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vexing-imogen · 5 years

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hide your face (so the world will never find you)

Masquerade! Paper faces on parade Masquerade!

They’re the guests of honor tonight.

Fjord guesses that’s what’s supposed to happen when you’ve saved the world about half a dozen times and counting. It is a bit surreal though. Looking down at the sea of people crowding the Lavish Chateau and knowing they’re there for you, because of you.

He hasn’t joined the party yet, choosing instead to watch the revelry below from one of Jester’s childhood hiding places. He observes the masquerade through a simple face mask; a deep forest green, dappled with lighter greens, decorated with kelp and colorful sea glass, and held in place with a piece of the red cord he’s carried with him since his time on the Tide’s Breath. Jester had insisted that they all keep their masks and costumes a secret until the party, so Fjord makes a game out of searching the crowd for his friends.

Nott (Veth he has to remind himself. Not Nott anymore. Veth) er, Veth is easy enough to spot, leading Yeza around the buffet table. She’s wearing a pretty yellow dress, embroidered with delicate flowers. Her dark hair is braided into an elaborate updo, dark eyes sparkling with excitement above her broken porcelain mask.

He picks Caduceus out next, his firbolg form towering over most of the guests, but especially the white-haired gnome he’s conversing with. The beetle mask he’s wearing should be creepy as fuck, but his soft, floppy ears and long waterfall of hair soften the edges and make him look only mildly disconcerting.

Yasha would be hard to miss in a crowd, even without the large white wings that sprout from her shoulders. Her dress is midnight blue, embroidered with silver thread in patterns reminiscent of a lightning strike. Fjord thinks her white avian mask might be an eagle of some kind, but it’s hard to tell with her head ducked as it is, eyes on her dance partner.

Her dance partner being Beau. Beau, who Fjord wouldn’t recognize if he didn’t already know what her mask looked like. They’d gone shopping for masks together (Jester had pouted for hours when she found out), and he’d been the one to find the elaborate owl mask that looked a little too much like Professor Thaddeus. She’s dressed in a charcoal grey suit trimmed with blue. It has sleeves. Beauregard Lionett is willingly wearing sleeves and dancing and isn’t trying to start a brawl with the goliath from Vox Machina. He’s so proud he could cry.

It takes him a while to find Caleb. He’s sequestered himself in a dark corner (another one of Jester’s favored hiding spots), like Fjord, keeping himself separate from all of the attention and praise that none of them are quite sure they deserve. His cat mask is pushed up so he can better focus on his conversation partner. Essek, Fjord realizes with no small amount of shock. They’d invited him of course, at a banquet in Rosohna celebrating the end of the war, but none of them had expected him to actually show, Caleb especially.

Fjord searches the room for Jester fruitlessly. She isn’t by the stage, where a family of gnomes called the Shorthalt Seven play song after song. She isn’t sitting down with Allura Vysoren and her wife, Kima, who have abandoned their masks (a golden swan and a silver dragon, respectively) in favor of wine and ale. Nor is she at her mother’s side as Marion flirts with both Lord and Lady de Rolo. The Lady’s bronze dragon mask does little to muffle her laughter as her husband flushes a brilliant crimson behind a raven. She isn’t pestering Taryon Darrington, who is wearing a garish mask that can only be his construct, Doty. (the construct is wearing a mask, too. A truly horrifying thing that Fjord can only guess is supposed to be a likeness of Taryon.) In all of the music, laughter, dancing, drinking, mischief, and general chaos of the evening, Jester is nowhere to be found.

“Looking for someone?”

Fjord nearly cracks his head on a low beam jumping at the soft voice beside him. He’s halfway to summoning the Star Razor before he thinks that it might not be the best idea to run a random party guest through with a sword. He does spin towards the voice, and comes face to face with Keyleth of the Air Ashari and Vox Machina. The Voice of the Tempest. The powerful as fuck archdruid that could level the Chateau if she really wanted to.

Her rabbit mask is pushed up between her antlers, so he can see her wince and blush. “Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He waves off her apologies. “It’s fine, really,” he says, taking a breath and willing his heart to stop racing. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up here, that’s all.”

Keyleth nods, her mask slipping a little with the movement. “I get it,” she says. “Don’t get me wrong, I love getting dressed up, and the free drinks are always a plus, but the whole socializing part of events like these have never been my forte.”

“It’s not the socializing I mind,” he says, searching for the right words. “It’s being the center of attention that bothers me, I suppose. Especially when-”

“You feel like you don’t deserve any of it, and you’re terrified that everyone will realize all at once how much of a fuck-up you truly are and throw you out on your ass?” Keyleth finishes, giving him a wry grin.

Fjord laughs. “Um, yes. To all of that.”

“Unfortunately, that feeling never really goes away,” she says, shrugging. “Sorry.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Having friends helps,” she says eventually. “Getting to see the positive impact of something that you did? That helps, too.”

“Thank you,” he says. “I think it also helps knowing that you aren’t alone in what you’re feeling.”

Keyleth grins. “Don’t mention it. Now, did you need help finding someone?” Her fingertips spark with magic as she wiggles them at him. “I probably have a spell that can help.”

Fjord shakes his head. “Thank you, but sometimes it’s just nice to sit back and watch the crowd.”

She likely sees through the lie, but she doesn’t push it. “Okay,” she says awkwardly. “Well, I should probably get back before my friends send a search party after me. They can get kind of paranoid sometimes.”

He nods. “It was nice talking with you, Miss Keyleth.”

He’s turning back to search for Jester when Keyleth calls his name. He turns back to her, about halfway down the stairs, an unreadable expression on her face. “Yes?”

“One last piece of advice?” He nods. She takes a deep breath. “Don’t wait until it’s too late to tell someone how you really feel about them. It works out for some,” she adds, eyes darting to Lord and Lady de Rolo, now dancing close, lost to everyone else but each other. “But, the more time you get with someone you love, the better.”

He swallows past the lump in his throat. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

What he doesn’t say is that he was already almost too late. They’d lost Jester during one of their recent battles. She’d gone down and Caduceus was too far away, too focused on keeping Caleb and Beau alive. Fjord and Yasha’s meager healing abilities hadn’t been enough, and, for twelve agonizing hours, Jester was lost to them. Cad was able to bring her back with Beau and Nott’s help. Fjord’s too. He’ll be damned if he can remember everything he said, but he knows he’d whispered his love to her, for only her to hear.

Keyleth is long gone when Jester’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “Fjo-ord, where are you? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. The party got too stuffy, so I went to my momma’s balcony for some fresh-”

He chuckles as her message cuts off. “Message received, loud and clear. Stay where you are, Jessie, I’ll be right up.”

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Fjord finds Jester right where she said she’d be; in her mother’s room, out on the balcony, staring up at the night sky, the ocean breeze gently ruffling her hair. He stops to examine the mask that she’s left on the table before going out to join her. It’s a full face mask, styled after old theatre masks. One side laughing, one side crying; comedy and tragedy in one. The laughing side is a deep emerald green, the crying a jewel-bright pink, all accented with gold.

As he sets the mask aside and moves to join her on the balcony, he sees that the colors perfectly match her dress. The sleeveless bodice is patterned with harlequin diamonds, green, pink, and gold. Her skirt flares out, layer upon layer of emerald green tulle. She looks like a princess, and Fjord, in his simple mask and pirate costume, feels every inch a pauper.

The moment he sets foot on the balcony, she turns to him, and the smile she gives him wipes away any momentary insecurities.

“There you are, Fjord,” she teases. “It feels like I’ve been waiting forever.”

He grins, moves to lean against the railing. “Please accept my deepest apologies,” he says. “How ever can I make up for such a grievous error?”

Jester giggles. “Wellll, for starters, as cool as it is, you can take your mask off. This balcony has officially been declared a “no mask zone”.”

“Is that so?” he asks, smirking when she nods seriously. “I suppose I should comply, then. I wouldn’t want to break official rules.”

He unties his mask and hands it to Jester, watching as she runs her fingers over the sea glass. “This is really cool, Fjord,” she says, rubbing her thumb across a piece of kelp.

He blushes a bit, ducking his head. “Thanks, Jes. Yours is...gorgeous,” he says. “The wh-whole ensemble, really. I mean, gods, Jester, there’s rarely a day you don’t take my breath away, but tonight...gods, tonight...”

Her eyes are wide when he finally dares to look up at her, mouth hanging open just a little, a purple flush coloring her cheeks and chest. “Fjord...” She laughs a little, breathless. “Fjord, I...”

She’s speechless, searching for words, but she isn’t panicking. There are tears starting to gather at the corners of her eyes, but she’s smiling, and not the sad, pitying kind of smile she’d given Freddie de Rolo when he’d tried to kiss her, and she had to turn him down. He steps a little closer, gives her time to retreat if she wants. She doesn’t move.

He reaches up to stroke her cheek, and she leans into his touch, eyelashes fluttering. “We never did have that talk about the day you died,” he says softly. “Or about the day we brought you back.”

“No, we didn’t,” she says. She bites her lip. “What...what did you want to talk about?”

He has to close his eyes, can’t watch her face as he says what he’s about to say. “I don’t know what I would have done if we hadn’t been able to bring you back, Jester.” His head drops until his forehead meets hers. “Losing you would have destroyed all of us, certainly, but you can ask anyone, Jester. I was useless. It was only twelve hours, but it felt like a lifetime.”

She lets out a shaky breath that he can feel wash across his cheek. “And all of that stuff you said during the ritual?”

He pulls back just enough to look into her eyes. “I meant every word.”

Tears are flowing freely down her face. “Even the part where...”

“Especially the part where,” he says. “I’m in love with you, Jester Lavorre, and it shouldn’t have taken you dying for me to admit it.”

Her answering smile knocks all the breath from his lungs. Or maybe that’s her jumping to kiss him, throwing him off balance with her enthusiasm. He ends up on his back on the floor, Jester sprawled on top of him, both of them laughing hysterically.

“Oh gosh, Fjord,” Jester manages between giggles. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Jes, don’t you worry.” He pushes himself to sitting, giving her the chance to climb off of him. Instead, she settles more fully in his lap. “And you don’t ever have to apologize for trying to kiss me, alright?”

She grins, leaning in to kiss him. “Good,” she says. “Because I’m going to want to kiss you a lot. Like, a lot, a lot. I’m talking an obscene amount of kissing here, Fjord.”

He laughs, winds an arm around her waist. “I think I can live with that, darlin’.”

She rests her forehead against his. “Will you say it again, Fjord?”

He kisses her again. “I love you, Jester.”

“I love you, too, Fjord.”

#critical role #critfic #fjorester #fjord #jester lavorre #long post

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nightshadehoney · 6 years

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On Karako Pierot

Time for more Hiveswap theories! Months ago I made this post, in which I theorized, among other things, that the Mysterious Purpleblood troll was actually a disguise of Fiamet, a limeblood. While the new Friendsim confirms there’s probably something going on with Karako Pierot and he’s not just a joke, it confirms my theory is incorrect: he has a different name and we see his blood. But it’s given me a lot to think about; the following is a bunch of observations, some I saw other make and some I thought up on my own, on the connections between Karako and limebloods, Karako and the probable-mutant limebloods the Vantases, and limebloods and purplebloods in genera.

We still have no idea what’s up with limebloods; only that they were killed because they had powers that threatened authority. Is it possible limebloods can change their blood color or at least make others think they see a different color? Karako is Mind-bound, which would thematically fit with messing with perception, he also seemingly uses chucklevoodoos at one point which also could cause delusions. There is precedence for a troll unlocking psychic powers more characteristic of a different caste: the Condesce does it. If limebloods could disguise their blood color to that extent, let alone imitate the powers of other castes, that would certainly be a massive threat to the authority of the hemospectrum, which is one of the pillars of Alternian society.

More under the cut because this got too long:

If the above is true, and limebloods can mimic other blood colors, do the mutant Vantases have remnants of these powers? Yes they do, but what they are mimicking isn’t a type of troll, but a type of alien: a human. Or at least humans mimic them, because Karkat lead the session that was responsible for human existence as well as the person responsible for the trolls interacting with the humans at all. Vriska says at one point that Karkat would “make a good human”, which I think is true. He’s sensitive, cares about people, has no inherent talent for violence, and successfully manages to get a group of trolls to work together towards a common goal despite their varying levels on the hemospectrum. He’s basically a human trying to yell his way through a troll society he is essentially unsuited for. The Sufferer lived his life by human ideals: a society with no hemospectrum, love without quadrants, a parent instead of a lusus.

The last is one of a few things that Karako and Karkat/Kankri have in common. Karako, like the Sufferer, has a jadeblood “mother” in the form of Bronya. Also, Karako is a similar name to Karkat and Kankri. Could it be a naming tradition of limebloods; Calliope does mention something about them having weird names, but doesn’t’ specify what makes the names weird. Tealbloods seem to mostly have names that start ‘T’ so there is some evidence that certain castes get names that often follow a certain pattern. Alternativley, theres an aspect of naming grubs without a lusus (though Karkat does have a lusus) that makes the names sound similar.

Karako’s reaction to the topic of his lusus is interesting. The most reasonable explanation is that he was too runty to have ever had one and that’s why he’s so sensitive to the seadwellers’ remarks. But, if he’s some limeblood in disguise maybe there weren’t any around to care for him because they were hunted down and killed like their troll counterparts. Maybe he had one and it’s dead. Combining the two theories: maybe limeblood lusii are hunted to produce sopor slime and that’s how his lusus died.

Speaking of lusii. Fiamet’s icon on that prongle preview was Dr. Shrunk from Animal Crossing , presumably because his lusus is an axolotl. But maybe there are other reasons he was chosen as a placeholder image: Dr. Shrunk is a psychologist who also wants to be a comedian. A clown? His role as a psychologist works both with the fact that purplebloods have the ability to get into people’s head and mess with people’s emotions as well as the old and popular fan theory that limebloods have some sort of pacification ability (more on that later). The use or Dr. Shrunk who is both or is one but wants to be the other/pretends to be the other suggests some connection between limes and purples. Dr. Shrunk could allude to the idea of one disguised as the other or a duality between the two castes. Duality is a big thing in Homestuck and trying to tackle all of the ways it connects to this topic would make this already too long post way, way too long, but its gonna keep coming up.

Axolotls are amphibians. Amphibians are characterized by their ability to metamorphose, to live in multiple environments (water and land). It actually means “both kinds of life” but I’m going to leave it there instead of going down the duality rabbit hole. This would tie into my “limebloods have the ability to change/disguise themselves” theory. But it also makes me wonder if Limebloods could be seadwellers? This is a bit off the topic of Karako, though it is interesting his route is the first time seadwellers are seen. We’ve got one limeblood with an amphibious lusus, (though axolotls don’t really live on land but this one is an alien who breathes fire so who knows) And then we’ve got Karkat with a crab lusus, another creature that can live in the sea or on land, and one that we could reasonably guess was bred from a limeblood lusus given that Karkat is likely a mutant limeblood. So if limebloods are seadwellers, was their disruption to society merely that they were lowblooded seadwellers while the other aquatic castes were at the very top of the spectrum? I have always wondered how there could be the historical animosity between seadwellers and landwellers that Equius claims there is when all sea trolls are without exception higher status than all land trolls, and this could explain that. Or do they have some characteristic that blurs the binary between land and sea trolls? Do they undergo some metamorphosis that other trolls don’t and if so what is it?

Oh and metamorphosis? Axolotl’s don’t do it. They’re neotenous; they never develop lungs or live on land, basically staying in their juvenile stage forever. Karako is small and cute and probably younger than any other character we’ve seen. His name is a Japanese term for an art motif of Chinese children playing (this is not the confirmed origin tho), he doesn’t talk, he has a little note attached to him so you can give him back to his mommy etc etc. I’m reminded of Calliope and Caliborn. Sburb disrupted their natural growth processes so they are also neotenous and can never achieve physical maturity. Calliope is the only other limeblooded being we’ve seen and Caliborn’s color (in trolls) is a mutation of lime.

All these observations. I’m making don’t really mean that Karako is a secret limeblood. Pretty much all of it could be explained by there being some sort of relationship between the lime and purple castes. I’ve mentioned the popular theory that lime bloods have sort of special ability for pacification and an extension of that theory is that they have psychic abilities that are the opposite of the chucklevoodoos. In this case, the powers that challenged authority was the ability to nullify the powers of the subjuggulators whose whole role is about enforcing the social structure and the hemospectrum. Lime as the anti-Purple caste makes sense. Sopor slime is possibly related to them in some way (their blood, crushed up grubs, the blood of lime blooded lusii, etc) and it’s implied its use is to protect from chucklevoodoo powers. Gamzee directly eats it to suppress his purpleblood traits and it’s a mutant limeblood who is able to stop his rampage when he quits. When asked if she has the same powers as a limeblood, Calliope replies “maybe”. She’s the other half of Caliborn who is the god of the subjugglators (both of them). She’s the opposing force to him just as troll limebloods are the opposing force to the purplebloods. And the only entity that is able to triumph over Lord English i.e. the Mirthful Messiahs is a version herself (but not any version, its only a potential, hence the maybe). It makes sense that the iteration of troll society overseen by a servant and extension of Lord English is the one that eliminated the limebloods, who share a color with his enemy (sidenote, Caliborn once called lime “harlequin slime”, so there’s kind of a clown connection there) and if limes are indeed the anti-purples it makes their removal from society a huge reason why Alternia is such a deeply unbalanced hellmurder planet.

#hiveswap #hiveswap theory #homestuck theory #karako pierot #limebloods #hs friendsim spoiler #homestuck tag

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outlyingoutlier · 6 years

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Fanfic trope mashup: #32 and 55. My preference is for Clexa, but you are more than welcome to chose the ship.

Pregnancy and established relationship. I see you wanted to start off with a difficult one. You may think I’m kidding, but I’m not. Not at all. What are the difficulties here? Well, if you’re talking in-canon, this has already been written, and written very, very well by others. If you’re talking AUs, well… Let me fess up right here, right now. Pregnancy is a favored trope for me, but I can’t say that it’s necessarily a wholesome one. If we look back in time, tween and teen Outlier used to read a metric fuckton of romance novels. Harlequin, historical, those ones where there were blue stockings and rogues and many an accidental pregnancy. That’s where it’s at for me - accidental. If we trace this back to its root, my love of these is because they provide irrefutable proof that someone(s) have been up to some shenanigans they would have preferred for no one to know about. That’s right - it can’t just be an accidental pregnancy. It has to be one that reveals the torrid affair between the two characters that really, really didn’t want to get caught.

How do you accomplish that between two uteruses? Well, there has to be powerful magic, future tech sufficiently advanced to be indistinguishable from magic, possibly some kind of alien shenanigans, or someone has to have a dick (granted, this can also be a flare up of powerful magic).

I don’t think this particular combination specifies that the established relationship has to be a known relationship, and if it does, consider this me exploiting a loophole. We’ll travel back to my misspent youth, I think, for inspiration.

Lexa, more formally Lady Alexandra Woods of Woods House, is a bit of a boffin.

Society has no room for lady boffins, of course, but it doesn’t matter how many times her petition to join the Society of Natural History has been rejected. No one attends her lectures other than a few rather suspect suffragettes? That’s fine too. All that matters is that Lexa has peace and quiet and a reasonably well-stocked laboratory. She also needs a rather sturdy pair of boots, because the focus of all her of considerable mental energy necessitates tromping through the forest. (We won’t narrow that down, because it’s a rabbit hole and I won’t crawl out of it for days. Weeks maybe.) Nevermind, we need an object. It’s a bird. It’s a rare bird, and as someone who is not an ornithologist, I cannot exactly explain why it’s so very, very interesting at this exact moment.

Clarke? Well, let’s be honest. She’s a bit of an odd one. Her mother, you see, has a bit of a reputation. Do you have an illness the local quack can’t cure? I suppose you’ll need to sneak out to the not at all frightening, remote, somewhat rundown cabin and hope Dr. Griffin will help you. Keep in mind the rumors that she killed her husband for sins as yet unknown. You’re taking your life in your hands, but if no one else can make your baby stop crying or figure out what to do about that wound that’s starting to smell very, very suspicious… Well, maybe a little coin and proper deference will be enough to keep Dr. Griffin in check. Her daughter? A bit of a wild thing. When she does come to town, which is rarely, she has a habit of managing to nearly barter away your hearth and home for what you realize later is perhaps of questionable value, but when she’s there in front of you, it all seems to make sense.

No one knows what she does with her time when she’s not haggling them into poverty, but she always seems to have vials clinking around in the pockets of her cloak and bits of greenery stuck here and there. It’s best not to call her a witch to her face (or behind her back for that matter), but the evidence all seems to add up, doesn’t it?

Not that Lexa would believe in all of that poppycock, if she even knew who Clarke was. She’s too occupied with other things, notably the habitats and habits of the Red-Sashed MacGuffin. And lo and behold, she tracks an entire family down to what seems to be the oddest garden she’s ever seen, outside of a cabin that looks more like it crashed into existence than anything else. The incredibly belligerent young woman who appears to live there doesn’t seem all that interested in Lexa’s explanations about the scientific opportunities to be found if only she could set up camp there in its midst, sowing chaos with her well-soled boots. She practically mows down one of Clarke’s most valuable herbs, and no, Clarke doesn’t care if they look like weeds. They were important.

What’s that? Lexa claims that her family actually owns all of this land and Clarke and her mother are squatters? She’s going to evict them? All over a (honestly magnificent) bird? Their argument takes them deeper into the forest because Lexa doesn’t seem all that interested in Clarke’s angry rants and Clarke’s not going to have her life uprooted by an avian adventurer. The thing is - they’re not the only things in these woods. Legend has it they’re haunted by some kind of monster, something that’s called this forest its home for generations. Something from before, when the land wasn’t home to lady boffins and ragged possible witches, and it doesn’t take kindly to all of the bickering.

They make it out okay and find a comfy cave in which to hide, but that doesn’t really help the really rather ghastly slash Lexa has taken to the thigh. It’s bleeding an alarming amount, so much so that Clarke feels she has no choice but to administer one of her experimental new concoctions. Through careful research and some rather dodgy old tomes, she’s pieced it together. The miracle drug - it creates life. Lexa needs her skin to knit back together so that she doesn’t exit this mortal coil? Well, drink up, and sit back because the binding needs to be tight. There’s no need for modesty. It’s literally a life and death situation, and for all that it’s a lovely thigh, Clarke has other priorities.

Now, though, with Lady Alexandra Woods of Woods House mending in a cave and unable to move, the town is atwitter. Clarke stays out of it. How would she know where the Lady has gone? Besides, it wouldn’t do anyone any good to let them know that Lady Woods is recuperating quite well, thank you very much, even if it is in a cave and even if she is being tended by a not-quite-witch. Medicine isn’t magic, even though Clarke is very pleased to see that each phial sees a corresponding improvement.

There’s a certain intimacy to caring for someone, though. Bringing her food and water, making sure she’s safe from the elements, helping her down to the stream to bathe. Clarke hadn’t really wanted to get to know the imperious lady boffin, but she can’t help but appreciate her smarts and her logic and her… well, her less intellectual assets. So maybe Lexa unexpectedly kisses her in gratitude one day when Clarke brings her a special treat. So maybe Clarke’s fingers linger a little longer than necessary when checking the progress of the wound. So maybe there’s no therapeutic value in accidentally ravishing her patient. These things happen.

The town is beside itself when Lady Woods returns only slightly worse for wear with a tale of adventure battling the unseen creature haunting the deepest forest. (She’ll have to write a monograph when she has time. The Society can’t deny her entry with that in hand.) It’s surely no right thing for a Lady, all this tromping about, and look what happened to her. Not that Lady Lexa seems to care. She takes her picnic basket and notebook out with her every day, though the kitchens do find it odd that she asks them to pack lunch for two. And if the younger Griffin no longer comes to town to take the very shirt from their back, it’s probably a coincidence.

The problem? It isn’t long before lunch for two isn’t sufficient, and since when have these walks left her faint, Lexa wonders? Why aren’t her favorite skirts fitting anymore? She’s getting more exercise, not less, what with her daily excursions to visit a certain not witch elusive bird. What was it that medicine did again, Clarke? Stimulate life? And you got the formula from what book, exactly?

Well. This is going to be quite the conundrum, isn’t it?

#surprisingly there are no dicks here

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henchlifebucky · 4 years

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Been working on this fic for four years and have taken more rabbit trails than there are sidequests in a Final Fantasy game. Are some of the early chapters dreadfully Cringe and need some serious TLC? Probably. Is it really The Macavity Show anymore? Not exactly. Has it turned into The Kitten Show? You bet. Also, I’ve no idea what ages I headcanon anyone anymore. Somehow or other Carbuckety ended up as one of the oldest kittens rather than one of the youngest, George ended up as a kitten (I blame Palladium/Broadway Revival Pounce-George for that), and Alonzo, Carbuckety, and Pounce ended up as half-brothers. I don’t even care at this point, so long as I finish it. So here, have a HenchKitten Rescue Sidequest and a Look, We’re Twins! encounter.

“B-Bucky?”

“Georgie!” Carbuckety’s face broke out into a broad grin. “C’mere, bring everyone else, I’ve got something to show you! But quietly, mind, it’s a surprise, and it’s just for kittens, not grownups.” He glanced pointedly at the two henchqueens seated on a pile of bricks nearby—meant to be watching the kits, but mainly talking to one another and paying little attention. Kitten escapes were rarely a problem; and anyway, the queens reasoned, the kits couldn’t get far; they had no idea where to go and hunger would be certain to bring them back again before long.

George frowned. “That sounds awfully su—spewishuss. You’re not going to get us into trouble, are—”

“Please, Georgie, no arguing, just get the others here without anyone seeing you and I’ll explain everything! It’s nothing bad, I promise! It’s the Surprise I’ve been telling you about.”

As little George bounded off to gather the others, Carbuckety shot a smug grin over his shoulder, in the general direction of Alonzo, Quaxo, and the twins’ hiding place.

“‘Georgie’ and ‘Bucky,’ eh?” muttered Alonzo. “They seem to know each other well, and it isn’t as if they are the right ages to’ve spent time in the kitten den together. Gather he’s been paying them visits a long time, then. Funny he shouldn’t have mentioned it. Or tried to help them escape before.”

“There’s a right time for everything,” Quaxo whispered. “And big as he talks, he knows it was smarter to wait until he had backup. He’s cleverer than you give him credit for.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt he is. Plenty clever. My worry is he sells his cleverness to the highest bidder.”

“He despises the henchcats and everything to do with them,” Tantomile murmured. “You may rest easy on that score.”

“Except the henchkits.”

“They are innocent.”

“He doesn’t seem to like the Jellicles all that much either.”

“If he keeps up a tough exterior to protect himself, can you blame him? I know plenty of others who do the same.”

Alonzo’s pelt prickled uncomfortably, and he didn’t respond to that last.

After a few more moments, a small parade of kittens headed by Carbuckety approached their hiding-place. Alonzo shot another anxious glance over to the two henchqueens, who still appeared wrapped up in their conversation and heedless of the fact that their charges were getting away. Almost as if this were planned, as if they wanted the kits to escape… Perhaps it was only that they intended to snatch the kits right back again, when the henchcats invaded the junkyard…

Well, no matter. For the moment, the thing was to clear out of here as quickly as possible—not an easy prospect with this many kits… “Ten,” Alonzo breathed, rapidly counting them up. “Is that everyone?” he whispered to Carbuckety. The younger tom gave a nod and a grunt, already carrying George on his back and the smallest kit in his mouth. Wordlessly, Quaxo and the twins each likewise carried one kit by the scruff and another pigaback. Alonzo followed suit, expecting some resistance—they were strangers, after all—but the kits were all oddly cooperative. Only George showed any sign of worry. Alonzo wondered if Tantomile had brought a feeling of calm to all of them. Or, perhaps they were simply too young to worry about much of anything yet.

“Right, let’s go,” he mumbled, careful not to drop the kit he held in his mouth.

About halfway to the junkyard, as they were passing through a humans’ residential area, Carbuckety stopped, setting down the kit in his mouth and crouching to allow George to climb down from his back. “Off you get, Georgie. Auggie, go and walk with our friends. There’s just one little detour I need to make…”

Alonzo and the others halted as well. Alonzo carefully set down the kit he’d been carrying by the scruff. “What are you playing at now, kit?” He glanced at Coricopat and Tantomile, who looked slightly disapproving but unsurprised, then at Quaxo, who merely shrugged.

“Nothing,” said Carbuckety tranquilly, “just something I’ve got to do. It’s important.”

“It can wait till we’ve got the others safely home,” Alonzo frowned. The kit he’d been carrying in his mouth was jumping up, trying to join his friend perched on Alonzo’s back. The harlequin tom crouched down to allow the kit to climb up, whilst keeping his gaze fixed suspiciously on Carbuckety. “This whole thing is your operation.”

“And this is part of it,” the younger tom explained. “It really can’t wait. But…why don’t you four carry on back to the junkyard, and…”

George’s face grew panicked. “I’m not goin’ wif them, I wanna go wif you, Bucky!”

“Here, what’s this then?” Carbuckety chuckled, shoving George goodnaturedly, albeit gently so as not to knock the smaller tom off his feet. “I told you, these are my friends and they’ll keep you safe. They’re taking you to the most fun new home you ever saw. You can do whatever you want there! Didn’t you promise to do everything I said? All of you?” he added, looking round at the other kits. A few of them grumbled and shuffled their paws, but made no further attempts to argue the matter. “Anyway,” Bucky went on, “I’ll be right behind you—with a surprise. So be good and go along with these nice cats now.”

“Follow him,” Coricopat muttered to Alonzo. “We’ll see the others safely to the ’yard.”

With something of an exasperated sigh, Alonzo transferred his charges to riding on Quaxo and Coricopat’s backs, the twins and Quaxo each once again picked up a kit by the scruff, and the four biggest kits walked.

Alonzo turned to follow Carbuckety, who was already making his way up to one of the houses. Just what is he up to now?

Alonzo crouched behind a bush—a very prickly bush, thanks—watching Carbuckety. Or, rather, watching Carbuckety watch another tomkit who was frolicking about the garden, chasing after insects. A human sat on the front stoop, also watching the kit.

Why are we all sitting around watching a kit? Would’ve been nice if Coricopat or Tantomile had given him some sort of hint as to what this was all about…

Just then, the human looked over its shoulder and went into the house, evidently to fetch something. Carbuckety darted from his hiding-place; apparently this had been the opportunity he was waiting for. “Hey—psst!” he hissed, approaching the smaller tom. The kit turned round in surprise. “Remember me?” Carbuckety grinned.

“Um…Bucket Bean?” the other tom ventured.

“Carbuckety,” Bucky corrected. “But you can call me Bucky if it’s easier. Ready to go?”

The tomkit froze. “Go?”

“I told you,” Carbuckety sighed, somewhat impatient now, “that I’d be back for you.”

“And—and I told you I couldn’t leave,” returned the other, glancing uneasily towards the house.

“But you’ve got to. It’s about to get dangerous—say, what’s your name anyway? You never said…”

“Percival George,” said the tomkit, straightening his shoulders proudly and momentarily forgetting to worry, “after Knights and Kings.”

Carbuckety was unwilling to admit he had no idea what that meant—must be ‘some human nonsense,’ as he muttered to himself. “Well,” he said aloud, “sorry, we’ve already got a George. You’ll have to go by just plain Percival.” He grimaced. “But that sounds so silly. Can’t we change it up a bit? Something…well, more cat-like and less human-like…”

Alonzo shifted restlessly in his hiding-place, unsure whether this were a kitnapping he needed to put a stop to, or a rescue he needed to help with. Whichever, Carbuckety needed to get on with it, why was he wasting time quibbling over names?

“Is your name cat-like?” Percival pointed out. “Car…Bucket? Cars and Buckets? What’s so catlike about those? They’re very human. Which suits me fine,” he added smugly, “I love humans.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Carbuckety waved a paw impatiently, trying not to show his embarrassment, “everyone loves humans, they’re all wonderful, and all that. Anyway, cars are good for hiding-under and buckets make cozy nooks. But you. Just now I saw you running around the garden, leaping, jumping…”

“Pouncing?”

“Yeah, pouncing!”

“Well, of course I was. Everyone pounces, it’s fun!”

“Yeah, except old granny cats who’d hurt their backs. But that’s not the point. What I mean is, that’s what we’ll call you!”

“What?” Percival stared in confusion.

“Instead of PURSE-ivvle, we’ll call you POUNCE-ivvle. Or even just Pounce.” Carbuckety grinned.

“That’s the silliest thing I ever heard,” Percival scowled, “and I’m not changing my name. I like it. It’s the name my humans gave me.”

“Almost no one in the yard goes by the names their humans gave them,” Bucky informed him. “Those are just for when they’re with the humans. In the yard we like more peculiar, dignified names.”

“S’nothing undignified about Percival, and I never asked to come to your ol’ yard.”

This was getting out of paw, Alonzo decided, preparing to show himself and intervene. Whether Carbuckety meant well or not, this kit clearly didn’t want to come along, and you couldn’t force someone to come live in the junkyard…

“But don’t you want to meet your mum?” Carbuckety urged.

Alonzo froze. He was out in the open now; the two toms would see him if they only turned round to look, but he neither moved closer to them nor returned to his hiding-place. Who…?

“I s’pose so,” Percival sighed, softening just a little. “But…how do I know you’re even telling the truth about that?”

“Look at me. We look almost exactly alike. You think that’s coincidence? Your mum is my auntie—my mum’s sister, not that she’d ever tolerate me calling her auntie. Anyway, you ought to let her know you’re alive at least.”

Before Alonzo could fully take in the meaning of all this, the two younger toms turned round to face him, and the three felines merely stood staring at one another in stunned silence for a moment.

“Guess the moon twins couldn’t trust me to get the job done myself,” Carbuckety observed finally.

“Who’re you?” asked Percival, bewildered. He looked once more towards the house, as if hoping the human would return and scare off these two strangers.

Alonzo merely gaped, glancing from Carbuckety to Percival and then back again. He did this several times before finally blurting out, “There’s two of you!”

“Just said that,” Bucky shrugged. “You coming or not, Pounce? The henches’ll be…”

“Fine,” Percival exclaimed, all out of patience. “But only if you promise to bring me back!”

“If I can,” Carbuckety allowed, “if it’s safe. And,” he grinned, “if you don’t decide you like it so much in the junkyard that you’d rather…”

“Not going to happen.”

“Suit yourself,” Carbuckety shrugged. “Will you take us home, Alonzo?”

#Fanfiction #Fanfiction Excerpts #Alonzo #Coricopat #Tantomile #Quaxo #George #Carbuckety #Pouncival #My fics

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cathygeha · 4 years

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REVIEW

The Darkness We Hide by Debra Webb

The Undertaker’s Daughter #3 In the finale of this trilogy we finally have the answers that Dr. Rowan Dupont has been looking for. - and that I have been waiting for. By the end of this book many secrets had been revealed and I felt the conclusion had definitely been reached with this series even though it seems there is another series by this author in the same setting. It was a bit slow in the beginning, there was a bit of repetition in Rowan’s thinking at times and it took awhile to get into the story but about midway the pace began to pick up speed and so did my interest. What I liked: * The twists and turns * That I didn’t always know what would happen next * The twisted thinking of more than one character * Not necessarily knowing who was good and who was evil * The look into the life of an undertaker * Billy – seemed to be a truly good man and he definitely loved Rowan * Rowan – mostly – though sometimes she did some silly things that didn’t seem very wise related to her safety * Charlotte – a good friend to Rowan * The baddies did get there comeuppance What I did not like: * The twisted evil characters that were in this book/series – they were warped beyond belief * Realizing once again that evil is real and that real people are evil – sometimes fiction is just the tip of the iceberg. * Wondering if there might have been more information in the first book that would have explained some of my lingering questions... Did I enjoy this book? I think so Would I read more by this author? Yes Thank you to NetGalley and Harper Collins – Harlequin - Mira for the ARC – This is my honest review. 4 Stars (less)

BLURB

In the thrilling conclusion to The Undertaker’s Daughter series, THE DARKNESS WE HIDE, Doctor Rowan Dupont has been staring death in the face for so long, she’s willing to meet it for the secrets it holds. Death has followed her back to her hometown of Winchester, Tennessee, ten months ago, cloaking the walls of her family’s Victorian funeral home like a shroud. In investigating the mysterious deaths of her loved ones, Rowan has unearthed enough family secrets to bury everything she’d previously thought true. But each shocking discovery has only led to more bodies and more questions; the rabbit hole is deeper than she ever imagined.

Despite settling into a comfortable life with Police Chief Billy Brannigan, Rowan knows dangerous serial killer Julian Addington is still out there. She can’t let her guard down now. Not when she’s this close to ending it once and for all. But with a storm brewing on the horizon, she’ll get only one shot before the impending darkness takes hold, threatening to wipe away every truth she’s uncovered—and everything she holds dear.

THE DARKNESS WE HIDE

Author: Debra Webb

ISBN: 9780778309475

Publication Date: March 31, 2020

Publisher: MIRA Books

Buy Links:

Harlequin

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Books-A-Million

Powell’s

EXCERPT

One

Winchester, Tennessee

Monday, March 9, 7:35 a.m.

Rowan DuPont parked on the southeast side of the downtown square. The county courthouse sat smack in the middle of Winchester with streets forming a grid around it. Shops, including a vintage movie theater, revitalized over the past few years by local artisans lined the sidewalks. Something Rowan loved most about her hometown were the beautiful old trees that still stood above all else. So often the trees were the first things to go when towns received a face-lift. Not in Winchester. The entire square had been refreshed and the majestic old trees still stood.

This morning the promise of spring was impossible to miss. Blooms and leaves sprouted from every bare limb. This was her favorite time of year. A new beginning. Anything could happen.

Rowan sighed. Funny how being back in Winchester had come to mean so much to her these past several months. As a teenager she couldn’t wait to get away from home. Growing up in a funeral home had made her different from the other kids. She was the daughter of the undertaker, a curiosity. At twelve tragedy had struck and she’d lost her twin sister and her mother within months of each other. The painful events had driven her to the very edge. By the time she finished high school, she was beyond ready for a change of scenery. Despite having spent more than twenty years living in the big city hiding from the memories of home and a dozen of those two decades working with Nashville’s Metro Police Department—in Homicide, no less—she had been forced to see that there was no running away. No hiding from the secrets of her past.

There were too many secrets, too many lies, to be ignored.

Yet, despite all that had happened the first eighteen years of her life, she was immensely glad to be back home.

If only the most painful part of her time in Nashville—serial killer Julian Addington—hadn’t followed her home and wreaked havoc those first months after her return.

Rowan took a breath and emerged from her SUV. The morning air was brisk and fresh. More glimpses of spring’s impending arrival showed in pots overflowing with tulips, daffodils and crocuses. Those same early bloomers dotted the landscape beds all around the square. It was a new year and she was very grateful to have the previous year behind her.

She might not be able to change the past, but she could forge a different future and she intended to do exactly that.

Closing the door, she smiled as she thought of the way Billy had winked at her as he’d left this morning. He’d settled that cowboy hat onto his handsome head, flashed that sexy smile and winked, leaving her heart fluttering. Four months ago he’d moved into the funeral home with her. The one-hundred-fifty-year-old three-story house didn’t feel nearly so lonely now. She and Billy had been friends most of their lives and, in truth, she had been attracted to him since she was thirteen or fourteen. But she’d never expected a romantic relationship to evolve. Billy Brannigan was a hometown hero. The chief of police and probably the most eligible bachelor in all of Franklin County. He could have his pick of any of the single women around town. Rowan hadn’t expected to be his choice.

She had always been too work-oriented to bother with long-term relationships. Too busy for dating on a regular basis.

Billy had made her want long-term. He made her believe anything was possible, even moving beyond her tragic past.

The whole town was speculating on when the wedding invitations would go out. Rowan hadn’t even considered the possibility. This place where she and Billy were was comfortable. It felt good. Particularly since fate had given them a break the past four months. No trouble beyond the regular, everyday sort. No calls or notes from Julian. No unexplained bodies turning up. And no serial killers had appeared looking for Rowan.

Life was strangely calm and oddly normal.

She would never say as much to Billy, but it was just a little terrifying. The worry that any day, any moment, the next bad thing would happen stalked her every waking moment. Somehow she managed to keep that worry on the back burner. But it was there, waiting for an opportunity to seep into her present.

“Not today,” she said aloud.

Today was important. She and Burt Johnston, the county coroner, had breakfast on Monday mornings. She locked her vehicle and started for the sidewalk. The Corner Diner was a lunch staple in Winchester. Had been since the end of the Great Depression. Attorneys and judges who had court often frequented the place for lunch. Most anyone who was someone in the area could be found at the diner. More deals and gossip happened here than in the mayor’s office.

But breakfast with the coroner wasn’t the only event that made this day so important.

Today she intended to offer her assistant, Charlotte Kinsley, a promotion and a part-ownership in the funeral home. Since there were no more DuPonts—Rowan had no children and couldn’t say if that would ever happen—she needed to bring someone into the family business. Someone younger who could carry on the DuPont legacy.

Rowan paused outside the diner. The iron bench that sat beneath the plate glass window was empty. Surprise furrowed her brow. Burt usually waited there for her. She surveyed the cars lining the sidewalks as far as the eye could see. No sign of Burt’s. He was never late but there was always a first time. After all, he wasn’t exactly a young man anymore.

She sank down onto the bench, dug her cell phone from her bag and sent him a text. She was the one who generally kept him waiting and he never once complained. She certainly wasn’t going to do so. His car was a little on the vintage side as well. Maybe he had car trouble this morning. Worry gnawed at her. A dead battery or a flat tire. Surely he would have called her.

“Morning, Rowan.”

She glanced up, smiling automatically. Lance Kirby, one of the attorneys who was not fortunate enough to have an office on the square. The ones who had been around a lifetime held on to that highly sought-after real estate. The others, like Kirby, waited patiently for someone to retire or to die. Meanwhile they showed up for coffee in this highly visible location bright and early every morning.

“Good morning, Lance.”

Kirby was a couple of years older than her. He’d lived in Winchester his entire life other than the years he spent at college and law school. He was divorced and had three kids. He’d asked Rowan out to dinner on several occasions. She hoped he didn’t ask again this morning. Coming up with an excuse to turn him down was becoming tedious. Surely he was aware that she and Billy were a couple now.

The idea startled her a little. This was the first time in her life that she was half of a couple in the truest sense of the word.

“If you’re waiting for Burt, he’s parked around back. Every spot around the square was taken before seven this morning.” Kirby reached for the door. “People have come early hoping for a chance to get into the Winters trial. Everyone wants to hear the story on that family.”

Rowan had been reading about the trial for weeks in the Winchester Gazette. “That explains why I had to circle around for a while before I found a spot.” She’d forgotten about the small parking area in the back alley behind the diner. “Thanks for telling me. I was worried he’d stood me up.”

Kirby laughed. “I don’t think any man still breathing would stand you up, Rowan.”

She glanced at her cell phone as if it had vibrated. “Oops. I have to take this.”

The instant she set the phone to her ear, Kirby went on inside the diner, the bell over the door jingling to announce his entrance.

Thank goodness.

For appearances’ sake she kept the phone to her ear a half a minute, then put it away. To pass the time she counted the yellow daffodils brimming in the rock planter built around the tree at the edge of the sidewalk. Those lovely yellow flowers were coming up all around the funeral home, too. Her mother had loved gardening. Early-spring blooms were already bursting all over the yard. Maybe her mother had hoped to chase away some of the gloom associated with living in a funeral home.

Since her father’s death, Rowan had hired a gardener. Somehow her father had managed to keep her mother’s extensive gardens alive and thriving for all those years. Rowan did not have a green thumb at all. She had killed every plant she’d ever tried to nurture. She was not going to be the one who dropped the ball on the family garden.

She glanced up then down the sidewalk. Still no sign of Burt. With a sigh, she pushed to her feet. Maybe he was on the phone, which would explain why he hadn’t answered her text. Rather than keep waiting, she cut through the narrow side alley to the small rear parking lot. With his taillights facing the back of the diner, Burt’s white sedan was nosed up to the bank that faced North Jefferson Street.

Rowan quickened her pace and walked up to the driver’s side of his car. Burt sat behind the steering wheel, staring out the windshield.

For a moment Rowan waited for him to glance over and see her but he didn’t move. Whether it was the lax expression on his face or some deep-rooted instinct, she abruptly understood that he was dead.

She tugged at the door handle. Thankfully it opened. Her heart pounding, she bent down. No matter that her brain was telling her he was already gone, she asked, “Burt, you okay?”

Her fingers went instantly to his carotid artery.

Nothing.

Rowan snatched her cell from her bag and called 911. She requested an ambulance and the chief of police, then she laid the phone on the ground and reached into the car and pulled Burt from his seat. She grunted with the effort of stretching him out on the pavement. On her knees next to him, she pressed her ear to his chest. No heartbeat. She held her cheek close to his lips. No breath.

Rowan started CPR.

The voice from the speaker of her cell phone confirmed that the ambulance was en route. She informed the dispatcher that she’d started CPR.

Rowan continued the compressions, her eyes burning with emotion. Burt was her friend. She had been gone from Winchester for a very long time and he had made her feel as if she’d never left. She did not want him to die. Other than Billy, he was the person she felt closest to. The voice of logic reminded her that Burt was just two months shy of his eightieth birthday.

She ignored the voice and focused on the chest compressions. “Come on, Burt. Don’t you die on me.”

Facial color was still good. Skin was still warm. He couldn’t have been in this condition for long. Hope attempted to make an appearance. But it was short-lived. Even a few minutes could be too many.

Damn it!

The approaching sirens drove home the realization that this was all too real.

AUTHOR BIO

Debra Webb is the award-winning, USA Today bestselling author of more than 130 novels, including reader favorites the Faces of Evil, the Colby Agency, and the Shades of Death series. With more than four million books sold in numerous languages and countries, Debra's love of storytelling goes back to her childhood on a farm in Alabama. Visit Debra at www.DebraWebb.com

or write to her at PO Box 176, Madison, AL 35758.

Social Links:

Author Website

Twitter: @DebraWebbAuthor

Instagram: @DebraEWebb

Facebook: @DebraWebbAuthor

Goodreads

Q&A

How did you decide on the location for the series?

My husband, family and I lived in the Winchester area for fifteen years. We have family and friends there and adore the area! The town of Winchester is historic and has that “old west” feel and it felt perfect. Particularly since the old, old funeral home there is totally inspiring!

Coffee or tea?

Hot coffee, iced tea!

What is your favorite genre to read, and why?

Psychological or domestic suspense!

What do you use to inspire you when you get Writer’s Block?

A long ride in the countryside. Great music. Good movies!

Best TV or Movie adaptation of a book?

Outlander!

Do you plan your books in advance or let them develop as you write?

I plan to a degree and then let the story take me where it will.

What has been the hardest thing about your publishing journey? What has been the most fun?

The hardest thing was an injury in 2010 that left my right arm and hand basically paralyzed. Three years of physical therapy was required for regaining partial use of the arm and learning to even write my name. But I never stopped writing. Slowed down a bit, but didn’t stop! The most fun without question has been reaching a place where I could write the books of my heart rather than what had a better chance of selling to a house.

Do you prefer writing in silence or to music?

Both. Sometimes I need quiet, other times I want music.

What are you working on next?

I have a new series percolating!

What is the significance of the title?

Very important to suspense and mystery are the things a character doesn’t know or doesn’t see coming. The secrets, the lies and even the darkness can trickle into the lives of most people. Most people have secrets, most lie occasionally—if only to protect feelings—and we all have feelings sometimes that aren’t happy or light or maybe nice. Thus the titles, The Secrets We Bury, The Lies We Tell and The Darkness We Hide!

What were the key challenges you faced when writing this book?

Making sure the body preparation and tasks of a funeral director were accurate.

Do you have stories on the back burner that are just waiting to be written?

Always!

What does a day in the life of Debra Webb look like?

I like to do my writing early. Then, hopefully by lunch time, I’m off the do the necessary and the fun. I love junk shopping and decorating. My husband and I are always renovating something!

What would you tell a hopeful content creator about trying to break out in publishing?

Focus your work and never stop trying!

#Debra Webb #The Undertaker's Daughter 3 #Suspense #Mystery #Murder #Crime #Harper Collins #HQN-Mira #NetGalley

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pantstomatch · 7 years

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I think you should help me finish this HP romance novel...

so deep in the archives of my WIPs I found this unfinished Harry Potter AU gem from 2005 (yes, 2005!) that’s got all my favorite tropes: adventure, hurt/comfort, angst, childhood trauma (tw for mentions of abuse), found family, guns, threats of bodily harm, good guys masquerading as bad guys, an obvious plot set up to have Seamus Finnigan swoon into Theodore Nott’s manly arms, idek guys, but NEVILLE. The truly tragic thing, as I was bemoaning to @lissadiane , is that I have NO IDEA where I was going with this. Absolutely none, except for end-game Seamus/Theodore, and add that on top of the fact that it’s proven I am TERRIBLE at writing straight-up harlequin romance, you all should probably tell me EXACTLY, with bullet points and possibly an outline, how you think this should end. And then who knows maybe I can cross is off my WIP list (twelve years, guys. TWELVE.)

Seamus cursed under his breath. Even through the heavy sheets of rain he recognized the black barrels of the guns, and he was probably imagining the resonating clicks of them cocking, levelly trained, since the cascading water was a muted roar in his ears, but. He slowly lifted his hands out and away from his body. “Hands up, Nev,” he said to the man standing next to him, frozen in palpable nervous fear. “This is not a good day to die.” “Is there ever one?” Nev joked weakly. The guns seemed to be getting closer, and Seamus blinked rapidly to keep his gaze relatively clear, the rain drowning his skin, plastering his canvas clothing to his body. They’d only been out there for three days, and Seamus was so unprepared and so terminally wet that he felt like his pores would break open and he’d melt into the black, rich soil. Shit. If by some freakish chance they got out of there alive, Snape was going to kill them. The first thing he noticed was the man’s cold scowl. All right, honestly, the first thing he noticed was the man’s clinging black t-shirt, but the second thing he noticed was the man’s scowl, and the reflection of it in his eerie green eyes. “Dr. Neville Longbottom?” he growled. “Yes,” Seamus said hastily, ignoring the sharp look Nev sent him and resisting the urge to send a commiserating one right back at him. Way to be obvious. The man’s gaze narrowed, flicking between the two muddy, bedraggled men, and in that moment Seamus knew he didn’t believe him, wouldn’t have believed him even if he was the best liar in the world. “Dr. Longbottom,” the man said again, more firmly, turning towards Nev. “Come with me.” Another cold glance toward him told Seamus that they didn’t really care about him. No way was he about to leave Nev alone, though, even if he thought he could make it through the forest by himself. Which he held no illusions about. Nev was the one who knew all the flora and fauna. Seamus was just a useless mouth and steady support. “Seamus,” Nev whispered hoarsely, eyes wide and dark on the rigid… soldier? in front of them. He groped toward him with an open hand and Seamus caught his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not leaving you, Nev,” he said fiercely, because damn it. Nev was the closest thing to family he had.

***

Seamus had been a skinny preteen when he left Ireland and his father’s heavy fists, and a scruffy, lean-hungry teenager when Nev had found him curled up in his Gran’s shed. He snapped when Nev pet him, a wary, shivering mess of hurt and loneliness and bone-weary fear. But Nev was persistent, if fidgety with nerves, and Nev’s Gran was a force of pure stubborn energy, and Seamus didn’t stand a chance. He was clean, dry and well-fed within the space of mere hours. And within days he was tamed and in love with a seventy-year-old woman and a plump boy with a hiccupy stutter and a tendency to weather his peers’ taunts with all the bend and sway of a young sapling. So Seamus, more brain than brawn—and even that was debatable, according to Gran—fought back for Nev with his tongue, lashed out unashamedly and more often than not got beat to a bloody pulp for it, but Nev’s rueful smile was worth everything; every bruise, every cut lip, every pinch-mouthed tsk from Gran. They were brothers in every way except blood. ***

“Seamus?”

“It’s all right, Nev,” Seamus assured him, walking as close as he could to him as they stumbled after the men with the guns, conscious of even more men with guns stalking behind them. “Everything’ll be fine.” Of course, he didn’t know that. And Nev knew that he didn’t know that, that he was talking out of his arse—like usual—but it didn’t matter. Nev wasn’t asking for the truth. Seamus curled his fingers over Nev’s wrist and held on tightly. *** Gran’s death had been like a kick in the teeth, because neither of them had been expecting it. Seventy-nine and still flashing her ankles at all the bachelors in town, still mowing the lawn behind Seamus’ back, still cooking and driving and laughing and doing all the sorts of things that were supposed to stop first. Stop before her heart gave out, stop before she grew cold in her sleep, stop and give them some sort of warning, sign, anything. Seamus didn’t cry at the funeral, but Nev did. Hard, frame-wracking tears that were plentiful enough for both of them. Gran had left them the house jointly and they sold it along with her ancient rabbit auto, and then they got the hell out of town. Nev took a laboratory job in Brazil, head botanist for an experimental firm, and Seamus didn’t hesitate to go with him. He held his own degree in journalism, squeaked by at uni, and he was relatively good with languages, so Dr. Severus Snape—a hook-nosed, dark-eyed man that Seamus didn’t trust as far as he could spit—agreed to give him a chance in research. Seamus was willing to do almost anything to keep close to Nev. But they shouldn’t have been out in the rain forest. They shouldn’t have stepped out of the lab, even though Nev had been openly hurting and raw and shocked. Seamus hadn’t been. What else could they have been doing, secretive and covert in a lab no one knew existed? Biological warfare or something very nearly like it. It’d torn Nev up inside, and though Seamus didn’t particularly care one way or the other, he’d followed Nev blindly out into the lush tangle of lianas, out into the unforgiving, dense and deadly landscape. And now they were caught, well and good, and even if the men weren’t drug runners or guerillas, even if they weren’t mercenaries sent out by Snape, they had guns and knew who Nev was, and the outcome wasn’t likely to be pretty. *** Nev and Seamus had been wandering around for days, packs heavy and minds weighted with dread, so it didn’t surprise them that the men made them stop just before nightfall. They set up camp, efficiently, silently, and Seamus stood next to a shaking Nev until the first man, the man with the cold scowl, came up and forced them apart. It was a smart move, Seamus acknowledged. Neither of them would try to escape without the other. The man was looking at him speculatively now, probably because he knew it’d been worth it to let him tag along. Worth it to keep Nev in line. Briefly, Seamus wondered if it would’ve been better to have hung back, swooping in and snagging Nev from under their noses during the night. He doubted, though, that he could’ve gotten in and out of the camp alive. Seamus was loud, not stealthy. He was brash and lively and was possibly the worst person to have near in a crisis. He vibrated with the effort of holding his tongue. Nev needed him whole and thinking, and that was just about the only thing that could ever shut Seamus up. “You’re Seamus Finnigan,” he said, and his voice was smooth, cultured, English. A shiver spiked up Seamus’ spine, because that probably meant Snape, and Snape was not going to be happy with his little rogue scientist and comedic side-kick. “Yes,” he answered thickly, trying to swallow his heart back down his throat. The man lifted a long-fingered hand and skimmed it over Seamus’ left brow, over the curve of his cheek, the scar at the corner of his lower lip he’d had since he was eight, and the gentle exploration belied the impassive set of his mouth and the ever-present coldness in his eyes. “We’ve been looking for you.” Seamus blinked. “You. What?” Weird turn. Utterly odd turn. Hadn’t they wanted Neville? The man cleared his throat, dropped his hand abruptly and said, “Seamus Daniel Finnigan, son of Cara Elizabeth Bannon Finnigan and Daniel Joseph Finnigan of Kenmare, Ireland.” “I don’t.” Seamus paused, eyes darting around, instinctively trying to search out Nev. “Finnigan,” the man barked, and Seamus’ gaze flew back to his face, something jittery and panicked rabbiting about his stomach, “we’re taking you home.” If Seamus had eaten anything at all substantial in the past three days, he would’ve vomited all over his boots.

“You’re shitting me,” Seamus breathed, words spewing out instead of bile, stomach clenching with dry heaves. “I’m. You,” he stammered, unable to line up his thoughts properly with his words. “Did they—No.” There was no way, no fucking way Seamus was going back to Ireland. He was twenty-five for gods’ sake. A grown man. No one could make him do anything. The guns were really persuasive, of course, but short of killing him and dragging his dead carcass onto an overseas flight, Seamus wasn’t going anywhere near Ireland. The man had the gall to look almost apologetic. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” “You’re afraid?” He was shaking, deep down inside if not outwardly, and Seamus knew about being afraid. Scared shitless and helpless, and the idea of the cold bastard in front of him ever feeling anything remotely like that was laughable. “I’m not going back,” he said, choking on his rising panic. The man’s mouth tightened, but he just grabbed Seamus’ arm and tugged him further into camp, past men setting down arms to take up tent pegs, a man unfolding a small cooking stove and a communal pot, and Seamus dug his heels in stubbornly, gaze skimming over everyone and everything, looking for Nev. He stumbled and caught himself, stumbled and caught, stumbled and caught until the man brought him up short with a wordless snarl, and for a moment Seamus thought he was going to toss him over his shoulder. “They didn’t say I couldn’t hurt you,” he warned in a low voice. Seamus tipped his chin up, because it didn’t matter. Nothing did, if the result was going ‘home.’ A dangerous gleam flickered over the man’s eyes and he leaned in, nose pushing close to Seamus’, and rasped with perverse satisfaction, “And they didn’t say anything at all about your little science friend.” Pure anger flashed through Seamus, tinting his gaze and pooling hotly around his heart. “You harm one hair on his head and I will kill you.” “I could give him back to Snape, couldn’t I?” the man went on, dismissing Seamus’ threat, batting it away like an inconsequential gnat. “You don’t believe me?” Seamus growled, hands clenched. “The point, Finnigan,” the man said tightly, “is not what I believe, but what you believe.” And the point, Seamus realized, was that they had Nev, and as long as they had Nev Seamus would do whatever he needed to do to keep him safe. *** Seamus figured they wouldn’t have caught them at all if they hadn’t left the relative safety of the laboratory and compound. There was no way they could’ve gotten inside and gotten Seamus out cleanly. No, that wasn’t right; they could’ve gotten inside easily. They had gotten inside easily, slipped in far enough to slide an unmarked manila envelope under Nev’s door, far enough to know what kind of man Nev was and what kind of man Seamus was. Because they only had to lure him out, and what better way to do that than to use the horrible truth? Nev couldn’t stay where his work was possibly being used to harm others, and they’d played right into these men’s hands, whoever the hell they were. Seamus still wasn’t sure. He picked at the small bowl of stew they gave him, barely eating, chest tight. It was raining again, a steady pour, when the man made him get on his knees and crawl into a small, sodden tent. Then he crawled in after him, and there was barely enough room for him to crisscross his legs, large, menacing-looking gun lying across his lap, eyes sharply focused on Seamus even in the darkness. “Sleep,” he growled, and Seamus curled up on his side, determined to keep awake just for spite. His body was exhausted, though, and he didn’t last five minutes once his head touched the ground. *** When he was six, Seamus’ father gave him his first pony and his first broken arm. He’d been mouthy from the womb, a trait his mother told him he’d gotten from his grandfather, a cheerfully mischievous man that Seamus only vaguely recollected. He remembered the sweet tobacco smell of his pipe and his booming laugh and his lilting, teasing tone when he weaved stories, but he’d died before Seamus reached five years and, in retrospect, he knew that’s when everything had gone to shit. Seamus always thought the comparison to his grandfather was a good thing, great even, until his father knocked him into the doorframe for sassing him and left four finger bruises on the backs of each of his stick-thin arms. He was small like his mum, fine boned at the wrists and quick as lightning on his feet, so he’d learned to hide until his father learned to starve him out, and nothing went right for Seamus from then on. He started hating his mother a little bit more every time she turned away. *** Seamus jerked awake, a hoarse yell caught in his throat, a warm hand holding him down, grip tightening on his shoulder as he tried to squirm away. He breathed out, “Stop, stop,” harshly, and tears pricked his eyes as he twisted onto his side and puked up what little he’d gotten down at supper. *** Seamus was fine by the time morning rolled around—absolutely fine—and he forced down breakfast and tried not to make his breath of relief too audible when they let him near Nev again. Seamus was sure there’d be plenty of opportunities to dodge the men with guns once they were out of the rainforest, once he could get his bearings on more familiar land. Seamus was downright cheery. “What’s going on?” Nev asked in a tense whisper as they were herded side-by-side over the lush growth on the rainforest floor. “Nothing,” he lied, and his forced grin felt more like a grimace. Nev looked at him askance, like he’d lost his mind. “Nothing? We’re not headed back toward the compound, so do you—do you think they’ll ransom us?” “No.” Seamus took a deep, bracing breath, then said in a rush, “They’re from my father, Nev.” “Your…?” Nev paused mid-step, staring at him incredulously, and then one of the men prodded him sharply in the back with the tip of his gun, spitting a terse, “Move it,” in German. Seamus automatically flipped him off, and the man, large and ham-fisted, down-turned mouth seemingly carved from granite, pushed Nev forward again and grabbed Seamus’ arm. “Have anything to say to that?” he demanded in heavily-accented English. Seamus squirmed and the man tightened his grasp, biting into his pale skin, and that was familiar. He knew how that worked. “Seamus,” Nev said nervously in his patented don’t-taunt-the-bear tone, worried brown eyes bouncing between them. Seamus ignored him, grinning up at the German. “You don’t touch him anymore, and we’ll be just fine.” Thick brows furrowed to a point over his nose. “Are you telling me what to do?” “I’m merely suggesting,” Seamus went on blithely, “that you not touch him.” His amiable tone seemed to confuse the man, but his menacing stance didn’t change. “Suggesting,” he echoed, like he couldn’t quite believe his captive’s sheer stupidity. Seamus gave him a purposefully lazy half-shrug. “Advising.” “And what would you be able to do about it?” the man sneered. “Oh, I can be creative,” he assured him, nodding, a small, cheeky grin gracing his face. The man growled, yanking Seamus up on his tiptoes, but then a voice cut through the thick, muffled jungle and he abruptly dropped him. Seamus barely caught his balance when the man with the cold scowl and moss-green eyes strode up, the tops of his cheeks red from anger that was strangely not directed at him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Krum?” Ah, Krum. The German meathead had a name. Seamus waited patiently for Krum to fling out the other man’s alias, because he was honestly getting tired of calling him the man with the cold scowl in his head, although he supposed he could’ve just made up a name. Like Lou. Louis. He darted his eyes to Nev, who was gazing at him oddly and yeah. Seamus was well aware he was on his way to hysteria-land. He had a first class ticket. “What does it matter?” Krum snarled. “You damage the merchandise,” the man said simply and with deadly calm, “you don’t get paid.” He jerked his head toward the men in front. “Go on. I’ll stay back here with them.” “So now I can’t be damaged?” Seamus said recklessly, pushing because he always pushed. “What about before? You said they wouldn’t care if I was hurt.” The man studied him, scrutinized him with intense, hard eyes that gave nothing away, and he slipped off his army-green cap, running a hand roughly through his damp, straggly blond hair before firming the hat back on decisively. Finally, he said with almost whisper-soft threat, “If you measure it right, Finnigan, pain doesn’t have to leave any visible marks.”

***

A twitchy bloke with fine brown hair and pale eyes shook Neville awake, but the night was still dark and heavy when he crawled out of the tent and blinked up at the man who’d been guarding Seamus so closely. Nott, he thought his name was, just as he knew they called the twitchy bloke Mouse and that one of the smaller ‘men’ was actually a woman. Neville had always been more observant than Seamus under stress. Nott had his gun slung over one shoulder and his scowl was more pinched than cold in the low-lantern light. “Dr. Longbottom,” he said, and Neville was struck, not for the first time, by how polite they’d all been to him. Waving guns, yes. And okay, sure, pointed threats were tossed about more than once, but. Besides the large German, no one seemed very intent on harming them, mentally or physically. “What’s wrong?” Neville asked, and Nott nodded across the camp to where a tall, gangly man called Boot was shifting drowsily on his feet. He yawned wide. Neville could practically hear the pop and grind of his jaw, and he rubbed his eyes in commiserating sympathy, swiping away the last of his interrupted sleep. And then he heard a low keening sound and snapped his gaze back to Nott, who visibly flinched, chased by a fleeting grimace before his face went stone-quiet again. All right. Neville knew what was wrong. Unsteadily, he stood up, keeping a wary eye on Nott as he crossed the camp and dropped to his knees again at the opening of Seamus’ tent. The flap was open, golden lamplight dimly outlining his restless form. Seamus was curled up on his side, arms tucked between his drawn up legs and his chest, and in the semi-darkness he looked exactly as he had as a boy, shivering cold no matter how many blankets he had, whimpers slipping past his lips no matter how tight his teeth were clenched. It’d broken Neville then, when they were barely thirteen, and it broke him now, seeing the dark jacket—Nott’s?—tucked over him, and the uncontrollable shivers that always grew more pronounced when his mind crawled desperately back toward consciousness. He knew what to look for in the moments before Seamus was going to wake up, the rapid shift of his eyes under thin-skinned lids, the panting breaths, a yell readying in the back of his mouth, but he never knew how to help. Neville sat on his heels and watched, hands fisted on his thighs. Nott was behind him, hovering. Neville felt his warmth at his back, his agitated movements, and finally Nott pressed against his side in the cramped tent and hissed, “Well? Do something.”

At Neville’s continued silence, he went to move past him, one hand already reaching out toward Seamus, and Neville caught hold of his forearm, clamping down hard with thick fingers. He shook his head slowly, mouth and lips and throat dry, making his voice just above a rasp when he said, “Touching him only makes it worse.” *** Seamus had been all bones and snarl when Neville first found him, skin pale and jaundiced under layered filth. Strangely confident, Neville had approached him exactly how he would a starving dog, palm out and up, unintelligible soothing nonsense spilling softly out his mouth, and Seamus had sat stone-still, growls dried up in his throat, large eyes watery, shoulders slumped in defeat. Neville had figured the boy thought he was going to toss him out on his rear, and it was pouring, a damp chill permeating the clapboard box. Neville could see all the hurt and acceptance and fear wrapped up in his dark hazel eyes. Gran made everything better, of course, because Gran had been stubborn and kindly firm from the first. She had Seamus doing chores by the end of the week. His eyes were bright, color a high rose, and he didn’t talk about the nightmares that stalked his sleep, the ones that kept Neville awake and helpless in the twin across their room. No, as soon as the sun hit the horizon, Seamus was… Seamus. Loud and laughing, with a flash-pan temper that was never once, in all their years as family, directed at Neville or Gran. And Seamus never, ever learned to shut up. He never learned control, never learned moderation, and it frankly terrified Neville to think of what would’ve happened if Seamus hadn’t run away, hadn’t curled up in a tense ball in Gran’s shed. There were so many infinitesimal ways Seamus’ life could’ve gone horribly worse than it had, and Neville… Neville felt guilty sometimes, because deep down he was selfishly glad that Seamus’ father had been so big a bastard. He couldn’t imagine living without him. *** Neville wasn’t stupid. Obviously. Twelve years was a long time to waste searching for a recalcitrant son, and by the look of things… these guys were professionals—efficient, spare, smart. They worked well together, worked good together. He eyed up his choices and finally approached Boot, long-limbed and shaggy with an easy grin that looked practiced, dangerous, but was a least overtly friendly…

#jungle au #harry potter #seamus/theodore #maybe someone remembers this from my lj days #i need a step by step guide to finish this #as I have no idea where the heck I was going #at all #do they even make it to ireland?#who knows #why does seamus's father want him back?#no clue #like there is no reason why this would happen #my plot game is weak #but hurt seamus is amazing #tw: child abuse #my fic

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punwolf · 6 years

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Referring to this list of films which scare kids but are animated or believed to be for kids.

One of the ones which often makes the list is the older version of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Most notably the scene where it looks like Wonka is going insane as they’re piled into a boat. Scary images flash all around the children and their guardians.

That movie never bothered me. It also didn’t bother the kids I babysat for (their parents bought them the VHS tape - it’s been awhile.) Maybe if a kid is really young they’d find this terrifying but I don’t know... You’d think kids today would be more jaded than we were in the 80′s by looking at the cartoons I actually grew up with. They were so horribly shallow and lathered up with “moral of the story today” messages it was diabetic inducing. Not that we didn’t love them. He Man, Transformers, Thundercats, She Ra: Princess of Power, Braveheart and of course the timeless original Scooby Doo. Most of them were 20 minute toy commercials with 10 minutes of real commercials. It’s no wonder they didn’t have much substance. The acting was absolutely cringe worthy on most of them, too, but we never noticed that as kids. Freaking Disney murdering Mufasa or crushing the Lightning Bug in Princess and the Frog seems a lot more hard core to me than anything I ever watched.

“Return To Oz” - I thought this was really cool. Granted I was 12 and captivated with the story of the Land of Oz since I was in 2nd grade when my teacher read it out loud to us.

“Felidae" - Okay this one I’ll give people. I watched this as an adult. It’s horrifying in spots and there’s literal human porn in the background (on walls and such) if I remember correctly. Blatant kitty sex is hardly the worst part in my opinion. Out and out animal torture was disturbing, even as an adult.

"Watership Down" - I thought this was the most bad ass movie about rabbits ever made. I mean rabbits, man. Little fluffy bun-buns show what nature is really like. I still love it, but I can see how someone who didn’t grow up on the Discovery Channel watching the brutality of the natural world would find this really horrifying.

"Plague Dogs” -- I want to see this, but with reservations. It sounds depressing.

“Secret of NIMH” -- Oh come on, seriously? We had to read the novel in 3rd grade. It’s very sad in one place to make the point of the rats point of view inside the lab. A little puppy cries and there’s misery around them to drive home the point “all for the sake of scientific curiosity.” It shows rats getting shots but really, aside from the message that animal cruelty isn’t cool (not anti-science just anti-cruelty for the progression of science) this was a gorgeous film. I grew up loving this movie as a child with all the colors, the bravery of Mrs. Frisby (how often to you see a female protagonist back then, even a mouse?) Handsome Captain of the Guard was probably the closest I ever came to being a furry and having a crush on a cartoon character.

“The Mouse and Her Child” -- I’m not sure why this was scary. I saw this when I was really young - maybe 5 years old or so. It just confused the heck out of me. Maybe I’ll try to watch it again as an adult and see if I can make sense out of it. It’s also “Mouse and HIS Child” because it’s a dad mouse.

"Dark Crystal" -- Saw this when I was 11 in the theater. LOVED it! It inspired me to make so many drawings from it. I must have watched it a million times when it came to HBO and Showtime. I still love it. Scary? Wha? "The Electric Grandmother" -- I’m not sure if I saw this as a movie or one of Ray Bradbury’s shorts. If it’s what I think it was, my impression of it was that it was really sweet. Maybe I should look it up again, but I don’t remember anything remotely scary about it.

.... Maybe I was a really weird kid. I was reading Stephen King by the time I was 11 or 12. I was also into any kind of werewolf book I could get my hands on. Most girls were reading Harlequin romance novels by Jr. High. I was reading a few of those, but mostly Splatterpunk and horror.

I don’t know, but obviously movies that really bother(ed) people must not have phased me.

#whuffie's life

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mysticdragon3md3 · 4 years

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Reactions to ep1-2

(Hey, there’s supposed to be a cut here. uh...Turns out, I think I kind of hate Louis. So if you like him, I recommend not reading further.)

7:46 PM 3/25/2020--------------------------------------------------------------

Beastars season 1 ep1

7:53 PM 3/25/2020

Aw, man! Don't make me cry already! A love letter from a dead person?! ;O;

Wait. "Rouis"? Not "Louis"? Ok...?

Jeeze, everyone keeps commenting on stereotypes. Whether it's good or bad expectations, it's all shit. "Carnivores are all monsters." "Goat are only good at eating everything." "We're a high-bred harlequin rabbit pair, so you're shit compared to us!" "You're a wolf. Act like one and give yourself some prestige."

I don't understand people who like Louis. His first 2 scenes from his introduction, and all I sense is him being an asshole. I don't care about whatever "sad backstory" he has. I already heard spoilers about him almost sold as food and constantly wary of that at any time. There are so many times he's being a complete asshole, that doesn't have anything to do with projecting power against possible enemies. LIke, why bully that herbivore replacement for Tem? If Louis dictated the least obvious substitute for Tem, in case his death was setup so that someone else could take his role in the drama club, there's still no need to crush that goat's lower jaw! Louis is an asshole. "Cool backstory; still murder." It's perfectly possible to be cool, project Strength (to protect yourself), and still not be an asshole. Look at Legosi. ...Hell, that maybe be why Louis is like this. He's Legosi's foil. OMG I that why both of their names start with "L"???? I don't understand Louis's popularity. I guess I don't like bad boys. Give me the good boys, ingenues, and cinnamon rolls, like Legosi.

This reminded me: Malice, an dcharacters who confuse Power with the True Strength of Compassion, are some of my pet peeves. Oh, no....This is really pissing me off... Am I going to have to drop Beastars because I can't stand Louis? That's why I dropped HeroAca and Gakuen Babysitters, and plenty of other objectively fantastic series. I can afford to be picky, with my overwhelming watchlist backlog. Plus, just watching bully characters ruins my mood for an entire day! Just any part of a scene feels like spending time with horrible people. That's why I started to notice the particiular things which became my pet peeves. I wanted to hang in on BNHA for Deku, but Bakugo was too intolerable. I really want to hang in on Beastars for Legosi...but if Louis is too intolerable... I can only hope he doesn't get too much screentime.

Whew, that was close. Almost didn't get to listen to the ending theme. I really hate the automatic credit skipping. I'm always scrambling for the remote to stop it in time. I wish there was a setting for each profile so I could set a preference for not skipping the opening or ending themes.

8:23 PM 3/25/2020 But I think I'm done. I got too exhaused and annoyed by Louis. I don't want to watch Beastars ep2 now. I'll go back to my current comfort food "Cells at Work". Nice and simple.

9:25 PM 4/11/2020-------------------------------------------------------- Beastars ep2

I'm really reluctant to watch this, because I dislike Louis so much. I don't want to see him. But I really should watch this show. And also, I like Legosi. But I"m going to sit away from my laptop and not type a lot of reactions. Maybe after I finish the ep, I will.

So does Legosi have a memory gap of attacking Haru? Is this a side effect of him going feral?

Seriously, those guys fighting in the cafeteria were so stupidly fixated on each other, I wanted someone to break up their fight by implying they should just fuck and get it over with. If you want to break up a fight between 2 guys with bruised macho egos, imply their fighting is a sign of curshing on each other. lol That'll shut them up.

Legosi continues to be so sweet.

I didn't expect him to go into all these mental calculations to make himself appear to lose fights. O.o

It was a relief when Louis saved Legosi, but then he ruined it by adding another negging aside to Legosi. Ug. But I get why Legosi annoys him so much. Louis wants the innate power and authority that Legosi could have so easily. So it annoys him to see Legosi "squandering" it, while Louis is so fixated on struggling every day to attain it. But it sounds to me like Louis just has never considered the difficulty in holding back all that power and feral instincts, and the horror and guilt of that side getting out of control. I think the first scene of this episode worked really well to put that carnivore disadvantage factor into the forefront. I dislike characters who confuse Power with Strength, but not enough to avoid a series---just enough to see them as proper villains. To me, people who confuse Power with Strength, vs recognizing the True Strength of Compassion, are some of the worst. Worst people, not worst characters. I can tolerate watching scenes with them. I think it's why Toyotomi Hideyoshi worked so well in Sengoku Basara Samurai Kings. But the worst thing is knowing Louis's background spoilers and feasibly believing that even if he was told that Compassion and holding back Power were much more indicative of True Strength, much more difficult actions, and real proofs of Strength, he'd probably disregard the inherent worth of such True Strengths. (Strengths that make the world worthwhile! If a world didn't have those things, if it was instead full of people who idolized Power over True Strength, it wouldn't be a worthwhile world!) Louis, in his insecurities and subconscious fears of returning to food, if he showed any weakness, would probably accept the falsehood of Power of Strength, just to ensure he was protected. That's what happens when people are afraid: they only look out for themselves. I can totally see Louis if he could turn into a carnivore, he'd accept the disadvantages of struggling with carnivore instinct, not even calling it a disadvantage, and maybe even trying to justify eating someone else (if it ever happened even by accident), as just the fault of the someone else's weakness. That's the type of Weakness and villain I see in Louis.

All this herbivore/carnivore discussion, I completely forgot that everyone was "afraid" of Haru because of her "slut" reputation. I think that anteater guy was even the one who tried to help her with her matress, then his friends specifically told him to fear associating with her.

So is Haru lying about forgetting when she was attacked? Or does she actually have a memory gap from the trauma of it?

I really like the confused sounds Legosi made when Haru took off her clothes. lol

Netflix skipped the ending theme before I could stop it. I wanted to watch it, damn it! I wish Netflix had a setting where you can preset all your viewings to show all the ending themes and opening themes. An "anime setting". lol Thank goodness for YouTube. So I watched the ending theme there, and it's nice. ^_^

#md3 watches beastars #reactions

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petlover18-blog1 · 6 years

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The Most Comprehensive Rabbit Breeds List Ever?

If you are familiar with rabbits, you have probably heard of most of the names in the comprehensive index below. I am adding detailed pages of each rabbit breed as my time permits and many of these fascinating breeds have lead me on a journey of intrigue and wonder. But it’s the uncommon breeds that have really surprised me.

The irony of the rabbit fur industry collapse has made many rabbit breeds very rare. Some breeds have come about completely by accident, or even as a genetic mistake. Some breeds are new to the world of show, as breeders perfect the best genetic combinations, creating new standards for associations and councils to include at exhibition.

I have spent many hours researching for this list and a much more detailed breakdown can be found in my newly published book, ‘How Long Do Rabbits Live’.

Everything you need to know about rabbits in one place!

Find Out More Here…

‘How Long Do Rabbits Live?’, is a complete, easy to read, pet rabbit longevity reference book with potential Lifespan Calculator & Human Years to Rabbit Age Conversion Chart, plus much more.

Diet and Lifestyle Recommendations

Quick Tips

Check Lists

Full Breed Database

Genetic Descriptions

Unique Research

Scientific Studies

Reader Stories

Alphabetical List

Just as the saying goes, “breeding like rabbits”, never has a quote been so true!

There are so many different breeds!

Take a look here…

Rabbit Breeds Alphabetical

More More More…

There’s lots more information in the rabbit breeds list below.

Each rabbit breed includes:

BRC standard and / or ARBA schedule of points

History – A look back in time

Varieties – In standard and in development

Size, Weight, Shape & Ears – General overviews

Colours – Standard show colours & others in development

Fur Type/ Coat – Rollback, flyback, long, short?

Lifespan – Average life expectancy

Personality – House pet, good mother etc?

Purpose – Meat, fur, hobby, fancy or science

Breed Status – Endangered or popular

Care & Handling – Handy Hints & tips

Breeders, Clubs & Organizations – Resource links

Add Your Rabbit! – Ask questions, share stories and photos of your lovely bunnies.

Queue Jump

If you want me to profile a specific breed, let me know using the comment box below

contact me and I will jump it up the queue for you!

Quick Note Each profile takes a few days to complete because they are so detailed. If the breed is not underlined as yet then please be patient, they are coming.

Breeds of Rabbits in Alphabetical Order

A – B – C – D – E – F – G – H – J – K – L M – N – O – P – R – S – T – V – W – Z

A…

Alaska

Altex

American Blue & American White

American Fuzzy Lop

American Sable

Angora (English), Angora (French), Angora (German), Angora (Giant), Angora (Satin)

Argente Bleu, Argente Brun, Argente Clair, Argente Crème, Argente de Champagne, Argente Noir, Argente St Hubert

B…

Baladi

Bauscat

Beige

Belgian Hare

Beveren

Black Hare

Blanc de Bouscat

Blanc de Hotot

Blanc de Popielno

Blanc de Termonde

Blue of Ham

Blue of Sint-Niklaas

Bourbonnais Grey

Brazilian

Britannia Petite

British Giant

Brown Chestnut of Lorraine

Back to Rabbit Breeds Alphabet Starters

C…

Caldes

Californian

Carmagnola Grey

Cashmere Lop Miniature

Cashmere Lop Standard

Chaudry

Chinchilla (Standard), Chinchilla (American), Chinchilla (Giganta), Chinchilla (Giant)

Cinnamon

Continental Giant (Coloured), Continental Giant (White)

Criollo

Cuban Brown

Czech Albin, Czech Spot, Czech Red

Back to Rabbit Breeds Alphabet Starters

D…

Deilenaar

Dutch, Dutch (Tri-Coloured)

Dwarf Hotot

E…

Elfin

Enderby Island

English Spot

Back to Rabbit Breeds Alphabet Starters

F…

Fauve de Bourgogne

Fee de Marbourg (Marburger)

Flemish Giant

Florida White

Back to Rabbit Breeds Alphabet Starters

G…

Gabali

Giant Papillon, (Checkered Giant in USA)

Giza White

Golden Glavcot

Gotland

Grey Pearl of Halle

Güzelçamli

Back to Rabbit Breeds Alphabet Starters

H…

Hare Tan

Harlequin

Havana

Himalayan

Hulstlander

Hungarian Giant

Back to Rabbit Breeds Alphabet Starters

J…

Jersey Wooly

K…

Kabyle

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L…

Lilac

Lionhead

Lionhead Lop Miniature

Liptov Baldspotted

Lop, Cashmere

Lop, Cashmere Miniature

Lop, Dwarf (Mini Lop in USA)

Lop Eared Rabbits

Lop, English

Lop, French

Lop, German

Meissner Lop

Lop, Miniature (Holland Lop in USA)

Lop, Miniature Lion

Back to Rabbit Breeds Alphabet Starters

M…

Mellerud

N…

Netherland Dwarf

New Zealand White, Black, Blue

New Zealand Red

O…

Orestad

Back to Rabbit Breeds Alphabet Starters

P…

Palomino

Pani

Pannon White

Perlfee

Plush Lop (Standard), Plush Lop (Mini)

Pointed Beveren

Polish

Back to Rabbit Breeds Alphabet Starters

R…

Rex Rabbits:

Rex Standard

Rex Self ( Black, Blue, Ermine, Havana, Lilac, Nutria)

Rex Shaded (Sable Siamese, Seal Siamese, Smoke Pearl, Smoke Pearl Marten, Tortoiseshell)

Rex Tan (Fawn, Fox, Sable Marten, Seal Marten, Orange, Otter, Tan)

Rex Agouti (Castor, Chinchilla, Cinnamon, Lynx, Opal)

Rex Other (Dalmatian, Harlequin, Himalayan, Silver Seal, Satin Rex)

Rex Rough Coated Astrex

Rex Rough Coated Opossum

Rex Mini, Rex Mini Broken

Rhinelander

Back to Rabbit Breeds Alphabet Starters

S…

Sallander

San Juan

Satin

Satin Mini

Sachsengold

Siberian

Siamese Sable (Marten Sable)

Silver

Silver Fox

Silver Marten

Smoke Pearl

Spanish Giant

Squirrel

Sussex

Swiss Fox

Back to Rabbit Breeds Alphabet Starters

T…

Tadla

Tan

Teddywidder

Thrianta

Thuringer

Tri Colour English

Back to Rabbit Breeds Alphabet Starters

V…

Vienna – Coloured

Vienna – White

W…

Wheaten, Wheaten Lynx

Z…

Zemmouri

Back to Rabbit Breeds Alphabet Starters

Have I Missed Something!?

The amount of different breeds worldwide, makes for a very difficult and long list indeed. This is because so many of the breeds have several ‘varieties’ that are also recognized as breeds in themselves.

In my research through many reference books, specialist articles and web pages I noticed that some lists included most rabbit breeds but then omitted others.

I have compiled the list above by joining the information together for a more comprehensive outline. Of course I could be missing one or two, so please let me know if there’s a rabbit breed I have not included and I will add it to the chart!

Your Bunny Photos

Don’t forget to send us photos of your rabbit breeds!

Social Media Commenting

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All input is good, no matter how small 😉 Thank-you.

Source: https://www.justrabbits.com/rabbit-breeds.html

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