I do love the period afterwards tho

Like funky lil dude is just chillin

Hello!! 💕 Just wanted to let you know that I love your "Jaskier has always smelled of blood" au. It means a lot to me 💛 I feel like it brings some kind of awereness to the issue and I'm really gratefull for it. Thank you 💕

Nonnie, thank you so much for your kind words. That AU is one that I spent a lot of time mulling over and debating whether to write it or not. But given the fact that it means a lot to you, it was most definitely worth it. There is actually another topic that has been on my mind a fair amount that is as heavy as that AU, which is what happens when a suicide attempt doesn't succeed. Hopefully you won't mind if I write that as a little thank you for your lovely ask.

CW: Suicide attempt (overdose of Witcher potions)

Love wasn't meant to be part of a Witcher's life. That was what Eskel had always been taught and he accepted it as his lot in life. When he was younger, he had raged against it, tried to defy the truth. He attended parties, wooed and seduced wherever he went. Love never stuck but at least his lust was sated. Then Deidre happened and Eskel had a new reality to get used to, one where he was seen as monstrous, hideous and repulsive. Those were just Lambert's teasing words, trying to exaggerate and poke fun at the situation. Not that it helped. Suddenly, Eskel could only attend masquerade balls where his face was hidden from view for fear of upsetting humans. It was either that or finding hungry and desperate succubi who valued his Witcher enhanced attribute more than his visage. It didn't stop Lambert from cracking jokes.

"You don't have a succubi problem, you just have a succuebae. Get it? Before anyone else!"

It was easy for Lambert to say, brothels still took his coin if he wanted it. Though, by the sounds of stories, he didn't need to frequent such places, not when he had a Cat Witcher travelling with him and eager to share all aspects of the Path, not just the pay for contracts. Still, Eskel couldn't begrudge Lambert, he'd always had a shit lot in life. If he could buck the rule about love, good for him, he deserved that slice of happiness.

Then Geralt had to go and find himself a bard who was devoted to him. Eskel could smell the pining on Geralt over winters and then love when Jaskier finally spent the winter with them. That was fine too. Much like Lambert, Geralt also deserved someone to love and share his life with. Even multiple someones when Yennefer arrived and had no need of a room of her own.

It was fine. Eskel could be happy for them. He wasn't jealous, didn't feel like he'd been cheated out of anything. Those were thoughts he turned away from every night when he pulled his covers tight around him and pretended he didn't wish it was the warm embrace of a lover, probably much like the other two had.

Things got worse when Eskel started getting left out of things. There were games that the happy couples played in the evenings, something about how well they knew each other. It was raucous and fun by the sounds of it. Eskel stayed in the kitchen, cleaning because it wasn't a game he could play. The double dates looked fun, going out on rides. Once Yennefer even opened up a portal for them to spend a night away for some romantic getaway. The bard about Eskel bringing Lil Bleater had stung more than he cared to admit. Slowly, Eskel was forgotten. Vesemir had his books, was content with those and the letters he seemed to send. If Eskel was lucky, he'd end up like him. But Eskel didn't want to become Vesemir in his old age. Not even Vesemir really, not when Eskel didn't even have friends to exchange letters with.

The bleakness of it ate away at Eskel for years. Each time he returned to Kaer Morhen without a travelling companion, without someone to write to, he felt like a failure. To the point that he tried drinking, tried fisstech, anything to forget, even if just for a little while. Nothing worked though, every time reality caught up with him. There was only one solution he could see, one where there was no tomorrow to wake up to. It wasn't a rash decision, Eskel didn't immediately act on those thoughts. But his mind was made up and with that came a sense of relief. He had a few things to get in order, to figure out but there was now an end in sight, a way out and on his own terms.

One last winter he made the trek to Kaer Morhen. He had a tidy pack of coins, some truly excellent Gwent cards and a large stash of potions he had brewed up. All in all, he looked like he had a good year on the Path. Nobody needed to know that all his external riches were a façade for the poverty of his heart.

His plan was a simple one. It wasn't like a Witcher left a will or anything like that, his measly belongings got scavenged when he didn't return from a contract. That wasn't what Eskel wanted, he was going to make sure all his belongings were going to go to the person he wanted them to end up with. Which was why he started with Gwent. He played Geralt and, slowly but surely, lost all his best cards. Eskel prided himself in how he could play so well that they others believed he was having a bad run. Couple it with drinking some of Lambert's brew, it was an uproarious night full of laughter, friendly slaps to his back and loudly declared sympathy for his poor, alcohol addled brain.

Once the good Gwent cards were gone, Eskel switched out, claiming he needed someone lesser to play because Geralt was just too good. As predicted, Lambert took great offence at being called a worse player and shoved Geralt out the way. Eskel bet money, a nice pair of gloves and, in an almost unheard of turn, Scorpion.

"I needed to leave you with things to barter with for the rest of winter," he told Lambert with a smile. "Because I'll be winning it all back in the coming weeks, with interest on top."

The laughter that went up at that was nice. Eskel was satisfied all the worthwhile things in his possession had found good homes. Vesemir had already taken the spices and seeds he had returned with, along with the small mountain of foods that would keep them well fed over winter. What Eskel didn't expect was the hugs and pats to his back as they got ready to get to bed.

"It was nice to see you smiling and laughing again," Jaskier commented.

"This was like the old days," Lambert agreed, rubbing his knuckles over the top of Eskel's head viciously.

Aiden clasped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze with a smile. "Good to have you back."

It wasn't like Eskel had ever left, he had been there all those years, it was the others who didn't want him. It didn't matter now though. They'd had one final night together, it all went well. Eskel waved goodbye to them all, heart heavy but also light. He couldn't have asked for a better final evening.

Back at his room, he sat down on his bed and looked around. There wasn't much left. The furs and throws were all down in the communal areas, he'd migrated those down over the last couple of weeks. His armour wouldn't fit anyone and it wasn't suitable for reworking for the others. It would be the perfect thing to wear to his funeral pyre so he pulled it on one last time, taking a deep breath as the familiar scent of worn leather enveloped him. All the potions he'd brought back with him were lined up on his bedside table. He knew what he was doing. The others would understand, maybe even take it as the gift he meant it to be. He wouldn't be the odd one out anymore, the loner who brought the group down by hanging onto their coattails. They could have their double dates, their romantic getaways without having to worry about him or feeling guilty for leaving him behind.

The first potion was Cat, he downed it, feeling the world shift into larger clarity in the darkness of his room. It didn't sit heavy in his stomach, three potions were fine to take, four was when the toxicity began to affect him. Though Eskel was a large man, he could probably deal with about six potions before he became ill. It was why he had fifteen little bottles lined up, one worse than the other in terms of toxicity. Next, a Maribor Forest slid down his throat, followed by a Lapwing. They were all conflicting potions, making his body shake. Brock tasted foul but it was still better than Rook which made Eskel's heart pound. Taking a break, Eskel settled back on his bed, head spinning. He could feel his whole body shaking with unspent energy the potions teased out of him. It felt horrible, his stomach roiled. Without his attention on some creature and the fight for his life, Eskel couldn't help but focus on the way his joints seemed to itch, his muscles tingling.

Five potions weren't going to be enough. Reaching for another bottle, Eskel knocked back two Thunderbolts in a row. He gagged but pushed on, head swimming. Virga at least tasted a little better. It was wiped out by the Nekker Warrior Decoction. The world was fuzzy, Eskel whimpered a little as his muscles seized and cramped and his stomach ached. He'd rarely taken enough potions to even flirt with the edges of toxicity, to deliberately do it was agony. This wasn't how he'd expected it to go, he thought he'd take them, lie back and go to sleep. Pain was not part of the deal but he would shoulder it, this was his choice. A couple of the empty bottles clattered to the ground as he reached for the next one. Most of the Black Blood went down his chin as he spluttered. Leaning against the headboard, he closed his eyes, willing the wooziness to go.

Maybe to took more potions, maybe they were dreams, he didn't know. What Eskel did know was that he woke up in his bed, the sun shining bright in the sky. Head pounding and stomach churning, he could smell stale vomit in the air. Rolling onto his side, he threw up over the edge of his bed. Breathing shaky, Eskel coughed miserably and spat to clear the bitter taste from his mouth. Judging by the state of his floor, it wasn't the first time he had thrown up but it was definitely the only one he could remember. Flopping back onto the bed, Eskel covered his face with his palms and choked back on a howl of frustration. He couldn't even kill himself properly.

The problem was, Eskel had no plans for what to do if he failed. He'd been so certain that he would go to sleep and never wake up again. At a loss, he fell back onto habits and routine. He was already dressed in his armour which was acceptable clothing to go downstairs for breakfast. Nothing heavy, he couldn't face the idea of eating anything. But a drink of water would do him good. Stumbling into the kitchen, he grunted a greeting at the others who seemed to be having lunch. Of course they didn't notice he hadn't gotten up for breakfast. Either that or they just didn't care.

"You're dressed ready for war," Lambert joked but the smile on his face froze when Eskel looked at him. "Woah. You look like shit."

Geralt was out of his seat and grabbing Eskel by the chin, giving him a close inspection and a less than subtle sniff. Whatever he detected had him tensing up and glancing to Lambert who looked alarmed too.

"Let's get a bit of food in you," Geralt rumbled and guided Eskel to the table where Aiden's face turned stricken. Even Jaskier and Yennefer looked solemn, their usual rivalry nowhere to be seen. In fact, everyone seemed intent of giving Eskel the attention he didn't crave.

From the doorway, Lambert called, "Geralt" and stepped back. But the clink of bottles in his hand and the hushed, hurried conversation gave away the fact Eskel's dirty secret had been found out.

"I'll go clean the room but he's not going back there. Not alone," Lambert growled. The others around the table didn't even bother pretending they weren't listening in.

Vesemir's footsteps approached and Eskel wished fervently that the potions had done the job. Especially as he listened to the conversation.

"What's going on here?"

"It's Eskel he-" the clink of bottles followed again, Lambert no doubt showing Vesemir the evidence of Eskel's shame.

"I see." Vesemir rumbled softly and walked into the kitchen. He sat down next to Eskel, not saying a word. However, he squeezed his shoulder and swapped out the tankard of water for a warm tea, adding a dash of honey to it. "Geralt, get a Golden Oriole from the cupboard."

Eskel could only watch as it was added to his tea, heart sinking. Nobody said anything. Not even when Lambert returned, looking a little green in the face. He sat down, squirming in the silence.

"Are we not going to say anything about it?" He asked in the end. "We can't just pretend it never happened."

"We won't," Vesemir replied, voice warm but also full of warning. "But there's a time and place for everything. Right now, our priority is the physical. The Golden Oriole will help. Then Eskel will go and have a lie down in front of the fire to sleep and let his body heal."

It was so much easier to follow Vesemir's instructions than have to think for himself. Eskel hadn't thought he'd see the sun again, hadn't thought he'd have to worry about things like daily chores and ways to spend the long hours of a day. At some point he must have finished his tea because the mug was empty but Eskel didn't remember it. He was ushered towards the pile of furs and throws from his room and he sank into them, exhausted already. He was only half awake as he heard the conversation around him while a throw was carefully draped over him.

"How could he do this?" Geralt hissed, sounding angry for the first time. "Why would he do this to us?"

"I'm sure we'll find out." The reply from Vesemir was soft and calm. "But what we need to focus on is helping him realise it was a good thing he didn't succeed."

"What if he tries again?"

"We have to hope he doesn't. He won't be alone for the next few weeks, we'll take turns keeping him company. And hope that we can do enough to make him want to stay." Vesemir was oddly calm and resigned. "I've seen others do this before. We can only hope to counter the darkness that has befallen his mind."

Lambert joined the quiet conversation. "But he seemed so happy last night. In fact, he's been the most at peace in years. I thought he was getting better."

Even half asleep, Eskel could understand the words, appreciate the thoughts behind them. But he didn't know if the plan would work. He doubted the others would understand or would be able to do anything to help him. After all, they still had their partners, lovers and each other. All Eskel knew for certain was that if he tried again, he'd do something with an assured outcome. He just hoped the others would understand.

Happy Birthday, blackholesoffandom!

Happy Birthday, @blackholesoffandom​! We hope you’re having a wonderful day so far, with plenty more to look forward to, too! To kick your special day off right, the lovely @endlessnightlock​ has written a story just for you!

There was a loud knock on the front door, interrupting Katniss in the middle of lacing up her boots- a new, dressy pair her sister had insisted she get to go with the dress she’d bought for tonight. 

Prim initially tried to talk her into some stilettos, but Katniss balked at the strappy red heels. There was no way she’d ever wear them after tonight and sexy or not; she was much too practical of a soul to shell out the money. Besides, they hadn’t looked like something she wanted to wear out while trekking around in a winter storm-  and snow was what the forecast held for tonight. If they hadn’t made plans just to go somewhere in town, they probably would have canceled them altogether.

Getting married a week before Christmas wasn’t the most practical thing she and Peeta could have done, but they’d been young and in love and just slightly crazy, or at least that’s what everyone called them back then. They’d only been dating for three months when they decided to go ahead and get married, because why not? They shocked their families with their rash courthouse wedding and were told by almost everyone that it was too soon to know if they were right for each other. 

But here they were, fifteen years later- still together and still in love. 

Katniss was just getting up to answer the knock at the door when Peeta walked out of the bathroom, looking very handsome (she swore he got better looking every year) in a pair of dark slim-fit pants with a button-down shirt- the combination of which, by the way, did great things for his ass and shoulders. 

“I got it,” he told her, beginning to hurry past. 

But then Peeta paused in his tracks to take a long look at her in the new dress. He assessed her in an open, admiring way that made her feel ticklish all over. 

“Looking good, wifey,” he finally told her with a private smile, “I can’t wait to show you off tonight.”

Katniss stood to her feet and smoothed the body-hugging material flat across her stomach, trying not to let herself get too distracted from their plans for the evening by the way he was looking at her. Sometimes she still couldn’t get over the way he affected her after all these years. “Thank you,” she said simply. 

“I always liked you in red,” Peeta remarked. He stepped towards her, drawn instinctually, but was quickly distracted by another loud knock on the door that jarred them both. 

She’d forgotten about the guest at the front door. 

“Is someone going to come open this for me?” Peeta’s dad called from outside on the front step.

Katniss frowned at her husband. “What’s your father doing here?” she asked, stepping around him to answer the door. It was too cold outside to make her father in law wait around all night.

“I have no idea,” Peeta told her, sounding equally confused, “I don’t know what he could want. And I thought Grandpa number two would’ve been here by now,” he added under his breath as he followed her, “I hope he doesn’t make us late.”

Their eight-year-old daughter Hannah came tearing into the room just as Katniss was placing her hand on the knob to open the door and let her father-in-law inside. “Grandpa made it. Jack!” she hollered, turning around and calling for her five-year-old brother authoritatively, “I told you it wasn’t too late to call him, he’s here.”

“There’s my favorite daughter-in-law,” Hugh, Peeta’s father greeted Katniss as he stepped inside the house. Underneath his arm, he carried a golden Mellark’s Bakery box. 

She quickly shut the door behind him and moved to allow him inside the living room.

“Dad, why are you here with what I assume is some sort of desert?” Peeta asked, taking the box out of his father’s hands, “I didn’t order something and forget about it, did I?”

“No, Dad!” Hannah laughed, snatching the box away and holding it carefully in both of her small hands. “The cake was all my idea, and Jack’s too.”

“We couldn’t let you have a ‘nannerversary without some cake,” Jack piped in, appearing like an apparition next to his sister. 

Their son was like Katniss, quiet on his feet, but unlike his mother, he had a way of always showing up unexpectedly. They’d had to put a lock on their bedroom door after one too many interruptions, precisely because of Jack.

“Did someone say cake?” A new voice joined in- it was ‘Grandpa’ Haymitch, Katniss’s great uncle, who acted as a surrogate grandparent to the kids since her father was no longer alive. He was babysitting for them tonight and must’ve come in through the back door while everyone was distracted by the commotion in the living room.

“Yep,” Jack told Haymitch, taking his Grandpa Haymitch’s hand and leading him towards the kitchen, “it’s mom and dad’s ‘nannerversary, so they had to have a cake to celebrate.”

A moment later, everyone had gathered at the kitchen table around a round butter-cream frosted cake. Jack insisted on candles, but the only ones they could find were from his last birthday, so there were ten single candles in a row followed by a large red number 5.

Their son jumped up and down, squealing once the candles were all lit. “Aren’t you going to make a wish?” he asked his parents, “that’s one of the best parts.”

Peeta wrapped his arm around Katniss’s waist and pulled her close to his side. “Nope,” he said, “I’ve got everything I’ve ever wished for, right here.”

Katniss stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. He’d echoed her thoughts precisely.

“Happy anniversary,” she whispered, smiling up at her husband.

“Happy anniversary,” Peeta replied. He was quiet for a minute in contemplation before speaking seriously, “I take that back- my wish is for another fifteen years times four to spend with you.”

“But Dad, that’s like… another sixty years. That’d make you a hundred, at least!” Hannah exclaimed. “That’s a completely ridiculous number; aim lower.”

Katniss was still laughing when she leaned her head on Peeta’s shoulder, but together they managed to bend over the cake and blow out the row of crooked candles to the sound of applause.

Hey, I’ve got a weird one for you today. I want to tell the story of my favorite bully from when I was a kid.

Ya, like I said it’s a weird one.

I was bullied a lot growing up. I was quiet and didn’t really fight back over it. Honestly for the most part I didn’t care. It always felt worse for me when I tried to fit in, and I never succeeded anyways so basically my choices were “be comfortable and be made fun of for it” or “be uncomfortable and be made fun of for failing to do it right”.

Now I also have some blocked memories from bullying, so I can’t really speak to those, and I only know they exist because of an unconscious reaction to one bully approaching me and calling my name from behind while I was visiting my friend at my old school. This story is not about that however.

This is about the clique at the school I attended after that one. They were a group of mean nasty girls with money who’d pick on girls without, or would pick on you for going through puberty at a different rate than them, or for your opinion on who’s cute and who’s not or what should constitute a crush. They’d also pick on you for physical problem. One girl in our class was on crutches for months with a boot on one foot, and unfortunately she was already a target for this group because she wore her hair short and had started puberty long before anyone else (before I’d even started at this school).

There were two (and after one particular incident my opinion changed to three) especially mean girls, who I will refer to as K and M (the third is C). They would tear you down over every little thing. The thing about being the kind of kid I was, though, is that when someone is going somewhere to breakdown alone, they don’t really notice the quiet kid already occupying the hiding space due to their only two friends having a year long row with each other they didn’t have any business getting dragged into. As such I know that K, M, and C all had absolutely horrendous mothers, C had an unhealthy obsession with pleasing her father, K and M didn’t have great situations with their fathers (likely distant and mostly uninvolved), and K had some odd situations involving older siblings, and all three had stupidly high expectations placed on them—not about grades, but about appearances. So ya…I fully admit to doing the stupid thing and getting them to direct all their attention toward me and off of that one girl and away from my “friends” even though they’d basically disowned me. Because I mean really, I didn’t care what they had to say to or about me, their toxic opinions couldn’t really reach me. My friends on the other hand definitely tore me down. Their opinions did matter to me. So ya I was in a rough spot because of my “friends” and other stuff happening in my life but the bullies’ words really didn’t matter to me so I took it all on.

But this story also isn’t about me trying to say “ah yes I was strong against bullying ha ha ha!” I wasn’t, I just know that even back then I could tell whose actions were gonna affect me more. This is about one of the things the clique girls singled out on me and would’ve succeeded in actually tearing me down further than I’d ever been (again, in existing memory, because I have no clue what’s in those blocked memories and I don’t plan on ever disturbing them).

I have eczema, and a lot of triggers for it. The worst trigger to deal with though is stress. It’s not something I can remove like sugar or Red 40, it’s not something I can wash away like dust, not something I can soothe away with lotion and lots of water like dehydration. I have anxiety. Basically I’m always stressed. But anyways that year was a really rough year, with my friends fighting and my parents almost getting divorced and this was before my “twin” got her own phone so I had no reliable way to talk with her and my sister had just started driving… so I had my huge unavoidable trigger, plus this was before (or rather more specifically this was THE year) we discovered I was allergic to Red 40, and and and… Point is I had an extremely bad eczema outbreak. I’d always get it the worst on the back of my upper thighs. It was so bad that just to prevent it from getting worse while sitting in class, we had to tape these large patches of gauze over them. This school had a uniform and quite frankly the material for the bottoms was pretty uncomfortable to move in in the form of pants and shorts, so I often wore these pleated skirts my dad and I sewed because the pleats gave way more room to move.

So I’m wearing this skirt, with the gauze taped to the back of my thighs, and I’m out on the playground about to attempt the monkey bars (and being fully aware I’d fail, but I’d already finished like three books that day and it was only lunch and the monkey bars were at least still far enough away from where my friends were loudly arguing). M and K take notice that I’m gonna do something worthy of being mocked over so they gather their clique and bring them over to strike. C had been egging my friends on, but reluctantly was dragged away—reluctant that is, until she caught sight of something peculiar on the back of my thighs. So she called it out, jeeringly, “what’s that?” pointing at the gauze. So I tell her, simply, that it’s gauze. M rolls her eyes and joins C in sneering “why’s it taped on your legs?” So I tell them I have eczema and it’s pretty bad right now so it’s covered to help prevent it from getting worse. M asks what eczema is, so I start to explain “it’s a rash—“ only to be cut off by M and C loudly yelling “ew! It’s contagious your contagious you’re gonna give us all your rash” etc etc. K had been looking uncomfortable at the start of this which was unusual because usually it wasn’t C jumping in like this with M, it was usually K. I was trying to cut in to what M and C were yelling to explain that it wasn’t contagious, but again I was a quiet kid. I couldn’t cut people off, it was basically physically impossible for me at this time. But I wound up not needing to. Right when I was noticing that K wasn’t participating and was even looking uncomfortable, her discomfort transformed into determination. She cut off M and C and told them in no uncertain terms about how eczema was an autoimmune disorder transferred genetically and was in no way contagious and there was no way I could have prevented my own body from attacking me. She told them all that she had a cousin with bad eczema and that this was absolutely not something they could target to pick on me over. She then followed that up with a jibe at my lack of arm strength and my tiny feet, as though to demonstrate acceptable things to mock me over.

It might be a little stupid, but at that moment when everyone turned to mocking me for how small I was and how bad I was at climbing, I was so happy. So relieved. Because to this day I can’t stand to look at the back of my thighs, fully believing they are still covered with thick gnarled scar tissue. Because any attention brought to my eczema always made the itching and burning worse. Because any time my eczema worsened I felt horrible and that it was my fault for not being better at ignoring it. K stood up for me and saved me from the worst instance I can remember of a bully’s words actually getting to me. They didn’t stop going after me for it, but they had to do it quietly or else K would come down on them with all her righteous fury. I don’t think I ever got any physical attacks after that incident either and I know none of them wanted to touch me, still claiming I was contagious, but after that first time it didn’t bother me as much because I knew at least one of them understood.

K changed after that. She seemed to start noticing what people were truly bothered by and what they didn’t really care about, and she’d redirect mocking towards the unimportant things.

I left that school at the end of that year, but the next year apparently things in the social scene there went even worse. Remember my fighting friends? Ya that didn’t stop after just one year. Remember how C had been egging them on? She had gotten one of the other clique girls to support one while she backed the other. Soon enough, the whole clique had divided to back one or the other of my ex-friends—people they had mercilessly bullied for years and were now claiming to be besties with. I don’t know what exactly happened with K. Could’ve been something with volleyball or cheerleading. Could’ve been something with the bullying. Could’ve been a change in financial situation. But a year or two after I left she was booted to the curb from the clique. Full cold shoulder and then some.

She wanted to go to the fair, but as I mentioned her family situation was dismissive at the best of times. Her mother finally relented and said she could go IF she found someone to go with because they certainly didn’t have time for something so frivolous. She tried everyone and was shut out at every bend. Until, that is, she came across my phone number in her contacts from that brief time I was on the volleyball team because they didn’t have try outs that year because they almost didn’t have enough people for a team the year prior. So in a last ditch attempt, she messaged me to see if I’d be willing to go to the fair with her. And I thought back to that day she stood up for me, and how she had started redirecting her friends attention away from true land mines, and I went to my parents asking if I could meet a friend at the fair on that particular night. Because she needed a friend, even just for a night.

When we got there, she was all alone outside the front of the fair entrance. No family in sight. They had dropped her off and left. She was straining her neck around the crowd. I waved and ran up to her. She started crying as soon as she’d spotted me. She blubbered out her situation with her once friends and how she wouldn’t have been surprised if I hadn’t shown up because of how she used to treat me and so on and so forth. After she had calmed down we went to the fair and had a great time and I got to see a little spark of light return to her eyes.

So ya, she bullied me, and wound up getting exactly that in turn, but she also stood up for me at one of my worst moments, and I apparently did the same for her.

A year later and M for some reason invited me to a Halloween party she was throwing. I decided to go, and well that was basically the last time I ever spoke to my ex friends from that school. I was picked on by M and C and their cronies old and new while I was there and I decided that ya there was no need for me to be there and I called for a ride and left while there was still probably another 2-3 hours left of the party.

I’ve read In the Sunroom, Keiko Takemiya’s earliest shounen-ai, released in 1970, fifty years ago. Half a century. Thinking about it makes my head spin. I'd heard it was supposed to be some sort of proto-Kazeki, but I didn’t expect the main character to be Serge. I mean, literally Serge, he’s a roma boy called “Serge Battour”, but in this version his mom’s a fortune teller, he doesn’t seem to have any noble blood in him, and he seems considerably younger. He was already adorable then, of course. Spoilers ahead, by the way. If you’re in a position to read this post you probably have already read In the Sunroom, and even if you haven’t, you probably know how Keiko Takemiya likes to end her stories. But still, I’d rather be on the safe side. Anyway, if you haven’t read it already, go read it, it’s pretty short. If you can’t find it, send me a message, I’ll help you out. Anyway, let me tell ya, Serge is not lucky when it comes to falling in love, is he? The subject of his painful affections this time is Étoile Rael, a proto-Gilbert who takes the role of the pale boy before him. He sports slightly shorter hair, the power of imagination, and a fixation on taking his clothes off. He’s got some similarities to Gilbert other than his near-identical looks, sharing that carefree gracefulness that Gilbert often displays when he’s not otherwise occupied going through horrible trauma, and also showing some social manipulation craftiness. He displays both when he pretends to be having an anaemic attack during class, both saving Serge from bullying at school (from the teacher, no less), and allowing them (and his little sister) to leave class early and spend the rest of the school day happily playing around in puddles. He’s also got many differences, though. This particular pale boy is sweet and affectionate with Serge up-front, there’s no antagonism from him. The drama in their relationship comes from Serge’s fear and lack of understanding regarding Étoile’s affection, and his own growing feelings for Étoile (a concept given its deserved attention in Kazeki). Meanwhile, Étoile’s faces the pain of seemingly unrequited love. He’s even got a seemingly healthy family (his mom seems pretty cold and distant though), having a little sister, Angel, who he at first has a happy relationship with. He slowly becomes distant from her as he falls for Serge, though, trying to push her away from them, seeing her as a rival. It gets a bit ridiculous when he doesn’t even care about her falling into freezing-cold water, being solely worried about Serge, who jumped in after to save her. Jesus Christ dude, I know you want Serge, he’s perfect and pure and literally the best boy and all, but she’s your little kid sister, come on. Ironically, this behaviour spooks Serge, and, together with Serge’s internal conflicts, drives him away, causing a falling out between them. Sunroom Serge is as sweet as Kazeki Serge however, and never stops caring about Étoile. He spends three days in a row moping around in The Sunroom, waiting for Étoile to show up, and then rushes to his bedroom as soon as he hears from Angel that the boy is seriously sick. Étoile dies. Of course he does. Not from sickness though, but from suicide. Maybe Serge’s desperate, teary invasion of his sickbed wasn’t enough to convince him that Serge fully reciprocated his feelings, even if he didn’t realize it at the moment. Maybe he reached the conclusion that a relationship with Serge would never work out? Or perhaps it was a rash decision, made in the midst of an emotional storm of pain and sadness. Regardless of why, he gives in to despair, and decides to kill himself, stabbing himself with a knife held in his loved one’s hand, in a death as trauma-inducing as it is intimate. And it is very intimate. There are many interesting concepts and deviations from Kazeki in this manga. For instance, the bullied kid here is Serge, in an inversion from Kazeki (actually Kazeki is an inversion from this but I digress). It follows a simpler, more obvious choice of bullied kid, as the persecution born from racism doesn’t require as much set-up to work, as she's only got around 50 pages to work with, instead of 17 freaking volumes. As such, this element isn’t given much depth or material, though I find it understandable. While Étoile considers himself a weirdo and an outcast (due to internalized homophobia, I’d guess), the manga doesn’t actually display him facing any social rejection, other than maybe the fact that his only friend is his little sister. Sunroom Serge, on the other hand, is relentlessly mocked by all, and so lonely, that once he makes a friend (Étoile), he runs around the town like a maniac, shouting to everyone about how happy he is. Aww. Regardless, it’s clear that Étoile, fittingly for proto-Gilbert, carries some sort of internal turmoil with him, even if it’s left vague and unexplored. But while analysing this manga and comparing it to Kazeki is fun, my favourite thing about it is, by far, is the concept of The Sunroom itself. When you’re a kid, having your own secret hideout, having that little place no one knows but you (and your cherished inner circle), it’s one of the coolest feelings ever. It certainly was, for me. At school, my friends and I “had” a couple of wonderful little nooks which we called our own, during recess. At home, I sat on the floor of a tiny little storeroom (if you could even call it that) that I’d make cosy with pillows and covers, and stayed hours reading comics, and later, books. It was so dusty, I always left the place sneezing. And it was great. And finally, in the nearby park, I “had” a little corner behind some of the park buildings, which beautifully faced the wooded hillside of the beginning of the little forest inside the park. Back then, I had no idea what “aesthetics” meant, or consciously understood beauty. And yet, the quiet natural grace of the place entranced me anyway. And it was exactly that strange feeling of loving that place in a way I didn’t understand that made me so connected to it. And here, the feeling of having your own secret hideout is so gorgeously, sincerely depicted! The Sunroom was doubly abandoned: First, it was abandoned along with the rest of the house. Then, it was abandoned in how Étoile’s parents didn’t care or even know about it, after buying the mansion. But then, the kids claimed the lonely old Sunroom for themselves, and gave it new purpose, turning it into their own little kingdom, playing, rearranging tables, messing around, unleashing that wild, unlimited imagination of childhood, that primal cosmic force, turning that dusty old room into a tiny little door to perfection, for a little while. In Sunroom Serge’s own words: Next, this place becomes a forest of fairies. With its bookshelves and aged desks... And the sunlight pouring down on us... This old, unused sunroom... Where the magic is cast endlessly. This manga didn’t make me wail like Kazeki, but it did make me tear up, right here. Anyway, In the Sunroom truly is a prototype of Kaze to Ki no Uta, in that it has similar plot beats, and character and relationship concepts. It has Serge, it has external conflict with society, it has internal conflict with one’s own mind, it has a tragic relationship that ends with the death of the pale boy; it even begins with a poem by Serge, declaring his love for his dead lover. Kaze to Ki no Uta seems, to me, like the logical end result of Keiko Takemiya taking the concepts present in In the Sunroom, and giving them eight years of dedication, working on them with masterful skill and true passion, allowing those concepts to reach their full, devastating potential. It’s awesome to see the seeds of what comes to be. Oh yeah, In the Sunroom also holds the honour of having the first ever male/male kiss in manga! Fifty years ago! Fifty years. Jesus. Anyway, In the Sunroom is bretty gud, would recommend, 8.8/10, not enough tragedy random stuff: - someone who can write should write a goofy fic about gil and étoile fighting over Serge - it’s really cool to see the improvement of her architectural drawings in kazeki - not that they’re ugly here, they’re not, but still, the change is impressive - serge nearly has a heart attack when he merely thinks of étoile naked, get a grip dude - ”étoile” means “star”, adorable

Buried Treasure: A Love Story

Inspired by the true, hilarious, story of Pharaoh Tutankhamen. I kind of ran out of steam near the end but WHATEVER I’M TIRED OF LOOKING AT IT.

-----

Alisdair Massom wanted to go home.

The wind whined through the trees bordering the oasis. It smelled of baked stone and desiccated plant matter. The desert wasn't all one kind of landscape, instead ranging from stony hills to pure sand. The ground wasn't as pleasant to sit in as one might suppose: since this wasn't dune country, it was hard as rock beneath a layer of sand, dust, and pebbles.

He scrubbed at his nose with his sleeve, trying to stifle another racking sneeze, and only succeeded in smearing more grime across his face. Everything out here was dusty, from the tents to the people, unless it was flooded. His neck itched abominably where it met the collar of his khakis; he suspected he was starting to get a rash.

On paper, the idea had been thrilling: a month-long trip with Cat, excavating the tomb of a long-dead Egyptian king, had set his imagination on fire. He still remembered sneaking into the Cineplex with her as children and huddling in the dark, her warm hand in his, staring wide-eyed up at the midnight showings of The Mummy's Curse, or Antony and Cleopatra. The glow of the screen had made her face look like an illuminated sky.

He wondered if she knew how many of those trips had just been an excuse to spend time with her, braving his worries that somehow they'd be found out. He wondered if they meant as much to her as they had to him.

The fact that their flight left at an unholy hour of the night, and their assigned seats were three rows apart, ought to have tipped him off that the excursion wouldn't measure up quite as well as he hoped. The fact that he had barely been outside of the same area code, much less the country, should have been another. Still, even after the abundance of forms, the interminable waiting for passport clearance, and the mad scramble for the gate (huffing and puffing under the weight of Cat's luggage), his enthusiasm remained undampened. He'd rested his head against the window of the plane for most of the ten-hour flight, picturing golden idols glittering in the dark, his name in the papers over an unprecedented find, Ca'tra flinging herself into his arms in celebration.

The reality -as he discovered almost from the moment their plane hit the tarmac- was less glamorous.

"Having fun yet, bro?" Archi called, his back set nonchalantly against the trunk of a dead tree. He had to shout a little, to be heard over the clinking of chisels and the calls of the archaeologists gathered in the dig site. Unlike Alisdair, he seemed entirely unbothered by the dirt and the relentless heat, idly juggling a handful of dried dates. Not waiting for the answer, he softballed one at Alisdair's face with a jovial cry of 'catch'.

"Oh, yeah." Alisdair rolled his eyes expansively, and tried to fumble the date into his mouth and not the sand. "Between the bugs and the dirt and the saliva, I don't think I'm ever going to want to go back. How are you not dying of heatstroke?"

Archi rolled his head back with a long belly laugh, slapping his hands against his midsection loudly enough to make the camels shift and grumble in complaint. His grin was a half-moon glow of chemical white against dark, tanned skin. "Oh my god, you should have seen your face, man! I don't think I've ever seen that much spit come out of anything!"

Alisdair folded his arms huffily across his midsection, his face warming as he hunched his shoulders. "It's funny when you're not the one who spent all night cleaning mucus out of your hair," he muttered, and cast a baleful eye at the offending camel. It chewed placidly on the missing lower third of his sleeve, and stared unblinkingly back, daring him to provoke a rematch. The blond's frown deepened, and he shuffled another cautious step toward the dig. Just to be safe.

"Have you seen Cat at all?" he asked. Other than shifting the topic away from his recent humiliation, he'd barely seen her at all since they arrived. It seemed like they'd only just gotten through customs before Tenax- before Professor Almaizan had smarmed his way in ahead of him, and chivvied off his 'field assistant' to discuss the itinerary for their trip.

No matter where he turned, it seemed, their chaperone was always there, watching him intently with sharp amber-gold eyes and full lips quirked in what the younger man was sure was contempt. He could barely get a bloody word in edgewise with her, much less an invitation to sit with her at dinner, or maybe to hold her hand- to help her across the street, of course; God knew what these people spent their money on but it clearly wasn't city upkeep. Any time he'd tried to steal his way up to the second floor of the hotel, where the girls were rooming, Tenax had blocked the way with an unctuous smile and a long, elegant, firmly barring leg. "Terms of the contract," Alisdair's ass.

Worse, all she ever seemed to talk about anymore was how excited she was to be working with the creepy old foreign professor, and how much help he'd been with her thesis. She barely even glanced at the blond youth when he'd squawked in pain at the temperature of the Turkish coffee- much less listened to his concerns.

Alisdair kicked at the sand, his lips pursing at the memory. It simply wasn't fair.

Archi shrugged, pulling his attention back to the present as he nodded across the base camp to the foot of the tomb. "Hasn't come out since they started, I guess." He cast a long, sly glance at Alisdair's dissatisfied fidgeting, freeing a tattooed hand to smooth his beard back into shape. "I mean, she's probably having the time of her life, right? Did you know she licks the rocks she digs up?"

"She does not!" Alisdair gasped, scandalized, his eyes wide. He gave the sand pile another kick, for good measure, sending an industrious dung beetle scuttling for cover.

"Oh yeah, bro, she totally does. Rocks. Bones. AND all those little brushes. She just sticks 'em in her mouth." Hand raised, fingers together, Archi moved his chin up and down behind his hand in a slow, wicked nod. "I've seen her do it. Go check if you don't believe me. Bet she's already licked your old man's shaving whisk."

Alisdair thought about the possibility for a moment, toeing at the sand. There was something under there, he thought, shifting under his boot. He hoped it wasn't a scorpion. "Man," he said at last, "it doesn't even matter if she did. It's not like he ever uses it." Despite the gentle nudges he and his mother had given, the senior Kallus' facial topiary continued to grow, and the expensive father's day gift gathered dust in the bathroom cabinet.

"God." Archi's face scrunched like one of the dates he was juggling. "Do you think he's got.... you know, a second sideburn growing on his chest or something? Just.... taking everything over?"

"Oh," Alisdair shuddered, wishing -not for the first time- that his parents had elected to install a second bathroom. "He does, actually. It's a whole thatch. Thanks so much for reminding me."

A date rebounded off his shoulder as Archi missed his toss with a look of horrified glee.  "Bro, are you fucking serious? Are there pictures?!" His grin widened until it threatened to eclipse his face, visions of blackmail dancing in his head.

Alisdair rolled his eyes, stooping to retrieve the fruit. It wasn't a conscious decision: years of hearing his mother's vendetta against litter had him moving almost mechanically. He wasn't even sure where to throw it once he had it; it wasn't as if an Egyptian desert had compostables bins lying around. His fingers closed around the date, and brushed against the object he'd felt before, just under the sand.

On a whim, he worked his fingers deeper into the debris. It was hard, flat, and rigid: definitely not a scorpion. It didn't feel like much of anything he recognized.

For a moment -just for a moment- the embers of his fantasy caught light again. He saw himself pulling a jewel-studded length of belt free from the sand, or an ancient scroll containing a map to forgotten treasure. He imagined Cat's eyes widening at the sight of it, her mouth falling open in astonished wonder at his luck and talent, apologizing profusely for not having seen how valuable an addition he was to the team. Yes, that would do nicely.

Rocking back on his heels, he opened his hand, dusting away the last of the grit to discover-

"Izzat a piece of beef jerky?"

Archi leaned over Alisdair's shoulder, squinting down at the object. It was not a Pharaoh's belt. It was not a scroll case, either. Instead, he was holding a coal black, withered stick the length of his hand. His nose crinkled in disappointment and revulsion, hand dropping dejectedly to his side. He nearly dropped the thing into the sand before Archi plucked it away from him, bringing it up to his nose like he might an expensive Cuban cigar.

"Blech! It smells like my Uncle Rau's attic!" His friend jerked his head back, expression curdling, and leaned close to shove the object near Alisdair's face. "I mean, I'd still eat it, though. Bet me twenty bucks?"

"Archi, I don't want your-" Alisdair had only just managed to get his feet underneath him before his nostrils were assaulted by something both acrid and faintly herbal. He retched, slapping his hands over his nose, then retched again as he realized the smell was clinging to his palms. "Oh, god, that's VILE!"

"I know, right?! About that bet...."

Alisdair swiped the jerky from his hand, dropping it into a pocket of his khakis, not so much because he actually wanted the disgusting thing anywhere near him as wanting to keep his friend from following through on the threat. "I'm going to go find Cat before you find anything else to shove into your mouth."

Turning sharply on his heel, ignoring Archi's braying laughter, he lengthened his stride across the hard-packed earth toward the dig. He tried to think of Cat's bright blue eyes, her dark curls flecked with glittering dust, and not early memories of his father or the possibility that Archi's little sister had graduated from licking rocks to sampling the shaving cream.

At one point -back when it was first built, Alisdair supposed- the tomb must have been truly magnificent. Sandstone pillars lined the front entrance, still standing firm despite their age, each section painstakingly hand-shaped and still sporting the chisel marks of the artisans who'd sculpted them.

Cat had tried explaining, over the groaning of the camels, the particular types of pigments that would have once decorated them- but he'd been too focused on keeping the constant sway of the animal beneath him from upsetting the contents of his stomach to listen. Now they were the color of dust, the same as everything else in this wasteland.

Most of the structure was still intact, but the section Professor Almaizan had them working in had been dug out in the past year. The pillars near the opening listed slightly, either displaced during the previous excavations or by age.  It made them resemble the bones of some ancient, long dead beast, or the nave of a ruined church, open to the moon. Here and there, colored thread was strung out in careful grids, marking off grids for the researchers to work. Near the northern corner, he could just about glimpse the lean figure of Professor Tenax Almaizan as he inspected their work, his dark shalwar kameez billowing in the hot, dry wind.

Steps had been carved into the excavated stone, or cobbled together from what wood they'd managed to cut, leading down into the guts of the structure perhaps some twenty (steep, gritty) feet. If there was any consolation, he supposed, it was that at least there was shade below the first level. Sweat cooled on his forehead as he passed out of the scorching midmorning sun. The shade smelled of hot bricks and chalk dust.

Steadying himself against the wall with a hand, he tried to picture what it would be like to be the first person to set foot in the burial chamber: torchlight glittering off ancient golden idols, gems the size of his hand, his archaeologist companion pressed close for protection as the withered old pharaoh began to stir-

A hand clamped down on his ankle.

Alisdair's undignified squawk echoed from the walls as gravel crunched under his feet, boots skidding on sand. The attempt to correct his balance, far from serving its intended purpose, nearly sent him over the edge and into the excavation pit. Hands flailing, he grabbed for the scaffolding and dug his heels in, a flush of embarrassment and adrenaline flooding his already heat-blotched face. "Ca'tra," he gasped, voice several octaves higher than he'd intended. "Don't grab me like that!"

Ca'tra Akaata (graduate student, aspiring archaeologist, current leading cause of premature heart attacks) was exactly where Archi had said she'd be: sat in the dirt, having the time of her life. One leg braced beneath her, she stretched the other out as far as it would go, marking her place with her toes as she arched up to grin at him. "Hi, Alisdair! Don't come down, I'm still finishing this section." Her voice was oddly muffled.

Lips twisted into a pout at her clear and total lack of remorse, Alisdair ignored her admonition, edging down the last set of steps- though, as a concession, he was careful to avoid the dig points marked out around her.

As she came into clearer focus, he realized her brother had been correct on another point: The horsehair shaving brush WAS in her mouth. Lengthwise, to be specific, teeth clamped firmly on the mahogany handle. He suppressed a wince at a fleeting image of his father, mouth downturned in a perplexed grimace as he loudly asked where the indentations had come from. Turning her head, she casually spat it into her hand, wiped it clean on a corner of her brightly patterned head scarf, and set it back down in the toolkit. "If you step on anything," she warned, "I won't be held responsible for what the Professor does to you."

Tossing his hair, Alisdair let out what he hoped was a sufficiently dismissive snort. "Oh, what do I care what that musty old pedant says? I was just making sure you didn't need to be rescued from traps or flesh-eating scarabs." Cat blinked at him for a second in mute astonishment, then threw back her head and laughed, dimples forming at the corners of her mouth. The movement revealed a stray, coal-black curl escaping the confines of her hijab. His hand twitched, resisting the urge to tuck it back into place.

"Scarabs don't eat people, Alisdair," she said, once her ebullience had faded enough to talk. "That's just the movies." Her teeth flashed, lower lip pinned in concentration as she picked dirt from a tiny clay figurine. "Then again, they might make an exception for you. Skittering around in the dark, hankering for your succulent flesh." She wiggled her fingers at him. "Skitter skitter."

Alisdair swallowed, hard, and stood up on his toes, shuffling a little further away from the nearby hole in the wall. Not that he believed her teasing, of course, just that he had heard that. Snakes. Liked to hide in holes in the wall. That was it. Just to be safe.

"You are so mean," he huffed. "At least tell me you found old Pharaoh What's His Nuts so we can go back to the hotel and celebrate."

The young archaeologist hummed, gently blowing the last of the dirt free of her figurine, and glanced up at Alisdair with arched brows. "I hate to disappoint you, but old Pharaoh What's His Nuts was excavated years ago, as I told you repeatedly on the way over.” She paused, and hummed thoughtfully, in the back of her throat. “Most of him, anyway."

"What?!" Alisdair gaped down at her. His knees sagged, back dragging over the rough stone as he dropped into an undignified squat at the edge of her workspace. "But I- but you said-" The champagne and press conferences he'd envisioned evaporated like a heat mirage, leaving him suddenly very aware of how hot and dusty and tired he was. "I thought you said this was exclusive!"

Cat rocked back on her heels, resting her forearms on her knees, and gave him a look that might have been pity. "It is exclusive, Alisdair. This is one of the most important digs of the decade. It's a miracle it hasn't been stripped completely bare by looters, or other archaeological teams. It's an amazing opportunity to get hands on experience in the field. I don't know how the Professor pulled it off."

"I think I've had quite enough experience in the field for one lifetime, thank you. I honestly don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't scorpions, or heat rashes, or all this sand. I don't like sand, Ca'tra."

Cat put the toothbrush back down with rather more force than was strictly necessary. "It's a desert, Alisdair. It's going to have sand. If you weren't prepared for some rough conditions, you could have just stayed at the hotel."

"I wanted to come with you!" Alisdair's voice rose, threatening to become a whine. "I know Professor Musty thinks I'm just a glorified pack mule, but I didn't think you agreed with him."

She sighed, expansively, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "I know you don't like him, but he's really taking a chance with me on this expedition. It's not my fault someone got here before us."

Alisdair knew he couldn't really argue with her reasoning, but it didn't quell the bitter disappointment pooling in his gut.  It threatened to rise into his throat and choke him. He stared down at the toes of his boots, hands fisting at his sides, and tried to convince himself the stinging in his eyes was just from heat.

"Oh, your professor's so great all right," he snapped. "He's so great that you've been ignoring me this entire trip and dragged me out here where there are scorpions and snakes and heatstroke and spit, and you and your professor'll go on to become rich and famous, and I'll probably die from the curse and all I found out here was a piece of ancient beef jerky!" Without thinking, he plunged his hand into his pocket, flinging the leather down in the midst of her carefully plotted workspace.

Cat's face flushed with anger, her eyes seeming even more intensely blue against the darkening of her cheeks. Snatching the object from among her grid stakes, she pulled her arm back, clearly intending to hurl it right back at him.

Then, abruptly, she stopped dead. Her arm was still poised, fist wrapped around the leather in preparation to send it back in his face. Slowly, she lowered her hand, staring down at the stick in utter bewilderment. "Beef jerky?" she repeated. Before he could stop her, she raised her hand to her face. He had a nightmarish vision then, of her tongue flicking out, flicking out to taste-

"CAT, NO!" He lunged at her, nearly ploughing into her dig, feet skidding as she shot him a murderous look. He teetered at the edge of the colored twine as she brought her hand up to her face again, sniffing once, and then again, more deeply. The flush faded from her cheeks as her eyes went wide.

"Alisdair," Cat said, her tone slow and deliberate. "Where did you find this?"

His brow furrowed in confusion as she held it out to him. "Lying in the sand, who cares, Cat, it's just a piece of jerky. I was going to throw it away."

"Alisdair." Her expression sharp, she leaned forward across her workspace to lock eyes with him. Her hair had slipped even further from the hijab, shading her eyebrow; he took the jerky from her in bewilderment. "Where EXACTLY. Did you find this."

"The entrance to the tomb, I guess?" Alisdair glanced down at the sad piece of leather and wrinkled his nose in renewed disappointment. "It’s hardly the royal jewels, isn’t it?"

But Ca'tra was looking at him now with an expression of astonishment that didn't look like it was born out of mockery, eyes flicking back and forth at some internal dialogue. "No," she breathed, the hints of a smile beginning to grow on her face. "It's so easy. Oh, my god, that's so stupid, I don't believe it."

"Cat?" Alisdair eyed her, warily, his hand still poised in front of herself. He nearly jumped as she lurched to her feet, crossing the dig in one long bound and reached out to grab his shoulders. Silently, she shook him, her face breaking into a grin to rival Archi's. It scared him more than her anger had. "What are you talking about?"

Cat shook Alisdair again, and grabbed his wrist in excitement, her expression very nearly gleeful. "It's been a mystery for years, Alisdair, ever since the Pharaoh was moved from the burial chamber. All those theories! And it was right here the entire time, I could kiss you!"

Alisdair felt his face heat, his anger and frustration leaving him in a rush. His palms prickled as she threw her arms around his shoulders, almost knocking the jerky from his hand. "Oh, well. Um. You're welcome," he mumbled. "What... um. What is it, then?"

"I said they found most of Pharaoh Khem-Adas. Most of him." Cat pulled back, holding him at arm's length, her eyes twinkling. "You said it yourself, Alisdair. The royal jewels! The royal jewels of Old Pharaoh What's His Nuts!" An hysterical laugh bubbled in the back of her throat. "The embalming, the composition, its size- stay right here, I'm going to go find the professor!"

For an instant, still suffused in rosy warmth as he was, the words failed to sink in. Repeating them back to himself, however, Alisdair felt a trickle of dread coil up his spine. He stared down at the mummified leather in his hand, small and roundish and not altogether unlike the treats he sometimes gave Mrs. Almaizan's pomeranian.

Treats that were made of.... of....

"Cat!" His voice cracked slightly, as his flush was replaced with a sickly greenish pallor. He could feel bile rising in his throat. "Are you saying this is.... that I'm holding a-"

“Don’t worry, Alisdair!” She grinned at him, wide and wild, pausing with her hand on the scaffolding. “I’ll make sure you get your picture in the papers! PROFESSOR ALMAIZAN, GET THE CAMERA!"

For such a small woman, Cat's voice echoed across the tomb- across the entire base camp as her feet pounded up the rest of the steps to the upper levels. As his vision began to tunnel, Alisdair thought they could probably hear her all the way back in Cairo.

"ALISDAIR FOUND PHARAOH KHEM-ADAS' MISSING PENIS!”

Soulmates AU pt 1

Summary:  Inspired by Soulmates au and soulmates au pt 2 hc by @fandom-heaux . An AU in which everyone is born with a smudged birthmark. As you find your mate in life the smudge forms their name when you’ve made an impression on them. In this world Beca doesn’t realize she has any, let alone three.

Author’s Note: I’m gonna try this thing where I post once a week. I say try because…well. Tis I. Queen of zero follow through. I blame @chloes-yellow-cup for dragging me into this fandom and then making fics that have ruined me. RUINED ME. Let me clarify. RUINED ME.

 Beca

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.”

“You are not. Everyone has one. This dude I dated, Boochie, got dragged behind his ATV at Glamis and got a wicked road rash. Like peeled the whole fucking side of his body including his mark. The shit came back, darker. My hand to God.” Stacie put her hand over her heart and raised the other as if she were giving oath. As if this would somehow make her story all the more believable.

“First of all who the fuck is named ‘Boochie’?” At Stacie’s smirking shrug she moved on. “Secondly. Ew dude.” Stacie laughed at the face Beca made but waited for her to say something more. Waiting for her to say ‘Just Kidding!’ or something equally confirming that she was joking in some way.

Beca shrugged and took a sip of her beer. These were the conversations she hated. It wasn’t that she was ashamed exactly. It wasn’t anything that she could control so why should she be ashamed? Beca just hated dealing with having to explain it to people. Explain that she didn’t have that thing that made a person complete. Whole. Normal or whatever. The responses were all the same and they happened in stages. First there was disbelief.

“I mean. I don’t really have a reason to lie so…” Stacie gave her a leveling stare as if she were trying to see if Beca was being completely truthful. She was sure there were people out there that didn’t want a soulmate, didn’t want to find the one person in the whole world that would always be there, would never leave, and would always just…get them. But she didn’t happen to know any and she didn’t think Stacie did either. Whatever the taller woman was looking for in Beca’s face she didn’t find because she gave a soft ‘huh’.

Beca didn’t trust it. Stage two was curiosity. There was no way, NO WAY, that Stacie wouldn’t ask questions. After moving to Los Angeles Beca had found herself cut adrift in a sea of unknown variables. She didn’t know the area, or the people, or even any of her neighbors. She moved into a three story building that was perfect for her. It was dark and brooding and no one gave a shit about anyone else. They just kept to themselves for the most part. Except Stacie.

Stacie had made it a point to smile and say hi every time Beca passed her in the halls. There was something a little predatory about the way she did that made Beca a little nervous at first. Her stuttered greetings were rushed and she usually tried to slink away into the shadows whenever possible. Until Stacie had come over one Wednesday night with a six pack of beer and endless questions.

Six months later the questions hadn’t stopped. But then neither had the beer so it wasn’t horrible. Beca didn’t know why she even enjoyed it so much, she had never really needed gal pals before but she counted on these Wednesday nights now.

Somehow Stacie had made a place in Beca’s life and the smaller woman found herself not minding having a standing drinking date. Stacie tossed her long legs over the arm of the overstuffed chair in Beca’s living room and full on man-style belched. Beca’s face twitched in a smirk as she shifted her position on the floor to rest back against the couch. “Nice. I see now why you’re so popular.” It was an attempt to deflect, move away from stage two before it even began but it was futile and she knew it when Stacie only blew her a kiss and forged ahead.

“Yeah but like…don’t you want to be with someone?” Beca raised a shoulder in a half shrug as if it didn’t matter much. Even though it kinda sorta mattered a lot.

“Not really.” Lie. “I have goals. I’m here to get into the industry and claw my way to the top. A relationship doesn’t really factor into it. So I guess being a freak of nature doesn’t really matter.” It was coming. She could feel it. The inevitable stage three. Pity. There was always pity in the eyes of every single person she’d had to explain this to. And Beca liked Stacie, she didn’t really want to feel the weight of all that, she already felt broken enough.

An abrupt laugh made her jerk her head up to blink owlishly at the other woman. Well she hadn’t wanted pity but this seemed somehow worse. “You think you’re a freak of nature? Check this out.” Without a hint of warning or even a second’s consideration on whether the blinds were closed or not Stacie peeled her shirt off and pointed to a row of three smudges down her rib cage. “THIS is a freak of nature.”

It was enough of a shock that Beca almost forgot not to stare at Stacie’s bra clad chest. Almost. She blinked and dragged her gaze to Stacie’s side. Beca’s eyes went wide and she reached out a hand to touch them before she realized what she was doing and jerked it back. They hadn’t quite formed yet, but one had a definite outline of an A. “Dude…”

“I know right?!” She shrugged and pulled her shirt back on, content to reach for her beer as if she hadn’t just flashed someone she barely knew. “My mom thinks it’s some kind of divine blessing or something.” It was clear she disagreed but Beca couldn’t help but feel a little jealous because maybe deep down she thought it was kind of a blessing too. She would have given her right hand to have one of those marks even if she tried to convince herself that she was better off without one.

“So is that why you date so much?” It was putting it politely and they both knew it. Stacie gave her an affectionately amused look and shrugged.

“I just like sex.” Okay then. Beca flushed a little at the bluntness of the statement but nodded anyway. “Is you not having one why you don’t date at all?”

“Fair if somewhat stinging. I just…don’t see the point. Whoever I date is going to have one and that’s not going to be my name. It just leads to hurt feelings and wasted time.” Stacie reached down and pulled another pair of bottles out of the cardboard holder and held one out to Beca. The DJ cracked it open and gestured vaguely to the marks on her friend. “So who do you think A is?” This wasn’t the turn she had expected for the conversation but she couldn’t say she hated it. Once people found out she didn’t have a smudge of her very own they tended to not want to talk about it at all. As if that would somehow offend Beca. The avoidance of it had just made Beca feel all the more lonely. This was almost refreshing.

Stacie’s dark head tipped to the side as she considered it. “I think it’s this guy Aaron I met at The Greek last summer. I was there with this other guy Tony, but we got separated. I ran into Aaron, all tall, blonde, and green eyed, with a banging body.” She gave a mild smirk at the memory of said body and moved on. “He’s just boring as fuck. I mean he’s in the Army or whatever so that’s cool. But he kept talking about his guns and his little sister. And more guns. He talked a LOT about guns. It was annoying.”

It was Beca’s turn to smirk and she didn’t even try to hide it. “Yeah…he sounds like a real winner, Stace.” Who didn’t love a guy that could gush about guns all day long? “I dunno. You don’t seem that into him, not that I have any experience in this but aren’t you supposed to know when you meet your one? Or…three? Don’t you just instantly know and fall in love or whatever?” Beca kept her face blankly bored hoping that Stacie wouldn’t see how much she actually wanted to know the answer.

Stacie was slow to answer and she shrugged. “I dunno. After I met him the A showed up. We didn’t really get to do more than make out and exchange numbers. I didn’t realize until I got home that the A was even there. I’m not exactly anxious to find out. Once I know…it’s like I don’t get to be Stacie anymore. I have to be A’s girlfriend. Or wife. Until that’s over for whatever reason and the next smudge shows a name.”

It hadn’t even occurred to Beca that Stacie had three because she would go through a string of soulmates. She had just assumed they would all be together. It was a thought that should have seemed strange but for some reason felt oddly right. “Huh.” Stacie raised her brows in question but Beca shook her head. “It’s nothing it’s just I didn’t really think about what it could mean to have…three.”

“I just can’t imagine myself tied to one person forever let alone three at the same time. I read up on multiple marks but all I could come up with were extremely rare double marks. No triples. And out of the doubles only two or three out of the half dozen were concurrent relationships.”

Beca narrowed her eyes at Stacie. For someone that went to a lot of trouble to appear brainless she certainly was anything but. “You just…read up on it. Like no big deal let me research all the known cases of multiple marks…” Stacie blinked at her blankly and said nothing. Beca was starting to think that a little part of Stacie did want to find her one. Er. Ones.

The sound of Stacie’s phone jerked them both out of the quiet tension. “Food’s here. You got change for a twenty? I hate giving tips on the app.”

Beca reached over to her coffee table and picked up her wallet. “I got the tip. You covered dinner.” She got up and thumbed through the cash she had. She was sure she had a five in there somewhere. The knock at the door got her attention if only for a second. She didn’t even look up at the delivery guy as she continued to dig around. “Hey thanks…dude you wanna grab som…” Her words trailed off as she finally found what she was looking for and met the eyes of the person at the door.

“Hi…”

“Hi.”

“Hi…” Beca felt like she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe and could only just manage to repeat the one thing that was being said. The red haired woman smiled widely and Beca blinked all at once dazzled and stunned by just how blue her eyes were. The woman’s lips curved into an amused smile and Beca had to remind herself to close her mouth.

“Did you order…?”

“Yep! That’s us.” Stacie bounded over to grab the bags of food. It was enough to bring Beca back to the here and now. “Thanks. Hey B, ya got that tip?” Beca mutely raised the bill without taking her eyes off the delivery woman.

“That’s so kind, thank you.” It should have sounded sarcastic and on anyone else it would have. But it sounded sincere and so sweet that Beca could only nod in response. She licked her lips as the woman pocketed the bill and turned away. Just for a second she had the urge to follow after her but she stayed rooted until the sound of the front door on the building opening and closing reached her ears. She shook herself as she shut the door and turned to find Stacie with a revoltingly smug look on her face.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Beca glared at her for a second before she tossed her wallet on the table and moved to sit on the floor again. She should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy. Stacie’s voice practically purred. “She was hot. Like really hot.”

“Really? I didn’t notice.” Beca opened a container of noodles and picked up her chopsticks. Stacie just laughed in a way that caused a shiver to chase down her spine. Stacie smiled and reached for the carton of orange chicken. The banter was nice. Stacie made her feel like she could just be herself. It was something she’d never had before. She kinda didn’t even mind the teasing.

“Yeah because you give a fifty dollar tip to every delivery person.”

She snorted and shook her head before stopping as that last bit sunk in. “Wait. What? I did what??”

Please tell us more stories about the corn!!

brief preface: i live in iowa, one of the united states’ largest producers of corn (as in maize for those overseas), and worked at a corn breeding research facility. these guys are in charge of creating new lines of seed for farmers to grow; i took the job because it was the only plant science-related job i could, and it sucked but it wasn’t the worst job ive ever had and i made bank because it sucked and no one wanted to do it. there were two parts to this job: data collection and pollination. i wrote out a huge thing on the details of these and then decided it was too long and rambly so imma just gonna skip that stuff and get to the Weird Liminal Space Corn Stories:

-for data collection, our job was to take plant an ear hights in fields all around iowa, meaning that we would get to work in the morning and they would load us up into transit vans and drive us out to a random small town with a test field for testing. once we got there, we had 16-foot-tall wooden measuring sticks we would unfold and bring into the field with us, and the instructions from there were simple: 2 people on each side of the breeder. you measure the line of corn behind you by sticking ur stick next to an average looking plant and reading off first how far up on the plant the first ear of corn was, then reading off how far the base of the flag leaf was. then, you turn around to face the line of corn behind you, and while youre turning around and sticking your measuring stick into the ground on that side your partner reads there numbers, you read your second line of numbers, your partner reads their second line, and then you walk into the nearest alley and march up two lines of corn while the people on the other side of the breeder go. you read the two data points on one side. your partner reads and u turn around. you read the data points behind you. your partner does. while you are going, your breeder is walking up the field typing in the numbers on a data logger and the other team is walking up two rows. once you reach the end of the field, your breeder stops you, you walk two plots down and turn the other direction. you read off your data points, ect, you do that all the way down the field. you do this for hours until your set is done. all told, once your team of 5 people gets oriented and going, it should sound like this to you:

stick. 65, 102. turn. stick. 68, 104. pick up stick. walk down two rows. stick. 85, 102. turn. stick. 84, 103. pick up stick. walk down two rows. ect. you have to annunciate yourself and not talk to your teamates so the breeder can hear you through the corn. on windy days, you have to shout. you dont have time to stop and talk; you actually barely have time to do anything but focus on the manual task of number, turn, number, walk, number, turn, number, walk. when we were done, we would come out covered in sweat and dirt with our sticks, pile in the transit van, and drive like, the 2-3 hours back. work days were about 9 hours with 5 in the field, meaning that you worked 40 hours a week and could do overtime on weekends doing pollination (which was actually really fun). 

-no headphones. at first i thought that rule was stupid, but like, once you enter a cornfield you realize that this is because 1. if someone is screaming your name you need to be able to hear and 2. corn touches everything; when you’re in the corn, there is always something touching you. we wore special hats with veils, long pants, long shirts, eye protection, and closed toed shoes because the corn leaves are sharp and will cut you up; i have scars from this. your headphones would get ripped out within like, .3 seconds, because like corn just snags and slices up everything. 

-one time, on the hottest day of the summer, we were doing the number-turn-number-walk routine and heard someone yelling for our breeder guy. he stopped us short and called back, and like, this is the scary part about cornfields: like i said in the tags of that one post, corn swallows up sound more than anything. it’s impossible to tell where you are and impossible to hear anything, even if you scream, so its best to stay close to your team unless your doing solo work, and if you’re doing solo work like, for the love of god, keep walking in the direction youre supposed to be walking until you’re finished. trust that theres something on the other side, even if you cant see it. but anyway; hes yelling, and shes yelling, and suddenly she bursts through the corn after searching for us and says that this one kid is having a seizure. queue both of them running out of the corn and we’re just standing there. eventually we hear one of the other breeders yelling “___’s group, where are you?!” and we’re like “over here! we’re over here!” and put our sticks up, and the other breeder comes into the alley and we keep doing data points. we had like, 6 kids go home that day because of how hot it was (over 100 degrees) and we ended up not finishing the field because they decided it wasnt safe for us to work anymore. (also, kid was predisposed to seizures and they took him home, he was fine and came back to work a couple days later)

-i kind of talked about this in the tags of that other post, but i think the scariest day was the day we were in a test field a little ways away from the research center. it was kind of stormy but we were like ok whatever, we’ve gotten rained on before with no problem, queue us starting the data collection for the day. its…..really windy. like. i wish i could recreate that feel in art or something or even film it someday, because 1. when the wind blew, the whole field-which, remember, this is our whole world when we’re in there because you can’t see anything but corn in every direction- moved. like, bended, which is typical of corn because like yeah duh it does that, but its like if you were standing in a hallway and suddenly all the walls bent with the wind and so did the cieling. it was that disorienting; i actually stumbled a few times because the only steady thing was the ground and 2. it was loud, like a weird roar in the background. everything is rustling all around you at once. we had to scream our numbers for the breeder to hear us, and when i moved my measuring stick would catch the wind and drag me back a little. then, we heard thunder in the distance. our breeder was like “okay guys we’re gonna finish this field because we’re only like 4 ranges away from the road” and we’re like ok yeah, 40 plots, we can do this. the wind picked up, we kept moving at like twice the pace to get out of there, and when we reached the end it was really close and our breeder was like “come on we have to go now” and we like, picked up our sticks and ran through the corn bending around us with the thunder and everything, can i say midwestern gothic because ive never experienced midwestern gothic more than 4 teenagers with corn sticks and a dude with a data logger running through a discombobulating corn haze at 11am with thunder rolling in. we get to the edge of the field, scramble over the barbed wire fence because we are not running through the rest of the field. in a hot second more teams emerge from the field at various speeds just as it starts storming. we pack up our sticks. our team of four gets in our breeder’s pickup truck and we drive back in the rain. it was a look guys ngl

-throwback to when i just finished doing solo tagging of the ranges in the corn in a field three hours away from the research center. our breeder said to meet him back at the truck when we were done, so when i reach the end of the field having stapled on tags for around 100 ranges (about ten minutes of walking and stapling alone in a single line; these tags will help orient harvesting in the fall), i turn around and start heading straight back, because like again, when you’re in the corn alone its best to know exactly where you are and the way out is always a straight line. i start following my tagging trail back. about five minutes into walking i hear rustling near me. y’all, i was not ready, started jogging and checking behind me and after a little bit i slow down because i feel like i lost whatever it was. rustling continues like its following me. hellno.jpg, not today, i run out of the corn into the alley on the other side, decide i must have imagined it, and start walking towards the truck. as it turns out it was another one of the guys who didn’t know where to go, saw me from his row, and was following me to find his way out of the corn. almost died that day y’all

-occasionally we would visit fields to do brittle snap count, which is lining up, walking a plot, stopping, and yelling out how many broken stalks of corn we counted in the plot we just walked through, then continuing. the whole thing is that farmers understandably hate it when all their corn breaks and dies. we went to this one field that had been hit by a wind storm; it was a really hot day and we were all like dying. this is where my aforementioned scarring comes in. in cornfields, there exists a thingy called corn rash. this is where the corn hits your skin so much that it makes tiny cuts all over you, and then pollen from said corn gets in the cuts along with sweat. it is the worst time i have ever experienced in my life like literally nope would not recommend. eventually we realized that half this field of test crop was broken. like, we stopped counting the amount of plants with broken stems and instead started counting the amount of plants still standing. i was wearing all the protection i needed/that was required (so was everyone else), but it was so hot that literally all of us had corn rash and i was bleeding, big yikes. eventually our super nice breeder for the day realized that we were Struggling™ and was like ok listen we’re going back this isn’t worth it and all the corn is literally dead inexplicably anyway and then took us to get gas station ice cream after bc she felt bad for us lmao, a blessing

-talked to the breeders a lot and asked a ton of questions. learned that sunflower breeding is a thing that happens and that they’re bred to be larger to bear more seed for like, those bags of sunflower seeds you see at gas stations. the more u know

-zoo corn

-the corn in the pollination fields (the corn being bred into pure, genetically identical lines for testing….*insert Corn Discourse Concerning Loss Of Genetic Diversity Here But Not Gonna Talk About It In This Post Bc Its Already Super Long*) gets really weird mutations that i’ve talked about before

-this post got so long im sorry

tl;dr: corn is a terrifying liminal space

Have you ever thought about doing a mermaid story? Like, for instance, the one that charmingly antiquated did in webcomic (can't leave links like this, sorry). I can totally see that happen with Korrasami.

Inspired by this comic! Hopefully it was the right one. (AO3 LINK)

Korra held up her hands. “Okay, let’s talk this out. Let’s not do anything rash.”

The pirates laughed at her and their swords inched closer to her.

“Okay, yes I may have stowed away in your hold, but let’s be reasonable. I would be a great asset to your crew.”

The captain motioned for his crew to lower their weapons. “I have an idea how you could help the crew, lass.” His eyes scanned over her and Korra grimaced.

“Okay. Well not that. But I’m an expert with a sword… that came out wrong,” she groaned.

The crew laughed as Korra backed up and looked over the side of the ship.

“Alright. It seems that we can’t really help one another out. So… I’m going to not overstay my welcome.” Suddenly Korra jumped up on the side of the ship and then jumped over it. She landed hard on the dinghy that was tied up. She pulled out her dagger and quickly cut the ropes, the dinghy splashed into the water.

“Cap?” a crew member asked.

The captain’s boisterous laugh filled the air and he threw his arms out. “If that lass did that, I think it’s okay to let her go. The sea will take her life anyway.” The captain continued to laugh as he walked away from his crew. The crew that still had awe written on their faces as their stowaway rowed away in their little dinghy.

“Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” Korra mumbled as she laid down and tipped her hat to cover her eyes. The sun was beating down on her and for as far as the eye could see was only water. And she couldn’t navigate until the sun set and the stars filled the sky, so she really had nothing to do right now. Other than sweat and lose the little water that was in her body.

Korra’s not sure how long she lay and do nothing, but it had to have been hours. She wasn’t roused from her nap from the temperature dropping because the sun had dropped, but because something rocked her boat. She sat up and clutched onto her dagger. She slowly looked over the edge, but didn’t see anything. She slid over to the other side, again not seeing anything.

Maybe she’d just been imagining things. So instead of really worrying, she laid back down and continued to nap. Eventually the sun did set and she was able to find her course by using the stars. She picked up the heavy oars and started towards east.

Korra frowned to herself when she saw the sun rising. She had rowed all night and she could feel the fatigue setting in. She needed water. She needed food. But her body didn’t feel up to it, so she situated her hat over her eyes once more and laid down. She’d rest for a couple of hours and then try to catch a fish.

As soon as she dozed off, she felt her boat rock again, but she didn’t react like last time. Instead she stayed still and waited. It felt like a minute or so before the boat dipped to the side just a bit. Something was definitely up. She quickly removed her hat from over her face and turned her head and as soon as she did, her jaw dropped and her heart skipped a beat. She jumped up to her feet, clambering as far away from that side of the boat as she could.

“Wha- What the FUCK?!” she shouted. “Oh my god. This better be a fucking hallucination…”

Korra’s eyes widened as the hopeful hallucination crossed her arms and rested herself on the edge of the boat.

“Please leave,” Korra whimpered. Instead of leaving there was a curious head tilt. Korra eased up a bit and sat down in her boat instead of her precarious position on the edge of it. Suddenly the creature held herself up, giving Korra time to take her in.

She had long raven hair that draped over her shoulders and was slick against her skin. Her skin was fair, her face as bare as her torso. Korra swallowed hard as her eyes traced over the curves of the creatures body and her perky breasts. She cursed her mind for creating such a beautiful hallucination.

“If I ignore you, you’ll probably go away,” she mumbled to herself. She was about to lay back down, when the boat shifted and the creature pulled herself into the boat. Korra let out a shriek when she saw a long tail flop onto the boat. “Ehhh, so you’re a fucking mermaid. Great.”

Korra curled up on herself, trying to make herself smaller as she sat on the boat. The mermaid looked at her curiously and then reached out, taking her arm into her hands. Her pale fingers traced over the patterns and lines of her tattoo. A shiver went down Korra’s back, the mermaid’s touch feeling so real.

“What are these?”

Korra puffed out her cheeks, not expecting her hallucination to speak. “Oh fuck,” she groaned.

“Hmm?”

“Tattoos,” she answered although she didn’t know why. “This one is of my hometown.”

“It’s beautiful.” The mermaid smiled at Korra. “I’m also not a hallucination.”

“And that’s exactly what a hallucination would say,” Korra sighed.

The mermaid furrowed her brow. “I can prove it to you.” Suddenly the boat shifted and the mermaid slid back into the water.

Korra raised a brow and looked over the edge of the boat. It wasn’t long before the mermaid resurfaced, a fish in her hands.

“Oh,” Korra said softly. She reached out and took the fish, it really was real. She took her dagger, cutting into it and putting the fresh flesh of the fish into her mouth. “Yep, real,” she hummed to herself as she closed her eyes, savoring the taste. She truly was starving.

The mermaid pulled herself back onto the boat as Korra continued to eat. Korra was surprised that the mermaid was just sitting there and observing her. It was pretty unnerving in all honesty.

“Do you have a name,” Korra dared as she popped the fish eye into her mouth. She normally wouldn’t eat that part with such ease, but her body needed the nutrients.

“Asami.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” Korra threw the last bits of the fish back into the water.

“Do you?”

“Oh, Korra.”

“Korra,” Asami tested. “Korra.”

“Yes, Korra,” Korra chuckled.

“Tell me about land.”

“Um.” Korra rubbed the back of her neck. “Not really much to say. There are people…”

“Yes, bipeds.”

“Uh, sure.”

Asami pointed at Korra’s legs. “You are a biped.”

“Oh. And you’re a mermaid,” Korra pointed to Asami’s tail.

“According to bipeds, yes.” There was a slight silence and then Asami jumped out of the boat. She resurfaced at the bow of it. “To land?”

“Yeah. I need to get back. I can’t really stay forever on this little dinghy.”

Asami pointed out toward the open sea. “Closest land.”

“Okay.” Korra took the oars into her hands, but stopped when she felt the boat jerk forward. Asami had taken the rope at the front of the boat and was now pulling her along, much faster than Korra using the oars. Korra laughed to herself, still shocked and amazed that this mermaid was truly real.

Korra sighed as she sat against the side of the boat. She clasped her hands behind her head and watched as Asami hoisted herself onto the boat once more. It’d been three days since the mermaid had first appeared. During the days she would tow the boat and during the nights Korra would row. They would both take breaks though and this was one of them.

Korra used her hand to fan herself, eventually just opting to open the top of her tunic more.

“It’s so hot today,” she complained.

Asami’s tail flicked and she scooted closer to Korra. “It is,” she said, her eyes focused on the bit of skin Korra had revealed. “What’s that?”

Korra looked down at where Asami was pointing, which happened to be another tattoo on her chest. She pulled her tunic open even more, allowing Asami to look at it fully.

“I, um got this for a woman I loved,” Korra confessed.

Asami’s finger traced over the intricate lines lightly, causing a shiver to go down Korra’s back, even in the sweltering heat.

“Loved?” Asami asked.

“Yeah… um she was hanged for supposedly practicing witchcraft. She wasn’t though. She was a woman of science, of true knowledge,” Korra explained with adoration and sadness lacing her voice.

“Science?”

“Um, it’s a way to explain why things happen through observation, rather than blaming it on magic or miracle,” Korra defined.

“Oh. Interesting.”

Korra laughed softly, her eyes meeting Asami’s. “She was my first love. After she was taken from me I turned to traveling. Stowed away in ships to get from one point to another, but this time it backfired a bit,” Korra chuckled.

“Do you still love her,” Asami asked curiously.

“I always will,” Korra sighed. “First loves kind of stick around forever, I guess.”

“I-I don’t know if I’ve been in love,” Asami admitted. She took her hand away from Korra’s chest and fiddled with her hair.

Korra shrugged and smiled at her softly. “It’ll happen.”

Asami nodded, a serious expression on her face as she searched Korra’s. Suddenly it was broken and she smiled when she heard Korra’s stomach growl.“I’ll get you another fish,” she said and slipped out of the boat.

Korra tilted her head back and stared up into the clear blue sky. She put her hand flat on her chest, over her pounding heart. The heart that had picked up as soon as Asami’s fingers had started to trace her tattoo. Something she hadn’t felt in so long.

“Can you do that to my hair?”

“Do what?” Korra asked as she helped Asami onto the boat.

Asami lifted her hand and ran it over Korra’s braids. “Those.”

“Oh, uh. Sure.” Korra moved around a bit and then motioned for Asami to settle between her legs. “It’ll be easiest if you sit here.”

Asami nodded and then her gaze fell toward the floor of the boat, but she obliged.

Korra couldn’t help but blush as she braided the mermaid’s hair. It was so soft and delicate, something she hadn’t expected considering that she’s constantly in salt water. She continued to do this in silence, the only thing she really could hear was the thumping of her own heart. It took her a long time just to do one braid due to the length, but there was something calming about this. Something nice. Being able to forget about being stranded in the middle of the ocean. Being able to enjoy the silence and the peacefulness of the moment.

When Korra finished a couple, she brushed them over Asami’s shoulder. The mermaid gasped softly and her fingers fiddled with them.

“They’re beautiful.”

As soon as Asami said that, all Korra could think about was how beautiful Asami was. She held her tongue though and kept braiding until the sun set and it was time for her to start rowing once again.

“FUCK!” Korra shouted. She was using her hands to scoop out as much water as possible. At this rate the boat was either going to sink or tip in this storm. The waves were wild and the rain harsh. Lightning filled the sky and thunder shook her to the bones.

Korra’s eyes widened as she saw a wave bigger than any of the previous ones. She grabbed the side of the boat, hoping that it wouldn’t tip. But that wasn’t the problem. The wave crashed down on her and crushed the boat under its weight. Korra spluttered and tried to swim to the surface, but the waves were too turbulent. Her body in pain. She felt her lungs get tight and she gasped while underwater, swallowing the ocean water. Her world soon went black.

Korra coughed and her body jerked into a sitting position.

“Holy shit. She’s alive!” A man beside her shouted to his friend. They both leaned down, helping Korra stand.

“H-how?” Korra wasn’t able to get out another word before she lost consciousness again.

Korra looked down at her new tattoo as she walked down the dock. She didn’t know if Asami would still be around, but she needed to try to find her. She hoped that she had stayed in the area. Hoped that Asami had been worried enough about her that she hadn’t left. Hoped that the connection they had built this past week had affected the mermaid too.

“Asami?” she said softly. She looked around, only seeing the calm ocean. She sat down, her feet dangling from the dock. “Asami?!” she shouted louder this time.

“Korra!” Asami shouted happily as her head popped out of the water.

Korra smiled down at her. The mermaid had waited. She rolled up the sleeve of her shirt and lowered it, so that Asami could get a good look at it.

“I got a new one,” Korra said shyly. It was clearly a tattoo of the mermaid.

Asami’s face lit up and she leapt out of the water, her hands holding her up on the dock, her body positioned between Korra’s legs. Her long tail swished in the water as her peridot eyes met Korra’s icy blues.

“It’s beautiful,” Asami praised.

“You’re beautiful,” Korra returned this time. She slipped her hand around Asami’s waist, holding her close.

The mermaid smiled once more and then started to lean in. Korra copied the gesture, their lips meeting in the middle. Neither of them could stop smiling into the kiss, so they pulled away, both giggling. Korra bent down slightly and helped guide Asami’s tail over her legs, so that Asami could sit comfortably on her lap.

Asami took her hand as her tail tangled with Korra’s feet. With her free hand, she cupped Korra’s cheek and their gazes met once more.

“I think I know what love is,” Asami confessed.

Korra smiled at her softly. “I honestly didn’t think I’d fall in love again… but I was wrong.” Korra kissed Asami tenderly and then looked out at the setting sun. “And I’m glad I was,” she added softly.”

Apocalypse Sanders- Chapter 1

!!!WARNING!!!

This is VERY angsty, and includes heavy gore and violence, with heavy mentions of abuse. Please stay safe all!!! If there is a trigger I didnt mention, please please please tell me and I'll include a warning in this and all other posts I make about this story with such a trigger included! And if you cannot read it due to a trigger, I will be happy to give you a summary! This is probably gonna be the most violent chapter, and there is much fluff ahead!

"Get down." It was Logan.

"Why should I, calculator nerd?!" Roman said with a sly smirk.

"Because if you dont I'm telling Patton."

"Oh, so scary! I'm shaking in my boots!" The ten-year-old Roman retorted without missing a beat. Logan raised an eyebrow.

"Foolish child." Logan grabbed Roman and set him back down on the ground. Roman kicked him in protest, but it did next to nothing. "You're not even wearing boots!

Roman decided not to correct Logan.

"It was a metaphor, Lo." That's what Virgil was for; an emo 12 year old that was never found without an old black and purple hoodie that he always wore even before the apocalypse. Logan was about to respond, but found that Roman had already reached the top of the staircase again, hanging off the side of it, like the scene from 'Titanic'.

"Lo, please get Roman down from there..." Patton had arrived.

"Will do." Logan responded, and Roman pouted.

"TRUE WARIORS NEVER GIVE UP!!!" Roman yelled. He was met with various shushing from the rest of the occupants of the room.

"Your quest is over with, Ro. And stay quiet, you'll attract the creatures outside." Patton scolded lightly. Roman decided to listen to Patton, having seen the terrified expressions on the other's faces at his yell.

Patton adjusted his radio, hoping for a response today. The radio was oldish and didnt work the best, but it had good distance and he hoped that if there were any other survivors, he could contact them.

BANG BANG BANG

The sound of desprate knocking on the door caused the room's occupants to immediately look up from what they were doing to look at the door. The terrified child tried to tear himself away from his mother's grip, but was unable. She whispered to the child angrily, and he shut his mouth.

"PLEASE LET ME IN PLEASE THEYRE AFTER ME HELP—" The voice of a young woman practically screamed through the door. The child watched as his father grabbed a shovel from the table and opened the door. The woman ran through the doorway, a single zombie chasing after her.

Crack! The creature's head was smashed. The now headless zombie reached for the child's father. Crunch! Sqish! A few more hits to its rotten flesh did the trick. Another scream came from behind his father. The woman—he couldnt exactly see her face due to the tears spilling from his eyes down his own cheeks.

One of the monsters had followed her inside.

The woman picked up a vase, throwing it at the zombie. It was knocked off its feet, but got up once again. It lurched towards her, biting into her shoulder greedily. She screamed as the creature tore through her flesh with the eagerness of a child getting presents on Christmas. The child's mother dug her nails into his shoulders nervously. Against her motherly insincts, she used her child as a sort of sheild, standing back and pushing him to the front, giving him front row seats to the whole scene. The child's father stood back, knowing there was no saving her now. She screamed bloody murder as her flesh was eaten right off her living body. His father came to his senses and whacked the creature in the head with the shovel. A few more hits and it had stopped moving. He then crushed the woman's head, ending her life, as now that she had been bitten, there was no saving her... But the monster had done so much more than just bite her. The two corpses laid in the livingroom, bringing a terrifying silence. The brutally gorey image would haunt the child for years to come.

Patton and the kiddos looked for new shelter after a few days of staying in the previous house. Patton approaches the door, which had bloody scratch marks, most likely from zombies attempting to get inside the house.

~~~

"Are you okay ××××?" His father asked his wife. The child tuned out the conversation, reflecting on the events that had just occured. He felt sick and terrified. Tears continuously streamed from his eyes and he was shaking furiously. A loud scream awakened him from the trance. He looked up just in time to see his father being bitten by the creature. His neck had snapped and he was dead before he could scream. No, the scream he had heard was from his mother. He felt himself being pushed forward as his mother cowered in fear.

"Mommy's gonna run away now, okay? She's going to... go get help! Can you be a big boy and stop the monster for me sweetie? Make sure he doesnt get to mommy, okay!?" She said it as if she were merely asking him to do a chore or something of the like. As if she wasnt asking her young child to fight off a bloodthirsty monster while she got away. The child froze in fear as the zombie ran forward, and the child ran around it. The zombie grabbed the child, pulling him towards it by the head. The creature's grip however was not very strong, and the child was able to break free. The left side of his face felt like it had been ripped off, but, leaving a bloody trail, he was able run past his screaming mother into the hallway.

"YOU UNGREATFUL BRAT! YOU DIDNT KEEP THE MONSTER AWAY FROM MOMMY! OH MY GOD IM GOING TO DIE AND IT'S YOUR FAULT!" The zombie, hearing the woman's screams came towards her instead, deciding to take the easier option to get its meal. The child ran to the basement, hearing his mother's screams grow quiet, but not dead, but the zombie must have ripped her vocal chords in some way, as her screams were no more and sounds of desprate struggling could be heard. He caught a single glance of the gruesome scene before closing the heavy basement door. It was almost too heavy for him to lift, but he managed to close it shut.

The child stayed there for what felt like hours, days even, though there was no way for him to tell exactly how long it had been.

When Patton had first laid eyes upon the scene before him, he had second thoughts about using this apartment as a living space. The door was left open and he wasnt sure if what had killed these people were still there or not. But, as the sun had began to go down and it would surley be dark in an hour or two, he decided to quickly clear the bodies, and after a breif but thorough look around the house to make sure it was safe and livable, have the group move in for the time being.

Logan occupied the children with activities and conversations(so they wouldnt see the gorey mess) right outside the building.

There were four bodies. The man at the door was the heaviest and the one Patton had the most trouble moving. All the bodies were a bloody mess; the corpses of the man and two women were eaten alive, but not in entirety. The final body seemed to have been dead for longer than the others, and had possibly had a hand in one of the three other's deaths before it's mealtime was cut short. It looked more like an undead creature than a dead human being.

After a long while of cleaning the bodies and searching the halls for possible dangers, he finally let the children into the house. There was of course still blood and such, but it was nothing the children hadnt seen before. No bodies though. Before long, Virgil was sitting on the couch, Logan was accompanying Roman on a "quest" to find new supplies(he was hoping for a crayon box, as he had ran out of crayons that worked well enough to draw with; they were reduced to mere stubs), and Patton was gathering and rationing any scraps of food they had managed to find.

Roman was just begining to loose hope of finding anything, when he saw the door to the basement. It was closed shut, but with some force it opened, its hinges weak from excessive misuse, and rusted by the passage of time. Logan, seeing a bloody trail leading to it, was about to stop Roman, but the child had already started walking inside.

"Roman! Get back here!" Logan rose his voice, but dared not yell. Patton and Virgil were able to hear this still, and Patton came to see what was going on.

"Catch me~!" Roman spoke playfully. He ran a few feet, but after a bit stopped dead in his tracks.

"Roman, get back here now!" Patton's worried tone reached his ears. Roman simply stared at something, a space between dark objects that couldnt be identified with the room's dark lighting; Or rather, it's lack thereof.

"There's another kid down here!" Roman said innocently. Patton and Logan shared surprised looks. "Hi, what's your name?" Roman asked a shadow. Thinking the poor child had stumbled upon a corpse, Patton called Roman once again. It was only when a stifled sob escaped the shadowy figure's mouth that Patton decided to see what—or who—Roman was talking to.

When the child stepped into the light, it was a rather heartbreaking sight to see. A little boy, it seemed, covered gead to toe in bruises and wounds, the most noticeable of which covered the entire left side of his face, dried blood caking his hair, clothes, and skin. Daek circles and bloodshot eyes showed nights of restlessness and sleep depravity, tear marks almost looking like a longways rash or scratch down his face. He looked almost like one of the walking corpses himself, and it was a wonder he survived so long. His knees shook with the effort it took to stand, and Patton leapt down the stairs to catch the collapsing child before he almost took a wuite possibly fatal blow to the head upon collision with the wooden floor.

"Who the actual fuck is that?!" Virgil exclaimed, seeing the near-dead child that Patton was now cradling in his arms. He couldnt be more than seven or eight years old. Patton was preoccupied with cradling the child while trying to examine the wounds so he could fogure out how to help him properly.

"Virgil!" Logan snapped in a low voice. "Language!"

Virgil gave Logan a mocking smirk, but the issue was ignored after a few minutes of hushed bickering and a bit of explaining, as the child now laying on the couch while Patton tended to his wounds opened an eye, and Patton shushed them.

"Heya kiddo.. Dont worry, everything's going to be alright now." The child gave a panicked look, and kicked his legs weakly to try to escape what he thought to be a threatening situation. "Youre safe, I'm fixing you up right now. Can you just stay calm for me and tell me... tell me anything? We need to keep you awake to make sure you're alright. Can you do that for me?" The child nodded slightly, barely noticeable if not for the extreme attention the child was receiving from Patton. "What's your name kiddo..? Can you tell me your name..?" Patton asked the child hesitantly. After a few long moments, the child responded:

"Dee.... I am Dee..."

Jordie Benn #5

Requested by Anon:  Would you please write a story where a girl and her best friend go white water rafting and since it's just the two of them, they end up getting put in a raft with Seguin, the Benn brothers, and Roussel. They end up having a hilarious and fun little adventure wth that crazy crew. I think it would be funny if at least one of the guys is a bit scared and the other guys pick on him. Definitely end with new friendships & possibly new romantic interests too (take your pick of which players get lucky).

*Hiii!! Thank you so much for this. Extra long because of the amount of characters but I hope you like this one. Enjoy!:)*

Word count: 1, 751

Your friend lightly tapped your ass with her paddle, “do you think they grouped us with hot guys?” she asked as you stood by the riverbank, waiting for the other people in your raft to arrive, “you know the reason we’re doing this,” she gestured, “just you and me, is to pick up whoever rides on the raft with us, right?”

You snorted, “yeah,” you nodded as you heard sounds of boisterous men from behind. You turned to look what the fuzz was about and saw four muscular guys laughing and slapping each other. They were so big that the paddles they were holding looked like skewers. They were all wearing rash guards which just emphasized their arm muscles.

And those thighs! Those thighs can kill you and you’d probably be happy about it.

You felt someone bump your him and you shifted to look at your friend, her eyes sparkling, “dibs on short beard,” she laughed, almost clapping happily, “I already know that this is going to be a great day!” she winked at the guide who was looking at you with an amused expression on his face.

Your friend leaned closer to him, “did you set this up?” she asked before the muscled men got near, “because I must say,” you friend whispered, “thank you!!” she said excitedly before bouncing on her feet.

The muscled men, you’d now collectively call them jocks because they look like jocks, finally arrived at the starting point and woah, you almost fainted from the smell of masculinity and soap that they brought with them. Who are these people!?

The stood beside you and you looked up just in time to meet the eye of one of the jocks. He was taller than the other three with a buzz cut and one of the most epic beards you have ever seen in your life. You are not the biggest fan of beards, you admit, because food gets lost in them and shit but this beard might just turn you.

Lumberhottie gave you a big grin, “hey!”

How you managed to wave back, you still don’t know, seeing that all you can think of is how it would feel to run your hand through his beard, “hi.”

He was about to say something but then the guide stopped your little flirting session, if you could even call it that. The guide proceeded to explain the call signs, what to do when he says a certain word, how to row, and what to do when you fall off the raft – that you had to listen carefully to because you just know you’re gonna fall off. God won’t group you with four equally hot men and not make you do something embarrassing, that’s just how it’s always been.

“Teamwork,” you guide said with a booming voice, “that’s the most important thing here.”

The shorted jock chuckled, “good thing we’re a legit team, eh,” he said but you’re not sure if you understood him correctly because he has a weird accent.

Short beard jock, the one your friend was interested in, chimed, “twenty-four rapids, right?” he asked the guide, “and those are all safe?”

The other jock, the one who had sad eyes chuckled, rubbing short beard jock’s arm, “oooh, is our baby Seggy worried?”

Short beard punched sad eyes playfully, “shut it, Jamie,” he laughed, “you’re the one who needed his brother here, scared?”

Lumberhottie raised his arm and stretched – you almost drooled on your life vest – before answering short beard, “hey, I’m the one who organized this,” he said.

The guide explained more safety precautions before clapping his hands, “okay!” he said, “I promise you’re in good hands.”

Before you could even say anything, you started to pile up on the raft. The jocks were even nice enough to help you up.

“I hope it’s fine,” lumberhottie said as he took his seat behind you, “but Seggy over here screams like a baby,” he laughed.

“Jordie,” short beard countered, “hates water so please make sure he falls off,” he laughed.

The guide pushed the raft onto the river and, would you look at that, off you went. Before reaching the first rapid, the guide told you stories about the river, its history, and why they named the rapids as such. Apparently, this first one was called ‘The Cow’ because the rapids are caused by a big rock that resembled one.

Weird accent sniggered, “maybe you should rename it to Jamie,” he joked.

You felt someone lean over your shoulder, “Jamie looks like a cow,” lumberhottie laughed, his beard touching the back of your neck.

You chuckled, “I’m not sure it’s fine to call your friend that.”

He sniggered, his breath fanning your ear, “I’m his older brother,” he shrugged, “I’m sure I can call him whatever I want and be able to get away with it.”

The first four rapids went by easily, but by the eighth one, your friend looked at you and groaned, “as much as this is fun, rowing is hard as fuuuuck,” she looked at you pointedly, “next time you drag me in one of your gym sessions, please remind me of this moment in my life if I refuse.”

You nodded, laughing at her, “I heard rowing slowly helps you stay inside the raft so,” you shrugged.

She snorted, “oh but you’re gonna fall.”

And fall you did.

It happened on the tenth rapid. It wasn’t even an exciting one, it was one of those sudden drop rapids and you forgot to tuck your feet under the protective thingy they had on the raft so yes, one second you were rowing and the next, you were floating beside the raft and a rope was thrown to you.

Your head bobbed out of the water fast enough to catch lumberhottie pulling the rope. When you were finally parked by the raft, he smiled down at you, “first blood, eh.”

You grinned, “I actually meant to fall.”

“Oh yeah?” he laughed, gesturing for you to turn around so you can haul you in.

You smiled, “yeah, I have a thing for spontaneously making a fool of myself,” you gripped the edge of the raft, “and it’s fine, I can probably get up by myself,” you know you can’t but whatever, you’re self conscious, “you don’t have to haul me in, I’m heavy,” you gave him an awkward smile.

He didn’t answer that. Instead, he reached for you and hauled you into the raft with just one arm.

Holy Lord Jesus.

This guy will be the death of you.

You probably looked like a fish out of the water, mouth opening and closing as you stared at him, shocked by his absolute strength, with water dripping down your hair.

Lumberhottie smiled at you, “not heavy at all.”

You nodded at him, eyes still wide, “I,” you stammered, “I see.”

And then, as if it was his duty to stop the magic, short beard lightly kicked lumberhottie’s shin, “less flirting and more rowing, don’t you think?” he laughed before looking at you, “you can stroke his beard all you want later.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “watch me not help you when you fall,” you teased.

He winked at your friend, “I have her for that,” he told you before angling his paddle back in the water.

You turned back and smiled at lumberhottie, “thanks.”

He gripped both your shoulders and shifted you until you were facing forward once again, “thank me later after your third fall,” he sniggered.

You wanted to say something flirty back but a sudden yelp from behind you stopped you and the big splash that followed almost brought you to tears.

Lumberhottie fell off the raft.

It took just one second before his helmeted head broke the surface of the water, glaring at sad eyes, “fuck you.”

Sad eyes just gave a silent grin and told the guide, “we can go now.”

Weird accent even waved his hand, “au revoir, Jordie,” he laughed, “have fun with the leeches and the eels.”

Lumberhottie turned even paler than he already was. He rested both hands on the edge of the raft and tried to push himself up but to no avail. He only managed to bend the raft but not lift himself.

You offered your useless arm, “need help?”

“Don’t!” short beard stopped you, “let him panic for a while,” he laughed.

Sad eyes agreed, “for all your toughness, you look pretty freaked right now, brother,” he sniggered, “you need me to call mom?” he asked, “maybe Jenny can fly out,” he cackled.

You rolled your eyes and offered your hand again, “I’m still offering,” you told lumberhottie, “you look terrified.”

He cringed, “I don’t like the thought of leeches,” he laughed before looking at the guide who was pretty much laughing with the rest of the jocks.

You shook your hand in front of him again, “come on.”

He shook his head, “you can’t bear my weight,” he laughed, “your arm is as big as my finger.”

“Well,” you rolled your eyes, “thank you for that boost in confidence,” you teased him.

When it seemed that no one was going to help him, lumberhottie finally took your offer and held his hand out for you to grab.

Except you weren’t expecting how heavy he would be and you ended up just flat on your ass instead.

You gave him an apologetic smile, “I tried?”

He chuckled, gripping the edges of the raft once again, “thanks,” he said before focusing on hauling himself up.

Weird accent finally took pity and brought lumberhottie in, patting him on the back once he was seated, “check you swim trunks, Jo,” he said, “you don’t want those leeches blowing you,” he sniggered.

You snorted at that. These friends are hilarious.

Before you went back to rowing, lumberhottie tapped your shoulder, “hey,” he said when you turned to face him, “at least you took it better when you fell,” he grinned.

You raised your right palm, “I promise to never mention your fear of leeches ever again,” you giggled, “even if you somehow fall again later on.”

He smiled wider, “thanks.”

You smiled back, “thanks to you too,” you offered, “I’m sorry I can’t repay you by pulling you in as well.”

He shrugged, “you can repay me by telling me your name.”

You laughed at that before sobering up and introducing yourself to him, finally.

“Cool,” he said, smile still in place, “I’m Jordie.”

The Daily Record published one of its better articles last night, one that has at least tried to get to the bottom of the SFA’s recent rash of dodgy decisions. They looked at the rule-book and what it actually says, and they came to the conclusion that the only thing that changed with regards to what’s in there is that Daryl Broadfoot claims new guidance has been issued by UEFA, guidance which, however, is not yet part of the laws of the game.

You know what people say about a verbal contract, right?

Not worth the paper it’s written on.

I have a particularly hard time with the notion that the laws of the game should be interpreted through the prism of something that’s not in the statute books.

Broadfoot said the “guidance” which was given them in the summer comes down to this; “The difference between a cautionable offence ‘reckless’ and a red card for violent conduct is disregard for an opponent’s safety versus endangering that opponent.”

When I was working in the care sector, I once got into an argument with a day-shift member who thought we folks on nights weren’t doing enough. We were told to have people up and dressed and in front of the telly before the day-shift crew arrived for work.

Since my shift finished at 8:00 am I found this more than a little suspect.

“If this is a change of policy,” I said, “I want to see the written order to that effect. With the manager’s name underneath it. Signed. And dated.”

Needless to say, I never did get such a written instruction, and so I continued to go by what was in the book in front of me, which said no such thing. The day shift continued to moan. I continued not to care; I was there to serve the clients, not to make sure they had an easy time.

The issue now boils down to what constitutes “reckless” conduct and what constitutes “violent” conduct, and that itself should be eminently straightforward, except that there’s now some sort of ludicrous “confusion” – exploitable confusion, as you can probably gather – about what the term “violent conduct” actually means.

It’s in the eye of the beholder apparently.

The SFA rule book definition of reckless is, “when a player acts with disregard to the danger to, or consequences for, an opponent and must be cautioned.” And if that means nothing then the section on violent conduct means even less; “when a player uses or attempts to use excessive force or brutality against an opponent when not challenging for the ball, or against a team-mate, team official, match official, spectator or any other person, regardless of whether contact is made”.

They are now being urged to interpret kicks as “reckless” rather than “violent.”

Elbows will be interpreted the same way.

We are the only country in Europe where a kick at an opponent, especially off the ball, would not be interpreted as violent conduct. The idea that it takes some act of absolute “brutality” before a red-card can be issued is contrary to everything we understand about football. It is a joke.

Does a player really have to break another’s leg now for the right colour of card to come out?

This is, as many of us have already said, total freedom for players to see how much they can get away with and for managers to send them out to do the opposition, safe behind these screwed up regulations. And in the absence of seeing anything written down we have no way of knowing if this is even the way it’s supposed to be.

The national sport has ceased to be football; they’ve turned it into Rollerball overnight, and the only sign that anything has changed – incredibly, or perhaps not – are Morelos, Naismith and McGregor getting away with blatant acts of neddishness.

If you didn’t know what linked them, you might even miss the implicit message in it; that message is sadly all too clear to us; this is our quest for eight-in-a-row after all. Operation: Stop The Ten is in full swing. The SFA has just licensed thuggery in the name of halting us.

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