#Zimmer Container

[der-saisonkoch]

Leseprobe - Die Hubertusalm

Die Frauen und Alex sind auf der Farm angekommen. Bei der Anreise haben sie Gespräche im Ort gehört. Teilweise war von einer Sekte die Rede. Alex wird etwas misstrauisch. Wenn das die Meinung im Ort ist, wird der Besuch der Polizei nicht mehr lange dauern. Kaum ist er auf der Alm angekommen, sagt er das Slavo. Slavo verspricht, sich darum zu kümmern. Die Gruppenhochzeit wird die Meinung…

[byllsbytch]

☆Bricked Up☆

We sat backstage, awaiting yet another interview to begin. It was the second one of that day, one more to go. We'd just arrived back in Berlin. It was a new normal, not just the traveling, but every time you touched down you were being thrown into another interview. The boys were all pigging out on the big charcuterie board, while I sat still stuck in the chair getting my makeup fixed. 

"She still looks like a clown!" Bill critiqued gesturing his hands to my face. He always focused on the little things. At times like this he couldn't entice himself with food like the other boys. When he was nervous he refused to eat. He couldn't, no matter how many interviews he did he could never get over that same old, sick, overwhelming feeling. 

Bill crossed his arms, staring at me in deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowing together.

 "How can you get so light with a foundation?" Bill complained biting his nails, Georg turned his head, diverting his focus from the cheese and crackers to Bills stressed comments. He nodded in agreement - shoving another pickled onion in his mouth. 

"Scheiße!" He screeched at the stylist, swatting her brush from my face. He got fed up and pulled me from my chair taking me back into the fitting room. 

"Thank you" I whispered. 

"Oh not a problem, now lets see. They should have some thing better back here, something for like an interview with Christina Aguilera or something, I don't know."

-

-

Bill led me out of the fitting rooms, he'd wiped off the makeup and redid my eyeliner like his. We also managed to scavenge for a turquoise and brown halter top with low rise flare jeans. My hair sat wavy with random plaits in my skunk hair. The fit was kinda out of my usual style but it was better than what I looked like previously and to be honest, I was really feeling myself.

"Where have you two been?" Adela questioned holding her ear piece as to prevent herself from being heard by others, "You're on in three!"

The boys already sat in the couch waiting for the cameras to go on air. The room was already loud and giddy but as me and bill walked out into view the whole room erupted loudly in screams and praise.

Tom looked over in our direction and readjusted him self on the couch, getting Gustav to scoot along as he did so. I sat next to Tom seeing as though he made room on the couch. We looked at each other and smiled. 

"Bill did a great job, you look smoking." Tom winked. I felt my cheeks grow hot and forced myself to face the audience. I struggled containing myself but I had no choice but to do so, we were live now. 

"Tokio Hotel joins us tonight while on their Zimmer 483 Tour." the interviewer says with a smile, staring directly in the camera. "Guys, Germany wants to know, how's it been returning home to perform?" 

-

-

The interviewer turned to me, ready to shoot another question. “Y/N, me - along with many other audience members - have noticed you have something pretty eye catching on your belly button."

I looked down at my navel, forgetting the piercing that laid there.

"That is right." I replied looking up to see even the Tokio boys staring at my stomach. Tom smirked then bit his lip.

"It appears even your band members are surprised by your new bedazzlement." He noted.

The dread-head looked me up and down then altered the way he was sitting. Fixing the bag in his pants then pulling the oversized shirt to his knees. 

"When did that happen, why did you choose to get it done?"

"Well. it happened back in uhh, France so about 2 weeks ago and I got it done because, why not? They're pretty cute and right now I have a little playboy bunny dangling from my belly. Pretty neat isn't it?"

The audience and the boys laughed at my response, and I felt a rush of confidence knowing I could make them all smile. The interview continued with questions about our tour, our music, and our upcoming plans. We answered as best as we could, trying to keep it lighthearted and fun.

As the interview came to an end, the boys and I stood up to thank the host and the audience. Tom waited for me to rise first before he got up and stood behind me. His face was flushed as I felt a bulge poke me in the back. My eyes widened as I turned back slightly to look at Tom. He placed his hands on my shoulders and spun me back to face the front not giving me a chance to look away from the audience ahead of us. He tilted his head back slightly, squeezing his eyes tight and biting his lip trying to get his excitement to go away. I felt Tom's hand on my lower back as he used me as a shield, guiding me to the side as we prepared to leave the set. Doing everything in his power to cover this embarrassing moment from the live cameras.

Once we got behind the curtain, Tom grabbed the hat off his head and discreetly placed it over the tent in his jeans. It was the fastest I'd ever seen Tom dart to our dressing room.

"That was amazing, you did great," Bill whispered-yelled to me as soon as we exited the stage.

"Thanks, I couldn't have done it without your help," I replied, feeling grateful for his support.

"Hmm, wonder what happened with Tom" Georg smirked.

As we made our way back to our dressing room, the 3 boys teased me about my new belly button piercing, making jokes and laughing together. As Gustav went to open the dressing room door it was abruptly swung open from the other side to reveal a panting Tom with a smug look on his face.

"Oh hey guys." He breathed his voice was all over the place. "Just a bit puffed out"

”Oh my god!” Bill gagged.

Me and Gustav chuckled while Georg lent towards him and gave him a fist bump.

[felassan]

Photos of the Dragon Age OST vinyl booklet artwork have appeared online [source]. they were posted over on Reddit in the same thread/by the same user as the post with D'Read Koda in it (Reddit user LegendeRRisCZ17), in an update to said post.

for context, this is what we had seen previously of these art pieces, with the images being skewed and only some being in view. Twitter user Kiranox (@/veranox) was able to do some cool photo manipulation and unskew the skewed ones, but there were still images we hadn't been able to even see to try to unskew in the first place. [previous posts on these art pieces and the vinyl art in general including the cover dragon pieces, so that I'm not repeating myself supermuch in this post more than I am already: one, two, three, four]

in a previous post I wondered,

perhaps there are two pages for each PC/main game - HoF & DA:O (hence the Warden image on page 1), Hawke & DAII, and the Inquisitor & DA:I (hence the Solas Hermit symbols on page 6)? since this 'booklet’ comes with the vinyl, and the vinyl contains music from all 3 past main games

and it seems this may be the case, as here we can see:

left: Grey Warden imagery - griffon, Joining Chalice with darkspawn blood drop, sword. calls to mind sigils/heraldry of the Grey Wardens. right: this pattern resembles the map of the Fade in DA:O. - the Hero of Ferelden & Dragon Age: Origins.

left: A diving bird, bearing a resemblance to Hawke’s tarot card in DA:I. In the background the sigil looks like Kirkwall heraldry. right: this pattern brings to mind the ‘companion grid’ from Varric's book in the interrogation scenes in Dragon Age II. - the Champion of Kirkwall & Dragon Age II.

left: the iconic Inquisitor helmet, the Inquisition hairy eyeball symbol, sword. right: the 'four circles' pattern looks similar to the pattern on Solas’ Hermit Tarot card. (and in the middle is the sense once again of an eclipse - in the very center, a sun-like shape/representation of the sun. and behind that, two overlapping spheres/two shadowed spheres. like we've seen in the in-game cinematic and elsewhere) - the Inquisitor and Dragon Age: Inquisition.

as for the shattering eluvian image (and the two images of dragons from the covers), I talked about them here and here so I won't repeat myself. but I guess this one represents some of the story of Dragon Age: Dreadwolf. makes sense, there's a disc of DA:O music, a disc of DAII music, a disc of DA:I music, and then on the last disc it's bonus dlc tracks and bard songs from DA:I, but the last one is the one with D'Read Koda, so functionally it could be seen as a 'DA:D disc'.

the images also confirm what was written in the Reddit post before about Hans Zimmer, Lorne Balfe and the track called D'Read Koda.

[credit and source link: Reddit user LegendeRRisCZ17, link, via]

[vladdyissues]

We Have A Problem

Danny could scarcely contain his excitement. After eight long months, the wait was finally over: Tonight was the premiere of the hotly-anticipated new television docuseries, Knowing Universe.

The product of decades of research and collaborative efforts from the world’s greatest minds—astronomers, physicists, astronauts, engineers—Knowing Universe was rumored to have had a production budget somewhere in the hundreds of millions and boasted the latest advancements in computer graphics and long-range photography. New lenses had to be fitted to NASA’s telescopes to provide viewers with high-resolution images. Helmed by a famous Hollywood director and scored by Hans Zimmer, Knowing Universe was expected to go down in history as the most pivotal science documentary ever created, eclipsing even Carl Sagan’s beloved Cosmos.

A year ago Danny would have eschewed such blasphemy, but the litany of promos and sneak peeks on The Science Channel had finally won him over. It was all he had talked about for the past month.

Every member of the Fenton family knew what a monumental occasion this was to Danny, and had marked their calendars accordingly. With the big day finally here, a festive atmosphere descended upon Fenton Works. Pizza was ordered. Living room furniture was rearranged around the TV, the windows blacked out with construction paper. Glittery blue streamers festooned the ceiling. Glow-in-the-dark stars and meteors spackled the wall. Jack made three enormous batches of “galaxy brownies”, a regular brownie recipe but studded with white chocolate morsels and multicolored candy sprinkles. Maddie and Jazz took care of the music, arranging a playlist consisting of space-themed songs that featured such hits as David Bowie’s Space Oddity and anything by Daft Punk. Sam brought over a tray of veggies that had been cut into star shapes, and Tucker had printed out cards for an astronomy-themed parlor game to play while they waited.

At eight o’clock the lights were dimmed. Everyone gathered in front of the TV. Danny, hyped out on too much sugar, grinned like a maniac, practically vibrating with anticipation.

Sam passed a smirk to Tucker. “I think we know what to get him for his birthday this year.”

“Yeah,” Tucker laughed. “Posters, t-shirts, the DVD set—”

“Shh, shh,” Danny hissed. “It’s starting!”

Six pairs of eyes glued themselves to the opening sequence: a panning, high-definition shot of Earth, complemented by a gentle, sustained note on flute. Then, a voice:

“For as long as humanity has existed, we have looked to the stars…”

The ecstatic grin slid off Danny’s face.

It wasn’t David Attenborough’s educated gravel, or Neil deGrasse Tyson’s friendly, conversational baritone. No, this voice was intimately familiar, lightly accented, arrogant, with phlegmy fricatives and a rolling, almost musical modulation.

Tucker clapped his hand over his mouth. Sam goggled at the screen.

“Oh, my God, no,” Danny murmured.

Jack Fenton popped to attention. “Hey! That’s Vladdie!”

“No.”

“Vlad’s narrating the show!”

“No.”

“Hey, Danny, isn’t this—”

Outside Fenton Works, a howl rose over the rooftops, and every dog in the neighborhood took up the call:

“NOOOOO!”

Read on AO3

[mllemaenad]

Wait, I'm confused - if the Institute succeeded in the goal of the original FEV trials by creating synths, why on earth are they still doing FEV experiments right up until Dr Virgil leaves?

I mean, you're not any more confused than the people doing the research. The terminal entries all contain complaints about how pointless this is. :)

But okay. What's actually going on there? Two things, I think.

First off: just because you've successfully completed a project doesn't mean it's done forever. They first rolled out power armour in 2067, but people keep making new kinds of power armour (I wish they'd stop. I hate power armour. But they do.). Research and development on synths is still ongoing – it's just handled by the Robotics department. They're likely still using FEV, but it's just one tool in their kit, rather than the focus of their work.

Nothing new. Always the same. Have entered formal complaint with Directorate; these tests are not bringing in any valuable information. The organics project was spun off decades ago. Why do we insist on continuing this? – Virgil's notes, Progress Reports, Fallout 4

So why are they doing anything with it? Well, I think the first clue comes from the entry from Virgil's predecessor, Syverson:

Latest round of testing complete. Results are all within expected parameters. Informed Dr. Zimmer directly, as he had ordered the tests personally. He seemed annoyed with the results; unsure what he was looking for. He declined to specify why he wanted the tests run to begin with. – Syverson's notes, Progress Reports, Fallout 4

We know Zimmer. He was the head of the Synth Retention Bureau. More importantly, he's a character from Fallout 3. Zimmer was part of the quest The Replicated Man, and was specifically in the Capital Wasteland hunting down an escaped courser: A3-21, now going by Harkness. And Harkness is apparently a unique prototype:

This particular android… Designation A3-21, is… different. Special. The most advanced synthetic humanoid I've ever developed. The others, like my escort Armitage there, are all older models. Easily replicated. Ah, but A3-21… it would take years to recreate him! So you see, this android MUST be located. At all costs. The others are all… acceptable losses. But A3-21, he is… irreplaceable. – Dr Zimmer's dialogue, Fallout 3

Zimmer ordered a round of FEV tests, apparently shortly before taking off to Rivet City to attempt to recapture Harkness. What were they for? Well, we can't know exactly, which is kind of the point. FEV research at the Institute has been thoroughly sidelined in favour of "the organics project" so these people are being treated as lackeys and very much left out of the loop. This is at minimum a Robotics project, and may even be some courser-specific SRB-only thing.

We can make some guesses, though.

One possibility is that they were being used as an early phase of testing. Synths in general are valuable: the Institute aims to recapture any gen-3 synth who escapes. A courser would be more valuable still. And Harkness is apparently unique.

We do know that the Institute uses synths for medical testing, but there have to be some rational degrees of risk. Kill a synth, and you will need to use resources to replace them. Kill a kidnapped wastelander and ... well, from the Institute's point of view that's no great loss. If this was a project aimed at improving their more expensive synths (the coursers) then there would be a strong argument for limiting their risk.

This could have been a strain of FEV modified to do something in particular, and they were dosing wastelanders with it first to see if it was lethal or not before they tried it out on a synth.

If this is the case, Zimmer clearly did not get the results he wanted out of the test.

Another possibility is that they were a control group. This was just a normal round of FEV testing, and it's meant to be contrasted with some other thing Zimmer is doing. Again, he clearly didn't get the results he wanted from the tests – but we can't know exactly what he was doing, beyond the fact that he seemed to be working to enhance courser ability and had created at least one prototype.

So, yes, I think that's part of it. The FEV department was being used as a secondary lab for the now more valuable Robotics department, but they largely had no idea what they're doing or where their work fit into the larger picture. This would, yes, be terribly unsatisfying work to be involved in.

But they clearly continued doing these tests even after Zimmer's disappearance, and we don't have strong evidence for SRB involvement once he was gone. So that's the second thing. Because, well, making super mutants was sort of an end in itself, wasn't it?

One of the Institute's major strategies is keeping the Commonwealth in a permanent state of disarray so they can't unite against them. The Sole Survivor eventually pulls at least one faction together enough to do just that – and unless you sell out to them, they go boom.

They use synths for specialist work: Gen-3s to go in and replace wastelanders in order to either spy or run experiments; Gen-1 and Gen-2s to harrass, or to retrieve specific tech, like at University Point. But if you don't have a specific mission in mind and just want to give everyone a very bad day ... well, super mutants are great for that. Low cost to the Institute, because they already have the FEV and kidnapping does not seem to be difficult for them. Maximum grief and chaos for the people on the surface.

And yes, this too would be deeply unsatisfying work. Even setting aside how morally abhorrent all of this, you're not even doing science anymore. You're just in manufacturing. Collect human; dip human; release super mutant. That's got to be an exercise in misery.

But that's exactly how this played out, didn't it? Virgil rebelled after failing to get the project shut down any normal way, and the whole thing was shuttered.

So I do think "confusion" is a reasonable response to the Institute's continued FEV research – but I do think they were doing something with it.

[cellarspider]

6/30 The road to hell

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⛬

We return to the movie equivalent of an incompletely-assembled Ikea PAX / BERGSBO wardrobe surrounded by chips of particle board and eight thousand extra screws, Prometheus.

If that analogy made sense to anybody, congratulations! You too are succumbing to The Madness.

Content warnings for terrible archaeology, terrible chemistry, and blunt force trauma to the audience with a piece of exposition.

Increasingly extensive alt-text ramblings include the logistics of securing items in moving craft, linguistics, atmospheric science, colorblind-friendly diagram design, swearing about orology, and cursing the crew for their fictional crimes against archaeology.

Many on Tumblr are familiar with Chekhov’s Gun, a piece of writing advice that calls for economy of storytelling: if you mention a loaded gun in your story, it should go off at some point. Sergius Shchukin phrased it this way: “Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first act that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third act it absolutely must go off. If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there." 

So Prometheus takes the rifle down off the wall and smashes you over the head with it, just to make sure you saw it.

CH: “Wow, nice place.”

D: “It's actually a separate module with its own self-contained life support. Air, food. Anything Miss Vickers would need to survive a hostile environment.”

CH: “Okay, so she lives on a lifeboat.”

MV: “Yes. I do. I like to minimize risk.”

Gee. I wonder if Vickers’ lifeboat living quarters will become relevant later.

Then, Chekhov’s rifle hits us with its next flurry of blows.

“Charlie, look. It's a Pauling Med-Pod. They only made a dozen of these.”

Gee. I wonder if the Pauling Med-Pod–-yes of course it’s going to be relevant later

You want a movie where a literal Chekhov’s gun gets fired off, along with Chekov’s crossword puzzle, Chekov’s ketchup packet, Chekhov’s swan, and Chekhov’s farmer’s mum, Chekhov’s everything all weaving back together again in a beautiful symphony of hilarious violence? Watch Hot Fuzz! Do it! Just watch Hot Fuzz! Not Prometheus!

I have said it before and I say it now, this movie is TERRIBLE at providing the audience with plot-relevant information. It hits you like head trauma. It bellows at you like Hans Zimmer has his entire orchestra hiding behind your chair, ready to let loose with an Inception Noise.

Vickers is here to make David mix drinks and to be a Corpo Ice Queen who demands that the team not make any direct contact with any alien life they find while they’re here. She doesn’t think they will, though. She thinks Weyland was delusional. But she’s the one in charge of the company money, so she’s the boss here.

Which begs the question of why she’s here at all, rather than back on Earth. This is actually a plot point, but because it’s not explicitly called out like the LIFEBOAT with the PAULING MED-POD, and everyone else has acted like loons anyway, it does not stand out. It just seems like another dollop of irrational behavior in the unpalatable stew of these characters.

However, Vicker’s demand that no direct contact be made? Very sensible! In fact, this was the point in the movie where I distinctly remember thinking in the theater “wait, they don’t have a first contact protocol already?” 

Like, Vickers doesn’t think that anything’s going to happen, but there’s enough of a chance that she’s giving orders not to engage. The sum total of their formal first contact attempt was yeeting a cultural message packet at the planet while in-transit to see if they got any response. The only one who appears to have been preparing was David–he basically spent the last two years learning comparative linguistics, with the aim of acting as a translator, should they get that far. That’s a sound choice, though its actual implementation is going to leave me incensed later.

But that still doesn’t answer the question of what they’re planning to do. Weyland certainly believed that they were going to meet aliens here. He’s arrogant enough to have demanded this whole project happen, and he didn’t have anything to say about what should be said if they made contact without him? 

This is, possibly, a plot point. But everything else that happens around this in the next five minutes is pure, howling madness.

Because they’re immediately descending into the atmosphere of this alien world.

This is too fast. In Alien, they landed on-planet to check out a possible distress signal, and it was a goddamn pain in their collective ass that they were only doing out of legal responsibility. In Aliens, they were a bunch of hopped-up marines ready to go shoot bugs. 

These are, again, scientists. The team leads are archaeologists! Aerial archaeology is a thriving field today that’s only going to get more useful as technology improves! There is no sense that they’ve done any scans, they don’t even know what the atmosphere is made out of, something we, right now, can already determine about exoplanets. Really! We can! 

We are explicitly told, in fact, that all this is happening within the same day as everyone waking up. The events of this movie appear to happen over two days, maybe three at the max.

And now, Spider yells at cloud. Or rather, the atmosphere.

The movie claims that if you spend two minutes on the surface without an oxygen supply, you’re dead. Why? Atmospheric CO₂ is over 3%.

Now, 3% CO₂ is not a fun time, and you will definitely experience weird physical and cognitive effects. But if you hang out in 3-5% CO₂, you’re going to be pretty okay for anywhere from four hours to over a month. 

What I've heard consistently is speculation that the movie meant carbon monoxide levels at 3%, which, yeah, that'll kill ya. In fact 2-3 breaths of 1.28% CO makes people pass out and die within under three minutes. 0.01% CO is enough to result in headaches and memory problems, as one redditor demonstrated to the internet back in 2015. 

But no. For whatever reason, the movie script says “CO₂”. Consistently.

And now, we get to the bit that had me screeching under my breath in the theater. Most people who saw Prometheus lost their sympathy for the human characters about 5-20 minutes after this point. I was ahead of the curve. I hated these characters before it was cool. Because they see a structure. They see what looks like roads.

Holloway, who I remind you all, claims to be an archaeologist, demands they set the ship down on one of those roads.

Let me tell you all a story. A few years before this movie first blighted me, I signed up for an archaeological field course. The university offering it didn’t have a dig permit lined up for the year I went, but their campus was in an area that had seen continuous human habitation for at least 15,000 years. They scouted out a bit of lawn, we cut the turf, and started digging. 

A week or two into the dig, we realized that the top layers were probably modern infill, dirt that had been trucked in from somewhere and completely jumbled. We started hacking away at it with mattocks to get down to the actual archaeology, which was delayed by a day or two when I struck 1940s asphalt. 

Like, literally struck it with my mattock. It felt like biting down on aluminum foil, but spread out over my hands to my shoulders. The professors rented a small mechanical digger to tear up the old car park, and also some of the plywood on the sides of our trench by accident. I have never seen a bunch of professors so gleeful about being turned loose on heavy machinery.

But finally, we got to what we were there for. A bunch of 13th century houses, and a Roman road.

I remember we made sure there was photo documentation that captured every fucking pebble on the medieval surface of that road, before we dug in. We were encouraged to sketch it, too. We took precise GPS coordinates of where the edge of the road started. We sifted through the road surface as we dug it up, finding dozens of tiny artifacts, because centuries of people had tossed little bits of trash onto the road, lost things out of their pockets and pouches, all the random little events that might happen on a stretch of road two minutes' walk from the parish church. 

I remember one student found the metal tag off of a horse’s bridle, that would’ve been used to identify it with its owner’s mark. Another found an 800 year old silver coin, tarnished on one side and perfectly, shiningly pristine on the other. It was beautiful.

And over and over, we were told: “A road is a find.” A road itself is history. A road is a place shaped by human hands, where humans have lived their lives. We can learn a lot from roads.

And that was what I was whispering at the screen in the theater, increasingly incensed. “A road is a find. A road is a find. A road is a find!!”

I was ready to reach through the screen and strangle that motherfucker Holloway from this moment on. The movie had lost me fully. Not because of this moment in isolation–if the rest of it had been consistently competent, I would have sighed and done my best to hold onto suspension of disbelief. But the drip feed of problem after problem had taken me from open and interested in the movie to actively spiteful in about 30 minutes or less.

So, fine. The movie seemed determined to make me watch a bunch of unprepared morons stumble to their deaths. Usually, this sort of movie doesn’t appeal to me. I don’t find much use for the kind of movie where you’re supposed to feel antipathy toward the main cast, as a free pass to watch them suffer. It’s why I still haven’t seen Alien Covenant. But I had been unexpectedly ambushed by just such a movie, and I was rooting for whatever horrors awaited them.

⛬

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Citations for alt text rambling:

1. https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/bane-vs-pink-guy--2

2. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinese_bronze_inscriptions 

3. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cumulonimbus_incus 

4. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/K%C3%A1rm%C3%A1n_line

5. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Everest

6. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olympus_Mons

[amrv-5]

Where's Everett? (1966) Or: Alan Alda raises an invisible alien baby

Part of a series of writeups of unaired or otherwise inaccessible TV objects ft. Alan Alda, which I was able to access via the Paley Center for Media in NYC (November 2024). 

Where’s Everett? (1966) - Producer, Creator, Writer: Ed Simmons; Associate Producer: Jon Zimmer; Director: Gene Nelson. 

Cast: Arnold Barker - Alan Alda; Sylvia Barker - Patricia Smith; Dr. Paul Jellicoe - Nicolas Coster, Lizzie Barker - Doreen Miller; Murdock - Frank DeVol; Milkman - Robert Cleaves. 

Summary: When a basket containing an invisible baby appears on the doorstep of Arnold (Alan Alda) and Sylvia Barker (Patricia Smith), the couple clashes over what to do. Arnold, a professional science fiction author, thinks they ought to turn the baby over to be studied. Sylvia thinks they ought to raise it as their own. The couple call in family friend and pediatrician Dr. Paul Jellicoe (Nicolas Coster) for help, all while trying to balance keeping invisible baby Everett a secret from their daughter, Lizzie (Doreen Miller), nosy neighbors (Milkman - Robert Cleaves) and investigating reporters (Murdock - Frank DeVol). 

Plot recounting: The show begins in an unassuming suburban American neighborhood, white-picket-fence’d, green lawn’d, and quiet. A tracking shot follows an empty, floating wicker basket down the street, through a white picket fence, and up to the door of a house. The basket floats down to sit on the doorstep. The doorbell is rung by an unseen entity, whose footsteps are audible as it hurries away. The camera follows the invisible entity back down the street, panning to reveal a large spaceship parked on one of the suburban lawns. The spaceship opens, a staircase descends, footsteps are heard ascending it, and the staircase retracts. The spaceship flies away. Meanwhile, the doorbell is answered by Arnold Barker (Alan Alda), still in his dressing gown. He regards the empty basket with confusion as a baby—not visible—begins to cry. The intro plays: A cheerful, upbeat tune over yellow title cards listing cast and credits. 

Arnold and his wife Sylvia (Patricia Smith) investigate, attempting to locate the crying baby. They decide the sound must be coming from inside the apparently empty basket. Though Arnold is doubtful, he puts a hand inside the basket, and quickly withdraws it: He was bitten by something invisible, which left visible teeth-marks (“Arnold, there’s a baby in that basket!” “But a baby what?”). The couple try to decide what to do with the invisible baby. Arnold suggests they report it (“Why don’t we call the police and have them give the baby back to Claude Rains?”), but they eventually settle on calling their friend, pediatrician Dr. Paul Jellicoe (Nicolas Coster) for advice. 

Arnold explains the situation to Paul, who refuses to believe him, due to the fact that Arnold is a professional science fiction novelist. Eventually Paul agrees to come over for Arnold’s sake, convinced that Arnold is sick, drunk, or otherwise hallucinating. Meanwhile Sylvia feeds the baby, whom she has named Everett, oatmeal, which disappears off the spoon. Arnold complains about the ridiculousness of the situation, and Everett responds by flinging oatmeal into his face.

When Paul arrives, Arnold shows him to Everett’s wicker basket—but they realize that Everett has crawled away, prompting a carefully thorough and shoeless (“You might step on him!”) search of the floor and furniture, until Paul notices a floating piece of candy and realizes Everett the invisible baby is real after all. Paul gives the baby an exam and notes that the child is healthy and normal, except for an unusually high body temperature and, of course, the invisibility (“Just think, Arnold, you’re going to save a fortune on clothes.”). He recommends the Barkers not mention the baby to their young daughter Lizzie, worrying it might have an adverse emotional impact. 

Lizzie descends the stairs and states that she dreamed she heard a baby crying. The Barkers and Paul play a game of hot potato with invisible baby Everett, trying to keep him away from Lizzie without arousing her suspicion or looking too obviously as though they are holding something invisible and baby-sized. The tradeoff only works until Everett is placed back into his basket and begins to cry. To the surprise of the Barkers and Paul, Lizzie takes the revelation with equanimity: “Invisible baby,” she says, pleased, before rocking Everett in her arms and asking if the family can keep him. 

Sylvia hears the milkman outside, and asks Arnold to buy some extra milk for the baby. Arnold, still believing they ought to turn the baby over to somebody in authority, reluctantly agrees, and hears from the milkman that a rumor is going around the street: A flying saucer was spotted on a neighboring lawn early in the morning.

Arnold is surprised and then delighted by the news, and suggests that it could be a boon for his career. He proposes handing the baby over to science in a public fashion, imagining the headline attention it might receive, and the increase of attention towards his books. Sylvia, however, wants to keep Everett, distressed by the idea of the baby being “poked at” and studied; she states that whoever dropped the baby off must have wanted them to care for him. 

The doorbell rings (Arnold: “If nobody’s there, maybe it’s the parent.”), and reporter Murdock (Frank DeVol) asks if the Barkers have any information about the flying saucer rumor. Arnold attempts to tell the reporter about Everett, but Sylvia and Lizzie undermine him by implying he is relaying a story he’s working on, mentioning his career as a science-fiction writer, and hiding the baby, so when Arnold directs the reporter to pick Everett up, he finds nothing in the basket. Arnold immediately panics, believing Everett has crawled away again (“Where’s Everett?!”), and begins to search the floor on hands and knees. The reporter leaves, convinced Arnold is insane. 

Sylvia and Lizzie assure Arnold that the baby isn’t lost again—they only relocated Everett to an armchair. Arnold picks Everett up for safekeeping and tries to convince his family one last time that they can’t possibly raise an invisible baby. He slowly begins to doubt himself as he speaks, noting that they have always wanted a son, before Everett manages his first word: “Dada.” Arnold leaps over a couch and begins to hop around, delighted, holding Everett to his chest (“He knows me!”), accepting his role as Everett’s new father. 

(Semi-Alda-specific) review: So awesome. Went into this one knowing the premise “Suburban couple find and raise invisible alien baby” and was prepared for it to be pretty hard to take, but was pleasantly surprised by its consistent humor and how well it committed to a pretty ridiculous conceit. Ed Simmons wrote for Martin and Lewis, which feels just about right, given the zaniness of the script and the prevalence of tossed-off one-liners. Unclear on how this would have worked for longer than one episode, but I’m sad we never got to see it attempted. Alda and Smith are particularly excellent at what seems, while watching, like a long-form improv warmup game: They commit and commit well to ‘holding’ baby Everett, transferring him between each other, rocking, soothing, lifting, and otherwise gently handling baby-shaped empty air, which if you stop buying the existence of the baby becomes insanely funny insanely fast, but in the watching process is pretty sweet. Really excellent for Alda specifically because he does befuddled but well-meaning and generally reasonable suburban dad so well as a role type; plus he’s wearing a wonderfully 60s velour tracksuit top, which is so visually fun it’s almost a character in itself. Verdict: Don’t miss this one if you visit the archive. Such a treat.

[lostfirefly]

Life Must Have It's Mysteries (Ch.2)

Nobody asked me, but the thought of sending my beloved couple on a new journey didn't let me go. Welcome to a new adventure! No idea how many chapters there will be :) Pain continues leading me to art :)

English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :) Masterlist is here.

Description: Our heroes are on a quest to find the blue diamond! Hooray!

Warnings: Fun (Sanji's small appeareance is just for fun), fluff, NSFW part is included (sorry not sorry), MDNI

Words: 4000 (sorry-y-y-y again)

Buggy x OC from my “You’ve Got the Same Dream as Me” series.

Taglist: @gingernut1314 (thanks for the red-blue striped pants idea!), @operationroots, @hey-august, @rorywritesjunk

The title is taken from "Life Must Have It's Mysteries" by Hans Zimmer (OST Inferno).

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Chapter 1

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Smack. Smack. Smack.

"Geez, if I'd known you'd react like that, we'd have gone somewhere a long time ago." Buggy couldn't contain his laughter as he looked at Catherine, who was squeaking all over the living room, clenching her fists happily. 

"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!!" She collapsed onto the couch, throwing her legs over it and wrapped her arms around Buggy's neck. Smack. Smack. Smack. "I’m so happy! Love!” Smack. "Love!" Smack. "Love love love you!" Smack. Smack. Smack. "Where do we start?"

"We'll start when you calm down, Cathie-pie. Repeat after me, please" He took three deep breaths.

"Okay! Okay! I'm calm!" She made a concentrated face and took one breath. Then a second. Then blurred into a smile and started squealing again.

"Oh my goodness!" Buggy grabbed his head and fell on the back of the couch. 

"Sorry!! I promise! I’m calm! So.. you told you know the guy.. Who.. Who…" She froze and began to smile again.

Buggy looked at her intently and sighed heavily. "Okay, squeal!"

Catherine attacked him with hugs and squeals again. 

"Are you finished?" 

"Yes!" Smack. 

"You sure?"

"Yes!" Smack. Smack. 

"Ok! Our first step. I'm gonna go to a restaurant in the morning. I’ll talk to a man about this thing from your sheets. In theory, he can give us directions or if there's a map or something. We need to figure out where to start."

"Can I come with you? Ple-e-ease!" Smack. 

"Are you squealing done for the day?"

"Yes!" Smack. Smack. 

"You sure?"

"Yes!" Smack. Smack. Smack. 

"If you behave well, woman, I’ll take you with me." 

"You're the best!!" Smack. Smack. Smack. 

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In the morning, Catherine made the biggest and most delicious breakfast. Poured him the biggest cup of coffee. Gave him the longest morning kiss. She miscalculated a little with that last point, as Buggy immediately wanted to forget about breakfast after that, but she fought back. Catherine sat back in her chair, watched him eat and tried to appear calm. He sighed and told her to get ready. 

They reached a small restaurant, the sign resembled a wave, the fronts were blue-green in color. 

"Water 7. Another weird name of another weird place." Catherine whispered under her breath and squeezed Buggy's hand. "Is there someone scary inside?" 

"Nah, there's a trio running this restaurant. They and one of their little buddies really piss me off sometimes. But I gotta hand it to them, this place has good scotch." 

They went into a fairly bright room. Everything inside looked like water. Drawings and paintings on the walls, chairs in the shape of waves. 

"Oh my god! Why is he in just his underwear?!" Catherine didn't expect to say it so loudly. She threw a glance at Buggy, who rolled his eyes. 

A large man in an unbuttoned shirt that resembled a Hawaiian shirt, wearing underpants and barefoot walked up to them. Instead of the usual human nose, he had a metal nose. 

"Buggy the Sneak!" Said the man in shorts. 

"Franky!" 

"What happened in your life that you came to get scotch at 8:00 in the morning?"

"Scotch later. I'm here to see you on business. Catherine, give me the papers." Catherine kept her gaze on the man in his underpants. She considered the color of his hair, his nose. 

Franky in turn considered her. "Who's that?" He pointed a finger at Catherine. 

"She's with me" Buggy took Catherine lightly behind him. 

"With you? You mean.. Dear Lord! I can't believe someone messed with you, also sleeping willingly, Honey, if you're being held hostage, tell me." 

"Hey!" Catherine shouted.

"Let's get back to our business. Have you heard anything about this?” Buggy pointed to the sheets.

"The blue diamond? Yeah, but I think it's just rumors or maybe not. No one knows exactly. What? Why are you asking?"

"Just curious." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Stop lying to me. You're one of the biggest losers in treasure hunting. And I don't believe that you are asking me about that diamond because you're "just curious."

"Hey, you! The man in the underwear! It's not your business at all. If you need money for the information, I’ll pay you." Catherine took three steps forward.

"Catherine, calm down!" Buggy put his hand on her shoulder and tried to pull her in behind him.

"No, we're here to get information. Instead, a grown man who can't spare the money to buy his own pants sits there and insults you." Catherine glanced at Franky. "How much do you want for coordinates, information, or whatever it is you have?"

"Let's go to my cabinet." Franky patted Buggy on the shoulder and gestured him into his office.

A chill ran down Catherine's back. She felt a little uneasy that because of her inability to keep quiet, Buggy might get hurt. She put her hand on his back and looked at him anxiously.

"It's all right. I'll be right back."

Franky and Buggy walked out. Catherine sat back in her chair and put her elbows on the table. "You should be silent sometimes, Catherine.." She muttered to herself.

"Oooooh! God, what a beautiful girl I have behind my counter!!!" Suddenly there was a loud squeak or squeal.

Catherine turned around and noticed a tall blond man in a suit running towards her. "Geez, who are you?"

"Pretty-swaaaan!!!! Where did you come from?"

The stranger grabbed Catherine's arm.

"Go to hell, who are you?!" She yanked her arm back.

"Sanji-san!!! And who are you, oh beautiful girl?"

"C-Catherine!"

"God, what a beautiful name, Cathie-swaaaaaan!!!"

"Don't call me Cathie! There's only one person in the world who can call me that!"

"I’m sorry, Cathie-swaaaan!!" 

"Fuck!!!" She rolled her eyes.

The strange blond man continued to circle around Catherine and tried to take her hand until he was stopped by a loud "Hey, step away from her!" She turned around and saw Franky and Buggy.

Catherine jumped up from her seat and quickly walked over to Buggy. "Save me, this blond guy is crazy!" 

"So, sorry, clown. That's all I know about the blue diamond." Franky uttered with a slight smile.

Catherine lookd upset.

"The blue diamond? I know something about it!" The blond man stopped spinning and sat down on the chair.

"Yeah! So, honey.. Tell me!" Catherine said and put her chin on her hand. 

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"Forgive me, I have a habit of writing everything down. So, first.. we’re going to this city. And there we will find her?" She pointed to the notes in her notebook. "Do you feel similar vibes, my Buggy Bear?" She asked loudly from the bedroom, started rummaging through the closet. "I've almost got all the things I need!"

"Finally! The car is ready. You're late again, my cotton candy." 

"I’m not late! I needed to pack some women's things. Stop grumbling! I’m comi…" Catherine suddenly stopped talking and scanned him with her eyes. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He imitated her gaze.

"I just…" She tried to find the words. “Sneakers, Jeans. T-shirt. The black denim jacket, and your hair is in a ponytail. You look too sexy, Buggy the Clown." She took several steps towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Are you going to hook another girl?" 

"God, no, of course not. I got enough of this little shit in my life." He pointed at her nose with one hand.

"My blue-haired asshole…"

"I’m listening."

"Stop grabbing my ass!"

They drove for a couple hours in the car. Catherine practically kept her eyes on Buggy, constantly repeating that he looked sexy and hot as hell in his outfit, with his tail and driving. He was embarrassed and turning as red as his nose.

They reached a town called Little Garden, got a motel room and at Catherine's insistence went looking for the bakery Franky had mentioned.

"Onward to Arabasta." Catherine read the name of the bakery. "Do you guys get normal names around here?"

As soon as they entered the room, they immediately saw the young woman of medium height with long wavy light blue hair.

"Wow, her hair color is similar to yours. Are you two related by any chance?" Catherine whispered into Buggy's ear.

"Do you seriously think all people with blue hair are my relatives?"

Catherine shrugged.

"How can I help you?" Asked the girl behind the cash register.

"Two coffees, five raspberry jam donuts, three blueberry muffins and we're also looking for Vivi." Catherine shifted her gaze from the display case to the girl.

"Then you're in luck. It's me." Replied a rather pleasant voice and began putting the order into a bag.

"Oh, great. We're looking for information on the blue diamond. All we have so far is information about a scepter divided into three parts, hidden somewhere in the pyramids. Can you give us any clues?"

"First of all, good morning!"

"God, here we go again!!!" Catherine rolled her eyes and dropped her forehead onto the counter near the cash register.

"Cathie-pie, you're starting conversations the wrong way again." Buggy stroked Catherine's back, took her hand and led her to a table. He went back behind the cash register counter and had a very long conversation with Vivi about something. Catherine watched them with her arms crossed and an unfamiliar feeling visited her.  She thought for a second that she was jealous.

Buggy and Vivi walked over to her and sat down at the table. Catherine instinctively pulled her chair toward him.

"Anyway, he and I have had a talk. I have a condition. I'm telling you what I know..."

"Great!!!" Catherine clenched her fists joyfully.

"But!" Vivi interrupted her. "You're going to play a game of liar’s dice with me. And every time I lose, I'll tell you part of what I know."

"Fuck!!!" Catherine grabbed her head and practically flopped off her chair under the table. "Ok! I’m in!"

Vivi silently got up from the table and walked out into the back room.

"Are you sure?" Buggy whispered.

"Do we have a choice? God, why doesn't anyone ever just want to tell everything they know. First, that damsel tricked me into some caves and I almost died there. Now that girl wants to play around so she can tell me something. Maybe she's just bored and doesn't have anyone to play with? Dear God, make friends and play with them!"

"Well thanks to that girl from our previous adventure you have me now." He laughed, put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her on the temple.

"Yep. And now you piss me off every day, fucking clown. I hate you!" She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. 

"Cathie-pie, that's the eighth time today. You're going for the world record!" 

Vivi returned with aspiring cups and five dice. She sat down at the table and silently slid everything toward Buggy and Catherine. They looked at each other, took one of their dice and rolled it. 

"Five." Vivi said.

"Three." Buggy said.

"Four.. Fuck!" Catherine's head fell back on the table. Buggy lifted her back up.

"I'll start." Vivi spoke.

They put dice in their cup and shook them up. They flipped the cup face-down on the table to keep the dice hidden and secretly roll their dice at the same time.

"Three 3s." Vivi replied. 

Catherine peek at her own dice. "Four 3s."

"Two 4s." Buggy said calmly.

They raised their cups.

"Three 3s.." Catherine whispered. "Fuck! Next round!".

Of the six rounds, Catherine and Buggy won only 2 of them 

They shook dice under the cups again. 

"Four 6s!" Catherine said loudly.

"Five 2s." Buggy said calmly again.

"Three 2s." Vivi replied.

They raised their cups.

"Four 6s!!! Yes!!! Tell! Tell us something more!!"

Vivi smiled. "Ok. The scepter will lead you to the diamond, but they are hidden in different pyramids."

"We know that!" Catherine furrowed her brow.

"Do you want information or do you want to argue?" Vivi questioned, shaking the dice in the cup. 

"You will need a cryptex to open the place where the diamond is stored." 

"Where to find it?"

"Next round!" Vivi rolled the dice in the cup and set it on the table.

"For fuck's sake!" Catherine dropped her head back on the table. Buggy picked her up again. "Okay. Eight fives! Buggy, you got what?"

"Five threes." Buggy said calmly. He could already hear the irritation in Catherine's voice. 

"Six twos." Vivi swirled the cup around the table. 

"Liar!" Catherine shouted and lifted everyone's glasses. "Oh my god! We won!!! Now tell me more!" 

Catherine listened intently to Vivi's story and took notes on everything. 

"Well, not as much information as I would have liked, but thanks anyway! And by the way... Where's our coffee?" 

Catherine jumped out of the bakery, squealing. "Yaaaay! Well! We have some new data, copies from the books. We'll have to see if there's anything in them about the cryptex. We also have donuts and muffins!" She ran in a circle around Buggy and couldn't hide her happiness. 

"I'm tired and excited! Tired and excited!" She threw herself around his neck. "Let's go out to eat! And have a drink! And get wine for our room at the motel!"

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They got back to the room quite late.

"God, I'm tired and I wanna sleep!" Buggy practically collapsed on the bed.

"Thanks…" Catherine said quietly.

"What?"

"Thank you for supporting me in this endeavor."

"Come on, cotton candy! Two fools in pursuit of something that may not even exist!" He laughed and sat down on the bed.

"But fools are lucky…" She whispered under her breath. "Okay, I'm going to take a quick shower and get back to you. Drink your beer or whiskey or whatever you want." She tiptoed over to him and kissed his cheek. "I love you!"

Catherine came out of the shower wearing only Buggy's t-shirt and her underwear. 

"My pajamas need more time to dry completely." She walked over to the table near the TV and poured herself a glass of wine. She looked at Buggy, who was lying calmly on the bed in red and white striped underpants, leaning his back on the headboard and clicking the remote control through the channels. 

"What are you doing?" She asked quietly. Catherine took a sip of wine and took two small steps towards the bed. 

"Nothing, just looking for something interesting, but so far I've only found shitty shows. How’s the shower?" 

"Okay. I missed you there." She tilted her head and watched carefully as the dim light from the lamp on the night table fell on his face. 

Buggy extended his hand and called her to him with his fingers. She took another sip of wine and put the glass on the table. 

Catherine took three steps forward, climbed onto the bed, sat on his lap so that his legs were between hers and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Hi!"

"Hi, my pretty girl."

Catherine didn’t take her eyes off Buggy for a long time, running her hands over his hair, shoulders and arms.

"Why are you looking at me like that? Should I be afraid?" Buggy narrowed his eyes and asked in surprise. 

"Sh-h, clown!" Catherine looked into his eyes for a moment, took the red-and-white rubber band out of his hair, then tilted her head and kissed him on the lips. Buggy instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist. Her kiss became deeper and more passionate, her breathing quickened.

Catheinre ran one hand over Buggy's chest and lowered it down to his boxers. She felt something hard between her legs. "Well, good evening, Captain Buggy!" Catherine smiled slightly, took off her t-shirt and ran her lips along his neck.

"Fuck, cotton candy!" Buggy placed one hand on her thigh, then moved it on her stomach and gently lowered his hand into her panties. Catherine felt his fingers digging into the soft skin near her crotch. 

"Do it." She whispered in his ear.

"My little Cathie-pie always swears at me when I do that, and now you’re asking me to do that?" Buggy replied sarcastically and kissed her neck.

"Shit, clown. Are you gonna chat or are you gonna do your job?" Catherine replied and moaned slightly when she felt his fingers found his way to her clit, rubbing it vigorously. 

"Fuck…" Catherine arched her back and head backwards, her breasts in his face. Buggy flicked a nipple with his tongue and she sighed in pleasure. Catherine felt him slowly move inside her, her walls sending waves of pleasure against him. She whimpered in response, her body once again arching, not knowing what to do with the arousal. He was holding her back with his free arm, amused at how quick she was to react. 

"You ok, my little pie?"

"Stop asking stupid questions, fucking clown. Just d-d-don't.. fuck.. stop, ok?" 

"That’s my girl." Buggy smiled widely. He adored the expressions she made. And he made sure to push his digits in and out in a rhythm that resembled that of her moanings. Catherine's moans intensified when he gradually moved his fingers to get faster, more forceful. Catherine lost her breath when she felt his fingers on her special spot. "Oh god. Fuck! That's it.."

"You like that?"

"You will be the death of me, Buggy-sama!" She whispered in his lips.

"Ugh! Don't call me that, baby." 

"Fuck you. I will.. fuck..ca-all you.. yeah.. as I wa-ant..fuck." Catherine kissed Buggy eagerly and couldn't stop moaning through the kiss. She clutched her fingers into his back, realizing that she was almost reaching orgasm. "Fuck, shit!" Catherine buried her head in the crock of his neck and kept silent for a moment. Buggy felt her heavy breath on his skin.

Buggy pulled out his hand and wiped it on the towel. "Is my pie happy now?" He stroked her hair.

"Your pie is really happy. But wait, my Captain. I have news for you. We're not done yet." Catherine kissed him on his lips, stood up and took off her and his underwear. 

Catherine knelt on the bed and gently ran her hand over his cock. "Tell me… Buggy the Genius Jester, do you have any orders? Wishes?" She whispered, continuing running her fingers along the entire length. 

"You're playing with fire, cotton candy.” Buggy tried to take her hand. 

"Na-ah!" Catherine threw his hand back on the bed. "You can watch but touch.. No!" She barely pressed her lips to the head of his cock.

"Cathie-pie…?" Buggy looked at her with a surprised look.

"I’m listening, my silly clown. Don't you like it? Don't you want it?"

"I…I just didn't…expect…" He mumbled. 

"Okay, if you don't like it.." Catherine shrugged her shoulders and reached out for her t-shirt.

"No, no, no!! Wait! Wait! I liked it! I loved it!!"

Catherine leaned over him. "Are you gonna be a good boy?"

Buggy silently nodded. 

"You will be silent, won't you?"

Buggy nodded. 

"Wanna see what else I can do?" She whispered.

He nodded again. 

Catherine kissed him on his lips, winked at him and slowly moved down, flicking her tongue over his nipples, down his belly. She wrapped his length with her fingers and touched it with her lips. Catherine could practically feel Buggy arch up as she slowly closed her mouth over the head of his cock, curious, wondering if he'd beg..

Buggy tried. He really tried. He tried so hard to remain silent for the next few minutes, but he didn't do it well. Catherine felt his hands gripping the sheets. She could hear his weak voice, accompanied by "oh, holy shit", "fuck, baby, yes", "more, please, be-e-gging you", "that's it", "i love you, my co-t- fuck c-c-a-n.. fuck". 

After she finished, Catherine raised her head and looked at Buggy. 

"Are you still alive, my silly clown?" She stood up and sat on top of him. Buggy's gaze was clouded. 

"Wow, I’m impressed by your reaction." She laughed and kissed his neck.

"What was that? What just happened?" Buggy asked in a slightly high voice and shook his head to regain his senses. 

Catherine grinned and whispered in his ear, her voice a low purr.

"My little revenge on you, blue-haired brat." 

"Fuck! You're a bad bad girl, Catherine Mitchell!!"

Catherine couldn't help but laugh. "It's all your fault, Buggy-sama." She put her hands on his shoulders and started tracing her finger over his bicep.

"I told you not to call me that. It's ve-e-ry dangerous!" Buggy croaked in a whisper and put his hands on her shoulder blades.

"I don't give a shit, you know that perfectly." Catherine tilted her head and ran her lips over his lips. “I have one piece of news for you. Right now I want you inside me.”

"Damn! I can't hold you back from this but don't you dare make any claims against me again." Buggy put his hands on her waist.

"Fuck you. You bet I will." 

"Stop talking and c’mere, my little shit!" 

Catherine kissed Buggy again, rose a little and slowly sat on his cock, letting out a moan. 

"Fuck, you're so good!" He whispered and smashed his lips into her.

"Yes, I’m.." Catherine smiled during the kiss and started slowly moving her hips from back and forth. Every movement made Buggy's pulse pick up, pleasure shooting through his body. Catherine wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Buggy started growling and kissing any part of her he could reach. She felt him squeeze her ass and grind herself against his hips.

With every kiss from him, Catherine quickened her pace. "I want to feel you deeper." She whispered, digging her nails into his back. 

Catherine let her knees slide apart a little further, taking him just a little further and felt how Buggy's cock filled her completely. Inside, it felt enormous, thick and tight. Catherine started rocking her hips again, slow at first, then alternating with up and down strokes. Buggy kissed her hungrily, sliding his tongue against hers, moaning into her mouth when her movements picked up speed. 

"You feel so right, my Cathie-pie. I just can't get enough of you." Buggy said between kisses. 

"It’s my superpower." Catherine said quietly, pulling at his lower lip with her teeth. 

Catherine was grinding her body against his, her hips snapping back and forth. She took his hand and squeezed it. "I’m so– close, fuck. I want us to come together."

Catherine picked up her pace even more, breaking the kiss just to moan Buggy's name loudly, squeezing his hand more and more tightly. The ecstasy was peaking unbearably, building every time he or she moved.

"Fuck, baby, I’m close. I’m gonna c…"

Buggy kissed Catherine's shoulder, her hips moving in short frantic thrusts against his cock. Right before he lost his mind completely Buggy looked at Catherine to see her beautiful face intent on him, and that was the last thing he could think of as he came.

Catherine pressed her whole body against him, feeling every rapid beat of his heart. She didn't let go of his hand and ran her free hand through his wet hair.

"You ok? You're breathing so hard." Catherine asked quietly and pressed her forehead to his.

"I’m totally fine. You?"

"S'okay." She kissed him on his lips. "You’re my other half and I love you so, so much my Buggy Bear. Remember that, okay?"

Buggy gazed intently into her eyes. "You’re not just my other half, cotton candy. You're my better half."

"Wow!! My beloved blue-haired asshole said that to me! I need to be on top of you more often so that I can hear such phrases more often." Catherine laughed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. 

"Little shit!" Buggy stroked her forearms, then wrapped his arms around her waist and put his head under her chin. "I love you. And I promise, I’ll never hurt you."

"I know."

[mask131]

The fantasy in modern Arthuriana (2)

This is a loose translation of Claire Jardillier’s article “Les enfants de Merlin: le merveilleux médiéval revisité” (The children of Merlin: Medieval magic revisited), for Anne Besson’s study-compilation.

II/ Wizards and witches

The fantastical elements within modern rewrites are often embodied in the most visible way by a few key characters. First and foremost among this magical cast is, of course, Merlin the enchanter, but also regularly the bard Taliesin, despite his lesser presence within the Matter of Britain. Taliesin indeed only appears obviously tied to Arthur within the Welsh sources, especially “Preiddu Annwn”, where he is part of the expedition led by Arthur to steal away the cauldron of resurrection from the Otherworld. We can make the hypothesis that is it because of the historical rewrites of the Arthurian legends that the character of Taliesin gained such an importance, since it is in the Welsh sources that he is most frequently seen, sources that modern rewriters especially love due to judging them more ancient and thus more “authentic” and more Celtic than the chivalry romances and knighthood romans of France and England. Since Wales resisted more strongly to the Saxon invader, then to the Normand influence, modern novelists like to use the “Mabinogion” and the Welsh poems to historicize their Arthur. Taliesin usually stays within his traditional role of bard, in accord to the historical and bibliographical information we have about him. While quite brief, these information naturally designate him as the symbol of the Arthurian legend within a “realistic” rewriting, as a character between the history and the myth.

[In the “Hanes Taliesin” mainly, translated by Lady Charlotte Guest and which follows her “Mabinogion” translations, we discover the two births of Gwyon Bach/Taliesin, is exploits as a bard within the court of prince Elphin, and some of his poems. The historical Taliesin seems to have been a bard at the court of Urien Rheged during the 6th century, and the poems attributed to him were preserved within the “Llyfr Taliesin” (The Book of Taliesin). It notably contains the famous “Cat Godeu” (Battle of the Trees) and the previously mentioned “Preiddu Annwn”. These Welsh poems, like many others, were translated and published by William F. Skene within his “Four Ancient Books of Wales”]

As such, within Fay Sampson’s “Daughter of Tintagel” cycle he becomes one of the five narrators that relate the life of Morgan. A first-person narration that give a voice to a secondary character of the medieval corpus is a fundamental trait of modern Arthurian literature : as such, we can hear Kai, Pelleas, Bohort, Rhys or Bedwyr, characters whose point of view is rarely given in legends, alongside the manifestation of more novel characters, such as Derfel, a shadowy warrior turned saint in the 6th century who narrates Bernard Cornwell’s “Warlord Chronicles”. [Respectively, Kai is heard within Phyllis Ann Karr’s The Idylls of the Queen and John Gloag’s Artorius Rex ; Pelleas within Stephen R. Lawhead’s Arthur and Courtway Jones’ In the Shadow of the Oak King ; Bohort within Dorothy Jane Roberts’ Launcelot my Brother ; Rhys within Gillian Bradshaw’s Kingdom of Summer ; Bedwyr within Catherine Christian’s The Sword and the Flame and Stephen R. Lawhead’s Arthur.]

Within Stephen Lawhead’s works, the role of Taliesin is more developed since he becomes the father, and so the precursor of Merlin (within Marion Zimmer Bradley’s, he is Merlin’s first incarnation). In his trilogy, the bard Talesin paves the way for Merlin, who will surpass his father in his role as the companion of the major hero, Arthur king of Britain. It is precisely this dimension that is often used by modern Arthurianists. [Stephen R. Lawhead wrote in reality five novels, the last two being a flash-back to episodes from between book 2 and 3. This Arthurian cycle is especially concerned with the questions of filiation, legitimacy and predestination. As such, Taliesin announces and foreshadow the coming of his son, a sort of messiah for the Britons, but Merlin himself works for the coming of Arthur, the savior of Britain as much on a spiritual level (the writings of Lawhead are distinctly Christian in tone) as on a political level. It is probably why we also see here a weird and exceptional element introduced, as Arthur is made the posthumous son of Aurelius, and not the bastard of Uther. Here Arthur is the product of an union blessed by the Church, and as such he descends from the first High-King, not from his replacement out of a “side-branch” of the family.]

We also have to note that modern rewrites love to tell what happened during the life of characters in the form of prequels – in this case, the youth of Merlin, which is rarely detailed in the Middle-Ages outside of his birth and his encounter with Vortigern. It was the case within Mary Stewart, the first author who was concerned with the wizard’s youth, and who sems to have deeply marked modern Arthurianists, since the same pattern can be found in other novels, including those of Stephen Lawhead. This concern with “what happened before” is not exclusively Arthurian, and can be seen within other contemporary sagas – Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Blueberry… It is a tradition as old as the various “Childhoods” texts of the Middle-Ages. [Mary Stewart wrote “The Crystal Cave”, “The Hollow Hills” and “The Last Enchantment”. As a proof of the intertextuality of Arthurian novels, “the last enchantment” is an expression reused and exploited by Bernard Cornwell in the last part of his trilogy, where a dying Merlin, entirely devoured by his own student Nimue, preserves a “last enchantment” to allow Arthur and a few others to escape the battle of Camlan]

Be it Taliesin or Merlin, the first way the question of the magic implants itself within the narrative device is about the relationship between the king and his wizard. The magical element is thus tied to the political power, weighed down by a reality which, if not historical, is at least coherent. This heirloom is directly tied to the medieval sources, even if it is not obvious at first. The idea of an Arthur raised as a boy by Merlin owes much more to T.H. White’s “The Once and Future King” than to the medieval texts, where only a slow and complex evolution allowed the association of those two characters now seen as undividable. [White’s work is a set of five novels, first published separately, then compiled as one work in the 50s, and to which the last novel, The Book of Merlin, was added in 1977. This work is a precursor of all the rewrites that happened from the 60s onward, especially the first book that tells of Arthur’s childhood and his education by Merlin. It was a best-seller, and the adaptation of this first novel into an animated movie by Disney (63’s The Sword in the Stone) amplified its impact]. Indeed, within Geoffroy of Monmouth, Merlin and Arthur follow each other in the text… but never meet. It was within later rewrites, Wave, Lawamon, and in the French “Lancelot-Graal”, that the king and the enchanter will develop a more intimate relationship, culminating within Malory’s Morte Darthur. [In Geoffroy’s tale, the two characters at least never meet within the context of the tale. A doubt is allowed since in most of the manuscripts, Merlin makes a brief apparition at the very end of the “Historia”, where an “angelic voice” talks to Cadwallader, telling him that “God wishes that the Britons stop ruling within Britain until the moment that Merlin prophesized to Arthur” ; this sentence implies that Merlin might have been the king’s prophet, a role that will become more and more obvious in later rewrites]

This is due to the two characters, Merlin and Arthur, originally belonging to two distinct traditions. Once they became connected thanks to Geoffroy’s Historia Regum Britaniae, the two characters got closer and closer, and gained many interactions, just as Merlin’s interventions became more and more fantastical. This is very clear when we look at an episode shared by all the medieval Merlinian tales: the moving of the stones of Ireland to create Stonehenge. Within Geoffroy’s, it is a mechanical process. Within Wace, an unexplained way. Finally, within Lawamon, it becomes a powerful spell that makes the stone “as light as feathers”. Modern authors follow this tradition and often reuse this episode, or a similar one, in what we can call “the motif of the dancing stones”. In the same way, within Lawhead’s novel, a child Merlin proves his powers to an assembly of druids by making the stones of a cromlech levitate. Stonehenge plays an important role for Cornwell: it becomes the place of a ghost-filled ceremony during which Merlin gives Excalibur to Arthur. Even among comic books, Merlin makes stones dance before amazed mortals. [It is within the first volume of the BD series “Merlin” by Jean-Luc Istin and Eric Lambert, “La colère d’Ahès” (The Wrath of Ahès). The dancing stones of Istin and Lambert are quite similar to the ones described by Lawhead, and the scenarist confessed having read the “Pendragon Cycle”. We find in this “Merlin” the same habt of syncretizing religions as within Lawhead’s works (father Blaise is a former druid, and offers Merlin as a symbol of the union of religions).]

We find back here what we said before: the historicized Arthurian literature of the 60s-80s greatly deprived the medieval text of their fantasy, and since the 80s-90s we have a slow re-appropriation of the medieval magic within novels that still, however, wish to be historical. In other terms – the stones are dancing again, but they are always dancing in a mentioned 6th century.

Before Lawamon, Merlin only acted during the lifetime of Aurelius and Uther, before disappearing for no reason after Arthur’s birth. However, the encounter between those two historical characters was too tempting to be avoided, and we can see a true shift between Geoffroy and Malory (for example), which today leads to the many tales in which Merlin acts as the teacher, tutor, or even adoptive father of Arthur. This filiation is helped by two elements. On one side, that is an elliptic moment covering Arthur’s childhood in medieval texts, and we go from him as a baby to him as a young fifteen-year old king. [We find within Lawamon the beginning of an explication: child-Arthur was raised by elves at Avalon. This idea was reused by Parke Godwin within the novel “Firelord”.] On the other hand, we can see that all of his next of kin die around the same time. In front of this absence of parents, it is very tempting to remove Ector (the father of Kay and the tutor of the royal child in the tradition) and put in his place a more familiar and impressive character, Merlin the wizard.

We talked before of the habit of “prequels”: the cyclical temptation of modern novels, which in a way mimics the Arthurian medieval tradition of a condensed and fractioned writing of the whole Arthurian legend (usually in three volumes), favorizes the writing of the origins, of the “before Arthur”. The introduction of Merlin, but also of Taliesin, proves this attraction for what Anne Besson calls an “Arthurian prehistory”. For Stephen Lawhead, the link between the various generations (Taliesin, father of Merlin, Merlin spiritual father of Arthur) insists upon the greatness and the predestination of the king of the Britons, the bearer of Light. Even when the Arthurian tale is limited to a single novel, it is not unusual to see it begin with the generation before Arthur: it was the case with Victor Canning’s “The Crimson Chalice”, where a third of the novel follows the events that led to Arthur’s birth (even though here Arthur’s parents are named Tia and Baradoc, and bear no resemblance to Igraine or Uther).

To all the reasons described above, we must add the fictional temptation of having characters coexisting to allow a powerful confrontation. But this temptation also bears a prevalent trait of the modern Arthurian fiction, and of its dialogue with the sources. Indeed, it is not uncommon to see a rearrangement, to various degrees, of the links that traditionally unite the characters. As such, in most sources Ygerne is the wife of Gorlois and the mother of Arthur, but she can be his half-sister and the mother of Medraud within Rosemary Sutcliff’s “Sword at Sunset”. The same Ygerne becomes Gorlois’ daughter, not his wife, in Stephen Lawhead’s work, as the author plays with the writing of the myth, has his Merlin-narrator laugh about the mad rumors that circulated about the siege of Tintagel “I have even heard it said that Ygerna was Gorlas’ wife – Imagine that!”). The marvelous does not escape this kind of more-or-less extreme shifts: the case of the female characters, of their relationship to magic, and of their role within history is especially revealing.

[vergeltvng]

A WEEKEND AT THE OVERLOOK HOTEL

Do you dare to check in? 🛎️ The infamous Overlook Hotel, nestled in the isolated Colorado Rockies, has a dark and mysterious history. Known for its eerie atmosphere and paranormal activity, the hotel has attracted visitors looking for a thrilling experience. This weekend, a group of individuals, each with their own reasons, has checked in. As night falls, strange occurrences begin to happen, turning a weekend getaway into a nightmare. ⸻ imagine yourself in the situation and create your character as they are trapped in a horror movie come true. bonus: get your creative juices flowing and write a oneshot. what happened before the picture? where is your character headed now? are they searching for their friends/the people that arrived with them or are they investigating something different entirely? what else is lurking amongst the shadows?

Contains some spoilers for The Boys Season 4, strong language, violence, blood, gore, body horror, psychological horror.

feat. @heartofglass-mindofstone special cameos @vikasgarden @ausgetrieben @thisis-elijah @arasanwar

Ein junger Mann schaute schräg von seinem Platz auf, der Blick gelangweilt und müde. Gefühlt halb festgewachsen an seinem Stuhl, saß er seit über zehn Stunden an der Rezeption des Hauses. Einst ein nobler Schuppen, der hochdekorierte Gäste beherbergte, hatte mittlerweile die Zeit ihre Spuren an dem Anwesen hinterlassen. Altmodische Lampen an dunklen, vertäfelten Wänden gaben ein gedimmtes, gelbliches Licht ab und erzeugten eine schummerige, schaurige Atmosphäre. Zur Winterszeit war es kalt und es zog im Foyer. Um dem entgegen zu kommen, brannte ein echtes Kaminfeuer bei der Rezeption. Markus, der Concierge, wollte längst abschließen für heute aber zu später Stunde kam noch ein Gast ins Haus. Er brachte einen eisigen Windhauch durch die Fronttür mit sich und die Flammen in der Nähe flackerten unruhig. "Ihr Name, Sir?" "B... Kessler. William Kessler." Ein hochgewachsener, dunkelhaariger, bärtiger Mann im schwarzen Ledertrenchcoat stand vorm Empfangstresen. Irgendwie kam dieser Markus bekannt vor. Stirnrunzelnd starrte er ihn ein paar Sekunden lang an, danach schüttelte er den Kopf. Er sah schon Gespenster. Tat er ständig an diesem gottverdammten Ort. "Ein Doppelzimmer, nehme ich an?" Markus' Augen wanderten ein Stück herüber zu der anderen Person im Raum. Ihr hübscher Anblick zauberte ihm prompt ein Lächeln auf die abgeschlagene Miene. "Ein Doppelzimmer für mich und meine Misses.", der Tonfall des großen, groben Mannes fiel unterschwellig knurrend aus, instinktiv zuckte der Concierge zusammen. Dabei entging es ihm keineswegs, dass das Paar keine Trauringe trug aber seinen Gästen neugierige Fragen zu stellen gehörte nicht zu seinen Aufgaben, solange sie ihre Rechnungen bezahlten und nicht gegen die Hausordnung verstießen. Somit trug er die Eheleute William und Anastasia Kessler ins Verzeichnis ein und überreichte ihnen ihren Zimmerschlüssel. "Willkommen im Overlook Hotel. Das Restaurant hat schon geschlossen aber Sie können einen Drink an der Bar zu sich nehmen und wir haben rund um die Uhr Roomservice." Was für ein seltsames und ungleiches Paar, dachte sich der junge Herr als er ihnen nachsah wie sie auf dem düsteren Korridor in Richtung Verderben Zimmer 237 wanderten.

"Deine Misses? Sag bloß du mochtest den Concierge nicht oder für wen war diese Show gedacht? Der war doch süß." Ana hatte offensichtlich ihren Spaß daran den alten Mann zu piesacken und der schoss missmutig, in typisch griesgrämiger Manier zurück. "Diese halbe Portion? Ich bitte dich, der sah aus als hätte er nichtmal Haare am Sack." So verlief ein ganz normales Gespräch zwischen ihnen und diese Dynamik war unbezahlbar, fand er heimlich, oder vielleicht auch nicht ganz so heimlich. Am Ende des Korridors befand sich der Fahrstuhl, ein uraltes Ding. Ächzend setzte sich die Kabine in Bewegung, der Aufzug kam aus dem zweiten Untergeschoss nach oben gefahren und brauchte dafür ewig. Die Mechanik der Tür wirkte wartungsbedürftig, sie öffnete sich nur schwergängig, begleitet von unangenehmen Kratzgeräuschen. Ana drückte ihr Unbehagen darüber aus. "Ich weiß nicht was mit dir ist aber ich gehe lieber zu Fuß." Sie zögerte nicht damit, drehte sich auf dem Absatz um und nahm die angrenzende Treppe. Billy sah ihr verwundert nach und betrat den Fahrstuhl dann halt ohne sie. Ein weiterer Mann befand sich in der Kabine und die Leuchte für den dritten Stock war schon aktiviert. Der andere Gast war etwa gleichgroß, ein bisschen schmaler jedoch und ein paar Jahre älter, hatte silbernes Haar und trug einen dunklen Anzug mit blau-grauem Schlips. "Ich weiß noch nicht was ich von deiner Begleitung halten soll." Sprach der Fremde von schräg hinten. Sie schauten sich gegenseitig an, durch die Verspiegelung der Kabine. Butcher verzog eine Miene und drohte dem Mann unmittelbar. "Ich schwöre wenn du ihr ein einziges Haar krümmst, finde ich hundert Wege es dich bereuen zu lassen." Der andere war sichtlich amüsiert, trug ein gehässiges Grinsen zur Schau und hob scheinbar beschwichtigend die Hände. Butcher verengte die Augen und ignorierte ihn, wandte den Blick ab von ihrem gemeinsamen Spiegelbild und schon war es ruhig. "Ping." Der Aufzug verkündete, dass sie im dritten Stock angekommen waren.

"Sind dir die Bilder auf dem Flur aufgefallen?", wollte Ana von ihm wissen nachdem sie ihr Quartier bezogen hatten. Dabei warf sie ihre Reisetasche auf einen Sessel und kramte beiläufig ein paar ihrer Habseligkeiten hervor. Ein Päckchen Zigaretten, Feuer, ein Etui mit Make-Up, ihren tiefroten Killer-Lippenstift wie Billy ihn gerne nannte und zwei Handfeuerwaffen mit angeschraubten Schalldämpfern, die sie seelenruhig in ihre Einzelteile zerlegte und anfing zu reinigen. "Von was für Bildern redest du?", antwortete Billy ihr halbherzig, mit dem Kopf in der Minibar steckend auf der Suche nach anständigem Sprit. Er schnaufte frustriert weil er fast nur Bier und Mischgetränke fand. Nein, er wollte keinen fizzy Mojito aus der edlen Glasflasche, Grapefruit Margarita oder fucking Strawberry Daiquiri. Von ganz hinten lachte ihn endlich eine große Flasche Jack an, na bitte. Daneben befand sich ein tiefblaues Getränk, ein starker Likör mit dem Label "Blue Curaçao". Er griff nach der Flasche da er fand, dass die Farbe so schön passte zu dem kleinen Blue Bird dort drüben und vielleicht mochte sie das Zeug ja. Zurück zu ihrer Frage. "Ich hab da keine Bilder gesehen." Er stellte ihr den blauen Likör vor die Nase und sank neben ihr aufs Sofa, schraubte den Whiskey auf und trank einen kräftigen Schluck. "Ich glaube du brauchst bald eine Brille, Daddy. Du hast Glück.", feixte sie und setzte ihm kurzerhand ihre Sonnenbrille auf. Vom Typ Pornobrille aber in fancy, mit einem kleinen, strassbesetzten Schmetterling am Bügel und mit türkis-zu-violett verlaufenden Gläsern. Givenchy. Nicht, dass er davon Ahnung hätte aber es war neben der Verzierung eingraviert. Immer noch sichtlich amüsiert krabbelte sie ihm auf den Schoß, nahm demonstrativ sein Gesicht in ihre Hände und bewunderte ihren vorzüglichen Modegeschmack (kein Sarkasmus) und wie gut ihm das Schmuckstück stand... nicht. Ihr resigniertes Seufzen ging durch den Raum. Mit dramatisch aufgesetztem Schmollmund gab sie schließlich klein bei und setzte ihm die Gläser wieder ab. Schon besser, sie wirkte gar besänftigt beim Blick in seine Augen. Billy verstand diese Geste ihrerseits und lächelte schwach. "Aber mal im Ernst", fuhr sie fort, "ich dachte ich hätte im Gang Bilder gesehen von Personen, die ich kenne. Findest du nicht auch, dass diese Absteige eins zu eins aus The Shining sein könnte?" "Du guckst zu viele Horrorfilme, Liebes. Die Wände sind so kahl wie Skurges Schädel in Thor 3." Aus reinem Trotz verkniff sie sich das Lachen, er war so ein unfassbarer Idiot. "Halt den Mund oder ich sorg höchstpersönlich dafür, dass du's tust." "Now we're talking.", konterte er sofort. Natürlich hielt er nicht den Mund.

"Thank goodness, das Zimmer hat eine Badewanne!", rief Ana von nebenan. Während sie sich ein entspannendes Schaumbad gönnte blieb Billy träge im Bett zurück. Eine glühende Zigarette hing ihm lieblos im Mundwinkel als er sich durch verschiedene TV Kanäle zappte. "Vier der gefährlichsten Starlighter wurden bereits in Gewahrsam genommen, doch Starlight selbst sowie William Butcher sind immer noch auf freiem Fuß. Ihre Ergreifung hat oberste Priorität und wir erbitten dabei Ihre Mithilfe, der kleinste Hinweis zählt. Kommen wir nun zum Sport, präsentiert von Turbo Rush Energy Drink. Erleben Sie Ihr blaues Wunder mit der brandneuen V-Edition." Reglos starrte er den Bildschirm an auf dem gerade noch sein Gesicht gezeigt wurde, aber kein Grund nervös zu werden. Er hatte einen Vorsprung und einen Plan, er musste es bloß unbehelligt quer durchs ganze Land schaffen. Dass Ana ihn begleitete war allerdings spontan und wich vom ursprünglichen Vorhaben ab. Sie hatte ebenso beruflich an der Westküste zu tun und hätte dafür eigentlich ganz unkompliziert in einen Flieger steigen können. Aber Billy hatte sie einfach gefragt, ob sie bei der Gelegenheit mit ihm einen Roadtrip durch die Staaten machen wollte, nur sie beide und sein alter Caddy. Für sie wäre es ein hoffentlich vergnüglicher Trip und Abwechslung zum straff durchorganisierten Alltag. Ihm bedeutete ihre Gesellschaft noch sehr viel mehr als das, aber er wusste auch schon wie die Story enden wird. Der Mann aus dem Fahrstuhl vorhin würde ihn jetzt verhöhnen für seinen Anflug von Schwäche. Er wollte nicht allein sein auf der wahrscheinlich letzten Reise, die er antrat. Ob er Ana im Verlaufe ihrer Tour noch die ganze Wahrheit auf den Tisch packte wird sich zeigen. Er wusste er schuldete es ihr. Was nicht automatisch bedeutete, dass er es wirklich über sich bringen würde. "Woran denkst du gerade?" Sie war längst aus dem Bad wieder zurück und lehnte im Handtuch über ihm. Erst ihre Stimme holte ihn aus seinen tief versunkenen Gedanken. Er neigte den Kopf und sah sie an. Kein schiefes Grinsen diesmal, kein Versuch die Sache mit einem schlagfertigen Kommentar herunterzuspielen wie er es sonst schon aus Gewohnheit machte. "Ich wünschte ich hätte dich früher getroffen und mehr Zeit." Kurz stand ihr der Mund offen, mit soviel Ehrlichkeit rechnete man bei ihm wohl eher nicht und seine überraschende Antwort war entwaffnend. "Komm her.", verlangte er und zupfte an ihrem Handtuch bis es sich von ihrem Körper löste und zu Boden fiel. "Ich frage mich ernsthaft wofür das Bad gut gewesen ist wenn du jetzt zu mir ins Bett zurückkommst."

Als er am folgenden Tag wach wurde war er wie gerädert, nur langsam öffneten sich seine bleischweren Lider. Er rollte sich herum und streckte den Arm aus, um die andere Bettseite abzufühlen aber dort lag niemand. Schwerfällig setzte er sich auf und hielt sich einen Moment lang den verkaterten Schädel. "Fuck me." Er war allein. Irgendwas war in dem beschissenen Jack gewesen, so sehr haute es ihn normalerweise nicht aus der Spur. Ganz kurz hatte er beinahe vergessen wo er war, wie er hieß und welches Jahr sie hatten. Es benötigte ein paar Minuten bis sein Kopf klar wurde. Im Anschluss sah er sich im Raum um. Anas Tasche lag drüben auf dem Sessel und ihr Kram befand sich nach wie vor auf dem Tisch, neben dem halb leer getrunkenen Curaçao. Er erinnerte sich daran und fühlte sich erleichtert darüber, dass der gestrige Abend dann wohl kein wilder Traum gewesen war. Irgendwann kriegte er endlich den Arsch hoch und nahm eine ausgiebige, nicht zu heiße Dusche, die ihn sich wie ein halbwegs lebendiger Mensch fühlen ließ. Im Wohn- und Schlafbereich befand sich ein bodentiefer Spiegel und er nutzte die Gelegenheit, solange er allein war, für ein wenig Selbstinspektion. Ihm fiel es schwer anzunehmen und überhaupt ganz zu begreifen was mit ihm passiert war über die letzten Wochen und Monate. Er suchte mithilfe seiner Augen und seines Tastsinns nach dem Symbiont in seinem Körper. Hin und wieder tat er sich hervor als schwarze, sich bewegende Masse. Deutlich zu erkennen, wie ein kriechender Wurm, direkt unter der Haut. Das Ding zeigte sich für einen Augenblick, oberhalb des Hüftknochens, es kroch ihm quer über die Bauchdecke bevor es auf der anderen Seite auf Höhe des Rippenkorbs wieder verschwand. Er hatte ein paar frische Kratzer an den Schultern und entlang der Brust, erst wenige Stunden alt. Sie heilten bereits ab. Das bedeutete aber auch, dass seine Fähigkeit sich von Verletzungen zu erholen vergleichsweise bescheiden ausfiel. Im Gegensatz zu Kimiko beispielsweise, die sich innerhalb von Sekunden selbst vom Boden aufkratzen konnte, im wahrsten Sinne des Wortes. Dass Anas durch und durch menschliche Fingernägel überhaupt imstande waren durch seine Haut zu dringen und ihn zu kratzen war eine weitere Erkenntnis, die er auf diesem Wege mitnahm. Kurz gesagt, in Sachen Unverwundbarkeit und Regeneration hatte er so ziemlich die Arschkarte gezogen. Seine Fingerspitzen wanderten in die Mitte seiner Brust. Seine Haut und das Gewebe darunter fühlten sich im Moment normal an, aber dort konzentrierte sich seine gesamte Angriffskraft. Zwei Mal hatte er seine Kräfte benutzt, davon nur ein Mal im Vollbesitz seiner Sinne. Je länger er sein Spiegelbild betrachtete, desto mehr Abscheu empfand er. Dieses Gefühl kroch ihm wie eine körperfremde Kälte langsam die Glieder empor und schnürte ihm die Kehle zu.

Allmählich fragte er sich wohin Ana verschwunden sein könnte. Die Zeit fürs Frühstücksbuffet hat er fundamental verschlafen aber wenn sie allein gegangen wäre müsste sie dann nicht langsam wieder zurück sein? Nachdem er sich angezogen hatte kam ihm die Idee, dass jemand eventuell die Gartenanlage erkundete, vielmehr das verlockende Labyrinth im Außenbereich. Er beschloss sich dort umzusehen und begab sich vor die Tür. Auf dem Gang traf er Markus, den Concierge. "Hast du zufällig meine... meine Frau gesehen?", erkundigte er sich im Vorbeigehen und Markus hatte eine erfreuliche Antwort darauf. "Ja, ich hab sie vorhin beim Frühstück gesehen. Wenn ich das richtig mitbekommen habe, hat sie zufällig zwei Freunde getroffen und die wollten zusammen losziehen." "Ah. Danke, Junge." Seltsam, dachte Billy sich als er weiterging. Er nahm sein Phone zur Hand und tippte eine Nachricht. 'Wo bist du? Ich such nach dir.' Nicht gesendet. "Fuck." Kein Empfang hier draußen am Arsch der Welt. Warte mal... er ging jetzt bestimmt schon minutenlang in Richtung Fahrstuhl. Aber da war kein Fahrstuhl in Sicht, nur Korridor. Er blieb stehen und drehte sich um, dieselbe Aussicht bot sich auch in die andere Richtung. Kein Ende des Ganges in Sicht. "Was zum Fick...?" Er schaute zu der Tür in unmittelbarer Nähe. 237. Die Tür gegenüber? 237. Genauso wie alle anderen. 237. 237. Kein Grund zur Panik, die Nerven zu verlieren würde ihm nichts bringen. Als erstes versuchte er die Tür direkt zu seiner Linken. Wenn es 'sein' Zimmer war, müsste sie doch aufgehen? Falsch gedacht, wäre auch zu schön gewesen. Er probierte es mit roher Gewalt, warf sich mit der Schulter voran, mit vollem Gewicht dagegen, aber es war nichts zu machen. Frustriert trat er auf die Tür ein und für einen Sekundenbruchteil offenbarte sich die richtige Zahl. 292. Ha. Zügig nahm er den Weg zurück den er gekommen war und zählte sorgsam die Türen die er passierte, bis er wieder vor seinem Raum stand. Sein Schlüssel passte und die Tür öffnete sich. Sofort eilte er zum Fenster in der Hoffnung dort etwas Empfang zu kriegen. Aber als er es aufriss verschwand die Winterlandschaft und dort war nichts weiter als ein leerer, schwarzer Raum. Instinktiv wich er zurück, denn von der Leere ging ein Sog aus, in den man nicht hineingeraten wollte. "Kessler, du dummes Arschloch. Jetzt wäre ein guter Zeitpunkt mit mir zusammen zu arbeiten." Sich blind darauf zu verlassen wäre bestimmt sein sicherer Tod, deswegen durchsuchte er das Gepäck nach was Nützlichem. Schließlich bewaffnete er sich mit seinem treuen Brecheisen und nahm auch beide Feuerwaffen von Ana mit sich. Der einzige Weg hinaus war dann wohl durch die verdammten 'Gedärme' dieses Hauses.

Er hatte keinen Plan und keine Route nach draußen, alles was er tun konnte war wahllos Türen auszuprobieren. Seine Brechstange erwies sich dabei als wahrer Segen, damit hatte er schonmal eine Sorge weniger. Mühelos brach er die erste Tür auf und betrat den Raum. "Butcher?" Eine vertraute Stimme kam aus dem Zimmer und ein kalter Schauer lief ihm den Rücken runter. "Kleiner? Aras?" Er war nicht dumm, das war doch eine Falle oder? Vorsichtig näherte er sich mit gezogener Waffe der Gestalt, die auf dem Sofa saß. Erneut sprach Aras mit ihm. "Ich freu mich so dich zu sehen. Wie lange ist das jetzt schon her? Ich hatte die ganze Zeit gehofft, dass du mal nach Vegas kommst. Aber ich verstehe schon, du bist schwer beschäftigt. Genauso wie ich. Ich hab darüber nachgedacht ein Studio in New York aufzumachen, dann könnten wir uns öfters treffen und zusammen einen trinken. Was meinst du?" Billys Augen weiteten sich beim Anblick des Horrors und er senkte die Waffe. Auf der Couch saß Aras oder jemand der aussah wie Aras. Er war mittig am Torso durchtrennt worden und nur noch sein Oberkörper saß dort, in einer Pampe aus Blut und Eingeweiden. Sein linker Arm fehlte, der Rest hing als lebloser, blutender Stumpf herunter und seine Beine lagen dort hinten auf dem Boden. "Oh, Junge. Was hat man dir angetan? Wer ist das gewesen?" "Huh? Ach das! Kein Grund zur Sorge, ich chill hier nur, mir gehts gleich wieder gut." "Ich, uh, ich freu mich darauf wenn du nach New York kommst. Sag mir dann unbedingt bescheid, ja?" Er wandte sich langsam um und schluckte einen riesigen Knoten im Hals herunter. Dann ging er zurück zur Tür, er konnte hier nichts tun. "Natürlich. Aber wo willst du hin, willst du nicht noch ein bisschen hierbleiben? Butcher?" Billy schlug die Tür zu was Aras' Worte zu einem Murmeln verblassen ließ. Schwer atmend lehnte er sich von außen an und verschnaufte. Diese Begegnung hatte ihn eiskalt erwischt. Das größte Unbehagen was er dabei empfand war, dass er nicht unterscheiden konnte ob sich das alles in seinem Kopf abspielte oder ob wirklich Aras' Leiche in diesem Raum war. Natürlich, dass er noch redete war eine Halluzination aber jemand könnte ihn in dieses Hotel entführt und abgeschlachtet haben. Er hatte keine Zeit zu verlieren. "Ich finde dich, Liebes."

Blutüberströmt wankte er auf dem Gang entlang. War nicht sein Blut. Im letzten Raum hatte ihn ein riesiger Werwolf angefallen. Wie lange machte er das hier jetzt schon? Tagelang? Er wandelte von Tür zu Tür, blickte in die gequälten Gesichter ehemaliger Gäste und manchmal wurde er angegriffen. Eine gewisse Unentschlossenheit machte sich langsam breit, ob er froh sein oder darüber verzweifeln sollte, dass er Ana noch nicht gesehen hat. Nein, er glaubte daran, dass sie lebte solange er ihre Leiche nicht fand. Keine Zeit zu verschnaufen. Das nächste Zimmer wartete auf ihn. Erneut stand alles auf Null und er rechnete mit jedem erdenklichen Szenario. Dieser Raum wirkte friedlich. Auf dem Boden kauerten zwei Gestalten. Je näher er kam, desto stärker wurde sein Verdacht, dass er diese Gesichter kannte. Der Schock von der Begegnung mit Aras steckte ihm immer noch in den Knochen. "Elijah?" Das war Elijah Williams, er kannte diesen Mann. Er saß da mit leerem Blick und hielt die Leiche seiner Freundin im Arm. Wie war ihr Name? Liz. Ja, genau, Elizabeth Cunningham. Sie war auch Anas beste Freundin und die Erkenntnis schmerzte ihm heftig in der Magengegend. "Verdammt. Bist du verletzt? Kannst du aufstehen?" Vielleicht könnte er ja wenigstens einen von ihnen retten. Für Liz konnte er nichts mehr tun, sie war lange tot. Die Maden fraßen bereits an ihr. Elijah hob langsam den Kopf, er sah zu Billy als würde er ihn erkennen aber alles was er sagte war "Es ist zu spät." Billy beugte sich zu ihm runter und versuchte ihm zuzureden. "Ich finde einen Weg hier raus. Ich bin schon die ganze Zeit dabei. Gehe von Tür zu Tür, irgendwann muss ein Ausgang dabei sein. Ich könnte einen guten Strategen wie dich brauchen." "Es ist zu spät." Schwer seufzend akzeptierte er, dass das entweder nicht mehr Elijah war oder etwas hatte ihn so gebrochen, dass er keinen Willen mehr besaß. Vorsichtig legte Billy ihm zum Abschied seine Hand auf die Schulter. Bevor er ging, zog er eine seiner Waffen aus dem Hosenbund und legte sie neben Elijah auf den Boden. "Vielleicht kehrt dein Kampfgeist zurück und du musst dich gegen was auch immer verteidigen." Er lächelte schwach, dann richtete er sich auf und wendete sich ab.

Er legte eine Pause ein, um seine Ein-Mann-Armee neu zu formieren. Hatte eine Minibar geplündert und saß mitten auf dem Gang mit einer Dose Bier und einer Tüte gesalzener Nüsse. Theoretisch hatte er endlosen Zugang zu Essen und Trinken und könnte das hier für lange Zeit machen sofern ihm nicht irgendeine Monstrosität das Licht ausknipste. Trotzdem konnte es so nicht ewig weitergehen. Irgendwann würde er schlapp machen oder verrückt werden. "Sieh an. Wer da wohl mit seinem Latein am Ende ist?", kam es spöttisch von der Seite. Kessler lehnte an der Wand, die Hände in den Taschen und er sah amüsiert grinsend auf Billy herab. "Du steckst hier doch genauso fest wie ich." "Ich könnte dir vielleicht dabei helfen die Sache zu beschleunigen. Aber ich sag es ganz ehrlich, dieses Mädchen ist mir ein Dorn im Auge. Sie macht dich schwach. Ich helfe dir dabei hier rauszukommen aber sie lassen wir lieber hier. Sofern sie noch lebt." "Fick dich." Damit war die kurze Unterredung auch schon wieder beendet. Schließlich stand er auf und war bereit erstmal so weiterzumachen wie er angefangen hatte. Plötzlich krachte es ohrenbetäubend hinter ihm und der Schreck fuhr ihm tief bis ins Mark. Er drehte sich schnell herum. Eine der Türen war förmlich explodiert, die Holzsplitter lagen überall verteilt auf dem Korridor, steckten in den Wänden und in den Türen gegenüber. Eine Frau war auf den Gang gefallen, sie lag bewegungslos am Boden. Mit dem Brecheisen in der einen Hand und einer Schusswaffe in der anderen ging er in Richtung des Geschehens. Sie atmete, das konnte er aus einiger Entfernung schon feststellen. "Oi, Mädchen." Er beobachtete eine Regung bei ihr und blieb daraufhin stehen. Abermals sprach er sie an. "Wurdest du angegriffen? Verfolgt dich jemand?" Sie atmete schwer und hob den Kopf, drehte langsam ihr Gesicht zu ihm. "Billy?" Noch jemand, den er kannte. Das war Vika, das Feenmädchen. Sie hatten sich erst kürzlich getroffen. "Ja, ich bins." Sie riss panisch die Augen auf und schüttelte den Kopf. Dabei rappelte sie sich auf und wich verängstigt zurück. "Nein! Nein, lass mich bloß in Ruhe. Du bist nicht echt, du bist nicht real!!", rief sie laut und griff ihn überraschend an. Mehrere Ranken wuchsen ihr aus dem Rücken, blitzschnell wickelte sich eine um Billys Hals, vier weitere um seine Hand- und Fußgelenke. Er kannte diese Viecher, das waren dieselben Gewächse wie in ihrem Garten. Messerscharfe Dornen bohrten sich in seine Haut als sie ihre Schlingen fester zog. "Hör auf!", keuchte er. "Ich versuche schon seit Tagen einen Weg nach draußen zu finden. Ich bin völlig real und jetzt sei ein Schatz und ruf dein fleischfressendes Gemüse zurück, ja?" Sie wirkte sichtlich irritiert. Das war schonmal gut. Anscheinend glaubte sie ihm, denn der Zug ihrer Ranken ließ nach. Sie lösten sich und zogen sich eine nach der anderen zurück.

"Wir müssen von diesem Gang runter.", Vikas Stimme zitterte. "Aber wie? Das ist eine verdammte Endlosschleife. Es gibt kein Entkommen von diesem Korridor." "Es gibt einen Weg nach draußen. Wir müssen die richtige Tür finden und den Wächter überwinden.", antwortete sie. "Ich habe ein Buch über dieses Anwesen gefunden und einen Blueprint. Dieser Gang erscheint endlos aber der Weg offenbart sich wenn man bereit ist ein Opfer zu bringen. Jede Tür kann der Weg nach draußen sein." "Was hast du gerade gesagt?" Aus einem Spalt der zersplitterten Tür drang ein Licht an seine Augen. Es erschien anders als der Rest und er schaltete zügig. "Es tut mir so leid, Liebes." Ein Schuss fiel. Er hallte noch lange nach in den Weiten des verfluchten Korridors. Billy hatte auf Vika geschossen. Ein einziger, sauberer Treffer in ihr Herz. Ihr erschrockener Blick tat ihm endlos in der Seele weh. Wie in Zeitlupe fiel sie nach hinten und sank zu Boden. Das Licht aus dem Spalt hinter ihr war Tageslicht. Zusammen mit ihren Worten hatte er verstanden was er tun musste. Er wollte nicht hinsehen und versuchte an ihr vorbeizugehen, aber sie griff mit ihrem letzten Atemzug nach seinem Bein. "Woher... woher wusstest du.... dass ich der Wächter war?" "Ich wusste es nicht.", seine Stimme klang schwach und gebrochen. Er stieß die Tür auf und trat ins Freie.

Eisige Kälte wehte ihm ins Gesicht. Sie fühlte sich an wie eine sanfte Brise der Erlösung. Er stapfte ein paar Schritte durch den knöcheltiefen Schnee und drehte sich zum Anwesen um. Seine Fußspuren führten ganz normal zurück zur Fronttür. Sein Geist klärte sich mehr und mehr mit jeder Sekunde an der frischen Luft. Er war nicht länger in Blut getränkt, trug seine Waffen nicht mehr. Ana saß in der Nähe des Labyrinths auf einer Bank und sie drehte sich zu ihm um, schimpfte ihm von Weitem entgegen. "Wo bist du gewesen? Ich hab dir mindestens drei Nachrichten geschrieben. Ich hab Liz und Elijah beim Frühstück getroffen, die beiden hatten zufällig auch hier eingecheckt. Wir wollten uns das Labyrinth anschauen und dass du auch kommst. Aber die beiden sind vorhin weitergefahren und dich hatte anscheinend irgendein Abgrund gefressen." Seine Schritte wurden zügiger, er hat es jeden Moment geschafft. Als er sie endlich erreichte, fiel er ihr wortlos um den Hals. Er sagte nichts, machte keinen dummen Scherz, motzte nicht zurück, gar nichts. Er hielt sie als würde er nie wieder eine Gelegenheit dazu bekommen. Als wäre es das Letzte was er in seinem beschissenen Leben tat. "Billy?"

tagged by: @vikasgarden @heartofglass-mindofstone @thisis-elijah tagging: everyone who has read this far, you're the goats.

[writernopal]

🏴‍☠️All Hands To Stations!🏴‍☠️

Yo ho, all together Hoist the colors high Heave ho, thieves and beggars Never shall we die!

Hoist The Colors, Hans Zimmer

Fierce sails crowd the horizon and sturdy keels cleave the seas as violence this way comes. Meet those who'd call themselves the masters of the waves, traders of flesh, devils disguised as man, and lovers of all things brilliant and bright. These are the wretched Pirates of Oepus and the vessels which they call home. But don't just read about them, choose your fave in a poll at the end of this post!

Shoutout to @pheita for her ask here that prompted this post! I didn't forget it just took me a while to get around to it haha.

AASOAF 3 Taglist: @outpost51 @thelivingdeceased @faelanvance @captain-kraken @illjustpretend @elshells @full-on-sam @the-mindless @zestymimblo @tabswrites @void-botanist

Join/leave the taglist using this Google Form.

Graphics made with license free images from Unsplash.

The Mirage

Captain: The Witch of The Drowned Forest, Fay Anara Quartermaster: Wilkes Evos Sikthax-Seymour of Tlanxla First Mate: Thelma-Louise Morely Crew Name: The Siren's Marauders

One minute she's there and the next, she's gone. Such is the nature of this mysterious vessel... Rumored to be over 700 years old, stained black as night, and built for speed, The Mirage houses no brig in her hold, operating solely on the principle of 'give no quarter'. Armed with a whalebone bow-spike and crewed by convicts, only shipwrecks and floating dead are left in her wake, and those who survive, face a worse fate yet--that of being consumed alive by her captain.

Meet her captain:

To my left was the frightening woman I knew as Fay. She was tall and chiseled but not by a blunt stonemason’s tool, rather by something sharper, a razor perhaps, to produce her wildcat-like frame. Her dark hair and skin gleamed in the low light of this room as if they were slicked in oil and set ablaze. And like many spidering cracks in a fine dish, were angular-looking runes, etched into her skin that came together to cradle a dull-glowing, rising sun drawn in the center of her chest. Revealing this sun was a deeply cleaved red blouse that tucked into her pants. It billowed about her like the sail of a ship did about its mast. Despite the almost ordinary clothing she wore, there could hardly be one who might dare view her as plain, for her opulence shone through in other ways. Just in the hollows of her collarbones sat a fat, rough-cut sapphire dangling from a length of twisted tack line. Her magic blackened fingers were adorned with many rings and jewels in all colors, dangerously finished with her long, talon-like nails that presently gnawed at the wooden table beneath them. Golden hoops and bangles decorated her ears and wrists, and dotting her hair like many stars were human teeth. But those mock stars were hardly terrifying compared to her golden eyes. They shivered with a barely contained rage as she glowered across the table at the woman to my right... 

The Angel's Lyre

Captain: Scourge of War, Lord Manthia of Clan Phaxix of The House of War Quartermaster: Lord Ixlar of Clan Oleander of The House of War First Mate: Lord Axtapor of Clan Oxlo of The House of Dreams Crew Name: The Starlight Walkers

A methodical vector of destruction, this frigate represents the long and proud arm of The House of War of The Holtep Empire. Richly carved and brightly painted, she appears like the fiery red-gold Goddess Kava cleaving the seas. Ballista, not canons, defend her decks alongside her bloodthirsty Lizardfolk crew. Raids are her specialty and only the most lucrative of ventures are enough to bend her eye, and that of her captain, your way.

Meet her captain:

The boards creaked loudly as the source of the sound approached—heavy footfalls and the light scratching of talons on wood. Judging by their cadence, there were at least two approaching, perhaps three, but they did not keep us waiting for long, as the one at the head of the group quickly took shape in the low light. A brilliant cerulean lizard, dressed in what I would call excess. He was positively crusted in jewels and jingling like a purse of gold with his every move.  His eyes shone a beautiful bronze amid his sculpted features and about his neck were many white feathers, haloing him much like someone stepped out of an old painting. One might almost wonder if he was truly the tactician of a great vessel as this and not an overgrown boy with a penchant for overspending. That is until his skills in the art of the duel were put on display. And then it was easy to see where the attitude of ‘more to be had’ originated from.

Orpheus

Captain: Mangrove of Tides, Ka'hra Zelgius Quartermaster: Yggta Tah’vya First Mate: Ceresta Ka’leva Crew Name: The Undrowned Ones

The intrepid and one-of-a-kind elven pirate ship, Orpheus, travels not in silence, but robed in song. She floats along the waves with a choir on board, emitting haunting notes to reach the ears of those she sets her sights upon. Amid this orchestra of dread, she fires her great canons, to fell any foe who would cross her. And once the deed is done, the dead are gathered, their flesh rent from bone, and they are strung up, so they may forever sing alongside the other talented members of the choir.

Meet her captain:

And finally, the ancient Mangrove of Tides, the elven Captain Zelgius of the Orpheus. I’d known him many times over. He was not at all a dawdling character as his moniker might suggest, rather it was an ode to his interesting displacement of habitat. I suppose of late it did take on something of a double meaning, such was the way with elder elves as he. His limbs and all were beginning to harden and so moved less deftly much like those creeping trees.  Indeed many thought his difficult movements were on account of the typical elven reaction when put beside water. Their kind were not swimmers, nor even buoyant, indeed they routinely drowned in waters human or dwarven child might play in. It was then surprising, astonishing even, to find one cutting across the great seas of Oepus, let alone one who would call them home as he did.  No doubt his elven brethren thought him a fool for severing his ties with the forests which bore him and forfeiting those companions which would remember the world as it was those two-hundred or so years ago when he was born. He dressed his age, routinely wearing the fashions from those centuries past. Today, a robed piece of a deep green with an asymmetrical collar, sewn into it, the pattern of fallen leaves. The shade contrasted with the beechwood tone of his skin, but brought out the ochre of his hair. Rather less like hair as humans and dwarves knew it, and more like leafed vines. They rustled about him in long strands, spouting from the style atop his head like a proud cock’s comb.

The Mystic

Captain: Navigator of Kings, Charles Walthorn Quartermaster: Sophie-Marie Morely First Mate: Helena Walthorn Crew Name: Plunderer’s of the East

This vessel has circumnavigated Oepus more than any other in existence. She is far from the fastest, or the most nimble, or even the most terrifying, trading a fearsome outward appearance for seaworthiness. There is none is so reliable as she, and her crew is much the same. A contract taken is a contract honored, and you can bet that she will never lose sight of you. There is nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. To be hunted by her is to be marked for death.

Meet her captain:

The proclaimed Navigator of Kings, Captain Walthorn of the Mystic. He was called so because once upon a time, he himself had pledged his service to the Pale Navy beneath the Emperor Phostos of the Pale Kingdom at the infancy of his reign. He’d never told anyone how he managed to successfully escape such a posting, regarding it as his best kept secret. True old salt if there ever was one. Perhaps he was not as polished as the aforementioned Morely, but every inch the image of what a child or common man might imagine an accomplished navyman to look like.  A snow beard, with thinning white hair to match, a bright red coat with a golden lion’s head pauldron perched on his left shoulder and two long curved cutlasses—affectionately called ‘Tooth’ and ‘Nail’—dangling from his waist. Their handsome golden pommels poked out from coat, appearing like the armrests of a throne.  His belt buckle peaked out from underneath his rum-round gut, which strained against the buttons of his waistcoat. Hard to believe that further beneath that was the instrument which he famously used to produce bastards. I’d long lost count at how many he’d sired, to be sure almost all were by Morely, and the rumor of his children manning his ship the Mystic might be easily discredited, had they not all shared his hazel eyes and crooked nose. 

The Lady of The West

Captain: The Fallen One, Santo Orfeo Quartermaster: Benedicto Vicente First Mate: Benedicto Mauricio Crew Name: Los De Agua Sagrada

Gun decks are hardly what should strike fear into your heart if this vessel crosses your path. Exclusively taking her victims at sunset, she appears to be born of the sun's fire itself and the faceless figures which wander her decks appear like the silhouettes of the departed. With their wailing cries to the god Orran, they plead for everlasting mercy, catching all within earshot in a trance which can only be called divine. So give up your riches and repent alongside them. Or else.

Meet her captain:

Put between he and the last man on the right was the hooded figure of The Fallen One, Captain Orfeo of The Lady of the West. A self-given title, some manner of flagellation for an ill-begotten behavior he didn’t dare elaborate on, let alone speak of. It did not matter the light of day, or the glow of candlelight, or the shine of moon, nor in what power or from which direction they came, his countenance remained always cloaked in shadow. Indeed if he were ‘he’ or man at all.  All that could be seen was his towering figure, cut tall and broad, beneath a sun-bleached version of a priest’s habit. A severe stiletto of the most shining gold rested at his waist and nothing more. His crew just as sullen were lauded by all who crossed them as ‘men of blessed waters’, claiming that indeed they’d seen ‘Orran’s light and love’ and were compelled beyond all reason to part with their riches whenever they appeared. 

Johnny No Hands

Captain: Mother of Waves, Evelyn Morely Quartermaster: Eric Walthorn First Mate: Anna-May Morely Crew Name: The Requisitioneer’s

Contrary to her name, Johnny No Hands indeed requires many hands to operate, the most of any pirate ship on the seas of Oepus. Her illustrious crew is comprised of ex-navymen, ex-merchantmen, mariners, and buccaneers alike. Because of this, it has often been said that this vessel could easily be mistaken for navy-born man o' war for how effortlessly she operates. But don't fool yourself, these men are hardened pirates all the same. A special breed of cruel, calculating, and cunning, so be prepared to fight this floating fortress should you find yourself on the other side of her guns.

Meet her captain:

Following that came the Mother of Waves, Captain Morely of the vessel Johnny No Hands. She hated the name, though not because it suggested age or that tantamount responsibility, but because it sounded silly to her. Even so, with the number of accomplished sailors, pirates, buccaneers, and all other such likes born from her and suckled at her breast, it was little wonder she would not garner such a title.  Her long, stick straight grey hair was slicked back with ship tar and the dark blue of her coat made the sea-like color of her eyes shine. She was a slim, bronze, sun-spotted figure of a woman, beautifully weathered much like her well-traveled ship. Rather less like ‘a specimen exhibiting the finest quality of human leather’ as her bastard daughter, the ever jabbing Thelma-Louise, First Mate of the Mirage, liked to say.  Age became her regal air. A fine, fine woman of autumn years… She lamented the loss of her fire colored hair, but I rather enjoyed her silver. It called to mind the gentle light of dawn just as the sun was waking.

The Virgin

Captain: Gorgon of the Deep, Francesca Cotton Quartermaster: Giulio Espos First Mate: Giulia Espos Crew Name: The Eyeless Corsairs

A flighty vessel who traipses the waters of Oepus as if on her maiden voyage each time she puts to sea, she is the ultimate trickster of the waves. Appearing defenseless is her game, often luring her victims to chase after her when she wanders into their waters. She is the most nimble pirate ship of all, making tacks into the wind look like child's play, and when she finally comes about, well, prepare for a mean broadside and swivel guns full of shrapnel to the face. Give no quarter indeed.

Meet her captain:

So I gestured to the near and leftmost one, the infamous Gorgon of the Deep, Captain Cotton of the Virgin. She smiled at someone, her blindfold perking up where it sat across her cheeks. Between her dark lips and underneath her low nose were piles and piles of oil black teeth, filed to points. Her skin was scaly as ever and draped in what looked like torn ship sails emblazoned with some pattern.  At present, it was impossible to discern what that pattern might be due to the many folds of the material and the thick line that twisted about her to secure in place. Even so, the garment put the soot tone of her scaled flesh on display, exposing the lines of red cut across her belly just above where the ample part of a normal human woman’s hips would be.  Such a thing she was not, no matter how familiar her trunk might be. What followed were not legs. Instead, she steadied herself on a slim, long, coiled serpent’s tail, decorated with a spike on the end. Upon her bald head, were runic shapes of all sorts, running down the length of her neck and over her shoulders, like a veil soaked in water. She, too, was committed to the dark craft as her ‘eldest sister’—what she liked to call Fay.

Left Hook

Captain: Father of Fight, Torund Hayhurst Quartermaster: Nora Silverkey First Mate: Tamil Tarlock Crew Name: Ofler’s Buccaneers

Flagship of the Dwarven Pirate Collective, this vessel is known for her mean broadside but more than that, hauling other ships alongside her until they fall to pieces. Armed with a cleverly engineered piece of dwarven machinery along her portside hull, she is able to pierce the hulls of enemy ships at close range and drag them through corals or rocky shores. One man is always left standing to tell the harrowing tale of his ship and crew's loss, so don't lose hope, you may survive yet even if her sails cloud the horizon.

Meet her captain:

And the next, the dwarven Father of Fight, Captain Hayhurst of the Left Hook. Just then he stamped his booted foot on the floor of his launch. The poor little vessel jostled under the strength of his blow. A credit to the famed strength of dwarves to be sure. His great black beard nearly caught underfoot of his tantrum, so decorated with trinkets and such, that it rattled like an angry wind chime and sparkled like a starry night sky.  His coat was an impressive thing made of seal fur and a leather looking hide of some kind. Rather than carry a sword or blade of any sort, he favored a pair of hatchets, each one strapped to his thighs. His quartermaster, one Nora Silverkey, squinted through her one good eye and notched a mark in a wooden paddle at her belt with a frown. Counting what? I wondered.

The Blind Vengeance

Captain: Legacy of Rook’s Keep, Antony Anderton Quartermaster: Marcus Anderton First Mate: Luther Anderton Crew Name: Mutineer’s of The Rook

The infamous outcast of Rook's Keep, this vessel is notorious as a paradise for troublemakers, the unwanted, and anyone with a good throwing arm. She specializes in procuring "special" cargo by way of harpooning--sea nymph's flesh, whale carcasses, even demons and vampires on occasion. If it glitters or otherwise shines, her crew will be sure to clear space in their hull for it and will sell only to the highest bidder. But chances are you're not interesting enough to be traded, which is really too bad, because, well, you've already seen too much.

Meet her captain:

Beside him, the incorrigible Legacy of Rook’s Keep, Captain Anderton of the Blind Vengeance. Rook’s Keep was a squalid like place but apparently even it had had enough of him and his unruly band of brothers. He propped one leg up on the edge of his launch, his knee tenting his wide-legged breeches. They raised slightly at the ankle, displaying his leather sandals and mangled feet. Ever the three toed creature. Around his waist, swirled a black cloth belt, decorated with whale bones and beaded trinkets.  His lean trunk sprang from it, tufts of blond chest hair tangled themselves into his many necklaces, framed by his open whale hide vest and his makeshift cape made of fish net. On top of his head, a worn, brimmed hat, enclosed his ratty hair. His quartermaster and first mate—said brothers—flanked him on either side in similar dress, but paid less attention to the general goings on, instead putting their focus on treating their harpoons. 

[adamwatchesmovies]

Dune (2021)

Even upon a rewatch, 2021’s Dune: Part One is spectacular. The memorable, foreboding score by Hans Zimmer, the costumes that bring this world to life, the scale of the action and the unique sets, ship & weapon designs all come together to complement a story of mythical scale. After seeing this film, two thoughts start competing for your brain’s attention. 1) If Frank Herbert’s Dune was adapted this successfully, then no work is unfilmable and 2) the sequel can’t come soon enough.

In 10191, the universe is ruled by an Emperor who assigns the exploitation of planets to powerful ruling houses. Interstellar travel is possible through “spice” a substance found exclusively on the harsh desert planet of Arrakis. For 80 years, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen (Stellan Skarsgård) and his house have overseen the harvest of spice. Now, Duke Leto I (Oscar Isaac) of House Atreides is the new steward of Arrakis but only for as long as the flow of spice continues. This shift puts House Atreides, particularly the Duke’s son, Paul (Timothy Chalamet), in danger.

At 155 minutes, you’d think this movie would feel long, but it doesn’t. One of the reasons is that there’s a lot within to keep your mind busy. What’s a Freman? What’s a Kwisatz Haderach? What’s “the voice”? If director Denis Villeneuve tried to cram this story into 90, or even 120 minutes, it would move so quickly that all these questions would leave you in the dusty sands of Arrakis (that’s the planet, right?). By taking its time while moving at a good pace the film allows you - in time - to answer all of your questions. Since you understand what’s happening, you’re engaged. It helps that if you can’t remember what each name means, the visuals pick up the ball. The grotesque, scheming Baron Vladimir Harkonnen is clearly a villain. It's particularly obvious once you see his nephew, the psychotic and childish Glossu Rabban (Dave Bautista). You know you can’t trust the Bene Gesserit because their leader, Reverend Mother Mohiam (Charlotte Rampling) makes Paul take a painful, life-threatening test to prove he isn’t a threat himself. These are only a few of the many examples I could choose and they show how the story is both complex and easily digestible.

Even without the gripping story filled with backstabbings, political intrigue, violence, quests for revenge and harrowing struggles for survival, Dune would still have you tightly in its grip. Throughout, Paul’s psychic abilities give him visions. They foretell the future… sort of. They give hints of what’s coming but hints are not the same as clear answers. These all tie to this planet he’s on; a world that doesn’t end where the screen does. The details in the dialogue, sets and costumes make you wish the Harkonnens would just chill, and save their grudge for later. This way, you’d have time to see House Atreides befriend the Fremen and familiarize themselves with their customs.

There’s so much happening in this film that some of it you won’t “get” until later. For example, the early assassination attempt on Paul’s life. The would-be killer? A Harkonnen cutthroat, hidden in a bedroom wall. What kind of wealth, power and/or terrifying influence could persuade someone to take on that sort of assignment, knowing they would have to wait in darkness for weeks, slowly starving to death, just to kill a boy?

The passion within Dune is as clear as its ambition. You’re only getting half of a movie with it, but this choice feels like a necessity, rather than a Breaking Dawn-type of cash-grab or an attempt to start another franchise for a money-hungry studio. It certainly doesn’t feel presumptuous. Everything we see feels important; like it’s building up to not just one, but many bigger character arcs in a world that contains hundreds of stories. You know the threads that are left hanging will be tied up - that’s the kind of confidence all of the artists at work instill in you. Dune/Dune: Part One is a film that’s going to be remembered. (March 1, 2024)

[fantastic-nonsense]

If I’m remembering right, you’ve been a Harry Potter fan for a long time. Has JKR’s transphobia affected your relationship with the franchise?

It hurts. A lot.

I don't claim to have ever been a Harry Potter superfan like some people were. But I remember being 10 and wanting to go to the local Deathly Hallows midnight release party...not because I was actually genuinely interested in the books, but because I thought it would be fun to go to a party and stay up until midnight. I remember being 11 when I read the books, about six months after that. I remember Harry Potter being my first true foray into fandom (after Nancy Drew), first through Mugglenet and then through FFN. I remember being 15 at summer camp when the final movie came out and having to wait until I got home to see it. I remember being 16 and considering Harry Potter one of my three "base fandoms" that I always returned to when a new hyperfixation ran its course. I remember being 18 and my family going to Universal Studios as my high school graduation present and buying Ginny's wand at Ollivander's while we were in Harry Potter World. I remember studying abroad in London at 20 and taking a special trip over to King's Cross/St. Pancras station to take pictures at the Platform 9 3/4 exhibit with my friends. I remember being 21 and buying a (book accurate blue and bronze) Ravenclaw-themed scarf on a whim because I thought it looked nice and was a subtle way to wear fandom-inspired clothing.

I'm not a stranger to engaging with creative work I love whose authors have believed, said, and done awful things. I read comics. I was an English major. I spend quite a lot of my free time consuming sci-fi and fantasy, genres which have offered great creative freedom but also contain a lot of unfortunate history to sort through when it comes to opportunities for and treatment of marginalized groups. Every piece of media (no matter how well-intentioned its creators are) has problematic elements that you have to deal with. My attitude towards most types of creative media has long been a sense of "death of the author" paired with a critical understanding of how the author's views might have impacted the work I enjoy.

But Rowling has largely made that impossible. You cannot separate Harry Potter from Joanne Rowling and her awful views and actions. You cannot separate the franchise from the causes she supports with the money we give her. You cannot separate yourself from the knowledge that the woman who gave you great joy as a child is causing you and people you care about great pain as an adult. She has placed herself at the focal point of her work and as a consequence has killed it as a standalone entity.

It's incredibly sad and depressing to think about. It also makes me unspeakably angry, especially as someone who has done LGBTQ+ advocacy work and pursued a career in public policy in pursuit of making the world a better, more equitable place. She could have done anything with her billions. And she chooses to do this. To use her work and her platform and her time to support bigotry and create an easy pathway to fascist ideology for her supporters. To harm others while claiming all she wants to do is "protect" people like me (a cis woman). She could have done anything. And she chooses to betray an entire generation of fans who enjoyed her work for fear, hatred, and cheap ego points. There's so many problematic and/or outright fucking awful authors whose work I enjoy but am able to maintain a critical distance about (Marion Zimmer Bradley for example), but everything about Harry Potter is just tainted for me now, and it sucks.

And it's all well and good to say "just love different books," but the experience of having your childhood memories weaponized against you like it has been with her bullshit is something that just...isn't replaceable by choosing to obsess over another franchise as an adult? Nor does it actually do anything to help the people who are harmed by her words, actions, and money?

I drifted away from the series and fandom naturally as I grew up, found other books I loved and wanted to interact with more, and began to want different things out of the media I enjoyed, of course. By the time that Rowling revealed her true spots and started using her money to hurt people, it felt a lot easier to largely cut it out of my life.

But I still remember being 11 and reading Prisoner of Azkaban by flashlight under the covers after bedtime. But I still remember being 12 as the Mugglenet fan community encouraged my first "true" attempts at writing fanfiction. But I still remember being 14 and roleplaying as a Hogwarts student through that website's fan-created "student experience" function. But I still remember being 16 and playing Quidditch at summer camp. But I still remember being 18 and winning a trivia game at college orientation because I remembered obscure Harry Potter factoids. But I still remember being 20 and talking about our favorite beasts with my friends as we walked out of the first Fantastic Beasts movie. But I still remember being 21 and arming myself with a document of book quotes, Harry Potter among them, as I went through a minor existential crisis trying to figure out who I was outside of school.

It's a hard thing, to have a creator systematically destroy the personal enjoyment you derive from her work through her loud and proud hypocrisy and hatred of other people. It's a hard thing, to have something that was formative to your childhood and adolesence and have to come to terms with a creator whose beliefs and work undermine the themes you saw in her work. It's a hard thing, to have a piece of your childhood weaponized against you in a way that makes it impossible to simply enjoy and look back fondly on. It's a hard thing, to love something and have that well poisoned irreparably because you can't escape seeing what you wish you'd never been able to see. It's a hard thing, to love something for the joy it gave you but to be unable to love it in peace because you can't escape the spectre of a creator who uses your joy to promote and fund bigotry.

It's a hard thing, being 26 and remembering what it felt like to be a lonely 11 year old who just wanted people to accept me for who I am and wondering why Joanne can't seem to remember the same.

So yes: Rowling's transphobia has impacted my relationship with the franchise. It's impossible for it not to have impacted it. Do I still read HP fanfiction? Occasionally. Will I still sort characters into Hogwarts houses if specifically asked? Yes. Am I going to get rid of my copies of the books or the few pieces of HP memorabilia I still have? Probably not. But will I ever buy or financially support anything related to the franchise again? No, because as long as people keep promoting the series and giving her money, she'll use it to hurt people. I can't in good conscience support that woman in any way knowing what she'll do with the money that gets back to her. And will I ever be able to look at, participate in, or enjoy anything related to Harry Potter again without feeling a vague sense of sadness, betrayal, and disgust? Probably not. It sucks, but that's life I guess.

[makayla-angelic]

So...

I saw Kung Fu Panda 4 today, and overall, it was a pretty decent film, I definitely found it better than the third film, which is something I worried about when DreamWorks announced there was gonna be a fourth film. (Supposedly there's gonna be six films altogether.) *Spoilers below the cut.*

Music: The soundtrack/score was pretty solid. Hanz Zimmer has always been a great music producer and each piece fit and set the tone of each scene. Also they kept all the leitmotifs from all the previous films, as well as one particular one from the third film. Overall I give the music a solid 10/10.

Characters: Po, Shifu, Mr. Ping, and Li Shan, (Po's biological father) were all there, but the Furious Five were nowhere in sight until the very end, which kinda surprised and disappointed me. I liked Zhen as Po's sidekick and her personality was mischievous as sneaky, as well as spunky. I found the chameleon to be a much more intimidating villain than General Kai from the third film, which again was a bit of fresh air, because something about Kai didn't really impress me as a villain. The chameleon is right up there with Lord Shen. The other bad guy side characters were pretty funny to watch, and they served their purpose, so nothing much to complain about there, although I feel like Po doesn't really develop much in this film like he did in the other three. Overall I give characters a 8.5/10. May or may not change this score later.

Plot: once again, the whole Furious Five not being apart of the movie as much as the other three films kinda surprised and disappointed me. I could see the betrayal twist with Zhen coming a mile away, and I knew she either had to affiliate with the chameleon in one way or another. When the Chameleon stole all the past warriors powers for her own, I fully expected her to actually attack the city, but it didn't happen. The whole fight was pretty much contained inside the throne room area. At least Zhen betrayed the Chameleon back in exchange to be a good person and to be Po's friend for real. It's no surprise either that Po would choose her to be the next Dragon Warrior. Was also surprised to see Tai Lung and the rest of the bad guys essentially end any "bad blood" between them and Po and show respect. Li Shan and Mr. Ping provided comedic relief and nothing much more. Overall I give the plot a 7.5/10.

Animation: Nothing much to say here, the drawings and colors were pretty solid, I didn't notice any glitches or anything off to me, and frames moved smoothly. 10/10.

Final thoughts: Overall I think this movie was a bit better than the third film, at least villain wise. The Chameleon and Zhen helped play a role in making the film engaging. But not seeing the Furious Five disappointed me personally, which is why I'm giving the film altogether a 8/10.

Let me know what you all thought of the film!

[deadfileinthecabinet]

I know, I know, no zombies here but let me indulge a little with the story in my head where my Drow bard turned into a spawn but took control of the absolute because he wanted immortality and complete power. He betrayed Astarion but kept him by his side because, well, love.

Come my love, be one with me.

Rule with me for eternity,

Drown all dreams so mercilessly and leave their souls to me.

Play the song you sang long ago,

And wherever the storm may blow,

You will find the keys to my heart

We’ll never be apart.

Wild and strong,

You can’t be contained,

Never bound nor ever chained.

Wounds you caused will never mend,

And you will never end.

From this video.

Lyrics: Fiajela

Vocals: Alex Beckham

Music: Hans Zimmer

[lesbiansforboromir]

musicians will put the word sea or ocean or waves into the names of their albums or songs and then fill that work with the blandest most soperific most pale milk limp dick dry pussy ass feeble melodies known to man under singing that sounds like a flea's off key violin, it enrages me I literally see red everytime, I think it should be illegal to make a song about the sea that doesnt contain wailing in it like congrats to the lot of you that's the worst anyone's ever done it, ocean bloom by radiohead and hans zimmer is literally the only marine based song that hasn't made me want to drown the artists responsible in the bering strait and I think that's a proportional response honestly