[MASTERPOST]

Eskel is like "I WILL read this book about... A wolf and all his friends? Dancing and being. happy... 🥺"

Stede

While there were times Stede wanted to spend every available second with Ed he still enjoyed time by himself once in a while. At present he was reading in his cabin while Ed and most of the crew were on shore. It was nice to get some time to just read and relax alone. It was nice to not have to worry about what the crew was getting up to. 

There was a knock at the cabin door and Stede groaned. Of course, it was always something. 

“Come in!” Stede said, setting the book down and standing to see who it was and what disaster was going on. 

“Captain Bonnet.” 

Oh. It was Izzy. Definitely not who Stede wanted to see and it was extremely difficult not to scowl and snap.

“What is it Izzy?”

“Is Edward back yet?” 

“Not yet.” 

Izzy sighed. Stede frowned. Something wasn’t right with Izzy. He was holding his arm strangely and his face looked bruised and pale.

“Are you alright Izzy?” 

“No,” Izzy admitted, “Dislocated my fucking shoulder. Again. Edward usually helps. Roach isn’t here either.” 

“How many times have you dislocated your shoulder?” Stede asked

“This’ll be the sixth time,” Izzy said.

“Can I help?” Stede asked. Izzy looked at him. Over the past couple of years Stede and Izzy had been getting better around each other. No more trying to kill each other or one up each other around Edward. Still there was a distance between the two.

“I…we can try,” Izzy said. Stede didn’t blame Izzy for being hesitant. The man must be hurting if he was willing to try getting help from Stede. 

“Where do we start?” Stede asked. 

“I need your help to get my shirt off,” Izzy said. Stede felt a little sick at the sight of Izzy’s dislocated, bruised shoulder. It looked horribly painful. Izzy gave instructions for where Stede needed to put his hand and put pressure and that Izzy knew what movement he needed to make. 

Izzy was trembling slightly or the muscles in his shoulder were spasming, either way it was clear to Stede now that he was close to Izzy how much pain the man was in and how nervous Izzy was to be so vulnerable in front of Stede of all people. 

Izzy moved and Stede felt a pop and Izzy cried out in pain and stumbled slightly. 

“Did it work?” Stede asked and helped Izzy over to the couch where Izzy sat down. 

“It worked.” 

“Oh good. Just stay right there, I think I have something to make a sling out of,” Stede said. Stede went into the wardrobe and found the perfect scarf he could fashion into a sling for Izzy. It wasn’t black but he thought Izzy might be alright with dark green. 

Stede peeked out of the closet and saw Izzy laying with his head back looking utterly exhausted. When Stede came out Izzy sat up straight. 

“This should do it, and you can stay here if you want.” 

“I shouldn’t…” 

“Would you stay if it was just you and Ed?” 

“Yes. Suppose I could stay.” 

Stede helped Izzy back into his shirt then helped him put his arm in the sling.

“Can I ask what happened?” 

Izzy huffed, “Buckle on the foot came loose,” Izzy said indicating his prosthetic foot, “I tripped and tumbled. You tell anyone and I’ll kill you.” 

“I won’t tell anyone Izzy. I’m sorry you hurt yourself. Do we need to fix anything on the foot?” 

“No, was my fault.” 

“Sorry Izzy. Don’t hesitate to speak up if you need something fixed or upgraded,” Stede said. 

Izzy nodded and looked like he was going to try to get up again. 

“You can stay as long as you’d like, I’m just reading.” 

Izzy looked like he was thinking about it, he looked tired and a little worn out and if Stede were in his position he would want to take a nap. Somewhere safe. Stede hoped that Izzy realized he was somewhere safe.

Izzy settled down a little, “Thanks…Stede.” 

“You’re very welcome Izzy,” Stede said. He smiled as he walked back to read. He was pretty sure that was the first time Izzy had called him by his name, and hopefully it wouldn’t be the last. 

Hello my lovelies!!

Ok let me just start by saying- 600 followers?! Are you kidding?? Thank you all SO much! I can’t even begin to describe how grateful I am to have every single one of you interested enough in my blog to be following me! Thank you thank you thank you!!!🥰🥰

Now I’m gonna repay you by breaking your hearts!

This is my first try at anything super angsty, so if your gonna yell at me afterwards please feel free to do so in the comments or in my ask box or even just reblogging and cursing me in the tags🤣 please let me know what you think!

TW: Major character death, mentions of vomiting and allusions to body mutilation- nothing graphic just vaguely indicated but whatever you are comfortable with is up to you! If any of what I warned makes you uncomfortable please don’t read! Your mental health is more important than a work of fiction!

Update: I’m sorry- I posted this and for some reason the tag list wasn’t working but it should be now! If your username has changed please let me know so I can tag you properly down below!❤️

Summary: Someone important dies. Cardan deals with it. Grab your tissues❤️

Final Resting Place

“I’m…I’m so sorry.” The folk are not in the habit of apologizing, much less for something that is so common. It matters not, Cardan has ceased listening, has heard nothing after The Bomb uttered those damning words.

Jude is dead.

He recalls, distantly, a time when Nicasia drug him halfway to her underwater kingdom, wishing to show him its beauty and splendor. He recalls how helpless he felt, how he could breathe but it wasn’t right. How he was silenced and the pressure from the water was crushing his chest so painfully it didn’t matter if he could breathe or not.

This feels near exactly like that.

“Your Highness?” Someone is asking a question he doesn’t hear. He doesn’t even ask them to repeat themselves. All he can do is state,

“She is to be brought back here. Burned on the pyres.” A Queen’s funeral. The only funerals the folk bothered to observe.

Someone, The Roach, likely, grunts in disapproval, “She… we…are not able to bring the body back. It was…”

Cardan isn’t sure what part of that statement makes his stomach churn the worst, the fact that they just referred to his wife, their queen as a body, or the fact that there apparently isn’t too much of her body to bring back.

He tries not to think, not to guess at what death was so brutal that she doesn’t even have a body left.

And that really is it, isn’t it? She, his fierce, vibrant, deadly queen, who always looked over her shoulder, is- was always so cautious, secretly ruling over a land that was designed to kill her, the mighty Jude Duarte, slayer of the folk-

Killed by something mortal.

In the mortal lands.

Where he sent her.

It was almost laughable, Cardan did laugh. Hysteria bubbling up in his chest like bile, which it might have been because suddenly the churning in his stomach was no longer violent but imminent and he’s throwing himself into the bathing chamber.

He doesn’t hear the court of shadows, her court of shadows, retreating as he retches into the chamber pot.

~.~

Time has lost all meaning.

It’s been days, weeks, months. The days pass in a blur, marked only by those who knew what she meant to him coming to give their condolences. Like it could lessen the pain of her being gone. Lessen the pain that came with the knowledge that this was his fault.

It was so ironic it hurt. Had he not exiled her to the mortal lands for her protection, she would have still been alive, ruling where she belonged, right by his side.

And now, she would never get to rule her kingdom openly. She would never share his throne, his crown, his name, his bed again.

She was gone before he got to have her.

And it was his own damn fault.

He refused to hold any audience with Taryn. It wasn’t fair, her twin was dead and she was parading around wearing her face. He knew that should he take one look at her, he would break beyond recognition.

The only thing keeping him alive on the throne being Jude’s memory, how she would have wanted, commanded him to keep ruling, even if she wasn’t there to do it with him.

He did allow an audience with Viviane, once. She had all but demanded it and would hardly take no for an answer. She arrived, eyes puffy and bloodshot, looking as terrible as he felt which didn’t seem fair either.

He wanted to be alone in his pain, for it to be all his own, because no one could understand, could relate to how he felt for her. Why should they share in his grief? The newest plate of armor he has cast over his heart?

She wasted no time on condolences, which in itself was strangely comforting. She got straight to the point, “You missed the funeral.”

“A mortal tradition.” His voice was hoarse with disuse. Had he gone so long without speaking to anyone? That didn’t seem possible.

“Dammit Cardan! She would have wanted you there.” Her anger was refreshing, a nice change of pace compared to the complete emptiness that was left behind in the shape of a mortal footprint upon his heart.

He almost wants to disagree, but that would make no sense. The folk can’t lie, not even half-fae.

When he doesn’t respond, Vivi crosses her arms, “Will you at least come visit her? Say your goodbyes? You have to say yes, we both know you need it.”

And painful as it was, she was right. The one thing that hurt worse than Jude being dead, knowing that it was because of him, was that he didn’t get to say goodbye. That all his letters to her went unanswered. That she died without knowing how much he needed her. How much he missed her and all she was to him. How much he…

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he silently rises and follows Vivi to his queen’s final resting place.

~.~

The mortal world is bright and loud and reeks of iron and is so alive it feels audacious. How dare anyone else continue living when someone from this place, someone so important, so above them was forced to forfeit that right?

The plot of land where she- what’s left of her- is laid to rest is small. The headstone sits, new and clean, next to two more that are dulled with age.

Justin and Eva Duarte.

Madoc had somehow procured graves for the two mortals he slaughtered, and now their youngest daughter lay beside them.

They are standing there for ten minutes before Vivi speaks, “You know, when someone visits the grave of someone they love, they usually look at it.” Her voice is monotone as she stares at the slab of stone sitting at the head of a patch of newly sprouted grass.

He’s not sure he can. If he looks, if he sees there is in fact a final stop, a final holding place for this restless mortal, then he will know it is real. That this wasn’t all some elaborate trick or punishment of her own making to get back at him for her banishment.

Foolish as it is, that was a dark hope buried deep inside him. That she was really still there, biding her time, waiting until he was just ruined enough to waltz back into his life to teach him a well deserved lesson. Perhaps on gratitude, on not taking things for granted.

It would be such a Jude thing to do.

A hand rests on his shoulder and he nearly flinches away, “I’ll give you a minute.”

Her footsteps recede, utterly fae and silent. So unlike the ones he desperately wishes to hear a final time.

It takes him maybe two minutes more for his eyes to finally find the headstone. He is shocked to find he can barely read what is inscribed upon it through tears that have filled his eyes.

Jude Duarte-Greenbriar

Beloved sister and wife

2001-2019

His tears come in earnest, then. How had he never known she took his name as well? Had cared enough to do so? Or was this something her sisters did to spite him? He pressed his lips together in an attempt to stifle any sobs trying to break free.

Cautiously, so cautious she would be proud, he runs his fingers over the inscription of her name- their name. When he knows his voice will be steady, he speaks.

“Well, wife.” He presses his eyes closed as a fresh wave of tears pushes at his senses, “I doubt either of us saw it coming to this.” Gently, he tugs something out of the satchel he brought with him.

“It was yours. For you to wear upon your return. For when you came home.” He couldn’t stop his voice from breaking as he carefully laid the crown down at the foot of the headstone, glamoured so mortals would see it as a pile of painted rocks.

“I guess in a way, I got what you thought I wanted. For you to…” He can’t even bring himself to say it. He had never wanted this. When in palace lessons, he thought that dreams plagued with her scent, her voice, her touch had been the most horrid nightmares. He was wrong, this was far worse than any dream he had of her angry face, her soft hair. This was a nightmare terrifying enough to cripple the strongest of men.

“Well. I guess it doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t matter that I wish I could take back what I said about you in our childhood. That you would return to the earth, worm food.” He shudders, recalling that he had said those things while imagining that they would have followed a long life. One filled with her aging slowly due to living in Elfhame. Secret imaginings he only allowed himself in the darkest hours of the night- ones where he was by her side and they wreaked havoc together for the rest of their long, full lives. His next words are whispered, “I never imagined it would happen so soon.”

His hand returns to the headstone, gripping the cool rock tightly.

There is nothing left to say aside from one final message. Nothing left to do other than leave this place and continue on in his immortality, letting her fade into the backs of everyone’s memory as the Last Mortal Queen.

Taking a final shaky breath, Cardan utters the truth he had spent nearly his whole life repressing, trying to lie his way around. The words he now so desperately wishes he had said to her before he cast her out of their home in hopes of preventing this very thing from happening.

With one final look upon the place his wife, his queen is forever to rest upon, he whispers,

“I love you.”

~.~

Years and years and years later, young children of the gentry sit in their history lessons amongst their mortal classmates, and learn of the beautiful, treacherous life that was led by the Last Mortal Queen, Jude Duarte-Greenbriar

And that is that! Did I make you cry? Do you want to throw crumpled tissues at my head? Let me know!❤️ (I left out details of Jude’s death on purpose, it’s up to your imagination to come up with what happened to her, sorry for pain😬)

Tag list:

As always, please let me know through the comments or my inbox or any other way you are comfortable with and let me know if you wish to be added to my list so you can be alerted to my future works!

@maleckanejnessienjurdansolangelo @woodsbeyond1 @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @thewickedkings @aneurwin @snusbandxknifewife @jurdanhell @andromeddea @dressedindustandshadows @thesirenwashere @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @unidentifiedblackthorn @iminsanenotobsessed @df3ndyr @brittneyal @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @fuzzypineapples-blog @nahthanks @charrise @thefolkofthefic @theviolettulip @embersfromink @kittkatandbooboo

Till next time, loves!🥰

Across the Universe II (Paul McCartney x Female!Reader)

Find Part One Here

A/N: I just checked chapter 1 and I literally put it up over a year ago. Shit. I just wrote a part 2, and finally got ahold of a computer to post it. I hope you's enjoy it. my last chapter had like... 20 likes altogether, so hopefully this chapter will draw some readers in.

Summary: Paul makes it to the Princeton campus where he not only reunites with his cousin Vick, but he meets a fellow stoner named Max. From there, the boys indulge in some Ivy League Hospitality.

WARNINGS: Drinking, swearing, smoking psychoactive substances (Cannabis), just dumb college guys doing dumb college shit. also, it's probably got mistakes bc I suck at revising

This is just a statement clearing up that none of these characters are mine except for Vick. Everyone else belongs to those who were involved in and/or collaborated with Julie Taymor in making the Across The Universe film (2007)

I'll rate this one a T seeing as the substance use isn't THAT bad.

"Vick Hoffner?"

"Try across the way, man. I think there's a Vick of sorts there."

Paul simply nodded at the stranger before turning on his heel and making a beeline to the next apartment, his hands fiddling with his useless book of contacts.

What was the point of giving me your number if you won't even pick up the phone?

He sighed, and rubbed his eyes tiredly with the palm of his hand. He'd been hitchhiking for two days just to get to the Princeton Campus, and then a few hours going through the closest rented apartments to locate him.

This was apartment number 9.

And it was nearing one AM.

Paul rapped weakly at the door, silently concluding that this would be the last place to check before finding somewhere to sleep until the next morning.

The door swung open, and Paul was face-to-face with this college kid who seemed to be about his age. He had unkempt blonde hair that curled around his ears, patchy stubble, and big blue eyes hazed over with the red assault of cannabis in his system.

Despite this, and the nearly empty beer bottle in his hand, the guy looked like he was keeping it together pretty well.

Paul cleared his throat, and raised an eyebrow. "... Vick Hoffner?"

"Nah, man. He's out at the moment gettin' drinks," the guy paused, and looked at Paul for a moment.

"Hey, hold on, you're not... Vick's cousin, are you?"

"Would it be an issue?" Paul asked sarcastically, to which the other guy responded after a laugh, "Nah. I just can't wait for him to get back and find out you got the better looks."

Paul just rolled his eyes, a smile on his lips. "Probably don't matter. He's the brains n' so is me brother. 'S what really matters; though I take pride in this thing." Paul pointed teasingly at his face.

The other guy smiled, pulling two cigarettes from behind his ear. He offered one to Paul, and he claimed the other. He lit the both of their cigs, and they each took a long drag after Paul scanned the apartment hallway for any angry tenants who happened to be against smoking indoors.

"So... does Vick's "pretty boy" cousin have a name?"

Paul nodded like the fact that he had a name was astounding information, but he smiled genuinely before bringing the cigarette back to his lips. "It's Paul."

"Max," The blond shoved his hand out, and the boys shook hands firmly. Max eyed Paul again."Where's that accent from, Paul?"

"Same place as me," Paul answered as he shoved his free hand in his pocket, blowing out smoke a moment after. "Liverpool."

"But why come to America?" Max gestured Paul into the apartment as he spoke, closing the door behind them. "Kill someone? Were you on the run from the cops? FBI?"

"'Sounds like you'd be one to know 'bout all of that." The boys took a seat on the couch in the centre of the room as their cigarettes slowly burned away as they chatted.

"Hey, hey, I've barely ever been in trouble with the cops, but I have pissed off every professor in Princeton, and have broken several campus windows."

" 'nd... you're proud of it?"

"I'm an adrenaline junkie, what can I say? Smashed nearly forty five windows and despite being Princeton's number one vandalidm suspect, I'm still not expelled. Y'know why?" Paul leaned in a little, enough to catch the dank scent of weed, and Max lowered his voice. "... because they can never prove it's me."

" 'nd why is that?"

The answer to Paul's question burst right through the apartment door.

"There's three more of us, and it could be any of them!" One of which, Paul could surprisingly recognize.

"Vick. Long time no see," Paul rose to his feet, and Vick, who'd set a six-pack of beer on the coffee table between them, greeted his cousin with a friendly hug and some "how are you"s.

Despite being an intelligent young man, Paul noticed that Vick behaved a little less like how he used to: polite, conservative, and proper. It was suspected that his behaviour changed because his newfound freedom at Uni allowed him to experience and access things that he would have been otherwise restricted from when he was younger.

Booze was one of them.

Dope was another.

In fact, he wordlessly cracked open a beer for Paul, and handed it to him like he'd asked for a drink in the first place.

Paul wasn't a huge drinker. It was never a vice of his, or anything like that either. He got shitfaced every once in a while for fun.

But when he brought that aluminum can up to his lips, Paul would never have guessed that it would have led to the night it did.

Five minutes after Vick and his buddies returned, Max brought out the roach Paul suspected he was sucking on before he got there.

With enthusiastic cheers from around the room, Max lit the sucker up, took a nice drag from the hot remainders of the joint, and passed it on to Paul.

Paul looked at the roach, almost as if he was confused. No one had asked him if he'd ever smoked before, but Max and the others yelled hurriedly over top of one another, instructing for Paul to suck in quickly and hold the smoke in for as long as he could.

It resulted in a coughing fit, and encouraging pats on the back from the other guys. Vick ended up taking the roach next, and Max reached out across the table.

"Have another one of these, my friend," he slid over another beer after cracking it open just moments before, despite the fact that Paul wasn't quite finished his first drink.

"Y'know, the more you cough, the higher you get? Pretty fucking sick. Like a win-win, man. You don't cough: You're high. You cough: You're super high."

As time went on, and Paul nursed his second drink more responsibly than the first one, things, ironically, started making less and less sense to him.

At one point, he was talking to the guy sitting across from him, and he just stopped talking for a whole ten seconds before turning to Max and asking "what the fuck was I just talking about?"

"Who fucking knows." The blond's shoulders shook as he tried suppressing his laughs, but eventually Paul just burst out into laughs and uncontrollable tears.

And everyone followed suit.

He had absolutely no idea how he got there, or how long he'd been there for, but sitting before Paul were now two empty Tankards. A waitress just set down another to him, and collected the table's empty glasses.

They were in a bar.

Max sat beside Paul as he watched Vick spectate the other two guys play pool.

For the life of him, Paul couldn't remember those guys' names, despite knowing he was told multiple times in the last few hours. To be fair, being drunk and stoned is a perfectly reasonable explanation as to how one forgets another's name. He supposed it didn't exactly matter, anyways.

"So, you got any hot sisters abroad I should know about?" Paul gave Max a funny look  but it may have been because it took so long for Paul's brain to register what had been asked.

"... No. Do you?"

"I've got two younger sisters; one's eight, and the older one's a little on the uglier side," though he didn't say it, Max's little smile indicated to Paul that he was joking about the last comment.

Paul and Max watched the boys play pool a little longer until the eight ball was pocketed.

"Wanna play?" Paul's head snapped to his left, and he nodded at Max's offer.

The other guys traded off, and Vick continued spectating. Max made the first break, and Paul watched as the cue ball rolled right into one of the pockets. Well, it seemed to have been only him to notice, because Max's eyes were instead trained on a brunette woman passing the two.

She looked over her shoulder to wink at Max, and rather than gouging his reaction, she simply walked off and took a seat alone in the corner of the bar.

"Do you believe in love at first sight, McCartney?"

"Well, I'm sure that it 'appens all the time. Never 'appened to me, personally."

"You just need to find the right one, my friend.." Max trailed off again, eyes still locked on the bird in the corner. He was slowly inching from the table and toward her. Max eventually just set the cue on the table and completely abandoned their game to talk to this girl, who flashed him a flirty smile with her bright white teeth and painted lips.

Paul watched Max amusedly, taking a swig from his beer and memorizing the moves Max was putting on his lady friend, who was clearly enjoying his company.

Maybe Paul wanted to get better at approaching certain women. He knew how to flirt, and be charming. It's not like he'd never had girlfriends. He'd had his fair share of girls in his teenage years, and he had Molly now back in Liverpool.

But Paul, at this moment, in his crossfaded brain, realized that he didn't want to attract the women he had been anymore. Just from her visual appearance, and how she was reacting to Max's charming flirts, Paul could sense an airiness to her personality. She was always smiling, inching closer, initiating physical contact by nudging his hand with her own, the list goes on.

Hell, even on her happiest days, Molly would be reluctant to kiss Paul, but he'd excuse her behaviour because she was just a regularly bitchy person who hated public displays of affection.

Or hardly any affection at all, it seemed.

Needless to say, Max returned to the table five minutes later with a phone number and a big red lipstick stain on his cheek. So to celebrate, the gang decided to go golfing.

"Here she is, Window Way," Max introduced Paul to the roof of their apartment building. The other boys started giggling at the name "Window Way". Each guy had their own club, Max held a bag of golf balls, and Vick carried another six pack.

Max set his things down and took in the crisp night air as Vick opened yet another beer for each of the boys. Max took a can for him, and one for Paul, and proceeded to show his new buddy just why he called it "Window Way".

"A Driver will send a ball..." Max pointed his arm straight out in front of him, his finger pointing right towards the windows of the Princeton Campus library.

"...Straight towards the school," Paul finished. He turned to look at Max. "You guys do this every night?"

"Paul, I do this all day. I barely go to class anymore."

"Hey, Max! You tee first!" One of the nameless guys called out to them. Max brandished the widest of grins before rushing to grab his club, a ball, and a green tee from his pocket. "Hey, Paulie, wanna help me out by holding my tee up?"

"Well, how'd I do that without gettin' hit?"

The other boys started laughing again, and Paul was genuinely confused until he found himself lying on his back seconds later, and the bottom of the tee between his lips, which only got heavier when Max set the ball down onto it.

If he were sober in this moment, Paul would not have been this comfortable with someone swinging a golf club full force towards his head and then trust their judgement regardless of their in intoxicity that they'd hit their target...

It was a good thing Max had been doing this for a long time, because wow, did that ball ever fly.

Paul watched in stoned disbelief as the ball soared far off into the distance and over the roof of the library. And while no one had seen it, they certainly heard the shatter from the other side of the building.

And that's when all five boys ran away from administration retired back to their room to light up a new joint Vick had also brought home as a surprise. They all sat around and lazily talked to one another about how crazy Max's shot was, and while some of them were falling in and out of sleep, Max insisted they all stay up to watch the sky change colour from the courtyard.

Paul didn't know how he stayed up any longer than he did, but he pulled through like a trooper, and they all watched the sky change as they lay down in the fallen leaves. But as soon as they all came back to their room for a final time, Paul dragged himself in exhaustion to the living room chair to sit, but he just slipped out of it onto the floor, and that's when his body decided to turn off on its own.

The other guys dropped to the ground or onto the furniture like dead flies, and within ten seconds of the door closing, the room was quiet.

And it stayed like that for nearly ten hours.

Paul woke up that evening with a raging headache and multiple trips to the bathroom to be sick, but now three things were certain for him: He definitely had one hell of a time, he definitely wanted to hang out with Max a lot more, and that evening Paul definitely got by with a little help from his new friends.

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

A/A/N: alrighty, if this chapter doesn't do too too bad, I'll see about continuing this story. I've got chapter 3 pretty much done as well, I'm just in the midst of revising it. If you want more, by all means, PLEASE let me know!

considering that this site keeps hiding this fic from the tags (i am very sad about this) I decided to do what most of you do in this circumstances and posting here an extract, and then put the link to ao3 in the reblogs. just hoping that it doesn’t STILL get hidden.

tw: suicidal thoughts, depression, major character death but he’s not really dead because I want happy endings where everyone lives, mentioned abuse. 

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Geralt snorts, looking at the severed head at his feet. Every time is worse than the last, but bandits just don't understand that he's going to fight regardless his all being telling him that it's wrong, he's not going to get punched and robbed just because of what townsfolk, then, say about him.

He ignores the blood on his hands, and on his armor. Blood that isn't of monsters, but just people too angry, too mad, too greedy.

He doesn't ignore the bags, though. So, he sheathes his sword, crouches near the dead bodies, and rummages in their satchels, hoping to find something to eat – and if he's lucky enough, they have wine and booze. He's going to have a wonderful night in the woods, in Roach's company and with a... a ham sandwich, he finds, and a liquor he doesn't recognize, but it seems good. The smell is good, and that's enough.

“Are you... are you stealing from dead people?”

Geralt freezes, and for a second he doesn't know what to do. He didn't hear anyone approaching, and he didn't feel anyone around him until he heard that voice.

He puts an hand on the hilt of his sword, and turns around. Just to freeze again.

“I am in no position to criticize your way of living, but, uuh, maybe it's kind of unethical?” the figure in front of him starts to move his hands in a swiftly way, “Really, I wouldn't feel very respected.”

“They were trying to rob and kill me.” Geralt says, just because he's trying to gain more time to understand what the fuck is in front of him.

“Well.” the figure sniffs, “I guess that's... that's even. They were trying to rob and kill you, and in response you did kill and rob them. Makes sense.”

Geralt says, “You are a ghost.”

The ghost pouts. It literally pouts: its mouth's edges point towards the ground, and its lower lip gets bitten by its teeth, “I am very aware, dear stranger. It's really sad, I must say, because I can't really see my face in any kind of reflective surface, but I feel very young. Isn't it unfair? I am too young to be dead! But wait, you can see me? People couldn't. Not that I was in towns for long, really, but they never told anything about a strange, translucent, and I guess attractive ghost around them. Anyway, you can see me! Can you tell me if I am young or I am just a very healthy – as healthy as a dead man could be, I suppose – old man?”

The ghost in front of him is a young lad, indeed. His skin is translucent, in fact, so Geralt can't really say of what his hair colour was when he was alive, same with his eyes. “You're young. No more than twenty, maybe less.”

“See?” the ghost seems outraged, “That's an injustice.”

“People die all the time, you are not the only one.” says Geralt, and abandons the grip he has on his sword. “They killed you?” adds then, pointing the dead bodies at his feet.

“I have no idea. I don't even know who I am. Hell, I don't even know how's my face! How can I know who killed me?”

“Hm.”

“I found myself in the nearest town. I didn't travel a lot. I don't really know what should I do. Wasn't I supposed to, I don't know, transcend or something? They didn't become ghosts.” the ghost says, indicating the dead bandits with a dry gesture. “Why am I stuck here?”

“Don't know.” Geralt says. He grabs the things he found in the bandits satchels, and goes towards Roach. He puts everything inside her saddlebag, then jumps on top of her. “But I'm a Witcher. I can find out what happened to you. Probably your body lays somewhere in town. Hopefully, someone will pay me for finding you.”

“I'm not sure about that.” the ghost's voice takes on a bitter sound. “I haven't heard anything about me. I guess that, that maybe no one misses me.”

“Hm.” Geralt doesn't say anything, nudging Roach to start trotting towards civilization. If he remembers correctly, the closest town is Posada, and it's a two day ride. “You're not a wraith yet. Probably you died not too long ago. Your family may not know of your demise yet.”

“Maybe.”

Geralt feels strange. It's uncommon to find a conscious ghost, an innocuous ghost – after all, they don't take too long to become wraiths. If the boy didn't die a painful death, he didn't become a ghost in the first place, so that's out of questions.

Somehow, something twists in his chest in knowing that, for sure, the boy died a horrid death. Life is never fair, after all. The best thing Geralt can do for him, is to give him peace.

“Anyway! I don't know your name, Witcher. I don't know mine either, really, but from the moment I found myself a ghost I called myself Jaskier. I don't know if I was called like this before my death or if I just, you know, invented it on the spot, but you can call me that.”

Jaskier is definitely a made up name. But maybe it was his pet name, it can be useful.

“You talk a lot.”

Behind him, the ghost – Jaskier – huffs, “Do you have any idea how does it feel to talk and no one ever listen to you? Well, no one can see me, nor hear me. It really hurts my feelings. But here you are, Witcher, with your powerful... very fantastic witchery powers, you can do all this things! And my feelings hurt no more, with finally someone hearing my laments.”

“They are whines, not laments.”

“That's the same.” the boy says, nonchalant. Geralt can't hear his steps, obviously, but with the corner of his eye he sees his light silhouette getting near him and Roach. Roach flicks her ears, but she doesn't get scared of the presence. Good girl. “So, your name? I need to call you, you know. And I refuse to call you just Witcher!”

“Geralt of Rivia.”

“Thank you, Geralt of Rivia.” The wood around them gets thicker, and it covers most of the rays of midday sun. Apart from the scuffle with the bandits, and apart from the fact that he's now, well, haunted, the day seems to be uneventful. Just the wood on the Path in front of him – of them – and the clear sky above them. “Where are we going?”

It's going to be uneventful, but fuck. The ghost can't stay silent for shit.

“Posada.”

“Why Posada?”

“It's the nearest town.”

“Is it? Gods, I don't know if it was actually Posada I found myself in. Well, maybe? I guess I will find out the moment I will recognize the streets.”

“You said the nearest. Posada is the nearest.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. What you said.” Jaskier clears his voice. Does ghosts need to clear their voice? Or to cover their embarrassment? Do they even feel embarrassment? “I am deeply sorry if I can't be more of help. I really don't remember anything. Nothing, just black void in my head.”

Geralt sighs, “I have no doubt.”

“Wait.” Jaskier huffs in outrage, running until he can be in front of Roach. He stops there in the middle of the Path, and Roach flicks her ears again. Geralt calms her with a caress on her neck. “What are you implying? That I'm an idiot? I am dead, I have any reason to be distracted and confused. If you've ever been dead, you'd understand.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow.

“No, wait, I said it wrong.”

Geralt nudges Roach again in a calm but steady ride, “Less talking, more walking.”

“But I've been walking for days, Geralt, and my feet are sore!”

“You're dead. You can't have sore feet.”

Jaskier pouts again, and even if he could easily stay in the middle of the road – not that Roach would have killed him by walking on him, after all – he nonetheless leaves the Path free for the horse, and Geralt then finds him walking beside him again. Jaskier starts talking about the things he's done from the moment he found himself dead since the moment he found Geralt, and really he hasn't done literally anything, but the ghost can't seem to shut up about the people ignoring him, about his tired limbs and the fact that he still thinks that stealing food from dead bodies is a bit strange.

Jaskier emphasizes that with more fervor when they stop in a clearing for the night, and after Geralt has lighted a fire and taken care of Roach, he sits in his sprawled bedroll and takes out from Roach's saddlebag one of the sandwiches he found in the bandits' satchels.

But at that point, Jaskier – finally, Geralt would say – shuts up.

Feeling observed, Geralt looks at him with his mouth full and with a raised eyebrow.

Jaskier shakes his head, and with a huff, he sits next to him. “No, nothing.” he says, while fidgeting with a hem of his shirtsleeve. “Okay, well, if you really want to know,” he adds then, even though Geralt has ignored him, “I am, uh. I am hungry.”

Geralt blinks at him. “Hm. Let me see if I have a ghost sandwich in my bag. Hm, no. I haven't. I apologize.”

“You are really, reeaaally rude. And awful. A very bad person, that has no sensitivity towards the dead! Oh, I should have known that the moment you stole from a dead man!”

“They were three, but go on.”

“See? Awful!”

“You are aware that you can't feel hunger.”

“And yet!”

Geralt looks at him with half lidded eyes, unbothered by his whining. This ghost is strange and innocuous, but leaves a kind of feeling in his gut that Geralt doesn't like. It's not danger, more nervousness he daresay – for what, he doesn't know. Probably because he's still too... lively. Ghosts shouldn't have so much energy, so heartfelt emotions.

Really, all ghosts Geralt has seen all his long life – they are actually a lot, wraiths the lot of them, and they all rest in peace now thanks to his sword – were... very different from Jaskier, in many way beside the appearance.

Geralt finishes his dinner, feed the fire so it won't die during the night, and lays on his bedroll. “Can you stay silent now? I want to sleep.”

Jaskier tightens his lips, upset. “I can shut up if needed. If my chatters bother you so much you can just say so!”

“They bother me. Now I have to sleep. Shut up.”

Jaskier doesn't say anything anymore.

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

link to ao3 in the reblogs!

God, I wish that I could do that+ Beeze

The library was particularly quiet that afternoon as Beeze sat at the table usually occupied by herself and her two best friends. Instead it was Henry Belasca that sat in front of her, not Ruthie and Roach. Henry had found Beeze at the coffee kiosk in the library earlier that day when she was arguing with a student worker because she was a few cents short for her coffee.

"Here, I got it" Henry called out, jogging to the front of the line. Someone groans and he narrows his eyes at them, reaching for his wallet and getting a little something for himself, too.

Beeze stepped back from the cashier, trying not to look embarrassed. "Well, thank you Henry. That was really nice, you didn't have to do that" She looks up at him and gives him a shy smile. 

“No need to worry” Henry waves his hand, indicating that it really was no big deal. “Plus, it got me to the front of the line quicker so maybe I should be the one to thank you” The two of them laugh and Henry hurries to shove his change back into his wallet.

They stand in the queue of people all waiting to get their drinks, not quite sure how to talk to one another. They’d only hung out a few times outside of school and when they did, they usually talked about, well, school. It’s almost funny how nervous Henry and Beeze were around each other. They get their drinks and Beeze’s hands are shaking...Henry struggles with his straw.

“So, uh, what’re you up to this weekend?” Henry asks, trying to sound casual. “Do you maybe wanna hangout? With me and the guys, I mean. Tonight. Do you wanna hang out tonight?” Henry stumbles over the question but Beeze only notices how cute she thinks he is when he’s flustered. 

Beeze lets out a big puff of air as she processed the question. “God, I wish that I could do that, but it’s Roach’s birthday today and I’ve been planning this thing for her with Ruthie all week.” Beeze looks up at Henry, unable to resist feeling a bit guilty. She knew that she didn’t have to disclose any more details about why she was unable to hang out, but Beeze felt guilty, and when she was feeling guilty, she started talking: “Yeah, Ruthie’s scary friends are coming down to hang out, there’s gonna be a cake and a keg and everything” 

Henry smiles sheepishly, slightly feeling the sting of rejection. “Ah, maybe next time then”

Beeze stops to take a drink and she gets an idea. “Well...do you want to come with me? It’s supposed to be a party, after all.” 

“Yes” Henry says quickly. “I will totally go with. Absolutely, without a doubt” He slings his backpack over one of his shoulders and the two make their way back towards their stuff by the library tables. 

“What happened to your plans with ‘The Guys’?” Beeze asks, smirking up at Henry as her fingers itched to grab and hold his hand. She pokes at Henry’s side and he squirms.

“I’ve been doing the same thing with those two every weekend for as long as I can remember, if I don’t change it up now I never will.” Henry shrugs and the two of them both go to pack up their things. 

“So, what’s your favorite ice cream?” Henry asks as he unbuckles his seat belt, trying not to hit his head on the door of Beeze’s small, VW bug. He white-knuckled the door during their entire ride from the college, back towards the Southside of Riverdale and down to the quarry. His long legs were cramped in the front seat and his knees were folded up towards his chest. 

“I think it’s strawberry” Beeze answers, putting the car into park and flipping down the sun visor to check her lipstick in the mirror. “You know cause no one really likes it so I just feel kind of bad for it—what’s that face for?!” She laughs as she gets out of the car after Henry. 

“I’m just—I’m just making a face!” Henry shrugs his shoulders and grabs the 12-pack of beer that Beeze persuaded him to buy. “I’ve just never heard of anyone who’s felt bad for an ice cream flavor”

“I guess you can say I like things that are under appreciated” Beeze pushes her purse over her shoulder and balances a bottle of wine in each of her hands. 

“Under appreciated” Henry laughs. “What, like your clown car?” He goes to nudge her shoulder with his own but she’s too short. 

Beeze stops in her tracks and narrows her eyes at Henry. “You better watch it, Henry Belasca, or I’ll make you walk home” She raises an eyebrow at Henry and goes to uncork one of the bottles of wine with her teeth as the two of them walk towards the party. 

Ruthie had gone down to the quarry late that afternoon and set up lights and put a tablecloth over the wooden picnic table that always left whoever sat in it covered in splinters. Dante, Spyder, and CD drove down from Centerville for the weekend in order to help out, offering their muscle for the bulk of the set-up. Spyder’s cousin with the food truck sent over big dishes of food and Ruthie conned Angel into making Roach a custom birthday cake (although it didn’t take much to talk him into it). There was a big keg in a bucket of ice and a cooler on the side, a big speaker and subwoofer in the ed of Dante’s truck, and a shiny ‘Happy Birthday’ banner waving wildly in the wind.

“Oh finally she decides to grace us with her presence!” Ruthie yells out loudly, running up to Beeze and slinging and arm around her shoulder, stealing the bottle of wine from her hand and taking a hearty slug. She perks up when she notices Henry standing awkwardly a few paces behind Beeze. “Belasca! Nice to see you in the real world” Ruthie extends an arm and embraces him in a half-hug. 

“The feeling is mutual” Henry laughs, his eyes going big as he watches Beeze chug down the rest of her first bottle of wine. “Where’s the birthday girl?” 

Ruthie starts laughing, looking over her shoulder. “Roach just lost her ass at Quarters against CD, and then earlier she lost at a chugging contest against Spyder...she’s having an interesting birthday I’d say.”

Beeze burps, covering her mouth before erupting in giggles. “We have a bet going — $20 bucks to whoever accurately predicts when Roach is gonna yack” She leans closer into Henry, slinking her arm around his waist. 

Henry laughs and pulls out his wallet. “What d’you say I throw in ten dollars and we make it a pool?” 

As if on cue, Roach jogs up to the group, looking rather unsteady as she gives Beeze a hug that’s too long. When she notices Henry standing beside her, Roach breaks out into a childish smile as she looks from Henry to Beeze. 

“Library Henry! You came to my birthday party!” Roach sounds drunk, throwing her arms over her head excitedly. She does a spin in place before reaching to muss up Henry’s hair.

“It’s your birthday!” Henry says with the kind of fake excitement you had to put on when dealing with drunk people. 

Before Roach can do too much damage, Angel walks up to the small group, smoking a joint and toting a bottle of water that was meant for Roach. “Gotta make sure that the birthday girl’s gonna be conscious by the time we cut the cake” Ruthie rolls her eyes and tries to steer everyone away from Henry and Beeze so that they could have some time alone together. 

“She knows that your first name isn’t Library, I swear”Beeze shivers as the wind picks up. “I’m sorry about her. Actually, I’m sorry in advance for whatever is about to happen because between you and me, I have no idea either” 

“Hey don’t worry, I’m sure when you hang out with my friends I’ll be doing my fair share of apologizing too” Henry retrieves a beer from the cooler and cracks it open, shuffling closer to Beeze. 

“They like you, I promise.” Beeze looks up at him and smiles reassuringly. She leans her weight against Henry, slipping her arm around his waist again. When his back goes ramrod stiff, Beeze thinks she might have done something wrong but Henry relaxes into her touch and loops his own arm around her shoulders.

“I only care if one person here likes me” Henry reveals, gazing down at Beeze. 

“I think you already know the answer to that”

Hi say you are open to Witcher, how about protective dad Geralt Lave ya❤️💜💜💕

Sure! Hope you like this!

You had been best friends with Ciri long before she met Geralt, the two of you bumped into each other quite accidentally, actually. She was barreling down the kingdom streets and she ran right into you, knocking the bread you were planning on eating for dinner right out of your hands. 

When she realized what she had done, she picked it up, grabbed your hand and pulled you into an alley, finger over her mouth indicating the importance of your silence. You were so confused and taken aback, you had no other choice but to do what she said. 

After a minute or two, palace guards flew by on the main road. Upon seeing this, she unfroze and broke into a fit of giggles. She introduced herself, no point in hiding her identity after what you had just witnessed. 

After that, you two were fast friends. You were around the same age and after a few months, everyone knew your name. It transformed your entire life, your family’s life. You had made a modest living before, running into trouble here and there, but now everyone knew not to mess with you or face the wrath of the fiery princess. 

So when the castle fell, you were right by her side, experiencing the traumatic separation between her and her grandmother. She refused to go unless she could take you with her, so the Lionness of Cintra herself pulled you aside. You’d never been her favorite but she knew better than to argue with Ciri right now. She told you to take care of her lion cub for her and to find Geralt of Rivia. He’d take care of you two. Whatever that meant. 

You and Ciri, after facing the woods on your own and every foe that came with it, finally ran into him. You didn’t know how she knew it was him, how she knew he was safe, but she knew. Something pulled her towards him until she was in his open arms, holding on tight.

When they finally broke apart, she introduced you and he welcomed you into his arms with the same protective ferocity that he did Ciri. You had no clue who this man was, but at that moment, you knew everything was going to be okay. Sure, he looked mildly terrifying, like he could snap you in half if he so desired, but you trusted him. Something in your gut told you to trust him, and your gut hadn’t been wrong so far. 

From there on, the three of you traveled together and got on as if you’d known each other your entire lives. Ciri and Geralt butted heads sometimes, but you were always there to keep the peace. Their steadfast personalities were more alike than you think either of them realized. But they appreciated you mediating when one of them got too stubborn to admit fault. They made sure you knew how much they appreciated you too. You never felt unloved or out of place. 

Which is why Geralt absolutely lost his mind when he saw the bartender at the pub and inn you three were staying at mess with you. It started innocently enough, him asking your name, age, and about your interests. But something didn’t feel right when he started stroking your arm. You went to pull back but he grabbed it forcefully and when you pulled to get away, he only held tighter. 

You knew Geralt and Ciri were out fending to Roach, and you like to think you can take care of yourself. You wouldn’t be wrong, but this man was simply so much bigger than you, there was no angle you could twist your wrist to escape his grasp. He leaned in close to begin whispering god knows what in your ear when you hear the two enter the pub. 

Before you know what’s happening, you hear Geralt growl as he storms up, knocking the man away from you with one well placed right hook. He lets go immediately and lets out a pathetic whimper. Geralt is fuming, eyes wide, hand on the man’s throat. 

“I should kill you. If you ever touch her again, you’re dead.” his voice low, and quite frankly, terrifying. Ciri is by your side in an instant, making sure you’re okay. Making sure he didn’t hurt you. 

Geralt throws the man down, discarding him like garbage before he joins your side. He gathers you in his arms, holding tight. Your face falls into his neck and you take a shuddering breath. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should’ve been there. That shouldn’t have happened to you.” he says, regret lacing his tone. You only hold him tighter. He eventually pulls away and looks you in the eye, “I’m never going to let anything happen to you, okay? I promise.” He looks to Ciri, “Either of you.” 

You feel Ciri’s arms envelop your back and see Geralt place his hand on her hair. 

“We know. We’re safe. We’re okay.” You say, in an attempt to dissuade his guilt. “It’s okay. Shit happens.” With a snort, Geralt finally releases you two. He checks to see that the man is still practically unconscious and gathers his things. The three of you go to the inn on the other side of town where, hopefully, Geralt won’t have to kick anyone else’s ass for messing with the wrong damn girls.

~My inbox is open!~

~Promise~

A Night to Remember: Chapter 3

Now available to read. Patreon members had early access. Check out my patreon for early access to other stories.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2  

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geraskier

Rating: T

Length: 2K

Tag warning: brief sexual fantasy description, canon violence ~~~

Jaskier was sunny, as always, when he greeted Geralt the next morning. “Well, I had quite the night last night. Truly a night to remember. Too bad you missed out on it.”

Geralt ignored him as he tightened Roach’s saddle. 

Jaskier arched an eyebrow, “Aren’t you curious how it turned out? Luckily, you leaving didn’t sour the ladies’ sexual drive. They were more than happy to share.”

Geralt grumbled as he loaded their belongings onto Roach. He really didn’t want to hear about Jaskier’s sexual conquests. Especially after he witnessed how Jaskier looked when he was being satisfied. It really made him want to grab Jaskier, shove him against the stable wall, and ram his cock into him, causing him to scream his name--

“Geralt!”

“Hmm?” Geralt snapped out of his fantasy, turning to look at Jaskier. The bard was frowning.

“Are you ignoring me?” Jaskier’s hands were on his hips as he stood, frowning at him.

Geralt shook his head, “Uh sorry… what was that?”

Jaskier sighed, rolling his eyes, “I asked where we are headed next.”

“There is rumor of a succubus killing men a few towns East. I am headed there,” Geralt finished prepping and climbed onto Roach, nudging him forward along the trail.

Jaskier grinned as he followed behind, “Ooo, a succubus. I thought they didn’t usually kill?”

“They don’t, unless they get greedy, or need to defend themselves,” Geralt sighed, “Either way, people are dying and it needs checked out.”

Jaskier hummed in contemplation, “I wonder what it would be like to be with a succubus… I bet it would be the best sex ever.” He looked up at Geralt, “Have you ever been with a succubus?”

“No,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t see why not. Maybe you’ll have a chance with this one.” He nudged Geralt’s leg, “It could help remove that stick up your butt.”

Geralt glared at him. The bard didn’t seem phased. He smiled and pulled out his lute, strumming a few chords, “The fairer sex, they often call it… but her love’s as unfair as a crook.” He glanced up at Geralt, “It steals all my reason, commits every treason. Of logic with naught but a look.”

Geralt sighed, “Enough, I’d rather hear you sing “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher” twenty times over than that song.”

“Really?” Jaskier gasped in surprise, “I didn’t realize you hated this song.”

“...I normally don’t mind it, but I can’t stomach it today,” Geralt couldn’t bring himself to look at Jaskier. He was still embarrassed from the previous night, and his close call with confessing. 

“Ahh,” Jaskier clicked his tongue knowingly, “because of last night, right?”

Geralt groaned, placing a palm over his face. Was he really that easy to read?

Jaskier patted his leg, “Really Geralt, it happens to everyone. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Geralt grit his teeth, “Change the subject, or I’ll change it for you.”

Jaskier held his hands up, “Alright, I get it… touchy subject. If you want to talk later though… I’m here for you.” Geralt continued to glare at him. Jaskier smirked as he returned to his lute, “When a humble bard, graced a ride along… with Geralt of Rivia… along came this song…”

“Fuck,” Geralt breathed. He suddenly regretted his earlier comment as Jaskier continued to sing. It was going to be a long trip.

~~~

When they arrived at the town with the reported succubus Geralt couldn’t move fast enough to down a tankard of ale. He needed the alcohol after listening to Jaskier sing ‘Toss a coin to Your Witcher’ over twenty times during their trip. The bard knew other songs, but he seemed to be mocking him by singing the song on repeat.

Jaskier moved to his place in the center of the tavern and started his usual performance. Geralt groaned, slamming his head on the bar as Jaskier started singing ‘Toss a coin to Your Witcher’.

The bartender grinned, “Rough ride, huh?”

Geralt held out his mug for a refill, “You have no idea.”

The bartender obliged him, filling it to the very top, “You in town for the succubus then?”

Geralt sat up, nodding his head, “Yes, what have you heard about it?”

The bartender shrugged his shoulders, passing back the full cup, “Not much, just that men go in the woods, and don’t come back. People are too afraid to see what happened to them anymore.”

Geralt sighed, before downing his new glass. That didn’t sound like a succubus. It was dangerous to go on a hunt not knowing what you were dealing with, but no one else was qualified to do it. He watched Jaskier prance around the bar, winking and smiling as he performed.

Jaskier would have to wait here while he checked out the situation. When the bard finished his set, Geralt motioned for him to come over. Jaskier beamed as he plopped onto the bar stool next to Geralt, “Any news on the succubus?”

Geralt shook his head, “Not really… just that it doesn’t sound like a succubus. Men are going missing in the woods. I’m going to check it out.” He handed Jaskier a bag of coins, “Rent a room for the night.”

Jaskier frowned as he took the bag, “You’re going now? But we just got in… shouldn’t you rest? We’ve been on the road practically all day.”

“If anymore men go missing, those lives will be on me. I need to get as much information as I can and take this creature out.”

“It sounds dangerous,” Jaskier protested, “you shouldn’t go by yourself.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, “So what? I should take you with me then?”

Jaskier pouted, “Well… I mean, someone should watch your back.”

“No,” Geralt stood up, “I can’t worry about you.”

Jaskier stood up as well, “You don’t need to. I can take care of myself.”

Geralt grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back down onto the bar stool, “No. I’m going alone.”

Jaskier frowned, “Fine. But if you take too long I’m coming to look for you.”

Geralt only grunted in response as he exited the tavern.

He followed the road to the area of the woods the bartender indicated. He studied the dirt for tracks. When he found some he followed them deep into the woods, moving slowly as to not alert any nearby enemies. 

Eventually he came upon a cave. Geralt rolled his eyes. This narrowed the creature down to about 100. Why did most creatures live in caves? He studied the surrounding area for any signs of what type of monster he might face inside. He drank a cat potion allowing his eyes to see in the dark. He saw bones scattered about the entrance. 

Bones. Cave. Missing men. He went over the list of possible enemies. There were too many. He sighed as he grabbed another potion from his belt. This one provided increased agility. He’d just have to hope for the best. He downed the liquid and unsheathed his sword, silently making his way into the cave.

He glanced around the chamber. More bones. Whatever it was, it had been hungry. He heard a voice cry out from deeper inside. His grip tightened around his sword. He scanned the area for any signs of danger. The cry got louder. It sounded like a plea for help.

His instincts prevented him from rushing forward. It could be a trap. ‘There is no helping the victim if you get killed, if there truly was one,’ he reasoned with himself.

He saw a flicker of firelight as he continued deeper. An evil cackle echoed around him as he drew closer. Shadows moved across the lit cave walls. Geralt frowned as he recognized the laugh. “Devourer,” he muttered. Ugly witches that preyed on human flesh. They loved torturing their victims before they ate them.

He heard another cry of pain. He needed to hurry. He moved around the corner, and spotted the witch cutting off it’s victims flesh. He cried out in pain.

Geralt grabbed a jar of necrophage oil he kept on him. Devourer’s were susceptible against it. It burned their skin like acid. He made sure he was close enough and threw the jar. It broke against the devourer’s back. Howling in pain it reared away from his victim, spinning toward Geralt.

Geralt raised his sword, striking the devourer across it’s naked form. It shrieked, clutching at it’s bloodied chest. It rushed forward, trying to tackle Geralt to the ground. He spun out of the way, slashing his sword at it’s back, knocking it to the ground. He slammed his boot onto it’s back, holding it to the ground as he drove his sword through its head, silencing it permanently.

After ensuring the creature was dead, and there were no other enemies around, he rushed to the man, untying him and tending to his wound. The victim thanked Geralt over and over. He nodded as he helped support him, “We need to get back and properly dress these wounds.” The man gratefully complied as he followed Geralt back to town.

After Geralt had made sure the victim had been properly taken care of, he headed back to the tavern. He found Jaskier still up, chatting up an attractive man. He frowned and made a beeline to the bar, ordering a drink.

Jaskier called out to him when he saw him, “Geralt! How was the succubus?” He stumbled as he walked over to him. His ale slightly splashed out of his tankard.

Geralt frowned as he sized up his friend. He wasn’t too drunk, but he was getting there. “It wasn’t a succubus. It was a devourer.”

Jaskier scrunched his nose, “Devourer? What is that?”

Geralt thanked the bartender for his drink before quickly downing it. He aimed to catch up with Jaskier. “A witch that eats human flesh.”

“Eww,” Jakier’s face contorted in disgust, “That’s gross. Speaking of not gross. Have you met my friend?” He turned toward the man he was talking to when Geralt walked in.

Geralt glared as he stared at his ‘friend’. “No.”

Jaskier grinned, leaning closer to Geralt, “I think you will find, he is more your type.” He smiled proudly, “I’ve been talking you up.”

Geralt arched an eyebrow as he looked the stranger over. The man never seemed to take his eyes off of Jaskier. He scoffed and turned back to his ale, “It seems he’s more interested in you.”

“Oooh? Really?” Jaskier turned, leaning his elbows back against the bar. He smirked as he looked the man over. “I think you’re right.” He sighed and shook his head, turning back to Geralt, “I’m utterly failing as your wingman, aren’t I?”

“I don’t need a wingman,” he muttered into his mug.

Jaskier poked his arm, “I feel like we’ve had a similar argument before.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. They had. Right before ‘The Night to Remember’. He tried to ignore Jaskier as he chugged his ale.

“Come on~” Jaskier poked his cheek, “let me help you out.”

Geralt grabbed his finger, holding it tightly in his hand. He looked him straight in the eyes, “You really want to help me out?”

Jaskier’s blue eyes stared at him innocently, “I do.”

He clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to kiss him right then and there. He growled and pushed away his hand, “Leave me alone.”

Jaskier sighed, “Fine. One of these days Geralt. I’ll get you laid… Lain? A lay…” He waved his hand dismissively, “It doesn’t matter. You know what I mean.” He put on a smile before heading back to the waiting stranger. He grinned as he sat on the attractive man’s lap. The man seemed more than pleased with the behavior.

Geralt sighed as he pushed the empty tankard forward, “Keep them coming.”

And my scars remind me that the past is real

TITLE: And my scars remind me that the past is real

SHIP (if applicable): Emhyr x Geralt / Can be read as GEN

PROMPT DAY: 5 (Loneliness)

MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer):  Witcher3

WARNINGS:  Graphic Depictions Of Violence

SUMMARY: Asked about one of his scars, Geralt recalls a time when he was still very young and realized for the first time what life - and especially what end - was in store for him.

WORD COUNT: 4182

AUTHOR’S NOTES: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25083352

For @geraltwhumpweek

Every single lover has asked about his scars, even the whores. Most of them were interested in particular ones, although there were times when one wanted to know the story of each one. Emhyr never asked, not once, although he always takes the time to look at them - at him - very closely. But that night he does ask.The oddly shaped, thin scar in Geralt's armpit is easy to overlook - there are more impressive marks on this skin, which is why they are always so interesting for his counterparts. Larger, worse-healed scars tell of adventures, of interesting stories. Of monsters, of pain, perhaps of a mysterious cure - they are the stuff of dreams. He has stopped wondering about that a long time ago. So that night Emhyr asks about a scar for the first time, and it is one of the smallest, most inconspicuous scars, in a spot where it is hard to imagine that much damage has been done. Maybe he only asks because he wants to know if Geralt can actually remember each of these injuries - the thought seems really strange to him. He runs his finger over it, gently, almost carefully, as if this particular scratch was brand new. For him, it is. It's a strange spot, and the mark has a strange angle. "Is it impolite to ask where this comes from?" he says. Geralt's quiet laughter pierces through both their entwined bodies. "What's so funny?" "No one has ever wondered if they may ask," Geralt returns. "Really?" Emhyr watches him closely. He's still not sure exactly when the witcher is trying to be funny - at least he has a strange sense of humour. Geralt, on the other hand, finds it amusing that someone who could demand any information from any person cares to ask. This is new, and besides, he's never had a problem telling the stories before. In fact, he does remember each one. "It looks unremarkable, doesn't it? It is a good story. But it has no morals, nor does it end well." "Why doesn't it end well?" Emhyr demands to know. "Are you the sort of person who reads the end of a book first? You have to be patient. So, watch out: Once upon a time, there was a witcher …“

Once upon a time, there was a witcher named Geralt of Rivia, and let's just say he was pretty young and pretty stupid. No, let's say he was pretty inexperienced, because it was his fourth year on the Path, so he was still a bit like a baby learning to walk. There was a lot of wastage in those first years: most of them were happy if they survived the first year. It was autumn, and with a bit of luck the witcher would return to Kaer Morhen this year, and with even more luck most of his brothers would be there. But it was likely that not all of them would return. There would be no mourning, no farewell celebrations, and certainly no funerals. But nobody likes to think about that when the autumn sun is still warm and its light makes even the darkest areas like Velen seem cosy. In those years almost every small village had a monster problem. A good time to gain experience: Lots of drowners, tons of ghouls and even the odd alghul, nasty chorts, endregas, disgusting kikimores, water hags - just name a monster, he has seen it.At least that's what he thinks, he is confident and maybe a bit too full of himself. These are the years before Skellige, for him a siren is just a mythical figure; it will be decades until Touissant, before he sees a giant centipede for the first time …

„What happens then?" Geralt raises his eyebrows. "Don't interrupt the narrator. But anyway …" He lifts the light blanket, exposing one thigh. Then he points to one of the larger scars on the inside, thin and faint against his pale skin. There are a few here, most by nekkers actually, but this one is a little special. "The first reminder that these beasts are significantly longer than what is sticking out of the holes they dig in the ground above. Now, do you want to hear about this or shall I go on?" "No, go on. I particularly liked the part about the witcher being young and stupid.“ "I bet you did. Now listen.“

So the young and still somewhat inexperienced witcher believed that he already knew a lot of monsters, which he was wrong about, of course. He came through a village whose name he will not remember decades later, but in those years the names are not important either. There were enough villages, there was enough work. There was almost never enough coin, but he rarely went hungry. He directed his faithful horse - which was called Roach, of course - through the village, looked for the village headman and asked for work.The usual banter began, most of it stupid and redundant: "Whatcha got white hair, with a gob like that, you must have just learned to jerk off" and similar jokes. Four years weren't nearly enough time to get used to it, but he was making progress. No need to pity him anyway, for it was common knowledge that as a witcher he had no feelings - in every respect, so it didn't matter if someone threw rotten fruit at his head or insulted him. He remained polite, as he had been taught to be. So he asked for work, and they said, no, they don't need a witcher, it's a decent village. Actually. If it weren't for the old elven ruins, deep in the forest: a deserted, eerie place; a place for tests of courage for the young and for horror stories from the old. It was not a contract, because basically they seemed to have no problem and no real reason to be afraid, or at least they chose not to tell him. They told this story only because for some reason they thought that superstition, folklore and fairy tales would interest him. Or maybe just to get rid of him. And he was not yet so jaded - or so clever - that he would have missed the opportunity to explore a perhaps enchanted place. He was still very young. And he still believed that, if he should run into a problem - and the forests of those days had enough monsters - there would be someone who would pay him to take care of it. That was a mistake, it would take him quite a while to understand this. So the villagers saw him leave, watched as he turned towards the forest, and the whispering did not stop there. Some actually seemed surprised that he went there, but some called him an idiot to do so, and that might have told him something. However, he was an idiot in a way, so maybe not.

"He's still an idiot today," Emhyr says sleepily against Geralt's shoulder. "Is this story going anywhere?" "Not if you keep insulting me." "Is that so? My apologies, master witcher. But there better be a really nasty monster coming before I fall asleep." "Not to worry. The monster will come. Stay awake, or you'll miss it.“

The witcher rode into the forest, but soon had to dismount and leave his horse behind, because the forest was very dense and the ruins lay off the road. They were completely overgrown, it was easy to overlook them, unless you knew the area - or were a witcher. Now it was not very warm anymore, so deep in the forest, where the sun hardly shone through the dense treetops. But to the witcher the cold seemed almost unnatural - which was the first hint that something may be wrong. He penetrated further into the undergrowth, until the evidence of the elven culture became clearer and more visible: ancient, moss-covered stone slabs, perhaps benches; the remains of something similar to a bird bath. Perhaps this had once been a garden, but now, at any rate, there was nothing but green and dust and the somehow creepy feeling that he felt like an intruder. But since he was not allowed to have feelings, he was not afraid. A little adventurous, perhaps, but nothing more. Of course, that was quite stupid, and he would realize later that it can be very valuable and important to be afraid. But he roamed fearlessly through the legacies of the elves, and since there was nothing else here - neither monsters nor treasures nor adventure - he soon regretted he had set out here, for nothing. As in every good story, he saw a shadow out of the corner of his eye just at the moment he had already decided to leave. Quickly he turned around, and he felt as if he had heard a sound - not the sound of footsteps, nor of any animals in the undergrowth, more like a distant, unearthly laugh. Now his attention was caught, and he got down on his knees and searched the ground for traces; for anything that might indicate that there was or might have been someone else here. But these kind of tracks were easy to miss, at least if you didn't know what to look for, and he didn't know it yet. He kept moving in the approximate direction the sound came from. And then he saw her. Only a few steps away from him a woman was sitting on something that once might have been masonry, but now there were only meaningless stones, overgrown with ivy. She was a beautiful, young woman with long, scarlet hair, dressed in a simple robe. He wondered, of course, what she was doing in the middle of the forest, so he addressed her.

"Is this turning into some kind of weird sex story now?“ "What, why?" "If not, I wonder why it matters what color of hair she had," Emhyr countered. The remark could not be entirely dismissed, considering Geralt's past. "Of course it matters, you'll see why. And furthermore: The witcher is much too young, such experiences are still ahead of him." "For heaven's sake, how young is he?" "Maybe he's a late bloomer? In any case, nobody ever had scruples about sending very young men into battle, did they?" All he gets is a snort. "Stop interrupting me. So, he spoke to her …“

He spoke to her, asked her what she was doing in the forest, and she looked at him thoughtfully. "People say this place is haunted," she eventually said. "All the more reason not to roam here," he replied. She stood up, moved towards him, and his witcher's medallion vibrated. That was the moment he put two and two together. Because he was young and inexperienced, but in the end not quite so stupid after all. The lessons were all still fresh, he could quote from the bestiary at any time. And he was a quick thinker - and far too bold in the face of danger. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled, and the woman was surprised and stopped. She hadn't expected this noise, nor the horse that suddenly came trotting out of the bushes with some effort. The woman - only that she was not a woman, of course - looked at the horse curiously. It seemed as if she was trying to understand what it all meant, and that gave the witcher enough time to search the saddlebags for the one vial he needed, for the one potion he had never used yet before. Perhaps she too was still inexperienced, though certainly not young in the true sense of the word, but she did not stop him; she only watched curiously as he drank the potion. She continued to watch him as he hesitated briefly and reached for another vial that was in the bag strapped around his chest, to drink this too. Obviously she didn't understand what purpose this served - which was perhaps the only reason why he got the opportunity to do it at all. If she found it strange that he looked completely different after that, she didn't let it show. And why should she care - she was clearly not human, and although he hardly reminded of a human being now, that would not stop her. It was strange that she didn't say anything besides the few words she had uttered earlier. In later years he would meet others of her kind who were very talkative, loquacious almost. But she said nothing, just looked at him. Then she brushed her hair back behind one ear, and he saw that it was pointed. It was fitting that she had chosen the ancient ruins as her habitat. It was easy to mistake her for an elf - a mistake that would be fatal for anyone who dared to pass by here. A second later she suddenly stood very close to him. That was when he realized for the first time how fast these creatures were, and he was just glad she was not a bruxa. This encounter was yet to come, but that's another scar and another story. She was now so close that he could smell her, and whoever got that close had to notice that behind the beautiful facade hid horror. For she was an alp, of which her red hair and pointed ears were a testimony. The witcher knew as little about her as about all other vampires, at least in practice. In theory he knew enough of course, at least everything he had been taught. So he drew the sword, the silver sword of course, because she was susceptible to that. Her gaze was still just curious, but it was clear that she understood what he was holding in his hand and what purpose it served. Surprisingly she retreated, and a blink of an eye later she disappeared from his field of vision. He knew that these creatures were fast, but that they were so fast, he could not have known. She suddenly stood behind him, and it was only thanks to his excellent reflexes that her first blow came to nothing. The alp seemed to have instinctively understood that danger was coming from the witcher, so she used the moment of surprise. But he could still dodge. Her appearance had changed: she was now naked, but her pale, almost translucent body was not meant to look attractive. Her face was a grotesque grimace, the long, pointed teeth a clear warning; and her fingers were now horrifying claws. The alp attacked, and the witcher jumped back, rolled off, came back to his feet, and raised the sword just in time to fend off her claws, which struck the blade with a horrible noise. The horse got nervous and took off, and the fight went on. The witcher hit the alp a few times, but she hit him too, and her claws were as sharp as his blade. In the past four years some monsters had wounded him, and he already had one or two scars, and it always hurt. People might like to think that he had no emotions, but that didn't mean that he didn't feel anything. On the contrary: he felt every cut she made on him, felt every time her sharp claws tore his skin open, how the steel-hard tips pierced through his flesh. He could only hope that she felt his blows as well. In any case, they were both soon covered in blood, which looked strangely vulgar on her bare skin and only made her even more incited. She was fast, much faster than he could have imagined, and yet she was so unnaturally quiet. All the monsters the witcher had met before had made sounds: they hissed, shrieked or roared when they were hurt. But she made no sound. Her red hair had become disheveled, her face terribly distorted, no longer human, no longer beautiful. And then she jumped at him, in such a hasty movement that he neither saw her coming nor could have avoided her. He lost the sword, it slipped from his hand as she forced him onto his back with a tremendous force. Now he lay under her, she sat on his chest, took his breath. Her mouth was wide open, so that he could see her long teeth, the pointed teeth with the tips of which the paralytic poison dripped like some obscene precum. His arms were free, and he reached for her with one hand - to push her away, or to beat her; to do anything. She just knocked the hand away and then she bent over; she stank horribly of death and dying, and she sank her teeth into his neck. She drank his blood, and this feeling was almost worse than the pain of his ripped neck. It was pointless to try to tear her away from him, but at least he wouldn't give up without a fight. So the witcher desperately groped for the dagger he always carried with him on his hip. Though he imagined he could feel the poison entering his veins - and he had no idea what effect it would have on him - he eventually had the dagger in his hand, and he thrust it into her back. The alp hissed softly now - her first sound of misery - and finally let go of him. He used this moment to smack her in her face. It was of course a useless move, but it had the desired effect: She was confused for a second. He reared up and shook her off. Then he jumped to his feet, and although she was confused and hurt, she was actually still faster than him. He reached his sword at the same moment she caught him: his fingers closed around the handle, she leapt at him and threw him to the ground again. He held the sword, this time he held it tight, but she pulled his arm up, pinned him down. Then she thrust with her other hand. She took only her index finger, which now didn't even look like a finger anymore, which was now just a long, sharp weapon: a blade as sharp as a sword, only much thinner. She pushed this claw through his chest at the side of his armpit. It was a long claw, and it tore tissue and muscles and tendons along the way, stabbing at his ribs. The claw was as hard as iron, and it was so sharp that it pierced right through one, and it broke, which he felt very clearly. It felt like she had pierced his lungs, because for a moment he just could not breathe; and that pain was new, one he would never get used to. She was now half sitting on him again, pushing further and further, bending over him, drilling. But before she reached his heart, he managed to free his hand with the sword. He pushed, but because he couldn't aim, he hit her hand, he pushed in the sword so deeply that the wrist was only hanging on single tendons when he pulled the sword back. She hissed, much louder now, and yanked her hand back, but the claw got stuck, got stuck in him. And then, eventually, the alp started twitching uncontrollably. She put a hand to her throat and stared at him in disbelief. Because finally, the potion worked, and she staggered back a little; thick, dark liquid coming out of her mouth. He raised his sword once more, reared up, and he hit her neck with pinpoint accuracy. It is a rumor that severed heads fly for miles: in fact, it didn't get far, it landed not far from his own head, which had now sunk to the ground again in exhaustion. Her dull eyes stared into the sky. It took the body a second longer to realize that it was over - she fell down, twitching, killed by a good pinch of black blood. The one potion he had never had to take before. His strength was just enough to push the lifeless body away from him. The witcher thought that he would have something to tell when he returned to Kaer Morhen that winter. If he did return. For now, as the adrenaline left his system, he realized that he had won, and yet he felt defeated. He lay on his back in that godforsaken forest, among elven ruins, cursed ruins that could only serve as a test of courage at best, and he could barely move. He lay there, staring at the sky, wondering because there were no stars. The clouds were thick and there were no stars, and he found it cruel that he had to die without seeing stars. For now he was firmly convinced that he would die: The poison of the alp set in, and he was sure it would be fatal. Perhaps it had its good points, because little by little the pain would disappear. He bled from numerous wounds into the moss and grass beneath him, and he was bleeding inside, he felt that as well as every single cut. The rib she had broken hurt him the most; his breath escaped him whistling, and he tried to breathe shallowly. It still hurt. Most wounds were superficial, which did not mean that they did not hurt, but if he would have survived, most of these wounds would close and heal without any problems. But this one, that stitch on the side, that would scar, and what kind of ridiculous scar would that be? When they met in winter, they still proudly showed each other every single scar, at least the younger ones among them. Those experiences were still new, and every scar meant an adventure and a monster killed. But a funny little scar under the armpit was hardly suitable for showing off. However, that probably didn't matter anymore, because while the poison was flowing through his veins, her paralytic poison - her last, damned gift - he felt that he couldn't move his hands anymore to get to his potions. He could die from this poison or the toxicity itself, it did not matter. If he had ever thought about what it would be like to die - and after four years he usually didn't think about it - it wasn't like that: Not on the forest floor in a godforsaken place, while he felt his blood soaking the earth, beginning to stick to him. Not with all the pain that tore him apart. Not so young. And especially not so alone. He thought of all his brothers, he thought of the damned Vesemir - would anybody miss him? It was only logical that a witcher should die alone. No witcher would die in his bed, they said, but he certainly would die alone. That his only company would be the corpse of an alp was somehow ironic, the stuff of nightmares. This was the first time he really understood his fate. Those were the years where he still thought he was doing good to the world. But now he finally realized, that to this world, he did not matter. He stared up, the sky was still cloudy, still no stars. A fitting demise for a witcher: no company, no stars, no happy ending. He would die alone.

Geralt remains silent after this, and after a few heartbeats Emhyr looks at him in surprise. "That was it? That was the end? That's a pretty gruesome story, I must say." "I told you, it didn’t end well.“ "But you survived.“ Geralt shrugs. "None of it was fatal. The blood loss was considerable, of course, but the paralytic poison was actually helpful: The bleeding stopped. And because I could no longer move, there was no danger of moving the claw somehow, so that it would have punctured an organ after all. Eventually it was clear that I would not die, not even from the poison, but that poison worked all night." "So you lay in those ruins all night? All alone?" "It was pretty lonely," Geralt admits. “But there were many nights like that.“ He is silent for a moment, lost in thought, until he feels Emhyr's lips on his shoulder. "But not anymore," he says."What happened then?" "Not much. Morning came, I very carefully pulled the claw from my armpit, I got up, I took care of the injuries, and rode with the head of the alp to the nearest duchy to claim money for it. There wasn't any, so I threw the head at the treasurer’s feet and went to the nearest tavern to get drunk." "Mmm," Emhyr ponders. "I still wonder if all this isn't a gross exaggeration. Maybe you made the story up just to impress me." Geralt laughs softly. "Why would I want to impress you?" "I have no idea. But you better not lie to your emperor." "You're not my emperor,“ Geralt replies automatically. "And I would never lie to you." But that is a lie, and they both know it.

SanSan time! So in ASOIAF we get the Hand’s Tourney scene with Sansa & Sandor, and the whole “he was no true knight” moment. It seems like Sandor is still thinking she’s just a “little bird” here - but later, her father as Hand attaints Gregor, stripping him of his titles for his violent crimes. How do you think this makes Sandor feel about Sansa & his perceived seriousness of her moral ideals, considering his trauma re: Gregor being anointed and his other crimes covered up by everyone but Ned?

I don’t think Sandor was ready at the time to draw any positive conclusions between Sansa and her father, because his cynicism always gets in the way of that.  While her compassion made him take notice, he doesn’t regard her beliefs as a good thing.  To him, they are still woefully naive and a weakness that will only lead to being victimized by the strong and cruel.  If Sansa is so ill-prepared for the brutality and bleakness of reality, well, he would point a very judgemental finger at her parents for that.  This is not to say Sandor wasn’t quietly making observations about Ned, because I do think a few books in we see subtle indications that Ned’s character and decision to bring Gregor to justice perhaps did make an impression after all.  And I think it’s his experience with Sansa that causes him to have a more charitable conception of Ned in hindsight rather than Ned influencing his view of Sansa.         

It’s just that Sandor requires a lot of evidence over time before he will consider altering his opinions.  He sees exactly what he expects to see, so his point of view is always validated.  It takes more than just Sansa saying “he was no true knight,” as groundbreaking as that moment was.  It’s precisely that fact that makes him want to work harder at trying to find the cracks in Sansa’s idealism to prove that it can’t be real.  It’s only until the conclusion of the Blackwater scene that Sandor can finally accept that she is sincere in her beliefs by treating him with compassion when he least deserved it.  To him, Sansa is such an anomaly that the idea of anyone else being that authentic and principled is an even bigger stretch of the imagination than she is.   

And what experience does Sandor have with fathers doing right by their children?  None.  His own father covered up Gregor’s vicious attack and made him uphold the lie.  Then he’s a witness to Tywin and Robert Baratheon’s parenting.  Sandor always initially gives his life experiences more weight than any counterevidence he saw from Ned or Sansa.        

We are given a glimpse of Sandor’s reaction upon hearing the news that Beric Dondarrion was sent by Ned to put down Gregor Clegane through Littlefinger:  

Robert was in a fury [over the loss of the white hart], until he heard talk of some monstrous boar deeper in the forest. Then nothing would do but he must have it. Prince Joffrey returned this morning, with the Royces, Ser Balon Swann, and some twenty others of the party. The rest are still with the king.“

“The Hound?” Ned asked, frowning. Of all the Lannister party, Sandor Clegane was the one who concerned him the most, now that Ser Jaime had fled the city to join his father.

“Oh, returned with Joffrey, and went straight to the queen.” Littlefinger smiled. “I would have given a hundred silver stags to have been a roach in the rushes when he learned that Lord Beric was off to behead his brother.”

“Even a blind man could see the Hound loathed his brother.”

“Ah, but Gregor was his to loathe, not yours to kill. Once Dondarrion lops the summit off our Mountain, the Clegane lands and incomes will pass to Sandor, but I wouldn’t hold my water waiting for his thanks, not that one… “  – Eddard XII AGOT

Granted Littlefinger is framing this information in a certain light to pique Ned’s paranoia as he’s been doing throughout their interactions.  Ned just tipped his hand as to who he’s worried about and Littlefinger ran with it, making it seem like Ned just crossed Sandor personally.  Early on, Sandor is still invested in the idea that killing his brother is the only way to end the pain of his trauma.  Not that I think that he genuinely wants to be a kinslayer, but keeping the revenge fantasy alive is a coping mechanism that Sandor doesn’t want to be taken from him.  I have no doubt that Sandor did go to Cersei immediately to discuss the situation, but there’s a lot more going on here.  This is going to be a long recap and a good deal of rambling.  You have been forewarned. 

At the inn at the crossroads, Catelyn arrests Tyrion as a person of interest in the assassination attempt on Bran based on Littlefinger’s claim of who won the Valyrian steel dagger.  She takes Tyrion to Lysa in the Eyrie, holding him prisoner.  Word of Tyrion’s arrest reaches King’s Landing via Yoren.  In retaliation, Jaime Lannister and his men attack Ned Stark in the streets, leaving Ned with a badly broken leg.  Ned is unconscious with a fever for “six days and seven nights.”  When he awakens, he tries to speak to Robert about the conflict with the Lannisters, but Robert will not hear of it.  The situation is escalating with both Riverrun and Casterly Rock calling their banners in anticipation for war.  Robert decides he’d rather go hunting than deal with this mess, tells Ned they should just simply stop fighting and leaves the next day.  Thanks, Robert.  

Ned is back to holding court as Hand and dealing with official business.  Marq Piper and Karyl Vance, Hoster Tully’s bannermen, show up to accuse the Lannisters of sending Gregor Clegane to attack villages in the Riverlands under the guise of common brigands.  They brought with them the few remaining survivors of the attacks to testify that despite the lack of sigils or banners, these brigands were definitely outfitted like proper knights.  They had war horses, good weapons and armor, and their inhumanly large leader couldn’t be anyone else other than the Mountain.  Ned believes them and suspects what Tywin may be trying to accomplish:  “should Riverrun strike back [openly attacking Tywin’s soldiers or bannermen], Cersei and her father would insist that it had been the Tullys who broke the king’s peace, not the Lannisters. The gods only knew what Robert would believe.”  The ruse gives Tywin plausible deniability of being responsible, but it is flimsy enough so the Riverlanders to take the bait.  There’s no guarantee that Robert, the weak king that he is, wouldn’t cave under pressure to side with his in-laws.  We also learn later that Tywin was counting on Ned leading his forces personally to come to the aid of his wife’s family.  Away from King’s Landing, Ned could be killed, captured, or traded for Tyrion.  Either way, the Starks would be removed from power; however, Ned’s leg was broken during the street fight with Jaime, who knew nothing of his father’s plan.  

So Ned sends Beric Dondarrion to bring down Ser Gregor for his crimes against the villagers in the name of the king’s justice, thwarting Tywin’s provocation of Riverrun to retaliate.  By putting Robert’s stamp of approval on Gregor’s death sentence, he’s also gambling that this will position the king to side against his in-laws later.  You know, when he finally gets Robert to have that big talk about his wife and kids.  Sigh. 

“Lord Tywin is greatly wroth about the men you sent after Ser Gregor Clegane,” the maester confided. “I feared he would be. You will recall, I said as much in council.”

“Let him be wroth,” Ned said. Every time his leg throbbed, he remembered Jaime Lannister’s smile, and Jory dead in his arms. “Let him write all the letters to the queen he likes. Lord Beric rides beneath the king’s own banner. If Lord Tywin attempts to interfere with the king’s justice, he will have Robert to answer to. The only thing His Grace enjoys more than hunting is making war on lords who defy him.” – Eddard XII, AGOT.

Ned sends Ser Robar Royce to Robert’s hunting party to inform the king (and Yohn Royce) of Dondarrion’s posse and Gregor’s attainment/death sentence.  Fast forward to Robert on his deathbed, where he voices his displeasure with Ned putting him in a difficult spot with his wife’s family.  

“Ah, fuck you, Ned,” the king said hoarsely. “I killed the [boar], didn’t I?” A lock of matted black hair fell across his eyes as he glared up at Ned. “Ought to do the same for you. Can’t leave a man to hunt in peace. Ser Robar found me. Gregor’s head. Ugly thought. Never told the Hound. Let Cersei surprise him.” His laugh turned into a grunt as a spasm of pain hit him. – Eddard XIII, AGOT.

Robert admits to Ned that he never told Sandor himself.  Surprise, Robert dodged an uncomfortable conversation and intended on leaving that task to Cersei so he could get back to having a good time.  Because Sandor returned with Joffrey and the Royces, he most definitely heard the news through them.  Why does this detail matter?  Well, if you were Sandor, wouldn’t you be irked that the king didn’t have the basic courtesy (or balls) to tell you himself?  The natural progression of that conversation would be discussing what that means for Sandor’s future, the inheritance of Clegane lands, and his standing with the Lannisters during this conflict.  But Robert doesn’t want to touch that topic with a ten-foot pole.  What I’m saying is, at that moment, he’s probably more pissed at Robert than anyone else.  Following that would be Ned’s decision interfering with one of his primary coping mechanisms.  So Sandor marches off straight to Cersei where he was probably told of Gregor’s purpose in the Riverlands and assured that Ned’s order would come to nothing.  Indeed, Gregor was ready for Donddarion, ambushing his party from all sides at Mummer’s Ford, soundly defeating them.  Meanwhile, Cersei was already making moves to remove both Ned and Robert.  But how did Sandor feel about all this? 

The grey light of dawn was streaming through his window when the thunder of hoofbeats awoke Eddard Stark from his brief, exhausted sleep. He lifted his head from the table to look down into the yard. Below, men in mail and leather and crimson cloaks were making the morning ring to the sound of swords, and riding down mock warriors stuffed with straw. Ned watched Sandor Clegane gallop across the hard-packed ground to drive an iron-tipped lance through a dummy’s head. Canvas ripped and straw exploded as Lannister guardsmen joked and cursed.

Is this brave show for my benefit, he wondered. If so, Cersei was a greater fool than he’d imagined. Damn her, he thought, why is the woman not fled? I have given her chance after chance … – Eddard XIV AGOT

He’s right there under Ned’s window, mocking and intimidating him.  If there was any tiny glimmer in Sandor that maybe Gregor would be finally held accountable for any of his crimes, it was almost immediately overshadowed by his cynicism and confirmation bias.  Knowing that Ned’s goose is cooked, Sandor would think Ned a great, naive fool for not understanding how the world really works and how outmatched he is.  His worldview is validated yet again by the cunning of his masters.  The only thing he can do is attempt to cure Sansa of the same infirmity before its too late for her. 

Just before the Blackwater battle, Sandor brings up her father and tries to put some dents in his image to argue his points.  For a little context, Sandor was alone on the roof of the Red Keep until Sansa showed up.  We can infer with his anxieties about the wildfire that Sandor was up there contemplating his own mortality, which is why he goes so particularly hard in needling Sansa.  It seems as if Sandor must have been in the middle of some pretty intense brooding.  If he dies in the battle by fire no less, it is in the thankless service of awful people, and Gregor still goes on living and unpunished.  If this is how it all ends, well, it’s pretty depressing and of course, as he should have always expected.  And here Sansa is still insisting on her idealistic worldview. He goes for a low blow.  In that process, he reveals his anger and trust issues with fathers.   

She hated the way he talked, always so harsh and angry. “Does it give you joy to scare people?”

“No, it gives me joy to kill people.” His mouth twitched. “Wrinkle up your face all you like, but spare me this false piety. You were a high lord’s get. Don’t tell me Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell never killed a man.”

“That was his duty. He never liked it.”

“Is that what he told you?” Clegane laughed again. “Your father lied. Killing is the sweetest thing there is.” He drew his longsword. “Here’s your truth. Your precious father found that out on Baelor’s steps. Lord of Winterfell, Hand of the King, Warden of the North, the mighty Eddard Stark, of a line eight thousand years old … but Ilyn Payne’s blade went through his neck all the same, didn’t it? Do you remember the dance he did when his head came off his shoulders?” – Sansa IV, ACOK.

Of course, Ned must be a liar because his father was.  He’s got to be no different than Tywin, the high lord he knows best.  All fathers and killers are the same.  This is the truth as he sees it:  those on top, who hold near-godlike power of life and death over their subjects, secretly enjoy exercising that power behind a virtuous countenance.  Does Sandor honestly believe this about Ned, or is he trying really hard to convince himself of that?  Because for a flickering moment there, it almost sounds like a part of Sandor thinks of Ned in a grand, larger-than-life image before he pauses in thought…  

And since he’s the one who brought up Ned and his execution, he also can’t deny that he witnessed a man condemning himself as a traitor in exchange for the safety of the daughter the Lannisters held hostage.  He did the very thing his own father would not do:  endure the public shame and stigma for love of his child.  That is proof that Ned’s honor wasn’t just about his public image, which surely didn’t go unnoticed by someone sensitive to such things, whether he was ready to accept that or not.  That Ned wasn’t just merely outmatched by more cunning players, he was the victim of treachery and deceit, failed by a negligent king uninterested in dealing with corruption.  While he still does think Ned a fool, there’s a sense that Sandor has adjusted to thinking of him as a decent, honorable, and tragic sort of fool, much like his daughter.  What good did that integrity do him?  None.  The monsters won.  Illyn Payne still took his head off while he and his daughter watched.  Did you catch how the detail of Ned’s twitching limbs was burned into Sandor’s memory, the same one that plagued Sansa’s nightmares?  Yeah, it affected him too.  So I do think Sandor is trying to convince himself that Ned was actually a phony and a shitty person because Sandor doesn’t want to empathize with anyone and yet finds himself doing so anyway.  Like with Sansa, caring* means having confused and conflicted feelings that force him to re-examine his own life.  Add to the fact that Sandor is also the child of a murdered father.  I could see a young Sandor having very complicated feelings about mourning his own massive disappointment of a father if he allowed himself to mourn him at all.  I don’t see how those memories could not be dredged up.       

* I’m still debating whether or not “caring” is too strong a word in regards to Ned.  Let’s just say that upon later reflection, I think certain things about Ned’s life and death resonated with Sandor.    

It’s a very small, but not unremarkable shift considering how much of a jaded idealist cynic Sandor is.  Death probably also has a way of memorializing Ned in a similar way to how separation causes Sandor to reframe Sansa’s courteousness as something he highly esteems; however, Sandor just can’t say that he was wrong these things openly, so you have to read between the lines.  Later while telling Arya of his intention to return her to Catelyn and Robb, Sandor says he’s willing to wager that Robb won’t kill him:

If he doesn’t take me, he’d be wise to kill me, but he won’t. Too much his father’s son, from what I hear. – Arya IX, ASOS.

What Sandor is hoping for first and foremost is for Robb to take him into his service, right after stating that he’s done with loathsome and unappreciative masters.  In an indirect way, it is an admission that Ned, Sansa, and the other Starks are not just different, but better.  Still foolish because it would be “wiser” to kill someone like him, but definitely better.  Sandor assumes Robb will be pointing his army toward King’s Landing to free Sansa, so he believes his Lannister intel will make him a valuable asset.  “Maybe I’ll even kill Gregor for him, he’d like that.“  What’s also interesting is that he fantasizes about changing Robb’s negative opinion and winning his favor by taking down Gregor for him (in the name of the king’s justice), essentially fulfilling the duty Ned charged Dondarrion with.  While he may think he’s got one over on Robb and his long-awaited revenge will be the cherry on top, his wording points to a subconscious desire to please and serve Ned through his stand-in eldest son.  That he wants a chance to earn positive recognition from a worthy king, someone who Sansa also loves and admires.  The thought eases the pain of his failures and screw-ups regarding her during the Blackwater.  Except this goes up in smoke with the Red Wedding.  

I don’t know if in the future Sandor will ever have any lines where he openly and positively speaks of Ned, but that would be something I would love to see.  Since I am sure he and Sansa are bound to reunite, it would probably come up then.  Or Ned’s presence could be quietly felt in the continuation of Sandor’s arc through his choices and actions.  Or it could be both.  We just have to wait until Winds to find out.                                                  

Sam & Max- A Twisted Timeless Tale

Side note: This my first time posting a fanfic on here. Hope it’s not too terrible.

Summery: After the events of season three, Sam and Max are doing their best at adjusting  to each other’s temporal partner. But little do that know, something is coming their way.

Chapter 1 It Fell From The Sky

“What would you do,

to reunite with someone you lost?

Someone so important to you,

that you would punch a whole

through the fabric of time, space and reality itself

just to get that person back?

How...Far...Would you...Go?”

Deep within the multiverses of time and space, where they say 'No Man Has Gone Before' laid the shady pub of dimension 31. Within it's tavern walls, attracted only the most notorious of thugs, thieves, gangs, outlaws and just about any other form of crook and criminal you could wrap your brain in cellophane; all regulated underneath this dented steel roof. Whether it was just to kick back and drink, gamble or the start of a new kind of suspicious business. Such was the case on this particular Saturday evening. It started off as usual.

The Roach Gang were on a winning streak for the past few weeks. All had been going smoothly for them, with every flush, full house and every lucky break they could get. After all how hard could it be? Just a few more wins and they would have finally walked outta there with thousands. Easy money. So why was this new comer being so difficult? Ever since he waltzed in with his crew of oversized rats for a challenge, he had been consistently kicking their thoraxes for the past few hours. Without so much as a flinch. He was dressed in a dark cape and gold shoulder pads. His face was covered up by a thick helmet that he refused to take off. With every chip being lost to this guy, the Roaches were now on the edges of their seats. If only they could sweat. Finally, by the eleventh hour the Roaches had lost all their chips, has well as their 'hard earned' money.

“Not a bad game, Gentlemen... But not very good either...” the stranger said in smug confidence, “Next time maybe you should stick to the kids table, before thinking of playing with the adults...”

That was enough to send Rookie into a blind rage. Pulling out one of his pocket knives, he leaped over the table, ready to strike the stranger down once and for all. But the stranger's rats were swift. With one smack, Rookie was brought down to the floor. The rest of the Gang readied themselves to fight as well, but their leader, Zork stopped them with a wave of his limbs. The Stranger snapped of his finger, summoning another one of his rat henchmen over to collect the spoils. He then leaned forward and folded his hands. An indicator that play time was over.

“Well then, as you know the deal. I've been searching across the multiverses and time-lines to find this new cosmic light that has emerged and rumor has it that you are one of the lucky few to have seen it.” His tone grew darker as he narrowed down his sight on Zork, “So tell me, did you see this cosmic light or not and where do you think I can find it, now?”

Zork stared the stranger. No way could this guy be serious? But with one of his fellow gang members down, his money gone and only half his dignity in tacked, Zork knew this guy wasn't fooling around. He couldn't keep his mandibles shut for very long. Reluctantly he spilled it for all to hear.

“Okay, yes. We did see something like a green cosmic light come shooting by. There's been word that it was conceived shortly after two breeches had been made to the Dark Dimension from two separate time-lines at exactly the same moment. Causing a- uh kind of ripple effect between the two realities.” He exclaimed

“Fascinating...” the stranger's replied, sounding intrigued, “And just where do you think the light might be heading now?”

“I...” Zork swallowed, “I don't know...”

Without warning the stranger lunged at him. Revealing under his cloak a long a hook-like spear with a glowing blue stone tide to it. Raising up to Zork's chest.

“Unless you wish to fall under a long heavy sleep, I suggest you come out with it clean.” he scoffed, “You've already lost the game. Don't lose your mobility as well... Or perhaps I should-”

“Earth!” Zork blurted out, “It's heading for Earth! Time reality 16!”

“Earth's sixteenth Reality, eh? Why that one of all places?” He rubbed his helmet to ponder the thought, while lifting his spear away from Zork. Visibly shaken, Zork continued to confess.

“I-I don't know why it's going there. M-m-maybe it has something to do with that case of that dog and rabbit.”

The stranger's head perked up, “Dog and rabbit you say? Interesting... And their names?”

“I-I-I don't know... I think one of their names was M-Mike? Max? Something with an M and the other's name I can't remember... I think it began with and S...”

Letting go of Zork briefly, the stranger was about to leave with his henchmen before turning to face the Roach gang one last time, “Oh, there's one more thing I forgot to do.”

Suddenly there came a loud screech and a crack of blue light. Before any of the gang members could have time to react, Zork fell to the floor, clutching his chest. A blue scar glowed from the wound. The other members rushed to his side while two of them split from the rest of the gang for a fight. The stranger was not interested however. Instead he just laughed.

“And that's what happens when you play with the 'big boys.' Pleasant dreams now.” And with that, him and his crew went aboard their ship and headed off in the direction of the cosmic light. While on their quest for this light, the stranger couldn't help but ponder. Dog and Rabbit... Dog and Rabbit... This wasn't the first time those two particular species came his attention. In fact this was about the fifth time he hear of them. What ever this cosmic light was, it held a connection to this Dog and Rabbit and he was going to fine out why. One way or the other.

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

Deep within the vast cold void of space, a green glowing light of mysterious origin, that had been getting some attention across the various demotions and time-lines, through space. No one knew how exactly it came into existence or why it was traveling to Earth reality 16 so quickly, but one thing was for certain... There was something there that was pulling it in. Something that needed to be found.

It was somewhere around 2:30 AM, in hustle and bustle of New York city, when the it began to enter into the atmosphere. Flashes of green filled the clouded sky. Almost like lightening. It wasn't before long when the cosmic light emerged from the clouds. Silently falling down towards the Hudson river, to where Ellis Island was. Even when it had landed, the impacted made no noise. First a bright flash light before dimming into a dull but still noticeable pulsating glow. Many on lookers took notice and watched the spectacle in aw. Including Grandpa Stinky, who only got up to use the bathroom. However, unbeknownst to those that gazed upon the beacon, there were two specific people, that remained oblivious.

Rolling onto his back, Sam placed a paw over his eyes; rubbing them wearily. Letting out a heavy sigh, he sat up from his bunk. Not another one of these nights again. Sam had been struggling with sleep for the past couple months now. Ever since... The incident happened... He hadn’t gotten a good night sleep in almost two months. Ironic considering that what Ma- Not again... Why was he thinking of that now. Max is here now. Alive and well... Speaking of which, that thought alone was enough to get Sam out of his bunk to check up on the one above him. Sure enough there was Max, laying on his stomach, ears flopped over his arm and pillow. His other arm was hanging off the bed and the sheets had been flipped over to where they were only covering his legs. He was making a soft purring noise with his teeth as he slept. Sam lifted the sheets over Max's shoulder, before placing a paw on his head. Gently patting it. A small smile creeped over his face for a brief moment. Heaving another sigh, he realized he was not going to be able to get back to sleep tonight. Perhaps some late night reality shows and infomercials could help clear his mind.

They say 'time heals all wounds' surely that phrase would apply to Sam as well, right? But thats the thing... Sam's life was never one of cliches. At least not in an obvious clean cut sort of way. The fact was, there wasn't any going back to the way things use to be at this point. Nor possibly ever. There was always going to be this weird feeling in the air. As much as Sam didn't want to think about it, it was always going to be there. In the back of his mind and at the bottom of his heart. He knew the harsh truth of this reality. That Max... His Max was gone.

The light from the TV flickered in the dark room. After a few adjustments of the coat hanger, Sam was able to get a better picture. He plopped down on the couch and lazily picked up the remote, while hugging a pillow. Various voices from the TV could be heard. Anything from sale pitches for meaningless junk to over dramatic line deliveries. All getting abruptly cut short by Sam's constant flipping of the remote.

“Yes, John! I love yo-” Click

“-So come on down to Ernie's for the best deals in-” Click

“Get ready to remove the brain tumor, Doc-” Click

“Are you tired of cleaning up after your hamster, ginny-pig or rab-” Click

“-Mike! I thought I lost for-” Click

“Don't die on me Margret!” Click

“And now a word from government's favorite lab tech, The Gee-”Click

“Reports are coming in of a str-” Click

“Sam..?”

Sam looked up from the TV screen to see Max standing in the doorway. Wrapped in a blanket, ears slightly drooped, rubbing an eye with his fist. He was looking a bit groggy. The little lagomorph let out a yawn before taking a step forward.

“What are you doing up so late...?”

“Sorry, little pal. I uh... Couldn't sleep.” Sam tried his best to explain himself, but Max didn't seem to respond to the answer. Instead he awkwardly walked over to his partner and flopped onto his lap. Sam didn't seem to mind much. He then patted Max's head, while Max stared at the television screen. Still somewhat half asleep.

“If you don't mind me asking, Max... Why are you up?”

“Couldn't hear your loud snoring. I thought you might have choked on your own drool.”

“Well, you better get some sleep, little buddy.” Sam commented, “It's gonna be another crook fighting, case solving, crime busting heck of a day.”

“Oh boy!” Max said through a yawn, “Ya think The Geek and Momma Bosco have that new vibration weapon ready? I could sure use it to put a smack down on those thugs.”

“Afraid not. The Geek said it will be awhile until she and Momma Bosco iron out all the bells and whistles in that thing.”

“Well in that case, at least that gives me something pleasant to dream about for a change.” Max then nuzzled his face up against Sam's side.

“What do you mean?” Sam looked down at his partner, perplexed. Max only glanced up at Sam briefly before looking back at the TV.

“Oh.. It's nothing... Just tired of having the dream over and over again...” He muttered

“Max, are you having trouble sleeping too?”

“It's nothing, big guy.” he responded with a grin, “Don't worry about it.”

Sam paused for a moment. He hadn't really noticed Max was struggling with sleep as well. The lagomorph was always good at hiding his emotions. Shaking his head, he shrugged, “Okay Max, I won't press any further. But if theres something really bothering you, promise you'll let me know about it.”

“Riiight....” Max responded

Sam didn't say anything else afterwards, only continued to stare at the TV along with Max. Now he was stroking the side of the lagomorph's cheek. Wondering what else to say. What was there to say? The room became very silent, even with the noise of the TV droning on. Before Sam knew it, he heard the purring sound once more. Max had fallen asleep again. Thinking about what he said a few moments ago, that got Sam thinking. “Something pleasant to dream about...” “for a change..” Was Max really having trouble with sleep as well? It was hard to tell with him. He always seemed so sound at night and his usual “endearing” self by day. Only waking whenever Sam had a particular rough night. Really the only times he'd ever seem to struggle was whenever the weather got bad. Max simply couldn't shut his eyes much less stay still unless hes was curled up right next to Sam. Which Sam didn't mind, but he still found it a bit strange at how wound up this Max would get over a thunder storm. After all, when he and his Max were growing up, he always love listening to the thunder and lighting and-

Sam shook his head again, placing a paw over his face. Not now... Not while Max was in the same room with him. He needed to stop thinking about himself. After all, Max lost his Sam as well... And even if he might not shown it very well, Sam knew for sure that Max still missed him dearly. As the minuets ticked away Sam began to feel his eyes get heavy and the noise around him softening. Before he knew it, they were both sound asleep. Huddled to the couch together, and completely unaware of the ominous glow that outside that awaited them.

What does $50 buy on Facebook Marketplace these days?

Hello again and Happy New Year! I hope this post finds you enjoying a prosperous baby New Year. Hopefully all good things ahead in 2019!

Okay...so I’ve been away from the old blog and WAY away from drum parts and restoration for quite a while now. I gotta admit, it gets to be a pain in the ass tracking down orphan drums, sorting parts, tearing down, cleaning, cataloging and restoring...and most of all, fielding questions and parts requests from vintage Tama drum bros from all around the world. I’ve also taken a break from selling on eBay and Craigslist because we all know what a royal pain in the ass that can be...and with increasingly diminishing returns to be had nowadays. I seriously needed to step away from the game so no one got hurt!

So back to “biness”. I always enjoy adding a few extra bucks per month to the investment account from diligent drum parts schlepping...and lately my personal finance bottom line once again came a calling. I was feeling I needed something to jump start my epic return to the old grind. Maybe a cheap kit to restore? Nope...got too many of those and my wife would murder me in my sleep..again! Most likely a decent lot of roached orphan drums to part out and/or restore and flip. Well a few days ago I found just the ticket, oddly enough...on Facebook Marketplace.

So being the bottom feeder that I am, here’s what $50 bought me...

Yeah...I thought the same thing. At first glance, no big wowy zowy right? A roached King Beat snare and some other crap. 

Break it down one time!

(1) 81′ Tama King Beat snare

I was obviously into this deal for just the snare alone. This features a surprisingly complete KG parallel strainer assembly (shocker…both knobs are there!). I’ll need to remember to reassemble the complete strainer on the shell to ensure full functionality prior to scrapping the shell. Up close, overall this is not as shitty as it looks. The shorty coffin lugs (always in demand) don’t seem all that pitted nor do the PC die cast hoops. When I say “not all that pitted”, I mean typical of the era. There’s even a nice clean badge to boot. The big knob muffler is complete but the felt has disintegrated. Sure the shell is toast and is headed to an artificial reef but otherwise…parts heaven.

Cha-to-the-ching!

(1) 98′ Spitfire by Slingerland 22″ kick drum

Wait what? A Spitfire by whoesy whatsit? Yeah I sure as hell never heard of them either. Not much info on these drums as they were a part of the tail end of the sad Slingerland demise and much akin to the Chinese import “Swingstar by Tama” entry level junk of the era. The wrap is a bit bubbly on this drum and it is missing both spur sets. It’s also sporting a pair of roached, previously chrome and otherwise pedestrian Rockstar looking hoops that have been painted black. These originally came with matching wrap inlay hoops similar to the Taiwan level early 90′s Tama Rockstar hoops. Me thinks to myself…”Self…hey…I have pair of black inlay Rockstar hoops! I also have a pair of telescoping, diamond bolt pattern mount plate “Camco by Tama” (yikes!) kick spurs somewhere in the workshop that might fit the bolt pattern. Maybe I can smack this beast in the face, get it back into player’s shape and get $50 for it or donate it to the church for a tax receipt”. Win-win!

Here’s a pic from an old Guitar Center listing of what a “Spitfire by Slingerland” kit should look like. I guess it’s your basic, late 90′s, Korean firewood shell, entry level beater you’d buy for your kid at Christmas that he then stops playing a week later. Again, standard Taiwan Rockstar style matchy matchy wrap inlay hoops and typical telescoping spurs of the 90′s era. Still sporting the vintage style Slingerland lugs all around though. Hmm. 

(1) Mid 60′s 13″ Ludwig Keystone badge Rack Tom with Gold Sparkle Wrap

Okay so this one is a bit out of my wheelhouse. I’m no vintage Ludwig guy by any means, but this was kind of cool to stumble upon. Sadly painted black by some doofus from days of yore…there is clearly a vintage gold sparkle wrap that lurks beneath what looks like some black house paint hot mess. This drum does have the original tom mount intact, but is missing the bottom lugs and t rods so it is about 75% complete. I believe the bottom hoop was in the lot as well. The uber-fatty re-ring shell appears to be sound, in round and the “who knows how long it was exposed” bottom bearing edge doesn’t look all the bad surprisingly. The badge is a bit roached, but this drum is worth a re-wrap and resto by some eager Ludwig aficionado that has the parts and a shit load of free time on their hands. Heading directly to an eBay near you.

* 1/10/19 UPDATE! Upon closer inspection, what I thought was thick black paint turns out to be the same shitty contact paper/vinyl that is on the timbales mentioned below! I easily peeled some off this morning and the wrap looks pretty decent underneath.

So the plot thickens on this drum...resto or no?

(2) No name 60′s era Japanese 13″ and 14″ copper over steel Timbales

Ole!

Well now these are pretty f-ing cool. Listed as “no name concert toms” in the Facebook Marketplace ad, I was pleasantly surprised that these turned out to be steel shell timbales. Hell, who knows, they may be copper. Likely not…they look 60′s Japanese, which basically means they’re one step away from scrap steel. They’ve been wrapped in a flaking, deteriorated black contact paper (same doofus maybe?), but they appear to be your classic copper plate over steel finish beneath. I guess I’ll find out when I tear them down. Can’t really tell if it is all surface rust on the inside of the shells or just copper patina that gives it that “old penny” look. The lugs to me look like the pointy Japanese Star style lug common to the 60′s Star kits and similar Japanese stencil kits of the era. Regardless, I will likely keep these as I don’t actually own a set of timbales and they’d be fun to bang on. The t rods are pretty toasty so they’ll need to be addressed. Thankfully, the clip/slide mounts are intact as is the original dual mount that I can retrofit into something period correct or even a vintage Titan stand. If the shells are too crusty on the surface to recover the copper finish, I’ll have them media blasted locally and then send them to my nephew in Vermont to powder coat with a fun finish.

Also included was an orphan but nonetheless classic Ludwig dual tom mount whose length seems to indicate it was from a stand. Then again, WTF do I know about Ludwig hardware? Regardless…more eBay fodder for the Ludwig loonies.

Okay so it is time to break down the potential flippage numbers “American Pickers - Bundle Mania!” style. I’ll keep it on the lower end of the $ scale.

King Beat snare parts:

Coffin lugs, sold in pairs @ $15 clear, assuming 4 good pairs ( I’ll keep a pair) - $60.00

KG strainer assembly, hopefully complete, the original extended snares were coiled up inside the shell and bent so I’ll keep those and try to salvage them.- $75.00

Muffler - I have broken tone control arms with good felt so I’ll fix this one, keep it and sell a good one - $50.00

PC die cast hoops - generally fetch in the neighborhood of $45.00 each - $90.00

Imperialstar badge with or without salvage grommet - $10.00

T Rods and washers - two sets of ten at $10.00 each clear - $20.00

Snare total salvage - $305.00

Slingerland Kick drum:

Parts needed are zero cost, sell or church tax receipt donation - $50.00

Kick total salvage - $50.00

Ludwig 13″ Rack tom and mount:

Sell as is or attempt to remove the black paint with citrus stripper, then sell on an  eBay auction style listing starting at $25.00..maybe I’ll clear - $40.00

Tom mount is missing one L arm but in nice shape. might clear  - $15.00

Ludwig total salvage - $55.00

Timbales :

I’ll keep these, will cost a bit to restore, random value at $75.00.

Timbale total salvage value - $75.00

So the total comes in at around $485.00 on a good day. Backing out my $50 cash outlay and the $75 value of the keeper timbales…with a little luck, I could potentially clear at least $350 on this lot. Not too shabby, considering the seller pretty much brought the drums to me right around the corner from where I work.

Now all I need is some free time, a whole hell of a lot elbow grease and the boundless patience for the eternal agony that is eBay and Craigslist.

Thanks for taking a look and maybe I will post a follow up on this lot. Some fun stuff in this batch for sure!

Cheers to a Happy New Year!

- jt

prompt: what if the dance wasn’t Dina and Ellie’s first kiss? What if Ellie had kissed Dina a few days before at her house and Dina had kind of been awkward afterwards and left pretty quickly (because she was confused about it) and Ellie realised that she kinda messed up and that’s why she’s so awkward at the dance with Dina and also Jesse, and also the surprise on her face when Dina initiates it this time (and of course we can have Joel trying to figure out why Ellie has been avoiding Dina)

The patrol was supposed to last three days at a push.

Dina was on edge on the third day, spending her shift in the clinic just waiting for the door to burst open and for Joel to carry Ellie in, or for Ellie to carry Joel in.

Either way, whenever those two go over the estimated time something hads gone drastically wrong.

Dina burst into Tommy’s office after the fifth day, as the man was having a meeting with a few of the scouts.

“Where are they?” She asked.

“No idea. Could be anywhere, knowing the two of them.” Tommy answered. “We’re giving them a week and then we’re going to go lookin’.”

“A week?” Dina snapped. “They could be dead by then!”

“Ellie and Joel are like roaches, ain’t nothin’ gonna kill those two.” Tommy tried to comfort Dina, but it didn’t work, all Dina could think of was the stories Ellie had told her, everything the girl had been through before getting to The Dam. “They’ll be back, probably with a few cuts and bruises, but they’ll be back.”

Dina wasn’t really sure who Tommy was trying to convince, her or himself.

They did come back, on the seventh day, just as Tommy was gearing up to go out searching.

Dina was in the clinic at the time, startling to attention any time the doors opened.

She was on her feet in seconds when she saw Joel burst through the door with Ellie in his arms.

“What happened?” She asked, looking down at the beaten and bruised woman in his arms.

“We ran into trouble, tried to sit it out for a few days but they found us.” Joel explained, setting Ellie down on the bed. “She’s lost a lot of blood, I think her ribs are broken, too.”

Dina nodded. “We will need some A+ blood, and a suturing kit.”

Dina fixed Ellie up, stabilising her before setting her up in one of the rooms.

“What is it with you guys are getting into trouble?” Dina grumbled as she and Joel sat at Ellie’s bedside.

“Blame Ellie, she has this ability to do the exact opposite of what she should do.”

Dina stayed by her bed for the next day and a half, until Joel sent her away to shower, eat and sleep.

She had slept for almost ten hours, and was just about to leave to head back to the clinic when Ellie appeared.

Ellie smiled unsurely. “Hey,”

“Hey?” Dina snapped. “That’s all you have? Hey?”

“I’m sorry?” Ellie was tentative, which made Dina even more mad.

“Haven’t I warned you to be careful,” Dina growled, pushing at Ellie’s shoulders. “God, Ellie, it’s like you don’t care.” She pushed again. “That you don’t realise you have people who would miss you if you never came back.” Again. “People who love you.”

Ellie braced herself to be pushed again but this time she was being pulled in, Dina’s lips clashing roughly against Ellie’s, making Ellie squeak in surprise.

After a few seconds her eyes slipped closed, and she melted into the kiss.

The kiss didn’t last much longer, before Dina was push Ellie away, causing her to stumble in her daze.

“I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go.”

Ellie had barely managed to force her eyes open before Dina was gone, leaving Ellie standing in her living room.

Ellie waited about five minutes, expecting Dina to come back, but she never did, and Ellie didn’t go looking.

Dina avoided her for days after the kiss, but Ellie found out through the grapevine that she had broken it off with Jesse.

At first that gave Ellie hope, but then Dina never came by to see her, to explain, so she pushed that hope way way down.

They saw each other in passing, Ellie wild go to get painkillers for her ribs, and get her wounds cleaned, and Dina would shy away from her.

Ellie felt like she had done something wrong, even if she was merely the recipient of the kiss, she hadn’t initiated it. She hadn’t given Dina any indication of her feelings toward her.

It was the day of the quarterly dance when Joel came home.

“Dina told me to tell you to go to the dance,” Joel said.

Ellie snorted. “She couldn’t come tell me herself?”

“She’s helping set up,” Joel eyed Ellie, sitting on the sofa with one of his beers dangling in between her fingers. “Which is more than could be said about you.”

“Ouch,” Ellie murmured sarcastically, taking a swig if the drink.

“Look, kid, I don’t know what happened with you two but just go tonight, you might even have fun.”

Ellie had no real intentions of showing up, but as the day wore on, something in the back of her head (she figured it was probably that annoying little bit of hope she had tried to stomp out) was telling her to just give it a shot.

So, come eight o’clock, two hours after the thing had actually started, Ellie entered the hall and immediately found herself at the bar, watching Dina dance around with one of the youngest kids.

Jesse appeared beside, and Ellie could feel guilt bubble in her stomach at the hopeful look on his face when she said they’d end up back together.

Dina was dancing around with one of the other teenagers, and Ellie and Jesse just stared, both equally in awe, both equally in love.

Then Dina was heading over after the song finished, and Ellie stared down at her drink, figuring she was coming over for Jesse.

“Ellie, hey,” Ellie was surprised at the sound of her name, and not Jesse’s. Dina plucked the glass frothier fingers, and she began picking at her thumb nail. “What took you so long?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Ellie knew she sounded a little cold

Then Dina was dragging her away from Jesse, and wrapping her arms around Ellie’s neck, and I wasn’t until that moment that Ellie realised that it was a slow song they were dancing to.

There was so much going through Dina’s eyes as she breathed the words “Oh, Ellie,” Love, an apology, fear, excitement. Everything Ellie was feeling in that moment.

Then Dina kissed her, again, and Ellie waiting for her to push back and run. But she didn’t, she moved closer, going in for another kiss and Ellie let her eyes slip closed, her arms tightening around Dina.

Ellie smiled at first, but when something settled in her stomach again, fear and confusion.

“Dina,”

“I know,” Dina nodded. “Can we go to my place? We can talk?”

Ellie swallowed, glancing over Dina’s shoulder at Jesse, who was standing by the bar still, a scowl on his face. “I think that’s best.”

They walked in silence to Dina’s place, their hands brushing together, and Ellie’s stomach was in knots, she had no idea where this was going to go.

“You ran off the other day,” Ellie said when Dina didn’t say anything. “You kissed me and ran off, leaving me thinking I’d done something wrong, that I was some kind of predator.”

“I panicked, I’m not gonna say it wasn’t something I had never thought of, it was, but that kiss was all instinct. It was panic, anger, happiness, everything but conscious thought.” Dina admitted. “I was afraid you would hate me, that that wasn’t what you wanted.”

“If you’d stuck around you would’ve known that I’ve wanted this since we met.” Ellie sighed.

“I’m sorry,”

“I’m not mad, not anymore.” Ellie said. “I just need to know what your game is here.”

“To maybe take you on a date, maybe to the lake.” Shrugged, advancing slowing on Ellie. “And if that’s something you enjoy, maybe a few more dates, and more kissing.” Dina was in front of Ellie now, her fingertips tickling the back of her hand. “Maybe more, if you’d have me.”

Ellie stared at Dina for a few seconds, seeing nothing but sincerity in the woman’s eyes, so she gently cupped her chin, dipping down to press a gently kiss on Dina’s lips, before pushing her back, causing Dina to stumble back in surprise.

“Don’t pull anything like that again, dickhead.”

Dina laughed, rubbing her shoulder playfully.

WHEN YOU CAN WRITE SUBSTANTIAL CHUNKS THIS WAY

Could other countries introduce more individualism into their technology companies and research labs without having it metastasize as strip malls? I didn't ever quite understand these papers, but I found the same problem there. 27meg. While perhaps 9 out of 10 startups fail, the one that succeeds will pay the founders more than 10 times what they would have if he'd been taking classes back at Harvard? Maybe it will turn out you can help one another are both artificially amplified. Ick. Intellectually they were as capable as the successful founders of following all the implications of what one said to them, and c they're individually inconsistent. At Viaweb our whole site was like a roach motel for startup ambitions: smart, ambitious people went in, but no one told me. It sounds to me as complaining that users didn't read the reference manual. Several of our competitors shot themselves in the foot this way—usually, I think filtering based on individual words, Bayesian filters automatically notice. When you order online, I think, hackers despise it. We found the startups that did best were the ones with the sort of founders about whom we'd say they can take a nap on when they feel tired, instead of sitting in a coma at their desk, pretending to work.

The reason they go into finance to make their fortunes will continue to do badly. In either case there's not much you can learn from them. Weekly growth, you may end up with a much firmer grip on the code. Many software companies, especially at critical social bottlenecks like college admissions. Suppose new policies make it hard to make a port run efficiently, it can't coax startups into existence. Whether or not this is a natural place for things to give as venture funding becomes more and more fields will see as time goes on. There's no precise answer to that. We have triumphed over the unprincipled dissemination of facts. Pay was based on seniority. I do then is just what the river does: backtrack. One of the principles the IRS uses in deciding whether to allow deductions is that, if not beyond the bounds of possibility, is beyond the scope of this article.

We spent a lot of nasty little ones. In the early 1990s I read an article in which someone said that software was a subscription business. And yet because of the name, and were always disappointed. I know this may sound oversensitive, but if we knew how we would have started a startup to do? Rich people don't get better design or craftsmanship here. In the seed stage. Something you publish ought to tell the reader something he didn't already know. When the tests are narrow and predictable, you get to hit a few difficult problems over the net at someone, you learn pretty quickly how hard they are; you don't know initially how hard they are; you don't know that number, you don't have a college degree you can't get a visa for working on your own projects than an undergrad or corporate employee would. Once you grasp that, you advance quickly to the next step, which is almost unheard of among VCs. Deciding to fire people is usually hard, but it is the people. Nearly all our users came direct to our site through word of mouth. But in this case it seems more as if there was some kind of turf to protect, and this tends to warp their development decisions.

And the probability of the containing email being a spam. It sounds like making movies works a lot like the arrival of PCs twenty-five years ago. Deciding to fire people is usually hard, but there's one case in which it varies so much that there's no conventional number. 071706355 There are a couple pieces of good news here. Due diligence is the corporate equivalent of a background check: the purpose is to uncover any hidden bombs that might sink the company later, like serious design flaws in the product, pending lawsuits against the company, which costs a couple thousand dollars in legal work and registration fees, and the word that came to mind was optimism. And creating wealth, people who want to come to America can even get in? And that probably drove the developers harder than any carrot or stick could. Was I worried? What should you think about? What if startups are both a new economic phase, on the condition that Woz quit, he initially refused, arguing that he'd designed both the Apple I and the Apple II while working at HP, and there is something similarly degrading about competing with spammers.

Perhaps the most successful countries, in the sense that it is a spam, whereas sexy indicates. To the recipient, spam is easily recognizable. Unfortunately there's no antonym of hapless, which makes them worry they'll get in trouble if they do something risky and it fails. It seems as if it must have been when startups wrote VisiCalc. And no one can stop you. The stories that seemed to be able to push back in the 90s. Grad school can be a damned heavy monkey on your back.

And so it is unfair to delay. Because it's too easy for people who control a private company to funnel its revenues to themselves e. Whereas American executives, in their hearts, still believe the most important work being done was intellectual archaelogy. In the early era, philology actually mattered. It's more important to grow fast. By obstructing that process, Apple is making them do bad work, and programmers hate that as much as possible. If we can write software that recognizes their messages, there is no record of it. So this alternative device probably couldn't win on general appeal. Parents will die for their kids. But lately I've been learning more about how the VC world works, and your competitors can, you tend to get fixed. When you can reproduce errors and release changes instantly, you can increase how much you make, and you can decrease how much you spend.

Every person has to do their job well. The trouble is, the very best ideas. Content-based spam filtering is often combined with a whitelist, a list of US cities sorted by population, the number of startups is the pool of potential founders. In a startup writing Web-based applications offer a straightforward way to outwork your competitors. So it may be worth standing back and understanding what's going on, perhaps there's a third option: to write something, half the ideas that implementing it would have led to. It felt as if there was a lot of money to convince big companies that they need something more expensive. It works a lot like making software. Advanced users are more forgiving about bugs, and system administrators traditionally each have their own separate worries. Again by trial and error I chose. Another is when you have to tease apart the components.

Along with interesting problems, what good hackers like is other good hackers. The hackers who become famous tend to become famous by random accidents of PR. Once you experience the pain of missing your target one week it was the only thing we have in common is that we invest in the earliest phases, a lot of startups don't want to follow or lead. This is why some software costs more to run on Windows, and before we could write software for Windows we'd have to use Java and Windows at work, but at Viaweb bugs became almost a game. And I found that the Bayesian filter did the same thing is happening to other deals a hundred times as productive as a small startup. The second or third day, with text that ultimately survived in red and text that later got deleted in gray. Another reason big companies are bad at product development because they're bad at everything. He really doesn't know. Even with us working to make things go your way except in a few unusual cases. Sometimes you start with a promising question and get nowhere. The route for the ambitious in that sort of environment is to join one and climb to the top.

Insect Fumigation Services

Whether it's inside or outside your house, Summit County Pest Control offers an intensive and effective insect fumigation service to eliminate unwanted pests in your environment. Find out which service fits your situation by giving us a call right now. Cockroach Extermination Cockroaches are incredibly resilient insects and usually not that easy to eradicate. Trying to get rid of roaches on a one by one basis is a futile and quite useless course of action. The only way to make sure your home or place of business is free of cockroaches is to fumigate the building. Smoky Brown, Brown Banded, American, Oriental and German Cockroaches are the five different variations of roaches generally found in the home with the most common being the German Cockroach. German Cockroach This type is the most common in Ohio. They can be found even in the cleanest of places, thus there is no shame at finding them present. However, it is a shame to not have them taken care of.

They carry disease and prolonged contact with large numbers can lead to an asthmatic affect in individuals. Prolonged contact in the case of children can lead to a permanent asthmatic condition. With professional assistance these pest can be taken care of. The larger the number of roaches, the longer it will take to alleviate the problem. Cockroaches can wreak havoc on your home. To win the war against cockroaches, here's what you should know: Entry: Cockroaches can enter your home in many different ways, from the outside through cracks and crevices, vents, sewer and drain pipes, and even in grocery bags. Ideal environment: Your home is an ideal breeding ground. With plenty of food, warmth, water and nesting sites, they can remain active all year round. Reproduction: Cockroaches reproduce quickly. For every one you see there can be 200 more hiding and multiplying behind your walls. Evasiveness: Because cockroaches are nocturnal, if you've seen one, you haven't seen them all. The few cockroaches you see by day were likely forced out by overcrowding; a possible sign of severe infestation. Allergies: The dust created by cast-off cockroach skins, dead bodies and droppings can aggravate allergies, especially in sensitive individuals. Do-it-yourself ineffectiveness: Cockroaches are better at hiding than you are at finding them, and their eggs are naturally protected from insecticides. Without special equipment, materials and know-how, it can be a losing battle. Spider Fumigation Spiders are another common pest found in the home. Common varieties include the House Spider, the Cellar Spider, and the Jumping Spider. Four varieties that pose a health threat are the Wolf, Black Widow, Brown Recluse. The Wolf Spider is a somewhat uncommon species, which is not generally found in the home, but found outdoors. It is a large predatory non-web building spider. Black Widow The Black Widow has not been common in the past but seems to have increased in number over the past few years and is sometimes confused with the Black Jumping Spider which is furry in appearance and has short legs. The Black Widow is shiny black, non-furry in appearance and has long legs as well as a red hourglass shape found on the underside of the abdomen and not on its back like the Black Jumping Spider. Immature baby Black Widows are nonpoisonous. There are two species found in Ohio; the Southern and Northern black widows. The bite of the black widow is associated with the female and can have very serious and in some cases even life threatening effects for the victim. Symptoms can include painful muscle spasms and cramps and shortness of breath. Brown Recluse The Brown Recluse is a common type of spider found in most homes though generally not seen. As its name implies it usually stays reclusive and hidden. The affect of their bite depends on the amount of venom received and the individual bitten, it can be of little affect or there may be need of medical attention within a short span of time due to the possibility of a serious or life threatening outcome. All data available at this time indicate that the Brown Recluse cannot bite on its own but must be smashed against an individual in some way in order for a bite to take place and venom injected. Thus areas such as the bed or clothes in closets that have not been worn in some time can be an area in which a bite is likely to occur. However, every day disturbances of these areas keeps them at bay. Getting Rid Of Ants There are different types of ants that can invade the home and all ants based upon the colony needs switch between feeding either on carbohydrates (sugar) or proteins such that found in meat fat (grease), meats and other insects. The most common one found in homes is probably the Odorous House Ant, so named due to the release of an acrid odor when smashed. This ant is also quite prolific. Another type of ant that is of some contention is the Pharaoh Ant. It is very tiny in size and has a white almost ghostly like appearance. Each time an insecticide aerosol is used on this type of ant, it can cause the colony to divide. Carpenter Ants are another common type of ant that is usually black and large in size. Their most common place of habitation is trees. However they can also be found in log homes. These ants chew into wood in order to create their dwelling. They can find ample dwelling room in 2x4, 4x4 and boards nailed together as well as hollow tubes such as the base of mini blinds. For professional ants control contact us right now. source https://summitcountypestcontrol.com/insects/ from Summit County Pest Control https://summitcountypestcontrol.blogspot.com/2019/10/insect-fumigation-services.html

Why is My Dog Vomiting White Foam?

Is your dog vomiting white foam? Bearing witness to this excretory display can be disconcerting at the best of times and cause dog owners to panic at the worst. There are so many reasons for digestive upset in dogs, and they share so many similar symptoms, that general upset can be difficult for veterinarians to diagnose quickly. While some of the causes for foamy, viscous puking — such as a dog finding rotting food in the garbage or ingesting a foreign object — can occur to any dog at any time, the riskiest and most dangerous can either be managed, treated or prevented.

A dog who gets sick once before returning to normal is likely to have eaten something she shouldn’t. If a dog throws up several times in a day or for more than a couple of days in a row, on the other hand, schedule a veterinary appointment. The leading causes for a dog vomiting white foam include internal injury, infection and inconsistent eating habits. The major ones we’ll examine here include:

Your dog could be vomiting white foam for a variety of reasons. Photography ©Rasulovs | Thinkstock.

Ingesting toxins, poisons, foreign objects

Bilious vomiting syndrome

Bloat

Kennel cough

Pancreatitis and other digestive inflammations

Parvovirus

Rabies

1. A dog vomiting white foam may have eaten something strange

Eating a foreign object can lead to an upset stomach, indigestion or intestinal blockages, all of which might reasonably cause a dog to retch. With the exception of dog toys, small, loose objects should be kept well out of the reach of indoor dogs. Toxins for home use — especially chemical cleaners and pesticides directed toward insects or rodents — can also cause adverse reactions. All household chemicals should be stored in tightly-capped, shatterproof containers and never left out after use. If you put out rat, roach, or mouse traps, ensure that they, too, are deployed in spots where your dog cannot be tempted by curiosity. Here is a list of plants and food that can be toxic to dogs. Note the presence of any of these in your home. It may be of critical importance to a veterinarian if a dog is vomiting white foam.

2. Your dog might be throwing up foam because of Bilious vomiting syndrome

Bilious Vomiting Syndrome in dogs is similar to acid reflux in humans. Bile and stomach acid are naturally occurring fluids that aid in the digestion and processing of food. On an empty stomach, however, they can cause irritation. That irritation can lead an otherwise healthy and hungry dog to ignore meals, or, in more extreme situations, vomit to expel the excess. The vomit produced can be colored yellow, white, green, orange, brown or some mixture, and is accompanied by slimy mucus.

Feeding an active dog smaller meals at regular intervals throughout the day — including a small snack first thing in the morning and last thing at night — may be the best and easiest way to address what could become a more serious problem. If excess stomach acid or bile are at fault, over the course of her life, a dog who produces excess digestive fluids can suffer from damage to her stomach or intestinal lining, leading to more serious digestive issues as she ages.

An alternate solution is acid-reducing medications. Consult with your dog’s veterinarian, who can recommend an antacid which may also help relieve your dog’s suffering, especially if your work schedule prevents you from being able to physically give your dog meals throughout the day.

3. Bloat may cause dogs to vomit white foam

Bloat, also known as gastric torsion or stomach dilation, is an extremely serious condition in dogs. In the worst cases, a dog’s stomach literally becomes twisted from its normal position in the abdomen. This not only traps air, food and fluids in the stomach, but it also restricts blood flow. One of its early symptoms, before all movement into and out of the stomach is cut off, is white foam in the dog’s vomit. This condition most commonly occurs in deep-chested adult and senior dogs. While the precise reasons for it are unclear, prevention consists mainly of making sure dogs are not overactive just after meals.

4. A dog vomiting white foam can be a sign of kennel cough

Kennel cough is a mild illness, most commonly contracted in multi-dog households, at boarding facilities, veterinary offices, dog parks, and places where training classes are held. Wherever a large number of dogs are present, this upper respiratory infection can strike. If a vomiting dog who produces white foam has recently been in one of these situations, a veterinarian may reach a diagnosis much more quickly. Other symptoms to look out for are a hacking cough and discharge around the eyes and nose. Kennel cough also tends to be a self-limiting sickness, typically running its course in about two weeks.

5. Pancreatitis might cause dogs to vomit white foam

Swelling or inflammation of the pancreas interrupts a dog’s normal digestive functioning. When food cannot be properly and regularly broken down, processed and eliminated, the dog’s options for getting rid of the excess material in its stomach are limited. Vomiting is one route, and white foam can accompany it. Dogs with diabetes are at increased risk for developing pancreatitis, which is when white foam in the vomit is also linked to diabetes. Other symptoms include adopting a hunched-over position, noticeable abdominal pain and fever.

6. Parvovirus may cause foamy vomit in dogs

A viral infection seen most frequently in puppies and very young dogs who live in multi-dog homes, parvo is transmitted through oral contact with feces. Signs of this illness generally begin within a week to 10 days of exposure to the virus. Along with vomit, the most alarming symptom of parvo is diarrhea that contains blood and has a strong odor. This is a deadly disease; however, most early-life combination vaccines help puppies build up immunity to parvovirus. Foamy vomit in an unvaccinated dog may indicate parvo as the cause, and a veterinarian should be consulted as soon as possible.

7. A dog throwing up white foam might have rabies

Rabies is the last, and least likely, culprit for vomit with foam. We’re all familiar with the image of a rabid dog foaming at the mouth, but regurgitating foam only happens in the very last stages. By the time a dog takes to puking a foamy substance, observers will have noticed much more worrisome signs, such as aggressive behavior. As with parvo, rabies is preventable with the appropriate vaccines and boosters.

The bottom line on a dog vomiting white foam:

The two most dangerous reasons why dogs vomit white foam are actually preventable. Photography by WilleeCole Photography / Shutterstock.

An informed, observant, and proactive dog owner has a distinct advantage. This means knowing your dog’s eating habits, noting any deviations, and being able to adjust as circumstances require. Changing the portions and frequency of a dog’s meals, whether she is a growing puppy or an active adult, can help prevent the buildup of bile and acid, which causes later-life digestive problems.

Keeping a dog in a clean environment — including regularly sanitized food and water bowls — minimizes the risk of contracting parasites as well as bacterial infections. The two most dangerous reasons why a dog might spew white foam — parvo and rabies — are largely preventable with proper vaccination.

Tell us: Has your dog ever vomited white foam? What was the culprit?

Thumbnail: Photography by Igor Normann/Shutterstock.

About the author: Melvin Peña trained as a scholar and teacher of 18th-century British literature before turning his research and writing skills to puppies and kittens. He enjoys making art, hiking, and concert-going, as well as dazzling crowds with operatic karaoke performances. He has a one-year-old female Bluetick Coonhound mix named Idris, and his online life is conveniently encapsulated here.

Learn more about how to decipher what your dog is throwing up on Dogster.com:

Is Your Dog Vomiting Blood? What to Do Next

Why Is My Dog Vomiting Yellow?

Dog Vomiting: What Canine Parents Need to Know

The post Why is My Dog Vomiting White Foam? appeared first on Dogster.