#i had to frog about ten rows a week or two ago so that was fun

[littlemsterious]

Progress photo for my second furby. I’m knitting the body myself. most of the work is being done on sunday mornings while at church. that’s the only time in get to knit and also it feels pretty cursed. I’m going to sew an inner part to hold the stuffing, which is going to be the weighted stuffing you get for stress plushies.

it’s name is going to be Pink Lemonade and it is completely agender.

[bubblyhoney]

soundtrack

warnings: sailor language, suggestive themes/mentions of sex, drinking, nicotine use, being tipsy/intoxicated. no graphic or explicit nsfw content besides basically tonguing and giving hickeys and an ass grab.

tags: karl jacobs x fem!reader

words: 1898

A/N: i wrote this thinking that both people in this fic are of drinking age; i’m not, but i thought it would be a cool idea. i can assume many adult gatherings feature alcohol, so yeah. drinking isn’t integral to the plot of this fic. also it is pre-(or post)pandemic bc it’s just a general rule of thumb to not have parties right now.

-

“Don’t, kill, me,” Karl warbles, setting down his bottle with a sigh. Freaks plays loud and tinny on the TV, album cover bathing those occupying the couch in a grayish light. Those occupants being just you and Karl. The room is lit with purple string lights and that one thrifted lamp with frogs on the shade he’d sworn was the best purchase he’s ever made. You’re sprawled out on the other half of the sofa, ankles crossed and a can of vodka seltzer swaying in your hand. The song changes to 20 Min by Lil Uzi and your foot bounces to the beat.

“What time is it?” You sigh, placing the nearly-empty can onto the coffee table next to your apple berry-flavored pen. He flicks his wrist towards his face.

“2:46,” he delivers, and takes a swig of the Angry Orchard in his hand. His sixth, specifically. The rest of the group had left roughly ten minutes ago, leaving the two loneliest people to drink alone. You, thoroughly tipsy, decided it was better to spend the night on his spare than pay $50 for an Uber. He agreed, of course. Why wouldn’t he?

Lifting onto your elbows, you just stare at him. He lifts an ankle to cross over the other and your eyes drop. What is his fascination with Spongebob socks?

“We should play 20 questions.”

“What?” His head swivels like a bobblehead and a giggle barely escapes your lips.

“20 questions!” You say excitedly, heaving onto your knees to look at him earnestly. “You go first.”

“Um, okay.” The song fades into Paper Planes and he bobs his head to the beat. “What’s your favorite breed of dog?”

“Shiba inu. Are you a virgin?”

The fucking tone of your voice makes him dissolve into giggles, hand pressed to his chest. You just shrug, reaching for the pen in the table. “Fair question, I think,” you say defensively. His chest heaves, but he sits up.

“No—no, I’m not a virgin.” His cheeks are red, but he’s smiling like it was an easy answer. Your mind floods with images of his long hair in your face, long fingers—a sweaty chest. You shake your head. “Okay, my turn,” he continues, giving you a weird look. “would you rather kiss Chucky Cheese or Ronald McDonald?”

“Karl!” You whine. “That is not how 20 Questions works!” You grumpily pull from your pen, blowing the smoke out of the side of your mouth. Eughk. Apple berry sucks.

“Fine, fine,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. The tell-tale guitar chords of The Adults Are Talking floods the room and his face brightens with a new question. “Have you ever been to a concert?”

“Yes, actually. The Jonas Brothers in 2009.” He wrinkles his nose, finishing his cider and dropping it onto the coffee table with a sharp noise. Your eyebrows furrow. “Don’t you dare badmouth my boys.”

“Wasn’t gonna!” He reaches for your pen and you give it to him with a slight pout on your lips that he glances at.

“Good. Where is the weirdest place you’ve had sex?” A grin climbs your lips.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” His eyes widen and smoke curls out of his nostrils as he hands your pen back. You just shrug and pick up your discarded seltzer. “Gimme a sec to think.”

“So many places?” You tease, finishing the last drop of your drink and crushing it beneath your palm. He shrugs, mirroring you, and cracks open another cider. He seems to think, brows furrowing, as he pulls a swig from the dark bottle.

“Boat.”

“Boat,” you repeat.

“Yup.” He looks at you, gaze flickering to your lips imperceptibly fast. If you were sober you’d probably notice, but you’re not and you don’t.

“You’ve fucked on a boat?” No way. Karl Jacobs. On a boat. Having sex. What an image—

“Yeah, senior year was great for me.” More Than A Woman fills the space of the silence as you consider this. You blink, processing.

“Whose boat?” You're genuinely curious. Was it a yacht, pontoon, fishing boat? Row boat? The sudden scene of him getting his foot stuck in a fishing net while pantless clouds your vision.

“My girlfriend’s.” And that’s that on that because he’s moving on before you can open your mouth and continue the discussion of the logistics of this. “Stop investigating, perv. Now it’s my turn. Hmm— wait! Where is the weirdest place you have had sex?” A sneaky grin is on his lips and now you just want to kiss him, damn it.

“I-Uh. I think it was under the bleachers. I also had a great senior year,” you offer, scooting forward on your knees so that you’re only a foot from Karl. He looks impressed, actually.

“Who was it?”

Your eyebrow raises in question.

“Personal question or one of the 16 left, Karl?”

His cheeks heat and he looks once to the TV.

“Personal,” he mutters into the mouth of his bottle.

“It was Brian Hernandez,” you sigh, gazing off into the distance with a fond look in your eyes. You feel the end of the game of 20 questions as you see him chew on his bottom lip from your peripheral. “Dude was insatiable. Managed girls’ basketball and looked damn good doing it.”

“I managed girls’ soccer,” he says simply, uncrossing his legs. “My girlfriend was goalie.”

“How long did you guys date?” You fold your legs up underneath you, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You feel the most sober now out of all tonight.

“Dunno.” He sips at his cider. “Couple weeks maybe?”

You smirk. “Karl Jacobs puts out in the first couple weeks?” That’s hot, you don’t say. He gives you a look. “18 year old Karl was a player,” you tease, leaning forward to poke at his chest.

Smacking your hand away, he sighs and lifts a hand to tousle his hair.

“Guess he was.” Clear eyes meet yours and you take a hit from the pen that lays discarded in your palm. He watches the smoke float from your mouth. The TV screen swipes to Deceptacon and the mood quickly shifts. “So.” He turns toward you with lifted eyebrows. “You were a total nerd in highschool, huh.”

Your jaw drops. “I was not!”

“Come on; yes, you were.” He makes a face and drains half the bottle of cider. “You probably were in SpellBowl and every teacher’s pet.”

“Nice try, bitch. You were a dumb jock. I’ve seen the pictures. The yearbook pictures.” You look pointedly at his hair.

“My hair was not that bad.”

“Yes it was.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he grumbles and pushes his hand through his long curls. “Just a little… short.” It’s your turn to make a face.

“A buzz cut nearly to your scalp is more than short.” He huffs at you and finishes the cider just as the song switches. “Anyways.” You don’t really have anything to say, actually. Too busy thinking about teenage Karl smacking tennis rackets around and fielding lost soccer balls for his girlfriend. She’s long gone, right?

“Are you wearing lingerie?” Karl asks suddenly and you look up. He stares pointedly at your chest and you move a hand to pat at your stomach.

“Oh,” you start, and flick the last three buttons open, fabric falling to reveal a baby blue lace corset. “Yeah.” He can’t seem to stop imagining what’s underneath it. Fuck. “Do you like it?” The tone in your voice is taunting and he has to look away.

He clears his throat and places the second glass bottle onto the coffee table.

“Yes.”

You rise onto your knees and pull your arms out of the button-up, letting it fall back on the couch.

“Do you want to touch it?” You're looking up at him from underneath your eyelashes, he realizes, and you know exactly what you’re doing. You’re not asking if he wants to touch the corset; you’re asking if he wants to touch you.

“Can I?” He glances at you warily. You just nod, and it’s then that you’re shuffling forward. The material is soft on his fingertips when he brushes a hand across your torso. “Silk,” he mumbles, and stares, transfixed, at the loopy flower pattern crawling across your waist in shades of milky blue. You just hum and watch. He realizes suddenly when he traces a finger up on the ridge of the neckline that you’re not wearing anything underneath it. It makes him stop in his tracks, neck flushing. “Are-are you—,”

“Wearing a bra? No, I’m not.” You lay a hand on his shoulder, hoisting one leg over his thighs and settling down comfortable on his lap. He bristles then relaxes as you slide a hand up into his scalp. “Do you want me to show you?”

He glares at you, barely annoyed, and shifts so that his large hands rest in the curve of your waist. Poison starts in the speakers as his eyebrow raises.

“Do you normally wear corsets when we all hang out?” A lock of your hair moves past your cheek as he brushes it out of the way. His mouth tilts into a smirk. You seem to think about it, lips pursed, and grip both his shoulders in your hands.

“Only when I’ve got someone to impress.” A hand on your lower back presses insistently and you fall further into his lap.

“Who are you here to impress, Y/N?” He’s barely an inch from your mouth now, and can’t seem to keep his eyes on one part of your face. Cool breath fans onto your cheeks and they warm. God, he’s even cuter up close.

“You,” barely passes your lips before he’s taking the side of your neck into his hand and stretching to connect your lips with his own.

Cherry, you think. Cherry chapstick, that cheeky bastard. Taking your wrist in his hand, he loops it up and around his neck. You’re making a noise into his mouth, you realize, right as he’s sliding a hand down to the side of your thigh and gripping it between his long fingers. You shiver as he pulls away too soon, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your mouth before sinking his teeth into your neck. The gasp that leaves your mouth is surprisingly loud and your cheeks flush further. He just hums, pleased, and stretches an arm to the opposite side of your waist to hug you closer. Warm lips move on the skin of your neck and his tongue darts out few and far between the kisses.

“Fuck,” he breathes when your hips jerk forward once.

“Sorry,” you whisper up at the ceiling, eyes falling shut. “reflex.”

He grins against your neck and moves to grip an ass cheek in his palm.

“Your reflex to me licking a hickey is to grind into my crotch?” he teases. You just have to nod, lips parted, as he soothes another bruise with his tongue.

“Karl.” He seems to either not hear you or ignore you for he’s removing himself from your neck and connecting your mouths once more. “Karl,” you stutter between kisses, and he squeezes at your ass.

“Yes?” His lips are bitten and puffy when he pulls away, a smug look on his beautiful face.

“Take off my corset.”

He looks between your face and the lingerie, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

-

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D comment what you think !

[howlingday]

REAPING OF ATLAS 3/3

RWBY Characters Are Created And Owned By Rooster Teeth And Monty Oum.

Team REAPS And All Original Characters In It's Universe Are Created And Owned By @dark-chocolate-fudge-sweetracer

"Are we there yet?" Sandy whined as she and her team were led down the mantle sidewalk. She shivered as another of Solitas' famous tundra winds blew down the street. Sure, the streets were Dust-heated, but that provided little comfort to the girl. "We've been walking for hours!"

"Not yet, just a few more blocks!" Prism cheerily answered. "And we've only been walking for twenty minutes."

"Well, it feels like hours!" Sandy complained again.

"Sandy, do us all a favor and stop whining." Acacia groused. "You think you're cold? I'm part snake! So unless you're secretly a frog faunus, I suggest you stuff it!"

"Acacia, stop yelling at Sandy!" Echidna scolded, to which Sandy responded by sticking her tongue out at the chastised girl. "And Sandy, stop acting like a child. We're Huntresses in training. Show that you deserve that title." Sandy shrunk back at her chiding.

Reizo chuckled at his team's antics. "I'm glad to see everyone else is excited about today. Prism is finally showing off her upgrades."

"Not just mine, but ours! I also took the liberty of bringing your weapons in already."

"You took our weapons?!" Sandy shrieked. "When?! How?! Why?!"

"To answer in order," Prism began, holding up her index finger, "1, a few weeks ago; 2, I used the teleporter in our bathroom; and 3, to make some much needed improvements."

"Improvements like what?!" Sandy barked. "My weapon is-"

"An outdated piece of tech that was only improved by a forge, not a lab." Prism finished. "I can't make improvements to our gear with fire and stone by itself."

"You could have asked." Reizo commented, stopping to wait for the street barrier to come up.

"I did ask!" Prism defended.

"Who?"

"Acacia! She said she was cool with it!"

"I did." Acacia admitted. "She asked if she could make improvements to my gear, and I said yes."

"See?!" Prism stated as the street barrier came up. She walked backwards to defend herself face-to-face. "I asked!"

"Did you ask all of us?"

"Erk!" Prism almost fell over the curb, but Reizo caught her. "Phew! Thanks, I-" prism stopped as she noticed how close to him she was. She blushed as her heart beat a thousand miles a minute. She jumped back once she was steady. "Sorry, I-"

"Try to be more careful next time." Reizo said, walking past her. "And ask all of us next time." Echidna gave a quick glare as she passed, while Acacia and Sandy giggled between each other.

"Oh, shut up."

Ten minutes later, Team REAPS arrived in front of Doctor Polendina's front door. Prism knocked on the door three times, then stepped back. A few minutes later, a screen above the door came to life. On it, the wrinkled face of gray-bearded man appeared. "Hello?"

"Hi, Pietro! It's me!" Prism waved at the screen. "I brought my team, like I said. Are the weapons ready?"

"Oh, yes," he replied with a smile, "they just got done going through the polisher."

"They are combat ready!" A voice off-screen shouted.

"Uh, who was that?" Reizo asked.

"Uh, nobody! Don't worry about it!" Prism shouted defensively "Uh, we're coming in, Doc!"

"Alright, I'll meet you inside!" The screen turned off, and there was a click at the door. It slid up, reaveling a dark corridor into the unknown.

"Right this way!" Prism bravely stepped forward, into the darkness.

Reizo let out a sigh. "No way through it, but to do it." He stepped forward, followed closely by Acacia, then Echidna, ending with Prism bringing up the rear, shivering from the cold. And nothing else.

The building smelled sterile, like a hospital, but strangely with less life in it. Prism rounded one corner, then another, and then down one final corridor with bright light at the end of it. As they neared it, they finally saw a room bathed in white, fluorescent light, with shelves of dozens of technical manuals and mathematical textbooks. In the center "stood" a large, elderly man in a seat with six legs.

The legs walked forward, surprising everyone but Prism, who continued forward to stand beside the man. "Everyone, meet Doctor Pietro Polendina, my personal hero, lab partner, and robotics expert!"

"Oh, I wouldn't say expert, but it is a pleasure to finally meet all of you." He reached his hand forward. "Please, call me Pietro."

Reizo shook his hand. "Reizo Yamato."

Echidna followed suit. "Echidna Bluewaters."

Acacia just stayed back, half-saluting him. "Acacia Evergreen."

"Sixy Mythleg-" Sandy gasped. "I mean, Sandy Mythril!" Pietro laughed. "I'm so sorry!"

He waved it off. "No need to worry. This was just the result of an unfortunate circumstance, much like your slip-up. But, if you don't mind, I'd like you all to meet my daughter."

"S-So soon?!" Prism yelped. "B-But she's not-"

"She is. I trust her, but more importantly, I trust your team." He pressed a button on his seat, talking into a speaker. "You can come out now, dear."

The team turned around at the sound of footsteps approaching from the dark, and saw piercing green eyes. As they got closer, Reizo squinted past the light and saw the figure's silhouette form. The figure became clearer as they approached, taking the shape of a teenage girl with long hair, a large skirt (or wide hips), and a bow atop their head. The team gasped as they saw her.

"No way..." Echidna muttered.

"It can't be..." Acacia gawked.

"It's you..." Sandy said.

"But I thought you-"

"Sal-u-tations, friends!" Penny cheered. Everyone in the room was silent. Pietro had a simple smile, Prism a nervous one, Reizo and Echidna gawked with mouths agape while Echidna covered her mouth. Sandy, however, made the first contact, leaping into Penny. "Greetings, Sandy!"

"Penny!" Sandy wailed through her tears. "I missed you!"

"I have missed your presence as well, Sandy!" Sandy wrapped her arms around Penny's waist, to which Penny reciprocated by wrapping her arms around her. The others approached and joined in hugging their resurrected friend. Penny shut her eyes with a soft smile. "I have missed you."

After countless questions answered and stories swapped, Prism stepped forward and cleared her throat. "All right, everybody! Listen up!" She barked. "I'm just as glad Penny is back as much as everyone else, but she's not why we're here." She recieved a few angry glares from her teammates, and a dejected look from Penny. Prism coughed into her fist and corrected herself. "Though she is an added bonus." Penny looked up with a wide smile. "We're here because our weapons weren't going to cut it anymore. Beacon was a colossal failure on all fronts. Especially our skills. We've had our victories because of luck, and nothing else. That's why we were long overdue for an upgrade, one that requires more than just a forge."

A screen descended from the ceiling as a table rose from the center of the room. On the screen was an image of the real deal on the table: Reizo's katana. It's grip looked cleaner, the old and worn leather and fabric replaced with newer material. The blade remained unchanged, but there were holes added into the hilt. Reizo walked forward and picked it up, giving a few practice swings. He noticed the grip was extended as well.

"Your katana was a tricky task to overcome, since you value the blade so much." Prism explained. "So I removed the blade while I worked on the hilt and grip. The leather and fabric have been replaced with a hide that is seven percent more resilient, and a wool more durable than any linen made in Mistral. The added holes in the hilt allow you to load dust coins into your blade more easily, and if you flip the switch on the bottom," Reizo did so, allowing an empty cartridge to fall out, "you have twenty-five percent more storage space than before!" Prism beamed with pride. "So, what do you think?"

"Well, the grips a bit too long for me."

Prism frowned. "So?"

"I'm not used to long grips. It makes it more difficult to handle with one hand."

"Well, look at it this way," Pietro stepped in, "you're still growing, and this give you more room to improve as your body grows. By the time you're a Huntsman, that long grip will fit nicely into your one hand, and you'll be more adept in the event you need a longer grip."

"Like so!" Prism pressed a button near the hilt, and the grip doubled in length, sliding out an additional length hidden within. Reizo almost fell over. As he fought for balance, Prism walked over to the next screen and table that appeared, showing off Echidna's staff. Her staff's half-moon blade shape now had a smaller blade, shaped like a diamond, between the two originals. Strangely, however, there were five bottles set in a row around the staff. "And here, we have Echidna's staff, equipped with an extra blade, a longer chain, and a few other things I'm sure you'll want to try out!"

Echidna picked up the bottle, though jar was probably more fitting, since it more resembled a soda can, with her small, delicate hands struggling to grip half the jar. It had two metal rings forming borders. "What are these?"

"Put it on your hand, like this!" Prism demonstrated with her palm open and facing up. Echidna took the bottle-can and placed it in Prism's palm she winced and exhaled as the device began filling with a strange, yellow liquid. Prism hissed as she held up the bottle, visibly tired. "Ta da."

"What did you do?!" Sandy asked, worry clear on her face.

"W-Weaponized aura." Prism blinked hard, shaked her head, and began to slowly recover. "After your fight with Bree, I figured you'd want to be able to trick her again without using up so much of your aura." She looked at the bottle. "Of course, mine is just heat, so tossing it would just make a small explosion. Great for a distraction, but unfortunately, my aura reserves aren't the highest."

"Thank you, Prism." Echidna grabbed another bottle. "Are these easy to make?"

Prism carefully walked to the next weapon set. "Yup, but don't go throwing them away after a fight. I might be able to remake them, but they won't be cheap!" On the table, with diagrams flashing on the screen overhead, sat Acacia's tonfas.

"They look the same." Acacia tilted her head as she lifted one of her tonfas, examining it for anything significantly different.

"Yeah, there wasn't much to improve," Prism admitted, "not externally, anyways."

Acacia gave her a look. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the only thing I improved was it's firepower. Shooting this thing redefines the term "handcannon" now!"

Acacia chuckled. "Nice!"

"Of course it's most vital function is still hidden." Prism whispered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" Prism scurried to the final table, which held the dual-blade boomerang of Sandy's weapon. "Now this was my toughest challenge yet! Mostly because I had to make a lot of upgrades."

"What? My weapon is perfect!" Sandy defended.

"Maybe for a beginner, but we're third years now. We need stronger weapons, and I'm the smith to get it done!"

"What could you have possibly improved on?" Sandy crossed her arms indignantly.

Prism gave a haughty laugh. "You really think you weapon was the best, huh? Well, let me show you better than that!" Prism unloaded upgrade details on rapid-fire at Sandy. "The blade is now sharp enough to cut through steel; the bow string now has a tensile strength of over a thousand pounds per square inch; the hilt is made of a finer fabric that not only resists moisture, but is soft to the touch; the boomerang operates on an anti-gravity matrix-"

"Wait!" Sandy shoved a hand into Prism's face. "What was that last part?"

Prism removed Sandy's hand. "The anti-gravity matrix?"

"Yeah, what do you mean by that?!"

"This." Prism tapped a button on the boomerang. It clicked as a light humming was heard from it. Sandy stared with wide eyes as Prism lifted her hand, and the boomerang followed. "I've been doing research on Atlas' anti-gravity formulas. I couldn't find anything for the city itself, but what I could find led me to the invention of my own anti-grav dust crystal!" She showcased her creation by having the boomerang turn to on it's side, giving everyone a peek into the thin slots where the dust crystals were stored. "They last longer and give off more power than anything the SDC makes!"

"Will you sell it to them?" Echidna asked.

"Pfft! As if!" Prism rolled her eyes. "As if any of those Schnees could appreciate such fine craftsmanship. They'd just cut corners and blame their failures on me, like they always do with geniuses." Prism crossed her arms. "It's like my grandma always said, "Never trust businessmen like the Schnees."

"Oh, and what of soldiers?" Winter Schnee asked, casting a cold glare over Prism's shoulder. Prism slowly turned her head with a shiver, then turned back forward when she met her icy gaze. "Well? I'm waiting."

Uh, I, you see, that is, um..." Prism shrank as she failed to articulate her argument. "I'm sorry?"

"Don't be." Winter said. "Businessmen like Jacques Schnee can never be trusted. However, not all Schnees are terrible. I can think of three in my family who excelled in their fields." Winter stepped forward toward the rising center table, which had nothing on it but a keypad. "For now, however, let us return to business. You said you had something to show me?"

"Uh, yeah," Prism immediately straightened herself to appear more professional. "I mean, yes, ma'am!" Prism stepped up to the keypad and pressed five numbers in a specific order. The table flipped, revealing three rolled-up blueprints, and Prism unrolled the center page. On it was the design of some sort of cannon. "As you can see here, I'm designing a super-weapon of sorts, capable of taking out a Goliath in one shot, and still be used to take out multiple Grimm surrounding it."

"Interesting," Winter rubbed her chin with her index finger, "but what are the components of this "super-weapon," as you call it?"

"W-Well, it's, uh, us." Prism gestured to herself and her team. Winter raised an eyebrow, and Prism nervously cleared her throat. "So, uh, as you can see here, the weapon will use Acacia's tonfas as the stand, with Sandy's bow acting in tandem with Reizo's katana as both a guide and a containment field, and Echidna's staff will act as the sights and an additional containment field component. Meanwhile, my chakrams will act as the guide, or more like a barrel in this case."

"And what type of weapon is this "super-weapon," Miss Asagiri?"

"Um, it's a rail gun, ma'am."

A cold, evening wind blew over Arishna Dawn as she stood on the rooftop of Atlas Academy. She shuddered, wishing, for the hundredth time, she hadn't agreed to teach in an academy miles above the frozen tundra. She liked to be alone while she looked through her scroll image gallery, smiling as she gazed on pictures of her lover. She felt a warmth in her heart grow with each smile she found.

Before her memories of warmer nights could settle in, they were interrupted by the buzzing of her scroll. The default silhouette of the caller drew a sigh from her lips. She answered the call on the second buzz. "Professor Arishna Dawn of Atlas Academy. How may I help you?"

"Good evening, Professor," the dignified voice that invaded her ears brought a scowl to her lips, "I hope I wasn't interrupting your evening."

"What do you want, Arthur?" Her voice wasn't angry, but it was definitely not happy, either.

"Straight to business then. I am in need of information on our mutual acquaintance, James." Arishna sneered at his request. Well, not really a request, since she knew Arthur Watts was not a man of requests.

"There's nothing new to report. The schedule remains the same, just like last week, and the week before that, and the month before that."

He chuckled. "Really? So you are unaware of a stolen Atlas air-ship enroute to Mantle?"

"What?!" Arishna eyes widened as she turned away and ducked her head from any prying eyes, though she was alone on the roof. "When?!"

"Oh, my! Could it be the great Atlas military is unaware of it's incoming intruders? How interesting, if it weren't woefully predictable."

"Shut up, and tell me everything!" Arishna growled.

Watts harrumphed. "I see you still don't understand how this relationship of ours works. I suppose I could send my friend to visit yours. See if they could become better friends than we are."

"No!" Arishna shouted, this time not caring who heard. "Don't hurt her! Remember our deal!"

"I remember our deal, Miss Dawn, but it is not my memory that is the issue here." Arishna swallowed an empty mouth, shaking with anticipation, anxiety, over what her current benefactor will say next. "I'll take your silence as an understanding." Arishna let out a sigh of relief. "I don't believe you need to worry about the air-ship. It's piloted by an elderly woman, and it's cargo are only passengers: an adult male and eight teenagers, ages ranging from twelve to nineteen."

"Talk about a big family." Arishna joked.

"Indeed. If there is nothing to report, I shall conclude our conversation until next week."

"Wait!" Arishna called out, extending her arm as though she could stop time. Not hearing a click, she continued. "Remember: nobody dies."

There was a minute of silence until Watts spoke. "I promise I will not harm anyone."

He hung up with a click, and Arishna let out a heavy sigh. "How do I get myself out of this, Glyn?"

Reizo fell out of his bed as the alarm blared screamed in his room. He hissed in pain, groaning as he slowly stood up. He looked around. The room had a flashing red siren above them, a red bulb with a revolving reflector spinning around the light. The wail of the siren rose and fall intermittently.

"What's going on?!" Echidna shouted from her bed, covering her ears with her pillow. Her bedhead apparent as her hair was disheveled and unkempt, static causing a few strands to hover vertically.

Reizo looked to the rest of his team was on the floor, having jumped like her leader, with the exception that her fall was from the bottom bunk, not the top. However, Acacia fell onto her from the top bunk, and now both were on their stomachs on the floor, groaning in pain.

He looked at the time from the clock on the wall. It was only a few minutes into midnight. Was Atlas under attack?

The door opened, drawing their attention as Professor Yamato hurriedly stepped inside and opened a keypad by the door, pushing buttons into it, and the siren died with the light. Sighing, she turned to her son's team. "Is everyone all right?"

Sandy and Acacia gave a weary thumbs up and groaned.

"What's going on, Professor?" Echidna asked from her bed.

"I don't mean to alarm you, but," Professor Yamato had a nervous look, "some intruders flew into Atlas air-space and Grimm broke through the Mantle defenses. After the Fall, Atlas won't take any chances that could harm their students."

"Great." Acacia groused as she stood up, pulling Sandy up with her. "About time something went wrong."

Professor Yamato looked around. "Where is Prism?"

The team shared a look between each other before looking back to her, Reizo answering for them. "She's probably at Doctor Polendina."

"What?!" Professor Yamato became very worried.

"It's okay, Mom, Prism can just teleport back in." A flash of light from the bathroom startled the professor. "See, there she is now."

The bathroom door opened, and Prism stepped out, her eyes glued to her scroll. She walked over to the desk nearby and set her scroll down, taking a seat without removing her eyes.

"Pri-"

"Shh!" Prism hissed, holding up a finger. "Not now, our test run is almost complete! There's only one more district left, and I need to make sure no data is left undocumented."

"See? She's fine."

"Well, if you say so." Professor Yamato opened the door and stepped out. "Please, for the remainder of the night, stay in your dorms."

"We will, Mom. I love you."

"I love you, too, Reizo." The door shut. Reizo sighed as he looked back to his team. Echidna had already laid back down to sleep, covering her entire head with her blanket. Acacia climbed back up to her bed, rolling herself into a burrito style to guard against the cold. Sandy crawled into hers, double-checking her glasses case, ensuring it still nestled safely between the mattress and the rack holding it in place. Prism continued to watch her screen. Reizo yawned and placed a foot into the foothold to climb to his bed. He hung precariously over the ground, ready to swing up into his bed.

"IS THAT TEAM RWBY?!" Prism cried, causing her other team members to immediately awake, and her team leader to fall on his back.

The next morning, on their way to class, Reizo yawned as Prism played and replayed her footage. He glanced over, seeing through Penny's eyes and watching as Grimm are decimated by her new skillset. Once gone, Penny landed, then turned and crouched, before literally launching herself at Ruby Rose of Team RWBY.

He smiled to himself. He hadn't seen them since the Fall, which caused his smile to fade. After the Fall, Team RWBY scattered. Last he heard, Ruby Rose had left on a journey to Haven Academy with the remains of Team JNPR, while her sister, Yang Xiao Long recovered from her near-fatal encounter with the White Fang. Weiss Schnee came back to Atlas with her father, although he heard rumors of her running away. Blake Belladonna was a mystery, as she fled during the Fall.

The video ended when Penny flew away to tend to another district. Or at least, it ended for him. After the surprise encounter with Team RWBY, he lost interest in anything else from the video. Team RWBY was in the city, but where? It wasn't like they were going to show up around the corner.

"It'll be just like Beacon again!" Reizo stopped to see where Penny was shouting from, and found her, the Ace-Ops, and Team RWBY show up around the corner. "Oh! Greetings, again, Reizo Yamato!" The group turned and stared in each other's directions.

"Aah! Such a great meal!" Raizo Yamato sighed as he patted his toned belly, pretending it was fat. "You really outdid yourself, babe!"

"Actually, that was me, Dad." Reizo corrected. "I made dinner tonight."

"Oh, uh, right." Raizo scratched his cheek. Reizo and his team visited his family once every other weekend. It had been a few months since he first arrived, but this house never stopped feeling like home to him. Prism and Sandy were washing the dishes, though the latter would rather keep reading the manga her leader let her borrow. Echidna and Acacia were sitting on the couch with Evangeline, watching the news. The two teens were excited to see the results of tonight's campaign.

He saw Ruby Rose, Nora Valkyrie, and Lie Ren standing watch over the Robyn Hill celebration with Marrow Amin, Penny, and the Happy Huntresses. He was surprised to hear Team RWBY and JNPR were now all licensed. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little envious.

"So, who do you think's gonna win?" Reizo asked.

Raizo got a sour look on his face. "If this election were perfect, I'd say Robyn Hill would win, no contest."

"But Jacques Schnee's embargo." Reizo countered.

"It really pi-," Raizo cleared his throat as Evangeline shot an icy glare towards him, "I mean, it really, really, really, really makes me angry that the snake would do something like this just to get a few more votes."

"Not surprising," Echidna said, "considering Jacques Schnee's responsible for more suffering than any man, woman, or child in Atlas."

"Try all of Remnant." Acacia corrected. "Seriously, the White Fang wouldn't be a thing if this guy just stopped being so greedy."

"Well, even if he does embargo all of Mantle's, I'm still voting for Hill. She seems like she's got a good head on her shoulders!" Raizo announced proudly.

"Even though her organization isn't exactly clean?" Evangeline asked.

"Better than Schnee." Evangeline hummed in agreement. Reizo watched the polls climb. He couldn't believe someone so horrible was related to a close friend of his. The polls neared their apex, both parties in full swing.

Then the lights died.

"Argh! A blackout, too?!" Raizo shouted. "Damn you, Schnee!"

"Raizo!" Evangeline chided. "Language!" She let out a sigh as she lit a candle in the living room. "Everyone, come to the living room! We'll stay close until the lights come on!"

Acacia sat closer to Echidna, making room for the other four to come to them. Sandy seated herself next to Acacia, and Prism next to her. Reizo laid back next to Echidna. Maybe he catch a few Zs during the blackout.

The lights came on shortly after, and he heard a mixture of emotions. He heard his mother and Sandy gasped, his father and Acacia curse, and Echidna whisper "Oh no."

Reizo opened his eyes, and saw the carnage on TV, with Penny in the center of it all.

"Ruby!" Sandy called out to her eye color duplicate as she spotted her with her team in the hall. The events of last night's disaster left everyone shaken up. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Ruby said with a yawn and a weary smile. Sandy doubted Ruby's claim. The red-hooded girl had bags under her eyes, no doubt from a long night of answering questions from the police and tending to the wounded. "I'm just a little tired, that's all."

"Are you sure? We watched the incident last night." Ruby seemed to tense at the mention of the event. "Do you know what happened?"

Ruby shook her head. "No, I didn't. The only one who saw everything was Penny."

"Where is Penny, anyways?"

"She's staying close to my sister." Weiss answered. "Everyone is pointing fingers at her, since she was the only one who drastically moved around the most during the election party blackout."

"I see. But it doesn't make sense." Sandy crossed her arms. "IF Penny killed those people, why would she do it?"

"Because she didn't." Prism answered, walking up to her friends with the rest of her team. "I still have the night vision recordings from the blackout. Someone was moving around, dodging her and killing people." She then looked to Ruby. "And you know about it."

"W-What?!" Ruby stammered. She waved her hands in front of her to ward off the accusation. "N-No, I don't know anything about the attack!"

"Funny you mention that." Prism said, as she tapped on her screen and held it up. "This is the footage from Penny's Point of View camera. She looks to you, and you have a worried look on your face, and you mouth something. Something like, 'Here we in,' but that doesn't make sense. Here, the lights go out, and Penny shifts to night vision, but she's getting static during this time, too. Luckily, I can still see everything through the static. In the first second, nothing, then there's a man crouched low to the ground, and then he's gone again until Penny finds him again, but misses after every attempt to catch him." She pauses after the third attempt on Penny's part, then glares at Ruby. "What aren't you telling us?"

Yang stepped in front of Ruby. "She told you everything she knows, so back off."

"Don't get testy with me, Xiao Long." Prism growled at the taller blonde. "I'm not in the mood to play these games that you seem to be involved in a lot, recently."

"Excuse me?" Yang's eyes flashed red for a moment, but reverted back to violet, but kept the same glare on Prism. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You tell me, Ms. Break His Legs. Why is your team always at the center of attention of every scandal?"

"Prism-" Reizo started, but was cut off by Blake, who stepped up next to Yang. Her glare on Prism felt dangerous, like a wild animal protecting it's territory.

"Oh, don't you start, Miss White Fang." Blake narrowed her eyes at her. "Yeah, I know all about your little reunion back at Beacon."

"Prism!" Reizo said louder, but it fell on deaf ears as she turned to Weiss next. But Reizo had enough by that point and stepped in front of her. She looked up to argue, but held a glare on her that told her to step back. She did, and Reizo looked to Team RWBY. "I apologize on her behalf." He bowed with his arms straight at his sides, like he was taught to do when he was younger. It's been a long time since he last apologized like this, but he felt this one was needed. "On all of our behalf, I apologize if my team has offended yours." He stood up and looked to Ruby. "But I do agree with Prism that you know more than you're telling us." He extended his hand. "Ruby, please, tell us what's going on."

Ruby looked to her team, who all had a nervous look on their faces, but they all nodded to her. She took a deep breath, then looked Reizo dead in the eye. "Okay. I'll tell you everything." She then looked around. "But not here."

Arthur Watts sat comfortably in his seat at the coffee house he frequented in his youth. He smirked as he drank his coffee and browsed on his scroll, moving from one news article to the next, and delighting at the chaos he orchestrated.

The current article he was reading, "The Mantle Mouthpiece," had an interview from an eyewitness, who claimed she, "saw the soullessness in the doll's eyes." He chuckled to himself a little at that.

"We need to talk." Watts set down his scroll and coffee, seeing Arishna Dawn glowering at him from across the table. He sighed as he released his coffee.

"Do we? I don't believe we do."

"I want to talk."

"I don't. Thus, we have reached an impasse. Compromises must be made, of course."

"I said-" Watts rolled his eyes and stood up. Grabbing his scroll, he stepped away from his seat and began walking down the street. "Hey! I'm not done with you!"

"But I am done with you." Watts continued walking without looking to her. He knew she would chase him. "Unless, of course, you had something I wanted."

"I know you rigged the election!"

"And why would I care about politics in Atlas?" He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to fumble a response. When none came, he continued. "Robyn Hill and her supposed, "crusade," serves me no purpose."

"Then you would side with Jacques Schnee." Arishna deduced. She only caught that because he led her to it. Half-points for that.

"And we come around to the question I asked earlier; why?"

Arishna tried to think, but the only thing on her mind was how dangerous this man she was arguing with was. If she wasn't careful, Glynda would- "You're blackmailing him."

"Not a bad guess, but still wrong." He turned a corner, and she followed. "I don't reward failures, sorry. Besides, why would I blackmail him? What could he have that I want?"

Arishna tensed her brow as she thought. Jacques Schnee's wealth was legendary, and the means he achieved that wealth even more so. But Watts didn't care about Lien, or Dust. Those were the only two things a CEO could give him. Wait, was Jacques Schnee still the CEO? Becoming councilman would have rendered his reach into those resources of the SDC null and void. "Wait. You needed Jacque Schnee to become councilman, so that he could get you information on Ironwood!"

Watts stopped and chuckled. "I suppose if you lay enough crumbs on the ground, you'll catch a rat eventually. However, there's one detail you missed."

"What's that?"

"Oh, you're a smart girl. I'm sure you'll figure it out." He stepped past her, walking towards the street from the alley. Wait, when did they reach an alley? "Oh, and try not scream. Trust me; it's better that way."

"Oh, you're no fun!" A voice shouted behind her. Before she could turn, she felt a sharp pain in her back. She wanted to scream, but the pain was so intense, she couldn't move. Everything faded to black as she heard a distant laughter.

Then, only silence.

Reizo sat in his room, staring out the window. He tensed more and more like a coiled spring with every breath. The clock on the wall ticked, growing louder in the deafening silence. He scratched at the chair's armrest with every tick.

The discussion he shared with Ruby still gnawed at him, and he knew he wasn't alone. Echidna left for a walk around Mantle with Sandy, the latter of the two taking it especially harsh, thus the former saw it best to clear their heads with open air. Acacia left for the training room, no doubt to punch her anxieties away, or at least try to. Prism used the teleporter and locked it from the other side. She liked to tinker during troubling times, and right now she needed it more than ever; alone.

Reizo watched as the clouds drifted past Atlas, and the Sun slowly rose higher and higher to it's noonday place. With a shaky breath, he looked to the right and saw a Bullhead pull closer and closer to Atlas.

Suddenly, it felt harder to breathe. What if this Salem was secretly hiding on that Bullhead? Or one of her agents, like that Tyrian guy? He shut his eyes and shook his head to clear his thoughts. What if his team ran into one of her agents before, but they didn't know it? Would they survive?

His heart leapt into his throat as he heard the door click. He shot up and took a combative stance before the door fully opened. "Who's there?" Reizo tried to bark with as much confidence as he could.

The door opened, revealing a sweaty Acacia standing there with an unimpressed look. "It's just me; your worst nightmare." She walked in, tossing her gym bag onto her bed, and moved towards the bathroom. "By the way, that squeak of yours? Totally intimidating."

Reizo blushed at the remark, but it faded when he saw Acacia's hands. Her knuckles were raw and bleeding. "Hey, you okay?"

Acacia gave him a sour look. "What do you think?" She then walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Reizo sighed as he looked out the window again.

Just this morning, he only cared about becoming a Huntsman. He'd fight Grimm, save lives, and make his family proud. Now, everything changed. Becoming a Huntsman seemed too small of a goal now. He saw a new monster to fight and ultimately slay, but hearing about her from Team RWBY made everything... unreal. She sounded too mythical, too make-believe to exist. But he also knew Team RWBY wouldn't lie about something like this.

Reizo sighed as he looked at the blue sky; the Bullhead from earlier had long since passed, leaving only clouds to roll by.

Acacia turned the water to cold, letting the icy droplets splash from the showerhead. She dabbed her knuckles with toilet paper, wincing as it stung at her open cuts. She swore, but continued to dab until the square was more blood than paper. She then balled up the sheet, and tossed it into the trash.

She stepped into the shower, exhaling sharply as the cold water hit her skin. She shivered, and made quick work lathering herself, scrubbing, and then rinsing the suds from herself. She hissed as her cuts were invaded by both her body wash and the freezing ice water. Once she was thoroughly rinsed, she shut off the water, but didn't leave the shower. She just stared at the drain as the water poured down.

What happened to her life? She attended Beacon, nearly died when some nutcase hijacked Atlas, and now she's at Atlas, and the same thing is happening all over again!

That was why her knuckles were bloddy. She was punching her anxieties, but every time she punched the bag, she got angrier and angrier, until either the bag broke or, after the second bag, she broke.

It just made her angry. She never felt so angry. She didn't think she'd ever been this angry, or be angrier than she was now.

There was a loud banging at the bathroom door. "Hang on, I just finished!" Acacia grabbed her towel and dried off. The banging continued. "Hold your horses, I'm getting dressed!" The banging didn't cease. She was going to murder someone if they didn't stop. She unlocked the door. "What?!"

"Professor Dawn was attacked earlier today." Reizo had a grim look on his face. "She's in the hospital right now."

[fortheheavenssake]

💜💜 PG MM Anon 💜💜 Interpretation Collection - 1

Anon said:

You go PG!!! 😊😊😊🌸🌸🌹🐼🐼🐝🐝👍👍👍💖💖💖🌻🌻🌼🌼🌼😊😊😍😍💜💜🌹🌹🌹🌺🌺🌺💙💙💙🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌹🌹🌹❤❤❤👍👍👍👍 Violets 🌼

Anon said:

💗🌲🌞😺 hi Skippy this is for PG and JG🏡🌲🥰🥰🧚‍♀️👑👑🐱🐰🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🐥🌺🌹🌼🌸💐🐿

*****. 💜💜PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON 💜💜

💜💜🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻💜💜

1.

PG re: MM ANON

Hidden depths , entertaining alliance

Wonder about part of a film, or Nespresso cameo? Hidden depths made me think of a wine cellar and maybe wine advert?

Markle Sparkles , well WORN

Double entendre , referring to the BBC show and public taking notice of articles on excessive jewelry she has but more importantly noting changes to engagement ring and asking why?

Antagonistic font wedding 2.0 l wonder she wanted that emerald tiara wasn’t allowed it and was angry, wondering if she will not be allowed to use the font kept in the Tower of London and she is throwing a fit over that!

Tight for nation of royals..

We have seen that and it will continue. They are closing ranks and even at events she attends or will attend it’s very frosty!

Wolffish ultimatum, SHIP out?

Definitely the financial reporting by Chris Ship, making the public even angrier. SHIP is upper case, several meanings to me, one be Patronship, l think especially of the theatre. Might she lose some of her ships?

A Firm distaste for Moniker is regarding using the name of the previous Duke of Sussex for Archie.

To be or not to be WAS the question

Seems that something was offered but she refused and there is no turning back!

I am no emsi but these are my thoughts.

PG😊GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you….this is great!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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20 notes

Jun 25th, 2019

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2.

PG are:MM ANON

Independence/Schoenberg lol sounds like it blithe and not even an issue anymore.

Diamonds are a friends worst girl

Hmmm is JM involved somehow, fake jewelry and lots of public notice about her jewelry

Evil is the route of all money Excellent news

I am wondering if money has been wired, notice the word route of money, nefarious people wiring or being wired money.

An Easter promise will miss the children, this is obviously the Cambridge’s tour that was announced, meaning the children will stay at home.

Will English girls receive a royal cheer?

This is clear reference to the women’s soccer team playing in the female World Cup.

A-tiresome LIST doesn’t impress this hallowed chapel

Whatever A listers she invites to the Christening are not worthy of the honour of either being a royal, fake we know, godparent or being in that Holy place.

Swapped insults receive a nations glee but a royal reprimand.

There may be some sort of public row??Wimbledon, if she crashed in the Royal box? Oh wouldn’t people love a good telling off by Catherine!!😁Who knows.

Thank you PG!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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32 notes

Jun 25th, 2019

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3.

PG 😊re: MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON … Hickory Wood tests the public water. isolated arrogance fuels National distain. Privileged puppets pulling strings net a quiet insider. Back scratching … buy one’ get one free. Wolffish medication control kicks in. Conception Deception …Born in the USA??? Was possible …“My little President” shawl-y not !! A royal 2020 hatched ‘matched ‘dispatched.

Hickory Wood tests public water.

The two words are capitalized HW. I can think of only one HW in the news, friend of Epstein, l cannot figure this out at all.

Isolated arrogance fuels national distain

Distain vs disdain, mean to stain the honour of… disrespect for BRF , tradition. The word isolated confounds me, is the person isolated or are the behaviours isolated, meaning infrequent??

Privileged puppets pulling strings net a quiet insider.

This had something to do with Wimbledon, the word net. I cannot think …l am no emsi

Back scratching…but one’ get one free.

I wonder if this means not just one Obama daughter at Wimbledon but both.

Wolffish medication control kicks in.

LG supervision ensuring medical treatment and medication are kicking in, which is crude way to say, the medication (s) are starting to be effective for what they were prescribed for.

Conception.Deception.Born in the USA??? Was possible….

Did the surrogate fly to America and delivery the baby there? But was possible, meaning maybe some uncertainty.

“My Little President” shawl-y not!!

“My Little President” is an English animation, l can’t figure beyond that. The shawl may be reference for a Christening baby blanket or shawl that the O family gifts the baby.

A Royal 2020 hatched ‘matched’ dispatched .

Hatching, matching dispatching was a CBC show about ten years ago about a family that owned a bridal shop, ambulance service and funeral home all in one stop shopping😂

Hatched lI see this as a pregnancy ? Eugenie, Zara, Catherine,

Matched, l see as possible wedding for Princess Beatrice.

Dispatched l see as final of justice tied up for mm.

This is my best for a very confusing riddle

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you…interesting!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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25 notes

Jun 30th, 2019

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4.

MM ANON INTERPRETATION

MM ANON … An independence collective four a small celebration …absolutely rejected by California dreaming,… two people’s separated by a common language. Must try harder. A steady drizzle followed by a gathering down-poor. Subjected,inspected rejected by a wolfish grin. Re-habitual behaviour causes confusion. A font-farewell.

It’s July 4th, Happy 4th to our American friends😊 🇺🇸! sounds like only four people to celebrate with, l wonder about only four at the Christening. I wonder if her mother, ie California, is unable or unwilling to come.

Separated by common language…sounds like some legal issues between the U.K. and the U.S. needed to try harder to settle.

Steady drizzle…down pot, not pour… steady dri0 drip in the media and a gusher is coming…also poor, she has no longer got endless money being supplied to her, hence poor, noted at Wimbledon she wore shabby, for Wimbledon clothes that she had previously worn.

Baby, subjected to DNA, results inspected, no DNA from Harry, rejected, not royal. Wolffish grin, LG has tightened things even further.

Font-farewell, NO LILY FONT!! Not a royal baby!

PG😊

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Sounds great! Thank you😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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49 notes

Jul 4th, 2019

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5.

MM ANON, PG INTERPRETATION

Buzz lightyear phrase was ‘to infinity and beyond ‘ sounds like he may have already been Christened.lily font was used? I am baffled.

Little Lord Fauntleroy is an old English story. Concise involves a scheming woman trying to take the place of nobility for money. Sound familiar? Also a young lad who is taken under the wing of a benefactor. I wonder if the Queen, due to Christian charity will be the benefactor for this poor child.

Photos already taken, grim, stoic faces by faces by POW and DOC. As per usual photos are black and white and Instagram style.

We might see an earlobe? 🤪

Mm will be asked to move back to America. But she doesn’t want anything to stop her current path ie TIRADE.

Give a little take a lot, she may agree to a move but take ££££££££££.

I get no sense of , adoption, if surrogate, whose egg? Who knows?

Think of this as you will, l can’t get more out of it. I am VERY saddened if the Lily font was used…..we may have to breathe and take some awful tasting medicine, metaphorically, as this continues.

My prayer of protection stands firmly. Let’s support one another, this is not just social media interest. This is the very foundation of all we have ever known. The Queen is on every piece of money, coinage, stamps etc etc.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you..interesting😁💜💜💜💜💜

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10 notes

Jul 6th, 2019

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6.

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON … Week Foundations contravene building good relationships,Controversy ahead. Air brushed into infant history, well worth the millions. Total blackout at fortresses frog shack. The slow chip of de-Nile unearth a river of exposures. Photos Don’t lie…… unless you suppress the truth. An old AGE issue comes to light,but quickly buried.

Week foundations………the separation of the ‘fab four’ foundation contravene, means prohibition of conduct of order, there are issues, with the new foundation, we have seen unusual things like who owns the copyright to SR, or trademark. Does week infer problems arising soon? Like in a week?? Controversy ahead, maybe to some already here!

Air brushed infant into history well worth the millions. Photos airbrushed? Seems others have said they notice more than just that. Millions?? Surely photographer wouldn’t charge millions, surrogate?? Or another??? Or others even?? I am being very careful with my wordage.

Total blackness at frog shack……no one living there, so that continues.

Slow chip of de-Nile unearths a river of exposure photos don’t lie…..Nile river. Are we back to Morocco and that part of the world? Will photos be unearthed, term used in archaeology, unearth, clear photos??? Unless they are suppressed….who knows at this point.

An old AGE issue, evidence of real age comes out but quickly hidden.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you..interesting😁💜💜💜💜💜

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30 notes

Jul 7th, 2019

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7.

MM ANON INTERPRETATION BY PG😊

MM Anon

MM ANON, Tangled up in BLUE ,films the southern district. Steering a path through double jeopardy will bring the scum to the surface. Immunity will be bought to bury embarrassment. Right … royally screwed Six ways from Sunday. A glossy editorial won’t hide past buried bodies. A safe full of secrets ‘and only one hidden kea

As l had submitted earlier the SDNY , Southern District New York is the largest and does the racketeering, organized crime, terrorism etc they are the elite in America. BLUE , old fashioned naughty films were called blue film….safely say any films they have are beyond the pale of naughty.

Slow solid case against JE has been built or is still to avoid double jeopardy with the case in Florida he got a slap on the wrist. I can’t believe this is involving mm…..this is much much MUCH worse than anything l had imagined

Immunity to avoid embarrassment….who gets immunity PA? I don’t know …

Right….royally screwed…someone Royal is in big trouble hence the of screwed, double entendre.

Six ways from Sunday….will something drop in six days from yesterday??

Big mm Vogue issue won’t hide things she has long long buried.bad things.

A safe full of secrets and only one kea…..kea is a bird in NZ…….major player in media is RM. That’s as big league as can get.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you��great job!😁💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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18 notes

Jul 8th, 2019

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8.

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON, not so much ‘Humbug humbug as Humbert humbert. Love labours “lost”. Who was REALLY Directing the “Traffic”. NO CAMERAS’ a spoonful of sugars help the medicine go down. All the Presidents men’ and women!!! “ “we’re going to need a bigger yacht!!” “Well whats the real benefits of being mega rich.” Are you serious!! ……………“I’m untouchable “.

The film , Lolita , is about a professor who rents a room for the summer. The landlady has a daughter about 12. The entire film, she tries to seduce the man but he has no eyes for her. He has developed a totally sick perverse sexual obsession for the child.

Loves labour’s “lost” we have had this BRF from MM ANON.

It is from Shakespearean play where three men decide not to take company of women for three years to pursue studies. It’s kind of a bet, like that Seinfeld episode but nothing about any of this is funny.

Who was REALLY directing Traffic? Steven Soderbergh directed the film. His films are in the realm of sex, violence etc. Interesting, he also directed the film Sex, Lies and Videotape. Who REALLY directed , another double entendre from MM ANON, is LG directing the media flow, ie traffic?

No cameras, no photos at Wimbledon, her sugars are still 100% moving, working all the machinations going on.

All the presidents men and women! Many are working and have been to come to this point in the Epstein case. Also title of the old film about the two newspaper journalists who broke the watergate mess. Does this mean politicians are involved and we have high up people seeking immunity, especially women, refer the article posted today here about the four women recruiters of underage girls. This is all so perverse!

Need a bigger boat in Jaws because the shark was much larger than they thought, here the word yacht is used, l take this to mean, this goes deeper involving more people than first thought.

Benefits., being untouchable. The ultra elite are narcissistic, remind you of anyone?, get anything and l MEAN ANYTHING they want. Seems one has now been called to answer for his crimes…many many untouchables are quaking.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you! Great job!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️

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18 notes

Jul 9th, 2019

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9.

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON,… universal media backlash tells diva “ stop digging. ‘A Royal demands………“protocol,protocol,protocol !! Blog parties at royal residence enthuse laughter and contempt. Future monarchy enjoys riding this CREST. … “No worries” she’s never unattended with sophisticated surveillance. The southern district likes a deeper, longer shade of orange. A Malt-Tease Falcon.

She has been mercilessly criticized in the media, diva to stop digging herself in deeply and deeper dislike from the public and most royals too!

Protocol…….her outfit and conduct at Wimbledon we’re atrocious, someone gave her the gears for it.

We have heard rumours that the royals gather bi-weekly to read the blogs. Sounds like some are laughing, as we predicted here, and one person, hmmm who could it be finds contempt in the blogs.

Future monarchy riding high in popularity, especially Catherine, don’t we love💜💜💜💜💜 our Cambridge family? CREST capitalized, the crest of an ocean wave or mountain either way you’re high up ie popular, well loved.

A reassurance that she is well under supervision and never a second alone with that baby, which by the looks of today , would be ghastly unsafe.

SDNY, still strongly inferring there is some criminal conduct that she may trad3 the khaki dress for orange jumpsuit. When? Yesterday, it was six ways from Sunday, l proposed it might be six days from Sunday who knows. But certainly sounding dire for her.

Maltese Falcon is my favourite old films, all sorts of intriguing, unsavoury, grifters trying to get their hands on a worthless statue of a falcon. Here it is MALT-TEASE. Besides the obvious grifter connection, is she drinking a lot of malt liquor and eating Malteasers? Lol

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Sounds great! Eating Malteasers!😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

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Jul 10th, 2019

———————-

10.

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON …a tentative return for a final privacy. Boxed in on all snides. An offer of “Blockbuster”proportions sends the greys apoplectic. A Frogumental resentment causes more stroppy headlines. Media throws caution an ill wind. (Brothers in arms’ …… around each other.…) LG will enjoy a Stepford trouble & strife. August is a wicked month

Tentative return….possible that she will attend the finals to watch SW, she wanted pricey…no photos, so this use of privacy is referring being at Wimbledon. Yikes where will she sit? Might she bring two dollies and Malteasers? Oh that’s mean, sorry, not sorry 😮😊 Boxed in on all snides, she may be in the royal box or not but lots of side-eyes and tsks tsks A’s took place last time, people too polite to boo, but this could happen people are so disgusted with her.

‘Blockbuster’ , don’t know if it still exists due to my own health situation but that was a rental of movies DVD etc. So if this inferring she can watch a video of Lion King versus walking the red carpet and attending?? Oh , madness, and madness intertwined, greys is this reference to her real hair colour, that’s too easy. Not sure .

Frogmental, play on words, Frogmore Cottage and mental, as in mental state, resentment and ensuing behaviour of her part will bring more horrible headlines. Bad PR, lets think even two weeks ago, did we fathom things would have steam rolled as they have??

Media throws caution an ill wind, brothers in arms. Previous MM ANON used the phrase six ways from Sunday, l proposed that possibly six days from last Sunday something might big happen. I take this that the media, all together, brothers 8n arms, will let loose all the information they have been sitting on for so long, and the combined media will be scathing. Let’s be ready to hear things, even we had not fathomed!

LG will enjoy Stepford trouble and strife. Step ford wife, from film and tv show, wealthy neighbourhood, each man married to gorgeous, perfectly dressed, obedient , no mind of her own due to being brain altered into a robotic. So LG Cheshire Cat grin at her behaviours and his long work dealing with this mess is nearing an end. The only way she could be royal, would be the Stepford way, which obviously isn’t possible nor wanted🤓. God bless our LG!

August is a wicked month, hey not that wicked my birthday is in August! The cover of the book is a photograph done by Lord Snowdon! Book by Edna O’Brien. Woman separated from her husband, city she dislikes, finds herself living in a city she hates - a place that denies her past and offers no hope for her future. Determined to change her life, she decides to go south in search of sun and companionship. Is this foreshadowing. Going South? Africa? When is justice coming?? We wait and see.

I am nowhere near being an emsi247 , 💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you! Very interesting!���❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Jul 11th, 2019

———————

11.

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON , sorry it’s so late

MM ANON …Rumours are not rumours. “ The facts ma’am just the facts”. “It is twice blessed”… “every breath you take,I’ll be watching you”. Tunnel vision gives an odious perspective. ‘You can take a girl out of the yacht’but you can’t ……………… “. Witness for the prosecution will be her downfall …Testis Hostili.

I haven’t had a chance to read the blog to see if anyone else tackled this but l will give it a go.

Rumours are not rumours. What we have been hearing and talking about for so long is true. Everything is fake, a lie, no pregnancy, no happy romance etc etc.

The fact ma’am just the facts. Remember Dragnet, the old police show, one office went on to be Colonel Potter on MASH but l digress. The interview technique he used was pen and paper and that was his tag line, just the facts, no opinions JUST FACTS!! THEY HAVE THE FACTS, On our humanitarian.

Every breath you take….is from a song by The Police, my fave back in the day, Sting was the sing..interesting juxtaposition of words title…THE POLICE ARE WATCHING HER 24/7/365!

Tunnel vision….if you only see one way it’s extremely unpleasant , however there is only one way this will end for her..

You can take a yacht girl…..based on old line, which in i essence means you are what you are, putting lipstick on a pig, sorry pigs, it’s still a pig, so even given the family she never had😕🤮, million and millions of bespoke Givenchy etc, she still what she is a grifter, a user, vile,.

Witness for the prosecution will be her downfall. Is the MA, JM? Who ? I expect witnesses plural!

Testis Hostili DNA DOES NOT LIE, NOT A ROYAL BABY CASE CLOSED INFINITY!!!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Looks great! Thank you!😁💜💜💜💜💜💜

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Jul 12th, 2019

:::::::

PG INTERPRETATION, PART I FORGOT

I forgot the twice blessed/blest. Another Shakespearean reference from The Merchant of Venice….what price is mercy….twice blest…meaning if you show mercy, the person shown mercy is blessed and the person showing mercy is also blessed. Sorry l forgot l am not feeling up to a lot today. GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

That’s ok….it’s just nice having you here with us….no worries!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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13 notes

Jul 12th, 2019

——————-

12.

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON,Shallow Celebrity over military duty . Beyond-ce a joke. A nations distain is bulging. An astute idiot, or needy boy? Extravagant American psycho is victimised. 🎼The circle of strife🎼 …🎼 “THEY” are the champions 🎼… A dose of EPS and salts won’t stop this sour Apple. Bel-morale will offer a reclusive distance. It’s a ROYAL knockout for a disenchanted duo.

Shallow celebrity over military duty.

Harry spent years in the military from 2000-2015 and served Operation Herrick in Afghanistan until he had to be removed quickly for the safety of the unit because someone wrote back home and out came the secret. People are wondering what happened, where did the Prince Harry go, the one that was so beloved appears to have become a shallow celebrity. Lots and lots of international sadness.

Beyond-ce a joke.

That yellow carpet appearance was pathetic, the body language from Bey and JayZ was iced! Neither posted this internet crashing, according to moi, event. A joke indeed! But not funny.

A nations distain is bulging.

Dare l say the Commonwealth is bulging was well. There is so much discontent, ever downright hate for lack of respect and the comment she made to Pharrell, ‘they make it hard’ exactly who is they? When it all comes out, exactly what has the grifter done in the past to make life hard for many many many!

An astute idiot or needy boy?

With rumours of Harry disappearing for 48 hours, along with everything else, the public is desperately trying to discern who Harry has become.

Music the circle of strife, THEY are the champions.

Circle of life, song from Lion King, Champions obviously QUEEN😁

Lots of trouble with mm his wife/strife, we had that in an earlier riddle. Is the Queen , the they she referenced, or the entire royal family and it’s system? The Firm, thank God for LG!

A does of EPS and salts won’t stop this sour Apple. Apple is referred to Americans, apple pie, big apple etc. A dose is medication, EPS in psychiatric meds, l worked in adult mental health services for 20 years so l know a wee bit about this😉. EPS are extra pyramidal side effects of some psych meds, tremor, shakiness , torticolis, etc. Is she on anti-psychotic meds?? Nothing is stopping her!

Bel-morale…. play on Balmoral, offer a reclusive distance, is this for the Queen, her family, or will mm be there to distance her??

It’s a ROYAL knockout for a disenchanted duo. Why is ROYAL all caps? Wrestling sometimes a royal rumble. Will someone need to be knocked out with medication?? Either way, this duo could not be more disenchanted. I hope the end is near. I really and truly fear for our dear Harry’s sanity.

Thank you so much! Great job!😁💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

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Jul 17th, 2019

———————

[fearlessswiftielaura13]

20 lessons I’ve learned before turning 20

According to my birth certificate, I’m turning 20 this year. Although some of the people I know would argue that I’m still five in my heart and others say I’m mature beyond my years. Who knows how old I really should be? Throughout the two decades, I’ve learned some very important things. These are far from all the things I need to know about life. When it comes to knowing how to do this very complicated task called living, I’m still a child that’s trying to walk and falling all over the place. And that’s okay. You live to learn, and you learn to live.

LESSON ONE: You more than likely won’t ever have everything figured out and it’s okay to not know. It’s okay to ask for help and there are no such things as stupid questions. You don’t need to be a know-it-all by 20, 30, 57, you don’t have to know (or pretend to know) everything even when you’re 80.

LESSON TWO: If you want a relationship…stop looking for a relationship. I know, I know. Sounds condescending. Throughout my teenage years I’ve had 10+ crushes and none of them turned into a relationship. The second I stopped trying, well, you all know what happened. That being said…

LESSON THREE: It is perfectly normal and okay to date or crush around when you’re a teenager. You don’t need to if you don’t want to, and I advise that you don’t deliberately try to, but it’s okay to have a new crush every two months. You are a teenager. Your hormones are complete and utter whack. You do you, boo, nobody can judge you.

LESSON FOUR: Not everyone is going to love you or even like you, no matter what you do. That is okay. It’s not your fault and you shouldn’t beat yourself up over it.

LESSON FIVE: It is never, NEVER too late to start doing something. I typed this lesson idea...at a gym. Yup. Finally decided to get my shit together, after 11 years of being as chubby as a teddy bear and only after my hip started screaming at me for not doing anything to keep fit. That brings me to…

LESSON SIX: It does not matter how skinny or chubby or whatever you are. Beauty is superficial. You can paint a new face on in an hour if you don’t like your current one. You can’t paint on a good personality though. Be good, damn it.

LESSON SEVEN: All that being said, don’t ever change anything about yourself because someone else told you to. The only person that has been and will always be with you is you. People change, love fades, friends leave. A troll on the internet told you to lose 10 kilos? You will more than likely never meet them again. Does it still seem relevant? Do it for yourself, not for a „shit, you got hot“. Or, better yet, say it to yourself. Every day. Because you are bomb af and I don’t give a shit what anyone else has to say.

LESSON EIGHT: You CAN love your studies. That’s right. You can love learning. All you have to do is do what YOU want to do. Not what mommy, daddy, granny said. I still get remarks about how I might not be able to do my job to the fullest because I can’t walk very long distances. Guess what, I’m still in university for journalism studies and nobody can’t force me to leave, even if they try. Because I want it. Because I chose to do it.

LESSON NINE: You. Can. Do. ANYTHING. I was never supposed to walk and guess what, look at me now. I couldn’t do math for sh*t, I despised it with all my heart and I still passed my math exam. I thought that I would never see Taylor Swift in real life. I. DID. And there are so many things that maybe I don’t think I could ever do as of right now, that I will do in five, ten, twenty years. Only because I don’t think about them as something I would even attempt yet.

LESSON TEN: What is meant to happen, will happen. Destiny is real. Yeah, we make the choices that we make, so you could say that our destiny is in our own hands, but I personally have encountered a very specific case of choice making that makes sense only in the long run. When you look at the specific choices that this person made separately and the circumstances of it all, it makes little to no sense. But now when I look back, I realize that it was all supposed to happen. Don’t kill your braincells over that failed math test (see, it haunts me, I have nightmares), it will be fine. Relax. Breathe. You’ll come out through the other side, most likely undamaged.

LESSON ELEVEN: Your hobbies matter. Your interests are not stupid. If it makes you happy and it does no harm to other people, do it. I had a dream for 10 years and it came true a year ago ONLY because I stuck with this curly headed blonde with a guitar for the last decade. I happy cried for weeks leading up to and after that one. I found friends for life because of fandoms and I love it. There’s a chance of me working as an entertainment journalist, all because I love concerts so damn much.

LESSON TWELVE: Stand for what you believe in. Always. If we all stop standing up for the minorities and unpopular opinions, many people will suffer. It is our responsibility, as people to stand up for the weaker. You have voice for a reason. Use it, speak on what you care about. The worst that could happen is people disagreeing with you. After all, those that disagree and have their arguments, lead to a discussion and discussions are good and those who just yell for the sake of being loud…do they really matter?

LESSON THIRTEEN: This is a really big one. You live once. So live the only life that you’re given to the fullest and you better have something to tell your grandchildren. I pretty much broke the door of Siemens arena trying to get front row at the Bastille gig when I was 16 years old and I don’t regret it. My idol drove me home from his own concert, ONLY because of a joke that one of my friends that was there spoke with her own mouth. I got to see the reality of one of the biggest star’s in Lithuania job and hear an unreleased track that later became a huge hit only because we went ahead and did something absolutely psychotic. I packed my bags and flew to London two days after my last exam just because there could’ve never been another chance. I grabbed the last ticket to a gig in the ENTIRE STADIUM only because I decided that I want it. Do it. Just make sure it’s legal so you don’t get in actual trouble.

LESSON FOURTEEN: You will have to kiss a lot of frogs before you know who your real friends are. Things and people change over time, you may become distant with someone you never thought you’d become distant with. Yeah, you thought you’d be friends forever, I get it. I know it’s hard to grasp. But honey, life happens and that’s okay. Someone you loved with all of your heart may do you so dirty that you’ll never want to see them again. You have every right to do so.

LESSON FIFTEEN: Your views will change over time. Be it political stance, ethical shift, anything. As long as that change happens based on research, learning and growth, I see it as something that should be encouraged and celebrated. Do your research. Educate yourself. Learn something new every day.

LESSON SIXTEEN: Be interested in politics. Vote. You’ll more than likely will live in a country you’re in at least for the next few years. I say, the future should be important to every citizen of every country. Put your input into saving the planet. If you have kids someday, they will live in the world we create now.

LESSON SEVENTEEN: Resist the urge to fight hate with hate. You will not always agree with people. People will not always agree with you. That doesn’t mean you should fight with someone who is hating on something you believe in. They will learn someday, if they want to learn. The truth is, they most likely don’t, and you trying to school them won’t really change much.

LESSON EIGHTEEN: Dream! Dream huge, dream impossible. Have ambitions larger than life itself. And never, you hear me, never let other people’s opinions knock you down. If you work hard enough, you can achieve anything you want, regardless of what anyone else has to say (refer to lesson number nine). That being said, see you at BBC World in 15 years. Or if I stay here, LRT. We’ll see, I don’t know that much about my future yet. The only thing I know is that nothing can stop me from going hard or going home.

LESSON NINETEEN: You do not have to fit into a mold. You are human, not a piece of clay. You like Disney? Cool! K-pop? Great! You’re a metalhead and you would dress all black in the summer if you had enough of black clothes? Awesome! What if you are all of those things and also a feminist animal right activist who loves pop music and writing? Congratulations, you are just like me. Let’s be friends and leave people confizzled together.

LESSON TWENTY: You are NEVER too old for Disney. That’s it. That’s the lesson. You are never too old for some Disney magic. Here, let me sprinkle some pixie dust on you. Done. You will now have a great day.

P.S. An additional lesson: never, I repeat, NEVER trust @taylorswift. She is always on to something.

[phylophe]

Quotable Quotes and Memorable Moments

“From NVMN (& co.) in The Harrowing:

Character: Mikyur / Player: Laz @lazzuderp

Character: Neith / Player: Kiyo @waffuruki​

Character: Nergui / Player: Deej @djkalis​

Character: Velis / Player: Kimi @kimlime-pie​

GM and all mentioned NPCs: Yours Truly

In approximate chronological order: 

Quotes

Neith, all the time: “It’s good craftsmanship.” (Also Neith, at one particular moment: “I guess you can say... it’s good cardsmanship.”)

Velis, at the start: “I am a librarian.” Neith and Mikyur, every chance they get: “Aren’t you a libraaarian?” “Shouldn’t you know about that, Mr. Libraaarian?”

Mikyur, oftentimes: “Here comes INSPI-YAAAAAHHH COURAAAAAAAGE!!!”

Brambleson: “I’m Brambleson. Who are you?” Mikyur: “Mikyur!” Neith: “Neith.” Velis: “I’m Velis.” Nergui: “Peter.”

Brambleson: “I got there late though, so I only got to eat [Sonnorae’s] feetsies...” The Party: “.........” *silent horror*

Neith: “Hey Brambleson, you wanna try some of this?” *holds out infinite hipflask of mead* Brambleson: “Ooohhh...” *opens his mouth and tilts head up* Neith: “...” *pours some directly into his mouth*  Brambleson: “OOOH it makes me tingly! I like it!”  *later, upon a separate encounter* Brambleson to Neith: “You got more of that drink?” 

*Going to Barrow Island*  Nergui: *flies over* Neith: *climbs the steep slippery banks with cat-like reflexes* Velis: *slips all over the mud, barely managing to scramble up to the top of the banks, his invisibility ruined as he is now covered in mud* Mikyur: *critically fails to climb the banks, slips and almost slides under the end of the drawbridge into the water*

Barrow King: “Are you here to mourn?” Nergui, with zero hesitation: “NO.” The rest of the party: “WHYYYYYY.” GM: “Roll initiative.” 

Velis: *shows that he can fight, sneak attack, inflict bleed damage, use poison, go invisible, etc.* Neith: “What kind of a librarian fights like that?” Velis: “Well, being a librarian isn’t my only job--” Nergui: “Are you a bandit?” Velis: “No, I’m n--” Nergui: “It’s okay to be a bandit.”

Mikyur: *wanders off in the Prophet’s Garden* Velis: *throws a rock at him to get his attention, dealing maximum damage* Mikyur: “OWW WHY DID YOU THROW ROCKS AT ME???!!!” *flips his shit and throws rocks back at Velis, missing three times before giving up and sulking* 

Sonnorae: *gets baleful polymorphed into a frog, still clings stubbornly to Mikyur’s face* Everyone else: *tries to pull her off with no success* Mikyur, with tears in his eyes: “Guys, guys! Just stop!”

Sonnorae: *screaming way too much and too shrilly as a frog* Nergui: “Do you want me to turn her into something quieter...” Mikyur, getting a lightbulb moment: “Can you turn her into... a mole?” Nergui, clicking his fingers: “Done.” Sonnorae: *turns into a golden mole*

Mikyur and Laz: *literally cries*

Neith: *finds some drawers hidden in the walls of the Nightpeddler’s machine room*  Kiyo: “I open a drawer.” GM: “You hear *demented shrill moaning and crying* and see this.”

Kiyo: “I slam the drawer close.” 

Nergui: *casts Blood Biography on blood and gore on a bed* “...These are birthing fluids.”  Velis: *recoils in visible disgust* Nergui: *holds his soiled finger out towards Velis* Velis: “Touch me and you’ll lose that finger, boy.” 

Nergui: “You know how... clerics get powers from their deities? Well, I have my own, lesser-known god, and I get my powers from him or her.” Neith, without missing a beat: “So you’re a swamp cleric.”

*After the Eclipse event* Neith: “We destroyed the moon.” Neith: Neith: “Now there’ll be no night.”

Anyone other than Deej, after an enemy dies: “hOW diD yOu DiE?” [see Actually Dramatic Moments]

Neith, as Eleith and Nergui speak Auran to one another: “Get a room!”

Neith, holder of multiple extradimensional items, after learning about the consequences of putting one bag of holding into another: “...Oh.”

Mikyur, looming over Jocob’s shoulder: “Do you have any insects?” Jocob: “Uh, I have this--” *pulls out a dried dragonfly in a jar* Mikyur: *snatches it*

Mikyur, looming again: “Do you have peanuts?” Jocob: “I have boiled peanuts--” Mikyur: “Don’t want it. I want roasted peanuts.” 

Velis: *seriously considers how to most brutally sabotage the Nightpeddler’s wares* Velis: *sees caged cockatrice chicks amongst his wares* Velis: 

Mikyur: *shoots a lightning-charged bolt from between Rogg’s legs, hitting an Ogre Guard in the thigh, while the lightning travels to zap the ogre’s testicles* Brambleson, watching all this up close: *covers his own testicles* 

Everyone: *watches Eleith tear the succubi apart brutally*  Algon: “I hope no-one is enjoying this.”  Brambleson: *pulls his ears down* 

Mikyur, after misunderstanding Essessol’s insult to Agrasug as directed at him, moving to a spot outside of the line of fire, Messages Essessol: “Stupid bitch!”

GM: “Algon uses Smite Evil! ...How does Smite work again--” Kiyo, instantly: “I FUCKING KNEW IT!”

Neith, from inside a blue gem: “Hey Velis you look kinda blue.”  Velis: *internal panic, checks that he still has his disguise of human skin colour over his blue tielfling skin* 

Nergui, after a battle with shadow demons involving Magic Jars: “That wasn't too bad.” Mikyur, with smugshit face, having called it: “Uh-huh, having your soul sucked out of your body seems pretty bad to me.” Nergui: *closes the door between himself and Mikyur* Mikyur: *bars the door from the other side*

Mikyur: “What did I telllll you, huuuhhhhhh? Oh iT’s NOt A cULt, aSmODeuS dOESn’T Do CuLTs-- *continued unintelligible petty ranting*”

Velis: “There you are. I was about to find some rocks to throw at you again.” Mikyur: “Well I don't need to find rocks, I'll just have Rogg throw some at you!”  

GM: “Are you going to bring Eleith?” Deej: “Uh, no.” Neith to Nergui: “Gonna leave your girlfriend behind?” Ongaur to Nergui: “You got a girlfriend? Congratulations, boy!”

Zassrion: *roars in rage as the party enters his Grand Library* Neith, in Draconic: “FUCK YOU!”

All players: “Sonnobitch.”  All players: “Brambleboi.” All players: “Algon will be all-gone.” All players: “Ongaur Bongaur.” “Uncle Ongaur.”  All players: *ships Algon x Barrow King*

Clown Shoes Moments

Nergui buying forty full-sized pretzels and stuffing them all into his bag of holding. Bonus: Neith actually witnessing such act. 

Mikyur continuously failing to recall the details of his conversation with Rumul, the young Dwarven wizard, from two years ago.

Neith being in constant denial of magic. Everything is just “good craftsmanship”. 

Velis piling on lie after lie about his identity and putting in massive effort for his disguise, while the party remains suspicious the entire time and just don’t bother questioning him.

Nergui sucking at conferring information from his divination, often causing unnecessary panic or leaving out vital details.

Nergui eating nothing but pretzels (and the occasional frog or grub) for almost the entire duration of a week in the Harrowed Realm, and using pretzels to barter with Brambleson and Embor. 

Mikyur obsessing about seeing a Unicorn over the course of several sessions after seeing it on a card; by the time he actually gets to it, he becomes distracted by a pear tree instead.

Sonnorae --> Sonnobitch --> Sonnofrog --> Sonnomole

Nergui getting distracted by a frog while helping the others lift the healing berry plant out of the ground, and proceeding to literally drop everything to pounce on the frog.

Nergui accidentally putting the healing berry plant into a teapot with Tokens in them, and having to dig them back out discreetly.

Neith and Nergui trying to hastily restore Marzalee’s wax statues that they had broken on their way in, getting it all wrong (limbs on backwards, in the wrong places, extra/missing parts) in their panic.

The party really knowing how to make comfy camps.

Velis working out a way with Neith to store all the books he wants to take with him. It involves holding fees.

Velis trying and failing to set anything on fire at the Nightpeddler’s Camp.

Mikyur and Velis freaking out over cockatrice chicks.

Velis getting very fixated upon an expensive rug in the Nightpeddler’s tent.

Mikyur getting actually triggered by 1. Balimar’s fireball, 2. Nergui setting the Fortress’ Courtyard plants on fire, 3. Lamashtu’s statuette, and 4. the thought of cultists.

Brambleson having front row seats for multiple Striding Fortress fights, simultaneously being completely in the way.

Algon and the Barrow King always stepping past / beside / over one another. [Hence shipping.]

Neith and Mikyur literally bathing in the pile of coins.

Actually Cool Moments

Neith bursting through the tent of the Midnight Circus most dramatically, getting an intimidating jump on Bernaditi. 

Neith and her gun-fu.

Mikyur placating the Barrow King and the Grasping Dead by way of a critical hit with his lightning-charged crossbow, causing the electricity to radiate over the ground, eventually also winning the Barrow King’s favour and receiving his blessing.

The party, especially Velis, unanimously getting sick of the Unicorn’s condescending shit and deciding to murder him.

The party giving Algon an existential crisis, eventually leading to an alignment change.

Velis having just the right thing (Ticktock Man’s eyes) to trade Marzalee for her token.

Mikyur narrowly surviving Balimar’s fireball.

Nergui dominating Balio, giving him a sickle to kill himself. Balio, in rabid fury, swats away the sickle, and tears his own throat open. (Nergui, being spiteful, uses Blood Biography on him, asking him “How did you die?” to rewatch the violent death.)

Nergui straight up cutting the gangrene out of a sick slave’s leg with a dagger and no anaesthesia.

Eleith slowly tearing several succubi limb from limb, while everyone else watches on and offers the occasional ranged attack to help end the poor succubi’s misery.

Neith and Nergui succumbing to Magic Jar; their bodies overtaken by shadow demons, their eyes opening to black voids and bleeding smoky tendrils.

Nergui erecting a Blast Barrier just in time to block Zassrion’s lightning breath directed at Neith and himself.

Ongaur hacking Zassrion apart, and Algon somehow dealing the killing blow despite having lost his powers, rewriting his fate in the most dramatic way.

And finally, something memorable, funny, and awesome all at once...

The party making allies along the way, increasing the group to almost three times its initial size, and bringing a whole village to kill Zassrion in 24 seconds.

[ignitingwriting]

Igniting Writing Bingo Challenge 2020, Submission by Adam Kim

Sporting Chance

 Good afternoon from Lisbon and it is the first game of the knockout stage, where Belgium are playing France. Both teams are about to play a football game. Wow, what a kit the Belgian players are wearing!

Right, kick off. France start with the ball. I think I had those trainers when I was a young boy. Nikes those are. Ladies and gentlemen let us give a special mention to the French hairstyles. Just look at those curls on number 17. Oh, and the score is now 2-1 to Belgium. Ugh, my coffee has too much sugar; I better go make a new one.

I am back and it seems to be halftime. Oh, France have taken a lead. I mean Belgium, 4-2. The teams are back and oh it seems as they forgot to sing the national anthem. Personally I have a feeling Portugal is going to win. Number 10 has the ball and oh Number 17 has tripped him up. He better apologise quickly. Why is there a red card I didn’t know we used colourful cards in tennis – I mean football. The score is 72-56. Oh, hang on, that is just the timer, score 5-5.

80 minutes and it is the end of the match. No one will be eliminated. We still have 10 minutes? Nice afro from No 13. He shoots and misses. Oh, it is a goal.

6-5 to France. It is the end of the match and France is crying. Strange way to celebrate winning. It is the end of the road for Belgium. They must head back to Paris in Belgium. Hey Belgium won? Sorry ladies and gentlemen, France must head back to Brussels in France. Goodnight.

Alphabetti Spaghetti

 “Are you busy Granny?”

“Busier than ever.”

“Could you give me lunch?”

“Do you know what you want to eat?”

“Eggs.”

“Fried, scrambled or boiled eggs?”

“Granny I only like boiled eggs”

“How about I cook it in half an hour, because tennis is starting soon?”

“It’s already 3:30.”

“John, can you wait until dinner?

”Killing me is what you are doing; you are starving me.”

“Lick a lollipop in the meantime.”

“My music class starts soon, so feed me and bring me there.”

“No.”

“Of course you won’t, so let’s change the subject.”

“Please tell me what music notes you play in your class.”

“Quaver and semibreve.”

“Run and get your instrument, we are going to class.”

“Silly Granny; I always leave it at my class.”

“Take your coat, as it is raining outside.”

“Umbrellas are needed too.”

“Violin is my favourite instrument.”

“Well, I don’t play violin I play the xylophone.”

“Xylophone is what you play?”

“Yes.”

“Zealous is what you are to play an instrument so boring.”

Horror Scope

 Aries: Your life has had its ups and downs but from now on the downs will reflect on you with your goodness washed with regret.

Taurus: Your fury will rip you into shreds of emotion and hate. With death glaring at you, you are trapped in a tornado of hate.

Gemini: Your skills are frowned upon by others and the fact you think life is a game trips you up like pebbles of sin.

Cancer: Your practicality leads you into places unknown whereas irresponsibility brings good.

Leo: Your pride turns people’s souls into jealousy. You juggle good and evil into a pool of uncertainty.

Virgo: You will live life without enjoyment or excitement due to your cold dark cellar of tears.

Libra: People find you strangely attractive on the outside but on the inside you hide your fear.

Scorpio: Your popularity comes with a price of sadness and fear leaving you a hollow person.

Capricorn: You only care for those who care about you as your plans to become popular need to have a backup plan.

Aquarius: Your smart ideas crush the souls of others in a duel of temptation and jealousy. Taking over is impossible for you.

Pisces: You feel free but a watchful eye surrounds you permanently.

Sagittarius: Your care is taken as a good deed but deep inside you know how people feel about you.

Urban Legend

 I live in the haunted town of Trickle. At least that’s what I’m told. I moved in two weeks ago. The house is in the middle of a forest. It looked abandoned and was the only one in the forest.

Three days later my parents took me to the market place. They gave me £5 and let me go to the sweet stall. On my way there, a man grabbed me and pulled me into an alleyway.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” he said. “Well, let me tell you the tale of the Grethelsmite.”

Then he told me a story. Once, 36 years ago, five children sneaked into the forest and barged into the house. They smashed the windows and ripped the carpet. As they were heading out they noticed a basement. Foolishly, they went inside. When they were all inside the door suddenly shut and locked. They took no notice until it came. All was silent when one child screamed. He was gone – another desperately tried to open the door but a shadow appeared to her and she fell down the stairs, dead. One boy picked the lock and escaped leaving the others trapped. The ceiling collapsed on them and they couldn’t escape. The boy headed to the police and reported it but they ignored him.

That night a shadowed figure approached him.

“Hello young one. I am the Grethelsmite and I have come to take you away. Due to your actions every child in this village will pay.”

The boy never returned. Now, every full moon he takes one child away. The monster lives in the basement and takes all inhabitants away.

Overreaction

 I remember that day. It was a summer morning. It was boiling hot and I was so excited to watch Space Cruiser 2 in 4D. Unfortunately, I was too distracted that I put on ODD SOCKS!

It was when I stepped out the house with Colin that I realised it. It was too late. The door was locked! As I got into town my feet started to become itchy, very itchy. Every step, it got worse and worse. It was so unbearable I couldn’t walk. I stood at the popcorn machine frozen. Were they staring at me? They certainly were. Oh how humiliating. We sat in the front row and put our 3D glasses on. The trailers played. Hang on, I didn’t know Sock Wars: Episode VIII Rise of the Sock was a movie. The movie played. No one seemed to pay attention. Were they distracted by my socks?  

We went to a fancy restaurant called La Sock de Odd and waited to be served. When the waiter asked for my order I accidently blurted out, “Sock fried chicken” instead of southern fried chicken. I put it in my mouth and tasted sock, plain sweaty sock.

I headed home my feet tight and sweaty. I never really knew what socks I was wearing until I took my shoes off and I was wearing a green Kermit the Frog sock on my left and a blue one on the other. How embarrassing.

Recipe for Disaster

Starter: Cheddar, Custard, Mustard, Pigeon and Broccoli Soup

 Ingredients:

225g grated cheddar

35ml mustard

2 heads of broccoli

5 pigeon fillets

300ml custard

 Method:

Melt the cheddar and whisk with mustard and custard until creamy.

Soak the pigeon in water and mash into broccoli.

Mix the liquids until thin.

 Main: Eggshell Crunchy Penne Pasta with Pomegranate and Beetle Sauce

 Ingredients:

5 eggs

500g penne pasta

1 pomegranate

10 beetles

 Method:

Crack the eggs, removing the yolk.

Place the whites inside a bowl.

Crush up the beetles, pomegranate and incorporate them to the egg whites.

Boil the pasta for 39 minutes and then, after ten minutes of cooling, pour in the sauce.

Crush the egg shells and sprinkle over pasta as a garnish.

 Dessert: Ant Egg Cookies with Watermelon and Red Onion Icing

 Ingredients:

35 ant eggs

2 watermelons

178g plain flour

23ml skimmed milk

2 red onions

 Method:

Blend the ant eggs and flour together.

Pour the milk into the mixture.

Split it into 14 bits and place on tin foil.

Bake for 90 minutes.

Meanwhile peel the onion and watermelon and blend the skin.

Squeeze the juices into the mixture with the watermelon seeds and blend for 30 minutes.

Scoop onto the cookies and cool for 30 seconds.

 Drink: Brown, furry, mashed potato fizz

 Ingredients:

1l fish urine

500ml ketchup

600ml black food colouring

400ml carbonated water

500g squirrel fur

 Method:

Whisk the ketchup, fish urine and food colouring together.

Pour into the water.

Sprinkle with squirrel fur.

[mogdaze-blog]

Midnight Rendezvous - Short Story for Halloween

It’s hard to make a good living as an actor. Unless you’re an A-lister, chances are you’ve probably got a second job on the side to make ends meet while you try to live out your dreams. That used to be me, too: a plucky little kid eager to take on any role he could get. I was more than willing to bust my ass in the meantime if it meant getting to do what I love, knowing that all the long hours and back-breaking work would be worth it in the end. When I got my big break.

Life has done a great job of beating that enthusiasm out of me since then.

Now, I’m a graphic designer. The work is interesting, don’t get me wrong, and it puts bread on the table, but it was never my real passion. Ever since I was a little kid, all I ever wanted to do was play pretend, and it’d been my greatest goal since then to do it professionally - even though I hadn’t scored a real acting job since the Nineties.

That’s why, when in mid-October I was contacted by my old agent, Sean Harrell, for the first time in a decade, I didn’t hesitate to pick up the phone.

“Travis! You son of a bitch, you!” He said in the cheerful, endearing way only a talent agent could get away with calling someone a son of a bitch, “shit, what’s it been, eight years? God, it’s crazy how time flies.”

“What do you want, Sean? I didn’t even know I still had you on retainer.”

“Once your agent, always your agent, baby,” he said with a laugh, “if you’re wondering why I’m so chipper, it’s because I just got handed a big, juicy opportunity for you, my man.”

The last alleged “big, juicy opportunity” Sean had gotten me was a commercial for breath spray running on a few major networks back in the day. I couldn’t get a date for a few weeks afterwards, thanks to my newfound reputation as “Man With Halitosis Number 3.” Sean was one gift horse who was occasionally filled with bloodthirsty Trojan soldiers, so I’d learned to look at his offers with a healthy sense of scepticism.

“What’s this big opportunity?”

“You’ve been offered a guest spot on a major talk show,” he said, giddy as a kid on Christmas morning, “I’ve been speaking to the reps all morning, they’re practically begging to have you on.”

I scoffed and shook my head, though I knew Sean couldn’t see it. Even when I was acting, it was cult stuff - B-movies and little indie films where the work was varied but the pay was crap; none of them ever broke out of the indie circuit and made it big. In short, it was all nothing that Conan O'Brien or Jimmy Fallon would give two shits about.

“What talk show is this?” I asked.

“Midnight Rendezvous, with Julie Forrester. It goes out live to a few million people every week.”

“Never heard of it.”

“That’s funny,” he said, “because the reps told me that if I mentioned the name, you’d know it immediately.”

“Well,” I said, feeling irritated, “I guess they’ve got the wrong guy. Why would they want me, anyway? I don’t even act anymore, it’s not like I’ve got anything to promote.”

“Apparently,” Sean said, speaking uncharacteristically slowly, as though trying to choose his words extra carefully, “don’t get mad, but they want to talk about The Red Weekend.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured you’d say that. They’re recording on the 31st.”

“Halloween? Oh, for fuck’s sakes, Sean. Could it get any tackier? Look, if they call again, tell them I don’t wanna talk about that stupid movie, and if that doesn’t get them to shut up, tell them they can take their offer, and shove it up their–”

“The pay, Travis. Let me tell you about the pay before you get all…heated.”

“What are they offering?” I grumbled.

“Fifteen thousand, for just a couple of hours on set. Still feeling crabby, Trav?”

Yes, I was, but I didn’t feel I could show it. Fifteen thousand for a few hours sitting on a couch in a studio, being asked questions about some stupid B-movie I starred in when I was in my twenties, seemed like a deal only a proud idiot would turn down. I may have been proud, perhaps unreasonably so, but I was no idiot.

“You sure these guys are legit?” I asked, not wanting to say yes right after hearing the number, “they’re not just gonna lure me out to some vacant lot, beat me over the head, and harvest my organs?”

Sean groaned into the phone. It was like we’d never stopped speaking. Truth be told, I’d missed the slimy bastard. At least he gave it all to you straight. When you spoke to Sean Harrell, you knew what you were in for.

“Look, Travis, there’s no way to ever really be sure they’re not organ traffickers - hell, I’m sure Kimmel fenced a kidney or two when he was starting out - but I can give you at least a strong 80% certainty that these guys are the real deal,” he said, “I spoke to the host for a little while, uh, Julie! She seems nice, you know, a personality. I’m sure you two will get along just fine.”

“You said the exact same thing about that Fairweather woman, but that fell through, too. How do I know this is gonna be any different to that?”

“Oh, come on, Trav, that’s not fair. You know the Fairweather thing couldn’t be helped. Besides, it was ten years ago. This? This is now, and now I’ve got this offer on the table for you and you only. Do you think I would have called if I thought this was just gonna be bullshit? Hell no. So, what’ll it be, buddy, you in or you out?”

I gave a reluctant sigh, before finally saying, “fuck it, why not. Sign me up.”

“Great! I’m so glad you said that, Travis, because truth be told I’d already said yes on your behalf.”

“Jesus Christ, Sean.”

“What? It’s my job to make decisions in the best interests of your career, even if you don’t. I’ll keep in touch and feed you the details in the next couple days. It’s shaping up to be a real happy Halloween, Mr. Norton.”

“Don’t push it. Speak to you later, Sean.”

“Later.”

He hung up after that, and I was left with nothing but silence and my thoughts.

The Red Weekend. It’d been a while since I’d heard that name, and that was no accident. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that it was the movie that destroyed my credibility, and my acting career, so just thinking about it made my blood boil. Plot-wise, it was nothing special. Just a derivative 1985 monster movie cashing in on the slasher formula that was so popular at the time, with a few stolen shades of “Creature from The Black Lagoon.” A bunch of hapless teenagers decided to spend a weekend in a cabin on the edge of a lake, only to have their fun spoiled by a creature rising up and slaughtering all of them except one - who then goes on to turn the tables and slay the monster, avenging the fallen. Simple, cheap, and cheesy.

I played the creature from the lake, affectionately dubbed by the cast, crew, and all five-or-so fans of the movie as “The Bog Man.” If I took the role today (which, by the way, I wouldn’t) I’d have gone uncredited and collected my pay check, before moving on with my life. But I was star-struck, by the one person on the production team with what you might call genuine prestige.

Richard Upton Pavlović, the most iconic special effects artist you’ve never heard of. All the greats - Savini, Baker, Rambaldi, and a laundry list of others - all studied under Pavlović at one time or another, since he immigrated from Croatia in the forties. But he was a famously private man: nobody outside the business had ever heard of him; he was one of B-cinema’s best kept secrets. While the number of special effects artists who’d studied under him was vast, he only chose to work on a handful of different films personally: one of which, for reasons I doubt I’ll ever understand, was The Red Weekend.

The reason I took the role, and the reason I chose to be credited, was that in playing The Bog Man I’d be working one-on-one with Pavlović in the makeup room. It was my only chance to really interact with a living legend, before his death from a sudden heart attack back in 2007. Pavlović was a man with extraordinary vision. His one condition for working on a project was full creative control over creature designs, because he needed to be unstifled to truly work his magic. And it was magic: he could string together blood and gore with the best of them, sure, but when it came to monster design, Pavlović was the master.

When I met him in person for the first time, in a makeup trailer during a bitterly cold day in September, I was surprised by how small he was. Pavlović was a squat, wiry man with a silver horseshoe of hair and thick half-moon spectacles, looking like a cartoon shrew from a mid-30s Disney short. His design for The Bog Man was assembled in a thick stack of papers he carried in the crook of his arm, and started pinning around the makeup chair I was sitting on.

“Have you been under heavy prosthetics before?” He asked, with a soft, frail voice that still carried the echoes of a Croatian accent.

“No,” I said, “but I’m open to new experiences.”

Pavlović gave a quiet, good-hearted chuckle at my naïveté and continued pinning up his pictures. They were all hand-drawn pencil illustrations, some of parts of the creature, others of the entire thing. It was a huge amphibian, a little bigger than a human, with features somewhere between an axolotl and a triceratops, with the addition of a long, whipping tail. It was a hunched, slimy, pot-bellied creature with green skin and long arms ending in six thick claws. There was a strangely childlike nature to its head: wide and flat, largely smooth and featureless, with beady black eyes and three horns sprouting from either side of its head. In the illustrations with its mouth closed, it seemed more like a frog, with its lipless gob stretching from one set of horns to the other. When the mouth was open, it reminded me more of a shark, with multiple rows of switchblade fangs.

“What is this thing? I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“It is Rugoba,” Pavlović replied, gravely, “haunter of shadows, devourer of man.”

“Did you draw all these yourself?” I asked, “the detail is incredible.”

“Some I drew, yes,” he said, unpacking his equipment now, “others I inherited, from family members back in the old country. Creatures in the movies these days, they’re too tacky, too homogenised. I like to draw inspiration from older sources. It looks better, don’t you agree?”

I nodded in agreement, not knowing what else to do.

What followed was nothing short of gruelling. Seven hours in the makeup chair every morning and every night, and layer after layer of paint, putty, latex, slime, and false skin was packed onto me, until I felt like I’d been shrink-wrapped. Pavlović was a perfectionist, and I can’t imagine anyone ever felt that better than me. The head was a mixture of latex and animatronics that I wore like a helmet, with extremely limited visibility. My hands and feet were bound and fitted with claws, and a multi-jointed wire wrapped in latex became my whipping tail, that moved of its own accord.

For all the layers they’d packed onto me, it didn’t do anything to insulate. During the shoot - a lot of which I spent emerging from water and chasing down drunk, horny morons - it was a miracle I never came down with hypothermia. Day after day after day in Pavlović’s makeup chamber of horrors, all for a film I knew nobody was going to see. It was only when I got the chance to see the first proper cut of the film that I started to truly understand all the mythos behind Pavlović’s supposed mad genius: when I watched the film, waiting to see myself in a hokey monster costume, prancing through the woods, I never got what I wanted. When I was on screen, there was no recognising me, because I was not there. It was only the Rugoba, as if it’d been ripped straight from Pavlović’s nightmares and spat onto the screen, hunting its prey.

I remembered performing all the actions I’d see on screen, but I couldn’t - no matter how hard I tried - see myself doing it. Pavlović had turned me into his monster, and he’d done it flawlessly. The movie, as anticipated, was hot garbage, with plotting and characters as thin as wet toilet paper, unbearable dialogue, and thoroughly incompetent cinematography. But the Rugoba? That, I think I can say without a doubt, was the greatest, most realistic monster to ever grace the silver screen.

However, there was another element of the Pavlović legend which made him a little less desirable to work with. Actors, in one regard, are a lot like football players: they’re a superstitious bunch. The little superstition that Richard Pavlović carried around his neck was that he was cursed: any film he chose to work on was doomed to fail, and if you were unlucky, that failure would spread its tendrils out to the cast and crew as well.

Ian Barker, one of my co-stars, once told me in confidence that he felt the whole production just reeked of doom to him, like some invisible axe was hanging over all of our heads, just waiting for the right moment to drop. Thanks to being in full Rugoba makeup for almost my entire time on set, not many of the cast interacted with me - I was the amphibian social leper - but Ian was different. He was at least someone I felt like I could talk to, even if most of what we discussed was Pavlović’s curse.

To me, it was all stupid, baseless hokum, but towards the end of the shoot, I started getting worried. Maybe it was the fear that rattled me, but after The Red Weekend, I never nailed another audition: not for movies, not for TV, not for Broadway. Sean netted me a few commercials after that, but for all intents and purposes, my serious acting career was kaput. Looking back, I probably never had the nerve for stardom anyway, but just thinking about that movie had the power to leave a sour taste in my mouth.

And this Julie Forrester wanted me to talk about it on live TV. Part of me, honestly, was afraid of what I’d say, under pressure, and under the intensity of all those studio lights. My best guess for what they were trying to do was a Halloween retrospective on the life and work of Richard Pavlović, monster movie maestro, and seeing as I was the last actor to officially work with him, my experiences held some weight.

In the end, if I could take home fifteen grand for a talk show appearance a couple decades after my fifteen minutes of mild fame were up, who was I to complain?

Sean got back to me a few days later, saying a chauffeur paid by the studio would be taking me from my bungalow on the edge of L.A. to the studio. It all felt a little much, considering my credentials, but Sean just encouraged me to put my feet up and enjoy it. After all, I didn’t know when I’d get another experience like this, if I ever did. Might as well soak it in while I still could.

It was about eight at night, and trick-or-treaters were already prowling the streets, when a black BMW parked in front of my home and dimmed the lights. It felt less like a talk show valet and more like a mafia hitman, but I walked up to the car nonetheless, and the driver rolled down the window. It was a woman who looked to be in her mid-forties, wearing a classic chauffeur hat and a wide, inviting grin.

“You Travis Norton?” She asked.

I nodded.

“Hop on in, Sir. I’m Mary, I’m gonna drive you down to the studio.”

The car was comfortable, and there was a small bottle of champagne in a little icebox on the seat next to me, with a smiling jack-o-lantern painted onto it. The temptation was there, but I didn’t touch it - probably wasn’t wise to get loaded before a TV interview. Once I was belted up, Mary fired up the ignition and drove.

“Everything okay back there, Mr. Norton?” Mary said.

“Oh yeah,” I replied, “it’s wonderful. I feel bad for making you come out, I could have driven down myself.”

Mary laughed to herself in the front seat.

“Nonsense, Mr. Norton,” she said, “I’m honoured to have you in my car. I never thought that I’d be in the company of the star of The Red Weekend. If it’s not too unprofessional of me to ask, would I be able to have your autograph when we arrive? I’d just like to show my kids.”

“You let your kids watch The Red Weekend?” I asked, remembering its plethora of gory death scenes.

“Are you kidding?” Mary said with another hearty laugh, “it’s their favourite movie. They’re crazy for it.”

For the rest of the journey, I remained largely silent. Mary seemed nice at face value, but the more you spoke to her, the more you realised something was off about her. But it wasn’t just Mary that was a little odd: the car, upon closer, more sustained inspection, was strange too. The back windows were so tinted you could barely see out of them, and before I knew it, I was hopelessly lost. I’d lived in L.A. for most of my adult life, but the neighbourhoods Mary was driving us through felt totally alien to me.

The studio was like an anthill, pulsing with life, and dotted with more rictus pumpkins. Assistants and stagehands shuffled to and fro in steady streams, the pumping lifeblood of the whole big, complicated affair, as Mary pulled us into the parking lot. I got out of the car, gave a small, reluctant autograph in her pocket book - dedicated to her kids, of course - before being ushered away by another little detachment of stagehands. The place seemed to run with almost military efficiency, with everyone around me constantly checking their watches before moving at a quickened pace.

It was this aspect of a life in show-business that I never missed.

“Mr. Norton,” said a shrewd-looking studio rep who’d materialised from a crowd of scurrying assistants - he’d never be on camera, but his suit looked far nicer than mine, “I’m Michael. Splendid to see you accepted our offer. Please, follow me, I’ll see to it that you get to Miss Forrester.”

Ten years out of the media, and here, I was a babe in the woods. I blindly followed Michael further into the bowels of the studio, away from packed crowds of excited guests being corralled into queues. Most had won contests to be here, and the rest had probably paid their way in. They’d be the ones watching me, reminding me that I was being watched, not just by them, but by millions of others who’d all tune in to a show I’d never even heard of. It’d been a strange and eventful Halloween.

Before I knew it, in the haze of yelling directors and baking studio lights, I was backstage. They ushered me into a makeup room, where I was given the most minimal makeup job I’d ever seen, even more so considering my work on The Red Weekend for comparison. I was about half way through deciding whether it was a compliment when the door opened behind me, and a strange, kinetic energy seemed to fill the room, as though someone had just turned on a generator.

“Travis Norton,” said a shrill, excited voice coming from a shape I could only just catch in the corner of my mirror, “you have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. I feel like I need someone to pinch me.”

Julie Forrester, like most television hosts, was a font of untapped energy, constantly bubbling beneath the surface. She was a little shorter than me at about 5"8, decked out in a tasteful grey suit, with a broad smile that seemed to flash the majority of her paper-white, perfectly-aligned teeth. She’d been prepped and polished by countless stylists and makeup artists, because I couldn’t for the life of me tell you how old she was - you could peg me as a middle-aged bum at a glance, but Julie seemed to stand outside age, just looking in and smiling at the rest of us. Her hair - black, silky - was cut fashionably short.

“Hey Julie,” I said, with the awkward, feigned familiarity of meeting TV personalities, “thanks so much for having me on. I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity.”

She gave an excited little squeak, like a teenager at a boyband concert. This was all feeling more and more like a big, sinister practical joke. Trick or god damn treat.

“Hearing you say my name is so surreal,” she said with a laugh - no, a giggle, “young me would have exploded at just the thought of it. You should know, I don’t normally do this, but with you I just couldn’t resist. You’ve been a hard man to track down, you know? Extraordinarily private, for a celebrity of your stature.”

I laughed back, acting like I was in on the gag.

“Yeah, well,” I said, “I have always been pretty low-key.”

“Are you a fan of the show?” She asked, clearly hoping the answer was yes. Julie reminded me of the kid in class who was always trying to impress the teacher - searching for some kind of validation from someone she perceived as an authority figure. You don’t get into this line of work unless validation is part of what drives you.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I thought about lying, about humouring her. It was only when I realised there might be a follow-up question that I decided to give her my slightly-sanitised version of the truth.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I don’t really watch much TV. But Sean, my agent, he told me this show was excellent, so I jumped at the chance to be a guest.”

Julie’s face fell slightly, as though my words had wounded her, but she stayed positive. Outwardly, at least.

“In that case, Travis, you are in for a real treat tonight,” she said, “I’ve got some great questions lined up, there’ll be a brief Q&A with some audience members - don’t worry, it’s all screened, so there won’t be any curveballs - and we’ll have a few fun little segments mixed in to break stuff up. Is this your first time doing a live TV interview? My researchers couldn’t find much footage of you online.”

“No, uh, this is my first time. I’m a little nervous, actually.”

She gave a friendly, comforting chuckle and patted me on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be just fine. You can pretend it’s only you and me, if that helps, but everyone out there loves you, Travis. They’ll be hanging off your every word.”

“I never knew The Red Weekend had such an ardent fanbase.” I said, trying to play off all the uncomfortable praise that seemed to be bombarding me from every angle.

Julie laughed again, as though I’d said something funny and missed it.

“Don’t be so modest, Travis, everyone remembers their first time watching The Red Weekend, it’s a rite of passage,” she said, walking towards the door, “if you need to do any last-minute psyching yourself up, now’s the time. You’ll be on in ten.”

The sudden, strange realness of it all hit me like a haymaker as Julie closed the door behind her. What the hell was I doing? I wasn’t an actor, not anymore, I designed logos for small businesses and occasionally made a poster or two. The freakish contrast between the world I’d known for the last two decades and the world I was being pulled back into was jarring. It barely felt like I had time to blink, when Michael, the rep, was knocking on the dressing room door.

“We’re ready for you now, Mr. Norton, do come out and join me. Recording will begin soon.”

I gulped down my final misgivings like cheap scotch, and gave a long sigh. It was now or never, but truth be told, even for fifteen grand, “never” was looking more attractive.

The set was, in a word, generic. A large red couch sat across from a wide desk, bearing the title “MIDNIGHT RENDEZVOUS” in large but tasteful lettering. The background was the standard plywood fare covered in a large facsimile of the L.A. Skyline up in lights. Julie sat at her desk, beaming, while a skinny warmup comedian stood centre stage, making anodyne jokes about West Hollywood traffic to the softly-laughing studio audience. They sat in near-darkness, compared to the bleached whiteness of the set, but the longer you looked at them, the more you could make out all their shapes.

I took a seat across from Julie, not wanting to upstage the comedian, but the second I entered the view of the audience I felt a hundred pairs of eyes pierce me. For whatever reason, I was the centre of attention.

“This will be over soon, and we’ll get started,” Julie said with a wink, “this might be my most anticipated episode. No pressure, though, you’re gonna nail it.”

The warmup comedian was finishing his set, his brow now dotted with glistening beads of sweat, like the damp patches glaring through his cheap suit. None of his stuff was particularly funny - all broad observations and reheated takes, the TV dinner of comedy. Most of all, he just seemed surprised and giddy to be there.

“Thank you!” He said, “you’ve been a wonderful audience, but now I’m gonna hand you over to Julie and Travis, who I hear have got an excellent show for you tonight! Have a happy and safe Halloween, guys!”

He laughed as the crowd cheered, and then started to head for the exit, when Julie called to him.

“Josh!” She called, “you did a great job, really awesome stuff. Would you mind sticking around a few minutes longer? There’s a few last little things we need to do.”

Josh nodded politely and returned to centre stage, delivering a few more inoffensive little quips to the crowd, and receiving small bouts of friendly laughter in return. I didn’t notice at first, but Michael the rep had appeared at Julie’s side, and I caught the tail end of their conversation.

“Is the perimeter secure?” She asked him.

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied, “we should be all good to go, when you’re ready.”

She nodded, and Michael disappeared backstage. Seeming to just arbitrarily come and go was Michael’s whole thing, I gathered, but before I could think about it any longer, Julie stood up and joined Josh, centre stage.

“It’s looking like we have a beautiful audience tonight!” She said, with the practiced, theatrical flair of someone who’d said this a million times, “and how appropriate, because I think tonight we may have my favourite guest of all time. Do I even have to say his name, folks?”

There was a cheer from the crowd. I gave an awkward smile, and Josh just stood there dumbly, next to Julie.

“I have been informed by the producers that all the perimeters are secure now,” she said, “so, with that in mind, it’s time to change.”

It happened so quickly, but it felt like it took a million years. The hue of Julie’s skin began to change from a pale pink to a deep, murky green, as her shape began to shift, bloat, and elongate. But, it wasn’t just Julie: the camera men, the stagehands, and the audience began changing too, all slowly warping themselves out of humanity and into something else entirely. Six claws, those big amphibian faces, those long, whipping tails and terrible jaws full of thousands of teeth.

If I wasn’t almost entirely sure it was all fake to begin with, I would have screamed until my lungs burned up into prunes in my chest cavity, but as it was I couldn’t summon a single sound. The host, the crew, the studio audience: they weren’t human, not even close. They were Pavlović’s monster. They were the Rugoba.

All of them except Josh, who stood next to the seven-foot-tall monster that Julie had become - still somehow wearing that sleek grey suit over her freakish new body. He was quaking in terror, only letting out occasional whimpers of fear. Both were standing in front of me, so I couldn’t get a good look at their faces, but beyond them I saw a legion of grinning Rugoba filling the stands. All here to see me.

“But, before we get this show on the road,” Julie said, her voice startlingly similar to when she still seemed human, “some free concessions for the first few rows. Remember to share!”

With a huge, clawed hand, Julie gave the quaking Josh a push. He pitched forwards, screaming, into the midst of the studio audience, and they set upon him in an instant with claws and teeth. Ripping, tearing, devouring. Those panicked yells soon just become bloody gurgles, and then nothing but the sounds of feasting, and of Julie’s laughter. When Josh’s head came away from what was left of his body, several Rugoba seemed to fight over its contents.

Had I not have been desensitised by spending my young adult years working in crappy, exploitative horror movies, I’d have thrown up. Instead, I just sat and watched, feeling like someone was taking a weed whacker to my soul. Human beings weren’t meant to witness things like this, and now, I was the only one here.

“Settle down, folks,” Julie said with a good-natured chuckle, “we’ll have more snacks distributed throughout the show. Everyone ready to begin? If you are, give me a big cheer!”

And she got one. The creatures that’d eaten a man alive a few seconds before just took their places, all looking as excited as their inhuman faces seemed to allow. The better part of me knew that I should have tried to run - I wasn’t paralysed by fear or anything like that, no, I just knew that if they were eating Josh but sparing me, there had to be a reason.

A Rugoba director, wearing an abnormally large headset to fit around his horns, called lights, camera, action.

What I assumed must have been the theme tune began to play, as Julie turned to me, a look of confusion spread against her wide, froglike face.

“Why haven’t you changed, Travis?” She asked.

That’s when it all hit me: why I was here, what all this was about. Pavlović - that mad, genius son of a bitch - his makeup job wasn’t just good, it was utterly flawless, a perfect representation of a creature his family always knew truly existed. The costume was so good, it even fooled Julie and the others. For all these years, they genuinely thought I was one of them.

“I can’t.” I said, without thinking.

“Why?” She asked in a harsh whisper.

I could tell the theme song was drawing to a close, and I needed to spin good enough bullshit to not get eaten by a talk show host. It wasn’t my best work, in hindsight, but what I said was:

“I’m a method actor, and I’m playing a human in my next role. I don’t want to compromise the integrity of the character.”

What I expected was getting a face full of gnashing monster teeth, but no, Julie just laughed and smiled at me. As the theme song played its last few notes, I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing she’d bought it. And with the audience’s undivided attention, Julie began her little monologue.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome to the good people at home! You know me, I’m Julie Forrester, and this is Midnight Rendezvous - the most popular talk show on Rugoba TV!” She said, before presenting her middle claw to the camera, “so pogo on that, Morning Chitchat. And boy, do we have a special guest for you tonight, folks, a guest quite unlike any other. You know him, you love him, it’s the one and only Mr. Travis Norton!”

The studio audience exploded into deafening cheers and applause, like none I’d ever heard in my lifetime. The response was so overwhelming, I nearly forgot I’d just seen them all eat an innocent man alive.

Julie walked back and squeezed herself behind the desk, making it look comically child-sized now.

“Now, Travis, I’m thrilled to have you on.” She said, leaving a pause for me.

“I’m thrilled to be on,” I said, my voice quivering, “sorry, I’m not used to all this attention. It’s a little overwhelming.”

She laughed again, and said, “now, in many ways, you’re a guest that needs no introduction - but I’m gonna introduce you anyway, because that’s how I make my living.”

The crowd laughed, and I decided to join in. Slime was dripping in liberal dollops from Julie’s massive jaws, coating the top of the desk. It’s a miracle I didn’t relieve my bowels just looking at her.

“I know I’ve been a fan of you for a long, long time, Travis. Having a Rugoba celebrity on the show is nothing new, of course, we’ve had plenty here: Björk, Kanye West, Ryan Reynolds…but Travis, you, to this day, are the only Rugoba in living memory who’s had the guts to show their true form on film,” she said, a genuine note of pride in her voice, “and I think that deserves another round of applause, don’t you, folks?”

More applause, and I forced a smile. It was becoming clear to me that this whole thing was just a tightrope act: I was a folk hero to them for now, but the second they realised I wasn’t one of them, I’d be devoured, just like Josh. In that moment, I wished that Richard Upton Pavlović was alive again, so I could have a go at beating him to death myself.

“If you’re wondering why Travis is looking so tasty tonight, folks, it’s because - and this is a Midnight Rendezvous exclusive - he’s going to be starring in a new movie soon. How exciting?” Julie said, playing up every word for the eager crowd of monsters just beyond the edge of the set, “he’s a method actor, so he’s trying to stay in character. Can you tell us a little about the film, Travis?”

Great. I was on the spot again, one lie leading to another. A good piece of advice to take to heart is that when you’re already in a hole, it’s best to stop digging, but I was already half way to China.

“It’s called Mirrors: Reflecting,” I said, completely pulling it out of my ass, “it’s a comedy-drama about a has-been actor who ends up getting way in over his head in a situation he doesn’t understand. It’s in pre-production.”

“Oooooh,” Julie said, “sounds exciting. Now, I’ll start with the question I think we’ve all been thinking since we first saw The Red Weekend: how did you find the willpower to never eat any of your co-stars?”

The general rule seemed to be that anything I found morally repugnant would get a big laugh out of the crowd. The Rugoba sense of humour seemed to be mainly based around terrible things happening to humans, so I chose my words as carefully as I could, given the circumstances.

“It’s, uh, it’s all about self-control,” I said, “you’ve just gotta tell yourself to stay in the professional zone, and that you can’t eat any of them, because it’ll, uh, compromise the production.”

“God,” Julie said, “check out this guy here, making me feel like a slob. You’ve gotta give me the number of your dietician after this, Trav. I ate mine last week.”

I laughed out of politeness, but I genuinely wasn’t sure whether it was a joke or not. For my own sanity, I chose to believe the former. The crowd found it hilarious, either way.

“Did any of your co-stars know the truth? You know, about who you really are?” She asked.

“No,” I cut in, worrying that revealing the truth would be a secret death sentence, “those dumb humans believed it was all just makeup. You know what people are like, easy to trick.”

Julie slammed a claw down on the slimy desktop and gave an over-the-top laugh.

“So true, Travis, so true!” She cackled, “in fact, half of the folks at home are probably enjoying a trick or treater as we speak. Halloween, what a holiday, it’s like getting free home delivery - and they bring your dessert in a bag with them! So considerate - who says humans aren’t good for anything?”

How many of these things were there? How many facets of society had they invaded, if they had their own TV shows? Sean said this show went out live to millions of viewers, and surely not all of them would be watching. There must have been Rugoba everywhere.

“Now, a couple more serious questions, before we get to the fun stuff,” she said, licking the slobber off her fangs with a long, purple tongue, “your filmography has some strange gaps. You get plenty of work in the eighties, and a little going into the nineties, but then a huge episode of silence until now. Why the return to film?”

It probably shouldn’t have rattled me, given what was going on, but it did. Somehow, the fear of failure ran even deeper than the fear of monsters, and Julie had opened the floodgates.

“It’s not been for lack of trying,” I said with a laugh that undermined my sadness, “it’s hard to make a good living as an actor. Unless you’re an A-lister, chances are you’ve probably got a second job on the side to make ends meet while you try to live out your dreams. I’m a graphic designer in my spare time. Just lately, I got lucky, and was offered another big break. It wasn’t what I expected, but I’m trying to play it out as best I can.”

The crowd gave a sympathetic “awwww” that felt good in spite of them being a horde of carnivorous beasts. Julie seemed similarly sympathetic, looking at me with those big, black shark-eyes that somehow communicated a warm depth of compassion you couldn’t imagine coming from a creature like her.

“Well,” she said, trying to reclaim the room, “I’m sure I speak for everyone in this room when I say that we’re glad you’re getting work again, Travis, you’re a talent like no other. That’s why I thought I’d get you a fun little Halloween treat.”

All the lights around us began to dim, as several excited “oooooohs” issues forth from the crowd. I could hear sudden movement backstage, and the scraping of metal against metal.

“But,” Julie said with glee, standing up from her desk and trotting to centre stage, “one person’s treat is another person’s trick, quid pro quo, that’s the way the world goes. Travis isn’t the only special guest we’ve got tonight, courtesy of some fine work from our producers.”

A group of Rugoba in dark uniforms dragged a huddled, chained figure onto the stage. He’d been either beaten or drugged, but whatever the case, the guy was totally out of it. Half-naked, covered in scratches where his handlers had been too rough. It’d been so long, but after a moment or two, I recognised who it was.

Ian Barker, my old Red Weekend co-star.

“As you all know,” Julie said, addressing the crowd, “the one blemish marring the perfection of The Red Weekend is the downer ending. The rest of it is such an uplifting story of Rugoba conquering and devouring humankind, as nature intended, until the character played by our new guest Ian Barker here slays our champion!”

The crowd entered a state of vicious booing, all directed at Ian, who was too dazed to even respond. He remained on his knees, with a heavy metal collar bound around his neck.

“But, today, as a Midnight Rendezvous Halloween special, we’re going to right that wrong, folks!” She said with a laugh of shrill, sadistic excitement, “our dear friend of the show, Travis Norton, will devour Ian Barker live for you and the folks at home, and all the wrongs will be right again. Is everyone excited?”

As the volume of the cheering went up, my heart sank. Before I could even think to stop myself, or formulate a plan, I was up on my feet and charging towards Julie with an excuse.

“Julie, you don’t understand,” I pleaded, “I have to stay in character, I need to seem human.”

Julie scoffed and shook her head - more for the audience than me.

“What? Humans eat other humans all the time! Jeffrey Dahmer, Andrei Chikatilo, and a whole bunch of others,” she said, “you don’t even need to change back. The producers got you this handy little tool.”

A fourteen-pound framing hammer was forced into my hands, crushing my last attempt at an excuse. Everyone but Ian was looking at me, as I stood there with the hammer, all grinning and egging me on with their eyes.

“You only have to eat some of the brains, it’s the best part anyway,” Julie said, “I’d hate to break you too far from character.”

Then the chanting began: kill, kill, kill. I don’t know who started it, but now there was no stopping it, not until I’d made up my mind. I gripped the hammer, hard, and looked at the back of Ian’s head. If I fessed up, and told the truth, would they kill him and me anyway? Did it make more sense to just kill him and get it over with, then try to live with the guilt afterwards?

Maybe it did make more sense. But that’s not what I did.

“Stop! I yelled, the hammer clattering to the ground, "and please listen!”

The room fell silent, and Julie started looking at me like she knew something terrible was about to happen.

“I have a confession,” I said, “you’re not gonna like it, but you have to listen to me, and hear me out. I’m not one of you, okay? I’m not a Rugoba. I’m a human being, it was all a big god damn lie.”

Julie stared at me, devastated, and said “wait, Travis, what do you mean? The Red Weekend…”

“The Red Weekend is a shitty movie that ruined my life!” I blurted out without thinking, “it was all special effects makeup, none of it was real. The guy just knew about you, somehow, and you’re what he based his design on. I was never a Rugoba. I’m sorry for misleading you all like this, it’s just a huge misunderstanding.”

In an instant, the crowd devolved from low, worried murmurs to riotous shouting. Julie tried in vain to comfort the yelling crowd, to stop them baying for my blood, but it was too late. I’d taken one of their greatest living legends, and torn it apart in front of them. I’d gone from being a hero to the devil himself.

Running was the first thing on my mind, but before the thought even properly formed, something had struck the back of my head - and everything went black.

***

When I finally came to, I was staring out of thick, iron bars into the furious amphibian face of Julie Forrester. The room was dark, so I could barely see beyond her, staring into the cage and mugging at me. She’d lost her grey suit, and was wearing a white outfit with a skirt instead, her whipping tail protruding from the back, lashing at the air.

“I bet you feel really clever right now, Travis, well done,” she said, her voice devoid of the lightness and humour I’d known it for, “you made me look like an absolute clown on my own show. I trusted you, I invited you on, and you just humiliated me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, my thoughts still returning in brief snatches, “I really am, Julie, I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. Aside from the whole ‘eating humans’ thing, I like you as a person. I wouldn’t want your credibility to take a hit.”

She ran her claws across the bars of the cage, and shook her head.

“Too little, too late, I’m afraid,” she said, “but you can still make it up to me, in other ways.”

“I want to, Julie, I really do.”

Julie pulled back from the bars a little and seemed to pace around the cage, her footsteps heavy and wet, but as regular as the ticking of a clock’s pendulum. It’d drive you mad if you listened for long enough.

“What you said earlier about the entertainment industry is true, Travis, even if the rest was all lies,” she said, her tone gravely seriously, “if you want to make a good living, one job won’t cut it. You need to be a real polymath to put bread on the table. Thankfully, I’m a Rugoba of all trades: Midnight Rendezvous is just one of the shows I host.”

“What’s the other one?” I asked, out of morbid curiosity.

She stopped, pressed her terrible amphibian face against the bars, and grinned.

“You’ll see,” she said, “you’ll see real soon, Travis. I’m gonna make you into something so much better…”

As Julie started to walk away from the cage, one by one the studio lights began to turn back on, cracking into life. The couch and L.A. backdrop was replaced by a homely-looking kitchen, fitted with a gorgeous array of utensils and hardware. Julie produced from the front pocket of the white apron she was wearing a long and magnificent chef’s hat, and placed it onto her huge, slimy head.

The words “COOKING WITH JULIE!” were emblazoned across the front of her kitchen unit.

My fear had already passed, all that remained now was that kind of dissonant, slaughterhouse calm that sets in when you already know you’re finished. All that’s left to do is wait. But, I took a strange comfort in knowing that this Halloween night The Red Weekend would finally be coming to an end.

I closed my eyes and exhaled, as the director called “lights, camera, action.”

[big12pickparty]

Big 12 Preseason Picks

It’s back! It’s back!

It’s a new world for Big 12 football this year. Bill Snyder is gone. Dana Holgorsen is gone. Kliff Kingsbury got fired from Texas Tech and hired by the Arizona Cardinals. Kyler Murray, for most of us, thankfully won’t be around. A certain other quarterback with two titles under his belt has transferred into the conference, from a school you may have heard of in a town called Tuscaloosa.

Say it with me: Tuscaloosa. Tusssskaaaaaloooooossssaaa. My sister Lindsey recently drew my attention to the marvels of this word. Tuscaloosa. Hurray.

1. Oklahoma. 11-1, 8-1. Honestly, it feels like Oklahoma and then spots 2-5 are more or less a free-for-all. OU itself doesn’t feel as unbeatable as the past three years pre-season. Jalen Hurts will be really good, but literally anyone would be a step back after three seasons of Mayfield and Murray. Another slightly worrisome factor would be that the Sooners only return one starter on the offensive line, center Creed Humphreys. The most interesting thing, and scary, for me (as an OU hater) is the specter of Alex Grinch leading the defense. What he did in his time at Wazzu was spectacular. But as OSU’s new D-coordinator Jim Knowles could tell him, the Big 12 is different.

2. Oklahoma State. 10-2, 7-2. After OU, the top half of the conference--to my mind OSU, Texas, Baylor and Iowa State--feels pretty close together. So don’t read this as a hard two. Somebody has to finish second, and I feel like that could be a team with two or even three conference losses this year. The national media are down on the Pokes, too, but that largely feels like a byproduct of OSU’s insane--and at times insanely disappointing--7-6 run last year. Plus Gundy hasn’t picked a quarterback. Both QBs have a load of potential, especially Spencer Sanders. The last time OSU entered the season without a starting QB was in 2013. That was the year split by J.W. Walsh (5 starts) and Clint Chelf (8 starts); the Cowboys won 10 games. Having a more experienced secondary, plus a huge step up in coaching on the offensive line, and an invigorated Gundy will push this team, to my mind, toward higher things. Many OSU fans--specifically those who comment over on Pistols Firing, were dismayed when OL-coach Josh Henson bolted for Texas A&M. Honestly I never understood why he was so popular, as the O-line hasn’t been the same since Joe Wickline departed all the way back in 2013. Henson’s replacement is Bill Snyder’s longtime OL-coach, Charlie Dickey. If there’s one thing K-State’s always been strong on, it’s been a bruising, physical line--and that will help whoever Gundy ultimately chooses to place behind center. Another thing in OSU’s favor is the schedule. OU comes to Stilly, and the Pokes travel to Austin to face the Horns. For most teams that wouldn’t be favorable, but Texas hasn’t beaten OSU in DKR since 2008. That’s five straight losses. Gundy likes to operate from the margin. We’ll see how it goes.

3. Texas. 9-3, 6-3. The media picked Texas to place second by a fairly large margin. Which makes sense being that they whipped up on Georgia in the Sugar Bowl, giving 2019 the most legit 'Texas is back’ hype since... well, to tell you the truth I can’t remember because the damn narrative is there every year. The toughest thing for these Horns is that they only return 3 starters on defense on a team that depended heavily on their D to win games, and I’m not convinced that that Sam Ehlinger, spunky and talented as he is, can survive the whole year without falling to injury. They just run the kid too much for him not to. We’ll know by mid-October whether this Texas team is ready for the big time, being that the face LSU, OSU, and OU all by October 12. Win those three and you’re a national title contender. Take two of three and you’ve gotta feel good about making the conference championship. Lose all three and Herman’s seat might warm up a bit.

4. Iowa State. 8-4, 6-3. Expectations are crazy high in Ames. Crazy, crazy high. And they have a fantastic quarterback returning in Brock Purdy. They should be stout on defense. Grab a win against Iowa in Week 2 and the Hawkeyes will be feeling pretty good. Their toughest slate comes in Weeks 8-10, when Matt Campbell’s bunch faces OSU, OU, and Texas. Fortunately they only have to travel to Norman--but when has an opposing team traveling to Norman ever felt fortunate?

5. Baylor. 8-4, 5-4. As much as it pains me to say it, I’m a little higher on Baylor than most. Along with Texas Tech, ISU, and OU, the Bears are one of the only teams in the conference returning a proven QB, in Charlie Brewer, who threw for just over 3,000 yards lat year. Their schedule lines up very, very favorably: putrid nonconference foes, plus they get Iowa State, Oklahoma, and Texas at home. Arguably, their only truly tough road trips are to Stillwater and Fort Worth. Beat Iowa State in Week 4 and they could be 6-0 when they face the Pokes.

6. Texas Tech. 6-6, 4-5. At last we arrive at the New Coaches section of our preview. Of the new hires, I think the Kansas schools both made out the best--in completely different ways. I’m not entirely sold on Matt Wells, who arrives in Lubbock via Utah State. He had a 44-34 overall record at USU, his alma mater, and was hired on the strength of last year’s 10-2 campaign. During his six seasons in Logan his teams twice one ten games, but had three losing campaigns in a row from 2015-18. I’m really only listing Tech above K-State because they have a fantastic option at quarterback in Alan Bowman, provided his lung holds up (it collapsed during a game last year).

7. Kansas State. 6-6, 4-5. Out of all the new hires in the Big 12 this year, the one that excites me most is Chris Klieman, who seems like the perfect replacement for Bill Snyder, though replacing that man will not be easy. It’s also often not easy to make the adjustment from the FCS to D1. However, Klieman’s resume is about as good as it gets. As head coach at North Dakota State from 2014-2018, Klieman’s Bison went 69-6, winning 4 FCS national titles in 5 years. It’s going to take some doing, but I’m willing to bet Klieman gets K-State going in the next 3-4 years.

8. TCU. 4-8, 2-7. Gary Patterson’s squad was straight up awful on offense last year. Earlier this August Patterson stated that his team was in the middle of a six-man QB race. A quarterback derby of two is bad enough, but six? Not encouraging if you’re a Frogs fan, especially after two straight down years. I could be wrong--if you’ve been reading my football posts any length of time you know I’m wrong a LOT--but I ain’t buying what they’re selling down at the stockyards this year. The Horned Frogs have a tougher schedule than most, too: they travel to Purdue, Iowa State, Oklahoma State, Texas Tech, and Oklahoma. 9. West Virginia. 3-9, 1-8. I think West Virginia is going to fucking stink. That’s about it. New coach Neal Brown just named OU-transfer Austin Kendall his starter. And... uh, yeah. No Will Grier, no David Sills, and for all his flaws, no Holgersen. WVU’s gonna have it rough this year.

10. Kansas. 3-9, 1-8. Two words: Les Miles. Two more words: Les Miles. I predict they beat at least two conference foes this year. Which of course won’t sit well any of the aforementioned. The schedule is tough: at Texas, at TCU, at OSU, at Iowa State, but their first conference matchup is WVU in Lawrence--a very winnable game. Miles is old-fashioned, probably crazy, and certainly not ethically sound (see his totally lamentable handling of domestic-abuser Pooka Williams), but he will bring a toughness to a football team that has not had one since the days of Mark Mangino, over a decade ago.

[shoresofaldenor]

Frogs of War

Arriving back at Fort Sil, the party noted approvingly that the trappers and other denizens had done an adequate job of shoring up defenses in their absence. After lingering for awhile, the party also notice that there was no sign of Fern, and the trio decided to look for her in the area where they first discovered her ten or so weeks ago…but again, no sign. The party mused on their options, and it occurred to them that if the undead and grimshadows had attacked the greyskins, it is entirely possible that they have attacked other local races as well. Since the frogmen the party (sans Marta) had encountered previously were in roughly the same direction as the greyskin tower (“if the tower is in Cleveland, the frogmen are in Akron” said Alex), the trio decided to go there first to make sure the frogmen were okay, and then divert to the tower afterward. Unfortunately, despite some great scouting by Monty, Marta proved to be a lousy navigatrix, and the party ended up in another section of the swamp. Soon, several frogmen appeared, but they were different, covered in black markings…and they began to approach from all sides, spears out. After trying a few non-lethal tactics that went horribly awry, one “darkfrog” bellowed and a grimshadow swiftly came into the area. Realizing that they were in a difficult situation, the party’s first instinct was to run, despite being encircled by several darkfrogs, but this choice proved problematic for…reasons. Ultimately the trio had to fight through some darkfrogs and two grimshadows (one of which did a heck of a lot of damage to Marta, but went running after she made an impressive display of divine authority…), but the party did manage to escape.

As the party decided to make its way toward the tower, with Monty (fortunately) scouting, and Marta (unfortunately) navigating, they came across a desiccated frogman and a dead young frogling that looked to have been exsanguinated, thanks to all the teeth marks. Monty noticed a pronounced trail of frog-feet and blood, and the party decided to follow. After a brief journey, they realized that they had made it to the hilly area of the mausoleums that various party configurations had come across on two prior occasions. The nearest mausoleum—the northernmost—was visible, but it had a horde of twenty or so undead crowding the door. It was clear that the frogmen whose trail the party had followed had made it to the mausoleum, and it was assumed that they had barricaded themselves inside. The party decided to create a distraction to get the undead away from the door, with Curt making a ruckus and drawing them away before running around the hill. As he was doing this, Monty and Marta (M&M? No? No.) essentially knocked on the door, and after a little bit of verbal and non-verbal convincing that they were not enemies, the frogmen allowed them admittance, with the shaman some of the party had encountered previously being present. They were in pretty bad shape: a few “walking wounded,” a few at death’s door, and none that appeared unscathed. Once Curt arrived, the trio did a little bit of exploring and Marta chittered extensively about how similar this mausoleum was to the one that she had explored with Oliver and Brell. The two were almost identical in layout, save for the goddess in the mosaic wielding a scroll rather than a harp, and the surrounding sounds at the back of one’s mind being that of quills on parchment, rather than music. Curt revealed that the sound he heard was different—an annoying buzzing that increased as they descended the staircase. Being sore and tired, the party decided to settle down for the night. When they awoke, a couple of the most wounded frogmen had died, and Marta realized that she probably should have tried to perform her divine magics medicinal abilities to heal them before her little nap. To make up for it, she resolved to try to heal the eight most wounded of the remaining twenty or so, and somehow she managed to cure almost all of them without having to take much of their burden onto herself [seriously, despite the party having abysmal rolls all night, I managed to roll six complete successes in a row here…]. The frogmen looked at her with a kind of reverence at her healing gifts, and bestowed a few trinkets and jewels upon her. {One significant Curt interlude around this time that Marta and Monty didn’t see: his “familiar,” a black jackalope-esque creature with devil horns rather than antelope horns squeezed into the mausoleum through some cracks and took up residence in Curt’s backpack. Hmm…} With the frogmen tribe at least temporarily stabilized, the party descended to the lowest level of the mausoleum, which featured the same kind of mosaic as the prior one: a goddess fending off darkness, albeit with a book instead of a harp. Marta told Monty and Curt about the circumstances that caused the two undead guards (again in plate armor) to animate, but since Curt was pissed off at the incessant buzzing in his head, he decided to stab one of them through the head before Monty or Marta could suggest another option… The two guards attacked, one of which revealed a flaming longsword, but the party managed to dispatch them without difficulty. Entering the inner chamber, there was another sarcophagus, and another wall of darkness that only Monty and Marta could see. Above the sarcophagus was an inkwell and quill, which Monty discovered made his rustic chicken-scratch look like cosmic calligraphy, but didn’t seem to do anything else. Marta took the quill and inkwell and strode confidently through the wall of darkness (seeming to disappear to Monty; Curt had left the room). A booming voice echoed in her head asking her to pledge allegiance to the goddess (Rheea) and the pursuit of truth. Marta, thinking of her own sworn allegiance to Timra, pledged allegiance to the pursuit of discovering truth…but this answer found her banished back to the chamber, while the inkpot and quill were restored to their former place. Marta related what happened to Monty, and Monty, realizing that he is not exactly a learnin’ man, figured that a goddess like Rheea wouldn’t exactly be a good fit for his pledge…so he decided to forgo entering the darkness. At this point, the party decided that they couldn’t stay in the mausoleum much longer, since there was clearly no way to feed all the frogmen, so they decided to head back to Fort Sil to give the tribe safe haven. On the way, there was one final discovery: they happened upon an open clearing, which was clearly the sign of a fierce battle. Large tracks, roughly bear-shaped, looked to have slain a large number of undead, but the tracks themselves headed off into the woods…along with a trail of blood. And that is how the session ended. [Worth noting is that we made absolutely terrible rolls for the first 2/3 of the session. It was truly a case of five or six pure fails in a row, followed by a partial success or two, then more fails, a couple of successes, and more fails etc. The events of the mausoleum made up for it in a sense, but I’m sure that vague thoughts of a TPK floated through all of our heads when dealing with the darkfrogs and grimshadows. Fortunately, we all marked a lot of XP and each of us leveled up. So…bonus?]

[themeatlife]

Halftime: 2017 College Football Season, So Far

Time to take some perspective and look at how far we’ve come.  Most teams have gone through six games this season so far.  Let’s take a look back at some of the highlights:

Best Game – Western Michigan outlasting Buffalo 71-68 in 7OT

I don’t usually go outside the Power 5 for these things, but c’mon.  SEVEN OVERTIMES?!?  Unreal.  In the first OT after Western Michigan ties it up with a catch from TE Donnie Ernsberger, his sister rushes the field to give her brother a hug!  Yeah, you can’t make that up.  Ernsberger’s sister is escorted out of the game where she missed other six overtime sessions.  This thing had 1328 yards of combined offense from the two sides and now holds the NCAA record for most points scored in a game at 139 points (record was previously held by Syracuse-Pitt game last season that had a total of 137 points...contrary to this Sooner fan’s thought that last year’s OU-Tech had the most points haha).

Here are the highlights:

Power Five Conference Leaders

Okay, back to the big dogs.

ACC - Miami Hurricanes - 5-0 (3-0 ACC)

The U is back?  How long have Hurricanes fans waited to say that?  HC Mark Richt has his team rolling after dramatic wins against rival Florida State (2-3/2-2) and Georgia Tech (3-2/2-1).  The Canes still have the meat of their schedule left with meetings with Virginia Tech (5-1/1-1) and Notre Dame (5-1) left in early November.

The ACC picture is still very interesting.  If I had written this last week, it would have been Clemson (6-1/4-1) with their impressive victories against (at the time) three top 15 ranked opponents in Auburn (5-2/3-1), Louisville (4-3/1-3), and Virginia Tech.  Well, now Louisville’s defense has let QB Lamar Jackson down and the Cardinals have fallen off.  Oh and there was Clemson’s upset loss to Syracuse (4-3/2-1) on Friday night.  Oh and keep an eye for red hot NC State (6-1/4-0) who since their season opening loss to South Carolina (5-2/3-2) have looked rather impressive.  We’ll get to see them at Notre Dame in a couple weeks to see if they are for real.

Big Ten - Penn State Nittany Lions - 6-0 (3-0 Big Ten)

Well, it’s so far, so good for the Nittany Lions, passing their biggest test so far with that gutty win at Iowa (4-2/1-2) a few weeks ago.  The big tests will be in the coming weeks with Michigan (5-1/2-1), Ohio State (6-1/4-0), and surprise but not so surprising Michigan State (5-1/3-0) all in the next three weeks.  We will get a better picture of the Big Ten East after all those teams get a chance to beat up on each other.

In the Big Ten West, no one really shows much of a challenge to Wisconsin (6-0/3-0), with their biggest remaining game being their cross-divisional game against Michigan in mid-November.  So we should see Wisconsin versus the winner of the East in the Big Ten title game (yeah, I was wrong - Nebraska is not back).

Big 12 - TCU Horned Frogs - 6-0 (3-0 Big 12)

The maturation of TCU and QB Kenny Hill.  In the top four in the polls at midseason after finishing 6-7 last season.  Their defense has been the best in the conference and they’ve already beaten two ranked opponents in Oklahoma State (5-1/2-1) and West Virginia (4-2/2-1).  Things look on track for TCU, but they will visit Oklahoma (5-1/2-1) in mid-November.

If it weren’t for an inexplicable home loss to Iowa State (4-2/2-1), Oklahoma would look to be on the inside track to the conference title and playoff berth having the best out of conference win at Ohio State the second game of the season.  Things will start to spice up though, with Oklahoma, Oklahoma State, TCU, West Virginia, and an improved Texas (3-3/2-1) all still having to play each other.  So the Oklahoma schools will still have a say in the Big 12.

Pac-12 - Not sure...USC Trojans? 6-1 (4-1 Pac-12)

Yeah, the Pac-12 race is a muddled mess with each team sporting a conference loss.  USC may be the slight leader in the clubhouse for now, but they look really shaky considering preseason Heisman hopefully QB Sam Darnold has a conference leading 9 INTs and a Total QBR of 68.4 (ugh).

This is how it’s gone: USC has lost to Washington State (6-1/3-1) who got whooped to Cal (4-3/1-3) Friday night.  Cal has gotten beaten by both USC and Washington (6-1/3-1) but Washington just got upset by Arizona State (3-3/2-1).  Stanford (5-2/4-1) has beaten Arizona State and Utah (4-2/1-2) but got walloped by USC.  The only thing really clear in the Pac-12?  1-6/0-4 Oregon State is not winning the Pac-12.

SEC - Alabama Crimson Tide (duh) - 7-0 (4-0 SEC)

Okay, I could have gone with Georgia here (also 7-0/4-0) with big wins over Notre Dame and Mississippi State (4-2/1-2), but Bama is just beating everyone too consistently this season.  They were pushed by Texas A&M (5-2/3-1) for a little while, but they look the part of a surefire playoff team.  November matchups against LSU (5-2/2-1) and Auburn (5-2/3-1) will determine whether that’s the case.

But all things point to Georgia and Alabama colliding in the SEC Championship Game in December.

the Meat Life Halftime Heisman Top 4

I’m a little sad that defending Heisman winner QB Lamar Jackson is probably out of the race now because Louisville’s defense is putrid and is losing games for him.  But there are great ones on this list.

1a - Baker Mayfield, QB Oklahoma Sooners Okay, yes...total homer pick here.  But hear me out.  Mayfield already has a marquee win (at Ohio State, planting the flag) and a Heisman moment (Texas taking him down stinging his shoulder, then soon after burning their secondary with a 59-yard bomb TD pass to TE Mark Andrews to take the lead with 6 minutes left in the 4th quarter of a 29-24 victory).  Even in the Iowa State loss he threw for 306 yards, 2 TDs, no INTs and ran for 57 yards and a TD.  He’s shown flash as well as grit.  He hadn’t thrown an INT before the Texas game and leads the nation yet again in passing efficiency.  Big moments ahead with the Sooners still having to face Oklahoma State, TCU and West Virginia and possibly play a Big 12 Championship game which means more opportunity to shine.  Just give him the damn trophy already.

1b - Saquon Barkley, RB Penn State Nittany Lions If you aren’t going to give Bake the thing, you better be giving it to this guy.  Barkley has shown versatility this season, leading Penn State in both rushing and receiving yards.  He’s also thrown a TD pass.  AND returned a kick for a TD!  Dude even hurdles people.  Barkley does it all for the offense.  As good as QB Trace McSorley is in the clutch, Saquon puts Penn State in the position to win.  A ton of opportunity to display his gifts as well, with that row of games against Michigan, Ohio State, and Michigan State all coming up.

3 - Bryce Love, RB Stanford Cardinal Who?  Yeah, I did the same thing a few weeks ago.  Love has torn it up this season, not rushing any less than 147 yards in any game this season (only had that total against Oregon this past weekend).  He had a 301(!) yard rushing game against Arizona State (on only 25 carries).  He’s also had at least 1 TD in every game this season.  I haven’t gotten to watch a lot of Stanford this season except their loss against USC, but even in that game Love had 160 yards rushing.  Stanford has big games against Washington State, Washington, and Notre Dame coming, so watch this guy play...he’s coming up fast the list.

4 - Mason Rudolph, QB Oklahoma State Cowboys Yeah, basically everyone else has pooped out.  All the lists I’ve seen around the country put defensive guys like DB Minkah Fitzpatrick from Bama on their Heisman list, but let’s be real.  No defensive player is winning this thing, at least this season.  The two Pac-12 QBs Luke Falk of Washington State and Sam Darnold from USC have turned into INT machines.  Rudolph has worked his way back after the loss to TCU and is quietly having a great season.  Just this past weekend he racked up his second 400+ yard passing game against Baylor as his offense piled on almost 750 yards of total offense.  Remaining games that include West Virginia and Oklahoma will go a long way to see if he moves up this list.

the Meat Life Halftime Top Four (and Next Four)

1 - Alabama Crimson Tide Yep, they are here again.

2 - Georgia Bulldogs As much an SEC hater I am, I can’t tell you two teams that haven’t looked more consistent and dominant than the Tide and the Bulldogs.  But to be honest, there will NOT be two teams from the same conference in the CFP at the end of the year.

3 - TCU Horned Frogs Build on a great defense and a mature Kenny Hill, TCU has found themselves in a great spot and on the inside track to the CFP having already beaten conference challenger Oklahoma State.

4 - Penn State Nittany Lions In the actual polls they are at #2.  But based on what I’ve seen and the rest of the field, I’m not as impressed.  Yes they have been winning, but not like the three above them on this list.

----

5 - Clemson Tigers Before their loss, I had them at #1.  Their resume was the most impressive of anyone.  That has to count for something.  Trouble ahead though if starting QB Kelly Bryant is out for an extended time.

6 - Miami Hurricanes For now, the Hurricanes are in a great position.  But, they are playing on the edge, squeaking out wins against rival Florida State and Georgia Tech.  Tests are ahead with Virginia Tech and Notre Dame.

7 - Oklahoma Sooners They are certainly still in the hunt right now.  Needed to see marked improvement from the defense after eggs against Baylor and Iowa State, and we saw that in the Texas game (in spite of the missed holding calls all game).  Now they must capitalize on the opportunity.

8 - Ohio State Buckeyes Have looked impressive since their loss to Oklahoma, albeit against pretty soft opponents.  They have Penn State, Michigan State, and Michigan all coming up, giving ample opportunity to move up.

I wasn’t about to put undefeated Wisconsin in there.  To me they aren’t ready for anything above this list.  But plenty of season left for the Badgers and the rest of college football to make a move.  For now, I’ll sit back and watch.  Enjoy the rest of the season!  I know I will.

[hooxfishing]

Here come the hipster anglers

Think of fly fishing and what springs to mind? The gentle burble of a chalk stream, perhaps. Or some rosy-cheeked laird in waders, teasing a salmon through a stretch of rushing river. 

Probably not a reservoir in Walthamstow, east London, a short stroll through rush hour traffic from Tottenham Hale underground station. But on a blustery Tuesday morning that is just where my dad, John, and I stand, casting our lines across the rippling water as trains clatter behind us.

Urban fly fishing is now very much in vogue. A major 21-year study of more than 2,300 inner-city rivers and tributaries, published in 2014, found our city waterways were the cleanest they have been in decades. After years of having the life strangled out of them during the industrial booms of the 19th and 20th centuries, rivers such as the Calder in West Yorkshire, the Goyt in Stockport and the Wandle in South London are now teeming with fish – and the aquatic insects that sustain them.  

As these waters become more accessible, a different breed of fly fisherman has emerged; one more likely to wear skinny jeans and beanie hats than splash-proof trousers that unzip at the knee. The sport is now gaining traction among a younger generation, with far more women also taking it up.

Many of the new fisher folk are also garnering a growing social media following; posting sun-blushed photos of their morning catch.

“As soon as I moved down to London after university in Manchester I started looking for places to fish,” says Lancashire-born Damon Valentine, 32, who goes by the Instagram moniker @Londonflyfisherand works for the computer giant Apple.

“The Wandle is my favourite. Sometimes people will come and watch and I’ve taught youngsters how to fish from the riverbank. I’ve found there is a really healthy balance of people doing it nowadays. I want to help change that view of fly fishing being an elite sport.”

Marina Gibson, 26, is another young enthusiast helping to alter perceptions of the pastime. She began urban fly fishing at Syon Park, near Brentford, six years ago after moving to London to work in finance.

“It was a 25-minute drive from where I lived in Fulham,” she says. “Every free moment I had I would go and fish. It is an amazing way to meet people.”

Gibson was taught to fish by her parents and says she has encountered some gentle sexism on the riverbank. One morning fishing alone near Burford, Gloucestershire, she recalls hooking a giant rainbow trout. “There was a man on the other side of the lake who shouted over to me, asking whether I needed any help landing the fish. I just smiled.”

Two years ago, she decided to give up her day job and move to North Yorkshire to make a career out of fishing. She is currently an ambassador for the upmarket outdoors clothes brand Orvis and has a dedicated social media following. “A girl contacted me the other day to say that she had become obsessed by fly fishing. I think people now are realising that they can just give it a go,” she says.

I too started fishing in my teens, and was taught by my father. We continue to fish together a few times a year at the River Loddon in Hampshire, which winds its way through the Duke of Wellington’s Stratfield Saye estate.

I am 32 and still rarely catch anything - not that I mind. On a fine summer’s day, one can spot kingfishers rocketing from the river reeds and making mad dashes downstream. On the past two occasions I have been, a marsh harrier has swooped in, hovering slowly on its harlequin wings, waiting for an incautious frog or vole to dart out from the bank.

Another Hampshire chalk stream – the Itchen – which flows a few miles away from the Loddon, was where Sir Edward Grey, Britain’s foreign secretary during the First World War, used to retreat to fly fish. “The peace and beauty of the spot made it a sacred place,” he once wrote.

Walthamstow makes a less obvious idyll, but urban reservoirs are proving increasingly popular. The cheapest evening ticket costs £15 and for £30 one can fish for an entire day. Other spots in London – such as stretches of the Wandle – are free, apart from your rod licence and packet of sarnies.

My dad and I are joined in east London by Fergus Kelley, 23, who with his own father is behind the first ever London Fly Fishing Fair, which takes place next week. Kelley is hoping to make a career out of fly fishing and already leads groups on guided tours to remote locations across the world, including Russia and Tierra del Fuego, an archipelago at the tip of South America. 

Increasingly, though, he too is falling for the charms of city fishing.

“It’s just phenomenal that you can come here in 20 minutes from the centre of London,” he says. “Friends are starting to do it together, instead of sitting in a pub. When you fly fish you don’t think about anything else other than what’s happening now - in the moment. It’s an escape and helps you start to live in the present. I really love that.”

As Kelley speaks, with a roll-up clenched between his teeth, he sends beautiful looping casts out over the water. My own attempts are rather less impressive. Fly fishing on a reservoir requires a far longer, heavier line than that used on a chalk stream and on more than one occasion I find myself snagging a bramble or tangling knots around myself, like a hapless mayfly caught in a spider’s web.

With the official season not beginning until April, my dad warned me that we are unlikely to catch anything. The three fly fishing reservoirs in Walthamstow are stocked throughout the season with some 11,000 rainbow and brown trout. According to the website, fish heftier than 5lb are often hauled out into landing nets. But as I thrash about on the embankment, I soon realise that I will not be troubling any giants of the deep.

Even so, it is a beautiful spot to while away a morning; made all the more so by the urban juxtaposition. Behind us, coal tits and chaffinches flit between a row of council house gardens. Widgeon and shoveler ducks bob out on the reservoir water. In the distance glitter the vast tower blocks of Canary Wharf, in which sit thousands of financial workers, tapping away on keyboards. 

Every ten minutes or so, the peace is interrupted by a train snaking past or plane descending. Soon, like the birdsong, these sounds fold into the peaceful city morning. 

After a few hours we pack up our rods and head back into the maelstrom of the capital. As ever, my landing net is empty. And all seems right in the world.

[sojourners-truth-blog]

Caught Up in the Newness

It’s less than a month until I leave for Thailand, and I’m reallyyy starting to feel the pressure! Ive been working summer school for the past few weeks, which has kept me busy and my mind occupied, but as we get closer to the date that I leave, anxiety, nervousness and a little bit of fear has tried to settle in. Naturally, there’s going to be some anxiety when you’re being completely immersed into something new, whether it’s a new school, new relationship, new position at work or becoming a new parent. Newness requires a new YOU, completely abandoning comfort zones and adopting new ways of thinking, seeing, and experiencing. And while I know it’s natural to have these feelings, it’s not my first time abroad, so I’m really just trying to make sense of it all. 

Ten years ago, I traveled abroad for the first time, so this has really been a full circle type moment. I was in a program called Camp Adventure which hires college students to work on U.S. military bases around the world. I was a fearless 19 year old, and determined to explore my interests and see the world, even if it meant doing it solo dolo. I spent two months in North Yorkshire, England, working on Menwith Hills Air Force base at their child development center. That experience was absolutely incredible, fueled my wanderlust and really expanded my world view. I ate finger sandwiches and drank rose tea in London, rode a ferry in Dover and stood in amazement at the beauty of the Eiffel tower in Paris. Since then, my professional travels have allowed me explore both domestically and internationally; training teachers in Jamaica, visiting the White House in D.C. and studying Jim Crow Laws and Literature at University of Chicago Law School, where President Obama taught. So, even though this isn’t my first international trip, or my first time being away from normalcy for an extended period of time, this experience is unique all by itself.

 - Black & Abroad: When I spent time in England, it was comforting living on a U.S. military base, especially since everyone was American, spoke English and there were commissaries (grocery stores) on base to ensure I had the all the PopTarts, pizza rolls and body wash that resembled home. On the flipside, Thailand will definitely take some adjusting, as it doesn’t resemble a lot of the Westernized accommodations that I may be used to. While Thailand is known as the Land of Smiles because of the people’s hospitality, courtesy and warmth, it is still very homogenous, meaning everyone is pretty much the same. With a population of almost 70 million people, over 90% of Thai people are Buddhist, 97% of people are native Thai and 90% speak Thai language. All of that to say, when I arrive, I’m sure they won’t be used to seeing so much melanin magic! Ha! Even for me coming from Houston, one of the most diverse cities in the U.S., what will the experience be like not seeing hardly ANY blacks around? Will people stare at me? Will they attempt to touch my hair? 

Sidebar: In addition to the apparent lack of melanin in Thailand, I think I’m the only black person participating in my program. As I mentioned in my first post, I’ll be traveling to Thailand with 15 other educators from the states, so it would’ve been amazing to have another black person to experience this with. When they emailed the list of participants, I scanned that thing for a Johnson, Jackson, Williams or Jones, and sadly, not one. So that alone adds another dynamic to this experience. 

- Flight School: In 2007, on my first trip abroad, I took a flight from Atlanta to Manchester, England, and it was 9hours, nonstop. I remember taking a peek outside the window, and literally seeing nothing but beautiful, blue water. It was nerve wrecking being on the flight so long, and you can definitely start to feel claustrophobic and a sense of cabin fever. But what made that flight bearable was that I had the row to myself, there were movies available to watch and I slept like a baby. Now for this Thailand trip, I’ll be taking a 20hr flight! (faints) Help Lord. The first flight is 13hrs from Boston to Tokyo, Japan, then 7hrs from Tokyo to Bangkok, Thailand. I’ll be having melatonin, Ambien, Xanax, a neck pillow and my Snuggie on deck, just in case. 

- “The Roommate”: Im not really a “roommate person”. With me being the only daughter in my family, I grew up having my own room, so the whole sharing my space with another person didn’t really come easy for me. Even now, I will tell anyone that choosing to live alone was one of the best decisions I made for myself as an adult. It’s just something very peaceful about coming back home to your own little sanctuary and not necessarily having another person to “invade” that space. Also, I think as a more introspective person, having time and space, alone to digest experiences is really important for me. So, for an experience like THIS one, where I’m completely immersed in a different culture, having that space to reflect alone is going to be vital. But on the flipside, having a roommate could also be one of my greatest supports while abroad, so I’m praying that me and my roomie are able to connect on some level, being that we’ll be together 24-7. 

- “Everybody eats, B”: I have such an immature palate that I could literally live off soul food, barbeque and (Detroit) Coney Island. So, what in sam hill will I eat in Thailand when I don’t even like soy OR Teriyaki sauce!? Smh! It’s terrible that Im such a picky eater because food is such a major part of the whole cultural experience abroad. Soooooo, Im going to push myself out my comfort zone and attempt (keyword) to be open minded when it comes to experimenting with new food. Ive tried Indian food, frog legs, calamari (squid), octopus and most recently alligator so Im actually kinda looking forward to adding to my list of weird/exotic foods that ive tried. 

I only have a few days left of summer school, then I can focus all of my energy mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually to preparing for this trip. The countdown begins!

[type2diabetestreatments-blog]

Redistributing unused Rx drugs could save health care system millions

New Post has been published on https://type2diabetestreatment.net/diabetes-research/redistributing-unused-rx-drugs-could-save-health-care-system-millions/

Redistributing unused Rx drugs could save health care system millions

Boxes of unused medication tumble into the mouth of an incinerator at Curtis Bay Medical Waste Services in Baltimore, Maryland. (Matt Roth for ProPublica)

Every week in Des Moines, Iowa, the employees of a small nonprofit collect bins of unexpired prescription drugs tossed out by nursing homes after residents died, moved out or no longer needed them. The drugs are given to patients who couldn’t otherwise afford them.

But travel 1,000 miles east to Long Island, New York, and you’ll find nursing homes flushing similar leftover drugs down the toilet, alarming state environmental regulators worried they’ll further contaminate the water supply.

In Baltimore, Maryland, a massive incinerator burns up tons of the drugs each year — for a fee — from nursing homes across the Eastern seaboard.

If you want to know why the nation’s health care costs are among the highest in the world, a good place to start is with what we throw away. Across the country, nursing homes routinely toss large quantities of perfectly good prescription medication: tablets for diabetes, syringes of blood thinners, pricey pills for psychosis and seizures.

At a time when anger over soaring drug costs has perhaps never been more intense, redistributing discarded drugs seems like a no-brainer. Yet it’s estimated that American taxpayers, through Medicare, spend hundreds of millions of dollars each year on drugs for nursing home patients — much of which literally go down the tubes.

“It would not surprise me if as much as 20 percent of the medications we receive we end up having to destroy,” said Mark Coggins, who oversees the pharmacy services for Diversicare, a chain of more than 70 nursing homes in 10 states. “It’s very discouraging throwing away all those drugs when you know it can benefit somebody.”

Help Us Investigate Wasted Health Care Dollars

Experts say the United States might be squandering a quarter of the money spent on health care. That’s an estimated $765 billion a year. Do you believe you’ve encountered this waste? Tell us.

No one tracks this waste nationwide, but estimates show it’s substantial. Colorado officials have said the state’s 220 long-term care facilities throw away a whopping 17.5 tons of potentially reusable drugs every year, with a price tag of about $10 million. The Environmental Protection Agency estimated in 2015 that about 740 tons of drugs are wasted by nursing homes each year.

This is, of course, part of a bigger problem. The National Academy of Medicine estimated in 2012 that the United States squanders more than a quarter of what it spends on health care — about $765 billion a year.

ProPublica is investigating the types of waste in health care that academics and politicians typically overlook. Our first installment examined the tens of millions worth of equipment and brand new supplies that hospitals jettison.

Today we look at the wasteful, and potentially harmful, ways nursing homes dispose of leftover meds — and how some states, like Iowa, have found a solution.

On a recent Wednesday in Des Moines, Ami Bradwell, a certified pharmacy technician, popped open the lids of several 31-gallon bins full of prescription drugs. In each were hundreds of what are known as “bingo cards” filled with rows of pills in sealed bubbles.

“Metformin — for diabetics,” Bradwell said, holding up a card of large white pills. “It’s not crazy expensive, but it’s in high demand.”

She held up an entire box of the anti-nausea drug Ondansetron. It goes for about $5 a pill, according to the website drugs.com. “Expensive.”

An Iowa nursing home threw away these unused aripiprazole pills, which are used to treat psychiatric conditions. The nonprofit SafeNetRx recovered them and will donate them to a needy patient. (Rachel Mummey for ProPublica)

Another card had three large pills stuffed in each chamber, a find Bradwell called “a ‘jackpot’ card. You can’t live without it because it’s a seizure medication.”

Bradwell works for the nonprofit SafeNetRx. Each week the group takes in dozens of bins full of such drugs, as well as boxes mailed in from across Iowa and several other states — pharmaceutical trash that exists because, for convenience and cost, long-term care pharmacies often dispense nursing home patients’ medications in bulk, a months‘ worth at a time.

Should a patient die, leave or stop taking the drug, what’s left is typically tossed. The drugs have already been paid for, by Medicare in most cases, so there’s little incentive to try to recycle them. In some states, such reuse is against the law.

Some of the cards Bradwell examined that day were missing only a few pills. One card had been thrown out even though it only lacked one of its 31 doses of oxybutynin, which reduces muscle spasms of the bladder. The remaining 30 are worth more than $13.

“There are literally millions of dollars of prescription medications thrown away every day in this country,” said John Forbes, an Iowa pharmacist who dispenses SafeNetRx’s recovered drugs to his low-income patients.

Although most states technically allow some leftover drugs to be recycled, Iowa is one of the few rescuing a significant percentage of the drugs from destruction. The state funds the program for about $600,000 a year, said SafeNetRx CEO Jon Rosmann, who calls it a “common sense” solution. In fiscal 2016 the program recovered and distributed drugs valued at about $3.4 million. This year it’s on pace to top $5 million.

Forbes, who is also an Iowa state representative, said there are additional savings when low-income patients have access to the drugs they need. Patients who don’t take their drugs “end up in the emergency room,” he said, “which will wind up costing our health care system way more money.”

At SafeNetRx, the drugs are sorted and organized in a 1,500-square-foot room lined with shelves stacked with bins of drugs. In the center, folding tables hold hundreds of bingo cards, sorted alphabetically by generic drug name, from the blood pressure drug acebutolol to the antipsychotic ziprasidone. None of the medications are controlled substances, though those may be included in the future.

Pharmacy officials say there may be a million dollars’ worth of drugs in this small room. The 30 mg syringes of the blood thinner Enoxaparin are used by patients for weeks before and after heart surgery. They can go for $13 per dose.

The Iowa nonprofit SafeNetRx recovers unexpired drugs thrown away by nursing homes and gives them to needy patients. The organization collects dozens of bins every week. (Rachel Mummey for ProPublica)

One box contains scores of doses of Spiriva, inhalation capsules for chronic obstructive pulmonary disease that would sell for about $18 each. The antipsychotic Abilify runs about $46 per pill.

The biggest ticket items are the cancer drugs. They are typically donated directly from patients or their families. Those can run $8,000 or more per month.

The cancer drugs are passed on to people like Amber Judge, a patient advocate at Medical Oncology and Hematology Associates, a cancer clinic in Des Moines. Judge is accustomed to patients coming into her office in a panic. They’ve just learned they have cancer, only to find out they can’t afford the drugs they need to battle the disease. That’s when Judge opens one of the file drawers in her office, which are filled with tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of the drugs recovered by SafeNetRx.

In one filing drawer she has about 30 boxes of Tasigna, which costs about $100 per pill. In another drawer she has a gallon-sized plastic bag with bottles of Stivarga, about $188 per pill.

The process is similar to patients receiving drug samples at a doctor’s office. They leave her office with the drugs they need — for free.

“I give them a month’s supply if I have it,” Judge said. “They’re so thankful. They’re incredulous.”

In many places in the United States, however, these leftover drugs meet a very different end, one that is not only wasteful, but potentially harmful.

In recent years, scientists have detected something disturbing in the Long Island’s aquifer: low levels of pharmaceuticals.

Though consumers have been warned not to flush their drugs down the toilet because sewer waste can contaminate groundwater, many still do it; more worrisome still, flushing remains a common practice at nursing homes in New York and across the country. The effects of such contamination on humans are unclear, but it has been shown to slow the metamorphosis of frogs and increase the feminization of fish.

Three years ago, New York’s Department of Environmental Conservation started an annual program, funded by the state legislature, to scoop up unused medications before they were flushed. Even though the pickup service is free to facilities, only two dozen of 169 eligible Long Island nursing homes participated this February, turning over 660 pounds of drugs.

Those valuable medications didn’t go into the water supply, but they didn’t go to needy patients, either, though such recycling is now allowed in New York. Instead, they went to an incinerator company. Experts, including the EPA, have recommended incineration for getting rid of pharmaceuticals.

Destroying the unused drugs is always going to have environmental implications, said Carrie Meek Gallagher, region 1 director for the department. “It’s always a trade-off of what’s most harmful. For us, anything getting into the water is the worst solution.”

The National Conference of State Legislatures said 39 states had passed laws that allowed the donation of drugs. But almost half of these states with laws lack programs to get the drugs safely from one appropriate user to another, and many of those that do have programs are focused on cancer drugs, the analysis showed.

There hasn’t been a lot of public opposition to redistributing the drugs, even among drugmakers. Most concerns circle around logistics, although in Illinois trial attorneys have lobbied against a proposed program, saying it muddies liability issues.

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Richard Cauchi, program director for health for the conference of state legislatures, said just passing laws doesn’t guarantee success. A state agency or organization needs to oversee the program, encouraging participation and streamlining its administration so it’s not a burden for pharmacies and nursing homes.

“It’s a lot of work, and from a retail point of view, an expense,” Cauchi said. “How do you accept these drugs? How do you confirm their safety? How do you know they meet the proper standards?”

Federal agencies are of little help, each pursuing their own, often contradictory, agendas.

The EPA discourages flushing drugs because they contaminate the water supply. But it doesn’t have the authority to prohibit “sewering” the medications. Only local authorities can take that stance. It has, however, proposed reclassifying the unused drugs as hazardous waste, which would then prohibit flushing them.

The Food and Drug Administration says certain medications are so dangerous that they should be disposed of immediately, even if that means flushing them. It even provides a list of drugs recommended for flushing, mostly controlled substances like diazepam, better known as Valium, and the potent painkiller fentanyl.

The Drug Enforcement Administration wants to ensure controlled substances, like narcotic painkillers, aren’t diverted to the illegal drug market. It has recommended that long-term pharmacies collect leftover drugs by placing boxes in nursing homes that must be emptied at least every three days, but that creates expense, hassle and potential liability.

Some advocates say the makers of the drugs should be responsible for disposing or recycling them. Scott Cassel, CEO of the Product Stewardship Institute, a nonprofit organization dedicated to reducing the environmental impact of consumer products, said the producers of batteries, electronics, paint and other products are required by law in some areas to pay for the safe disposal of their products. Similar laws require drug makers to pay for the destruction of leftover household drugs in two states and about a dozen counties, but no laws address nursing homes.

Coggins, who leads the pharmacy services for the Diversicare chain, said people in the nursing home industry would like to do something about the waste. But their options are dictated by laws and regulations, and there’s been a lack of investment in cost-effective solutions like the one in Iowa.

About half the states where Diversicare operates allow the donation of unused drugs, but the programs required too much work sorting and inventorying the drugs without any reimbursement, he said. “It’s like people have created legislation and it’s a feel-good thing, but nobody’s come back to see why it’s not working.”

Diversicare avoids flushing drugs whenever possible, Coggins said, but it still occurs sometimes. The organization has switched to a product called Rx Destroyer that chemically deactivates the medication so it can be put in the trash, he said, but even that is controversial because it goes into a landfill.

In many nursing homes, flushing is just part of the routine.

“Oh my goodness, it’s so sad,” said Jennifer Ramsey, a nurse who formerly worked as a house supervisor for a nursing home in South Haven, Mississippi. Once a month she and another nurse would gather all the unused blister packs of medication, she said, piles of them, probably worth tens of thousands of dollars. Then they would pop the pills one by one into the toilet.

“You would spend almost your whole eight-hour day doing it,” Ramsey recalled.

Ramsey now works for the nonprofit Good Shepherd Pharmacy in Memphis. In Tennessee, the law requires nursing homes to destroy unused drugs on site. Good Shepherd’s founder is pressing to change the law so the drugs can be saved and donated.

In March, state Rep. Cameron Sexton, a Republican whose wife is a pharmacist, introduced a bill that would allow unexpired medications to be donated in Tennessee. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a process set up to do that so all these drugs have to be destroyed,” he said.

Perhaps the most graphic way to see the waste firsthand is a visit to the Curtis Bay Medical Waste facility on the south side of Baltimore, home of the largest incinerator of its kind in the country.

Here Curtis Bay’s fleet of trucks delivers load after load of unused, unexpired drugs from hundreds of nursing homes and other facilities and clinics up and down the East Coast. Drugs also come from medical waste companies like SteriCycle and Daniels Sharpsmart. In 2015, 204 tons of non-hazardous pharmaceutical waste came from the Daniels location in the Bronx, according to records filed in New York. Such waste includes not only drugs tossed by nursing homes, but also those from hospitals, doctors’ offices and other facilities.

Inside Curtis Bay, the drugs are processed and destroyed in an area the size of several hockey rinks. A conveyor belt about 15 feet off the ground snakes through the facility loaded with hundreds of boxes of pharmaceutical and medical waste — all leading to the two incineration chambers.

On a recent visit, the chamber was over 2,000 degrees, a heat that could be felt from 20 feet away.

From a platform above the incinerator’s maw, you can watch as thousands of dollars of potentially lifesaving pills and medications tumble, box by box, into the steaming opening. Then they are shoveled into the blaze.

Boxes of unused drugs burn in the opening of an incinerator at Curtis Bay Medical Waste Services in Baltimore, Maryland. (Matt Roth for ProPublica)

Experts say incineration is the least environmentally objectionable end-of-life option for unused drugs. But it’s also the most expensive destruction method — from 50 cents to a dollar per pound, paid for by the facilities themselves — which is why many nursing homes resort to flushing.

Nursing homes save the disposal fees in Iowa, because they can donate them to SafeNetRx, where they benefit needy patients like Max Armstrong.

The 82-year-old suffers from multiple chronic conditions — emphysema, congestive heart failure and more. The ailments were manageable until 2015, when he suffered blood clots in his leg and lung. Doctors put him on the generic blood thinner warfarin, but it “almost killed me,” he said, so he switched to Xarelto, a newer brand name drug that costs about $700 a month.

The total tab for the Xarelto and the other 14 medications Armstrong must take each month would cost at least $1,200, according to his daughter. Armstrong, whose savings took a hit during the financial crisis, lives on $1,158 a month in Social Security.

It’s “stupid” to throw away drugs that can keep so many other people healthy, Armstrong said. “There’s a lot of people out there in this world who need help.”

Help us investigate wasted health care dollars: Experts say the United States might be squandering a quarter of the money spent on health care. That’s an estimated $765 billion a year. Do you believe you’ve encountered this waste? Tell us.

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[readbookywooks]

Nicolas Flamel

Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the invisibility cloak stayed folded at the bottom of his trunk. Harry wished he could forget what he'd seen in the mirror as easily, but he couldn't. He started having nightmares. Over and over again he dreamed about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high voice cackled with laughter.　　

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said Ron, when Harry told him about these drearns.　　

Hermione, who came back the day before term started, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had caught you!"), and disappointment that he hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was.　　They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a li- brary book, even though Harry was still sure he'd read the name somewhere. Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Harry had even less time than the other two, because Quidditch practice had started again.　　

Wood was working the team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Weasleys complained that Wood was becoming a fanatic, but Harry was on Wood's side. If they won their next match, against Hufflepuff, they would overtake Slytherin in the house championship for the first time in seven years. Quite apart from wanting to win, Harry found that he had fewer nightmares when he was tired out after training.　　

Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Wood gave the team a bit of bad news. He'd just gotten very angry with the Weasleys, who kept dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall off their brooms.　　

"Will you stop messing around!" he yelled. "That's exactly the sort of thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"　　

George Weasley really did fall off his broom at these words.　　

"Snape's refereeing?" he spluttered through a mouthful of mud. "When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin."　　

The rest of the team landed next to George to complain, too.　　

"It's not my fault," said Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."　　

Which was all very well, thought Harry, but he had another reason for not wanting Snape near him while he was playing Quidditch....　　

The rest of the team hung back to talk to one another as usual at the end of practice, but Harry headed straight back to the Gryffindor common room, where he found Ron and Hermione playing chess. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Harry and Ron thought was very good for her.　　

"Don't talk to me for a moment," said Ron when Harry sat down next to him, "I need to concen --" He caught sight of Harry's face. "What's the matter with you? You look terrible."　　

Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Harry told the other two about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.　　

"Don't play," said Hermione at once.　　

"Say you're ill," said Ron.　　

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.　　

"Really break your leg," said Ron.　　

"I can't," said Harry. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all."　　

At that moment Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor tower.　　Everyone fell over laughing except Hermione, who leapt up and performed the countercurse. Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling. "What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with Harry and Ron.　　

"Malfoy," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."　　

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged Neville. "Report him!"　　Neville shook his head.　　

"I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.　　

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" said Ron. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."　　

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville choked out.　　

Harry felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.　　

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry said. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."　　

Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog.　　

"Thanks, Harry... I think I'll go to bed.... D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?"　　

As Neville walked away, Harry looked at the Famous Wizard card.　　

"Dumbledore again," he said, "He was the first one I ever-"　　He gasped. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looked up at Ron and Hermione.　　

"I've found him!" he whispered. "I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here -- listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel'!"　　

Hermione jumped to her feet. She hadn't looked so excited since they'd gotten back the marks for their very first piece of homework.　　

"Stay there!" she said, and she sprinted up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Harry and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.　　

"I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."　　

"Light?" said Ron, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she'd looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.　　

At last she found what she was looking for.　　

"I knew it! I knew it!"　　

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him.　　

"Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!"　　

This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected.　　

"The what?" said Harry and Ron.　　

"Oh, honestly, don't you two read? Look -- read that, there."　　

She pushed the book toward them, and Harry and Ron read: The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.　　

There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).　　

"See?" said Hermione, when Harry and Ron had finished. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"　　

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Harry. "No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it."　　

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," said Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"　　

The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harry and Ron were still discussing what they'd do with a Sorcerer's Stone if they had one. It wasn't until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that Harry remembered about Snape and the coming match.　　

"I'm going to play," he told Ron and Hermione. "If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show them... it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win."　　

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," said Hermione.　　

As the match drew nearer, however, Harry became more and more nervous, whatever he told Ron and Hermione. The rest of the team wasn't too calm, either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the house championship was wonderful, no one had done it for seven years, but would they be allowed to, with such a biased referee?　　

Harry didn't know whether he was imagining it or not, but he seemed to keep running into Snape wherever he went. At times, he even wondered whether Snape was following him, trying to catch him on his own. Potions lessons were turning into a sort of weekly torture, Snape was so horrible to Harry. Could Snape possibly know they'd found out about the Sorcerer's Stone? Harry didn't see how he could -- yet he sometimes had the horrible feeling that Snape could read minds.　　

Harry knew, when they wished him good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, that Ron and Hermione were wondering whether they'd ever see him alive again. This wasn't what you'd call comforting. Harry hardly heard a word of Wood's pep talk as he pulled on his Quidditch robes and picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand.　　

Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had both brought their wands to the match. Little did Harry know that Ron and Hermione had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. They'd gotten the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and were ready to use it on Snape if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Harry.　　

"Now, don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis," Hermione muttered as Ron slipped his wand up his sleeve.　　

"I know," Ron snapped. "Don't nag."　　

Back in the locker room, Wood had taken Harry aside.　　

"Don't want to pressure you, Potter, but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much."　　

"The whole school's out there!" said Fred Weasley, peering out of the door. "Even -- blimey -- Dumbledore's come to watch!"　　

Harry's heart did a somersault.　　

"Dumbledore?" he said, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred was right. There was no mistaking that silver beard.　　

Harry could have laughed out loud with relief He was safe. There was simply no way that Snape would dare to try to hurt him if Dumbledore was watching.　　

Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched onto the field, something that Ron noticed, too.　　

"I've never seen Snape look so mean," he told Hermione. "Look -they're off Ouch!"　　

Someone had poked Ron in the back of the head. It was Malfoy.　　"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there."　　

Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.　　

"Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?"　　

Ron didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.　　

"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money -- you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."　　

Neville went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy.　　

"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," he stammered.　　

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."　　

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."　　

Ron's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety about Harry.　　

"I'm warning you, Malfoy -- one more word　　

"Ron!" said Hermione suddenly, "Harry --"　　

"What? Where?"　　

Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet.　　

"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" said Malfoy.　　

Ron snapped. Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help.　　

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape -- she didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle.　　

Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches -- the next second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand.　　

The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.　　

"Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! Harry's won! We've won! Gryffindor is in the lead!" shrieked Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Parvati Patil in the row in front.　　

Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn't believe it. He'd done it -- the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, he saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped -- then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.　　

"Well done," said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear. "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror... been keeping busy... excellent..."　　

Snape spat bitterly on the ground.　　

Harry left the locker room alone some time later, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn't ever remember feeling happier. He'd really done something to be proud of now -- no one could say he was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift him onto their shoulders; Ron and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed.　　

Harry had reached the shed. He leaned against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. Gryffindor in the lead. He'd done it, he'd shown Snape....　　

And speaking of Snape...　　

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the forbidden forest. Harry's victory faded from his mind as he watched. He recognized the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner -- what was going on?　　

Harry jumped back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle he saw Snape enter the forest at a run. He followed.　　

The trees were so thick he couldn't see where Snape had gone. He flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he heard voices. He glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree.　　

He climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to his broomstick, trying to see through the leaves. Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn't alone. Quirrell was there, too. Harry couldn't make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry strained to catch what they were saying.　　

"... d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus..."　　

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all."　　

Harry leaned forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him.　　

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"　　

"B-b-but Severus, I --"　　

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step toward him.　　

"I-I don't know what you　　

"You know perfectly well what I mean."　　

An owl hooted loudly, and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. He steadied himself in time to hear Snape say, "-- your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."　　

"B-but I d-d-don't --"　　

"Very well," Snape cut in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."　　

He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing. It was almost dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.　　

"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione squeaked.　　

"We won! You won! We won!" shouted Ron, thumping Harry on the back. "And I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! He's still out cold but Madam Pomftey says he'll be all right - talk about showing Slytherin! Everyone's waiting for you in the common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens."　　

"Never mind that now," said Harry breathlessly. "Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this...."　　

He made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them, then he told them what he'd seen and heard.　　

"So we were right, it is the Sorcerer's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy - and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocuss-- I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through --"　　

"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" said Hermione in alarm.　　

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," said Ron.