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hardygalwrites · 3 years

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Cartoon: Transformers Prime

Characters: Smokescreen and Megatron, with flashback appearances from Prowl, Alpha Trion, and Team Prime

Synopsis: There’s nothing in the dark. Absolutely nothing. It’s freaky, and it sucks, but it’s preferable to letting Megatron get his servos on that information contained within the memories that keep on replacing the darkness. Just keep running. It sucks, but staying in the dark means keeping Megatron in the dark.

Right?

Note: Originally published on FFN early in 2018. Set during Season 2, Episode 23: Inside Job

—

The library was one of his favourite places in the Hall. When he wasn't in the outside courtyard, looking for any sign of what was going on beyond the Hall, he was inside the library, reading or studying some piece of lore or history. Or, occasionally, he would just be in the library to be in the library. It was quiet, but not in a bad way, and he could usually count on being alone in there. So, optics closed and servos clenched, Smokescreen just focused on steadying his venting.

There was a thought that kept on pulling at the back of his processor, asking why he was there, stating that something wasn't quite right, but he just had to ignore it. Chances were, he'd simply gotten into another argument with one of the perimeter guards and had finally lost his cool. The thought was strangely comforting, and Smokescreen let himself relax.

"The Hall of Records."

His vents hitched, and his optics snapped open.

"I do not think I have been here since Orion Pax still held his position as an archivist."

The voice echoed through the library, low, calm, yet shaking the Hall to its very foundations and rattling Smokescreen down to his protoform. His vents were beginning to pick up again, and Smokescreen turned every which way, searching every corner, every aisle, for the source of the thunderous voice.

"You're not supposed to be here!"

"I was not aware you knew anything about the Hall," the voice continued calmly, easily drowning out the echoes of Smokescreen's comparably more pathetic shout. "But no matter. There is only one thing you know that matters to me."

Smokescreen's doorwings stiffened. He spun around and looked up, optics widening. Standing there, much, much larger than Smokescreen remembered, was Megatron.

"The identical relics. What are their function?"

"Frag off!" Smokescreen turned and ran, out through the library doors and into a landscape of inky blackness.

There was nothing out there. No light, no sound, nothing. He could see his servos as he ran. He could hear his swift pedesteps and sharp vents, but it all seemed muted, as though the landscape sought to swallow anything that brought some form of tangibility to it.

A short, scathing scoff filled Smokescreen's audial receptors. "Futile."

Megatron's voice wasn't muted. If anything, the massless, shapeless world of nothing only seemed to amplify Megatron's voice, accepting it as the only other tangible thing to be contained within and giving unwanted company to a solitary bot, running from nothing, through nothing, to nothing.

"Your thoughts are mine to uncover. Nothing you want hidden can be hidden from me."

That was a challenge. Smokescreen slowed down, turning back to shout defiantly into the darkness. "Try me, bucket-helm!"

"Shhhh!"

Smokescreen glanced at his fellow guard, doorwings dipping.

"Sorry," he muttered, then looked back into the locked hall, optics continuing to examine every relic.

As he studied a certain relic that looked like an oversized key, he asked, "Hey, d'you think I could maybe, y'know...?"

The other guard scoffed. "Kid, your job's to keep an optic on Alpha Trion. Unless he decides to enter the relic hall, you're not going anywhere near this place. Which reminds me - why the slag aren't you at your post?"

"You were bodyguard to the master archivist."

Smokescreen turned sharply to see the massive form of Megatron standing right behind him. He stumbled back in alarm, and within the blink of an optic, he was back in the world of nothingness.

"Clearly you failed your duty," Megatron said, almost conversationally.

Smokescreen didn't have time to be offended or stung by the comment. He turned and continued running. Just focus on running, he thought to himself. Just running. Running through the blackness. Running to escape anymore memories–

Running up to another podium, where that large, key-like thing floated in its display field.

"And what's this one?" he asked eagerly.

"A secret," Alpha Trion replied with a small smile.

Smokescreen pulled back from the podium, not sure whether or not to be laughing, protesting, or disappointed. "Seriously?"

"There are many secrets contained within the Hall," Alpha Trion said calmly, walking along past his bodyguard. "This relic being one of them. Perhaps, someday, I will reveal these secrets to you."

"All right." He trotted after Alpha Trion and slowed to the old bot's pace. "...Maybe we could have, like, a secret revealing schedule of some kind?"

"These secrets must have been revealed to you."

Smokescreen stumbled and fell, back in the world of blackness. "What's happening?" he gasped, clutching his helm.

Heavy pedesteps approached from behind. "I told you, everything you know is mine to uncover, whether you try to run from it or not."

Smokescreen scrambled to his pedes and turned, back-stepping as he–

Spread his servo dramatically towards the next relic. "And this one's..." He paused, glancing at the key-shaped relic. "Actually, I still have no clue what this one is. Yet. Alpha Trion's still all hush-hush about it."

"So, he doesn't trust you with everything."

Smokescreen's doorwings lowered a bit. "No- but I trust him," he added quickly. "I'm sure he has a reason for hidin' some stuff. He'll tell me some time. I mean, Alpha Trion still does trust me."

"I should hope so," his companion said with a small scoff. "You're doing something wrong if he doesn't."

Tour forgotten, Smokescreen finally asked what had been on his processor for awhile. "Why're you here, Prowl?"

"What do you mean–"

"Stop!" Smokescreen practically screamed into the darkness as the memory gave way to it, servos once again clasping the sides of his helm. "Get out of my head!"

A sigh filled Smokescreen's audial receptors. "Your attempts to fight, while still futile, are beginning to annoy me."

Smokescreen shook his helm and resumed his run through the darkness.

"Perhaps I should occupy you with something else."

That didn't sound good, but Smokescreen didn't slow his pace. He kept running–

Only for that rough servo to shove him back again. "Slaggit, kid, I said stay back!"

Smokescreen could still hear that one mech he could never remember the name of, screaming as though his legs had been blown off. Slag, maybe they had! Smokescreen didn't know, and it was freaking him out!

Ever adept at keeping his pedes, the adolescent sparkling kept trotting after the squad of frantic bots. "But isn't there anything I can do t' help–?"

"No, you can't do anything, slaggit!" the last bot in the procession snapped, glaring down at Smokescreen. "Now stay back!"

Another shove, and this time Smokescreen fell back onto his skidplate. Doorwings drooping, the adolescent sparkling watched as the bots disappeared down the hall. His spark was writhing in turbulent emotions, Smokescreen had to remind himself that "soldiers don't cry."

"Smokescreen." That was Prowl.

Fighting back the lubricant building up in his optics, Smokescreen got to his pedes and turned to look–

Out the window, optics wide as he watched one of the buildings at the farthest edge of Iacon collapse in a mass of smoke.

Another movement, much closer this time, caught his optic, and Smokescreen looked down to see one of the officers racing across the courtyard to where their commander was issuing orders to a few of the perimeter guards. The commander stopped as soon as the officer ran up to him. As he listened to the officer's report, the commander's faceplates became weary. He turned away, pinching the area between his optics. The remaining perimeter guards muttered to each other.

Optics still wide, Smokescreen looked back towards the far edge of the city. That building was gone, leaving only a pillar of smoke to distract from the otherwise serene cityscape that was Iacon.

All the turbulent emotions that had been building up in Smokescreen since he had received his assignment that that morning finally came out, and he slammed his servos against either side of the window frame with a yell–

But his voice was instantly lost in the stifling hum of the ship's engines.

This only angered Smokescreen more.

Again he pulled forcefully at his bonds, and again he was punished with a sharp pain in his shoulder joints and no give to the bonds whatsoever. Again he shouted his frustration into the halls, and again his voice was lost in the constant hum of the ship's engines. And then, just like that, Smokescreen deflated. He hung limply in his bonds, energy spent, frustration and anger vented, with only his unvented emotions for company.

What had he done wrong? He had been more than ready to fight the 'Cons when they'd attacked the Hall, and yet he was now their prisoner. And what about Alpha Trion? Primus, the mere thought of the old bot - whom Smokescreen had been ordered to protect - made Smokescreen's doorwings feel like they were curling in on themselves.

He had failed.

He had promised he would fight for the cause, he had been given orders, and he had failed.

Smokescreen's spark sank, and–

He looked at his servos helplessly. "I... I told Optimus I'd return with that key."

He could hear groundbridge popping up nearby, but Smokescreen was a little too lost in his own failure to pay any attention to it. In the midst of his dejection, Smokescreen could feel Bulkhead's heavy arm around his shoulders.

"Look, kid," the big bot said comfortingly. "Alpha Trion said we need all four keys–"

The world seemed to slow down. Alarm bells went off in Smokescreen's processor. Everything was a brief blur of colour and panic, and Smokescreen clasped both servos to his helm.

"No!"

In an instant, his cry was lost in the world of blackness. Except, the world seemed to have gained a little more life - Smokescreen was vaguely aware of many voices echoing around him, of his memories showing up as blurred images out of the corners of his optics, of the enormous form of Megatron perusing them like datapad entries. But he couldn't focus on any of that. Fighting the ache in his processor, Smokescreen stumbled forward.

Just keep running, he thought. If he just kept running...

He could see a door ahead. It looked like the door to the library.

Just keep running.

He quickened his pace, and within seconds, Smokescreen burst through the door, leaving the darkness, his memories, and the enormous warlord picking at them, behind.

He was standing in Prowl's old office. It wasn't the library, but it was enough for Smokescreen. Leaning both servos on the desk in front of him, Smokescreen closed his optics and focused on his venting.

"What was the message?"

Smokescreen opened his optics, doorwings perking up. Bulkhead? He turned, optics full of hope.

"It is paramount that we recover the final four Iacon relics."

And just like that, Smokescreen's doorwings dropped, along with his spark. That was Optimus's voice, coming from the other side of Prowl's office door, but...

"The Omega Keys."

Smokescreen's doorwings fell flat onto his backstruts. "Oh, no."

"Keys?" Arcee echoed questioningly.

"To what?" Ratchet asked.

"No!" Smokescreen burst through the office doors and found himself standing in the brightly lit Autobot base, watching as he and the rest of Team Prime looked up at their leader expectantly.

"To the regeneration of our home planet," Optimus declared.

That was it.

"No..."

Smokescreen felt as though the world had fallen out from underneath him.

"No..."

He stepped back from the scene, as though that would rewind and reset what had just happened.

"Oh, Primus..."

Heavy pedesteps shook the ground behind him. Smokescreen's servos clenched, and he turned on the giant form approaching from the shadows of the base.

"Now what?" Smokescreen snapped, quickly realizing he needed to control his vocalizer as it pitched slightly. "You're done, right? So get out of my head, and leave me alone!"

Still standing in the shadows, Megatron only released a thoughtful hum.

"Ugh, slag this!" Smokescreen punched a nearby wall.

All energy left his chassis, and he leaned quickly leaned against the wall he had just punched, processor a whirl of messy thoughts and spark a hotbed of writhing emotions.

He had failed.

He had tried. By Primus, he had tried. He had run, he had hid, he had tried to stay in the dark.

But he had failed.

What would the team say? What would Optimus say?

The thought sent a stab through Smokescreen's spark. Team Prime–

Gathered around their leader as he responded to Smokescreen's doubts.

"While I am unfamiliar with the lore of these Omega Keys," Optimus admitted. "Alpha Trion knew many secrets, and the Ancients possessed technology that has long been lost to what we consider 'modern science'–

"Whatever their function, this much is certain: we can not restore Cybertron without all four Omega Keys in our possession–

"The future of our home world depends on it."

#posting from THE ARCHIVES #my first Smokescreen centric fanfiction ^-^#he deserves more content #but maybe thats just my bias because he is one of my most favourite characters EVER #transformers #transformers prime #smokescreen #tfp smokescreen #megatron #tfp megatron #fanfiction #transformers fanfiction #HardyGal writes stuff #HardyGal writes fanfiction

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katukutataka · 3 years

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Riding on dat Little Nightmares High~~~

(Getting high with my baby~

Getting pie with my baby~)

[Gonna lie to my baby~ IM KIDDING! ]

Since a lot of pple theorize that Little Nightmares is running in a time loop for Mono and Six, it got me thinking about generalized time loop theories that are published in books, articles, and other academic level literatures. Plus in several other movies referring to anything with time. (I would know cuz I've written an English paper that discuss the concept of Time-Travel across various literatures, folklore in other countries, and movies. I got a passing grade for it!)

[Please note I havent researched if other fans already posted something akin to what im about to theorize so I apologize for that - literally writing this before I loose my thought! If u or someone u know has a similar theory, lemme know! Itd be cool to read or listen to wat other fans think!]

My idea is that within each time loop, there's gonna be some things different about the surroundings that were left behind from the previous versions of the characters -i.e. past! Mono and past!Six left something (an item placed somewhere to be found; markings on walls; etc.) For their future selves to encounter in the next cycle.

It could taken as a warning for the characters to be aware of in an attempt to "change their fates designed" (Healing Incantation -Repunzel from Tangled). But no matter what , The Eye will always make sure that Mono and Six will befall to their roles as the Thin Man and The Lady, respectively.

I came to this speculation when I was watching some of GamerSault's YouTube videos about Little Nightmares theories - he included closeups of the world featured in both games and my brain couldn't help but come up with this theory.

Like I'm not specifically referring to the things like an escape rope or a latter or stool to be placed, but akin to the Collectibles that players can find if they explore each area before moving on.

For example, Six finding the miniature porcelain figures of The Lady; Runaway Kid (RK) finding bottles and taking the messages (or pictures) inside. I associate Mono collecting hats from the other children who left them behind or he took from a dead kid - seriously, the boy stole the yellow rain cap from a dead kid trapped in one of The Hunter's cages.

But I do think the Remote Controller Mono finds could be one of those items that his past self placed for him to use. Especially a working Remote Controller in the Pale City that's been warped, distorted, and transformed its inhabitants into hostile Viewers.

U might be thinking that the Thin Man (past!Mono) placed it there or perhaps it was The Eye who did it - either way, the Remote Controller is an item for Mono in the current loop to find and use. Or the Remote just happened to be there and Mono assumed it'd work...for ALL of the TVs in the city...

Realistically, TVs have a specifically remote model that will only work for that screen (unless u get a replacement, then sure). But to use a remote for ALL of the working TVs? Hmm, realm of Little Nightmares where normal logic is warped to fit its cause. Then again, all of the TVs are of the same model so that can be a factor too.

Anyway! It's possible that after the initial loop that Mono as Thin Man found or constructed the Remote that'll work across all screens. If it was The Eye who left it for Mono as a child to find it, then that's that.

Personally, I'd think that Thin Man would leave clues for the next version to find in an attempt to break it. But like I said, The Eye will always make sure that things will go as it's been "fated."

Don't mean he can't try!

As for Six...well, I have something different for her.

I read a post -i cant remember where cuz it was sooooo long ago- about having moments of Deja Vu. From what I remember of the post, one of the reasons u get the sense uve done something vividly the same despite doing it FOR THE 1ST TIME is cuz another version of u has already done it in a previous loop. I believe it does mention the Multi-universe /parallel universe theme too.

I link that with Six's memories - she cant remember but she knows she's seen some terrible things. I can see the logic that she or Shadow!Six is suppressing her memories -defense mechanism, wants to rid them, or that's just how The Eye intends to happen for her.

I watched "Six Lost Memories | Animation " by Pol on YouTube, and it showed that while Six was eating, her eyes were dull, void of anything until Shadow!Six disappears. The light returns to Six eyes and she's hit by a sequence of memories of LN2. Poor girl was crying when she remembered Mono. (Give the girl a hug damnit!)

So how does that relate? I think that every new cycle erases Six's memories, which may explain her amnesia. However, she know she's seen terrible things becuz she felt a sense of deja vu. U can counter with herself or Shadow!Six suppressing them and I can see that possible too.

Unlike the Thin Man, The Lady may not leave hints for Six to find. It could she tried at first -hence the porcelain figures and the sheer amount of music boxes found in LN- but soon gave up after however many cycles she passed thru. It's possible that Six, as she grows up to become The Lady, accepted her fate, her role.

That's all for this post! Lemme know wat yall think!

#little nightmares #little nightmares 2 #mono #six #mono and six #thin man #the lady #time loop #time loop theory

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ardenttheories · 4 years

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Noticed you have a post about K8 that's mainly homestuck discourse focused so uhhh here's a whole ass Google Doc. on some of the bad shit she's done publically that isn't directly Homestuck-related. Might be useful if you wanna link or add it to the og post but idk (docs. google. com/ document/d/ 1nA1Wlf_5PiNrsyIgtJ370xF8cmlrvLwQ1IOu2VdWIqE)

This is brilliant - thank you so much!!

For those of you who want to read this - which I seriously encourage you to do - here is the non-chopped up link: docs.google.com/document/d/1nA1Wlf_5PiNrsyIgtJ370xF8cmlrvLwQ1IOu2VdWIqE.

This link also goes into detail about each point, which is why I recommend the read. However, for those of you who would rather just know the main points:

- Points out that Kate was extremely upset/defensive over people wanting the official Homestuck Twitter to publically support/boost BLM, going on a complete cursefest at someone who is supposedly a minor

- Frequently talks about how she’s going out to protest as if this somehow gives her brownie points, while also utterly dismissing anyone who isn’t protesting (but may still be donating/boosting information). Very set idea of what “Real Activism” is on a race issue is despite being white.

- Has been racist to POC in the past and frequently talks over them, then relies on her transness to somehow slip her out of hot water (often by citing transmisogyny as the reason to why she’s being attacked). Includes additional sources from BIPOC fans on how she’s racist.

- Focuses significantly more on herself and revolutionarism in BLM than actual black people, going so far as to comment that “neurotypicals... can’t even participate in the main battlefields of this revolution”, despite it actively being a race-related issue and therefore perfectly acceptable for neurotypicals to get involved (especially, unsurprisingly, neurotypical POC).

- Goes into more detail about the frequent misgendering of Charlotte Clymer, and how Kate sees her as a CIA conspiracy where Charlotte is actually a cis woman, for some reason.

- Controversy surrounding Kate’s role as the Wasington D.C. Overwatch League manager, scamming players and providing jobs that straight up did not exist.

- More evidence on the supposed “doxxing” of Kate, where it turns out that she’s willingly provided literally all of her information - including where she lives, her phone number, and her email - because she ran for both WA delegate and a Commissioner position, both of which are public offices. In other words, it quite literally is not doxxing because it’s information she willingly provided while running as a public figure. (Though I will again state that you should never do anything harmful with information that public figures provide, no matter how shitty they are.)

She has no right to claim that it’s HS fans comitting illegal activities. It’s quite literally not.

- Has associated anti ideology with TERFs (which, if you don’t know what antis are; they’re typically people against pedophilia and incest in ficiton. She quite literally claims that people who are against pedophilia and incest are “indistinguishable” from Trans Exclusatory Radical Feminists).

- Has actively preyed upon an underaged nonbinary person with the claim that she was helping them escape from an abusive family during her time in the SCP fandom

- Goes into more detail about her posting nudes on her Twitter account, which is open to minors, without any vetting process to ensure that minors could not access the content, with the addition that her Twitter isn’t at all catalogued as a NSFW or 18+ account, meaning that minors had no prior warning to this drop

- Additionally shows that a minor DID buy her nudes, which is part of the fucking problem

- Harrassed fans who expressed discomfort towards the publishing of her nudes on a public, non-18+ locked account - of which both adult and underaged fans had issues

- Has allegedly been involved with/supported known abusers (of which crimes also include sexual assault, attempter murder, slander, and gaslighting), all of whom seem to be transfem (which, remember that I said Kate defending Vriska as non-abusive because she’s transfem is really fucking bad, and how that reflects into her real-world beliefs? Yeah. Kate either seems to think that transwomen are incapable of being abusive, or quite literally does not care what crimes a transwoman committs)

- Provides evidence that Kate frequently deletes social media accounts and changes URLs to avoid lashback to the shitty things she does, and especially when she’s moving into a new fandom (supposedly, I would think, to ensure that nobody knows that she’s the same person so she isn’t immedaitely called out on her shit).

I think it’s fairly safe to say, at this point, that Kate is a toxic person to have in any fandom. Not just in regards to what she’s done specifically to Homestuck, but her personal views, her actions, and the things she’s done in previous fandoms that she continues to repeat. Why she’s still being given a platform at this point, I’ll never fucking know - but unless she changes, and changes soon, there’s no reason that she should have any role in any fandom that gives her a voice and authority.

#ardenttheories #homestuck^2 #homestuck^2 critical #Anonymous

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snowdice · 4 years

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Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 29]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

I’m giving myself the night off schoolwork and going to catch up on some editing and other stuff. So, let’s have fun with the babies!

Over the course of the next three days of Virgil’s captivity, Virgil would come to the conclusion that his captors were idiots.

This thought flickered to life once again as Logan leaned into the closet to point out another constellation on the ceiling, tottering unstably on his knees as his weight shifted forward and distracted by his enthusiasm.

They were alone in the prince’s room. Patton had left only a few minutes before to help his mother in the kitchen (less because she needed help and more to not make her suspicious about why he’d spent so much time away in the last few days).

He wouldn’t be back for a while and Virgil had full mobility in the closet. With Logan leaning over the threshold like that, it would be easy to kill him or even just incapacitate him. One rough yank on his arm would have him completely in the closet. Virgil had no question that he could pin him down so he couldn’t activate the restraints, and even if he managed to do so, he’d have been drawn close enough that Virgil could use his legs. He could either force him to take off the cuffs or, since they automatically went to the second setting when he left the closet, just deal with it until he managed to get away.

It would just be so easy. Yet, he did not. He just watched Logan as he leaned stupidly over an assassin while info dumping about stars.

This was the first day that he hadn’t felt at all tired when he’d drank the provided nutrition and healing potion, though it had never affected him quite as much as it had the first day. Logan said that meant that his injuries must be healed. It was a weird feeling. He didn’t remember when the last time was that he wasn’t damaged in some way. Even before his grueling training, there’d always been bullies at the orphanage and he’d been the youngest and smallest in his age group.

He was also more well rested and fed than he had been in as long as he could remember. He felt better then he knew was possible today, and he suspected that he would only feel better after a bit more time under their care.

He told himself that is why he didn’t lash out now. He was waiting until he was as strong as possible to make sure his escape went as well as it could, even if it was a risk. They’d mentioned that the king would be gone for three weeks. After he returned, Virgil would surely be turned over to people much more capable of actually keeping him well trapped and less likely to feed him well, give him a nice place to sleep, and leave him without injury. It was a gamble to stay, because it was possible that he wouldn’t find another opportunity in time and would get handed over to his fate. Really, if he was being reasonable, he should get out now while he felt good and had a secured opportunity.

Still, he did not. He had not any of the times they’d given him the opportunity in the last few days. Logan finished his sentence and leaned back out of the closet to safety. He still was speaking though in that soft happy tone. Logan liked the stars. He liked to talk about the stars, and Virgil found he liked to listen to him. They tended to end up in this position whenever Patton was away, just talking as Virgil laid in his closet.

Eventually, Logan’s latest story tapered out. There was silence then for a few moments. Virgil stared up at the fake stars on the ceiling. The stars that Logan had made for him when he really did not have to. Virgil had not been expecting lights in the closet, let alone ones so beautiful and thoughtful. Not ones with stories behind them. Just days ago, if someone had told Virgil the prince would be keeping him in his closet for the next few weeks, Virgil wouldn’t have expected a blanket let alone all of this.

He turned his head to look at Logan. “What?” Logan asked.

“Your magic’s very beautiful,” Virgil said.

Logan seemed pleased by the complement, lighting up almost as much as the stars he made. “Well, it’s just a basic light spell,” he said, “though I did make some adjustments to them and the dimmer was a bit more difficult. Anyone could do it with practice.”

Virgil shook his head. “They’re special, I think,” he said. “Your magic’s different than most people.”

“How so?” Logan asked curiously.

“It’s gentle,” he said. “Gentle and warm, like eating the warm soup you fed me a couple of days ago.”

“And other people’s magic feels different?” he asked.

Virgil nodded. “I’ve met a lot of magic users, but it always felt bad. Usually it hurts or makes you feel sick or just makes you uncomfortable. Even healing magic always felt like bugs nibbling at my skin, but the potion you’ve been having me drink in the morning feels… safe. It doesn’t hurt or make me want to cry. It’s just good.”

“Magic often has much to do with the caster’s intentions,” Logan said.

“I think you could poison me gently.”

Logan made an odd expression. “That…” he said, nose scrunched. “That is a strange thing to say.”

Virgil cocked his head. “Is it?”

“Yes!” Logan said, shaking his head. “You are far too comfortable with the concept of death for your age.”

“I’m fourteen,” Virgil argued. “That’s old enough to be sent on missions without a blood compulsion!”

“…A what?” Logan asked.

“A blood compulsion,” Virgil said. “You know, with a multrum.” Logan was frowning at him. “One works in your gardens and you’re a prince. You had to at least have seen one or two. They take a bit of blood and multrums process it into a little bead. Then you’ve got to do what your told or it hurts a lot.”

“I know what a blood compulsion is,” Logan said. “I am simply wondering who would put one on a fourteen-year-old.”

“They don’t,” Virgil said. “They stop putting them on people when they turn fourteen.”

“And exactly what is the age range for it?” Logan asked. Virgil was almost startled by the way his tone was quickly hardening. He’d never heard him be that harsh even when he’d first woken up in his custody. It made Virgil tense up.

“They take kids usually when they’re about 8 and it’s a year of training before your sent on a mission so 9-13,” he said.

“That’s horrible,” Logan spat so violently that Virgil flinched. Logan didn’t seem to notice. “They force children to kill under a blood compulsion?”

“Well, no one really wants to do it without one when they’re that little. They get scared, and usually try to chicken out so…”

“So, they torture them unless they kill someone.”

“I mean… it’s not. They have to agree to the deal.”

“And if they don’t agree to it?” Logan asked.

Virgil thought back to the second time they’d made him get a blood compulsion. It had been with the multrum before Janus, a girl by the name of Alina. He’d made the mistake of hesitating on his first kill and faced the consequences before finally giving in and doing the job. When the second mission had come around, Virgil hadn’t wanted to accept the blood compulsion.

That had been the first time they’d made him drink a binding potion. Logan seemed to be able to get an idea about it by the look on his face.

“So, your options were to be tortured, be tortured in a different way, or murder someone.” Logan looked at him. “You said your fourteen. Have you ever even killed of your own volition?”

“I… no,” he admitted, but quickly added, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t. I know what I’m doing.”

“That explains a lot about your personality and reactions so far.”

Virgil rankled at that for some reason. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Logan just stared at him for a long moment. “What they did, what they are doing isn’t right you know?” he said.

Virgil blinked at him but said nothing. He became more and more uncomfortable in the silence that ensued.

“Would you like to learn more about magic?” he asked. “There are many uses other then to hurt. I can teach you a few basics if you like.”

Virgil was confused about the topic change but was relieved about it. “Uh,” he thought. “Sure. That would be… interesting.”

Logan smiled at him. “I’ll set up something and we can work with it in the next few days. What would you like to learn?”

“Um, I have no idea. What is there?”

Logan considered it for a moment. “We could do a hair color changing potion. Or perhaps a small protection charm or I can teach you to make fire shapes.”

“Protection charm,” Virgil said without hesitation.

Logan gave him a sad smile. “Of course. I’ll start showing you how to make them tomorrow and we can actually make some the next day.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed.

“Would you like to hear more about the stars?” he asked. Virgil nodded. He once again leaned into the closet to point and Virgil once again did not move to attack. Nor did he attack when that afternoon Patton turned his back on Virgil for far too long when they were alone. Nor did he when they settled him to bed once again in the closet. He told himself it was strategic, but he knew it wasn’t.

Chapter 12

Logan had needed to spend some time performing royal duties today which left Patton and Virgil alone after breakfast. Patton had started out trying to teach Virgil different board games. He’d seemed intrigued at first, but after a few games of checkers seemed to grow bored. Patton had gotten a blank stare when he’d asked if Virgil had any ideas about what to do for fun, so now he was trying to figure out something else they could do. He cast his eyes around at what Logan had in his bedroom.

“How about I read you a book?” he suggested.

Virgil seemed very intrigued by that idea. “Sure,” he said.

“Okay!” Patton said cheerfully. “He popped to his feet and glanced through the small shelf of fiction books Logan kept in his room. He decided to choose one of the lighter ones that Logan and he had liked to read when they were younger. “This one is called The Never-ending Garden,” Patton said. “It’s about a group of four children and their adventures in a garden. It’s full of magic and adventure and friendship! Is that alright with you?”

“It sounds good,” Virgil answered.

Patton happily walked back over to sit next to him. “It is!” he said.

First, he showed Virgil the picture on the cover of a wild looking garden with four kids roaming through it. One of the children was in a little red wagon being pulled by another one wearing a fancy hat. One of the others was walking, looking at a map while the last had a wooden sword. After giving Virgil a couple of moments too look at the picture, Patton cracked it open.

“We start with Lydia’s perspective,” Patton said. “She’s one of my favorites!” He pointed to a picture of a girl in a raincoat at the beginning of the chapter and Virgil leaned slightly closer to see. Then, Patton cleared his voice.

“It had been raining that day,” Patton began, “but Lydia had been so bored that she still begged her father to go out and play when the storm lightened into a sprinkle. He made her change from the yellow dress she had been wearing into the one she often used to help him garden because he knew she was certain to get herself muddy. Her younger brother Marcus asked if he could come too and though part of her wanted to say no because she wanted to explore on her own without her baby brother slowing her down, her father had taught her to be a good big sister, so she agreed to let him come.”

Patton watched Virgil out of the corner of his eye as he read about Lydia meeting up with the neighbor boy, Al, and the three children started to explore the garden in Lydia’s backyard. Virgil leaned in slightly to look at the pictures and listen to the story intently as the three children traveled deeper and deeper into the garden, but never made it to the back fence. They’d just made it to the part where they heard rustling behind the blackberry bush which Patton knew was the last main character, Melly, when Patton felt the need to adjust his posture a bit. Virgil moved in kind and ended up leaning further into Patton.

Without even really thinking about it, Patton brought his arm around to touch the top of his head. Virgil flinched the second Patton made content and Patton drew the hand away immediately. “Sorry,” he said with a wince. Patton was a naturally touching person and he’d been having trouble battling his instincts to cuddle everyone and everything while around Virgil, but he knew most touch was not welcome. The poor thing startled every time Patton went to touch him unannounced and even sometimes when he’d said something before doing it.

“I-it’s okay,” Virgil said.

Patton gave him a tight lipped smiled and turned back to the book.

He stilled a second later when Virgil leaned back in and their shoulders brushed. He blinked over at him. “Oh,” he said softly. “Do… do you want me to touch your hair?”

Virgil curled up into himself a little bit but then nodded.

“Okay,” Patton said. “I’m going to put my arm around you and do that then, okay?” He drew upon his years and years of convincing easily startled cats to allow him to give them pats as he slowly moved his arm back to where it had been before and gently touched the side of his head. He tensed, but didn’t startle this time, and so Patton gently ran his fingers through the hair a couple of times. Eventually, the tension bled out of him and he sort of slumped against Patton’s shoulder. Patton just barely restrained a coo before going back to reading. He continued to stroke the side of Virgil’s hair as he described the gang meeting up with Melly and them being told she was a fairy that lived in the garden.

He'd only gotten to the part about them finding the wagon when Virgil started to shift a bit uncomfortably, his neck craned in an awkward angle. Patton kept reading as he brought the hand in his hair down to his shoulder and pushed lightly. There was the slightest bit of resistance as Virgil didn’t know what he was trying to do, but then he allowed Patton to move him. Patton leaned back a bit and picked the book up off his lap before continuing to push him down. Virgil did not help at all, seeming confused about what was going on.

Patton had to poke him around until he was on his back laying across Patton’s lap. He grinned down at the boy who was looking at him in blatant bewilderment and propped the book up on his chest. He held it there with one of his hands and stretched the other out to resume messing with his hair. Virgil relaxed into the new position after a few minutes of reading, eyes shutting as he enjoyed the attention. His eyes would flicker open every time Patton moved to show him a picture, but other than that, he seemed content to not move.

Eventually, he stopped responding when Patton moved to show him the pictures.

“Are you asleep?” he asked quietly. When he didn’t get a response, he bookmarked the last picture Virgil had responded to, and then continued reading to himself.

Eventually, there was a knock at the door. It was the one he and Logan had decided on to tell the other one that it was just them and not to panic when the door opened. The door opened to Logan a moment later.

He paused, taking in the sight of the assassin sprawled across Patton’s lap like a sleepy kitten. He shook his head fondly and walked over to them on silent feet. He bent and pressed a hand to the top of Virgil’s hand. Virgil stirred just barely, but didn’t open his eyes, pressing into the touch a bit.

Logan smiled. “He wanted to learn how to make protection charms today. I assume you’d like to join us?” Patton perked up and nodded happily, making Logan chuckle softly. “I will go set it up then. Would you like another book for the time being?”

“Just the one I was reading last night would be nice,” Patton said.

“Of course.” Logan stepped away to grab it and handed it to him. Then, he disappeared into his potion’s lab. Patton smiled down at Virgil’s sleeping face and settled the new book onto his chest to replace the children’s book. He didn’t even stir.

Chapter 13

Logan was able to quickly set up the station for making protection charms. Patton had always liked making them, though he often used his more as fun accessories than for protection. The one he was going to show Virgil how to make was a very simple low level one used for little more than to keep bugs off of yourself and, in the event of a well made one, alert one to imminent danger by changing temperature. It was a nice thing to hold in the middle of the night if one was frightened by real or imagined threats. It would be warm to the touch when your environment was safe; he thought Virgil might appreciate it.

He and Patton decided to wait until Virgil woke up naturally which only took about 30 minutes. Then, Logan brought him to his set up supplies. He explained briefly the process for making a protection charm. “I will be the one performing the enchantment for today,” he told Virgil. “I will show you how to make your own later, but I thought seeing how to make them would help with the learning process.”

“Plus, it’s fun!” Patton said.

Logan flashed a smile at him. “And that as well. I’ve prepared a small number of possible pendants for you to choose from. You can choose the shape and color, then we will put on a custom engraving, as well as decorations.”

“Glitter! Glitter! Glitter! Glitter!”

“Yes, Patton, everyone knows you’re going to choose glitter,” Logan said, amused, “but why don’t we let Virgil decide for his own pendant?”

“Fine,” Patton said, “but mine will be glitter.”

Logan grabbed the box of blank pendants and offered it to Virgil. “Choose whichever one feels right,” he suggested. Virgil moved forward and looked over the box. “You can touch them,” Logan said. “In fact, I would suggest it as it is meant to be held when it’s done and you may as well get a feel for it.”

At his prompting, Virgil did. He reached into the box and shifted a few to the side. Eventually, he started picking a few up. “I like the crescent shape for holding the most he said,” holding a blue one up, but I don’t know.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Patton asked.

“Oh, um,” he mumbled. “I dunno.”

“Well here,” Patton said, reaching for the box. He dug through it and pulled out every single crescent moon shaped pendant and lined them up. “What do you fancy?”

Virgil considered them all for a long moment and then tentatively pointed the purple one out.

“Great!” Patton said. “Then, we’ll use that one.”

Virgil nodded and Patton picked up the pendant to drop it into his hands. His fingers curled over the shape and he seemed satisfied by the choice, so Logan turned to Patton. “Your turn,” he said.

Patton happily grabbed out a heart shaped blue one, but then paused and exchanged it for a purple one. “We match!” he said.

Virgil smiled slightly at his enthusiasm, and Logan dug out a blue crescent moon shape for himself. “Now that you have your base, you get to choose the engraving.” He opened up the instruction book to the correct page and showed it to him.

Virgil looked over the two pages of designs with carful focus. He wavered between the spiral sun and the flames for a moment, but eventually settled on the flames. Patton chose the interlocking hearts design as anticipated; it was his favorite, and Logan chose the spiral sun design for himself.

“Now, I’m going to engrave this design onto yours,” Logan said getting out the thin pen like instrument and dipping it into the slightly glowing bottle of potion he’d set out. “In the meantime, Patton will show you what we have for decorations.”

He was careful to get the symbol as perfect as he could and then started on Patton’s. Patton apparently managed to corrupt the boy because both of them came back with brushes and glitter to add as decoration.

Logan shook his head and handed them their freshly engraved pendants. “Apply the glitter how you like,” Logan said, moving on to his own engraving. Once he was finished, he selected some glow in the dark paint to decorate his own.

Once he’d finished decorating his own pendant, Logan looked up. “Are you finished?” he asked.

“Yep!” Patton said, shoving his pendant at Logan while Virgil nodded. Virgil had been far less enthusiastic than Patton, having carefully brushed glitter into the flame design only whereas Patton had haphazardly covered his own all over with glitter. Logan took both pendants.

“This,” Logan said, bringing over a different potion, “is used to make sure the decorations never fall off. It basically allows the other substances to become a part of the stone. “It isn’t too dangerous, but I’d suggest you stand back for the moment.”

Virgil stepped back farther back than was strictly necessary and gave the potion bottle a wary look. Logan moved all three pendants to the prepared surface (else they ran the risk of also getting stuck to the table) and put on gloves, having learned that magically gluing rocks to ones hands was not fun years ago. Then, he carefully drizzled a bit of the potion onto each rock. The rocks fizzled loudly, and Virgil gave off a startled yelp before toppling over flat on his face with his wrist glued to his sides.

“Oh no, honey,” Patton said immediately crouching next to him. “I’m sorry. We should have warned you about the noise.”

Logan wasn’t sure what type of action he’d tried to take when the sound started up, but whatever it was, it had caused him to move his arms fast enough that he’d activated the binding potion and it snapped his wrists to his side, overbalancing him.

Patton’s hands hovered over the startled boy, but he didn’t touch. After a few moments, it was clear that the magic keeping Virgil’s hands at his side released because his hands slowly crept forward to push himself up, so his face wasn’t planted against the ground. His eyes still looked incredibly startled.

“Are you alright?” Patton asked.

Virgil blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said.

Logan took his words as permission to move without risking startling him more. Virgil’s eyes bopped back and forth between him and Patton a few times as he crossed to his wall of potions and grabbed one.

He also selected a clean cloth from a basket on his way over to them. “A light healing potion,” Logan explained as he knelt in front of Virgil. He uncorked it. “May I?”

“I’m fine,” Virgil said with a frown. “I’m not even bleeding. It’s barely anything.”

“Which is why it’s a light healing potion,” Logan said. “You are sure to bruise with the way you hit. This will prevent it and make it stop hurting.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed after a moment. Logan dribbled a bit out onto the rag. After a moment of thought, he touched the damp part of the cloth with his own finger, just to quash any fears that it would harm him.

“It will tingle slightly,” Logan warned. Virgil tilted his face to let him dab it onto his nose and the light scrape on his face. His nose scrunched up and he moved to rub the sensation away quickly only to have his arms slam back to his sides.

Patton caught him so the sudden involuntary movement didn’t cause him to fall back, and then giggled when Virgil titled his head to what could only be described as pout back at him.

“Aw, poor thing,” Patton cooed, reaching forward to rub a hand across the top of his nose and then his forehead where the potion had been applied for him.

“Better?” Patton asked.

“You’re really bad at this being captors thing,” Virgil commenting, willingly leaning back into Patton. Patton just smiled happily.

Logan took the bottle and got to his feet, before returning it, and then glanced at the pendants as Patton helped Virgil to his feet. The pendants had stopped fizzing, so Logan felt okay reaching in and grabbing them all.

He handed both Patton and Virgil their pendants when they walked closer to the table.

“And now for the actual enchantment,” Logan said. “For today, I already prepared the potion up to the last step as it has to sit for a few hours, but I will show you the last step and eventually teach you everything if you are still interested.”

Virgil nodded, but said. “No more noises?”

Logan smiled. “No more noises,” he confirmed. Then he pushed forward all of the ingredients he was about to put in the pot for Virgil to study one by one before putting them each in it in the correct order. Then he demonstrated how to stir it correctly and told him how many times, though he doubted he’d be able to retain all of the information from this one demonstration. “There,” he said, setting down his spoon. “Now we just all put our pendants into the pot, and they should be ready in 25 minutes.”

Logan showed Virgil around his potion’s lab while they waited, explaining what certain pieces of equipment did and a bit about his organization system. Virgil followed him around, looking at the things he pointed out curiously. He, however, got very distracted when Logan showed him one of the experiments he’d concocted. It was a thick liquid that was super attracted to itself and would form a small ball that could be disturbed by touching it. He seemed to like the sensation of squishing it down onto a table… over and over and over again.

“We should get him a ball of yarn,” Patton said out of the corner of his mouth. He may have been enjoying watching Virgil play with the substance more than Virgil was enjoying playing with it himself. And that was saying something.

21984

Eventually, however, the pendants were finished, and he dragged Virgil away from his new toy to show him the finished product.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Is it supposed to be warm?” Virgil inquired.

“Yes,” Logan replied. “It’s temperature changes based on if the magic on it senses a threat or not. Warmer temperatures mean you are safe.

“Oh,” Virgil said softly, hand squeezing around it. “I like it.”

Logan found himself smiling. “I’m glad. It’s yours.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“If you would like, I’m sure Patton has some suggestions if you’d desire a way to keep it attached to your person. He in particular likes to make them into necklaces or clip them to his clothing.”

Virgil looked over at Patton and nodded shyly. Patton immediately perked up. “I’ll go get some supplies!” he said.

Chapter 14

“So then,” Patton was saying. “We ran to the stables.”

“We went to gazebo first,” Logan cut in.

“Right, we tried to go to the gazebo first,” Patton corrected, “but Mr. Deknis was over there tending to the tomatoes, and we knew he’d tell Mama the second he saw us. So, then we turned around and went to the stables.”

Virgil tilted his head, listening to the story Patton was telling. Patton was not the best storyteller. He tended to get lost in the middle and embellish, though Logan always corrected him. It was still very entertaining to watch though because he got incredibly animated. He’d even toppled himself over in excitement a couple of times.

Virgil squeezed the small pillow he had in his lap. He… wasn’t 100% sure what was going on. Logan and Patton had settled him on the blanket covered ground near Logan’s bed and proceeded to feed him snacks and talk about a lot of different things. It had started with them talking about what they’d done that day, and when Patton had made reference to something Virgil hadn’t understood, the two of them ended up talking about things from their childhood.

Virgil found himself entranced by their stories about playing in and running around the castle. It was all so different from what Virgil had experienced.

“…but, right as we were about to get to the ladder to climb up into the hay loft, Logan tripped!” Patton said, arms whipping around him. “He fell into a container of grain for the horses and it spilled all over the place. He tried to get up but grabbed the edge of the water trough and apparently it wasn’t very secure because it fell over and soaked him. So, then he was wet and covered in grain. He looked hilarious.”

“I did not!” Logan protested, but it did not sound like all of the other times he’d corrected Patton’s stories that night.

Patton looked over at him. “You did! You woke up the cute stable hand and he laughed himself silly at you, and by the time we got you even partially cleaned up, your dad had already found us. That’s how we got caught.”

“I have no recollection of these events,” Logan clearly lied, his cheeks a bit flushed.

“Liar,” Patton claimed. “You complained about picking grain out of your sheets for weeks.”

“No,” Logan growled.

“Yes! It’s okay. It was a good laugh.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed on him, and he looked pissed, but a second later, his expression lightened up. “You know what else was a ‘good laugh’?” he asked.

There was a second of silence before…

“Don’t you dare Logan.”

Logan looked him directly in the eye. “Patton was thirteen,” Logan started, but was interrupted the next moment when Patton lobbed a pillow at his head. Logan grabbed the pillow and leaned forward to smack Patton back with it. “He was thirteen and had just ‘discovered boys’ as his mother and my father called it when they attempted to explain his behavior to me. The focus of said ‘discovering’ at the time was the son of an ambassador from Lamir” who was staying for the summer, a seventeen-year-old boy by the name Bernardo.”

Virgil flinched back as Patton suddenly threw himself across the semicircle they’d made with their bodies to tackle Logan to the ground. He watched as they ineffectually wrestled on the ground for a few seconds before Logan, voice strained continued to speak, while battling Patton’s hands away from his mouth.

“Patton’s only knowledge about flirting… ow… at that point was laughing at everything someone said and touching their arms and shoulders.” Logan managed to flip himself onto his stomach which was a horrible move as far as Virgil was concerned. It put him at a disadvantage to get out of the pin. However, Patton just kept reaching for his mouth and didn’t bare down on his neck to try to cut off his oxygen like Virgil expected. So, perhaps it was a rational move. “Our parents were speaking leaving Patton, Bernardo, and I in the garden,” Logan mumbled into the ground. “Bernardo said something ‘funny’ and Patton went to slap his shoulder while laughing, but shoved too hard… Patton did you just lick my face?!”

“And I’ll do it again if you don’t shut up!” Patton threatened. That was a… weird fighting strategy.

Logan paused to consider his options. “He shoved Bernardo into the fountain and when Bernardo asked him why he did that, he ran away and wouldn’t talk to him the rest of the summer!” Logan rushed out.

Patton reached over and grabbed the nearest pillow, proceeding to whack him viciously in the back of the head. Logan was lucky the nearest object was a pillow and not something any sturdier. “It’s not funny!” Patton yelled, smacking him even more, which was when Virgil realized Logan was laughing despite the pinning and pillow pummeling. “It’s not!” Patton said. “I really liked him!!”

“He was seventeen!” Logan said. “It was never going to happen!”

Patton groaned and rolled off of Logan to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling. “But he had so many muscles,” Patton said. “He probably could have thrown me 10 yards.”

“And that is… a benefit?” Logan asked, rolling over onto his side to face him.

“You don’t. Get me.” Patton tilted his head to look at Virgil. “Anyway,” he said. “That is the story of how I died at 13.”

Virgil stared at him, and Patton’s forehead crinkled looking at him.

“Is something wrong, honey?” he asked.

“What was that?” Virgil asked.

“What was what?”

Virgil just blinked at him. Patton seemed to think for a moment.

“Oh, did you think we were fighting?” Patton asked. “Like, really fighting?”

“You weren’t fighting?” Virgil asked.

“No, sweetie,” Patton said. “We were just playing.” He popped up into a sitting position. “Well, play fighting, but emphasis on play!”

Virgil looked over at Logan for confirmation. “No one is harmed nor was there any intention to harm each other,” he assured.

Patton grabbed the pillow he’d been smacking Logan with. “Like this!” he said. “Bap.” Unlike how he’d smacked Logan ruthlessly, he basically just touched Virgil’s shoulder with it.

Virgil squinted at him.

“Bap!” Patton said again, smacking him again, this time with a little bit more force and on the cheek. Virgil’s nose scrunched up. “Pillow fight!”

“Pillow fight?”

“You try,” he said, pointing to the pillow in Virgil’s lap.

Virgil glanced down at the bands around his wrist. “Um…” he said. “I don’t think I can?”

“Oh, right,” Patton said with a frown. He bit his lip and glanced over at Logan. “Maybe…”

“Ill-advisable,” Logan said.

“But…” Patton said. “Pillow fight.”

“We would have to be very cautious and make sure there were no weapons in the area.”

“No weapons but pillows!”

“Fine,” Logan relented to whatever was going on. “Let’s clear the area.” Virgil watched them with mounting confusion as they removed everything within a few meters radius of him except for pillows and blankets.

“There!” Patton said after a minute. “All done!”

“What are you doing?” Virgil said.

“We’re going to have a pillow fight,” Patton said.

“But I…”

“We’ll temporarily allow your restraints to be in the third setting like when you’re in the closet.”

Were they serious? Were they stupid? Virgil could have killed them dozens of times with the second setting and now they were giving him even more range of motion?

“You have to promise not to try to hurt anyone though,” Patton said. Virgil stared at him dumbly, as Patton held out his pinky finger. “Pinky promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

Patton nodded solemnly. “We lock pinky fingers and make a promise. It’s the most binding promise in the universe.”

Virgil looked at his finger, confused. He’d never heard of that type of deal. “What kind of magic is it?”

“No magic,” Patton said. “Just friendship.” Virgil tilted his head but brought his hand up so Patton could twine their fingers together. “Now, promise you won’t hurt anyone.”

“I promise I won’t hurt anyone,” he said.

“It’s a deal!” said Patton, squeezing Virgil’s finger with his own briefly before drawing away. “I trust you.” Virgil felt a rush of something that was no type of magic he’d ever come into contact before but was definitely far more powerful.

Logan came over to them and waved his hand over the restraints on Virgil. They buzzed slightly and Virgil looked between them. “So, I just hit you with pillows?”

“Try not to hit too hard near the face, and Lo and I should probably take off our glasses before we start, but yeah,” Patton said, taking his glasses off as he said it. It was yet another foolish move on his part. “It’s fun, and it doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay…” Virgil said.

“I will demonstrate,” Logan said as he took a pillow and smacked Patton in the stomach.

“Hey! No fair!” Patton giggled. “We haven’t started yet!” This did not deter Logan however, as he continued to smack Patton with a pillow.

“On the contrary,” he said. “It has started, and we’re getting you first.”

“No,” Patton whined, but the way he crumpled to the ground under the onslaught seemed far too staged to make Virgil worry. He didn’t even try to curl up into a ball or to protect his head, just taking the hits and giggling.

Logan looked up at Virgil and motioned with his head. Virgil inched over and looked down at Patton. Logan slowed for a few moments. “Go on,” he urged.

Virgil bit his lip and reached forward to smack Patton lightly with his pillow which seemed to do nothing to him but renew his peels of giggles. From there, it was easy to continue. Logan picked up the pace of his strikes and he and Virgil proceeded to ‘fight’ Patton until he couldn’t breath through his laughter and pushed the pillows away, curling up on his side to recover.

23897

“No what?” Virgil asked when Patton sat up.

“Now I get vengeance!” Patton said, popping to his feet and smacking Logan in the face. “Help me Virgil!” So, Virgil turned on Logan and he and Patton gave the prince the same treatment. Then, because it was only fair, it was Virgil’s turn, though they were a lot more careful with him then they’d been with each other, and really Patton spent more of the time checking in on Virgil then actually hitting him with the pillow. It was nice. Fun. And when Virgil pushed them away, they pulled back. Then, it was Patton’s turn again and they went around teaming up on each other and sometimes just smacking at each other at random.

Eventually, they slowed, and all ended up laying near each other on the floor.

“Well, that made me hungry,” Patton said, sitting up and stretching. “I asked Mama to make us a bunch of mini sandwiches with different flavors. I’ll go get them.”

He hopped to his feet to walk over to where they’d stored the food earlier in those little glowing magical balls Logan had for food preservation.

Logan and Virgil sat up too, and Virgil offered him his wrists.

“Right,” Logan said with a blink. He made a motion and Virgil could feel the magic weighing down his hands once again. He’d almost forgotten, Virgil thought with an internal sigh. They’d given an assassin free range of motion, had a pillow fight with him, and almost forgotten to restrain him again. What was Virgil going to do with these idiots?

Chapter 15

Patton strolled up to the doors to the royal wing, his arms crossed casually around his middle.

Kalani raised an eyebrow as he approached and gave her the most innocent expression he could. “Whatcha got there, Pat?” she asked.

“Hmm?” he asked, as his sweater squirmed. “What do you mean?”

She considered him for a moment. “Well, I see nothing suspicious here,” she said. “Do you Owen?”

“Nothing,” he replied without hesitation.

Patton grinned at them both.

Kalani leaned in like she was going to tell him a secret. “Who is it?”

Patton made a show of glanced around like he was hiding it from anyone passing by. Then he shifted around to pull up just the bottom of his sweater.

A small black paw reached out from the depths of his sweater and swatted at the air.

“Ah, I see,” Kalani said, reaching out to touch the little paw. “Hello, Mittens.”

Patton giggled as Owen poked the cat’s stomach gently through the sweater, making her wiggle a bit and try to bite him.

“Well,” Patton said. “I better be off with my totally normal sweater.”

Kalani nodded and stepped to the side, and Patton was free to head down the hallway to Logan’s room. Patton knocked on the door with their new extra secret knock and Logan all but ripped open the door. “I’m late. I have to go,” he said, darting past Patton.

Patton smiled, happy that his plan to be running a little late to come watch Virgil had worked so well, even though he felt a little bit guilty about it. He hoped Logan wasn’t late to his meeting, but he also knew that if Logan had noticed Mittens, he wouldn’t have let her into the room.

Virgil was already out of the closet, sitting on one of the chairs. Patton came in and smiled at him. Unlike Logan, Virgil’s attention was immediately drawn to the oddly shaped lump in Patton’s sweater.

“You’re not very good at hiding things,” Virgil said.

“It worked on Logan,” Patton defended himself.

“Logan was about to rocket into space if you didn’t show up in 5 seconds,” Virgil pointed out. Patton just shrugged, and Virgil tilted his head. “What do you have?”

Patton grinned wide and carefully pulled Mittens out of his sweater. She did not resist this maneuver at all, simply purring. He held her up for Virgil to see. “Ta da!”

“A cat?” Virgil said.

“This is Mittens,” Patton said. He then turned to Mittens. “Mittens, this is Virgil. I thought I’d introduce the two of you!”

Virgil blinked at the cat. Mittens blinked back. Patton thought maybe he should have let them sniff each other from under a door before doing this.

He didn’t need to worry though, as Mittens started purring after a moment. “You can pet her,” Patton offered. Virgil looked up at him. “Just…” he said.

“She likes chin scratchies!” Patton prompted.

Virgil reached out a hand to scratch under her chin and that was the end of it. Mittens stretched out her chin happy to get the attention and Virgil’s eyes widened at how soft her fur was. It was a work of minutes before Virgil was sitting down on the floor and Mittens was happily kneading his thighs and spinning around in circles to make sure he pet every inch of her.

“I did not understand why people like cats,” Virgil commented. “All I’ve seen of cats is people coming back with bloody scratches from trying to pet them, so I never even tried.”

“Well,” Patton said. “Cats are just like people. If you’re nice to them, they’re more likely to be nice to you.”

Virgil’s hand paused briefly on the cat’s head, but then continued with the petting a moment later. Patton wondered what he was thinking about, but didn’t press.

“She seems to like you,” Patton said.

“Don’t know why.”

“Hey, don’t be mean.” Patton scolded.

Virgil hands jerked away from the cat he’d been petting and then were forced abruptly to his side in reaction. Mittens meowed, seemed very unhappy with the jostling as well as the sudden lack of petting.

“Sorry,” Virgil said, eyes wide. “What did I do wrong. I didn’t mean to be mean to her.”

It took Patton a moment to sus out what he was talking about and felt a pang in his chest when he did. “Oh, no honey. You didn’t do anything wrong. I meant don’t be mean to yourself.”

Virgil gave him a confused look. Mittens bumped her head against his chin and with a blink, he cautiously went back to petting her.

“Of course, she likes you sweetie, you’re a good boy.”

“I came here to kill the king. I’ve killed before.”

Patton smiled sadly. “I don’t think you ever wanted to,” he said. Virgil seemed to grow very interested in mitten’s ears. Patton scooted over so he was sitting beside him and carefully brought a hand up to touch the top of his head. Virgil sort of curled into him, pressing his face against Patton’s shoulder, but continuing to pet the cat.

“It’s fine. You’re going to be okay now,” Patton said softly.

Virgil shook his head against Patton’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Patton insisted. “You’ll be okay. You won’t have to go back.”

Virgil didn’t respond for a long moment. “You can’t keep me in Logan’s closet forever,” he said softly. “When his dad comes back, you’re going to have to turn me in.”

Well, that was true, but… “It’ll be okay. No one will hurt you.”

“The kings would be assassin?” Virgil asked skeptically.

“Thomas is nice. He’ll understand.”

“He’s nice to you. He’s nice to Logan. Maybe he’s even nice to the people he rules over, but what am I? An enemy assassin who would have slit his throat if I hadn’t gotten the wrong room.”

It…it did sound bad when he put it like that, but, but… “Thomas will understand,” he promised, hugging him tight. “He will, and we’ll keep you safe and I’ll introduce you to every single cat in the castle. In fact, we’ll get you a cat to keep as a pet if you want and he or she can snuggle you as much as you want. I’ll show you all around the gardens and introduce you to Mama and help you figure out what your favorite type of cookie is. You’ll never have to hurt anyone again and no one will ever hurt you again.”

Virgil drew away a bit and shot him a half smile. He clearly didn’t believe him, and it made Patton’s stomach twist a bit. Patton knew. He knew Thomas would be nice. There was no way he’d hurt Virgil. Virgil was just a kid and with Logan and Patton on his side, there was no way anything bad would happen to him. He could see it from Virgil’s perspective though.

“I like her feet,” Virgil said, touching Mittens’ little black paw that contrasted her otherwise white coat. Mittens purred and began kneading his legs again with those paws. “I’m guessing that’s why she’s named Mittens?”

“Yeah,” said Patton softly. “‘Cause she looks like she’s wearing mittens.” Virgil leaned forward to kiss her little head and that little action made Patton’s heart ache for him. He deserved so many kitten kisses. So many.

Patton was determined to make sure he got them.

#proofread stories #not writing

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25centsoda · 3 years

Text

An Unintended Side Effect 7/?

Before we get to the story, a note: This will be going on hiatus until January 9th when I’m done with the Winter Exchange Fic event, but I’ll be posting chapters up to this one on my AO3 account until then! Next Monday I’ll post a link to this story on AO3. Thanks for reading, and thanks to sorayume for reading over this before I published it!

Luke was determined to wrest more time off the drugs for himself. Vader wasn’t always able to sit with him while he ate in the mornings, and after several days without an escape attempt of any sort his father wasn’t watching him all that closely. How much trouble, after all, could he get into while he could barely focus on anything?

This mission, however, was simple enough to hold onto.

He was determined not to take anything Vader gave him, or ordered given to him, just to be safe. He’d get one of the officers or 501st to get him water if he really needed it. Try as Owen and Beru had, there’d been hard times a few seasons on the moisture farm. Luke knew what hunger and thirst were like; he’d be fine.

Rather than eat the breakfast that was delivered to him by a Stormtrooper, Luke waited until they left and flushed it down the ‘fresher, pouring the water down the sink. Then he went back to the couch in the main part of his rooms to wait for his father to retrieve him for the day, if he came. He was glad not to be falling asleep mid-morning again, but now that he didn’t have a fresh dose to pull him under again he was realizing there wasn’t much - or really anything - for him to do, unless he wanted to run through katas or other exercises, which would just make him miss food and water all the more.

It was going to be a long day.

-------

Unfortunately, his hunger strike didn’t make it that far. He was able to pull off a pretty convincing act, or at least he thought so, but Vader was not so easily fooled. It didn’t take the Dark Lord long to realize his son suddenly had a normal reaction time when an officer walked up to them on the bridge and Luke turned to look at the woman immediately.

Vader sighed. “Luke.”

“What?” Luke said, obstinate and refusing to look at his father.

“I know you have done something, my son. What did you do this time?”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything.”

It wasn’t technically a lie. Inaction, after all, wasn’t doing something.

“Luke.”

He caved. Over half a day without food or water (and the resultant headache) after weeks of being drugged made him ill prepared to fight, particularly if his father was going to resort to pressing on him with the Force like that.

But it was worth the try.

“Fine, I haven’t eaten or drank anything all day, happy?”

Addressing a nearby Stormtrooper, Vader said, “Get this boy water and a meal, immediately.” To his son, softer, “Sit down, I know you must be fatigued.”

Luke sighed, but sank gratefully onto the stool some technician scurried over with. “Thanks,” he murmured to the man, embarrassed. What the crew outside of the Stormtroopers that babysat him thought of his near-constant presence on the ship and his tendency to faint if he walked around for too long, Luke didn’t even want to know.

“Father,” he said, looking up at the Dark Lord, “can I at least eat somewhere else, that’s not in front of the entire bridge?”

Vader seemed for a moment like he would deny this request, but he caved pretty easily too, when Luke asked for things that weren’t release.

“Yes, but someone will have to watch you.”

When the Stormtrooper came back with a tray, Vader directed him to take it and Luke to the officer’s lounge and to ensure that he actually ate the food and drank the water, then to report back. Luke would be able to rejoin him or return to his rooms afterwards, if he wished.

Luke sulked as he picked at his food, electing mostly to drink the water in the hopes that he wouldn’t fall asleep immediately. The ‘trooper didn’t say anything, even though Luke recognized his Force signature as a guard he’d had often, and for that he was grateful. It’d be a week at least before his father even started to let down his guard again, if he ever did. Maybe Luke would let the next couple opportunities slide by, get Vader to think he was giving up.

Having eaten just enough to stave off the nausea of an empty stomach, he pushed the tray across the table. “Finished. Can I go back to my room now?”

“Are you sure, your highness? There’s still quite a lot left.”

Sighing, he took one more bite, then pushed the tray away again. “Yes. I’ll eat at dinner later, anyway.”

“Very well, sir.”

------

Unknown days later, Luke laid across the couch in his father’s office, head in Vader’s lap, eyes closed as he listened. Vader’s fingers carded through his hair. He hadn’t been let out of his sight unless necessary since the attempted hunger strike, and Luke didn’t bother to look for opportunities to try anything else. Information, however, was easier to come by, as his father took him to nearly every meeting. The main issue was paying attention when every distraction shattered his focus like glass.

“Supplies are good, sir, we shouldn’t even need to refuel for several cycles yet. Prisoners are scheduled to be transferred tomorrow.”

Prisoners? Transferred?

Luke fought to keep the frown off his face so his father wouldn’t know he was listening. Either he’d be sent out of the room or all the way to sleep if Vader found out.

“Good, Admiral. Dismissed.”

He felt the dark sun of his father’s attention turn to him as the hand stilled in his hair, but didn’t react.

“Luke,” the Dark Lord rumbled. “I know you are awake.”

“Mm, barely,” he lied, blinking his eyes open. “Was that Piett?”

“It was nothing of your concern, my son. Sleep.” Vader said, pushing the Force into the last word.

Luke fell into darkness.

-----

Midmorning, after Piett left with the empty breakfast tray to attend to something on the ship, Luke paced the main room of his suite, trying to hold onto the Force as long as he could before the drugs stole it away from him. Reaching out, he felt something odd; there was someone familiar on the ship, possibly multiple someones. He stopped dead in his tracks and gathered the tatters of his focus, trying to find the source of that feeling again. He felt the dark mass that was his father, but turned away; that wasn’t what had caught his attention.

Suddenly, he remembered what he’d overheard in Vader’s office the previous day.

Prisoner transfer.

It could be rebels!

Quickly, before the thought could slip away from him, Luke retrieved the bottle of antidote the Emperor gave him. It had been a while since he had last had it, although he couldn’t quite figure out the exact number of days, so it should be fine. He downed it, grimacing at the bitterness, then went back to the door out of his rooms.

Now how to get the door open…

Just as he thought that, mind still slow from weeks on the tranquilizer despite Palpatine’s antidote, the door slid open to reveal R2D2.

“Artoo?” Luke said, baffled.

R2 beeped excitedly and began rolling down the hallway, presumably expecting Luke to follow. Shaking himself again, he ran after the droid.

“How did you find me? What are you doing here? Who else is here?” he asked, catching up.

The astromech trilled and beeped, but he couldn’t quite parse out the binary. Something about the Princess and being glad to see him.

“Is Leia here?”

R2D2 didn’t answer, instead rolling up to the wall and connecting to the interface, doing something that closed off the hallway behind them. On the small screen next to him, words began scrolling.

“I SAW YOUR NAME IN THE DATABASE WHEN I RELEASED PRINCESS LEIA. WE WILL MEET HER AND LANDO CALRISSIAN IN THE HANGAR, CHEWBACCA IS WAITING IN THE FALCON.”

“Lando? Were you not able to go ahead with the plan to rescue Han?”

“I WILL EXPLAIN LATER. NOW WE MUST GO.”

With that, R2 disconnected from the wall and rolled away, continuing down the hallway. Luke followed.

Somehow, they didn’t run into any Stormtroopers. He had a bad feeling about that, but he forgot all about it when they reached the hangar and he saw his friend.

“Luke, is that you?” Leia cried, running to hug him. He caught her with an oof, laughing.

“Leia! Oh, I started to think I’d never see you again!”

“What happened to you, you’ve been missing for weeks!”

They separated from their hug but continued to hold hands. He glanced at the hallway behind them, still thankfully empty, but he could feel a bunch of ‘troopers headed their way.

“What are you waiting for, come on! Chewie’s gonna take off without you if you don’t hurry up!” Lando shouted, hanging out of the Falcon.

“Not now, we have to go. I’ll catch you up on the way.” Luke said, letting go of Leia’s hand.

As soon as they climbed up the ramp into the Falcon, rows of ‘troopers stormed into the hangar, the static of stun shots buzzing around them as the ramp closed. Within moments, however, they were off, without so much as a tractor beam holding them back.

Luke collapsed to the shouts of his friends the moment they entered hyperspace.

#an unintended side effect #fanfiction #fanfic #star wars #my writing #luke skywalker #darth vader #father #leia organa #r2d2 #aaaaaaand he's out #hope that works out for him #:)

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gazeopard · 4 years

Text

My Thoughts on Chapter 193

SPOILAHZ. Link: https://read-beastars.com/manga/beastars-chapter-193/ WHELP. I don’t know if I should be happy or terrified about that smile. That happy, squinty kitty smile... XD This is giving me some real-life serial killer vibes right now. Like, holy schtick. Melon keeps proving me wrong again and again. I thought he was gonna die, we ALL thought he was going to die with Yafya, but nope. XD Just... nope. I’m kind of curious about the fan-mail, as it’s giving me some Charles Manson and Ted Bundy vibes. Is it from Holger (pfft, imagining the sloth writing all those letters to Melon so Melon could pretend he has friends is depressing as fuck XD)? The people at the tattoo parlour he frequented? The guys working behind the Bloodbone drug? Members of the Ivory Tusk Trade? A new character (or characters)? The carnivores that hate Yafya? That last look on his face makes me think he’s getting some trick up his sleeve and he’s not done just yet. That something is going to go down in the future. I swear, if Melon evolves into an Overarching Villain, I will freak out. XD That would be freaking AWESOME, but that’s most likely just wishful thinking due to the anticlimactic ending this arc has gotten. The conclusion to the Revenge of the Love-Failure arc is very.... anticlimactic and rushed. The BAM is demolished, which I have mixed feelings about, as Louis stated a few chapters ago that “carnivores need meat”. When Louis said that it was necessary for carnivores to eat meat, I don’t think he meant destroying the BAM. I always thought that the Back-Alley Market was going to stay and the carnivores and herbivores were going to have to live with it, while fish meat and seafood were going to be included in the market as remedies or alternatives for carnivores that had cravings for herbivore flesh. But, I guess they're all just going to eat fish meat now? Yay? How did that not occur to them before? This sudden resolution feels like a Deus Ex Machina, and the sudden pacing of Chapters 192 and 193 make me wonder if Paru's editors or publishers are forcing her to rush it to move on. It's disappointing, because I was really invested in Melon's story, despite the arc's flaws. I was on board for most of the way and was very excited to see what happened after the end of Chapter 191, until Chapter 192 happened. The Revenge of the Love-Failure arc was all over the place, to say the least. It started off great, with Melon’s introduction and his clashes with Legoshi and his interactions with Haru, but after the game-quiz thing, it started getting crazy and a lot of things were left unresolved, like in my previous post. Legoshi’s fight with Melon was kind of anticlimactic and all over the place, and this ending has left plot-threads revolving around Melon hanging and unresolved. What was the point of introducing Melon’s father if they’re not going to meet at all? The guy might as well have just stayed dead if that was the case. And what happened to Melon’s ‘promise’ with Haru? It makes all their previous scenes together pointless. Unless Melon somehow breaks out of prison or his father decides to drop by and visit him, I can't see either happening. With Haru being the only animal that gave him the urge to eat for the first time in his life, I thought his promise with her was going to conclude with him kidnapping her and recovering his sense of taste after his fight with Legoshi. Even if Haru had changed her mind, it wouldn't have hurt to have had a brief scene where she'd tell him she changed her mind, only for Melon to try to kill her anyway. Kyuu’s betrayal also comes across as filler as well. Even if she did tell him Legoshi was using dentures, what was the point of that if Legoshi grew his teeth back anyway before Melon could use it to his advantage? The whole thing with Legoshi starving himself in preparation for the final fight didn’t really change anything, either. I remember people speculated that he was going to lose control and try to eat Melon and go feral, but nothing ever really came from it. From the way Ch. 191 ended, it looked like Gosha was going to get shot and I feel like having somebody (be it Yafya or Gosha) get wounded or die in that moment would've been very powerful, realistic, and would've risen the stakes higher. I thought Ch. 192 would open up to Legoshi and Yafya rushing to Gosha's side and Gosha was going to say some heartfelt words to both of them and die, Melon was going to see his killing of Legoshi's grandfather as an opportunity to goad Legoshi into killing him by harming more of his friends, like Louis or Haru. I thought he was going to escape with Louis, Louis was going to discover a kidnapped Haru, where we'd get a flashback chapter as to how and when Melon caught her, Louis was going to buy Melon some time until Legoshi got to them, Legoshi was going to turn up and, with Louis, fight Melon one last time. For something so unexpected and big like the death of Gosha to happen, it would've made Legoshi and Melon's animosities toward each other more personal, and it would've shown us that nobody is safe and anybody could die at any time much like in real-life. But for everybody to just survive at the end, and for everything to be just magically resolved like this, it all feels like a cop-out. And another thing... I wish Melon had had a bigger goal, or at least a warped vision of the society he wanted to achieve. I remember there was a theory on Reddit about Melon inspiring the carnivores of the Back-Alley Market to rise up in a civil-war against the city that was forcing them to hide away what they were, similar to what he did in the Turf-War scene (the one where he cut Dolph), and I was hoping something along the lines of that was going to happen. I suspected Melon was plotting something bigger and crazier than Yafya and the others were prepared for, and it was going to get crazier and crazier, forcing Legoshi and Louis to put a stop to it and their cooperation and efforts would earn them the titles of “Beastars”. That would've been an epic climax, but alas. If this is the end of the Love-Failure arc, I kinda hope this isn’t the end of Melon. I know some people are getting sick of him, but I kinda hope he’ll make a better-written comeback since his introductory arc was rather weak. But that’s probably just wishful thinking from me, as it does feel like the manga is reaching its conclusion. On a less depressing note, I think I’ll end this with.... a happy Melon. The Fruit-Boi may be behind bars, but the Fruit-Boi is behind bars with no fucks to give.

#beastars #writing #gazeopard's thoughts #melon #louis #juno #legoshi #manga spoilers #SPOILAHZ #happy leopard-boi ish happy #beastars manga #review??#rant? idk #gazeopard rambles #chapter 193 #whelp #at least Melon's not dead #I guess...?

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scotianostra · 4 years

Link

The following should maybe have been posted on August 24th, but it didn't flag up for me on that day so I am posting it today.

The Battle of Hadden Rig was a battle fought on August 24th 1542, except it wasn't really.

To explain this I have to tell you about how much of the dates in history from centuries past can be identified, in this instance it is down to the the feast day of Saint Bartholomew the Apostle, rather than post a date the chroniclers would merely say it was a certain saints day or so many days either side to whatever christian feast, The Battle of Hadden Rig was on St. Bartholomew's day, so the dates all correspond to them aye? Naw, because the calendars changed in 1752,

St. Bartholomew's day was originally on September 11th on the old style Julian calendar, nowadays the Catholic Church honours him on August 24th, oh and to muddy the waters a wee bit more Eastern Christianity observe June 11th to honour him. Wealso have the fact that the actual date September 11th in the Gregorian calendar actually corresponds to August 29th!!! So with that in mind I'll get on with telling you about Hadden Rig.

I think this little known battle is largely forgotten about is due to the numbers involved and the exact location being relatively unknown, I will post a link to this afterwards.

With Scotland now ruled by the young James V under the influence of his English mother, hopes for improved Anglo-Scottish relations were high. However, in 1534 Henry VIII broke the link between Rome and the English church appointing himself as its Supreme Head. Suppression of the Abbeys and plundering of the wealth of the church followed.

Such action was strongly opposed by James V who was heavily influenced by the staunchly Catholic and pro-French magnate Cardinal David Beaton. With Scotland resisting the English move towards religious reform, tensions between the two nations increased significantly. The death of Queen Margaret in 1541 removed the final impediment to war.

Henry VIII demanded that James meet him in York to discuss a religious settlement between the two nations but the Scottish King failed to attend. An English army then raided the Scottish borders under the Command of Robert Bowes.

The only real source for what happened is from the book "The History of the Wars in Scotland: From the Battle of the Grampian Hills In The Year 85, To The Battle Of Culloden In The Year 1746, which was first published in 1783, so a guid few years after the battle. This is directly from that book.

Henry of England, being disgusted at his nephew's connections with France, and ﬁnding that Henry of England, Francis had sufﬁcient employment at home, resolved to invade Scotland, both by sea and land.

He, ' appointed a very considerable army to rendezvous upon the borders, under the command of Sir Robert Bowes, one of his wardens, the Earl of Angus, and his brothers. James had nominated the Earl of Huntly to command his army on the borders, consisting of 10,000 men; and his lieutenant was Sir Walter Lindsay of Torphichen, who had seen a great deal of foreign service, and was esteemed an' excellent-ofﬁcer.

Huntly acquitted himself admirably Well in his commission, and was so well served by his spies, as to have certain intelligence that the English intended to surprise and burn Jedburgh and Kelso.

The English army, under Bowes and the Doug lases, continued still on the borders; and the Scottish nobility and gentry had resolved ’not to attack them on their own ground, nor to act offensively, unless their enemies invaded Scotland. Huntly being informed that the English had ad advanced, on the 24th of August, to a place called Haddonrig, and that they had destroyed a great part of“ the Scottish and debatable lands, resolved to engage them; and the English Were astonished when they saw the Scottish drawn up in order of battle about day-break. Neither party could now retreat without ﬁghting; and Torphichen, who led the van. consisting of 2000 of the best troops of Scotland, charged the enemy so furiously, that Huntly gained a complete and easy victory.

Above 2,000 of the English were killed, and 600 taken prisoner among whom Were their General Bowes, Sir William Mowbray, and about sixty of the most distinguished northern barons; the Earl of Angus escaped by the swiftness of his horse. The loss of the Scottish was so inconsiderable that it is not mentioned.

Of course Henry VIII was not to let this go and got his revenge in November at Solway Moss, more on that in Novembers post.

The link lets you know where we are in the understanding of the battle as of a couple of years ago, it calls into question the above account, although now mentioning it, it also asks questions about the location, and disputes the numbers.

https://www.thesouthernreporter.co.uk/news/mystery-over-whereabouts-stops-borders-battle-earning-bigger-place-history-708250#gsc.tab=0

#Scotland #scottish #battle #england #scottish borders #History

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isolaween · 5 years

Text

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

At 7 PM, all guests are waiting anxiously. Some are excited, others are nervous, but everyone wonders what will happen now. It's only been a few minutes since the lights went off, but it feels like an eternity.

And then... Golden butterflies, just like those idly flying around, begin to amass at the top of the staircase leading to the second floor. They form a true cloud, which dissolves to reveal none other than the silhouettes of tonight's noble hosts. They wear costumes inspired by 1980's fashion, just fitting for their own temporal origin. And as expected, they start the festivities with the most iconic sentence:

<"HAAAAAPPYYYYYY HALLOWEEEEEEN!!!! AAAAAAAND TRIIIIICK OOOOR TREEEEEEEEAT!!!!">

The lights turn on once again in a burst, as several magical figures, servants of the Ushiromiya family, pop into existence either on the staircase or floating above it, as they bright forth a wave of applause. The spotlights highlight the Golden Witch and the Endless Sorcerer the most, as the latter grabs a microphone to start their presentation.

"Good evening, Spirale City! I hope you folks are ready for a truly spooooky night, where the world of humans and the world of witches comes into contact with each other!"

Then, Beato took the microphone. "There is no need to be afraid, however. This is an once-a-year moment, where the grotesque, the weird, the supernatural, can exist freely, without being afraid of the limitations humans bring to them. This is a night of joy, after all."

"And speaking of limitations, that includes the temporal restrictions fashion imposes to us on a daily basis. This year's theme for our guests' costumes is a Chrono Celebration! No matter whether you came from ancient times or the most distant future, show off your time period's culture and style with pride! I hope to see many people joining this fun. Ihihi!"

"Of course, we wouldn't be so cruel to expel you if you choose to go for another path in your fun. But if you have even the tiiiiniest change of heart about it, check the rooms to the hall's right, where a costume room can be found. Alternatively, you could ask the makeup crew's assistance to make you look like a monstrous being straight from Hell! *Cackle**cackle**cackle*!!"

“Beato, please, we have children here.” He whispers to her ear, before coughing and returning his attention to the audience. “A-Anyway, that is not our only attraction! To your left, you’ll find the parlor, where a karaoke system is set up on the TV. Just ask Hieda no Akyuu (@ninthmiare), who is overseeing it, to help set you up and go have fun singing your lungs out with friends!”

A spotlight shone upon Akyuu over this mention of her, as it would do for any other person mentioned during their speech. “Of course, if you feel like that is too cheerful for a Halloween Party, you can just wait a bit later. Once we hit 11 PM, Akyuu will move to the dinner room, where a ghost story sharing session will start! Bring on your scariest tales, or read some of the material provided to us by a partner of ours-” Beatrice summons business cards for Owl’s Books to everyone’s hands, much like the cards present at the gift baskets, with info about all the partner businesses that collaborated with the party. “-for maximum fright!”

“Those who’d rather partake in a more physical activity can go up the second floor, where Emma (@gracefieldorphan) and Jon K. are responsible for carrying out a hide-and-seek game! It’s open for all ages, so don’t be afraid to join!”

“And for people who’d rather enjoy tonight in a more intellectual manner, we’ll ask you to go all the way up to the third floor. A escape room game shall await those who dare take the challenge. I hope none of you will bore our dear Piper Elenmin (@shadowedstep) with boring reasonings!”

“Lastly, we shall have an ample selection of musical attractions throughout the whole party! Starting at 19:20, we have Ultimate Pianist Kaede Akamatsu (@pureryudo) and famous idol Rise Kujiwawa (@wavesang)! Next, at 20:10, we have the idol duo of Sayo Hikawa (@heroicadvents) and Aya Maruyama (@ayasashi)!!”

“Check in at 21:00 for the spetacular presentation of fellow cute blondes, Rin Kagamine (@rightreflection) and Klavier Gavin (@rockstarprosecutor)! By 21:50, it’ll be time for yet another idol to join us, the versatile GUMI (@mozeik)!!”

“If you’d rather listen to other sorts of music besides singing, just wait until 22:40. First, we’ll have Ecaterina Ciobanu (@unulales) bringing some creepy tunes with her violin! Next, it’ll be the time for Midvalley (@midvalley-the-hornfreak) to captivate us with a saxophone show at 23:30!”

“Music shall accompany us until the end of this magical night. After the stroke of midnight, Dorothea Arnault (@chanteuser) will bring us to a night in the opera, exactly at 00:20! And to end the service, we shall have I-no (@sinfoniette) going feral with her guitar! Huh huh, I can’t wait to have all of you relieving my boredom with your sweet tunes!!”

“Ihihihihi! I think we all will, dear!” Battler says amused, before pulling a more serious face. “....Before we end it for tonight, though, I need to give you folks a general warning. This is meant to be a funny evening, with nothing but positive vibes here. Light hearted pranks are fine, but violence of any sort will not be tolerated. See these?” He points to a golden butterfly flying around. “They’re directly linked to Beato and I’s minds. If any of you try pulling anything ‘funny’ that would disrupt the party, we will know.”

“And the consequences for such violations of our hospitality will be dire.” Beato adds. “We have a strong security team. We trust them to be able of handling most rumbuctious folks. If you insist on offering resistance, however, goat butlers will appear around you and immobilize you. If that doesn’t suffice, we have our higher ranked furniture, such as the Seven Stakes of Purgatory or the Chiester Sisters, to deal with such elements.”

“And if even after all that, you insist on spoiling people’s fun...” Battler raises his hand, where a small glass-like Fragment appears. “You will be sent to this Time-Out Fragment until the end of the party. It’s pretty much a pocket dimension, so don’t think you can escape if it gets to this.”

As soon as he finished that, Battler broke into a happy smile and clapped his hands. “So, I hope everyone enjoys the party! Thank you to everyone who came, and to everyone that helped and is helping us right now! Oh, and a last thing. If any of you gets hurt or feels ill, check the medical room, where you’ll receive due treatment. That is it for now!”

With that, Battler and Beatrice teleported away from the staircase, freeing the way up. They must be somewhere in the crowd now, as they wish to enjoy the party as everyone else...

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

(Hello, everybody! This is Battler-mun talking. Welcome to the first edition of Isolaween! Following the tradition of C*ttaween, this party will last ICly from October 4h, 7 PM, to October 5th, 2 AM. These are very special dates for the Umineko fandom, which is why the party happens this early.

OOCly, the party will last from this post’s bublishing time, which should be midnight of October 4th (Isola time) to midnight of October 11th (Isola time), unless the mods request us to end it earlier. You can obviously continue threads related to the party until then, but make sure to publish your starters and opens before end time! And remember: use the tag #isolaween2k19 so we and everyone else can see your interactions at the party!

Below are maps of the mansion, so you folks have an spacial reference on where each room is in relation to the others:

As mentioned in the text, there will be musical presentations during this period, which will consist of drabbles written by the collaborative muns. The OOC dates for each presentation is below, so keep a look at these blogs at the corresponding day:

- Kaede and Rise: 10/4

- Sayo and Aya: 10/5

- Rin and Klavier: 10/6

- GUMI: 10/7

- Ecaterina: 10/8

- Midvalley: 10/9

- Dorothea: 10/10 (Around midday)

- I-no: 10/10 (Evening)

The rules of the festivities have already been well laid ICly, so I won’t repeat myself here. Just let’s try keeping things positive during the party, ok? Any doubt just ask either me (@ingoldentent) or Beato-mun (@goldenless) And above all, let’s have fun! Now excuse me while I go download Ciconia…)

#isolaween2k19 #isola news

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stanchap2000-blog · 4 years

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Everyone Should Write a Novel

If I can write a novel and get it published, then anyone can.

I’m just a former teacher who got frustrated by the number of students on drugs (street drugs and, worse yet, prescription drugs “for hyperactive students”) and so I became a writer.

I never played sports in high school (never got that letterman’s jacket that would make girls love me), never constructed a birdhouse with my own bare hands, never shot a round of golf under 90, and whenever I played softball with the guys from my church, I’d end up with either a dislocated finger or a bruise on my face (sometimes I’d yell, “Don’t throw me the ball!” and save myself another moment of embarrassment).

Admittedly, I’ve come to realize that being unpopular in high school is not an adequate justification for becoming a writer.

Since escaping from the classroom, I have gotten a bit better at doing things. I supported myself by writing dozens of courses for businesses, mostly in the field of telecommunications, and I have three published novels. Not bad for an empty-headed guy. I wish my high school friends could see me now (I had two of them).

What I am attempting to do in this course is pass along some of the love that I have for the writing process. And I want to tell you a bit about the techniques and the art of writing a novel and why I think you should give this preposterous thing it a try.

I agree with Oscar Wilde: “I love writing. It is so much more real than life.”

Alone, with Only Your Imagination

If you write a news article, you present a headline, byline, lead, and story. But before you do this, you burn the hours conducting adequate research and finding reliable sources to give some credence to the facts you plan to include in your story. In writing the article, you are guided, hopefully, by information that you have uncovered and verified.

As a novelist, however, you are working with no concrete information and the major source for writing the novel is your mind.

If you write a non-fiction book, such as a cookbook of your favorite recipes or a biography of your favorite president, you choose the subject of the book, you decide on the specific viewpoint, you outline the book and plunge into the research, you come up with a clever title,

and you write the wonderful book. Note that your book is based on facts and hopefully your writing is guided by these facts.

As a novelist, however, you rely heavily on your imagination and not on any tangible facts … or even on “reality.”

If you write a memoir, you determine which time of your life you want to write about, you determine the major events that happened during this time, and then you write the memoir. You may spice it up a bit, but you are working from your experiences and that guides you.

As a novelist, however, you are working with a blank canvas.

Why am I being so redundant? It is because I want to underscore that the writing of a novel is scary business. You are literally stepping into a void. I am certain that you’ve heard of writer’s block. Well, it’s simply the result of facing that void and coming up with nothing.

I’ve been there a few times and, boy, is it the bottom of a pit … with snakes!

Yet, herein lies the reason that you should write a novel: It is one of the highest levels of pure creativity that exists!

Sidney Sheldon: “A blank piece of paper is God’s way of telling us how hard it is to be God.”

From this nothing, from this blank piece of paper, can arise a magnificent story, a fascinating view of an author’s view of the world, an emotional experience for others to enjoy and learn from, and (to paraphrase poet John Keats), a truth that is beauty and a beauty that is truth.

Each hour that you work on your novel, you are encountering an existential experience, which is to say you are dealing with existence, specifically human existence. You are faced with “to be” (words go onto the page) or “not to be” (you come up with nothing). This is the essence of life. You are creating. And in this process lies a secret that is rarely explained or emphasized:

There is immense pleasure in the act of creating!

Yes, there is immeasurable pleasure to be had and it costs nothing but a bit of your time. Indulge in it. Make it part of your life, part of your joy of living!

That is why I think everyone should write a novel.

A novelist facing a blank page, an artist facing a blank canvas, a composer facing a sheet of notation paper – there are only a few of such fortunate individuals – and they are the few who experience the immense pleasure of creating. Join them! And bring more happiness into your own life.

It works for me. What I like best about writing novels, or even this course of study, is that it gives my life a slightly higher purpose. I can’t wait to get out of bed in the morning and attempt to write something that will help people – give them some insights into life, give them entertainment, or to give them a bit of knowledge about the writing process. That enlivens me!

Richard Krzemien: “It’s tougher than Himalayan yak jerky in January. But, as any creative person will tell you, there are days when there’s absolutely nothing sweeter than creating something from nothing.”

Oscar Wilde: “I love to talk about nothing … it is the only thing I know anything about.”

The act of writing, of creating, is purpose, and that stabilizes a person and helps to keep his or her attention off the zillions of problems that accrue to modern life.

Writing a novel will give you a purpose that will overshadow most of the daily calamities, anguishes, and distresses that are part of life.

John Gardner: “Out of the artist’s imagination, as out of nature’s inexhaustible well, pours one thing after another. The artist composes, writes, or paints just as he dreams, seizing whatever swims close to the net. This shimmering mess of loves and hates – fishing trips taken long ago with Uncle Ralph, a 1940 green Chevrolet, a war, a vague sense of what makes a novel, a symphony, a photograph – this is the day the artist must shape into an object worthy of our attention; that is, our tears, our laughter, our thought.”

Grandma’s Story

My grandmother, Maude Van Order, had eight children and ran a large farm that employed seventeen farmhands. This was in Webberville, Michigan. She got up each morning at 4:30 a.m. and cooked breakfast for her children and the farm workers. Her husband, Benjamin Van Order, ran the local general store, so he ate with this group and then was off to the store.

Grandma stayed home and, after getting the children off to school, managed the farm. She made lunch for herself and the seventeen farmhands. She made dinner for her husband, her eight children, and the farmhands. She washed clothes, ironed clothes, mended clothes when necessary, cleaned house, etc.

She was finished with her workday at about 11 p.m. each night.

Then, each night, she wrote poetry for 2 to 3 hours. This was her “personal time” and she never failed to claim it!

How did grandma manage such a lifestyle?

She found immense pleasure in the act of creating!

Yes, she worked to support her husband and her eight children. Yes, she managed a large farm. But, as she tells it, she mostly lived for the immense pleasure of creating poetry. It kept her alive and doing well – in what most people would think of as a grueling life.

H.P. Lovecraft: “At night, when the objective world has slunk back into its cavern and left dreamers to their own, there come inspirations and capabilities impossible at any less magical and quiet hours. No one knows whether or not he is a writer unless he has tried writing at night.”

Click on the link below to receive 16 FREE lessons on writing a novel.

https://forms.aweber.com/form/31/783250631.htm

My best to you,

Stanley Chapman, M.A., Teacher, Writer, Entrepreneur

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doomedandstoned · 5 years

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Closer to the End

Depression is my nemesis. Eventually it will kill me.

...if I let it.

By Billy Goate

Art by RusoTsig (@rusotsig)

Life's falling away from me. The visual evidence is all about. Unopened mail builds up at random spots around the room like mini Towers of Babel. Even things that normally give me great delight -- a recently delivered set of vinyl records -- lie undisturbed in their brown cardboard packages. Meanwhile, my email continues to multiply exponentially: 200 unanswered today, 400 tomorrow, 800 on the day after that (for the curious, the tally stands at 2,359 today). The very thought of opening my inbox makes it equivalent to walking out into open traffic, so I avoid it like the plague.

Meals have become simplified these days -- if it can't be eaten out of a package, forget about it. And all those empty wrappers? They, too, join the general disorder, decorating the landscape of my solitary hovel. Eventually, messages from friends and family go unread. Bills go unpaid (even when there are sufficient funds). The yard turns into a veritable jungle of tall grass, weeds, and sprawling bushes. Clothes go unwashed and hygiene is neglected for days at a time. Weekends are spent pouring over regrets about what might have been, brooding about the end of days.

As any doctor will confirm, these are classic symptoms of depression. What they can't tell you is how hopeless hopelessness can feel.

Karl Briullov - The Last Days of Pompeii (detail)

Black Sabbath’s final show in the Pacific Northwest. Usnea's album release party. Saint Vitus reunited with their first singer, Scott Reagers. The return of Sasquatch. Once in a lifetime small venue appearances by international bands, such as Cult of Occult. A rare hometown gig by Yob. Visits from Goya, Primitive Man, and countless others. Ceremony of Sludge. Even events with the Doomed & Stoned's own name stamped on them. All of these are things I've missed out on in the past year or two because of depression.

It's not that I was too down to even consider going. On the contrary, I was actively planning to go. I RSVP'd, bought tickets, and even checked out the camera equipment to film the shows. In most cases, I'd gotten dressed and readied, even told people to expect me, but for one reason or another I fell under the unyielding grip of depression and came up with an excuse for why I couldn't go. Then one day I just got tired of making excuses and stopped going out altogether.

In one case, I was halfway down the road on a two-hour trip to see Saint Vitus and Witch Mountain perform at Star Theater, when suddenly a wave of grief washed over me from head to spine. As soon as I spotted the nearest overpass, I exited, turned around, and returned home. Even shows I knew would be cathartic (Bell Witch playing their titular Mirror Reaper at a local watering hole) just couldn't cause me to drive a couple miles down the road. The few times I managed to go out, it was because I absolutely forced myself. I practically fought with my inner man all the way there, too -- teeth clenched, hands tightly gripping the wheel, rehearsing in my mind a myriad of reasons why I should just turn back and stay home.

For me, Alice in Chains captures the frustration perfectly in "Excuses":

Everyday it's something Hits me all so cold

Find me sittin' by myself No excuses, then I know

Depression has robbed me of so much. I've missed opportunities to collaborate with musicians and artists because of it. I've pushed away friends and family, until contact between us has become more and more scarce. I've even stopped celebrating my birthday. I have become a shadow of a man.

What's worse, there's been a new development: anhedonia. I remember only casually looking up the meaning of that word when reviewing Undersmile's album by the same name. Anhedonia basically means that you stop finding pleasure in life. As I browse through my friend's timelines, I find it difficult to relate to their happiness. I think quite often of the emptiness of it all, of being alone and growing older, and the ultimate futility of human pursuits. I often feel more of an observer than an actor in the great drama of life.

As you read all of this, bear in mind that I've managed to hold down a steady, full-time job for decades, right up to the present day. You see, some cope by drinking, others by eating, and others still chase the fleeting high of romantic love, but I found my copacetic in work (as absurd as that might sound). I’ve damn near worked myself to death over the past couple years, too, taking precious few "mental health days" or vacation. At one point, I stopped accruing paid time off, because I'd reached my limit and my boss had no choice but to mandate that I take two days off per month. Can you imagine? I’d been known to come into work on the weekend, rather than spend it alone with my thoughts. At least at work, I can stay distracted with something I feel makes some kind of difference.

I can't feel my life Makes me want to cry How bad i feel inside Like I wanna die

Destination unknown Wreckage in tow Depression grows I have no home

Lately, all I've wanted to do on the weekends is sleep. When I'm at work, I'm fine. I'm in the zone. I have purpose. Things make sense. I'm needed. When I'm home, I always have a list of to-dos, but no matter how busy I try to make myself, I find myself suffering with a lonely, aching feeling. It hurts to be alive. That's the only way I can describe it. So I go to sleep early -- and sleep and sleep and sleep -- without so much as the aid of melatonin. All I want to do is go to sleep and forget and wake up the next day and start fresh, hoping all of the oppressive feelings of darkness have left me. I'll sleep 9 hours, 10 hours, 12 hours is not unheard of, then curse when the alarm wakes me up to face the day. I haven't slept so much since I was a teenager.

At least some of my depression seems linked with sunlight. While the sun is out, I'm mostly okay. When I'm taking my meds, I feel possessed with purpose and I'm busy chipping away at a dozen assorted projects, networking with bands, record labels, and PR reps around the globe, auditing new records, editing submissions from my team, and occasionally summoning enough nerve to write an album review of my own. But when the sun sets and darkness takes hold, bathing the landscape in its sinister shadows, everything changes.

In the heart of winter, there is an existential dread that overtakes me when the sun sets. It's almost primitive. There seems to be no rational basis for feeling this way, unless we factor in some kind of code passed along in the evolutionary programming of the reptilian brain over the millennia. You know, that thing responsible for our fight or flight response -- the urge to either take a swing or get the hell out of Dodge.

Loneliness is not a phase Field of pain is where I graze

Saw my reflection and cried So little hope that I died

That cryptic note of horror hints at what happens when our coping mechanisms stop working for us. For me, it was burnout. I worked and worked and worked, and then I came home and did Doomed & Stoned in the evenings and weekends until I inevitably reached a point of absolute and total system overload.

We've seen a spate of deaths in recent years in the heavy music world stemming from depression. It seems to be the creative person's curse. Chris Cornell of Soundgarden. Linda Nygren of the Wounded Kings. Dozens more artist deaths are listed as "N/A" in Metal Archives, but you always wonder. Even an accidental drug overdose can owe its underlying cause to depression. Often it's hard to untangle addiction from the need to escape acute emotional pain.

Though it is tempting to buy into conspiracy theories linking suicide to pharmaceuticals, chemtrails, fluoride in the water, gangstalking, and covert government ops, it's important to recognize that suicide is nothing unique to our life and times. Narrowing the focus more specifically to musicians and other artistic types, we've had many historic instances of depression. Think Beethoven, Franz Liszt, and Tchaikovsky -- three people who pioneered much of the musical language that doom metal utilizes for expression. Each experienced prolonged periods of melancholia for various reasons, from physical malady and loss-fueled grief to unrequited love and the utter rejection of society. Arguably, Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky died at his own hand.

Perhaps it won't surprise you that many of us who have an affinity for doom metal (though certainly not all) are also at risk for suicide. A recently published study by the University of Manchester found a correlation, though not a causal link, between members of "alternative subcultures" and "the risk of self-harm and suicide." There was no definite conclusion drawn from the piece, other than to point out that a problem exists (no kidding) and that more long-term studies are needed.

I've got a notion as to why heavy music draws the heavy-laden: misery loves company. We're drawn to the mysteriously compelling ability that doom has to commiserate with our feelings, from lyrics that deal so honestly with sadness to the solace of sharing a joint with those who are on a similar path.

But sometimes depression is so severe that you don't want to go out on the weekends at all, not even for your favorite band. Before I get too deep into my own story and how I'm treating my depression, some of you may wonder why I am writing this piece and have decided to share it publicly. I can assure you, I have nothing to gain from this. I'm not crying out for help (I'm too stubborn to ask for it when needed, anyway) and I'm certainly not trying to sell you on anything.

To be truthful, I've been chipping away at this piece (currently standing at 53,726 characters) for two years. I revisit it when the depression hurts the most. It acts as a kind of release valve for me and since that's at least providing some relief, I'll keep scribbling words upon this page. So before you leave thinking this was all just a self-indulgent slab of depression porn, stay tuned. There really is more to the story, including some valuable insights I'm learning about dealing constructively with my depression and its underlying causes -- physical and psychological.

To be continued...

★ Read Part II

☆ Read Part III

Here I sit writing on the paper Trying to think of words you can't ignore

See the cycle I've waited for It ain't like that anymore

#Closer To The End #Depression #Suicide #Doom #Metal #Alice in Chains #Jerry Cantrell #Doomed & Stoned

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thefredricus · 5 years

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New Year Surprise (☆▽☆)

I hope you’re all having a lovely New Year’s eve! I have something special for you all tonight: My very first Ripto fanfic! (<-- Link!)

This is the daruma doll that I made a promise to at the beginning of 2018. The promise was to write and publish a fanfiction before New Year’s. I originally planned to write for another fandom, but things happened, yet I decided that I didn’t want to break the promise I made to myself and burn the daruma doll.

However, I decided to split the story in two chapters. The first one was just published and ready for some reading! The second one is on its way and will be posted later this week. I’m so excited to share this with you all! <3

You can either read it below the cut, or go to AO3 and read it there!

Year of the Dinosaur

The sun scorched the cloudless azure sky. Waves were seen lapping against a non-existent shore along the horizon, as non-existent trees reflected in the mirage. But the heat was real. The sand that stung their eyes and nostrils was real. The hunger, thirst and fatigue -- they were all real. The outskirts of Skelos Badlands at solar zenith showed no mercy to the broken duo. Ripto ran a sleeve over his brow to wipe off a disgusting lump of sweat and dust. He wasn’t accustomed to the feel of a new set of scars and still open wounds that ran across his face. Not only did they ache, but they made him feel hideous, even though he hadn’t dared to look at his own reflection since that night. That fateful night… He quickly shook himself out of his stupor.

“Gulp! Is that mountains I see over there? Or is it just another hallucination, like the time you tried to drink from that oasis and ended up with a mouthful of dry sand,” Ripto spat between chapped lips.

The massive quadruped grunted guiltily under Ripto’s frame as he walked and looked away, embarrassed.

“Well, it’d better be! I mean, how far could that bonehead have gone? Crush can’t go more than five minutes without food, we’d have found him dead by now-”

Ripto’s last words echoed out in rough coughs that left the small, wounded dinosaur gasp for air. He clenched his chest with both arms and bent forward in a sickly bark. Reflexively, he reached for one of Gulp’s horns for support, but he crabbed nothing but air and fell forward, rolling off his companion’s muzzle and into the sand below. He felt panic build in his stomach, climbing up his chest, oozing in his throat like acid that ate away everything.

Is this where it was all going to end? Did he escape one hell just to get flung into another?

Ripto’s thoughts were caught short when he felt a tender touch against his forehead and a breeze of warm air that brushed his skin, leaving him with momentary comfort. Gulp hummed softly and kept nuzzling his master, ever so gently. Ripto exhaled slowly, lifting his hands to his companion's face, pressing his forehead against the gentle giant.

“At least I can count on you,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone.

Struggling to get out from the molten lava and grasp whatever debris he could find was an ordeal in itself. Feeling every part of his being burn like a thousand suns on top of that would have been too much, if he wouldn’t have been so excruciatingly headstrong -- and if he wouldn’t have had some help from a certain green dinosaur who pulled him out from the burning inferno and who stayed at his side to nurture him back to as close as what health could be, given the circumstances. After Avalar was reclaimed, with the help of a filthy dragon no less, all dinosaurs were banned to the deserts and crags of Skelos. Whatever vapor Ripto ended up in there and then, finding Crush seemed like a good idea at the time. Better to reunite the trio, he thought. Better wallow in each others’ company, he though. But right now he was not sure if he could even think at all. His head was spinning, his mouth was as arid as the endless dunes surrounding him and his delusions blended seamlessly into reality.

“Are those mountains real, Gulp?” Ripto persuaded, even though they seemed to be miles away.

He could feel the big dinosaur’s snout lifting him up. Slump, the fallen king lay across his servant’s face. The weight of his heavy head and his agonies left him incapable of sitting up. His vision blurred as he faded away.

“Gulp... Take us there.”

***

Ripto’s consciousness returned along with a throbbing headache against his temples. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was seeing double when he opened his eyes, his pupils nothing but sharp slits in the brightness. The sun stood seemingly lower on the sky now, however, and with the sinking sun a cold night would follow. The thought of him staying alive for that long gave him a little bit of comfort. Just then, Gulp stopped abruptly and nodded a gesture, Ripto nearly getting flung off in the process.

“Gah! W-what are you doing, you-”

The irate dinosaur locked eyes with his servant, who now gestured enthusiastically with eyes and eyebrows for his master to turn his head. Having no choice, unless he wanted to get shook off again, he spun his horned head around, the rest of his body still laying flat on Gulp’s snout. Ripto’s eyes grew big in surprise, as his gaze met a large cavern protruding from a vertical crag in the sandy dunes. Partly because the crag was indeed not a mirage but a real, hard mineral formation, and partly because it was coated in a much familiar scent. Ripto sniffed the air. Ungraciously he slumped off Gulp’s wide muzzle and continued sleuthing, ignoring the grains of sand that got stuck in his nostrils and mouth. It smelled stale. It smelled of dinosaur. It smelled of flesh and blood. Ripto wobbled forward.

“Crush? No more hiding, we crossed this god-forsaken desert only to-”

Stale. Crush wasn’t famous for smelling of roses, that was for sure, but… this smelled wrong. It smelled of death. And when a dinosaur of Ripto’s size scented death, it ran. But there was nowhere for him to flee.

It all happened very fast when the lava lizard attacked.

All Ripto could see was a blur of sharp teeth plunging towards him, like an extension of the gaping maw in the rock itself. He wasn’t sure if it was deeply rooted survival instinct or sheer luck that made his body move on its own, throwing itself to the side and dodging his assaulter’s deadly strike. Stuck face-down in the sand, all Ripto could hear was a bone-chilling snarl that sent shivers down his thin frame. The noise eventually died out and a minute of silence followed. Or perhaps it was less than a second. Ripto couldn’t tell. Maybe it was an hour. Just as he was about to get up and shake it off as another hallucination, a heavy foot dug itself into the back of his head, forcing him harder down into the ground. One of the predator’s curved claws clicked against Ripto’s horn, once, twice. The helpless dinosaur felt the grip tighten around him. And then--

The pressure lifted in the fraction of a second, followed by a guttural roar and a blow that shook the earth around him. Yanking his head from the ground, Ripto realized that Gulp had rammed into the lava lizard head first, making use of his body mass and sharp horns to force their attacker off balance. The lava lizard scrambled back onto its feet as quickly as it had fallen, and it wasn’t quite until now that Ripto realized how massive this creature was; a monstrous biped standing a good three meters over the ground, with rough scales draped in a deep burgundy making it look like it just climbed out from the depths of hell. From its forehead grew a twisted horn, much like Ripto’s own. To complete the nightmarish image, its long jaws housed a jumbled mess of fangs and tusks. Ripto could only imagine how much of him there would have been left had the attack succeeded. Seeing Gulp and the lava lizard at a standoff was truly like witnessing a clash of giants. Ripto couldn’t help but feeling very small and insignificant. More so than usual.

Empty handed with his magic scepter long lost, he was helpless against this adversary. So he resorted to doing the only thing he was good at.

“Gulp! Finish it off! Kill it! KILL IT!”

Gulp didn’t need any second command to motivate him further. He swung his horned head into the side of the lava lizard once more, except this time the creature came prepared for his onslaught. With nimble hands, it grasped Gulp by the jaws and bit down his neck, more to catch the quadruped off guard than to do lethal harm. Gulp roared and shook his head frantically, foam flying from the edges of his mouth.

“Behind you, BEHI--!”

Ripto’s cries were in vain, as the massive red lizard shifted and chomped down on Gulp’s back, away from his victim’s reach, and sunk his hellish teeth deep into the green dinosaur’s rind. Gulp’s roars turned into howls that shattered the dead silence of the desert. Using all of its strength, the predatory dinosaur took advantage of the moment and pushed Gulp onto his side. Gulp flailed with his clumsy legs in the air, kicking someone who was out of reach, his mouth foaming and eyes tearing. The lava lizard slowly released his bite with a shrilling wheeze, fresh blood running between tusks and fangs, dripping down on Gulp’s leafy green skin.

Ripto couldn’t look away. Being a predatory dinosaur himself, he knew what was coming next. His companion’s vulnerable underbelly was dangerously exposed for the lava lizard and it would only take moments before a chunk of flesh would be pulled from his chest. Gulp would be eaten alive and Ripto would stand there and watch. Until the lava lizard wanted dessert.

There was really nothing but one option at this point. Ripto inhaled through his nose, puffing himself up like a bird ready to fend off a much bigger rival, and let out the loudest and most fearsome war cry he could ever muster. Then he leapt forward as nimbly and fast as he could, ignoring the tough resistance of sand and grain under his feet, dashing towards Gulp, up over his fallen body and jumped -- claws out, fangs bared -- against his enemy.

When Ripto fell into the pool of lava in Winter Tundra, he remembered that the impact had hurt a bit. But the actual sinking had strangely enough not been that intensely painful as one would imagine. That said, it wasn’t by any means a pleasant experience. His whole body was assaulted with what felt like a million needles that pricked him just at the surface, never truly going under the skin but still causing him plenty of discomfort. The suffocating, however, felt oddly… nice. Relieving, in a way. It felt like a warm hug that embraced him from the inside. He didn’t panic. His mind just slowly wandered off. He didn’t think of the dragon that did this to him. Nor did he think about how small and insignificant he was. Sinking into the lava, he felt bigger, somehow. Maybe even stronger. He couldn’t remember for how long he drifted, lost in oblivion, until all those millions of needles all at once decided to

PIERCE HIS SKIN.

Ripto gasped and filled his lungs with the dusty desert air. But it felt like his lungs never filled up completely. The lava lizard had seen the small dinosaur’s attack miles away, and simply snapped at Ripto, locking him shut in his jaws. Pointed teeth chewed Ripto’s skin and that warm, familiar feeling bubbled up inside of him. But that was only for a second. The lava lizard spun around and flung Ripto effortlessly, but with great force, into the crag horn first. Ripto’s mind went black the moment his head hit the rock.

***

When Ripto woke up again, the air was quite cool. So was the cavern floor he found himself laying on. The contrast from the searing heat was relieving and the air felt much easier to breathe. Ripto’s mind begun wandering back, but his body was still paralyzed, spread out in the darkness of wherever he was. After a minute or so of doing nothing, Ripto had found himself to have let out a monotonous moan ever since he woke, which he ended with a masked cough. Self-aware, but still laying flat on his back with limbs spread out, he scanned what parts he could of his surroundings with half-closed eyes. All he could see was naked rock hidden in the faint light. He slowly turned himself over in an attempt to sit, but vertigo got him immediately and the tiny dinosaur slumped back on the ground nose first. Ow. Something stung him. He opened his eyes and gently raised his head. Some sort of sticky twig was stuck to his delicate snout. He shook his head fast, but that only made him dizzier and the little branch only seemed only to attach more.

“Argh, what the-!”

Furiously, he clawed at his own face in an attempt to free himself of the nuisance. That’s when he noticed that the twig was covered in -- what he assumed to be -- tiny thorns. More enraged than his energy levels should allow, he grabbed the twig from his face with both hands and ripped it off like an old, glued up band aid. Ripto grunted out loud and grinned in anguish, his eyes tearing up. He threw the prickly branch as long as he could muster, only to notice that it was still attached to his hand after the throw.

“Oh, come ON!”

After shaking his hand frantically up and down and back and forth, the little piece of plant finally let go and soundlessly hit the cavern floor. Ripto used his free hand to rub his eyes while cussing under his breath. Blinking back his focus, still a bit wobbly, he tried to regain his balance. It was when he scanned his new home once more that he noticed something odd at the center of the room, a faint shimmer and a very familiar fragrance. Spreading his eyes wider, slit pupils dilating, he had to stare for a good moment to make sure his senses didn’t betray him. There was a smooth depression in the rock which almost looked like it was handmade, and it seemed to be filled with clear, fresh--

“Water!”

Ripto waited no longer. Endless days of thirst with nothing to quench himself but dry, rough sand caught up with him and before he knew it, he plunged himself at the water source, stuffing his whole face into the craggy bowl, not drinking but rather devouring the water inside. He even swallowed gulps through his nose, but he didn’t care, he wasn’t going to stop until every last drop was gone. He would soon find out, however, that the container was somehow refilling itself from the bottom through a pipe-like tunnel that went through the stone, where it must have originated in a freshwater spring, like an oasis. Grabbing the rocky water bowl with both hands, he pulled his head up from the much needed drink and gasped for air, as he caught up in the moment and forgot that dinosaurs can’t breathe underwater. Then he just stood there, silently staring at the water surface, watching as the liquid slowly filled up the small basin. That was the first time in a very long time he had seen his own reflection. He couldn’t tell if the reflected image looking back at him was distorted because of the bubbling water gurgling up from within the depths of the cave. Every part of him seemed to boil, bubbles rising up from under the surface, as if they tried to break free from inside of his skin. A part of his jawline had ripped open, revealing his red gum and sharp teeth beneath. His eyes looked more like dull, scratched up glass beads than real organs. The crooked tip of his horn was missing. The point where it had broken cried brown tears of dried blood.

As the water came flowing back, so did Ripto’s senses and his body woke anew, piece by piece. With it returned the aching of his head, torso and limbs, and the painful memories that accompanied every part. He could feel a distinct stabbing in his chest and with it came the memory of almost being bitten in half by a giant monster. Ripto clenched his small chest with his hand. And noticed-- that it was sticky. Blood? No, this wasn’t it. Looking at his fingers, sniffing, then carefully licking the alien substance with the tip of his forked tongue, he figured it must be some sort of sap. Gasping, he took another look into the water mirror. The tip of his horn was also clogged with the brownish glue, different from the streaks of dried blood that ran down along it. It was almost as if it had been applied there deliberately. Ripto turned around, touching all over his small frame with quick, clawed fingers. There, another lump of sap on his right shoulder, and, oh, it was even on his back too, at the place where the lava lizard’s teeth had pierced his skin. There was even some on his kneecaps and elbows, easily noticeable through his torn attires. Dancing around the room in this curious manner, Ripto misplaced his foot on something that made a cracking noise.

“Ow! What on- YEAGH!”

He had stepped on the prickly twig that was stuck in his face just before he had found the water. Skipping up and down on one foot while swearing excessively, he tried to pull off the unrelenting plant now attached to the underside of one of his feet. While doing so, he noticed that the surface of the cavern floor wasn’t all cold stone. There were leaves. Plenty of them. A pile of it was arranged as bedding, which Ripto must have woken up on. After having forced off the prickly brush and sent it flying a good few meters, Ripto brought one of the leaves up close to his nose and sniffed it. Its scent had a distinguished familiarity to the twig and sap. Could this be-

“Catbat claw?”

Ripto raised an eyebrow. He was indeed familiar with this plant. Dinosaurs, critters and humans alike had used this brushy desert plant as a medical complement since the beginning of time. It grew sparse and only in inhabitable places, but he remember that they always kept some at home when he was a child. It was named after those pesky animals because the thorns were needle sharp and slightly curved and once they got hold of you, they wouldn’t let go. The thorns of course didn’t possess any medical properties, but the leaves did wonders as pain relievers, and the sap could be used to help stop bleeding and speed up the coagulation process. Furthermore, it covered up the smell of blood which could attract other, bigger monsters.

The handmade water basin and leaf bed, the roomy cavern, the Catbat claw -- Someone had saved Ripto and brought him here. Someone was nursing him back to health. But who? Had Crush found him? Ripto looked up. The cavern was dark, but he could still make out a rugged ceiling. Had his horn not be broken off at the top, he would have barely been able to stand straight in the innermost corner of the cavity where he woke up. Past the water bowl in the center of the room, the cave widened as well as the ceiling got higher, but it was still much to small for Crush, or Gulp for that matter, to fit. Besides, Ripto though, Crush was dumb as a doornail. He would never know about the Catbat claw, or be able to apply it as delicately with those huge hands of his. Crush was good at crushing, not nursing, or cooking, or anything at all for that matter.

“And it’s all because of him I’m in this awful mess,” Ripto whispered to himself through clenched teeth.

The thought escaped him immediately as a scraping noise could be heard from the cave’s entrance. Ripto flinched and quickly looked in the sound’s direction. The light outside was dim and cold, and whatever source illuminated the outside world just barely made it possible to distinguish the outlines of the cavern mouth. He stood still for a good few moments. Then the noise stopped. Ripto’s heart pounded fast against his tiny ribcage, and despite trying to stay unnoticable with teeth tightly pressed together, heavy breathing from his nose would betray him. But silence had laid a blanket over the cave and that perked Ripto’s curiosity. Slowly, he tiptoed towards the entrance gap of the cave. He stuck his nose out first, then carefully the rest of his face, eyes deadly focused forward, as if balancing on a tightrope over a canyon. The air against his face hit him as chilly, but not freezing. He cautiously examined his surroundings. Instead of seeing desert sand or dusty, empty plains ahead and around him like he thought he would, he saw more vertical rocks to each side. His gaze climbed down the rock’s surface. There were even more rocks, and it went on for as far as his vision could reach. The air lay completely still and the silence bounced between the high cliff walls. Was he truly up in the mountains, the very mountains he thought he had seen before while on Gulp’s back? Then he looked up. It was night. He didn’t see the moon. But he saw a vast sea of stars. Ripto had always enjoyed nighttime with the twinkling and sparkling of millions and billions little stars. But this was something else entirely. The stars here were drowning the black vastness of the universe, illuminating the sky with whites and yellows, blues and reds. He could hardly even make out any common constellations, because between every zodiac there were countless tiny specks merging into one another, making the ocean of stars more like one enormous celestial body. It was mesmerizing. He may have felt very small that night, but he also felt very alive.

#stay tuned for chapter 2!#ripto #gulp #fanfiction #fanfic #my work #Happy New Year #spyro the dragon

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amostexcellentblog · 6 years

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IYO, which Golden Age stars had the most interesting "will make degrading cameo for food" phases?

Sorry this is so late, but whoa boy that’s a loaded question. Honestly, a lot of silent and classic Hollywood stars had money troubles in their later years because residuals weren’t really a thing until the 50s. Before the television market nobody thought there was a way to consistently make money on old movies so everyone was content to be paid upfront. Then add on a lot of stars grew accustomed to lavish lifestyles and never learned responsible spending and most of them had some degree of financial difficulties after their careers declined. Some of them had a sense of humor about it, for others it was humiliating and there can be a vague sense of exploitation about the whole thing that makes some fans reluctant to talk about these periods.

We should probably begin with Orson Welles, who made what was/is considered the greatest movie of all time, and yet had to take some pretty demeaning work to pay the bills. Like, he really did do a frozen peas commercial. That’s not something the writers of The Critic made up. It exists, it’s on youtube!

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Bette Davis famously placed an ad in Variety asking for work when parts dried up. She spent most of the 60s starring in horror movies of declining quality, primarily because she needed money to support he family, but also because she was desperate to work. By the 70s though the Hag Horror fad had passed and she became even more desperate. A 1971 film Bunny O'Hare had her playing an elderly woman who dresses up as a hippie to rob banks on a motorcyle, it was so bad she sued the studio claiming it had damaged her future employment prospects. During this time she also filmed 4 sitcom pilots, and not good ones either. they were for Aaron Spelling, the man behind “Jiggle-TV” (although Davis herself did not jiggle, she still had some pride). The tv show Feud treated this as a sort of tragic time where the woman who once sued Jack Warner for better scripts was so desperate for work she stopped caring about quality. I look at it more as Davis realized that no matter how much dreck she did the public would always consider her a Hollywood Legend, so she was free to stop worrying about her image and just take whatever paid work she could get while playing the movie queen in interviews.

Another low point was the Disney-sequel Return From Witch Mountain in 1978 where she and Christopher Lee (who took the part just to work with her) played the villains intent on using mind control devices on two super-powered alien kids. To say Davis’s character was as flat as cardboard is an insult to cardboard. She finally got a decent script in the 1980s with The Whales of August opposite Lillian Gish, so she was able to remind everyone how good she could be a few years before her death. Not every star would be so lucky.

Joan Crawford, who must be discussed alongside Davis by Hollywood law, has become, along with Welles, the poster-child for late career humiliation. Like Davis, Crawford spent the 60s doing low budget horror shlock, but somehow her movies always seemed shlockier. She teamed up with William Castle twice, for his Strait-Jacket he let her act like the movie queen she’d once been and she took full advantage. She demanded a limo to drive her to set each day, a role be given to a vice-president of Pepsi (she was on the board) and refused to let him be fired even when it became obvious he couldn’t remember his lines. She insisted on portraying her character as in her 40s despite turning 60 the year it came out, and also played the character as a 20-something in flashbacks. The air conditioning on set was cranked obscenely high because she believed cold air kept her skin from wrinkling.

In 1968 Crawford guest starred on The Lucy Show as a version of herself who liked being out of the public eye (Ha!). Lucille Ball by this point was a terror to work with and she bullied Crawford relentlessly over everything from her dancing to her drinking (which of course just made Crawford drink more). Later that year her daughter Christina was hospitalized, meaning she wouldn’t be able to film her scenes for the daytime soap opera she was in. Crawford, 64 years old, convinced the producers to let her fill in. And they said yes, so for four whole episodes Crawford appeared as a 24 year old girl. And on top of that, she was so drunk she could barely remember her lines. A year later Crawford had what I think is her most interesting TV role. For Rod Serling’s Night Gallery she played a ruthless, blind heiress who will stop at nothing to be able to see. It’s a standard Serling morality play right down to the ironic twist. What so fascinates me is that it marked the professional debut of one Steven Spielberg, although by his own admission he shot the thing like a European art film and had it taken away in editing so it could be re-worked into something presentable on network TV. So you have Crawford, who started her career in the silent era, came to embody the studio system, and remained a movie star into the 1960s, being directed by Spielberg, one of the key directors of the New Hollywood era who went on to create the era of the blockbuster tentpole we live in today. It’s such a fascinating meeting in the middle moment of the woman who ebodied the first half of Hollywood’s history, and the man who embodied its second half.

From there she went on to her final film, 1970′s Trog. She played a scientist investigating a ape-cave man hybrid believed to be the missing link. She was so drunk she had to use cue-cards to read her lines. The movie was so low-budget she had to wear her own clothes and change in an old van. Roger Ebert once said that the difference between Crawford and Davis was that Crawford would agree to make Trog. He wasn’t wrong. She made a handful of TV appearances after that, but then the tabloids published some unflattering pap photos. In the 1930s when she’d been the most beautiful woman in Hollywood she famously told an interviewer “I never go out of my house unless I look like Joan Crawford the movie star, if people want the girl next door they can go next door.” Decades later she lived up to her words, convinced she could no longer look like the glamorous movie queen she cancelled her public appearances and spent the last years of her life in Norma Desmond-like isolation. She died in her New York apartment in 1977 with only her maid and a loyal fan by her side.

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This is getting long, but I have to mention Aldo Ray, a big macho man action hero of the 1950s who made a porno in 1979 and spent the 1980s working mostly with cult exploitation filmmaker Fred Olen Ray (no relation). Ray Milland was a hunky leading man in the 40s, spent the 1970s alternating between genuine A-list hits like Love Story and shlock like Frogs and The Thing With Two Heads where he played a racist whose head is grafted onto a black man. Yeah:

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Bela Lugosi’s fall from grace has been much covered. He had a huge hit with Dracula but feuded with the studio and soon found himself confined to B-level shlock, eventually finding himself a member of Ed Wood’s stock company. Fan still debate if Wood was exploiting him or helping him. Boris Karloff fared better. He made plenty of low budget dreck for Roger Corman, but he also endeared himself to younger audiences, most notably in How the Grinch Stole Christmas and went out on a high note with Peter Bogdanovich’s directorial debut Targets.

Lastly, we must speak of Veronica Lake. She was a glamour queen of the 40s, famous for her hair style where her long blonde locks were styled to cover one eye, studio publicists dubber her “The Peek-a-Boo Girl.” She made one genuine 4-star must-see classic, Preston Sturges’s Sullivan’s Travels, and some well regarded noirs and comedies, but she was washed up by the 1950s. She was discovered working a a waitress in the 1960s and subsequently told her story on the talk show circuit and later in an autobiography. She decided to use the money she’d earned from various public appearances to produce a comeback vehicle. For some reason, perhaps known only to her, she decided the best movie to relaunch her career was Flesh Feast. A no budget Grade-Z catastrophe where she played a mad scientist developing a breed of flesh eating maggots while moonlighting for an underground organization of escaped Nazis in possession of Hitler’s body. She is charged with reanimating their Führer so they can take over the world. Turns out though, Lake is only doing this to avenge her mother who was subjected to Nazi experiments in the concentration camps. Once old Adolf is alive and kicking again, she throws her flesh eating maggots in his face and laughs maniacally as he dies a second, painful death. Honestly, Lakes delivery of the line “Don’t you like my little maggots?” deserves to go down as one of the all-time camptastic line readings in the history of cinema. But seriously, this movie raises so many questions I can’t even start. Like, if she just agreed to star I could understand, but she was a producer on this, she went all-in on this project, why? Why this of all things?

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#Joan Crawford #bette davis #Veronica Lake #Orson Welles #ray milland #boris karloff #bela lugosi

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snowdice · 4 years

Text

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 28]

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Life is stressful (until Tuesday) and these babies make me happy, so I’m going to work on this and also respond to everyone I haven’t yet today.

Chapter 11