Even as a kid, that seemed like one of the worst fates: to work in the best smell in the world and never be able to smell it.

From Gilroy, I followed the 101 through the amazingly named town of Coyote, and up towards San Francisco. About a half hour out, I had to pee, and laughed at the thought of trying to stop a truck in the city and find a toilet. But there it was: the Crystal Springs Rest Area.

Did you know that rest areas have Google reviews now? I looked this one up later, and there was one review that just said: “If you’ve ever wondered if cops spit or swallow, come here.” And then the review said “good coffee” so... the coffee’s OK.

On the hill above the rest stop, there was a bizarre statue of a man, bulbous and ill-formed, pointing at the highway. It looked like he was scolding the passing cars.

Jerry Morrissette was a medic in Vietnam. An alcoholic, a monk. He was hired by Caltrans to run a maintenance crew at the Crystal Springs Rest Area in 1990. He parked a decommissioned ambulance behind the bathroom, and he lived in it. At the time, the rest area, convenient to the city but also conveniently rural, was a popular site for drug trade and gang conflict. Jerry tended the grounds like they were his own garden, because that’s what they became. The bathrooms were always impeccable, the vases full of flowers on the sinks. Eventually, he moved out of the ambulance into a Caltrans maintenance shed. To help keep crime away, he painted some of the parking spots with “reserved for California Highway Patrol”, and it worked. The drug trade and the gangs moved. Jerry went on living, unknown to the state of California, in a rest area he sometimes referred to as his “monastery”.

A few years later, the state found out and tried to evict him. But the people of the Bay Area fought for him, and Jerry was made official. The state put up a trailer and he moved in with two dogs, Butch and Spike. And the bathrooms were clean. And there were flowers in the vases.

Jerry Morrissette, the monk of the Crystal Springs Rest Area.

Even though the lot was pretty full, the bathroom was empty, which was odd. The air felt different than the air outside. There was a glass vase full of fresh flowers on the sink. I smiled at it, although I didn’t yet know the story of Jerry Morrissette.

All of the stalls were empty, so I chose the one in the back corner. You know, I read once that the first stall, most visible to the rest of the bathroom, is also always the cleanest because people choose it less. I don’t know where I read that. I have no way of knowing if it’s true, but I have spent the rest of my life believing it. Hm. Our brains are strange objects.

I was in the stall when I heard the voice. No one had come into the bathroom. The stall next to mine had definitely been empty, but now there was someone sitting in it.

“What have you seen?” the voice asked. It didn’t sound like the voice was in the room with me. It sounded like a cassette, or an mp3 from the early 2000’s: flat and faint. “Uh,” I said because – well, because all of this, because everything about this situation that was happening. “Two of you, like now but two of you, later. Soon. Or already, I can’t tell.”

The feet in the stall next to mine shifted. The person was sideways, facing the divider between us that seemed too flimsy now. “I’m sorry, uh I think you have me mixed up with eh...” I didn’t know how to finish that sentence, and then I realized I didn’t have to finish it, and so I left the stall and headed briskly for the sink. As I did, I couldn’t help but look. The stall next to mine was open, and it was empty.

I stopped. I stared at the empty stall. And it wasn’t empty anymore. There was a person in a hoodie. The hoodie was pulled over their face, and I couldn’t see any detail in the shadow of it. The person in the hoodie was slumped, looking at their feet, whispering to themselves. I couldn’t make out any specific words. And then they were standing. Not that they stood, but that they were sitting and slumped, and then the next moment they were standing, sagging against the stall divider. And then they were at the sink, running their hand over the flowers in the vase, still whispering.

And then they were looking at me. Their hand tearing at the petals. They murmured louder.

I sprinted for daylight like it was my next heartbeat, and as I did I was able to pick out one word from their whispers.

I heard the word “praxis”.

It started with the death of a dog. Spike died, and Jerry started drinking again. His work suffered. His monastery slipped back toward being a rest area again. Then he called a Caltran supervisor, who he believed had poisoned his dog, and threatened him. Police came, his trailer was searched. Three guns were found.

Why did Jerry Morrissette, monk of the Highway Monastery, have three guns? Well, he did live in a parking lot that was once frequented by drug trade and gangs. But maybe it was because he lived in America, and so for better or worse… or worse… or worse… He could.

The state began eviction proceedings. Insult of all insults: they didn’t let him clean his bathrooms anymore. Brought in another worker to do it. The state even cast out on the most fundamental aspects of his story. Maybe there hadn’t been so much crime at the rest area before. Maybe Jerry Morrissette hadn’t done much more than be real good at cleaning. His single-handed transformation of a troubled place into a beautiful garden might have just been very good PR.

And that was it for Jerry Morrissette. A dead dog, a drunken phonecall, three guns, and the last of the decade and a half of his life cast into doubt.

An article from 2014 said that he moved to a trailer in south San Francisco. As of that article, he had been given six months to live. Cancer, of course. Always cancer.

There is no more sign of Jerry Morrissette on the internet after that. I presume he died, but I cannot tell you for sure. I can only tell you that there was a man who had gone to war and come back, and gone to religion and come back, and who turned a rest area into a place of worship for a few years. And then his dog died and it all ended.

There’s no moral to this story, but there is a real human life.

I couldn’t explain what I had seen, and my first instinct was to drive until the gas tank was empty. But I also felt like this might be one of my few chances to understand. I’d seen this person in a hoodie twice before. Once by the Fremont Troll, and again in video footage of a murder, in which the person had rescued Sylvia from the Thistle Man.

I needed to think, and so I climbed the trail up to the statue on the hill. The plaque said it was a Father Junipero Cera. It was lumpy and squat. The face drooped. And I realized what it looked like. A Thistle Man. The vague shape of a human, but not put together right, and stuffed in a skin that wasn’t the correct size.

I didn’t like the way it pointed out at the highway, so I descended the trail, and without letting myself hesitate... I went back into the bathroom.

A family of laughing women from three different generations went in just before me, so at least I wouldn’t be alone in there. Except, and maybe you saw this coming – the bathroom was empty. The air felt different than the air outside, a very different temperature. And the smell like a slow moving river, somewhere between clear water and algae. There was a vase with flowers on the sink. I looked into each of the stalls and there was no one there. I heard movement behind me, and I turned to see an older man with a long gray beard, wearing an orange safety vest, carefully arranging the flowers in the vase. “Excuse me,” he said, the details of his form lost in the dimness. And he nodded slightly and left.

As I watched him go, I heard the whispering behind me. The person in the hoodie sitting in the stall, folded over at the waist and whispering at the floor tiles. “Hello?” I said. The whispering got faster, more urgent, but they didn’t move. I reached out my hand, as though I’d be able to touch them, but I would not be able to touch them, so I took my hand back. “Hello?” I tried again. “You again!” said a voice to my left. The person in the hoodie was sitting on the sink, legs dangling. They were barefoot and their feet were filthy. “Or is this the first time?” “Who are you, hm? What do you know about me?” “I… am...” They thought about this for a moment, kicking their dangling feet. “I am an oracle. In hidden places on the highways, in the bathrooms at gas stations, behind the painted scenery of roadside attractions, in vans parked far out in the grass land, there are oracles on these roads.” “You can see the future,” I said.” “No,” they said. “You misunderstand me.” “What did I get wrong about what you said?” I asked. “No, I meant you misunderstand me. You don’t understand what I am.” “What do you want?” “I want to help you,” they said. They were back in the stall, flopped backwards against the tile like a person unconscious. I still couldn’t see any face under the drawn hood. “You are in danger.” [scoffs] “Huge revelation,” I said. “You’re blowing my mind.” “You don’t understand the danger.” “There’s a war,” I said. “Yes!” they said. “And I’m caught between the sides.” “Hhyess.” “So that much I understand,” I said. “Noo,” they said. “You don’t even understand the most basic shape of it.” And there was that question again. The question I’m starting to think might be at the heart of all of this. “What is praxis?” I said. “One day you will understand. And when that day comes we will be there to help you.” “What is praxis?” I insisted. The person in the hoodie rose, hanging limply by their arms like a toy in a child’s hand. They were whispering again. They came toward me, their toes dragging on the pristine floor. When they were very close, I could smell what I knew now, unmistakably, to be the thick smell of heather. I opened my mouth to scream, and as I did I saw for a moment in the hood two human eyes, and the wet reflected light of tears falling from then.

And then – laughter. One of the women from the family was coming out of a stall. The other two were at the sink. They were laughing about the woman in the stall’s brother, who had insisted on buying a number of paper maps, rather than just using his phone, but then couldn’t even read the maps correctly. I was standing there, trembling, my back against the sink. One of the other women looked at me oddly, but didn’t ask if I was OK.

The three of them left the bathroom. I looked at the sink. There was no vase, no flowers. The floor was muddy, needed cleaning. I leaned on the sink for a long time, trying to put some version of myself back together again. And then I pushed off of it, and shaky but me, I stepped back out into the light.

And now, a knock knock joke.

Knock knock. Knock knock. Is no one home? Or just no one answering? Or no one who can hear or is willing to hear? An empty hallway into an empty stair, at the top an empty bed? Or a quiet ear pressed just on the other side of this door hearing every word, but not caring enough to ask who I am? Is there breathing in that empty hall, is there a quiet foot on that stair? Is there warmth in that bed? Or is there just me, trying once again to enter a place I am not wanted? Either way. Knock knock. [wearily] Knock knock, knock knock forever, I guess.

[dontdropthejam]

To You, You may be a little surprised to find this letter. I wouldn’t blame you. You do not know me. But this is a story that needed to be told. My name is Rhea. If you’re the scholarly type, you may recognize the title. Unfortunately, I am not the mother of Hera and Zeus, though I figure that's not something to be upset about. Perhaps, in some deep, mystic way, my name is one of the reasons a tale like this should have unfolded to me. I am a wanderer at heart. I enjoy walking alone through the woods, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. I love the smell of the pines and the whisper of the nearby stream. I am also a storyteller. Perhaps that is why I felt I so strongly needed to depart my experience to someone. Being a storyteller, I tend to see the slight magicks in the dancing of light through the trees, the songs of the sprites waving through the leaves. I never once thought anything more would ever come to pass. Nothing but the turns of a childlike imagination. One such walk, I found myself in a branch of the woods I had not yet visited. I found this strange, as I was sure I had not strayed from my path, but I brushed this thought aside, choosing instead to focus in the beauty I had discovered. My, it was certainly beautiful. Wildflowers of the kind I’d never even known existed, dotting rich green grass. Streaks of sun fell in just the right way, catching dew just so to make the forest floor look as if it were made of diamonds. And there was the girl. She was by far the most beautiful of the scene. Couldn’t have been older than twenty one, but holding the age far better than I myself was. Her hair was a willow of dark curls, framing her form as its volume let it rest lightly a full foot away from her head. The locks near her face falling across it, in a way so impossibly perfect that I couldn't think of any other way it could have done so, than with purposeful hands. Her eyes were piercing, and even though she was not facing towards me, I could see the shining stars, the pools of green, a deep algae pool in the center of a forgotten jungle. The whites of them bore such stark contrast to the striking darkness of her skin, so smooth and clear beyond human possibility. I am not one to believe in love at first sight. But at that moment, I felt a feeling of such wonder, that I do not fault myself for taking it as instant infatuation. I was at a loss for words. Who was this woman, this angel of the forest? How had she come to be here? Her clothes were unlike anything I had seen before, more suited for a Greek Goddess than anything from 21st century. My voice filled with amazement and caution, I said aloud: “Hello? Who may you be?” Surprised at my voice, she turned in confusion. When she saw me, she ducked her head away, as if she was embarrassed to be caught out here. I did not understand. Surly she knows anywhere graced with her presence was blessed. “Miss?” I tried again. “Are you alright?” When she spoke, it was like a chorus of angels. Her voice still haunts me with its almost paranormal song to this day. “Yes, I am fine. I am sorry for interrupting your walk.” “No! No, not at all!” I sat down on log besides her. “I am purely curious on your nature.” She smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Well I must admit, it is nice to talk to someone. I don't see many people out here.” She turned back to me. “My name is Aura.” “And mine is Rhea. I am honoured to make you acquaintance.” That day, we spoke for hours. There was immediate connection. We were both old souls, lovers of Shakespeare and Poe, and both quite alone. The sky darkened, and I was forced to return home, afraid I would get lost in the shadows if I waited any longer. Aura was sad to see me go, but she agreed it was for the best. We decided to meet in the same spot the next day, and I set off for home. This went on for months. I quickly found I was falling in love with this beautiful creature, and felt an ache in my heart whenever I was not with her. She would never meet outside the woods, however, and no matter how many times I asked, she would not tell me why. I respected her privacy, and persisted no more. Through this long adventure of the heart, I told her much about myself, my lonely life and my unfulfilling job. She listened with sympathy and patience. But.. Not once would she speak of her own life. I had asked her many times, feeling guilty for only talking of my own troubles, but she changed the subject each time. She was a mystery to me. A locked journal of legends and fantasy. It is only now I understand why. It happened after six months of this. The day was dreary, a gray blanket covering the sky. I made sure to throw on an extra sweater and my warmest scarf. I had a gift in my bag for Aura. A leather bound journal, one I'd specially made for her. A black opal indented in the cover. I'd had the stone since I was a child, and felt this a fitting next step in its journey. I headed out in high spirits, despite the weather. I was sure this day would be special. Half a year since I had met her first. Halfway into the forest, I saw something moving in the corner of my eye. Unnerved, I spun to see what was there. I could see nothing. Satisfied I had just been seeing things, I turned to continue on my way. It was in front of me. It wasn't a person. But it was much too like one to be comfortable. I would have felt better if it had been entirely eldritch, but instead it was a twisted version of what I passed everyday. It's eyes were inverted, white pupils surrounded with black. It's face was gaunt and pale, it's hands long and contorted. It grabbed my head in its twisted fingers, pulling its face to mine. “What is your name.” It's voice was something that sucked all the life out from my soul. Stale and strained, and without any glint of human emotion. I couldn't speak. I was trembling, unable to break eye contact with those black pits. “What is your name.” it asked again. Hit by a sudden rush of fear-fueled adrenaline, I tore away away from it, taking off down the path as fast as my legs would take me. It made no move to follow me. Only silently watched me go. I couldn't see where I was going. My panicked fueled steps were taking me to only one place- Safety. Wherever that would be. I did not see Aura until she had caught me in her arms. Panting heavily, I looked up at her with wide eyes, her expression the same. “You need to get out of here!” she said, fear consuming her words. “I was going to tell you the same thing!” I said. I grabbed her hand and turned to leave. But she did not follow. I turned, confused, and my heart stopped. Surrounding her were at least ten of the creatures I had been attacked by before. I cried out a warning, but she held up a hand to stop me, tears filling her eyes. The creatures closed in. “Wh- Who are these?!” I stammered. She looked at me with the deepest look of heartbreak and regret I've ever seen. “They are my family.” I couldn't respond. I was shocked to silence, staring at her in disbelief. The creatures- Auras family -took a step closer. They all spoke in unison, excluding one slightly larger one directly behind Aura. ‘What is your name.” Aura spun around, spreading out her arms to guard me. “No!” she cried. “You can't have her! You can't take her away from me, please!” The largest one stepped towards her, cupping her face in its hands. “You know the rules, my child. We cannot have the mortals knowing of us and survive.” I couldn't see Auras face, but I could tell she was crying. She placed her hand over the creatures, leaning into it. “Please, Pa pa, just let her go. Just this once.” The creature was silent, looking me over. Eventually, he sighed. ‘My beautiful daughter.” he said. “I do not understand what you see in these creatures. But I do see that it has made you happy.” He stepped back. “We will let it live.” Aura opened her mouth to thank him, but he cut her off. “-But…” he said. “You cannot see it again.” “Pa pa!” “No, Arournae. I will not risk one of my own with such monsters. Fae and human were never meant to converse.” Aura bowed her head sadly. “I understand.” “Good.” Auras father turned to me, his eyes going from soft to piercing at the speed of light. “You will leave these woods.” he said. “You shall not return. You shall not attempt to find us. You shall not tell anyone of existence.” I began to protest, but Aura looked at me with such a pleading glance that I could not disobey. “...Of course.” Auras father nodded, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Goodbye…” she whispered. Then she was gone. Just… Gone. I understand I am breaking the final rule with this letter. But I could not keep this to myself. And I expect this shall be passed of as fanciful fiction regardless. I would not blame you. But I hope, somewhere in the back of your mind, you hold the knowledge of this other, mystical world. That you understand our expectation of our world is but wishful thinking. There is more than could ever be imagined. Thank you for reading this. -Rhea

[artificialqueens]

Meat and greet (Trixya) ~ Evelyn°c

AN: I saw the fic challenge and i was truily inspired. Somwhere along the line i associated Anatomy, Flawless and Crispy with a cannibal AU. Its a weird concept, and the fic ended up going on alot longer than i expected. Also its set in England for some reason. ENjoY!!,!.!

Dear Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova

You are cordially invited to the annual feast of baroness needles, and we would be delighted to have you cater for the event. Im sure you are already aware of the guests unconventional tastes and trust you will prepare each dice of meat to the highest quality. We await your reply, and presence at the table.

Yours faithfully, Alaska~ ~

Of corse the invite was no surprise. It had been this way for the past four years. She’d chopped, diced, seasoned and minced food for the best. Baronesses, Countesses, even Queens.

Katya took another glance at the finely inked words on the parchment in front of her. She rolled her thumbs over the flat surface of the paper, it felt like it was probably worth more than her entire existence.

The words burnt into her mind. Unconventional tastes. Thats certainly one way to put it. Nothing about this was conventional. She choked the rising feeling of dread back down into the pit of her stomach as she looked up from the paper to the stone structure ahead of her.

She found herself on the infamous driveway of Sharon’s mansion. Anybody who was anyone had been here, gawking at the archaic stone structure and probably questioning their decision to visit. The sunrise casted a silhouette of abject terror over Katya.

The nicest way to describe it would be intimidating, but even this was a push. The walls were draped in ivy and lichens, spilling from each crevice, crack and gargoyle the mansion contained. The stone itself was less of a grey, more a stained black, presumably from the years of moss swallowing the building. Twisted trees with dislocated branches splintered in the distance, bearing no leaves.

The thick fog rolling over the valley didn’t exactly ease the atmosphere either. Katya began her trudge up the drive feeling the gravel underfoot envelope her heel with a satisfying crunch, the feint buzz of light coming from the tinted windows just visible as it soaked into the mist.

The only thing spookier was probably Baroness needles herself.

Katya felt the sting of cold air knife her as she grasped the edges of her jumper, knuckles turning white. She let out a drawn breath before finally making it to a large regal door, equipped with a bronzed knocker in the shape of a serpents face. She ran her hands through her frizzy blonde hair taking in the feeling of deja vu.

The cook gave a brief knock, awaiting a response. Of corse Alaska or Sharon themselves wouldn’t answer, it would be one of their various butlers unfortunate enough to find employment there.

Katya leaned on the frame of the door, observing the landscape. Thorn bushes never yielded any type of flower in the vast courtyard, and any pond with once running water was reduced to a thick mass of brown and black algae. Sharon had inherited the mansion but god knows how. Her chats with Baroness needles were normally limited to food preparation, so much of her past was unbeknownst to Katya.

Alaska on the other hand was a more sharing individual. She’d stop by the mansion kitchen every now and then, maybe ask for advice on what colour to wear then and wander off. Katya could only imagine what drew Alaska and Sharon to marry in the first place, but she had a feeling Alaska’s lust for money had some role in the matter.

Nothing about Alaska and Sharron’s wealth was subtle. They flaunted it. Every social event, every gathering, they wore crowns and jewels supplied by countries Katya couldn’t even pronounce. They threw events left right and centre, but this event was special.

Not because the guests were royalty, not even because of the excessive amount of cash being flaunted. It was special because the dish Katya would be serving was human flesh.

Admittedly, this was an acquired taste, but Katya was never one to judge a pallet, especially that of the richest people in the country. She liked to treat it as any other dish she prepared. Any other shank of lamb, any other belly of pork.

Katya could picture the stiff pale body in the middle of the cold metallic table. She could picture the apron she’d been so used to, draping around her form, covered in copper blood, rusted and brown. She could picture the blank milky eyes staring into Katya’s blue ones, eyelids peeled back from de-hydration.

She had become accustomed to the anatomy of the human body very well at this point. She knew what flesh tasted good with what kind of wine, and what parts were rendered useless and chucked outside for the crows. She could recite every meat cleaver in order of size and tell you the best one to use for cutting cartilage.

Alas, each calculated chop and stab still brought up a question in her mind, no matter how hard she tried to shove it down. How did they die?

Of corse Katya didn’t kill the victim herself, thats just immoral. Her best guess is that Sharon sourced dead bodies from a local morgue or something, but the bodies never looked a day over 30. Whatever they died of wasn’t old age.

Though morally twisted, Katya found herself in this position every year. She never stuck around to eat the specially prepared meat, her clothes just didn’t match the high fashion atmosphere. She looked like a pebble in comparison to the diamond encrusted corsets and gowns.

Why would this year be any different? For starters, a butler didn’t answer the door, Sharon did. The Baroness instinctively grimaced at Katyas apparel after looking her up and down.

“Hello to you too” Katya sniffed after a few seconds of silence, turning her attention from the courtyard to the well dressed woman ahead of her.

No surprises, Sharon was clad head to toe in black, pale skin in stark contrast, creating the visage of some sort of undead leather fetishist. Her pupils were two pin pricks, sharpened further by the shadow that engulfed her eyes.

She looked behind Katya, scanning for other people in the way only a paranoid cannibal would. “Katya, do come in” Sharon spoke through her jagged teeth, gritted into an obligatory smile.

Katya stepped into the confides of the mansion. whilst the exterior was more than grim, the interior screamed sophistication and wealth. Her eyes were first drawn to the long velvet staircase, a rich shade of red with gold lining. Katya could picture the grand entrances Sharon had probably indulged herself in over the past few years.

The room was a warm hue of red, lit up by a glass chandelier just overhead. Paintings strung up around the wall depicted past and present queens, a good deal of them a participant in the annual feast. Katya shuddered, picturing gravy dribbling down chins with the noise of crunching bones and fat filling the dining hall.

The pair entered the front room as Sharon began to furrow her brow almost instantaneously. “Look there’s been some trouble with the…meat”

“How much trouble can dead meat cause? Did it bite you?” Katya joked, feeling the gust of wind slam the door behind her, causing her to jump.

“Theres been some trouble getting the meat” Sharon spat back, rolling her eyes. She began pacing the room, rubbing her temple instinctively. “Ive got too many people coming tonight, i can’t tell them they aren’t getting any food…”

Katya shrugged, making her way over to the shelves to observe the various taxidermied creatures on display. “So ill just cook up some beef. The posh bastards will never know the difference”

“Katya, they’re paying thousands to eat human flesh, if its not somebody else’s they’ll eat mine” Sharon sighed, looking up at one of her many paintings.

“I don’t know what you want me to do about it, we could cook Alaska?” Katya laughed, poking a particular stuffed racoon apprehensively, only half listening to the baroness.

“For god’s sake I’m being serious, my reputation is on the line!” Sharon yelled, lacing a hand through her white hair, balling her fist. She looked tense. Sharon’s expression cleared slightly as she began to approach a startled Katya. “I need you to do something for me.” She spoke with a hint of desperation.

Katya backed off a little bit here, bumping into the shelves. “No way you aren’t eating me, back up” She said frantically, raising her hands in front of her.

“Not you dipshit”

Oh.

“Then who?”

The baroness narrowed her eyes in consideration here. “A member of staff.” She nodded, happy with her conclusion. “I want you to kill a member of staff.”

Katya reeled back, she was used to cooking people, not killing people. Those were two completely different leagues. “Why cant you?”

“I have to tend to the guests, completely out of the question” Sharon shook her head, crossing her arms expectantly. “Are you in need of some extra persuasion miss Zamo?”

“Im not sure i like where this is going” Katya grimaced, looking around for Alaska.

“I’ll pay double”

“Well this is a potentially traumatic experience for me. The guilt may drive me insane…” Katya drawled, tracing her finger across the wooden surface of the shelf.

“Triple”

How could she refuse? She’d live in luxury for the entire year with that kind of change in her pocket. Katya pursed her lips. She needed to show Sharon she meant business here. “Triple plus that stuffed racoon” She pointed, grinning manically at the creature.

The white haired woman planted her head between her palms. “I can’t believe you” She croaked. “Fine, just have them dead and cooked by this afternoon” She said, making her way over to the staircase where she took one last glance at Katya.

“Any member of staff?”

“Except the butlers”

“And just to confirm not Alaska?”

Baroness needles stormed up the staircase, mumbling some profanities to herself. Katya chuckled before taking a glance at the grand clock in the corner. 9:45. Sharon was right, the guests would arrive soon and there was only so much stalling she could do.

With that, Katya brushed the lint from her jumper. Nothing stood between her and getting £100,000. By any means necessary, she’d eliminate another human being for the satisfaction of 50 inebriated millionaires.

~

Katya strolled around the courtyard. The air was still thick with fog as she tried to navigate her way around the rows of dead greenery and fallen leaves. The blonde squinted her eyes, trying to distinguish any kind of human silhouette.

Katya wasn’t sure who she was looking for, but she concluded most of the butlers worked in the house, and Sharon had made it clear butlers were off limits. Perhaps she could find a nice janitor, scrubbing the gutters precariously balanced on a ladder that could take an ‘accidental fall.’

Katya was enjoying this a little too much, going over each possible scenario for murder in her head.

After a small walk and a few unfortunate accidents involving stepping on snails, Katya found herself at the furthest end of the courtyard. She felt the cobblestone and leaves under her feet abruptly end as it was replaced with lush grass, still moist from last nights downpour.

If the rest of the garden was dead, this part was living, breathing.

The hedgerows littered with berries, a glossy red colour, resembling small marbles rather than fruit. Circles of mud decorated with soft pink primroses and petunias surrounded Katya. Gusts of wind would rustle the trees and wind-chimes, sounding delicate metalIic clinks. It was an idealistic flawless sanction of growth.

Everything was undeniably pretty, but also raised a few questions. Why the hell would such a thriving area of garden be in an otherwise stony decaying courtyard? It wasn’t exactly fitting with The baronesses aesthetic. Alaska didn’t seem the type either.

“Oh, can i help you?” A hushed voice sounded behind Katya, causing her to jolt and grasp at her heart in mild shock. She spun in place towards the source of the noise.

Stood by a small tree with a pair of hedge clippers in hand was a woman with long blonde hair. Katya was completely caught off guard, she was almost as flawless as the garden she was maintaining. Deep blue eyes, a sympathetic smile, a terrifyingly large pair of hedge clippers. Katya almost forgot to breathe. She shook herself out of it. This had to be a sign. The other woman was tall and curvy in figure, she looked delectable. “Just admiring this beautiful garden.” Katya admitted, making her way over to the blonde. “You did this yourself?” She asked, arching a brow.

The other girl grinned, flushing slightly, using a well manicured hand to brush some dirt off her pink skirt. “I thought it was a shame such a large garden was so empty” she said propping the clippers against the tree.

Katya was standing in front of her now, putting on her best smile. She needed every moment to be casual, nothing out of the ordinary. If Katya did this right the girl would think she’s just making a new friend. “I didn’t think Sharon hired gardeners?”

“Ah she brought me in a couple of months ago…” She looked to the floor here. “Do you work here too?”

“Im the chef for the event tonight, Katya Zamolodchikova.” The smaller woman said, enjoying the blondes reaction to hearing her last name. Katya was aware it was an unusual one, most would assume she’s Russian.

“Trixie Mattel” she beamed, extending a hand for a brief shake. “You’ve been to the feast?? Whats it like?” She gasped, her pink lips thinning into an expectant smile as they parted hands.

“Have you seen the scene in Indiana jones where they serve monkey brains? Sort of like that” Katya chuckled. Trixie screamed in delight. Of corse she would have no idea what the real dish was, if word got out there would be a public scandal no amount of money could cover up.

“Ive always wanted to sit at the table with Sharon, thats a life long dream” Trixie admitted, crossing her arms and drifting off into fantasy. Little did Trixie know she would be at the meal. She’d be the guest of honour.

A plan formulated in Katya’s head as Trixie looked wistfully into the distance. She’d have to murder her of corse. There was too much money riding on someone being dead to not go through with it. Still, she was such a sweet girl. Shyly breaking eye contact, red around her ears and cheeks. Such a waste of life.

“Well” Katya said, pulling Trixie out of her daydream and placing a hand on her shoulder. “How about i whip you up some food? You must be hungry”

Trixie burnt under Katya’s touch. “I couldn’t expect you to do that for me” she shook her head, looking both apologetic and grateful.

“Nonsense it would be my pleasure, lets go” Katya spoke sternly. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Katya pictured the scene in her head, Trixie biting down on Katya’s specially prepared dish, the poison seeping into her body, inevitably shutting it down. Quick and easy. She’d poison Trixie mattel.

Trixie tried to protest but Katya’s hand moved from her shoulder to the small of her back, forcing her along the pathway. “Its a lovely offer but-”

“How does a nice beef wellington sound?” Katya cut in, flashing a perfect row of teeth to the taller woman.

Trixie looked slightly confused, knitting her brows. “That wouldn’t be so bad” she shrugged as the pair made their way down the path, exchanging pleasantries and light conversation.

~

“I’ve never had a chance to explore the mansion” Trixie said, wide eyed admiring the dining hall, running her fingers across each surface as she passed. “If Alaska or Sharon found me slacking off they’d have my head on a platter”

Katya let out a small laugh, but not for the right reasons. She looked over to the other girl, she really was in awe of everything the mansion contained. She felt a small pang of guilt remembering this would be the last thing Trixie would ever see.

“It has it’s charm” Katya admitted, making her way over to the table in the centre of the room. Silver cutlery circled the edges, placemats probably woven from the silk of Scandinavian jumping spiders or something outrageously posh like that.

Trixie nodded, taking a seat. Katya instinctively took the chair besides her, quirking a brow. “So, how do you like your beef?” Katya inquired, a joking tone in her voice.

“Ive literally never thought about it…crispy?” Trixie giggled, resting the side of her head into her palm.

“Eloquently put miss Mattel” Katya leaned back in her seat, taking in the smell of floral incense that attempted to cover the smell of thick varnish that plagued the stately home. She heard Trixie sound a small chuckle beside her.

“I cant help feeling a bit bad, i have nothing to offer in return for a lovely meal” The gardener admitted to Katya. She sounded sincerely apologetic. This made Katya shift in her seat. The more the other blonde spoke the more real the situation was. She felt sick.

“How about a bunch of flowers?” Katya spoke, voice strained. She just wanted to get this over with. The less time it had to fester in her mind the better. “We’ll take a stroll back to the garden before i have to begin meal preparation for the guests”

“I’d like that” Trixie nodded, that familiar creep of red showing around her ears.

Katya smiled, giving her a quick wink before standing from her seat and making her way over to the kitchen door. This was getting alot more sentimental than Katya was hoping for. Her time with Trixie, though brief, had sent a hurricane of conflicting feelings through Katya.

Her laugh, her smile, her sense of humour. Of all people deserving of death it certainly wasn’t Trixie. Katya took a glance back to the gardener. She was poking at the silverware on the table with a huge grin. Adorable.

To think she was about 6 hours away from being served on a platter.

Katya burst through the kitchen door, hand over her mouth, feeling about ready to eject her stomach through her throat. She saw the room she’d been so used to. For the past four years she had no hangups about slicing and dicing dead bodies, why would Katya start growing a conscience for a poorer-than-dirt worker?

Katya wiped a growing bead of sweat from her brow. No, this wasn’t right. 100,000 quid doesn’t make it any more acceptable to take another life. Still, she had to give Sharon something. If she went back empty handed, Katya would never find work again.

The cook groaned. She did know one thing. She had promised a delicious, crispy, beef wellington to Trixie.

After about half an hour of pounding beef and rolling puff pastry with pure rage, Katya had popped a savoury dish in the oven. She opened the overhead cabinet and spotted the rat poison, wincing at its glaring warning sign equipped with skull and crossbones. This would be the garnish, the finishing touch. Taking it down from the shelf, Katya placed the poison on the side for later use, turning quickly to exit the kitchen and check on Trixie.

“In the oven” The chef puffed, taking the same seat beside the gardener. “You, Trixie Mattel, are in for a treat”

“Im sure i am” Trixie laughed breathlessly. They were sitting close. Katya could see each of her features gleam under the intensive lighting. “Can i ask you a question though?”

Shit, had Katya blown it? Crap she could only imagine what Trixie was about to ask. The last thing she wanted was to raise suspicion.

“Your last name is odd, are you from Russia?”

Oh.

“Not last time i checked” Katya let out a sigh of relief hearing the other blonde chuckle. God, she enjoyed Trixie’s laugh a bit too much. It was infectious. Katya let out a breathy laugh grasping the side of Trixie’s arm leaning forward. Not that her comment had been particularly funny, but the gardeners delight was infectious.

“I didn’t think there was anyone on the estate that would go near me” Trixie admitted, Katya’s hand still clasped around her arm. “I was surprised when you offered me food” Her voice softened.

“Well you seemed like you earned it. Anyone who has to put up with Sharon needles deserves a 5 star meal”

They sat there for a moment, Katya realising her grip on Trixie was a little too tight as she reluctantly removed her hand. She broke eye contact and began to scoot back her chair. “I should go check on the-”

“Wait, Katya” She felt a warm grasp around her hand, stopping the chef in her tracks. She looked over to a flustered Trixie. “I-uh…Thank you”

Katya paused for a moment before offering a large open mouthed smile. “You are too sweet miss Matell, thank me after you’ve eaten” Katya squeezed down on Trixie’s hand before letting go, standing from her seat. Trixie sunk back down in her chair slightly with a defeated look. It pained Katya but she really couldn’t allow herself to get attached.

Katya pushed open the kitchen doors and glanced over the prepared food, baking in the rattling oven. She took it out, chewing the inside of her cheek, feeling the sting of heat under her fingertips as she placed it on the cool counter by the rat poison.

This is for 100,000 pounds. Thats alot of money. How many copies of contact can you buy with that kind of cash? Alot probably.

Katya steadied herself as she opened up the poison container with a satisfying pop, before taking a handful of pellets in her fist. She was shaking badly, trying not to picture Trixie’s face. Reluctantly the cook stuffed the pellets within the confides of the beef wellington. She was sure enough they could be passed off as fancy herbs if the question arose.

She added the finishing touches before delicately placing it on a silver platter. Katya would even consider eating it herself aside from the fatal dose of rodent killer. Walking through the doors into the dining hall, Katya saw Trixie’s look of amazement as she oogled at the steaming dish.

“I can see why they hire you here” Trixie said with an exited tone, eyes fixated on the silver platter. “Want to half it with me?”

Katya shook her head patting her stomach, placing the platter on the varnished surface. “Im watching my diet”

Trixie shrugged before taking the knife and fork from the table, sinking it deep into the beef wellington, relishing the slow cracking noise of the pastry. She looked so contented. Katya wanted to look away but she couldn’t. All the thoughts and doubts she had been pushing down were surfacing. She was about to commit murder, no better than a petty criminal. No amount of money would rectify that.

No amount of money would change the fact she’d taken another life.

“Wait wait Trix” Katya spluttered instinctively before the beef could reach Trixie’s lips. The gardener turned to her expectantly, a little confused. Katya had to think of a reasonable explanation fast.

“I…didn’t check the expiration date on that beef” Katya choked, mustering up the lamest excuse she could. “I wouldn’t eat that”

Trixie put the fork down, still smiling. “You tease” She joked, shaking her head. “Well, i still got to see the mansion at least”

Katya felt a wave of relief wash over her, followed by the jolt of realisation that she’d never find work again. Sharon would make sure of that. It didn’t phase Katya at this point, her newest friend would stay alive and healthy, planting flowers, blood pumping.

She felt the urge to just run. Get out of the mansion as soon as possible. Katya shrugged at Trixie before giving another one of her manic grins. “Fancy going out for a meal instead?”

“Im supposed to be working”

“I’ll vouch for you” That was a lie on Katya’s behalf. She was never going to set foot near Sharon or Alaska again. Or at least thats what she hoped.

“Well-”

Before Trixie got the chance to reply she was being dragged out the door, into the low fog. Katya knew this was the right choice, the dinner guests would just have to go hungry tonight. Their meal was safe and sound by Katya’s side, laughing at her terrible jokes.

They left the estate laughing maniacally, talking about food.