#it could go up or down at least 150 words since i just replace parts of the rough draft with pieces of the final cut as i go

[particleseparationroom]

ough fuck these chapters keep getting longer

[otakugurl-11037]

Who Let Vampires Run Rock n' Roll?! Female!Y/NxVampire Rockstar.

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Before you read, there's biting, mentions of blood, ghosts, and other spooky things. There is also a mention of smashing, but it's nothing too serious. Happy reading!

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2,000+ words.

Will be in multiple parts!!

Random question, but do you believe that the Ship of Theseus, if taken apart and replaced with the same parts, will it still be the same ship?

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“You got front-row tickets?!”

My friend, Mai, had practically squealed at me over the phone. She and I were obsessed with this indie alt-rock band we discovered called Crimson Nocturne and they just happened to have a concert just five minutes away from where I lived.

I managed to snag a good ticket since I had saved up my coupons over the years. I ended up knocking the price down from $150 to a mellow $45. Thank goodness I picked up the habit of mindlessly clipping coupons that I may or may not use.

“Aw man, I’m so jealous,” Mai continued. “I wanna go, but this work is horrrrible!! It just feels like it never ends, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I replied. “I’m sorry you gotta do all that. I’ll be sure to send you some videos of the concert, okay?

“Okay,” she said, seemingly put into a better mood. “Oh, and lemme know if Lucien notices you! He’s been on a little streak with taking notice of the front-row fellas!”

While she giggles over the phone, I think of Lucien--the lead of the band. He’s the one who started it all, with his lyrical genius and creativity. He found his group rather quickly after showing off his skills during an impromptu talent show.

“I don’t think he’ll notice ME, though,” I say with a half-chuckle. “I’m not even wearing any of the band’s merch.”

“Daww, never say never! I bet that he’ll swing you around in his arms like lovers!”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her silly statement.

“No, he won’t,” I say through giggles.

“He could drop everything and LEAP toward you, haha!”

Her and I share a hearty laugh for a good minute--man, she is the best friend I could ever ask for.

“Oh, shoot-”

“What, what’s the matter,” I ask, ceasing our laughter.

“I gotta go, I’m already 5 minutes late to this meeting I’m supposed to be in. See you!”

“Okay, see you later!”

She hung up and I put my phone in my jean pocket. I take one last look at myself in the mirror, doing a mental checklist of everything on my person.

Phone, check.

Wallet, check.

Car keys and regular keys, check.

Super cool Hello Kitty hairpin I found in the clearance aisle, check.

I adjust my hairpin before heading to the door, ready to go to my first-ever Crimson Nocturne concert.

•••

After going through a labyrinth and back to find parking, I approach the venue, which is a restored theater that was abandoned in the 30s until a company picked it back up. Before that band came to town, I figured that the restoration was a waste of money; nobody wanted to go inside because rumors were spread about it being haunted. I must admit that they did a wonderful job of sprucing up the place.

The neon lights and plants surrounding the large building breathed life and excellence in a way that nobody from the 30s could imagine. The plants, along with the lights, had every hue of color you could imagine. It’s as if you let a rainbow take hold of a coloring book.

I enter the building, which has the complete opposite vibe from the outside. I figure that it’s to fit the theme of who’s performing here. Beyond the long line of people who are practically hopping up and down for Crimson Nocturne’s future performance, there’s checkered flooring, fake blood oozing from the walls(or at least I HOPE it’s fake), toy bats hanging upside down from the ceiling, fake cobwebs, skeletons with glowing eyes, and posters of each of the band members.

Everyone except Lucien is wearing masks--either to conceal their identity or for an artistic reason. One thing about Crimson Nocturne is that they’ve always been particular about their works, nothing happens without a reason. Each mask has a marking on it--Lysander, the drummer, has a skull marked on his mask, Alexzander, the bassist, has a pentagram marked on it, and Alistair, the guitarist, has a single heart mark. Me and Mai have come up with theories as to what those mask markings could mean, but they were 3 am ramblings--we would always wake up the next morning to find out just how stupid those theories were and trash them.

Lucien, however, is another story. He has shaggy black hair, heavy eyeliner, red eye contacts, and he always wears a dark leather suit with combat boots that could eliminate military-grade bugs. Often, I’d notice him with fang caps over his canines or red eye contacts. Perhaps this is his way of standing out from the others.

I move up in the line, equally excited for this concert.

“Aaaah, oh my gosh, I can’t wait to see them,” a girl gushes behind me.

“Dude, this is my second concert with them! The whole band signed my poster last time I came,” a guy recalled.

“Is it bad that I would smash all of them, at the same time,” another girl said before being interrupted by a series of WHAT coming from what I assume are her friends. I didn’t join in, but it did make me turn my head in dumbfoundedness at how boldly she said such an outrageous thing.

I never found them THAT attractive since the majority of them are wearing masks. I could see myself getting with Lucien, but hardly. He’s way beyond my league.

The guy in front of me practically ran to the concert stage, revealing the ticket clerk. I walk forward and grab my phone from my back pocket, showing him my digital ticket. He puts his barcode scanner over it, lets it ding, and then hands me a complimentary keychain of chibi Alistair aggressively hugging a teddy bear, in which the poor thing’s eyes are popping out. Must be an intense hug.

“Enjoy the show, miss,” the clerk said.

Before my brain could let me utter a misplaced ‘you too,’ I said,

“Thank you!” Skipping over to the concert hall, I pocket both my phone and my new keychain. 

I make it to my front row seat, dodging some of the other onlookers. It is mind-numbingly cold in this large auditorium. Somehow, the AC unit could freeze an area that can house well over 3,000 people. The cold strategically attacked my weak points--my arms, hands, face, and the front of my neck. I internally regret not wearing my turtleneck sweater. 

Then the lights dimmed. People’s chatter descended into soft murmurs, the air got warmer, and a sense of nervousness loomed over our shoulders like a ghost was truly haunting this building.

What have I gotten myself into?

I’m too deep into this to leave, so I lean away from the back of my seat, bringing my forearms to my thighs. I probably looked like a wannabe CEO pulling that pose, but I didn’t care. It helped keep the nervous feeling at bay.

A single guitar riff played, breaking the crowd’s silence and replacing it with cheers and rambunctiousness. I sat up almost immediately with the sudden shift in energy. Then they crescendoed into a whole melody while the curtains lifted to reveal the band in all their glory, red light showering them all.

“Haaah, how are we doing tonight,” Lucien asked, his fake fangs on full display. 

The crowd cheered and Lucien feigned surprise.

“Wow, you guys must be doing great, huh? Haha, I appreciate all of you lovely little darklings coming out to see us tonight. It warms my heart knowing that you all could take me from down here, to up HERE.”

He brought his arm from the floor, kneeling down, to high up as he spoke. Everybody cheered again, happy to know that we’ve supported him well.

“But I digress,” Lucien continued, playing with the cord of his microphone. “We gotta show to put on, and I can’t have my friends just play this melody without me singing anything, right?”

The crowd hollered once more while I wooed, my voice surely being drowned out by the near-full house.

With that, he took off, his singing voice miles away from his talking voice. Hearing his voice on streaming is one thing, but actually hearing it live is another. His haunting voice and equally dark lyrics just seemed to entrance me. He wove a web of notes and like the fly I--and others-- are, we flew in, trapped in the spider’s grip. His voice is so mellow, yet rough around the edges, it’s perfect. 

Before I knew it, the song ended and the crowd’s uproar snapped me out of my trance. I woo along with them, looking at Lucien’s little smirk he had. He grabbed the mic once again.

“Up next is your favorite,” he said, dragging out the last word as if he wanted to tease us.

A familiar melody plays, and the crowd is sent back into an uproar. ‘Little Miss Wild Øne’ is one of the best songs they have ever conceived, and for good reason. It’s a deep, yet sensual song that somehow gives you that positive shiver down your spine.

Oh crap, I forgot to record this for Mai!

After fumbling with my phone, I reach the camera app and…accidentally take a picture. I quickly switch it to video and start recording, focusing on Lucien. As soon as I start recording, he starts singing.

“Ohhhh, how you are filled with sin, you feel like you cannot win, let it run through like a riiiver, and with that I shall deliver…”

The music pauses only to resume with Lucien screeching the word “evil.” With how intense that scream is, I could’ve dropped my phone. His diaphragm is also impressive, with how long he’s holding that one word. While screeching. 

Ohh, Mia’s gonna LOVE this…

Lucien stops with his screeching, allowing for his bandmates to continue playing their intense tune. He then turns his head towards my camera and does the unthinkable.

He winked. He freaking winked at the camera!!

A buzz goes through my body, having experienced such attention. How does something so small do something so grand to me? If it weren’t for the fact that this is a public space, I would’ve kicked my feet and giggled aloud. 

Ah wait, it probably wasn’t directed towards me….yes it was. I’m the only person in my row and column recording him right now.

He approached me from the stage, kneeling to extend his hand out. A smile was on his face, once again, showing off his teeth.

My heart was nearing the edge of bursting out of my chest, but I brought my hand closer to his, thinking that he was offering a high-five.

Nope.

He pulled me onto the stage, holding me with one arm. He held his microphone with his free arm as he leaned in to sing once again.

“Mm, ooh, baby, must you hurt me so? Nobody’s born clean, I’ve told you so,”

I just knew that I was sweating bullets. Being on stage, you become painfully aware of how many people are there, their full attention on you and you alone. Somehow, being so close to Lucien made me more nervous. Yet at ease at the same time, with how much confidence he’s exuding. 

I quietly sang along, so I wouldn’t feel like a sitting duck next to the Lucien.

“Raaah, why are you so scared? You knew what you signed up for, don’t act like you cannot comprehend. We’re only sinners after aaaaall… But don’t you worry dear, tonight I have something special for you, it’s coming near, it’s… HERESY!”

I can’t scream along with him. I’ve tried it before and my voice broke, like it literally broke. I had to talk to people with a text-to-speech tablet for about a week. While he’s holding out the word, I look around the crowd, they’re full of hype and energy. Of the likes I couldn’t imagine. If humanity is good at one thing, they’re good at filling a room with life--especially when this venue has been close to death. 

“Ooooohh…..” 

Lucien closes out while the rest of the band goes into a slow decrescendo. I figure that around this time, Lucien would let me down but he had other plans.

He tapped my shoulder and I looked up at him. He brought his hand over my ear to whisper.

“Darling Darkling,” Lucien murmured. “I’m parched, may I have a drink, please?”

I looked at him a bit puzzled. I didn’t bring a water bottle or anything(I should really start doing that) so I’m not sure what he meant. I nodded.

“Sure, go ahead,” I whispered back.

He smiled, showing off those fangs again.

“Thanks.”

He leaned in, and I learned that those fake fangs were in fact, real. He bit down on the side of my neck and the whole crowd went insane. My eyes were wide, the heat coming to my face and ears were palpable. I should’ve ran away, but I stayed. Leaned into the bite, accepted this sin he brought to the table. He drank for a long time before letting me go, seeing me stumble a little bit on my own.

As if I came back to my senses, I quickly ran off-stage and back to my seat. Staring into my eyes with dilated pupils, he wiped off the excess blood and grabbed the mic again.

“Thanks for that, sweetheart.” 

His tone completely changed, he spoke as if he was flirting with me. Which also made the crowd explode. I was in for a long night…

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You made it to the end, hooray! Part 2 will come out sometime, on someday. Have a nice rest of your day/evening!

[mashounen2003]

Sonic opinions - 2

In large portions of every fandom, it looks like it prevails the idea that you can only take one of two positions: praising the story in every respect, including both the ideas themselves and their execution by the writers, or admitting not to like the story and not to praise any element of it at all. I think my ideas regarding the Archie-Sonic comics and the Sonic franchise in general cannot be pigeonholed into either of these two extremes.

More below the "keep reading" cut.

I loved all the world-building in Archie-Sonic, the elements the comic introduced, their many characters and the potential to tell stories about them; I also really liked much of the art and personal styles of several artists Archie-Sonic has had throughout its history, with very few exceptions (and such exceptions include Ron Lim, of course). That's why, of all the Sonic continuities, I often use the pre-reboot Archie-Sonic comic as the primary source for world-building elements and story ideas.

What really makes me feel bad about that comic, what motivates most of my criticism, is the ideas’ execution by the main writers, as well as aspects that I think are more linked to each writer as a person, the unique way in which each of them has written their stories.

Firstly, Michael Gallagher: the writer for the first few dozen issues of the comic had a terrible sense of humour, and this hurt the comic hugely since those first issues were fundamentally based on that low-quality comedy style. The characterization of the entire cast also suffered greatly from this; in Sally's case, something quite ironic happened too: Gallagher portrayed her as bossy, annoying, temperamental, usually bickering with Sonic, and now that's also how Sally is seen by many fans of the videogames’ continuity (at best). Other than this, not much more could be said about him.

Karl Bollers wrote quite decent stories with some nice comedy, with “Return to Angel Island” being his best work, one of the best stories in the entire comic and perhaps even one of the best in the franchise; but Bollers’s work was "torpedoed" by Ken Penders and then-editor Justin Gabrie, which ruined the stories’ final versions sometimes or led to elements introduced by Bollers being "retconned" and overwritten by whatever Penders smoked and decided to do when taking over. The characterization of Fiona Fox is one of the main examples, with Bollers's Fiona being a quite under-utilized character but with a great potential that would later be wasted by both Penders and Ian Flynn. Another similar case was Sally breaking up with Sonic: Bollers tried to give context to such a drastic decision by Sally and show how she was the one who was suffering the most at that time and also that both she and Sonic were partially right, but Penders and Gabrie didn't let Bollers develop this subplot properly and all we had was a quite infamous scene that unfairly made Sally one of the most hated characters. It’s also known of several plans Bollers had for future stories, and one of them was Antoine being corrupted by the Source of All and turning into a villain; this had the potential to be a good story by subverting the concept of the Source of All and making it an actual threat, but on the other hand, it’d have meant resorting once again to the resource of "this character isn’t doing anything, let's make them evil", something quite disappointing, which later would have disastrous results when Flynn did the same with Fiona a few years later. However, these plans of Bollers were just ideas, and the quality of a story created from them still depends a lot on execution. In the end, I can't say anything about how good or bad Bollers was as a writer, simply because I have no way of knowing what his stories would have been like if he had been given more freedom and had stayed as the writer longer.

There were two writers who influenced Archie-Sonic comics far more than any other writer in its history: Penders and Flynn. The first of them was a retarded pervert with an overly inflated and fragile ego. He became obsessed with the primitive, toxic ideal of "family" North-Americans have. He wrote nonsensical, contradictory stories, having already decided the end down to the last detail long before even thinking about how the story would come to that end (I also made this specific mistake a few times when I was just starting to write fanfiction, I must admit). He increased Fiona's age in order to be able to pair her with the Don Juan that Sonic had become, which also ruined Fiona's characterization forever. The issues 150s -right before being replaced by Flynn- were the worst part of Penders’s run, as Bollers was no longer there to put a stop to his madness in any way, and it was at this time when there was the most egregious case of Penders pouring into the comic his worst perversions and retarded ideas: he hinted at a sex scene in one of the most infamous cases in the history of the entire Sonic franchise, although it wasn’t infamous for the implied sex per se but rather because what happened was technically a rape by deception; to add insult to injury, the writer implicitly blamed the victim some years later when asked about it on Twitter.

I could go on talking about “Ken Perverts”, but I think that's not necessary and would be a waste of time since, as everyone here already knows, he's been the laughingstock of the entire Sonic franchise for years; @ponett even has a whole secondary blog, @thankskenpenders, mainly dedicated to this. On the other hand, there’s still another writer who has also contributed a lot and also made huge mistakes but is not criticized in the least by almost anyone, simply because he was better than Penders.

Ian Flynn usually reduced the characters to slightly oversimplified portrayals, similar to the personalities of the characters in the most recent videogames. Under his pen, Sonic was more sympathetic but his words sometimes sounded too empty and shallow, his apologies for past mistakes didn’t lead to genuine changes on his part, and sometimes he even seemed plain insensitive to all the tragedies happening around him, especially at the Mecha Sally Arc (I nickname Ian Flynn’s Sonic "Plastic Smile" for this). Admittedly, this had already happened several times with previous writers (Penders portraying Sonic as a Don Juan, as I already mentioned), and this is why I think the original Sonic from Sonic SatAM was always better for feeling more "genuine", less "empty", and more heroic and likeable as a result. Perhaps the only ones to escape the oversimplified portrayal have been Shadow and E-123 Omega, whose characterizations in Archie-Sonic were the best in the whole franchise.

Besides, Flynn had strong favouritism for Amy Rose, which only made things worse because this Amy was much more similar to the one in the videogames from Sonic Heroes onwards. Anyway, this also happened with previous writers, like when Amy wished to be younger at the cost of a chance to save Sally's mother and no one ever berated her for it.

Let’s look at the villains. Unlike the typical Eggman from the videogames, with his follies, eccentricities and other absurd aspects, the Robotnik “inherited” by the comic from Sonic SatAM was explicitly a genocidal bastard and crueller while at the same time being sane enough to realize everything he was doing (@robotnik-mun already spoke in detail about this once); however, Flynn tried to combine the two characters into the pre-reboot Archie-Sonic Eggman, and the result created some severe problems with the stories’ tone. Something derived from this was how Sonic let Eggman live and even felt sorry for his fall into madness, in addition to treating him as if they were the Sonic and Eggman from the videogames, Sonic X or Sonic Boom; it’s worth remembering this Eggman technically is a sort of reincarnation of the SatAM Robotnik (his exact nature is quite complicated and includes parallel universes, but yes, he’s supposed to be exactly the same as the SatAM Robotnik, with memories and everything) and this Sonic is supposed to have fought a bloody decade-long guerilla war against him just like his SatAM counterpart.

Scourge was turned into a massive Mary-Sue who achieved easy victories, as subtle as a huge neon sign saying "the bad guys win"; he was also an abusive manipulator towards Fiona Fox, and Flynn was unable to show that properly for fear of making his pet look no longer cool, which makes you wonder how alike Flynn and Penders might actually be in some ways. To clearly understand the horrible damage this has caused: it not only created a generation of young Sonic fans -mostly boys from the USA- who romanticize abuse either consciously or unconsciously, but also there are even women -including scholars, committed feminists and transgender people who are also activists for social justice- who either sympathize with Scourge or think Fiona made a right, wise, rational or informed decision by joining him in the story (I’ll not give names of those women, I’m not really eager to get into heated fallacious discussions about “the true meaning of Feminism”); to top it off, among the writers who started working with Ian Flynn either on IDW-Sonic or the last years of Archie-Sonic, there’s at least one person who got the job of writing official Sonic comics after gaining quite a bit of fame with a fan-comic where they used the pairing of Scourge & Fiona to inspire its readers to feel sorry... for Scourge. And speaking of Fiona specifically: the subplot of her career as a villain was ill-conceived, was built by using as a cornerstone the A-story of Issue #150 (that quite infamous and widely known story written by Penders where Scourge may or may not have raped Bunnie by deception), and was also seemingly "abandoned" as Fiona ended up merely being Scourge's new abuse victim girlfriend and her status as a traitor didn’t even have a significant emotional effect on the Freedom Fighters.

Flynn also followed something like a pattern of taking tropes from famous works and then using them when writing the comic but not actually understanding why those tropes had worked in the first place. Perhaps the prime example of this was Scourge giving Sonic the Joker's "One Bad Day" speech: it almost felt a bit like giving the same speech to the Batman of Batman vs. Superman, as Sonic had already had a whole "bad decade" and was still a hero despite it; also, Sonic's answer to that speech (telling Scourge it only takes a tiny bit of selflessness and decency for him to be a good person) wasn’t that great, not at all compared to the mildly masterful answer Batman had originally given to the Joker in The Killing Joke, and it even made Sonic look more like a bad judge of character.

Lastly, the entire Mecha Sally Arc was poorly planned, had some contradictions with itself and with previous stories, was stretched through dozens of comic issues no matter if that felt forced, and the main events and plot twists throughout the story arc were heavily based on shock-value without giving any substance to this or making it a bit more sense when putting it under scrutiny; meanwhile, Flynn always seemed to have quite a hard time when writing long story arcs, so these long stories looked like he was trying and outright failing to imitate Toriyama (someone quite known for putting together stories ad-lib according to what seemed most convenient at the time).

Despite this, it looks like those Sonic fans who are still interested in material outside of the videogames will keep buying and reading whatever Ian Flynn or one of his colleagues writes, simply because they’re better than Penders... even though it's been 15 years since Penders wrote something official about Sonic. Seriously, we should have gotten over it by now, instead of continuing to compare all material in the franchise with Penders's work, which sets the bar too low for any official content creator. Now that I think about it, Penders's work is to the North-American Sonic canon what Sonic 2006 is to the videogames: people can criticize the latest games all they want, and rightfully so, but if someone even casually mentions Sonic 2006, any Sonic game from 2010 onwards instantly becomes a masterpiece just for being marginally better than Sonic 2006; the same happens between Penders's work on pre-reboot Archie-Sonic and any other North-American Sonic comic written by Flynn after Penders left.

Right now it looks like it's also forbidden to criticize Flynn as a writer at all just because he's much nicer in his personal life and engages with fans more directly through his podcasts, or because Flynn is truly progressive while Penders claimed to be progressive and a feminist and was affiliated with the USA Democrats but his work showed how misogynistic, perverted, retarded, reactionary and downright sick he was. Also, now saying something about Flynn other than total blind admiration for him and his work, even asking for the Freedom Fighters to return in the IDW comics, has become synonymous with agreeing with those assholes who cry "Rally4Sally" or "Udon4Sonic" on Twitter: "nostalgic" fans of SatAM and Penders's work on Archie, in their 40s or 50s, deeply conservative and absurdly paranoid, who claim that those new inclusive cartoons such as Steven Universe or She-Ra "are ruining their childhood", are mad at Flynn just because he hinted Sally and Nicole may be a lesbian couple (and in a rather platonic way, not even romantic in the traditional sense), and try to justify their own warped ideas and fantasies about SatAM by ignoring any “liberal” political messages SatAM may have had at the subtext level.

[spyvstailor]

Need 150 For Rent

Look guys, I don’t like to beg. My pride is very strong and I hate doing it. But I’ve been out of work for a while now and looking high and low for it. However, if by the 15th I don’t make 150 bucks, I will be tossed out on my ass. Me? I can live in a cardboard box, but my kitties cannot.

So I have a plan where I won’t beg exactly. I will release early sneak peek chapters of my newest novel, and if you guys would toss a few bucks in my paypal account that would be groovy.

If you can’t afford to donate to keeping my kitties sheltered this winter month, then at least could you reblog this post so others can enjoy a good zombiedy and maybe donate?

Here’s my paypal link, please donate if you can, but don’t feel bad if you can’t. The economy is in shambles. Just reblog if you can, help spread the word.

Now, for my part of the bargain (this is where I feel less like a sack of shit for begging), a zombie story with nuns called Graveyard Dirt & Salt! Enjoy!

Chapter One

Sometime in Summer 2014

The first thing to break down when everything went to shit were the roads and the highways.

If you think about the population of the earth, six billion and change, think about the population of the US alone, think about the people in your city, your town, in your region, your county, your parish, all of them fleeing, then you'd understand why they were the first to go to shit.

Humans run on instinct, fight or flight. But when they didn't know what exactly they were fighting, when they heard news reports of an epidemic, of people dying and coming back running on pure animal hunger, their first instinct was to flee.

They've seen the movies, played the video games, entertained the idea of the dead rising up and walking the earth with their insatiable hunger, as humans they knew what this meant. It meant the very end of civilization as they knew it. No more cell phones, no more magazines and no more internet. It was chaos and it was confusion.

Back when HQ was still up and running, when the marines at the base were still receiving orders, when 'task forces' were being sent in to hospitals and morgues, schools, churches even. Places humans congregated in times of trouble to take care of the sweeping epidemic, when governments and commanders were still in control, the first thing to fall to the dead were the roads and the highways.

The highways were veritable buffets for the hungry horde. Panicked people just stuck in traffic. Delicious, soft, warm, living flesh.

After the roads and highways fell to the dead, the government sort of disappeared. There was no structure, because the officials all sort of went the way of the one percent, mysteriously disappearing in the smoke of the burning society around them.

The next thing to fall was the media, it was all over the place, reports of the dead walking, reports of the one percent disappearing, leaving behind the working man, leaving behind the dead. With their need to know and to be on the scene, many stations began to mysteriously replace their reporters, before in the end all that remained was a single, sweaty, panicked looking young hopeful who wanted so badly to be on the screen that they took the position.

After the media went the churches, the mosques, the synagogues, even that real fancy cult place in Hollywood.

When faith failed, then everything just sort of fell away.

In the days just after the initial outbreak, he was still a marine stationed at HQ in Georgia. He still followed orders, still went where they told him to go, did what they told him to do, but after a few weeks the lines of communication went down. HQ went cold, dark. One by one his squad had left him, either picked off by a lucky uggie or just plain run off in the night. Thirteen marine's had set out from HQ, gone off to protect and serve the civilians of the state, and all that remained of that squad was him.

The men who had left in the night were just heading home, he assumed. And to be honest, the Lieutenant didn't blame them. The more they patrolled from small town to small town, the more he realized there was no one left alive. And after the orders over the radio had stopped coming nearly nine months ago, the last word out of the old crank powered field phone he carried on his back had been to keep clear of the major cities, and then the damned thing went dead.

Hell, until a few months ago, he had assumed he was the only couyon left alive on earth.

Didn't matter. Everything he had he left back home in Eunice, Louisiana. And that was all inanimate and cold and long buried in the ground, nothing that could warm him on dark nights anyhow.

For months he walked the highways and the roads, just off in the woods in the shadows of the leaves and trees, doing his duty, killing as many of the damned as he could.

Didn't bother him much, he was recon, trained to do whatever needed doing. Improvise, adapt and overcome.

He saw a lot from his place in the woods, men and women trying and failing to survive, the dead roaming, ambling about by the handfuls, great herds of them shuffling across the blacktop like cattle going down the Chisholm Trail.

There seemed to be no end to the uggies. Everywhere he went there they were. Old folks, young folks, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, hell he had seen a bride one time in her pretty white gown just wandering around.

The longer he survived in the land of the dead, the more he forgot what other humans, thinking and feeling humans, sounded like. He was beginning to go a little nutty, if he was honest. It had been months since he last saw someone who seemed alive, and even they looked like they were on their way out. Tired, sickly, starving maybe. A shadow that had appeared and disappeared so fast he wasn't entirely certain they were real.

So he drove further back from the roads, deeper into the Georgian woods.

He did well there, flourished even. Hunting, fishing in the river, killing uggies at an easy pace.

But it was there, in the middle of the sylvan woods of Georgia, that he came upon a high, grey brick wall, beyond which towered an old looking church of some sort and some equally dated looking buildings surrounding it.

At first he thought it was a compound of sorts, maybe some of those good ol' Georgian boys who had it in their mind to form their own military unit. A ragged group of NRA enthusiasts with too much ordnance and not enough brains or balls.

When he had scaled the wall out of morbid curiosity, to perch high and get his bearings, he was surprised to find a handful of nuns in their cute black veils with the flowing white robes working in a garden below. At the time they didn't notice him as he perched on their wall. They seemed too intent on gathering the bounties of their vegetable garden.

With his rifle shouldered, he had watched them at work, amazed to find life so deep in the woods. Feeling like a man who had just witnessed a miracle, an angel, a vision.

Sitting at ease on the high, eight foot wall, the Lieutenant watched the ladies in their garden for the longest time, entranced by the simple beauty of their work and their habits, before he settled his pack beside him on the wall to open it up for a snack of dried nuts he had found in the Piggly Wiggly in Blackshear.

It had been so, so long since he had observed actual human beings moving and chatting, laughing and living, that he seemed to forget where he was and he was only just a little hungry so he thought he'd have himself a snack while he watched them work.

It wasn't until one of them, the only one who wore all white, glanced up and spied him on the wall.

Her face was one of serene, simple beauty, clear blue eyes, a face that would give Vivian Leigh a run for her money and a hard, almost stern look which changed from placid to startled at the sight of him on their wall. She dropped the basket of potatoes she was carrying to wash at the water pump just past his position and took a quick step back.

Shouldering his rifle slowly, he held up his hands to show her he was defenceless and offered her a smile he hoped was as charming as he wanted it to be.

She stared, gawped almost, at him for the longest time, delicate brows knitting, lips trembling like she wanted to say something.

“Now, hold on, I'm not here to stir the nest.” He said as the woman took small, dainty steps back from him.

The other Sisters now noticed him and wavered between moving to protect the one close to him and fleeing into the shelter of their convent buildings.

“My name is Lieutenant Layfayette Vancoughnett of the United States Marine Corps,” he greeted. “I'm charged with protecting the citizens of this country from the epidemic of the dead.”

The woman looked at him with hard, steely eyes, unwavering and unimpressed, but still she said nothing.

“I'm not here to hurt any of you,” he went on. “I'm here to help.”

“We have a front gate for a reason,” the woman suddenly scolded him in the prettiest Southern Belle accent he had ever heard.

Feeling as though she had slapped him, the Lieutenant blinked at her for a moment. It had been a few months since he spoke with someone rational, so he had to think whether he said something rude.

“Do y'all know what's going on beyond these walls?” He asked.

The woman wiped a smudge of dirt across her cheek with her wrist and sighed. “Are you here for trouble or to be a spider on my wall? Because I have no time for leering men peering down at me and my nuns like we're chocolate pie at the Easter picnic.”

Hopping down into the convent grounds, the Lieutenant grinned crookedly. “Was I leering? Aw, Missy, that was not my intention. It's only that it's been a long, long, very long while since I've seen living, breathing people.”

Wincing as she backed away from him, the woman frowned delicately, her mouth drawing in a thin line. Behind her the other nuns were gathering, they seemed less intimidating than the one in pure white.

“I think you should leave,” the woman suggested. “We are a peaceful place and we don't care or need the interference from the outside world.”

“Is there really no one left alive?” One of the young nuns in a blue dress asked. She didn't wear a full veil like the older nuns, her skirts reached to mid calf, black stockings and shoes hiding her feet and legs from sight.

“Not that I've seen, honeychild. Then again I've been keeping myself clear of the major cities, could be some, could be less than some, could be none.”

“Please,” the woman in white said. “Just leave. We don't want trouble.”

“Maybe we could offer him some food and at least a place to rest for the night?” An older nun suggested. “We all were strangers in Egypt, Philomena”

“Sister Mary Agnes, go inside, take the others.” The woman in white said firmly.

“Now, don't be so hard on them,” the Lieutenant amended. “I'm leaving. I didn't mean to shake things up. Just wanted to perch on your wall a little and take a rest.”

Hopping back up onto the eight foot wall with a little trouble, he managed to collect his things with some dignity, before giving the women below him one last look.

The leader, at least he assumed she was in charge, raised her chin a little and gave him a real hard look, her pretty, clear blue eyes narrowing a little in challenge.

Nodding, he leapt back down off their wall, heading for the little camp he had made for the day.

He had returned to what he did best for the next few days, killing uggies and scrounging for supplies.

Every now and then he thought of those nuns in their walled in garden. He worried about them. It was like a man trying to preserve the last of the endangered little critters, only with nuns.

For at least two weeks he resisted the urge to return, not wanting to harass them. But he was a weak man and that drum that pounded in his chest told him 'go back, go back, go back'. And those grey stone walls of the convent seemed to draw him like a magnet to metal.

They weren't in their garden when he finally managed to pull himself onto the wall, using a tree and a lot of long reaches, but he remained on the wall for a bit, hoping to spy one of them. He just needed to know they were okay, that he hadn't imagined them.

He sat on that wall so long that before he knew it, it was beginning to get dark, so he realized he had to go find some sort of place to hunker down for the night, a tree or an old foxhole, something tucked away enough for him to rest up.

Pulling out a bottle of Aspirin and a box of feminine pads he kept in his pack, the former for pain, the later for emergency bandages, he left them on his spot on the wall just behind the back door as a sort of offering, before he slipped down and back into his woods.

Slumping against the side of a house, he sunk down beside the latest uggie he had put down and sighed.

The Lieutenant was a social creature by habit, he had just fallen into a rut lately.

Wake up, crawl out from wherever he had bunkered for the night, kill some uggies, scrounge for some food and supplies, hunt if food wasn't available, dig down like a tick for the night and do it all over again, rarely staying in the same place twice.

His pack was getting heavy with things he needed to survive, his boots were worn thin, nearly to the foot itself. He had slogged his way north, south, east and west, but always somehow came back to the area surrounding the convent.

He needed some company, just a little chat with someone who didn't drool or moan, or at least didn't drool and moan until he bought them some dinner.

The farmhouse he had stumbled onto was a rundown shack, very little in uggie activity, but replete with goodies.

Digging through the pantry, he stuffed jar after jar of pickles, jams and preserves, until his pack was too full for any more.

So he ducked outside to bury most of his found treasure, in case anyone else came upon his goldmine, he wanted some things left for himself. It was a dog eat dog sort of world now.

Finding an old water pump, he helped himself to some well water and settled down to clean himself up some, shaving the itchy goddamned stubble away and rubbing stains out of his uniform where uggies had spewed their nasty fluids all over him like some goddamned reject from a devil possession movie.

Ducking back into the house before he left, he stuffed the last of the jars of food into his pack and zipped it shut.

He had enough jam and jelly and pickled veggies to get him through some rough times and in a few more months winter would be upon him.

Just as he was about to head out from the location, he spied some seed packs sitting on a windowsill in the mudroom and slowed down enough to read them.

As it did lately, his mind wandered to the nuns and their garden.

The Lieutenant snatched up the seed packs, stuffing them into his trouser pockets, before leaving the farmhouse.

Climbing onto the convent wall where he had found it easiest, just behind the back door, he began his search for life, before pulling out a few jars of preserves to give up to the nuns as an offering. He stacked the jars in such a way as to create a sort of cairn, into which he tucked the seeds, safe from birds.

He sat for a few more hours on the wall, before climbing down and slinking off into the forest.

Sitting high in a tree the next morning, he cleaned his rifle on his lap, legs thrown up comfortably on the branch he was straddling, the pipe brush tucked between his teeth as he rubbed his girl down.

Marie, his M40, prettiest girl he had ever held in almost a year. She was the only girl he trusted to bring down a zombie properly, his pretty Marie Laveau, but lately he had kept her quiet, holding on to her in the case of emergency. But his bullets were low and she made a hell of a noise.

Pausing as an uggie came from out of the trees into the clearing at the base of his tree, he studied her for a bit, trying to see if there were any more or just this one.

Just as he was thinking of ignoring this almost non-threat of one uggie, he heard it.

It was faint, on the wind, almost like the far distant sound of a train.

He froze at the most lonesome sound as a church bell chimed somewhere nearby.

At the same time the uggie caught the sound and twisted blindly in the direction, grunting and snorfling her way towards the sound.

“No,” he breathed, unable to accept that in these times, with these things shambling around, they would still be ringing that damned bell of theirs.

Had they been ringing it this entire time? How had they not been overrun by now?

He couldn't go, that bell would be calling every uggie in the area to the convent, but he couldn't sit and let chaos happen without him.

Calmly he reassembled his rifle, before gathering his things and stuffing them into his pack, dropping to the ground cautiously, knowing full well there would be a horde coming.

He clutched his knife, not trusting the uggies to come running if he had to fire a shot, keeping low and moving fast so as not to give them a target.

Skittering through the woods at the front of the convent wall, he stopped short and bobbed back into the woods, tucking himself under a log at the sight of a woman on the wall, a long sharp stick stabbing down at the uggies that had gathered below her.

There wasn't as many uggies as he expected, which he was grateful for, but there were enough that he worried for the woman.

She seemed to be handling herself fairly well, killing a few of the uggies with her stick, keeping her legs free of grasping hands as she moved quickly back and forth on the top of the wall.

The Lieutenant just lay there under his log, watching for a moment as the woman took out a few of the uggies on her own. Seemingly working like a robot, mechanical and thorough, eyes hard, face set grimly.

Spying a stick of his own nearby, he tugged at it, freeing it from the detritus it was tangled in, before emerging from his spot at a good enough moment.

He used the gate to hop up, climbing it onto the wall easily, joining the woman as they both took to stabbing at the uggies below them.

It wasn't until they both finished, that the Lieutenant chanced a look at the woman in jeans and a blouse beside him. Her queenly look, eyes that held the secrets of the universe but to hell with you if you wanted in on them, that pretty little face was familiar, but he struggled for a moment.

“Sister?” He asked, dropping to sit on the wall, eyeing the remains below them.

“Mother Superior...Philomena,” the woman corrected.

“Was that you and yours ringing that bell?” He demanded.

“Mass,” she said.

“You really oughtn't do that,” he pointed out, eyes on her small hands as they brushed imaginary dust from the thighs of her jeans.

“I won't stop them,” she stated. “When they're at mass I sneak out here to put these poor souls to rest. It's been working just fine for us.”

Looking around at the woods and the corpses and the cattle trail before them running from the gate to what he presumed was the highway, the Lieutenant asked, “where do you stash them?”

“I don't have time to give them a proper burial, but I've been laying them out in the woods just over there,” she motioned to the woods on the opposite side of where he had hidden himself.

“You're just a slip of a thing,” he said. “Must take you all morning.”

“Mass on Sundays will always go on for us,” she argued.

“Well, you've been lucky. So far you haven't had too big of a crowd, but the next one could be your last.”

She didn't say anything.

“If you wanna head back inside, I can take care of the dead for you,” he offered.

“Have you been leaving us things on the wall?” She demanded suddenly, turning to him almost accusingly.

If he hadn't known for certain she was a nun, he would have never been so scared of her, as it was he was a little transfixed by how hard her eyes could turn. They went from mists and mystery to glittering like two little aquamarines.

“I...uh...yes?” He felt like he needed to apologize, her eyes were so accusatory.

“That was very kind of you,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her tiny frame.

Good lord, she was a doll of a woman.

“It was unkind of me to send you away,” she went on softly, in her pretty as a songbird way.

The Lieutenant grinned. “Aw, well, I am over six feet of solid marine training, I suppose I can intimidate unknowingly.”

“The thing is, I have my suspicions about what our world has come to and I want it all to stay outside these walls. I have gentle women here, kind and pure souls, I cannot abide the idea of them being tainted or harmed.”

He nodded, turning to face her properly on the wall. “I understand this. It's why I feel like y'all might need me here. I can help. I can...hunt or fix things, I'm very handy that way. I don't have anyone to protect anymore, let me protect you and yours here.” He tapped the heels of his boots against the wall as he swung them a little. “The thing is, Missy, I've been awful lonely lately. I just want a little company, someone to talk to.”

“Is it really that bad out there?” She asked him, looking horrified at his admission.

“There's no one left but us and the dead, I'm sure of it. And those who may be left have burrowed so deep down they won't be seen for years.”

Mother Philomena was quiet, twisting a gold wedding band on her finger. “Do you think God has abandoned us?” She whispered. “If these are the end of days? Have we not been accepted in the rapture?”

Finding tears making their way down the woman's pale cheeks, the Lieutenant inhaled sharply. “Oh, hey now, that's...” he couldn't lie to her. He never was one for God anyways, but he couldn't lie to her. “Well, we're left behind for a purpose, I suppose.”

The woman looked him up and down one last time, before saying, “you can stay. But if you harm any of--”

“I won't,” he said.

“Philomena,” the woman said once again in a more formal manner. “My name is Mother Superior Philomena. I'm the Abbess of this convent.”

“That's a mouthful,” the Lieutenant returned. “I'm just gonna call you Missy.”

“Is that what you think?” The woman inquired with a face carved of pure, supple marble, all signs of tears gone from her face.

The Lieutenant beamed. “Aw, well, where I come from diminutives and pet names are just how things are done. I had an uncle named T-Bob, well he was more of a distant great-uncle, or a cousin...he used to have this wart just-”

“I'm sorry,” the woman cut him off. “I didn't mean to give you a platform on which to spew your whimsical, folksy nonsense. If calling me Missy will end the diatribe, then by all means, call me whatever you choose.”

Grinning at this fiery thing that had emerged where a broken woman had previously sat, the Lieutenant looked down at his boots in effort to rein in any retort.

“Do you do more with that rifle of yours than just startle women?” Philomena asked, breaking in again.

“Why do you want to know?” He returned with a cheeky wink.

The woman looked at him as though he were a dangerous thing.

“Don't make me regret this,” she stated.

“I really didn't intend on ingratiating myself,” he began, following her as she hopped down from the wall to gather corpses.

“If we're the first people you've come across in months, then perhaps you were lead here for a reason,” the woman said. “I'm not above believing in that. The truth is we need protein in our diets and without the means of meat delivery, we have to rely on you. Can we work on a deal wherein you feed us and we feed you?”

“You have no one here at all to hunt for you?”

“We're a Cisterian order, Mister...what was it? Vancoughnett?”

“Lieutenant, but it doesn't matter.”

“Mister Lieutenant,” she amended, hitching up a corpse under her arms to drag off into the woods. “Since it doesn't matter.”

The Lieutenant beamed broadly and grabbed the feet of the corpse to help her. “Oh, I like you. Just enough salt in that sweet to cut it.”

“Lieutenant,” she went on. “We have our own hives and chickens, a dairy cow and garden, but we don't have our own animals to butcher and we are not hunters. If you behave and if you're willing, I don't see how having you around would harm. I just ask you keep far from my girls, you don't try anything untoward and you be kind to our older members. Sister Gertrude is...she has a delicate heart and I'm afraid too much of whatever it is you're full of may bring her into God's embrace sooner than His plan.”

Stopping short, the Lieutenant stroked his chin, it felt good to be clean shaven after a few weeks of beard. “What do I get out of this little arrangement?”

“Company,” she said. “Isn't that what you want?”

“But I can't talk to any of the girls here?”

“Lieutenant, you can talk to me. I can handle the devil on your tongue.”

The Lieutenant took a small step back to look at the woman in her entirety now that they were standing. If it wasn't for the fact she was a nun, he would have been head over heels. He liked saucy women who took no bullshit. Still, he had to make one thing clear. A little push back if he could on a subject which had been niggling at his brain.

“Those walls,” he began slowly and firmly, “have kept you safe, no man in floating in heaven or slugging his ass across the earth has done that. But when you have a wave of a thousand or more dead piling at that wall, you will find God abandoned you and hell is real and it is here.”

A gentle southern wind blew, ruffling her dark brown hair into her eyes and she paused to brush it back with a graceful hand.

He was reminded of that scene in Gone With the Wind, when Scarlett was pulling those turnips, her face still heavenly and beautiful, while her hair was tousled just right. He didn't know anything about nuns, but he had seen a movie once with Audrey Hepburn where she had her hair cut into a bob, but Missy had hair down to her mid back and a little beyond, wavy and pulled back at the front. She looked like any woman you'd see out shopping in a mall. Simple jeans, a flowery blouse and striking to any man interested in her country ways.

“I will consider your proposal about the bell for mass,” she said after a moment.

“That's all I ask, I only want to keep you and yours safe,” he said.

They headed back for another corpse.

“I don't know much about nuns,” he said. “If you'll forgive me for my ignorance.”

“We're a Cistercian order, which means we believe in manual labour, Eucharistic devotion and asceticism. We live simply, we want for nothing and we keep to ourselves.”

“For what end?” At her sharp look, he amended himself as gracefully as he could, “I mean, why do you keep to yourselves?”

“For divine contemplation.”

“Of course, I see,” he didn't really.

Taking another cool look at him, up and down with steel sombre eyes, the woman added, “no touching any of the nuns. That will be your first and foremost rule after the safety of my girls.”

For the rest of the time they worked in silence. He figured it’d be easier than asking more awkward questions about nuns.

[maximelebled]

My quick review of the ASUS XG27UQ monitor (4K, HDR, 120Hz)

I originally wanted to tweet this series of bullet points out but it was getting way too long, so here goes! I got this to replace a PG278Q, which was starting to develop odd white stains, and never had good color reproduction in the first place (TN film drawbacks, very low gamma resulting in excessively bright shadows, under-saturated shadows, etc.)

The hardware aesthetic is alright! The bezels may feel a bit large to some people, but I don’t mind them at all. If you’re a fan of the no-bezel look, you’ll probably hate it. There is a glowing logo on the back that you can customize (Static Cyan is my recommendation), but it isn’t bright enough to be used as bias lighting, which would’ve been nice.

The built-in stand is decent; it comes with a tacky and distracting light projection feature at the bottom. It felt quite stable, though I don’t care about it because it got instantly replaced by an Ergotron LX arm. (I have two now, I really recommend them in spite of their price.) 

The coating is a little grainy and this is noticeable on pure colors! You can kinda see the texture come through, a bit more than I’d like. Not a huge deal though.

The rest of the review will be under the cut.

The default color preset (”racing mode”), which the monitor is calibrated against, is very vivid and saturated. It looks great! But it’s inherently inaccurate, which bothers me, so I don’t like it. It looks like as if sRGB got stretched into the expanded gamut of the monitor.

sRGB “emulation” looks very similar to my Dell U2717D, whose sRGB mode is factory-calibrated. However, the XG27UQ’s sRGB mode has lower gamma (brighter shadows), so while the colors are accurate, the gamma is not. It feels 1.8-ish. Unless you were in a bright room, it would be inappropriate for work that needs to have accurate shadows. This mode also locks other controls, so it’s not the most useful, but the brightness is set well on it, so it is usable!

The “User Mode” settings use the calibrated racing mode as a starting point, which is a big relief. So it’s possible to tweak the color temperature and the saturation from there! I checked pure white against my Dell monitor and my smartphone (S9+) and tried to reach a reasonable 3-way compromise between them, knowing that the Dell is most likely the most accurate, and that Samsung also allegedly calibrates their high-end smartphones well. My configuration ended up being R:90/G:95/B:100 + SAT:42. This matches the saturation of the U2717D sRGB mode fairly closely. You also get to choose between 1.8, 2.2, and 2.5 gamma too, which is not too granular, but great to have. It kinda feels like my ideal match is between 2.2 and 2.5, but 2.2 is fine.

The color gamma according to lagom.nl looked fine, but I had to open the picture in Paint, otherwise it was DPI-scaled in the browser, and that messed with the way it works!! (That website is an amazing resource for quick monitor checks.)

Colors are however somewhat inaccurate in this mode. It’s easy to see by comparing the tweaked User Mode vs. sRGB emulation. There are some rather sizeable hue shifts in certain cases. I believe part of this is caused by the saturation tweak not operating properly.

Here’s a photo of what the Photoshop color picker looks like when Saturation is set to 0 on the monitor, vs. what a proper grayscale conversion should be. It’s definitely not using the right coefficients. 

So in practice, when using the Racing & User modes, compared to the U2717D sRGB, here’s a few examples of what I see:

Reds are colder (towards the purple side) & oversaturated

Bright yellow (255,215,90) is undersaturated

Bright green (120,200,130) is undersaturated

Dark green (0,105,60) is fine

Magenta (220,13,128) is oversaturated

Dark reds & brown (150,20,20 to 90,15,10) is oversaturated

Cyan (0,180,240) is fine 

Pink (230,115,170) is fine

Some shades of bright saturated blue (58,48,220) have the biggest shifts.

The TF2 skin tone becomes slightly desaturated and a bit colder

It’s not inaccurate to the point of being distracting, and you always have the  sRGB mode (with flawed gamma?) to check things with, but it’s definitely not ideal, and some of these shifts go far enough that I wouldn’t recommend this monitor for color work that needs to be very accurate.

I’ve went back and forth, User vs sRGB, several times, on my most recent work (True Sight 2019 sequences). I’ve found the differences were acceptable for the most part; they bothered me the most during the Chronosphere sequence, in which the hazy sunset atmosphere turned a bit into to a rose gold tint, which wasn’t unpleasant at all — and looked quite pretty! — but it wasn’t what I did.

I’m coming from the point of view of a “prosumer” who cares about color accuracy, but who ultimately recognizes that this quest is impossible in the face of so many devices out there being inaccurate or misconfigured one way or the other. In the end, my position is more pragmatic, and I feel that you gotta be able to see how your stuff’s gonna look on the devices where it’ll actually be watched. So while I’ve done color grading on a decent-enough sRGB-calibrated monitor, I’ve always checked it against the inaccurate PG278Q, and I’ve done a little bit of compromising to keep my color work looking alright even once gamma shifted. And so, now, I’ll also be getting to see what my colors look like on a monitor that doesn’t quite restrain itself to sRGB gamut properly.

Well, at least, all of that stuff is out of the box, but...

TFTCentral (one of the most trustworthy monitor review websites, in my opinion) has found suspiciously similar shifts. But after calbration, their unit passed with flying colors (pun intended), so if you really care about this sort of stuff and happen to have a colorimeter... you should give it a try!

I hope one day we’ll be able to load and apply an ICC/ICM profile computer-wide, instead of only being able to load a simple gamma curve on the GPU with third-party tools like DisplayCAL. Even if it had to squeeze the gamut a bit...

Also, there are dynamic dimming / auto contrast ratio features which could potentially be useful in limited scenarios if you don’t care about color accuracy and want to maximize brightness. I believe they are forced on for HDR. But you will probably not care at all.

IPS glow is not very present on my unit; less than on my U2717D. However, when it starts to show up (more than a 30°-ish angle away), it shows up more. UPDATED: after some more time with the monitor, I wanna say that, in fact, IPS glow isit's slightly stronger, and shows up sooner (as in, from broader angles). It requires me to sit a greater distance from the monitor in order to not have it show up and impede dark scenes. It is worse than on my U2717D.

Backlight bleed, on the other hand, is there, and a little bit noticeable. On my unit, there’s a little bit of blue-ish bleed on the lower left corner, and some dark-grey-orange bleed for a good third of the upper-left. However, in practice, and to my eyes, it doesn’t bother me, even when I look for it. It ain’t perfect, but I’ve definitely seen worse, especially from ASUS. The photo above was taken at 100% brightness, and I’ve tried to make it just a tad brighter than what my eyes see, so hopefully it’s a decent sample.

Dead pixels: on my unit, I have 5 stuck dead green subpixels overall. There are 4 in a diamond pattern somewhat down and right to the center of the screen, and another one, a bit to the right of that spot. All of them kinda “shimmer” a little bit, in the sense that they become stronger or weaker based on my angle of view. They’re a bummer but I haven’t found them to be a hindrance. Took me a few days to even notice them for the first time, after all.

HDR is just about meaningless and uses some global dimming techniques, as well as stuff that feels like... you know that Intel HD driver feature that brightens the content on the screen, while lowering the panel backlight power in tandem, to save power, but it kinda flattens (and sometimes clips) highlights? It kinda looks like that sometimes. Without local dimming, HDR is just about meaningless.

Unfortunately, the really nice HDR support in computer monitors is still looking like it’s going to be at the very least a year out, and even longer for sub-1000 price ranges. (I was holding out for the PG27UQX at first, but it still has no word on availability, a whole year after being announced, and will probably cost over two grand, so no thanks.)

G-Sync (variable refresh rate) support is... not there yet?! The latest driver does not recognize the monitor as being compatible with the feature. And it turns out that the product page says that G-Sync support is currently being applied for. Huh. I thought they had special chips in those monitors solely for the feature, but it’s possible this one does it another way? (The same way that Freesync monitors do it?)

DSC (Display Stream Compression) enables 4K 120Hz to work through a single DisplayPort cable, without chroma subsampling. And it’s working for me, which came as a surprise, as I was under the impression this feature required a 2000-series Turing GPUs. (I have a 1080 Ti.) I was wrong about this, it’s 144 Hz that requires DSC. And I don’t have it on this Pascal card. But I don’t really care since I prefer to run this monitor at 120 Hz, as it’s a multiple of the 60 Hz monitor next to it.

Windows DPI scaling support is okay now. Apps that are DPI-aware, and the vast majority of them are now, scale back and forth between 150% and 100% really well as they get dragged between the monitors! The only program I’ve had issues with is good old Winamp, which acted as if it was 100% on the XG27UQ... and shrinked down on another monitor. So I asked it to override DPI scaling behaviour (”scaling performed by: application”), which keeps the player skin at 100% on every monitor, but any call to system fonts and UI (Bento skin’s playlist + Settings panel) are still at 150%. So I had to set the playlist font size to 7 for it to look OK on the non-scaled monitor!

A few apps misbehave in interesting ways; TeamSpeak, for example, seen above, scales everything back from 150% to 100%, and there is no blurriness, but the “larger layout” (spacing, etc.) sticks.

Games look great with 4K in 27 inches. Well, I’ve only really tried Dota 2 so far, but man does it get sharp, especially with the game’s FXAA disabled. It was already a toss-up at 1440p, but at 4K I would argue you might as well keep it disabled. However, going from 2560x1440 to 3840x2160 requires some serious horsepower. It may look like a +50% upgrade in pixels, but it’s actually a +125% increase! (3.68 to 8.29 million pixels.) For a 1080 Ti, maxed-out Dota 2 at 1440p 120hz is really trivial, but once you go to 4K, not anymore...  you could always lower resolution scale though! (Not an elegant solution if you like to use sharpening filters though, looking at you RDR2.)

Overall, the XG27UQ is a good monitor, and I’m satisfied with my purchase, although slightly disappointed by the strong IPS glow and the few dead subpixels. 7/10

[weerd1]

Star Trek DS9 Rewatch Log, Stardate 1909.22, Supplemental: Missions Reviewed, “Treachery, Faith, and the Great River,” “Once More Unto the Breach,” “The Siege of AR-558,” “Covenant,” and “It’s Only Paper Moon.” (For Aron.)

“Treachery, Faith, and the Great River” begins with Odo receiving word from a Cardassian informant he thought was executed that they need to meet.  He informs Kira (while massaging out her sore muscles after spingball, godamighty) that he’s going alone, and take a Runabout to see if he can find the man. Meanwhile repairs are behind on the station and the Defiant, and Sisko demands O’Brien have them all completed when he gets back from a conference on Bajor. O’Brien is stymied, not having the parts he needs, when Nog offers to get them. 

He just needs Chief’s access codes to make the right trades to make it happen. Odo arrives at the rendezvous to find Weyoun, who wants to defect.  While they are heading back to DS9, they are hailed from Cardassia by…Weyoun and Damar. Turns out the Weyoun of the last couple of years died in an transporter accident. The Weyoun 6 clone is the defector, and Weyoun 7 wants him hunted down. Damar says they must destroy the ship, but Weyoung 7 knows the Jem’Hadar will never fire on Odo.  Damar mentions they don’t have to know he’s on board. Kira calls on O’Brien to explain why the Captain’s desk is missing, and Worf and Martok want to know why their bloodwine is gone. Confronting Nog, the Ferengi explains that the universe is governed by the Great Material Continuum, running like a river from places with too much of a thing to places with not enough of a thing.  He is counting on the river to get them their parts, with a little help from Ferengi trade practices. After one Jem’Hadar ship is defeated with Weyoun 6’s command, the Female Changeling confronts Weyoun 7 and Damar about what’s going on. Damar notices that the Changeling doesn’t look right, she looks dried out.  As soon as he mentions it, she changes and demands they get Weyoun 6. Six meanwhile, with Odo and cornered by Jem’Hadar reveals that the Founders are sick, all of them. He defected to make sure Odo was ok, and tell him that HE will be the last Founder, and de facto leader of the Dominion if the other die; and opportunity to reconstruct the Dominion as an organization of cooperation and peace. To Weyoun 7 to call off the attack, Six activates a built in suicide pill, and Seven is true to his word. Six asks Odo for his blessing as he dies, and indeed the clone dies in the arms of his God, his faith rewarded. 

On DS9, O’Brien expects to be derided when called to Sisko’s office, but Nog is there, as is the captain’s desk, and the repair parts are in the hanger. As they leave ops Worf and Martok appear. Somehow Nog as replaced their bloodwine with vintage 2309, far better quality than what they had before.  O’Brien is amazed, but Nog cites the Great Material River, HIS faith rewarded.

The A and B stories here almost get equal time, but there are a lot of great reveals here. The fact the Founders basically uplifted a group of timid tree apes to create the Vorta; the Vorta’s cloning practices; the fact the Founders are ill (there will be some more dire revelations about this later). All those heavy moments balance well with the Nog/O’Brien storyline.  Now, I have to tell you. This episode as a toy and nerd collector affected me deeply, and to this day, it is my policy that if someone really takes a shine to something in my collection, I pass it on to them. I like to call it, “casting it into the great material river.”  Whenever there is a hole on my shelf, something show up to take its place. I have faith my toys end up in the hands they should.

Kor comes to DS9 to ask Worf to help him go “Once More Unto the Breach.”  Kor has been marginalized in the war, and has not been able to seek glorious combat. Worf asks Martok if there is place for Kor, but Martok is incensed. Years before, Martok’s career was almost derailed before it could begin by Kor because the House of Kor was a great one, noble, and Martok was little more than a farm boy. Worf convinces him to allow Kor on as Third Officer in a mission to raid a Cardassian base. 

When Martok describes the plan, Kor states it was the same one he and Kang (last seen with Kor in “Blood Oath” way back in season 2, and before that on TOS) against the Federation in the previous century. The crew is overly respectful of Kor, D’Har Master, much to Martok’s chagrin. When the actual fight happens though, Martok and Worf are incapacitated, and Kor takes over, losing himself and thinking he is back in battle against the Federation and Kang is on his way to help. When Worf and Martok retake control, Kor is shamed and abashed, but their small fleet is also being pursued by ten Jem’Hadar ships. Worf devises a plan to stop them, but it will cost a ship. If that ship can stop even a few of the enemy ships, the others might escape.  Worf plans to take command, but Kor knocks him out with a hypo, beaming to the bird of prey that will face the Jem’Hadar. Martok monitors the battle, amazed at Worf’s bravery, but Worf appears on the bridge, informing him it is Kor in battle.

  They watch amazed, waiting for whatever ships Kor cannot stop to pursue them.  None do. Though it cost his life, Kor destroys all ten Jem’Hadar vessels, leaving Martok’s crew—and Martok himself—to drink and sing songs of Kor’s victory, knowing they will see him in Sto-Vo-Kor.

Another great Klingon episode, and a great end for the always entertaining, and slightly mad, Kor. This it turns out was also John Colicos’ final acting role, and what a note to go out on.  The heroic battle is pure Klingon here too. The tension between noble houses and minor houses on Qo’noS is interesting, as it will also factor heavily into “Discovery” in its first season, specifically with the House of Kor dealing with Voq, son of none. There are also a few nice moments between Kor and Ezri, who seems to immediately accept Dax as Dax. Perhaps he adapted better having already dealt with the change from Curzon to Jadzia, however even then he was rather quick to accept her.  An interesting quirk for someone so adherent to Klingon noble traditions.

“The Siege of AR-558” has the Defiant bringing supplies to a Starfleet outpost in the Chin’Toka system, which has not been easily held. The outpost has captured a Dominion communications array, and hope to crack it, but have been too busy defending it against repeated attacks. On the mission is Quark at the behest of the Nagus who wants a report on the state of the war. It isn’t good. These people have been defending this outpost for five months; two months longer than a tour is supposed to be.  They were 150 people, they are now down to about 40. They are constantly falling victim to “Houdini mines,” small floating explosives that hang in subspace and randomly appear and explode, perhaps somewhere you’ve walked a hundred times.

 Nog is impressed by the battle hardened humans here, but Quark warns him these are not the cuddly Earthers he knows.   “…take away their creature comforts… deprive them of food, sleep, sonic showers… put their lives in jeopardy over an extended period of time… and those same friendly, intelligent, wonderful people will become as nasty and violent as the most bloodthirsty Klingon. You don't believe me? Look at those faces, look at their eyes…" When the Dominion attacks the Defiant, Worf pulls back, leaving Sisko, Bashir, Nog, Dax, and Quark on the surface to help defend the base. Ezri befriends Kellin (played by Lost in Space and Babylon Five’s Bill Mumy) who is trying to crack the mine problem, and they start to work. Sisko sends Nog out on a scouting mission with two of the Soldiers here, and though they get a good look at the Jem’Hadar base, one is killed and Nog loses his leg. Bashir plays Vic Fontaine music as they await the attack, but when Ezri and Kellin get control of the mines, Sisko uses them on the Jem’Hadar, thinning their numbers before the attack. One of the Jem’Hadar makes it to where Nog lies wounded, Quark himself shoots him down. 

When all is said and done, Kellin is dead, but reinforcements and engineers arrive, allowing the one survivor of the original group to leave with the Defiant.

A grim and powerful episode that aims to look war right in the face.  Quark’s speech I quote here is really fantastic, but comes back to haunt him when he too, put in the corner, is willing to shoot to kill, to protect. Ezri questioning Sisko’s decision to turn the mines they were just condemning on the enemy calls into question what is fair in war, but also leaves you as a viewer to decide if it was the right decision or not. The Starfleet trooper with Jem’Hadar Ketracel White bottles, ripped from his enemies’ bodies, brings to mind the Klingon was saw in “Soldiers of the Empire” with Cardassian neck bones as a necklace.  At least it isn’t body parts, but DS9 does not flinch here, and it is a better story for it.  Nog losing his leg will come into play again very soon as well.  Back on TOS, Kirk would occasionally refer to himself and other Starfleet members as “Soldiers.” Here we see that’s true; makes you wonder if they plan to bring back the Marines we saw in STVI: The Undiscovered Country (the Colonel of course was played by Rene Auberjonois!).

Kira is visited by an old friend, Vedek Fala, in “Convenant.” He gives her a gift which turns out to be a transponder that allows her transport across the sector to the previously abandoned sister station to DS9, Empok Nor.  There she finds her Vedek is actually part if the cult of the Pah-Wraits, who feel the Prophets turned their back on Bajor. In charge of the cult, she finds Dukat, who feels since he once housed Kost Amojan that he now has been touched by the Pah-Wraiths, and chosen to lead their people.

 Fala shows her the Bajorans here are completely under Dukat’s sway. Indeed there is one pregnant woman, who with her husband have only been allowed to have kids because Dukat has allowed it. Kira is less than convinced, but Fala persists telling her the Prophets have lied about the Pah-Wraits and they are peaceful. Dukat meanwhile tells Kira he has changed, and he loves his people. She points out he has set up some weird simulation of what he lost, commanding a station like Terok Nor, with a horde of Bajorans who love him. This proves startlingly true when the pregnant mother gives birth to a half-Cardassian baby. Dukat claims it is a miracle and a sign, but there are some doubters. He meets with the woman, apologizing for the “weakness” that allowed him to father her child, but when she says no one else knows, he tries to flush her out an airlock. 

Kira and Fala come along and save her, but now Dukat must act. He locks Kira in her room and is going to take poison with all of his followers so they can “shed their bodies” to help the Pah-Wraiths enter the Celestial Temple. Kira breaks out and tackles Dukat just as he was going to take the first pill, knocking his from his hand. When Fala hands him just another one out of the box, Dukat won’t take it, and they all realize he was going to let them die and go on. He tells them it was what the Pah-Wraiths wanted, but they aren’t having it, and he has to beam away. Fala meanwhile takes his pill and dies in Kira’s arms, telling her it was because of “faith.”

Dukat going full blown cult-leader is right in line with his arrogance and his ego. It’s just another example to me though that one of the bets DS9 misses is having Kira kill Dukat at the end of the series.  Yes, this sets him to as a vessel of the Pah-Wraiths, an Anti-Emissary, but I thing all the personal grudges with Kira deserve a better resolution. And for those who freak out over Scotty building an interplanetary transporter in the Kelvin Timeline, here’s one at work with Dominion tech in 2374, 13 years BEFORE Spock will go back in time and teach KY Scotty how to finish his. For that matter, before the Voyager will show up in just a couple of years with Borg Transwarp tech too. The Kelvin Timeline works if you just look at the details.

Finally, fandom tonight watched “It’s Only a Paper Moon” as a tribute to Aron Eisenberg’s passing, so I made sure I got this far.  Nog returns to the station with his new bio-synthetic leg, but it hurts him and he must walk with a cane. All his medical checks show fine though, and he is interested in doing nothing but lying in bed and listening to Vic Fontaine sing “I’ll Be Seeing You,” the song Bashir played in “The Siege of AR-558.” When Jake can’t take more than three days of that song on repeat he confronts Nog, who leaves and goes to the Holosuite to hear Vic sing it.  Nog decides to stay and live in the holosuite for a while.  Ezri is skeptical, but Vic mentions he will take care of the kid. Indeed, Vic helps wean him off his cane, and gives him something to do by letting him do the casino’s “books.” Nog though seems so comfortable he won’t come out. Ezri asks Vic when he’s going to be done with him, and Vic seems to realize he too has become dependent on Nog; usually, he’s only on for a few hours at a time, but with Nog there 26 hours a day, he is now constant. 

 Realizing he’s putting his own needs first, Vic shuts down the program himself.  Nog tries to get it running again, but can’t, but Vic appears to ask him about it. Nog says he doesn’t want to go back to the real world because he’s afraid, as anything could happen. Vic tells him that’s life, and why you have to seize it when you can, and indeed why he was happy to have Nog there. It’s time though, time for Nog to seize it for real. Nog leaves without his cane, and reunites with his family. Later, back in uniform Nog visits and tells Vic he has a present for him. Nog has made a deal with Quark, and this holosuite will continue to run full time, allowing Vic a life. Nog knows it’s the least he can do since Vic helped him get his own life back.

Bittersweet to watch tonight, but a great episode that takes a long look at the trauma of war and the mental scars that can be far worse than the physical ones.  The continued development of Vic Fontaine as a sentient lifeform is interesting, able to control who does and does not use his program. Still self aware though that there are times he is “off.” Aron Eisenberg is of course terrific and this is an important episode for Nog, demonstrating why this was the episode his friends, fans, and family chose to commemorate him.  

NEXT VOYAGE: The Orion Syndicate has come back for O’Brien, and somehow the Tigan family is involved. The Tigans are Ezri’s family before she was joined; she comes home in “Prodigal Daughter.”

[agentpink-writes]

WIP Intro: Ethereal

NOTE: This is going to be the base for my WIP, Ethereal, so it’s not going to have as much detail as I want it to have at the moment (I’m going to add more onto it later). Just want to clarify that. Once I add more details/finish it (mostly), I’ll get rid of this little note at the beginning. 

ALSO there is A LOT of worldbuilding detail, so if it gets confusing, it’s mainly because this is set over a five-part series, so it definitely explained a lot later on. However, I tried to be as clear as possible, so hopefully its at least mostly readable. I won’t be addressing ALL the worldbuilding facts, however, so some parts are going to be purposefully unclear.

Genre: (Low) Science Fiction/Fantasy or just Science Fantasy, if you want to get technical.

Status: 1st Draft (of Book 1 of the Series)

Date Created: March 16th, 2017

Progress: 14,891 words

Trigger Warnings: Cannibalism (yeah its THAT kind of story), drug mentions, violence/killing

Background:

Hundreds of years passed since the Earth’s self-destruction. Humanity explored the seemingly infinite Universe, with no end in sight. In its conquests, humanity exterminated most alien life or drove them further into the cosmos, leaving only a few to roam in isolation. Not a single planet found by humanity was left untouched. Resources were plentiful, and many were happy. Life was good.

However, due to the increase of life expectancy and the decrease in the pregnancy term, over-population became a quickly growing issue. Resources dwindled, food became scarce, and there were only more and more mouths to feed as the years past.

Then, the White Ashes, a meat-processing corporation, rose to power. After a civil war amidst the old Governments, the White Ashes became the new, universal government to rule over nearly all of humanity. As its first, official rule, it decreed that cannibalism was now a legal and enforced practice, and would replace at least seventy percent of the market in terms of food supply. Once a person became 85 years old (the average was 150), they would be sent to the Slaughterhouse to be killed and harvested for meat. 

Decades past and the population became stabilized, helped by the cannibalism law. Eventually, humanity became so reliant on cannibalism, food from animals and plants became scarce, and were considered a delicacy in many parts of the Universe. The “70 percent rule” initially decried had now reached 92 percent.

Currently, the White Ashes still hold control over nearly all aspects of government and food supply. Although there has been resistance, they still are very much in power, mainly due to their complex, deeply woven system of food distribution that, if one were to overthrow this government, one might upset the entire food supply for nearly all of humanity. Yet, despite this, it seems as if the White Ashes are losing their grip over their years, and they will stop at nothing to prevent this (particularly the brother to their leader, Tobias Ash...)

Synopsis (First Book):

Nion is another planet that hosts one of many White Ashes headquarters across the Universe. Crime and corruption run rampant, due to mismanagement and lack of real police or military force. 

To make it in this harsh place, an assassin under the alias the Owl is constantly hired to kill people like low-level White Ash politicians and other crime bosses in order to make money. They cover their identity by wearing a full-white disguise, and a mask reminiscent of the simple face of a snow white owl. 

After being hired to kill another target, the Owl ends up coming in contact with men affiliated with a powerful drug cartel. The men reveal their intentions and, inevitably, lead the Owl to meet one of their sub-leaders, Engel, for a job. 

Their target? A new and upcoming corporation called Viaplex, which deals with the illegal construction and maintenance of war machines and robots. The drug cartel plans to take down Viaplex as an act of revenge, as the White Ashes had previously attacked them for their illegal drug trade yet they also fund and endorse illegal corporations like Viaplex. 

Stuck in a complex and bitter conflict, the Owl is hired to take out the mysterious head of Viaplex for a large sum of money, hoping to use the funds to move of Nion. Things get more complicated when the Viaplex head turns out to be someone the Owl knows, and it doesn’t help that this person thinks the Owl is dead.

Main Characters: 

“The Owl” | 21 Years Old | Hitman/Assassin

The Owl’s true name, is in fact, Kova. She assumes the full-body identity in order to hide her gender, which helps since she tries to hide her overall identity as much as possible.

Kova is the main protagonist of the story. She is actually the result of an experiment, which mixed the DNA of humans and that of the extraterrestrial/fantastical creatures known only as Spirits to create her and several others like her into “Novas”. The experiment was driven by the princely figure Tobias Ash, younger brother to the leader of the White Ashes. Tobias Ash, disappointed in the lost opportunity, dumped the remaining few hundred in a school environment, where they learned the techniques and fighting skills to be soldiers for the White Ashes. 

One of the special benefits, however, that resulted from the experiment were an extra pair of black tentacles that came from the back, and could be extended and meld with the body. Depending on the Nova, one could actually change the properties of them, like hardening them until their sharper than blades.  

Kova was also one of the attendees at this military school, however, she lost her memories up to a point where she had a fight with another Nova she befriended, Arandis. All she knows is that, between her absent memories, the entire military school was destroyed and nearly all the Novas were eradicated. She then took the skills she learned, and turned it to her benefit, by doing the only thing she knew possible: being a hitman. 

Although kind, in a sense, her years of memory loss and training have hardened her into a serious, somewhat enigmatic individual. She also has some anger issues and very loose morals, along with a love for darker humor. She’s also isolated both physically and mentally, which is in part due to her complicated past with being in a temporary ‘family’ which also ended in tragedy. However, as the story progresses, she warms up, and its shown that she isn’t nearly as cruel or hateful or even as bitter as she thinks herself to be (in fact, she turns out to be more understanding).

Engel | 27 Years Old | Sub-Leader in the (Icetite) Drug Trade

A majorly enigmatic/mysterious person, he is one who is willing to stay within the law up to a certain extent. He has a penchant for rich/superficial fashions, as he likes to adorn himself in casual business suits and jewelry. However, the most identifiable feature on him is the disturbing amount of tiny, blue diamond shaped crystals that seem to be embedded on one side of his face (there’s exactly 23 of them). These crystals are actually the source of the drug Icetite, which is broken down into a dust-like substance or turned into a liquid to be snorted or injected. 

Engel, in this case, has been using his own drug supply for over seven to nine years. One of the major effects it has, like its other regulars, is its attack/suppression of the limbic system in the brain, which controls emotions. As a result, Engel is a seemingly blank, morose, yet rather serious individual with no seemingly greater emotion then revenge. 

After Engel contracts Kova for help, they begin to interact, which leads to some nasty conflicts due to both of their somewhat negative personalities. However, as with Kova, the story progresses with both of them beginning to see the similarities in one another, and Engel even showing that he, in fact, is not actually as unemotional as he acts, and might be even more emotional due to his suppressed feelings over the years...

Dkatos | 32 Years Old | (Temporary) Bodyguard for Viaplex Head

Dkatos is another non-human that is the opposite of both Kova and Engel. He is an outgoing, overly ‘friendly’, and sarcastic guy who seems to be covering up his own dark secrets. Despite his seemingly flirtatious, as well as open behavior, he has also proven himself to be a dangerous foe. 

He is actually a creature called an Underbiter. Underbiters are the result of years and years of cannibalism and were created due to a mutation in a certain ancestry of humans. These creatures, which grew to be entirely separate from humans (although their biological makeup is similar) can shift their mouth at will so they grow rows of sharp teeth (similar to a tiger, but proportionate to their face). Underbiters also have more agility and heightened sense, which is intended to help catch their prey: humans. In fact, unlike humans, they can ONLY eat humans, which wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the fact that Underbiter meat is poisonous to humans, so the White Ashes can’t recycle their bodies. They are commonly placed in camps/colonies, where they are usually used for labor and other extraneous jobs. 

Dkatos’ current job is working as a head bodyguard for the head of the Viaplex company. He works mainly so he can get a regular diet of meat, although it seems he does have some ulterior goals as well.

Kova’s (aka the Owl’s) first encounter with Viaplex involved Dkatos, who she ended up getting into a fight with. There, she notices the fact that Dkatos might not only be an Underbiter but also some greater, as his level of strength is greater than anyone she had ever seen. However, it isn’t until later until she discovers who he is, where he’s from, and how his origins, along with others like him, may actually be a key into what becomes a huge problem later on...

Other Characters (I’ll edit/add later):

Arandis | 21 Years Old | ???

Another Nova Kova befriended. Her current status is unknown, but her role is very important.

Tobias Ash | 38 Years Old | Sub-Leader of the White Ashes

A cruel and power-hungry man set on finding the best way to make him the most powerful being in the Universe. He vehemently hates his brother Ottoron Ash, the leader, and his insecurities are primarily based on him. Although violent, he is capable, adaptive, and smart, and has a long-lasting will like no other.

He goes under the pseudonym “Carnem”, as he seems to have changed his body and face. 

Mei | 42 Years Old | Worked/Taught at the Nova School

A somewhat minor, yet important character. She is revealed to be a Galaxy Spirit, which is related to the other Spirits but isn’t nearly on the same level on them and its suggested that Galaxies are also Novas, in a way (experiments made long ago). She doesn’t play a huge role in the first book, but her existence, along with Galaxy Spirits and other Spirits become important later on.

Links:

None.

Other: 

None.

[dogmapod]

01 Falun Gong

Hey everyone, welcome to the show Dogma: A Podcast About Cults, I’m your host Denis Ricardo.

This show is about cults. The origins, practices and abuses of cults. So, if you are uncomfortable with descriptions of sexual, physical and mental violence and abuse, this is not the show for you.

I’m gonna try to keep it light and fun, but this stuff can get kind of dark… so you’ve been warned.

Today we’re gonna look into a cult by the name of Falun Gong. It’s one that not a lot of people have heard of, but are surprisingly very familiar with.

It’s a fairly young cult, not more than 27 years old. It began in 1992 in the northeast of China and was founded by a guy by the name of Li Hongzhi. I’m going to apologize on the pronunciation of some of these proper nouns, I am really bad at pronouncing the tones in Chinese languages.

The cult all began with Li Hongzhi running a public qigong seminar in the city of Changchun.

Qigong is an ancient Chinese practice of meditation and slow movement for the purpose of self-healing. It was and is still used in many Chinese communities as a form of alternative medicine.

The modern qigong movement started in the 1950s, shortly after the Cultural Revolution started by Mao Zedong.

Mao was a pretty hardline atheist, and believed that superstitious practices were not good for the advancement of China and communism. So, soldiers in Mao’s army adapted qigong to just be about meditation and focus, taking out all the of the spiritual elements of it. The practice was pretty popular and remains very common to this day.

Li felt a little differently about qigong, though. He feels as though the spiritual elements should be restored. So, he did just that.

Falun Gong was actually in the Chinese Communist Party’s favor, and initially saw it as a good movement. But they quickly changed their mind after they thought the movement was getting a little too independent. The Chinese government is notorious for monitoring the religious practices in China. So, in 1999 the Chinese Communist Party branded Falun Gong as heretical and began a massive propaganda campaign against the group. It mostly focused on negative articles in state-run press, which Falun Gong was quick to protest.

In April of 1999 10,000 Falun Gong protested outside a government compound in the capital Beijing demand that the government recognize them as a religious movement and stop persecuting them.

In China there are only 5 officially recognized religions because it is an atheist state. Those are Buddhism, Taoism, Catholicism, Protestantism and Islam.

Side note, just because I’m formerly Catholic,

China’s relationship with Catholicism kind of interesting, China does not recognize the power of the Holy See’s authority to appoint bishops. So Catholics in China aren’t “Roman” Catholic or “Orthodox” Catholics they’re “Chinese” Catholics. Their relationship is contentious, but China has granted the Pope the right to reject any of the Chinese appointed bishops.

But moving on… at this point, the leader of Falun Gong, Li, was already in New York at and he was getting the cult off the ground here in the US.

But things were pretty bad for Falun Gong practitioners in China.

Reports of forced re-education, extrajudicial executions, harvesting of organs and attacks by the Chinese police at the behest of the Communist Party against Falun Gong practitioners surfaced. But, it’s not the easiest to corroborate these claims, because neither Falun Gong or the CCP are necessarily the most upfront about their practices. The New York Times has said there has been at least 2000 deaths in 2009, though Falun Gong claims that number is nearly twice that. An independent investigator, Ethan Gutmann estimates there were at least 65,000 Falun Gong members killed for organs based off of interviews. Chinese authorities do not publish statistics of Falun Gong members killed or not killed.

OK, do some less depressing stuff, Falun Gong’s main practices.

Falun Gong is a blend of traditional Chinese beliefs, Taoism, Buddhism and Confucianism.

They have three central tenants of power Truthfulness (真, Zhēn)*, Compassion (善, Shàn)*, and Forbearance (忍, Rěn)*. Thank you, Google Translate. These are achieved through meditative exercise and performance.

*these words were reproduced with Google Translate pronouncing them

Falun Gong’s teachings say that everybody is innately good and divine, but that we have descended into darkness and accrued bad karma. Reincarnation is handled by different gods for different people and ultimately the goal is to be released from the cycle of samsara and to reach enlightenment.

This sounds pretty normal for an Asian religion like Buddhism. So far so good? [With hesitation in their voice] Yeah, it gets a little weirder.

Falun Gong emphasizes traditional Chinese teachings and disregards scientific claims like evolution. This also explains why they are vehemently against communism because it is not Chinese, it’s a European philosophy.

As I said before China is an atheist state, and typically Buddhists do not have an issue with evolution and Buddhism. I couldn’t find any numbers specifically citing the public acceptance of evolution in China, however. But I have found that it is taught in school like here in American coastal elite public schools without much of a hitch.

David Ownby, a professor at the Center of East Asian Studies at the University of Montreal interviewed the leader Li Hongzhi and said that Li claims there are 10,000 supernatural powers, such as clairvoyance, precognition, levitation and transmutation and these can be achieved by humans.

Li stated at a lecture in Australia that

“…homosexuality, organized crime and promiscuous sex are not the standards of being human.”

His stance on homosexuality lead to the rescinding of a Nobel Peace Prize nomination by San Franciscan legislators back in 2001.

Li and Falun Gong have also been criticized for their teaching of mixed-marriages. A New York Times article from 2001 states

“[Li] said interracial children are the spawn of the ‘Dharma Ending Period,' a Buddhist phrase that refers to an era of moral degeneration. […] he said each race has its own paradise, and he later told followers in Australia that, 'The yellow people, the white people, and the black people have corresponding races in heaven.’ As a result, he said, interracial children have no place in heaven without his intervention.”

Many practitioners of Falun Gong have denied this and have pointed out that many of its members are in mixed-race families.

But, let’s not forget the aliens.

So Li in general seems to be against most modern things. In a 1999 TIME Magazine interview in he said:

“The aliens have introduced modern machinery like computers and airplanes…everyone thinks that scientists invent on their own when in fact their inspiration is manipulated by the aliens. In terms of culture and spirit, they already control man…the ultimate purpose is to replace humans. If cloning human beings succeeds, the aliens can officially replace humans”

Li also thinks very highly of himself. The BBC, quote:

“…he is a being from a higher level who has come to help [mankind] from the destruction it could face as the result of rampant evil.”

Having a leader proclaim to know the way to save humanity is one of the signs that the leader’s group is a cult.

So, remember when I said that another one ways to get to their three central tenants was performance? Well, you know how they do it? By selling you $150 tickets to see the spectacle of 5000 years of traditional Chinese dance while listening to anti-atheist, anti-communist propaganda… it’s Shen Yun.

So apparently Shen Yun ads popping up everywhere is now a meme, but I’ve grown up in California all my life, and I swear I’ve been seeing these things since at least 2008. These things aren’t new to me. But I guess they’re finally getting to middle America, so people can joke about it.

I said before Falun Gong was anti-Communist and anti-evolution? Well, it shows up in the performance

Here’s a sample of lyrics from a song in the show called “Awaken”

"So long ago you came down to this world For millennia you have reincarnated here Fighting to get ahead, the true you has faded Self-interested actions have cost you your purity Atheism is a pack of lies The heresy of evolution now eclipses the Divine word Amidst disaster, people complain that the gods have forsaken us Do not use science to drive humanity toward danger You came to this world for salvation, your destiny To return to heaven is your soul's deepest wish You came to this world for salvation, your destiny To return to heaven is your destiny."

And, as I said before, the group is condemned by the Chinese government. The Chinese embassy made a post on their website, calling Falun Gong an anti-communist cult, that it undermines US-Chinese relations and that Shen Yun is a political tool for this cult and is anti-Chinese agitprop. This was all in English, and I find it a little weird they’d call it “agitprop” because that’s typically reserved for communist propaganda. So I found it a little strange.

But clearly this is also propaganda, it’s a statement by a government body, and all reports on its more outrageous beliefs are from western publications so there is a bias. But straight from the horse’s mouth is the anti-evolution message and we know that these performers don’t get paid.

In the end, it’s hard to classify this as a cult. It has cult-like elements, like surveillance by a government, a savior-leader. But it lacks a hierarchy and I could not find anyone who had left the movement and faced consequences for it, which are typically signs of a cult.

It’s got some very out-there, potentially dangerous beliefs, but is it a cult? [With hesitation in their voice) Personally, I’m gonna say yes, though I don’t think it necessarily ticks all those checkboxes, so maybe it can’t really be classified as a cult.

Now comes the fun part, where I get to beg you for money. I come to you hat in hand to maybe just consider throwing a dollar or two to my Patreon. I can’t offer much right now as far as donor rewards go, but I will try my best to give you access to episodes early and maybe some other fun side projects that I have available that are still loosely related to cults. That you so much if you decide to be ever so gracious.

Thanks so much for listening, that was the first episode. I will put all of my sources in the description. Most are from Wikipedia, but I checked to see if those sources were legit, so lay off me.

New time, we’re going to be focusing on a cult a little closer to home and maybe some of you remember this cult very vividly.

All right, take care and goodbye.

Citations:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Falun_Gong

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_Falun_Gong

http://www.atheistrepublic.com/forums/atheist-hub/shen-yun

https://culteducation.com/group/1254-falun-gong/6922-is-falun-gong-a-cult.html

https://www.jewishpolicycenter.org/2010/11/30/china-conundrum/

http://faluninfo.net/category/persecution/killings/individual-cases-of-falun-gong-deaths/

https://www.amnesty.org/en/countries/

https://books.google.com/books?id=Bwqkwx4SWS0C&printsec=frontcover&dq=ownby+falun&client=firefox-a&cd=1#v=onepage&q&f=false

Song Credits:

“Frozen Jungle” and “Dreaming of You” by Monplaisir under the name Komiku (http://freemusicarchive.org/music/Komiku/)

“我们是毛主席的红卫兵 (We Are Chairman Mao’s Red Guard)” found at Songs of China’s Cultural Revolution (http://academics.wellesley.edu/Polisci/wj/China/CRSongs/crsongs.htm)

“Dies Irae” found on Archive.org (https://archive.org/details/GregorianChantMass

“Ride to the Party” by Monplaisir under the name Anonymous420 (https://chezmonplaisir.bandcamp.com/album/this-is-not-you)

Consider joining the Patreon!

[sweet-soul-sister]

Song Rewind - 365 Days Music Challenge

well, it’s day 150. so i figured i could make a post which includes all links to the first 100 days. the next 100 will come as soon as i find some time. please also check out @tailalindsay who is the creator of this wonderful challenge. and this is the masterpost

have fun browsing! :]

also under the cut because the list is quite long

Day 1: A song that reminds you of your first car    - Angels by Robbie Williams

Day 2: A song that reminds you of summer    - Kite by Kate Bush

Day 3: A song you listened to as a kid, that you thought made you cool. Real Cool    - Schrei nach Liebe by Die Ärzte

Day 4: A song you like from a movie soundtrack    - The Devil and the Huntsman by Daniel Pemberton

Day 5: A song that you quote to people    - Meisenmann by Helge Schneider

Day 6: A song from an Artist you discovered from a TV show    - Rhythm inside by Loïc Nottet

Day 7: A song that wrenches your heart out from sadness    - Requiem for the Brigadier General by Akira Senju

Day 8: Your least favorite song from your favorite band    - Line & Sinker by Billy Talent

Day 9: A song that if someone said they liked it, you would like them a little bit more    - Tetris Techno Remix by DaCaV5

Day 10: A song from a band that you think should be more popular    - Portuguese Knife Fight by Cage the Elephant

Day 11: A song you indulge in shameless self pity to    - The Kingdom Soundtrack: Finale / End of the Road by Danny Elfman

Day 12: A song you play when your getting ready to get your confidence up    - Boss / Fire / Ko Ko Bop / Dramarama Remix (feat. Cherry Bomb) by Miggy Smallz

Day 13: A song that reminds you of a past love    - Morning Sun by Robbie Williams

Day 14: A song you like that’s instrumental only    - Harmonics of Life by Money Mark

Day 15: A song your parents played on road trips when you were young    - Leopard Skin Pill-Box Hat by Bob Dylan

Day 16: A song you have seen performed live    - Randale by Kraftklub

Day 17: A song you remember dancing in public to    - Barada by Russkaja

Day 18: A song you would consider part of the “soundtrack” of your life    - Nanana (Nanana nanana) by My Chemical Romance

Day 19: A song that you love from a band that has since broken up    - Crazy by 4minute

Day 20: A song you know most or part of the choreography to    - Blood, Sweat & Tears by BTS

Day 21: A song from a band or artist (member(s) alive) would love to see perform in person    - Augenbling by Seeed

Day 22: A song from a band or artists (member(s) decease )you would have loved to have seen    - Concert for Bangladesh by Leon Russell

Day 23: Song from a band or artist that you have met in person    - Down Down Down by ITCHY

Day 24: The last new song that you heard that you really liked    - Fake Love by BTS

Day 25: Worst song you have ever seen performed live    - Wonderwall by Oasis

Day 26: One of the top songs that was released the year you were born    - ... Baby one more time by Britney Spears

Day 27: A song you like to blast on your car stereo when it comes on    - Welcome to the Black Parade by My Chemical Romance

Day 28: A song you change the words to when you sing it    - I need you / 500k Mashup by myself (not actually existing song)

Day 29: A song that describes a friendship    - You’re my best friend by Queen

Day 30: A song from a band/artist that you are planning to see in the next 6 months    - Outro: Tear by BTS

Day 31: Your class song (or what you want your class song to be)    - He’s a Pirate by Klaus Badelt

Day 32: A song that plays to your inner hopeless-romantic    - A Lovely Night by Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling

Day 33: A song that you can’t even think of without it getting stuck in your head    - Bedroom Warfare by ONE OK ROCK

Day 34: A song that you try to get stuck in your head to replace the one that’s currently stuck there    - Zero for Conduct by BASTARZ

Day 35: Your favorite cover song    - Somebody to love by Queen and George Michael

Day 36: Your least favorite cover song    - Wonderwall by The Mike Flower Pops

Day 37: An essential karaoke song    - Dancing Queen by ABBA

Day 38: A song that you sing really well    - Perfekt by Die Ärzte

Day 39: A song that you wish you could sing really well    - Bermuda Triangle by Zico feat. Crush and Dean

Day 40: Your favorite song from the 50’s    - Blue Suede Shoes by Elvis Presley

Day 41: Your favorite song from the 60’s    - House of the Rising Sun by The Animals

Day 42: Your favorite song from the 70’s    - Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen

Day 43: Your favorite song from the 80’s    - Livin’ on a Prayer by Bon Jovi

Day 44: Your favorite song from the 90’s    - Everybody (Backstreet’s Back) by Backstreet Boys

Day 45: Your favorite song from the 00’s    - Stan by Eminem

Day 46: Your favorite song of this year    - Morgen by Fynn Kliemann

Day 47: The oldest song you own    - Smyphony No. 7 by Ludwig van Beethoven

Day 48: A song that you wish you could’ve written    - What it’s like by Everlast

Day 49: Your favorite TV show theme song    - Daredevil - Main Title by John Paesano

Day 50: A song that you’ve listened to for years & have just recently begun to appreciate    - Love me do by The Beatles

Day 51: A song that you realized you’ve been mishearing the lyrics for years    - T.N.T. by AC/DC

Day 52: A song that you’ve been listening to for years & you still don’t know what the heck they’re saying    - Gimme tha Power by Molotov

Day 53: The song that you’re most proud of knowing all the words to    - Tetris Techno Remix by DaCaV5

Day 54: The song that got you hooked on your favorite band/artist    - 3xxxv5 by ONE OK ROCK

Day 55: A song you’ve listened to so many times that you just can’t listen to it anymore    - Monsta by Culcha Candela

Day 56: A song that is insanely simple/repetitive, but that you consider awesome anyway    - Unbreakable by H3ctic

Day 57: Your favorite song from your favorite genre    - Song Rewind

Day 58: Your therapist in a song    - Calm after the Storm by The Common Linnets

Day 59: A song whose lyrics you take advice from    - Think by Aretha Franklin

Day 60: Your favorite movie-moment song    - Epilogue by Justin Hurwitz

Day 61: A song that you like to sing in the shower    - Penny Lane by The Beatles

Day 62: Your favorite song by a singer turned actor    - Lose Yourself by Eminem

Day 63: Your favorite duet    - Owls by Cocoon

Day 64: Your favorite song featured in a musical    - Audition (The fools who dream) by Emma Stone

Day 65: Your favorite song by a actor turned singer    - Baby by Astro

Day 66: A song you like to clean the house to    - Mansae by Seventeen

Day 67: Your least favorite song by a singer turned actor    - The Kill by Thirty Seconds To Mars

Day 68: A song you have requested to be played on the radio    - Nanana (Nanana nanana) by My Chemical Romance

Day 69: Your least favorite song by an actor turned singer    - I feel everything by Cara Delevigne

Day 70: A song that you wish someone would cover    - Ddu-du ddu-du by Blackpink

Day 71: A song that gives you a headache    - Rom by Dschingis Khan

Day 72: A song that you love that you first heard on a mixed CD made for you    - Quark by Die Ärzte

Day 73: A song someone has said reminds them of you    - A Hard Day’s Night by The Beatles

Day 74: A song from a band that you wish you could hang out with    - Shall we dance by Block B

Day 75: The song that you most recently downloaded    - Bling Bling by iKON

Day 76: Your favorite song beginning with the letter A    - Really good songs beginning with the letter A

Day 77: Part A - someone you wish would sing a duet with Part B    - Zico

Day 78: Part B - someone you wish would sing a duet with Part A    - Alligatoah

Day 79: A song that makes you think of the color blue    - Blue Side by J-Hope

Day 80: Your favorite band beginning with the letter A    - Really good bands / artists beginning with the letter A

Day 81: A song you like with Monday in the title    - I don’t like Mondays by Bon Jovi and Bob Geldof

Day 82: A song you would dedicate to the boy/girl you have a crush on    - What is Love? by Twice

Day 83: A song you would/have dance(d) with a parent to, at your wedding    - Very Nice by Seventeen

Day 84: A song that you like that’s in a language you don’t know    - Shoot Me by DAY6

Day 85: A song that you always put on a new mixed CD you make for everyone    - Owls by Cocoon

Day 86: A song that you like by a band you suspect is going to break up    - Nalina by Block B

Day 87: A song you play when someone breaks up with you    - Nanana (Nanana nanana) by My Chemical Romance

Day 88: A song that you like that’s from a different culture    - Il n’y a pas d’amour heureux by Youssou N’Dour

Day 89: A song that you love to work-out to    - Limitless / Monster / I Need U / Hero / Hate Remix by Miggy Smallz

Day 90: A song that describes your work angst    - Sklave by Kraftklub

Day 91: A song you like to sing to babies    - Der Mond ist aufgegangen by Johann Abraham Peter Schulz

Day 92: A song you play when you can’t sleep    - Far Away by H3ctic

Day 93: A song you play when you break someone’s heart    - Hypocritical Kiss by Jack White

Day 94: Your favorite song that features the use of a harmonica    - Harmonics of Life by Money Mark

Day 95: Your favorite song that starts with the letter “B”    - Really good songs beginning with the letter B

Day 96: A song that makes you think about stars and the universe    - Black Tears by Tyler Bates

Day 97: Your favorite classical song    - Symphony No. 7 (Allegretto) by Ludwig van Beethoven

Day 98: Your favorite song that you remember from a kid’s show    - Opening Theme from “Die Sendung mit der Maus” by Hans Posegga

Day 99: A song that you like in part, because the title is so good    - Waldspaziergang mit Folgen by Die Ärzte

Day 100: A song from the last CD mix you made someone    - While my guitar gently weeps by George Harrison and Eric Clapton

well, you made it. i’m proud of you :) and also thanks for reading through this list. it means a lot to me. if you noticed any errors or false links, feel free to message me :]

[maekkelae]

A brief summary of touring Europe in times of the pandemic

I made it. I didn't seriously believe it could work even halfway through. Too predictable were cancellations, in fact the majority of shows towards mid-autumn have been pretty much in question. I knew then and I'm still aware that touring amidst a pandemic is most certainly not among the most sensible things one should do. A lot of, if not most of my fellow touring artist friends decided for good reason to stay home. I do respect this and I absolutely understand it too. I've been thinking a lot about things like responsibility before setting out. About the dangers for me, audiences and promoters too. There were difficulties likely to face especially with crossing borders. Too many borders to make it a task realistically to be mastered. I think I wrote in here before what it means to me to play shows. It's not only a job to make a living, this is an important part of it, sure, but an equally important thing to me is telling stories, singing my songs and — this might sound a bit mad — making people feel something, change something in their hearts, their minds. And it keeps me from going mad. Something I have to admit didn't work particularly well during the time of the first, strict lockdown in spring when there was no chance to play a concert. I've been touring a lot over the past years. I think it's safe to say an average of 150 shows a year. I wouldn't have done that without serious reasons. If a routine like this comes to an immediate halt this feels like I imagine it must feel like stopping a vehicle going 300 KMH down to zero in a split second. It has a strong physical effect. Or at least it had on me. I felt mentally and physically terrible in any imaginable way. Never thought it could be like that, never thought I'd need it that much. By June/July I more or less decided for myself I'd bloody do that tour if there'd be the smallest chance it could work. Even if it was for just half of the shows. I just don't want to fall into that big black hole again. Everybody has to decide this for him or herself, I was to at least give it a try. If things went pear-shaped I'd have to deal with it. If I was to end up in hospital — not good but damn, you can't escape your destiny anyway. It doesn't make a big difference whether you pick up your infection in a supermarket, a tram or a concert. Or a hospital. I'm not ignoring the virus, I'm not one of them twats to deny it. I'm afraid of it, like a lot of other people are, and I was worried throughout the whole journey. At the same time it was the most intense thing I experienced in terms of touring. Been asking myself after every show if this had been the last one. Last on this tour. Or the very last one. But believe me, I'm more than glad I decided to do it. This will remain one of the things I'll always remember. Halle in Germany had been cancelled. A lovely little venue there and right on my way to Warsaw. Had to change plans which later turned out to be what I was quite occupied with all along the way. Left a day later than planned and booked a cheap room for a night in Görlitz, a small-town bordering Poland thus cutting short the good nine hours drive to Warsaw to bearable driving stints. As also the show in Biala Podlaska wasn't possible due to the town being in a yellow zone I stayed in Warsaw for three days. As I had been a bit disappointed about the Polish capital on my last year's tour this was a chance to possibly discover it's hidden beauty. And guess what — it was worthwhile. 15/09/20 GER-Halle, Cafe Ludwig CANCELED/POSTPONED 17/09/20 PL-Warsaw, La Boheme 18/09/20 PL-Biala Podlaska CANCELED/POSTPONED 19/09/20 PL-Warsaw, Ada Pulawska 20/09/20 PL-Krakow CANCELED/POSTPONED When the Krakow show turned out to also not happening — this one not due to Covid — it was an easy decision to move on to Wroclaw. I fell in love with the city when I played there last year. It's among the nicest, most interesting places in Europe. Three nights there I reckoned would get me enough rest for the long distance rides coming. This is talking European long distance. Not Canadian... But things started to pick up speed once I was there. Received a message from Jozef, the promoter in Trnava, Slovakia, to double-check if my border crossing are going to work out as there are new regulations in Slovakia. By that time I still had a show booked in Prague on Friday, 25th September. For several reasons that particular one meant a lot to me. But: Slovakia decided to declare Czech Republic a risk area. This meant once I was in Czech Republic for the Prague show I'd have had to quarantine after re-entering Slovakia. That would have meant cancelling my concert in Trnava, Slovakia. One of the places that confirmed the date very early this year to make sure I'd be really coming. A good place run by a dear friend. No way to not play it. Well, that was the situation on 21st September. So with a heavy heart I cancelled Prague to make sure I could make it to Trnava. Thanks to my mate Dasa Fon Flasa I got a replacement show for 25th in Banska Bystrica. They added me to the line-up. Two death-trash-metal-whatever-core bands plus me. I'm fine with shows like that, or like Dasa says, “at the end of the day we're all punk rockers, aren't we?“. Few hours later both bands cancelled. Alright, so then it's just me. Another couple of hours later the Trnava show had to be cancelled. The town became a red alert zone in Slovakia. Even though it was already set to a private event it became impossible to do it. 22/09/20 PL-Wroclaw, Piesniarze 23/09/20 SK-Bratislava, Cyclo Kuchyna 24/09/20 SK-Zilina, Hajovna 25/09/20 CZ-Prague, Proti Proudu CANCELED/POSTPONED 25/09/20 SK-Banska Bystrica, Bosorka At the Banska Bystrica gig, which was possibly the nicest I played in this town so far, I met Miro. He surprised me a lot with telling me he came to see the show because of particular songs. “Lily Of The West“ was one, the others I don't remember. Doesn't happen too often. After the show he asked me about my plans for the next days. Nothing special actually. Saturday show cancelled, so probably trying to find a place to stay. That's how I got into the wooded hills near Zvolen. Miro and his family living there middle of nowhere in an old farmhouse, self-sufficient, mostly cut off from system and society. He asked me whether I'd be up for playing a house show for him and his family. I did it. It was one of the most rewarding and intense things in a long time. Maybe some day I'll write more about it. Maybe. 26/09/20 SK-Trnava, Archa CANCELED/POSTPONED 26/09/20 SK- somewhere Hangin out two days in Moravia. One night in red zone Uherske Hradiste, a second night in not so very red zone Brno (from a Czech point of view). Waiting to pick up my mate Pavel Cingl at Brno station who'll join in on violin for the Czech dates. So far my experience with all the shows is: everybody, almost everywhere is absolutely aware of the situation. No wild parties. People behave in a most responsible way. I've got a feel most European governments love to exaggerate about how devastating the situation is and point their finger first thing at all the neighbouring countries. Of course this is a big mess. And yes, no one should underestimate the threat, but being there myself I actually don't think people are not giving a fuck. 29/09/20 CZ-Brno, Jazz bar U kouřícího králíka Enjoyable show in Brno. Thanks Pavla. How come this works in Jazz venues now? That's a new thing. Word reaches me Linz in Austria and Prien in Germany are cancelled. Predictable. But France seem to still be mostly fine with the shows even though being rated a red area by the Germans. Same with Spanish Basque country, which is in fact rated a high risk area by Germany. What's that then? Dark red? Mega red? Deep purple? Either way, the cancellations will let me leave Czechia, do the mandatory covid test in Bavaria, quarantine until receiving the — ideally — negative result and move on towards France. Oh – and I urgently need a negative result as I need to see the dentists before leaving Germany. Since Zilina I've got a painful, bad cheek tooth. 30/09/20 CZ-Prague, Parukářka 01/10/20 CZ-Tabor, Tabook 9 02/10/20 CZ-Milevsko, Domeček Šrot 03/10/20 CZ-Semanovice, Nostalgicka Mys Now after five excellent shows in Czechia with Pavel on violin, highlighted by the last one in the small village of Semanovice this seems to become a race against the pandemic or rather it's side effects, the shutdowns, lockdowns and curfews Europe will have to face or already does. Sunday after our last show I met the The Spermbirds guys for a cuppa whom we shared a show with on this tour in Tabor. They're one of the most exciting groups you can currently hear in Prague but from this very Monday — that's tomorrow — there won't be shows for them over here for the next four weeks coming. And that's just the start of it as it looks like. Germany seems to be still more relaxed due to lower infection rates but that's just a matter of weeks, maybe days. No reply from Saint-Romans, my first French show. Assuming it's not going to happen. 06/10/20 AT-Linz, Kapu CANCELED/POSTPONED 07/10/20 D-Prien, Piraten Pub CANCELED/POSTPONED Test result arrives Wednesday afternoon (8th October), seeing the dentists midday 9th and leaving for Basel in the afternoon to stay over at friends making it one third of the distance down to Tarbes. Switzerland by this time still OK. At least for travelling through. The forty CHF parking ticket is a bit annoying though. My Basque friends get in touch. Two shows cancelled, but one extra booked. So we're still good here. They want to know if I'm really coming. Yes. I am. 09/10/20 F-Saint-Romans, Association le Fair'ailleurs CANCELED/POSTPONED Sunday's show in Basque country also cancelled on short notice. One of the venue guys tested positive. Shite. We're down to three now. I'm on my way, so no use in a change of plan. I knew beforehand it wasn't going to be an easy one. So — fuck it. I'm still lucky I can do what I can do best and love most. Gotta keep moving on. 10/10/20 F-Tarbes, Celtic Pub Great show. Fantastic evening. I love JL's Celtic Pub Is Not A Pub. Name as crazy as the man. I love this. Checking the latest covid restrictions in Europe. My fave website these days is https://reopen.europa.eu and the Spanish seem to let me in. So far so good. First rumours the Czech are going to close down their borders. The shit is definitely, seriously preparing to hit the fan. 11/10/20 E-Azkoitia, Matadeixe CANCELED/POSTPONED 13/10/20 F-Lartzabale, tba. CANCELED/POSTPONED 14/10/20 E-Bilbao, Bira Kultur Gunea 16/10/20 E-Ataun, Oargi 17/10/20 E-Itziar, Burugorri Gainean

Safe to say these were three fantastic shows I had the chance to share with Eneritz Furyak. A great, young Basque singer-songwriter. Two sold out, one almost. Amazing audiences. I instantly fell in love with the attitude of these people. New homeland discovered. Eneritz and her boyfriend Mono recorded/filmed my version of „And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda“ on one of the off-days, had the opportunity do a little live appearance on Basque radio and last but not least saw a fantastic concert of a Basque band in a bullring. That was a debut. Never seen a bullring in real. Impressive scenery. As for now it still looks like Toulouse is going to happen It's a bit of a drive from Hendaye to Perpignan where I'm playing next. Distance wise it doesn't make a big difference whether you go through Spain or France. As I haven't been to that north-western part of Catalonia I thought it a good idea. Beautiful landscape, book a cheap room in Lleida, spend the night, relax, just a short drive the next day. Lovely idea but I'd have better checked my favourite website. On arriving in Lleida I ask the lady at the reception where I could possibly go for dinner. Erm... nowhere. We're under lockdown here. All bars and restaurants closed, if you're lucky a coffee to go. Supermarkets are open til nine. I'm having a walk through town in search of a supermarket. This is a town under wartime conditions. That's what it feels like. In bigger squares I see big white tents, covid test centres. This, as they tell me, goes for all Catalonia. Monday morning I'm setting out for Perpignan. Almost no traffic. Passing by towns and places I learned to love over the past years. Banyoles, Girona, Figueres, Darnius... Stopping in La Jonquera to fill up the van and buy a couple of canisters of olive oil. Warm welcome in Perpignan by Lionel and Vanessa. Good friends who are going to host me until Wednesday if the Toulouse show will not be cancelled, until Thursday if necessary. Things seem to be still comparably normal down here. And yes, the show will take place. Leila's L'Escalibar. She's a great, tough, wonderful person. I'm glad this time the show can happen. Last year, touring by train, there was no way to make it here. Severe thunderstorms had literally flushed away the rail tracks then. Monday evening it doesn't look very good for Toulouse, on Tuesday we know there won't be a show in Toulouse. They closed down the city. 20/10/20 F-Perpignan, L'Escalibar 21/10/20 F-Toulouse, La Cave A Rock CANCELED/POSTPONED Leaving Perpignan after a good show on Tuesday and a pleasant off-day hanging out with my hosts and an enjoyable walk in the hills around Céret. Driving up to Saintes for the night, half the way to Rennes. En route news reaches me Chateaubriant, my Saturday show, is cancelled. By now nine major cities in France issued strict curfews for an indefinite time. This means my Lyon show in late November is cancelled as well. Brittany still mostly fine for now but time's running out there too. Still hoping for the Nantes gig to happen next Wednesday, 28th October. 23/10/20 F-Rennes, Bar La Ruche Things going wild now. The show at La Ruche is not only the last one before strict curfew rules will apply starting midnight. It's also the last ever show Aurelie will host here as she'll quit after this evening. Place is packed, people go nuts and so is Aurelie. A fantastic evening and a last goodbye to Bar La Ruche. As the Saturday show is cancelled I gladly accept my friend Francois' offer to come to Avranches, Normandy to spend the night and do a house show at his place early Sunday evening. 24/10/20 F-Chateaubriant, La Charrue CANCELED/POSTPONED By Sunday morning it becomes a fact that Nantes is also cancelled. I get in touch with Meghane in Besancon to let her know I can't play the Friday show at Les Passagers du Zinc. No point in hangin out in France for a whole week. Only option would be to reschedule the gig to Wednesday. Makes sense as Besancon is right on my way back to Germany. Let's do it she writes and I love her for this. 25/10/20 F-Avranches, House Show Leaving for Paris to spend two days at a friends place. It's a ghost town. 28/10/20 F-Nantes, La Scene Michelet CANCELED/POSTPONED 28/10/20 F-Besancon, Les Passagers du Zinc 30/10/20 F-Besancon, Les Passagers du Zinc RESCHEDULED Now this is the final one. As it looks like for quite some time. Few days ago I read the Czech closed their borders again and I'm afraid others will consider this the ultima ratio as well. Sold out tonight. As most of you know this simply means the maximum number of people allowed by authorities due to current rules has booked seats. Doesn't mean packed. It's another last show. Last for Les Passagers du Zinc as from tomorrow on there'll be strict curfew rules in effect here. Last for me as all November shows in Europe are cancelled and the same is more than likely to happen in December.

[kingjamesonfawkes]

Hayseed!Junkrat & Reader | NB Reader | 2730 words | 1/4 [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]  [Chapter 4]  

While staying with your grandmother, a daily chore mending a scarecrow for her turns out to be a different sort of experience than you expected.

Possible Continuation in the Future, Possible One Shot, depending on response. Possible smut in the future but rn it’s sfw

----

You were staying with your grandmother while your grandfather was away, helping her with the chores in her fields and in her home, it was the least you could do for her since she had always been there for you as a child. And, truth be told, none of the chores she was assigning you were much harder than you'd be doing at home. Their farm was fairly large and most of the work tending to the crops and animals was done by the farm hands.

Most of what she was having you do was simple things that she quite honestly didn't have the strength to do anymore: cleaning the grout in the kitchen, moving her furniture around, repainting the fence; sure it was work, but in general they were pretty tame things, all manageable. The worst thing she's had you do in the last few weeks was mend her scarecrow out in the corn fields. When she gave you the chore it didn't bother you, you could sew and there was plenty of straw to re-stuff it, the thing you dreaded most was the possibility of getting lost in the field. You headed out despite this, carrying a bag with the supplies you needed to fix it up, although you hadn't actually seen it yet so you didn't know how much repair he really needed.

When you saw it, it put you more on edge than ever. It had taken you sometime to navigate the corn field in order to find the scarecrow, and now that you had, you wished your grandmother had never asked you to do this. He was incredibly tall, you supposed this was to scare off the birds, but he towered over you, and only part of that was the pole he was strung upon. His form was thin and ragged, he had been stitched over more times than you could count, and his body looked far too much like human skin for your tastes. He was dressed in brown overalls that had been torn to rags by whatever had put it into this state of disarray, and hung loosely with large holes in them. His face was covered with a burlap sack, reminding you of someone hung from the rafters in a movie, and a crude orange smile was stitched on the bag, bright orange glass eyes completing the uncanny visage. The eyes captivated you and you felt your skin crawl as the eyes stared deep within you.

The thing that struck you perhaps as the most odd was the mechanical arm on the right side of his body, and upon further investigation, his right leg, which was on the ground, hay stuffing spilling from the 'wound', was also made of mechanical scrap parts. What use did a scarecrow have for such complicated mechanics? You tried to brush it off; maybe your grandfather thought it would make him scarier? Well it was working if that was his plan. You set your bag down on the ground, trying to figure out what would make this process go the fastest so you could get the hell out of there and find your own footsteps back out of the cornfield. Deciding that the fastest way to repair him was to take him down from the wooden pole, you approached him, feeling uneasy; the hairs standing up on the back of your neck.

You lifted him from under his arms, the skin of his body truly felt like skin and it made you shudder, thinking about how cold his flesh was, and trying not to think about it as human skin. That was impossible right? It would surely decompose out in the sun like this. You started lifting his body and felt how truly heavy he was, you let go for a moment and made sure his clothes weren't caught on anything to make the job harder for yourself. You prepared yourself for the weight this time, you weren't weak by any means, but there was no way he weighed less than 150 pounds, especially not with the metal arm. You lifted again, and this time it felt lighter, like he was helping you lift him from the stake... but no... That was impossible, right?

You set him down in the soft dirt underneath the stake he was strung upon, and surveyed the pole itself, making sure there was no structural damage that you would have to repair, and then turned your attention to the poor ragged scarecrow. On the ground he was less disconcerting but, his eyes still felt as though they really were staring at you, and your hairs refused to lay flat. You picked up the dirty straw from the ground around him, and cleaned up the hole around where his leg had been pulled off. You tossed the dirty straw into a pile near your bag, and started replacing the straw in his limbs and chest with fresh dry straw from your bag. You could swear you heard a pleasant hum from him as you worked and fixed him up, but you shook this off and told yourself it was just the bugs in the field around you, nothing to worry about.

You worked quickly, but steadily, stitching up spots where his fabric was torn, trying not to think about how much it felt like rough weathered skin. Whatever had caused this state of disrepair had really done a number on him, and kind of made you feel bad that he had been left for so long without being fixed. You sew up the hole where his leg was missing, and reattached the heavy metal prosthetic peg, and when you did so you heard a purring trill that you knew came from the scarecrow. Your head flashed towards its face, your eyes meeting his eyes, your hands still on the mechanical leg.

You shook your head and ran your fingers through your hair. This is stupid, it's just a scarecrow. On your grandparent's land. There is nothing weird with it and you're being overdramatic, you thought. Maybe you didn't get enough sleep last night, you told yourself. Still this didn't stop you from touching the gloved left hand near you, and leaning forward to inspect its face closer.

"That couldn't have been you, right?" You joked aloud, forcing a chuckle, turning your face back down to the other leg, where you needed to work on the tangle of ropes wrapped around the fabric of the pants.

"Though' ya'd neva' ask," He spoke, voice raspy like he hadn't spoken in a long time, and you felt his hand twitch under yours.

You screamed and pulled your hand back, nearly jumping out of your skin as you backed up from the scarecrow. You lost footing and fell a couple feet away from him, and stared at his face intently, trying to figure out if you had imagined it.

"Oi, no need ta be so skittish, babe," He laughed a shrill cackle as you scooted back farther from where you had landed when you backed up, "Yer hands were jus' inside me afta’ all, and I didn' complain much!"

You were speechless for a moment, just staring at him; the cylinders of glass that were his eyes seeming to stare back at you. You could see yourself reflected in the orange glass, upside down and isolated, surrounded by the corn field around you.

“How are you talking?” You said finally, and firmly, trying to stop yourself from being afraid of him, “You’re a scarecrow, you shouldn’t be… alive.” Your voice faltered on the word ‘alive’, was he even alive?

“I’unno!” He replied, his voice was friendly enough, if not distorted and raspy, “Jus’ can I guess. Maybe it’s yer magic healin’ touch!” It sounded like he was joking with you, but you couldn’t be sure, and it seemed like nearly everything made him cackle.

You didn’t know what to say or what to do, it wasn’t like you could take him back to your grandparent’s house, they would either think you went mad out in the fields or you would scare your poor grandmother to death when she found out he could talk. Before you could say anything or make another move, he was beginning to get to his feet, standing above you, even hunched over he seemed so tall. He stood shakily for a second, like a fawn standing for the first time, and bounced his right peg leg a couple times, testing it.

“Thanks, by the way,” He said, looking down at his leg, “Jus’ like new!” He bounced a couple more times, getting the feel for it, jumping up and coming back down to earth with a wobble.

He held a hand out for you, inviting you to stand back up, “C’mon,” He prodded, “I won’t bite!” He stifled a chuckle, “Much anyway.”

Looking at the burlap sack, you weren’t sure that biting was exactly what you were worried about, but that brought up the question again of what was under it, if anything at all, you hadn’t lifted it while patching him up.

You tentatively took his hand and stood up. His hunched posture didn’t make him too much taller than you, but if he stood to his full height you know he would tower over you. You were closer now than you had been since before he spoke, and now that he was speaking to you, you could see his chest expand and retract with the breath moving through his body. That was definitely not happening when you we’re repairing him.

“Are you,” you paused, Alive? A Monster? A Demon? Human? “Human?” You finished softly, not wanting to upset him.

“I’unno,” He said again, “Can’ rememba much to tell tha truth.” He put his free hand to his mask, stroking it as you’d stroke a chin. Seeing his other hand made you realize that you hadn’t let go of his hand, and you pulled your hand away gently.

You don’t know if a yes or a no would have made you feel better, because if he was human, how was he a scarecrow now? You had just changed out the straw, he didn’t have organs. If he was never a human, was he a monster? Both questions put you on edge, and you weren’t sure that you wanted an answer. Although his disposition towards you was making you less afraid of him, he didn’t seem to be a threat.

He seemed to think about the concept for a moment, “I guess I was at some point?” He didn’t seem quite sure of himself. “Doesn’t matter much now though, I guess.”

“What can you remember?” You asked, looking him over again. There was more of a glow to his skin now, he was looking more and more alive by the moment, but you pushed this thought away, it was probably just a trick of your eyes and the changing positions of the sun.

“Mostly this field,” he said, gesturing around the two of you, “An’,” He paused for a moment, looking almost thoughtful as he stared out to the corn, “I think m’name’s Jamison.”

“Jamison...” You repeated, looking back up to his mask. You thought for a moment, before telling him your own name.

“(Y/N), Suits ya,” He said, nodding slightly.

You smiled faintly at this, before opening your mouth to speak again, “Can you take this off?” You said, wondering if anything was under the mask again. 

He hummed a reply and then said, “Maybe? We can try.” He tried to pull it off roughly, but it caught, tied haphazardly around his neck.

“Wait! Wait,” You said, reaching your hands up to untie it for him. He dropped his hands and stood relatively still for you, letting you untie the rope strung through the burlap sack. You lifted it gingerly, with much more care than he had tried.

You revealed first a pointed chin, then an angular jaw, and high cheekbones. He had a wide smile and imposing teeth, including some very sharp canines, and the thought that he won’t bite much came to mind again. Stitching ran from the corners of his mouth upwards, and more was stitched across his large nose. He had prominent, round, piercingly amber eyes that met yours instantly, and you sensed a spark within them.

The stitching on his neck followed up to a sewn on ear, the stitches ran around his ear and up through his hair, which was made of straw and pulled messily up into a short ponytail on top of his head that had stuck out the top of the burlap sack before, the ends of the hay was scorched as if by fire. There was a speckling of freckles across his light face, which was tarnished by a bit of dirt, like most of his exposed skin.

“Oh,” You said, suddenly taken aback by how attractive he was under the mask, furrowing your brows and studying his face.

“Somethin’ wrong?” He said, suddenly looking a bit panicked, “If I’mma bit of a slag I can take it, jus’ tell me.”

“No,” You said, shaking your head softly, “You’re… very handsome.”

“Now, don’ you come the raw prawn wit’ me,” He said, scrunching his face together and squinting to discern if you were lying to him or not, it was quite cute, you admitted to yourself.

“No,” You said, touching his cheek, lightly, your thumb tracing over the stitching near his lips, “I mean it, Jamison.” You realized his skin was beginning to feel warm, unlike how cold it felt when you lifted him from the stake.

His eyes darted between yours, before looking off into the distance as if thinking it over, not sure if he believed you. Before you could speak again, a chiming came from your bag, and both of your attention was drawn towards it. Your phone.

You let go of his face and stepped towards your bag, crouching down to dig through it and procure the ringing phone within. It was your grandmother, and a quick look at the time reminded you that you’d been out here for a long while; she was probably making sure that you didn’t get lost in the fields.

You answered the phone and your assumption had been correct. Jamison watched you have a conversation with her, leaned against the post, a confused look on his face about the device in your hand, not sure who you were talking to. You assured her you were on the way back, and said that the scarecrow needed more mending than you thought, she shouldn’t worry. She told you to hurry back and you assured her you would be back before she needed to start dinner, which, now that you thought about it, might be a little tight.

Hanging up the phone, you looked back to the scarecrow. “I have to go, I’m sorry. Will you be okay out here?” You said to him.

He shrugged, “I suppose, I was out ‘ere for a while before ya came along.” He paused, thinking about it, “Are ya coming back?”

You nodded, “Of course, whenever I can.” You leaned down and grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder, before turning back to him. “Stay safe, okay?” He nodded and grinned, as if he didn’t need the warning.

You lifted your heels and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, squeezing his arm softly, before turning and hurrying back down the path you had followed from the ranch house earlier in the day. Stealing one last look back, you saw that his hand was on his cheek and his face surprised, his other hand on the mask, ready to pull it back down once you were gone.

On the way back home you could only think of how crazy the day had been. How none of this could possibly be real. You were just dreaming right? You shook the thoughts off, trying to focus on making it home in time. You’d have to ask your grandmother where the scarecrow had come from in the first place.

[friendlyunclej]

No Ocean for Old Men

Prologue

     Having been out on the Solemn Ocean, or “Solemn Sea” whatever you want to call it, for the past few months making ferry runs and pillaging any poor dinghy that sailed too close to my boat, I’ve decided to take the next few weeks to anchor down at the docks of Tyriok City. My crew are all licking their wounds after we’ve barely skated by one of those airships from the Truncheon Order. They’ve been patrolling the skies ever since the war ended and all they do is ruin my business, or at least try to. My entire crew keeps bitching and cussing at me to find some replacements for the hands we lost. After the third day of them doing this, I began freezing them in ice with my breath whenever they bothered me. We lost a few more by the fifth day. By the sixth day, I decided that maybe I should try to recruit some fresh meat. Donning the flag of my ship and my tattered tricorne, I decided to sit at an empty booth by myself and told the barkeep to send anyone who seemed strong enough to me. By the end of the day, I had about three more desperate souls working for me, none of them really asking any questions. It wasn’t until halfway through the following day that I got two who actually seemed worth something more than just the average swill and shilling.

     The woman of the two, at least I’m pretty sure it was a woman, questioned me the most about who I am. Alternatively, the man she was travelling with, who was practically the size of a damn tree, cared more about life on the open waters. Both of them were trying to speak over each other, so I told them to shut up as I spoke about myself.

     “I’ve been the captain of this ship since before the Great War and I’ll stop you before you ask the obvious question. To put your mind at ease, I’ll tell you all the answers you want in the usual order I have to answer them:

One: Yes, I’m a Dragonborn with white scales, so if I drink too much and freeze you with a sneeze, tough shit.

Two: I’m over 140 years old.

Three: I know I look damn good for that age, especially since most of my kind would be eaten by worms or dissolving in seawater by now.

Four: Of course, it’s not natural! I’m not some damn tree-hugging Druid and I don’t spew any fanciful magic from my fingers like some cloaked asshole who can’t handle a real fight.

Five: Uh...you know, by this time, either I’ve punched the person asking me all this or they’ve punched me, so I don’t really have an answer for that.

     However, since you haven’t punched me and I’m not feeling too punchy today, I feel inclined to share with you two how I got to be such an age. It’s real simple actually. Just relax and don’t worry about the little things.”

     I paused as I chugged a shot of Rot Gut and the woman said, “Are you serious?”

     Finishing the shot, I shouted, “Of course, I’m not serious! I got hexed by some damn hag during the war. She wasn’t too happy with me doing my job.”

     The man, seeming like a talking mountain, said, “What job were you doing that pissed her off?”

     I snarled at him, “That’s my business and it’s old business at that! I’m not doing it anymore so what the hell does it matter?”

     Steam seeming to spew from his nose in the now freezing tavern, I glared into his eyes as the woman said, “If we’re going to be part of your crew, shouldn’t we know what you’ve done?”

     Still glaring at the man as he sat back from me, I leaned towards her as I said, “Who said that you two would be joining my crew? This is a tryout right now, and, from where I’m sitting, you two are barely worth a cabin boy, and that’s being generous.”

     A look of spite washed across her eyes as I sat back and took in the view of both of them. A mountain of a man who looks like he could toss a Dwarf a mile away and a walking, talking pig with the voice a soft woman but the muscles of a fighter christened in war. They certainly seemed worthy of a few chunks of gold on the slave market, if not as a part of my crew.

     I chuckled before proposing, “But, I tell you what, if you two want to prove to me that you are worth more than an alley cat, then I’d be more than happy to work with you. As a matter of fact, it’s been a while since I’ve seen a good bar fight and there’s a sizable number of people in here. Start one and come out on top, I’ll take on both of you.”

     Still eyeing me a bit but desperate to get on my ship, they stood up from their seats, cracked their knuckles, and nodded at each other before proceeding to tear through the entire bar. It was like a whirlwind of screams and howls as the two imposing people broke bones, cracked skulls, and smashed stools against everyone in the bar who tried to fight back. When the bar fight concluded, the two of them stood panting with a red glare slowly fading from their eyes as I was now walking towards the front door.

     Laughing, I tossed the barkeep a parcel of gold as I shouted to them, “Welcome to the Sea Dragon! I’m Captain Madrek, but most people just call me ‘Mad’. Find a bunk you like in the ship and carve your name on them. We leave once the sun drops in a few hours.”

     I opened the door to a raging blizzard as I began to walk towards my ship, staring directly back at me. I couldn’t help but grin as I stepped back on top of my ship, watching my crew reinforcing the sails and patching the ship in preparation for the harsh winter ahead. I hid the grin behind my commonly enraged visage as I felt the two new recruits bound up the draw bridge behind me. To be entirely honest, I feel a bit bad for those on my ship, because all I’m doing is trying to fulfill my own death wish. Regardless, I always stop myself from worrying after a few moments. Seeing as how misery loves company, I hold no reservations against taking a number of souls with me.

The Hag was Right

     Before the war, I wasn’t captaining a Man-O-War like I do now. I had a cargo ship which I held a few good cannons on and stripped some of its weight off, but it could barely stand up to anything worth a damn because of it. The speed was the best attribute it had, so I used it to cross the Solemn Ocean in half as much time as the standard brig. I smuggled everything and anything between the two continents, working for which ever side paid the most gold or offered the most Rot Gut. This kind of work was perfect while the two continents were simply threatening each other, but, when they actually began to swing swords between each other, I was forced to pick a side. Some Serhyan bandits on the back of wyverns tore my ship a part a few days from the coast of Kalldor. I spent almost half a month pitifully rowing a dinghy back to Tyriok. It was pretty obvious which side I hated more, so the generals in charge of Kalldor’s armies put me at the head of a Man-O-War and told me that I’d be able to sail undisturbed to the eastern coast of Serhya. I gathered a decent crew, just enough to sail and fight properly, and I did as I was ordered. Just as I saw the marshes, I blinked and found myself staring into the Feywild with a Hag staring back from the coast with a grin on her face.      The crew and I tried to turn as fast as possible, but she shot the ship’s sails with a few bolts of lightning, lighting them on fire. As the sails fell as embers around me, I glanced back to the shore to see no one there anymore. When I turned back to the helm, she was staring back at me, her hair like seaweed and breath like a dead corpse. Her lifeless eyes scanned me as her bloodied and blued lips curled into a smile as she whispered something into my ear while caressing my shoulders.

     While her grotesque nails slowly scratched across my shoulders, she hummed, “My salty sailor, you’re world is full of strife. Alas, as much as you want to end it, I give you eternal life. From now till eternity, you will never die in vain. Only once you find someone to replace you, will you finally be slain.”

     As she whispered this in my ear, I felt a sickly green cloud seep from the scratches on the back of my shoulders and fill my vision. As the smoke enters my body, I feel a burn run through my throat, my eye sockets, and my ears. The sensation jolts me awake, making my eyes fly open as I stare at the wooden boards under the helm of the ship. Sweating, I painfully pull myself out of bed to grab a bottle of Rot Gut from my personal stash. I step outside and walk up to the helm, where I sit against the wheel and stare up at the starry night sky. I let the view console me as I try to drink away the memory of the Sea Hag I met almost 150 years ago.      I’m not even half way through the bottle when the sun begins to break the horizon. It hurts my eyes a bit as I stare at it before hearing two sets of heavy feet stomp their way up from below deck. I stand up and hold on to the wheel as I see the Goliath and the Pig rise before everyone else, as they always do.

     With an angered and tired look, I shout to them, “If I didn’t know how much you two secretly hate each other, I’d swear that the only thing you two do is break bunks together instead of sleeping.”

     Quickly angered by my words, the Goliath retorted, “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that a drunkard like you is better suited for the plank instead of the helm.”

     A bit drunk and still recuperating from the nightmare, I toss the bottle at his hand after spewing, “You think you’re strong enough to put me on the plank? That’s funny coming from a stone skinned coward, running from his herd.”

      With ease, the Goliath catches the bottle in his hand before trying to toss it back. The Pig stops his arm, pulls the bottle from his hand, and chugs the contents before slowly walking to me. I stand strong and straighten my back as she steps up to me, locking eyes with an angered gaze.

     Slamming the empty bottle into my hand, she leans into whisper, “You know...one day soon, you’ll find yourself on the wrong side of this ship if you keep treating the whole crew like this.”

     “Is that a threat, little Pig?” I say back to her, gripping the bottle.

     She calmly responds, “No, that’s the truth,” before proceeding to crush the bottle into my hand, shoving glass shards into my palm as she says, “That’s the threat.”

     She walks away and begins to work on loosening the sails as my hand begins to coat the helm with blood while I tear the glass shards free. Since they’ve joined about a year or two back, those two have been the best crew mates I’ve ever had. They’re always the first to start working and the last ones to leave the ship when we drop anchor.at a port. When they’re not working themselves to the bone, they’re drinking themselves into a stupor. However, they don’t needlessly fight because of it. They’re actually good people, pulling their punches when a bar fight breaks out so that everyone can have a good time. Only when a person actually means them harm do they show how enforcers usually act.      When someone becomes their enemy, it’s not too long before they find themselves either cleaved in half or crushed to death. I’ve seen the Goliath smash three muggers’ heads into a building’s stone walls when they tried to attack him in an alleyway. The Pig once crushed an enemy captain’s knees into dust before sending him soaring through the air with a heavy hammer swing that practically tore his head off in the process. They’re not the friendliest to each other, but, when a battle brews, they work together so well that I still ask myself why they’re wasting away on the sea instead of just killing whoever their running from. Yes, I say “running from” because any person who can fight and kill that well but opts for a life as a simple crew member on a poorly kept Man-O-War has to be running from something.      As much as I could glean from them, I didn’t see the mutiny coming. Apparently, they had been planning it for a good year after the Pig threatened me, getting every crew member behind them with ease due to how I treated them. I only found out after a painful fight with an airship from the Truncheon Order off the eastern coast of Serhya. When the smoke settled, we were all still alive and the bodies of porcelain knights and wyverns laid across our deck. As the shell of the airship fell and sunk into the water, I shouted at the crew to start tossing all of the dead overboard, but none followed my orders. Instead, they all surrounded me and watched as I continued trying to bark at them.

     “They’re done following you, Madrek,” the Goliath called out from behind me, parting the crowd to join me in the circle.

     “Is that so?” I responded with a look of disbelief, “Who are they going to follow then? Some phony mountain man like you?”

     He chuckled a bit as he crossed his arms before saying, “No, this wasn’t my idea. Honestly, I’d rather toss you overboard and let the Dragon Turtle take you. Someone else wanted a proper fight, out of some semblance of respect or pity for you.”

     Still standing at the center of the ship, I began to scan the crowd, looking back and forth past the mast I had my back against, shouting, “Then what stops me from freezing you all where you stand? If you won’t follow me, then what do I have to lose aside from time and wasted breath?”

     I continued for a few more moments, shouting and screaming, as I tried to force someone to fight me. As I ended my lecture, I took a deep breath as I felt the power of a blizzard coalesce in my throat. As I began to open my mouth, now face to face with the Goliath, he shoves a bottle of Rot Gut to shut my yap before sending a thunderous uppercut slamming into the bottom of my still open jaw.

     I fly back almost ten feet, crashing into the main mast. The Goliath walks up and kneels next to me, holding my jaw shut as he angrily glares into my eyes before saying, “You talk too much.”

     Releasing my jaw from his grasp, I struggled back on to my feet, righting myself against the mast as he walks back to the crowd. With the taste of iron slowly filling my glass ridden mouth, I pull my boarding hammer from my hip before saying, “If that’s all you’ve got to show for this mutiny, I’m more than happy to trade scars for all of your lives.”

     My throat, now filled with holes and gashes from the shattered glass, began to sear and burn as another blizzard gathered in it. Locking eyes with the back of the Goliath’s head, I held my breath for when he turned around. Before he did, I noticed a shadow at my feet, growing larger and larger. As I glanced up, I saw the Pig falling towards me with her own mallet held above her head. I stood my ground and painted her with a blizzard of snow and Ice, hoping to freeze her before she reached me. Unfortunately, I was too late as she soared through my breath and gave a valiant roar as she crashed to the deck, her hammer crushing my lower jaw off of my head.      I dropped to my knees in pain as I felt a rush of blood fall from where my lower jaw once was, painting my knees red. Continuing to groan in pain, I blindly attempt to find my boarding hammer as the agony I feel holds my eyes shut. Reaching desperately for my weapon, I find a boot instead and I manage to crack one eye open just in time to see the Pig furiously swing her mallet back at my face. I feel the mass of wood shatter against my left eye as the back of my skull slams against the mast behind me. Almost rendered unconscious, I pant coarsely, feeling the glass shards still stuck in my neck, the left side of my face dented and crushed, and the barely functioning right eye pulse with pain as it tries to pull three images into one. After a few seconds, I barely pull myself to my feet as my vision clears just enough to see my severed jaw lying at the feet of the Pig.      She tosses the wooden mallet overboard, the head of the maul now missing having been destroyed against my thick skull. In her other hand, she swings my own boarding hammer a few times as she begins to step towards me, testing its weight. Stepping on my lower jaw, I get just enough fuel back to feel one last, desperate blizzard try to gather in my mangled throat. Inhaling as violently as I could muster, I begin to exhale before feeling the spiked maul head of my own hammer slam against my ribs, pinning me to the mast and crushing my lungs. With my ice breath cut short and all energy gone from my body, I barely stay on my feet as the Pig tears the truncheon from my chest. Stumbling for a second, I watch as she twirls my boarding hammer around and swings a second time, using the bladed back of the maul’s head instead. As I lose more and more blood, I now barely feel the hooked blade cut through the bottom of my head where my lower jaw once was. Hanging by my head and barely alive, I feel my limp body be dragged by my hooked throat to the side of the ship. Sat on the very edge of the boat, I feel the boarding hook torn from my jaw as my head is held up.

     Holding me by my ear to keep me lucid, the Pig angrily whispered, “Welcome to my Sea Dragon. I’m Captain Ham, but you don’t get to call me that.”

     As she dropped my ear, the last thing I saw was her bloodshot eyes as the maul crashed into my head again. As I spun in the air overboard, I heard the crew cheering in celebration before I felt the warm water of the Zealous Ocean take me. For a moment, the water began to feel inviting while my senses left me. As I rose to the surface, my hearing was dulled by the waves covering them. The last few things I heard were my ship sailing away without me and a few birds cawing in the sky above me before the entire world turned mute. Feeling the waves carry me for a few more feet, the last sensation I had was the warm foam covering me while a soft breeze brushed my missing lower jaw. Soon after, my entire body went numb, stealing the taste and smell of both sea water and drying blood from me in the process. My sight stayed for the longest, allowing me to truly appreciate the clouds and sky above me. For my final moments, I thought back through my life as my sight began to fade. I started to reminisce about my troublesome home, surrounded by an abusive father and mother while my brothers and sisters succumbed to violence and drugs, as the vibrant colors of the cloudy dusk sky began to turn into simple shades of grey. My malfunctioning mind brought me back to the woman I met a few months before, reminding me of the child I left for her to raise alone so that my disposition doesn’t taint them any further. As the shapes of clouds bled together with the clear sky, the face of the hag returned to me. Instead of fear, I was filled with something else as I stared back at her emaciated and twisted visage. Instead of disgust, I felt tranquility as I gazed upon her. Without the will to try to escape, I welcomed her disturbing grimace, knowing that this would be the last time I’d see it. My vision turned pitch black as peace seemed to grasp my soul, lifting it to meet the soft embrace of death.

Epilogue

     That should have been it. I should have died right there and then, but, as if shot from a cannon, I felt a searing pain course through the entirety of my body as my senses returned without mercy. As if a jolt of lightning had run through my corpse I awoke staring at a sky suspended between setting and rising. My one good eye furiously scanned as color returned to it, revealing a green mist tinting my vision. Every nerve in my body screamed as my muscles and bones were revived. The water felt like glass shards grinding against my previously dead nerves. The air and water tasted acrid and smelled of sulfur as I began to see twisted trees pass over me.      Realizing I had returned to the Feywild, I attempted to force my body to swim away from the lifeless trees, but I was unable to move as it was still racked with pain. I tried to scream, causing my tongue to loosely flap against the air as my lower jaw was still missing. Practically paralyzed, I could do nothing as I felt my head tap soft mud against the shore. Frightened and terrified, I heard light footsteps dig into the silt around me and grow closer every few moments. My eyes frantically looked towards each sound, turning from one set of feet into three. As I looked up, I saw what seemed to be the silhouettes of two women stand above the right and left sides of my head. After a few moments, I was able to see their faces through my manic vision, making me panic even further. Both were hideous enough to almost make me retch on their feet.  Staring at the one on my right, I shook as her specter white hair shifted in the breeze to reveal an awful black grin under piercing yellow eyes set inside of disturbing green skin. My eyes darted to my left, pausing in horror. This woman’s purple and grey skin seemed pulled back, clinging to her skull which had small twisted horns piercing through her scalp. She worried me more as she grinned, revealing hideously sharpened teeth. As I pulled my eyes away from her, a third figure appeared directly above me.      In the very center, I tried my best to move as I saw the Sea Hag looming over me, a sick grin stretching across her face. Her slimy and horrid skin made my spine jolt as the smell of seaweed from her hair somehow seemed to burn my nostrils. As she crouched closer to me, her eyes still seemed made of glass while her grotesque mug made me wish for death again.They referred to each other as “sister” as they carried my still paralyzed body through the marsh to their home. As we approached their abject abode, they left me outside, staring up at the motionless sky.

     The Sea Hag came back after a few minutes with a sinister vial in her hand. She poured it into what was left of my mouth as she whispered, “My dear, soon, you won’t have to fuss. We’ll be able to do so much more with you here than we ever could with just us.”

     As I felt her claws holding my body still, I experienced a barrage of pain as the vial’s contents took hold in my body. I convulsed violently, causing her nails to stab me over and over. My eyes rolled back from the shear agony I felt as the elixir forced my body to restore itself. I felt my ribs and bones shatter as they returned to their proper places. My skull cracked and swelled back into its original shape. The perforated flesh which was my neck painfully pressed the shards of glass out of my throat, sinking into the marsh below me. The most horrendous feeling was my jaw, which seemed to grow out from the exposed bone that was left. It was as if the bones in my own head jerked against itself as it branched into a new jaw. What decaying flesh I still had left from my original jaw seemed to reattach and grow in the most agonizing way possible. After almost five grueling minutes of torture, I thought it was over as I began to breathe wearily.      Opening both of my eyes, I locked gazes with the Sea Hag, still paralyzed and unable to move. She gave a fiendish smile as she leaned towards me, planting a kiss on my lips. With her mouth on mine, I felt a surge of desecrated water rush down my throat, filling my entire body. I felt it melt my insides as I jerked myself on to my feet, curled in pain and anguish. Trying to walk away, I puked and spat as the clear liquid leaking from my mouth turned into a foul opaque green. I fell to my knees as what felt like each layer of the Nine Hells seethed within me. The pain tossed my head back as a fountain of defiled liquid spewed from my mouth. Feeling rage and fury return to my body, I began to roar as I rose to my feet, fighting against the pain. As I did, I felt the skin beneath my scales grow callous and rigid. My own scales began to stand up on my petrified skin like spikes on a devil’s spine. The color in my left eye turned from an ice blue to glass, mirroring the Sea Hag’s eyes. As my primal outcry continued, the disgusting green liquid erupting from my mouth turned into ice and hail once again, preserving a seawater hue. As the blizzard from my undead body ceased, my roar echoed through the entire Feywild as I stood, twisted back to life by the Sea Hag. I turned to her, filled with rage and bloodlust. 

     With every fiber of whatever soul I had left, I wanted to kill her for turning me into such a monster, but, instead of attacking, I bent my knee and bowed my head to her as I asked, “What do you desire from me?”

[true-miamouse]

Handplates : Tempus Pt 2

  Handplates is a really cool if dark take on the Papyrus/Sans/Gaster origin story by @zarla-s and if you haven’t seen it already, I highly recommend it. This is a spinoff of that in which a human enters their lives. Some things may be inaccurate, but please be patient with me. I just need to get it out of my head and I need some feedback.~miamouse

Part 1   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5

  Gaster decided to spend a bit of MP to create a ‘shortcut’ directly to his private lab. The increased exhaustion was worth avoiding Alphys and the questions she would ask. “This way, hurry up. Hold on to my coat.” It was necessary for 3-T to hold on to something of his while they took the shortcut. Hands were advisable but he didn't hold hands with his own creations, let alone this human. It obeyed wordlessly and in the blink of an eye, they were in his office.

   First, he needed to prepare a hand plate for 3-T. The hand plate served 2 major purposes: it established the subjects as objects and prevented escape by means of a tracking device. At least 3-T couldn't remove its arm without causing itself extreme pain so they could skip that lesson. He had the third plate made long ago in case he ever needed to replace 1 or 2.  He abandoned the idea of replacement after a while since it would be too painful...for his foot, where he would get the required material from. In any case, it was good to have a use for it. He used a laser to etch in the new subject’s number and letter ‘3-T.’

  As subject 3 watched, its face paled  “Are you going to brand me with that?! What’s the 3 for? And how did you know my name started with ‘T’?” Gaster was impressed by how close its guess was. What he was about to do was similar to branding.

   Gaster had gotten used to questions like these from the other two subjects and decided long ago it was much less annoying to just answer as long as the matter was of little consequence. “I’m not going to brand you, it's more of a...label. 3 because you are the third subject- no, the other two are not humans. They are...artificial constructs. The ‘T’ is a coincidence. It has nothing to do with your name, which from this day forth is irrelevant. It has more to do with your speech signature ‘tempus.”

   “That is my name! My nickname anyway. It's my favorite font! This is spooky.” despite everything, subject 3 seemed amazed that Gaster had guessed its chosen name.

   It was hardly a guess; he was simply following tradition. He was a little perplexed how the human knew that. Few monsters other than skeletons spoke in distinct ‘fonts.’ As far as he knew, only skeletons knew their ‘fonts’ instinctively (as seen with subjects 1 and 2 who called each other by name without Gaster giving them one.) Subject 3 definitely looked human. But once again it defied norms...it warranted study, but in the end, it didn't matter how monster-like or even skeleton-like it was. Its soul was necessary to break the barrier.

  With that in mind, Gaster grabbed his drill and the plate and did not look at the human as he said in an emotionless voice, “follow me.” The human seemed to sense the change in tone and followed hesitantly, but without question.  It was time for the human's first lesson in this lab: a hand plate makes you an object.

* * *

   Pain. Incredible pain in her right hand. Did no one tell this mad scientist that hands were not meant to be drilled in?! By the look of things, he hadn't even spared his own hands. Or maybe someone did that to him and in his mind that made it ok to do it to others. That didn't make it ok, but perhaps a little more understandable.

   It was still excruciating. Tempus bit back her screams. She hated being seen as weak due to her frail nature, so she trained herself not to cry or scream unless she absolutely couldn't help it. This came close. She kept her mouth shut and blocked most of it, but some sound escaped involuntarily and tears streamed unbidden down her face. The actual drilling didn't take long, but the pain persisted. Finally, Tempus felt her consciousness slipping; her body sparing her from the pain.

* * *

   Subject 3 seemed to take the drilling well, it hardly made a peep, compared to the wailing of the other two. Gaster was just thinking about the extraordinary strength of humans when it passed out.

   He didn't want it to die yet! He had plans for it! Plans that required a live specimen! He checked its Hp. It had dropped from 10 to 4. He didn't understand. Even the ultra fragile subject 1 had not lost any HP. He noticed the streams of red leaking from its hand making a mess on the floor. “Blood...animals need that...this calls for attention, right…subject 2! I need subject 2!”

  He found himself running down the hall to the cells. He told himself he didn't want the liquid to ruin the floor. He slapped his hand on the scanner, and explained quickly, “I need subject 2 to come with me now. It’s urgent.”

  “What?” asked 2-P, curious.

  “Why?” asked 1-S, suspicious.

  “Urgently” Gaster emphasized.

* * *

   Papyrus followed close behind Gaster without another word. He didn't seem angry, more like worried. Something was wrong and he needed Papyrus’ help specifically. That usually meant healing, but as far as he knew, all three of them were fine. So maybe it was something else. Papyrus was so busy puzzling about what he was going to do, he didn't notice they were heading for his least favorite room: the laser room. Only once they were inside, did he realize where they were. This was a place you didn't forget easily, what with the giant laser that shot people's eyes, and the chair with straps to keep you still. Papyrus trembled involuntarily.

   “Please no! Not today! I’ll be good! I-” Papyrus pleaded.

   “It’s not what you think. Take a look at the chair.” Gaster said.

   It was occupied by someone who appeared to be sleeping. They were...different. Papyrus couldn't quite put his finger on it. They were roughly the same shape as a skeleton, but somehow...squishier? Softer? Plushier? Then he noticed their hand, shining with the all too familiar hand plate and leaking some kind of red fluid.

   “You...you drilled their hand and now they're hurt!” Papyrus accused.

   “You can point fingers later. Right now I need you to mend it. At least make it stop leaking all over the floor. Do you think you can handle that?” Gaster demanded.

   “Yes, of course. I’ll do my best. But for them, not the floor.”

   Papyrus channeled greenish ‘niceness’ energy into his hands and put them both on the hand of the stranger. As he concentrated, he connected his consciousness with theirs: a swirling vortex of thought and feeling. The energy there was nothing like what Papyrus had ever felt before; it was much more intense, vibrant, stronger even in their injured state.

   Their inner-self was curled in a ball, crying. Papyrus made his way over to them and held out his hand. The stranger stopped crying and looked up. After a long moment of hesitation,  they took his hand. Papyrus pulled them up on their feet and into a hug, and after a bit, they hugged back.

   Back in the physical plain, the leaking had indeed stopped and the stranger opened their eyes. The eyes were quite different from what Papyrus had come to expect. Instead of dark all around and white in the middle, these were white all around and darker in the middle, with rings of blue just before the darkness. It was like they were glowing, but not quite. Papyrus couldn't help but stare curiously.

* * *

   Tempus woke to a pair of eye sockets staring into her soul. She stared back, unable to utter a single syllable until her hand throbbed and she gave an involuntary, “Ah!” and went to rub it only to find a metal plate there.

   The smaller skeleton's hands flew to their mouth in concern. “Oh no! Does it still hurt? Of course it does, mine hurt for a long time afterward. I did my best. I could-”

   The initial shock wore off and Tempus breathed a little. Yeah, it still hurt like heck, but it was manageable now. She realized this little guy was responsible for easing the pain. She smiled weakly and managed a “thanks.”

   The smaller skeleton still looked concerned when they said, “It's the least I could do.” They weren't really that small. They were about Tempus’ size, maybe an inch or two taller, come to think of it. The skeleton’s face was the spitting image of Gaster’s, but 150% more innocent and less...broken. They were clothed in a green hospital gown and on their skeletal right hand gleamed a plate just like hers except it read ‘2-P’

   Gaster had said there were 2 others, ‘artificial constructs.’ She thought he meant robots or something, but this was more like a... clone. The ‘2’ stood for subject 2, Gaster's label, but what did the ‘P’ stand for? Gaster had said something about voice signatures, which seemed to be fonts judging by her signature ‘Tempus’ and Gaster's first name ‘Wingdings.’

   Tempus remembered that it was a symbol font, which must be why he was surprised she could understand his voice. She knew it because she and her best friend used to write secret messages to each other in wingdings. It was easy once you got the hang of it. She went through all the ‘p’ fonts she knew, trying to decide how their voice matched up.

   One of her favorite fonts was called ‘Papyrus’ and it seemed like a match, especially when put in all caps. She decided to test her theory. “What is your name,” she asked.

   “Papyrus” he grinned. “What’s yours?”

   “Tempus,” she answered.

   “That's a nice name, very fitting,” he beamed.

   “It’s nice to meet you,” she said sincerely.

   Papyrus’ eyes seemed to sparkle at that simple statement. Like he never heard those words used like that before and he enjoyed hearing it. “Likewise!” he responded.

   Gaster was watching their interactions carefully. Like he was ready to intervene if the big bad human lifted a finger against his creation. He was oddly protective over his ‘artificial construct.’

   Just then, another skeleton entered the room. “you left the cell unlocked, so i figured i was allowed to follow....who’s that? they have a hand plate...did you make another...no, it doesn't make sense. they're not the same. where did they come from? what are you going to do with them?” This skeleton was dressed like Papyrus, but they were shorter and had a rounder face with bigger eye sockets that had white pupil-like dots in the middle. If Tempus could pick a font for them, it would definitely be ‘comic sans’ but she thought it better to ask them first.

   Before she could, Gaster stepped between them. “Stay away from subject 1.” He ordered, surprisingly protective.

   “Why? You didn't say anything when I was talking to Papyrus. What's the difference?”

   “The difference is that subject 1 is incredibly fragile. Even the slightest injury could prove fatal to him.” Gaster explained.

   Tempus knew a thing or two about being labeled as ‘fragile’ and she hated it. “I’m not going to hurt him! I just want to meet him!”

   “A likely story,” Gaster said but moved aside anyway. “Any funny business and you are going to regret it deeply.” Gaster threatened unnecessarily. Of course she would regret it if she hurt someone!

   Tempus threw Gaster a glare and moved towards the smallest skeleton.

* * *

   the person was different than anyone he ever saw, but that wasn't saying much when he only ever saw 2 other people his whole life. they were about as tall as his brother, give or take a couple of centimeters. they looked like a skeleton wrapped in some sort of squishy material with some brownish yellow fluff? on top that draped their head and went just past their shoulders. their features were pleasant enough, he guessed. Again, he didn't have much to compare them with. the most striking feature was the eyes: white with black dots instead of black with white dots. Each had a ring of blue around the black as if they were glowing, but it wasn't quite the same effect.

   “Hi, my name is Tempus, what's yours?” asked Tempus. the name suited them. it matched their voice. sans suspected there was a pattern here.

   “you can call me sans, unless, you know, you hate me and wanted to use my given name ‘subject 1’ or you hate me and feel like being lazy and just want to say ‘1-S.’ he directed all the salt towards Gaster. He knew Gaster would ignore it, but it was fun to say anyway.

   Tempus smiled, “Sans it is then,” they held out their hand and sans stared at it, unsure what the gesture meant.

   Tempus cocked their head to the side and frowned a little. “Don't you know how to greet a new pal?” they seemed a little sad and concerned.

   sans shook his head. he had never done much greeting at all ever.

   Tempus sighed, “I guess I should have expected this. If you ever meet someone new, however unlikely,” they paused to glare at Gaster (sans was beginning to like this person) “the nice thing to do is take their hand in yours and move it up and down, like this,” Tempus did as they said. it felt kind of nice. their hand was soft and warm. sans smiled a little. then frowned as he felt the plate and realized that Gaster had already hurt his new ‘pal.’ did that man ever take a break from hurting people?

   “Do you not like it? I’m sorry. You don't have to shake hands; it’s more of a suggestion. Not everyone does it. Heck, some people don't even have hands. It's just something I'm used to.” Tempus reminded him of his brother, a little, the way they apologized like that.

   “no, no. it’s not you, it’s Gaster. he drilled a plate on you too. it seems new. does it still hurt?” sans asked. his plate hurt for weeks after he got it.

   “Yeah, it’s still pretty sore. I just got it a few minutes ago I think. It was awful. I passed out and everything. But Papyrus healed it so that the pain at least isn't as sharp.” sans hatred for Gaster grew in conjunction with his love for his brother, along with sympathy for his new pal… ‘pal’ didn't seem right. too distant, despite them having just met.

   Papyrus came over to join the conversation as well. “I’m glad I was able to help,” he said. “Brothers like us should stick together.”

   “Brothers? What do you mean-oh! you guys haven't met any girls before, have you?” Tempus asked.

   sans never heard that word before. he looked over at Papyrus and he looked just as confused. If Gaster knew, he didn't say. he just put his head in his hand and sighed, exasperated, though sans couldn't imagine why.

    Papyrus went ahead and asked, “What's a girl?”

    Tempus answered patiently, “Being a girl means a lot of things, but the short version is I prefer to be referred to as ‘she/her’ instead of ‘they/them’ or ‘he/him’ or especially ‘it.’ It also means you would say ‘sister’ instead of ‘brother.” for some reason, her face glowed a bit red and she was smiling a little at the end. she was different, but that made her interesting. of course Gaster had to spoil it.

  “Alright, that's enough. It is not your sister. It is not related to you in any way. Come on, all of you. We are heading back to the cells.” Gaster said with a note of finality. whatever. he couldn't stop sans from calling Papyrus brother. now sans was determined to call Tempus sister. he didn't quite know what the relationship should be between them, but he felt like she deserved it. like Papyrus said, brothers and sisters needed to stick together.

[harley623gaming-blog]

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A Moonlit Pact | Part 3/5

Rating: Teen (this chapter)     |     Chapter length: 7.1k Chapter Summary:  After Aiden and Rose narrowly escape Torchwood, the Hoynes' nanny Craig, the Hoynes children, Aiden's beta Charlie, and their friend Nigel spend the night reflecting on how they got here and what the future might hold. A/N: Craig, Charlie and Nigel are original characters. Although they have minor roles in AMP they'll become major characters starting at the second story arc (post chapter 5). Lady Lyanna Hoynes was very loosely inspired by Lyanna Mormont from GoT. Chapter warnings: brief mentions of: injuries, blood, violence. Discussions of Joseph Hoynes' death. Nothing graphic. 

Also on: AO3     |     Part One | Part Two

At twenty-seven Craig McFee was employed in the noblest of careers. He was a nanny. And yes he was proud of it. Why bloody not? He’d have anyone know that looking after the Hoynes was far from a boring job on any given day of the week. Craig felt that sentiment more this autumn than he had in years. The sun had set on what wound up being a particularly tempestuous day. The one Hoynes who needed the most looking after was presently in his master suite cuddled up to the eye of yesterday’s storm. The Vitex heiress was on the Hoynes estate. Craig gulped the last of his tea. Another Hoynes was with Craig in the library staring down a ladder into submission, having been unable to sleep. In a quiet hour nestled between nightfall and sunrise the littlest Hoynes sleepily shuffled into the library with her eyes half closed and her princess pyjamas half twisted around her waist, a pout fixed to her pillow-wrinkled face.

“Can’t sleep,” she whined, rubbing her eyes.  

Craig hadn’t told the wee bairn he’d be in the library. Ruby would likely never turn but her wolf instincts were sharper than a tack and she could always find her pack without much effort. Sleeping beneath the blanket of calm that befell the estate proved to be nearly impossible for everyone but the heiress and the alpha. So that plan was ditched. Craig only knew a couple wolf packs well enough, but they had a propensity for gathering during tense situations. Noah had been just as restless as Ruby appeared to be, and the library was a calming place for him. All the noise of the real world could never intrude on his book ones. So there he stood at the ladder, waiting for someone to rescue him from it and grab a book on a high shelf for him.

“Come here pup,” Craig offered to Ruby, patting the open seat on the couch next to him.

“You sure we shouldn’t grab that book for him?”

Craig shook his head. “He knows how to -”

“Nigel!” Ruby squealed, ignoring Craig in favor of his boyfriend next to him.

Nigel spread his arms and beamed as Ruby barreled into them, landing in a heap on the couch. They both laughed and hugged before Nigel sat her on his lap, fingers setting to work on the pup’s tangled tresses. Everyone had been busy so she hadn’t seen him in a while.

“When did you come?” Ruby asked excitedly.

Never mind that it was gone past three in the morning and she likely hadn’t slept more than an hour or two. Her father found Nigel’s font of energy particularly exhausting but Ruby had been smitten with him since Craig started dating him a year ago. Nigel was as stocky and tall as a tree, with striking blue eyes, a deep smokey voice, and chestnut hair. As a wolf he was very much the same. Solid. Nigel was his rock, and for that he was eternally grateful for having met him through Aiden. Nigel owned a construction and interior decorating company and had done work on the Hoynes estate. Craig was quick to give him a ring once the night had calmed down. He hadn’t needed to ask Nigel to make the hour drive. Nigel just knew he was needed. And finding out who they’d gone to the trouble for hadn’t hurt. He was a fan of the heiress. That made one of them at least.

Nigel answered to Ruby’s beam with a poke of her button nose. “Got here while you were sleeping.”

“Are you going to leave without saying hi again like last time?” Ruby whined.

“Well I’m here aren’t I? Saying hi?”

“Does daddy know you’re here?”

“Not just yet but I think after the busy day you lot had I imagine he wouldn’t mind some extra paws about,” Nigel appealed with a wink. “Also I reaaaaally would love to meet that lady wolf your daddy brought home. Bet you ten quid that’s why your cousin’s here.”

Ruby didn’t need to be told which cousin. She slid out of Nigel’s lap and peered over the back of the couch. “Charlie!”

A slim tawny wolf perked up from the floor next to Noah and put on an excited show for his little cousin, wagging his whole behind and peeling his ears before being thrown to the floor in the wee lass’s bear hug. Charlie’s trademark vacant grin bloomed on his face, his tail drumming the creaky wooden floor. As a twenty-two-year-old werewolf he didn’t look a day older than fifteen. He was thin as a rail with stormy blue-green eyes and toasted blonde hair like Aiden’s. Charlie’s face was mouselike with wide ears. He was rarely seen without his headphones draped on his neck, an oversized hoodie, and denim jeans that barely fit around his skinny waist.

Fresh out of university, Charlie wasn’t yet keen on doing anything with his life that got in the way of his partying, drinking, and chasing tail. He’d skulked home that night smelling of all the above and was completely unaware of Aiden’s run in with Torchwood. Charlie closely resembled his cousin Aiden, and was loyal to a fault. Craig suspected this was why Aiden named Charlie the pack beta despite being so impulsive and frankly dense at times; because the way Craig saw it, Charlie’s older relatives were much more suited to the role. He could barely hold his own in emergencies. But Aiden saw the best in people so perhaps Charlie had better qualities Craig wasn’t aware of. As Aiden, Craig, and the pups had been living in London, Charlie had been looking after the Hoynes estate main building. Essentially he’d been living in it.

Craig didn’t spend much time at the Hoynes estate. But he knew well enough about it all the same, mostly from Nigel (who never appreciated being called an architecture nerd). He suspected if the public knew of the place it’d be a tourist destination. The estate land itself dated back to the pack’s origins, and its half a dozen houses were its newest pieces at four hundred years old. The main building, often referred to as the manor, was built around the 13th century. Constant upkeep through the generations kept it standing. The McFee estate in Glasgow, Craig’s home, was about the same age. At some point in medieval times pack wolves collectively worked out that castles made good fortresses against hunters and mutts. Not all werewolves were well off. But living on average 150 years, sharing wealth, and being overall ruthless certainly didn’t hurt a pack’s finances. From what Craig knew, the Hoynes managed and invested their money quite well.

It showed in their manor. The halls and some of the smaller rooms still had the original stone floors, speckled with replacement stones and marks of renovation work through the years. Over half the rooms were still encased in stone walls, so the building was pleasantly cool in the summer but dreadfully cold in the winter. Nigel mentioned advising Aiden to let his crew install central heating but Aiden would hear none of it. All the building’s tudor windows didn’t help its insulation one bit. There were little halos of stone on the exterior walls of each room where the ancient castle’s original windows were replaced with the tudor ones. Most of those miraculously held. The manor was peppered with a few dozen rooms, and most of the bedrooms were on the second floor. The master suite was on the first floor down the hall and around the corner from the kitchen.

Charlie came home to a surprise early in the morning after a night of clubbing, sobered up a little, and naturally took to looking after Noah without being asked. Craig was grateful for the few moments of respite before Ruby had strolled in. After greeting Ruby, Charlie took pity on Noah and leapt at the ceiling high bookcase, kicking it with his hind legs. It sent a mountain of books to the floor, among them the one Noah had been after. Without a word, Noah plucked the book from the pile and sat down in an armchair nearby that dwarfed the lad.

“I expect ye both to clean up that mess, ye menace,” Craig groused at Charlie, who replied with a high-pitched bark and a smug wag of his sleek tail. Scrawny English idiot. Nigel caught Craig’s hand and smoothed it over. His chest sank and his breaths evened out.

Ruby hopped over to the chair and rested on Charlie. He was on the smaller side for a wolf, just big enough to wrap himself about the five-year-old pup. She stared straight up at the spine of the book Noah opened up and gasped excitedly. “Is that Lyanna’s book?” Of all the books chronicling the Hoynes clan history, that one was her favorite. She had anyone who was willing read it to her over and over. She never grew tired of it even though she scarcely understood the language it was written in.

“If that’s the one I’m thinking of, your alpha will tan your hide for knocking it about Charlie. Must be ancient,” Nigel chided Charlie gently. The tawny wolf was circling a faded rug in front of the armchair Noah sat down in before lying down with a canine groan of contentment.

“It is. And he will.”

Charlie chuffed at both of them and stuck his tongue out like a pup. Stupid git.

“Reckon I know why ye grabbed that one Noah,” Craig said softly.

Noah’s eyes remained planted to the dusty pages in his lap, his little face wrinkling in contemplation. Not at anything Craig was saying by the looks of it, but rather what was on the pages. The room fell peacefully silent, the only noise coming from the crackling fire and the frantic swishing of pages turning in Lyanna’s book. When Noah closed it, he handed it to his whining sister clamoring for it claiming it was her turn. Not that she could read it. Neither could Noah really. It was written in old, old, old English. Craig reckoned the turning of pages and studying the book was to jog his memory of its contents.

Noah stood up and side stepped around Charlie and Ruby to sit in a chair closer to the couch Nigel and Craig occupied. “She’s staying. She’s got to.”

“Who, honey?” Nigel asked.

“Rose.”

Nigel clutched Craig’s hand tighter. “Oh Noah,” Craig sighed. Charlie’s head poked up and his eyes softened at Craig’s. He canted his head at Craig, silently asking if he needed Charlie to change and help. Craig shook his head and waved a hand, nodding at wee Ruby curled up on the wolf’s stomach. Craig braced himself. “Why has she got to stay?”

“She’s a female wolf like Lyanna. Lyanna made the pack strong. Rose can stay and be alpha and make us strong.”

“So daddy won’t worry as much,” Ruby piped up.

Craig’s heart ached, and was thankful for their father not hearing all this.

He’d painted a dim picture of the heiress in his mind. Aiden had spent the past few moons obsessed with her, shifting from pure hatred to utter disdain to fascination. It was the pact talking, Craig figured. It didn’t mean the heiress was worthy. Aiden obviously hadn’t any other choice but to bring her home, but it didn’t mean she could be trusted. Though Craig for the life of him couldn’t work out why, Noah had taken to her like a duck to water. The pup’s obvious approval of her was her only saving grace, as far as he was concerned.

“Who’s this Lyanna then?” Nigel diverted. Craig forgot he was good with the pups, particularly for somebody who claimed he didn’t like ‘small people.’ Watching him interacting with Ruby and Noah had Craig’s face simmering and he squirmed in his seat. “What’s in that thick book there? Why’s she so important?”

“Lady Lyanna Hoynes started the Hoynes bloodline. Over a thousand years ago,” Craig recited with a gentle smile. By virtue of the pups Craig knew it all by heart.

Fewer things in the world unrelated to anxiety produced much in the way of emotion from Noah Hoynes. Mentioning Lyanna always did the trick. His reactions were subtle; tugs at his thin lips, a slight shift in posture to puff up his chest a little. But all the same, just as Noah held a great deal of pride for his ancestor, Craig was proud of the pup for feeling safe enough to share these emotions with them, subtle though they might be. This time was no exception, which was impressive considering his mind was still fixed to the lass downstairs. Craig couldn’t allow Noah to become attached. The image of a little boy barely out of nappies clutching his blankie camped out by the Hoynes’ front door waiting for his mummy to come home night after night for months on end after being abandoned was still vivid in Craig’s memory.

Ruby rolled over on Charlie’s stomach and beamed puppy eyes at Craig. “Read it read it read it! Pleeeeeease Craig?”

In that moment Noah’s attention had shifted from Rose to this book, making the choice simple. “Oh fine. Lemme grab another pot of tea and Charlie ye can feed the fire there. Stop chuffin’ at me like that ye’re perfectly capable in yer current state.”

Nigel patted Craig’s thigh and pecked his forehead. “You got the last pot and it was a busy day. I’ll fetch this one, sugarpaws. Oughta know my way about the manor by now.” Craig sank down and smiled, face simmering. “Love making you blush.���

Ruby giggled as Nigel sauntered out of the room. Charlie made a show of grunting and dragging himself to the fireplace to grab the poker with his teeth. When the fire barely cracked and popped he grumbled and fetched more logs for it, gingerly tossing them in. Craig and the pups arranged a nest of blankets and cushions in front of the fire. Noah of course built a little corner of it for himself so he wouldn’t have to touch anyone, and immediately curled up in it clutching Lyanna’s book to his chest. Ruby snuggled back up with her cousin while Craig assisted Nigel in passing out the contents of the tray he’d brought up. Tea for himself and Nigel, a bowl of crisp cold water for Charlie, and cocoa for the pups.

“Story, you promised!” Ruby yipped once everyone was settled.

“Aye, aye. Mind yer cocoa. Yer cousin Charlie willnae be so thankful if ye spill it on his pelt, Ruby.”

Craig took a tiny sip of his tea and promptly scowled at Nigel for spiking it a little, despite knowing he’d sorely needed it. Whenever he summarized Lyanna’s story he always told it in his own way, as if reading from a children’s book. As the pups got older he added in more details from the book, parts of the story that might’ve frightened them at a younger age. Ruby was barely five but Aiden was the sort of parent that didn’t hide anything from his children if he could frame it carefully. He’d instilled this philosophy in Craig. Five years into this job he was still learning but embraced every opportunity to practice.

“A long time ago -

“The dates!” Noah barked, spilling a chocolate mustache onto his face.

“It’s good that ye know those details, pup. But let’s try without ‘em this time, aye?” Noah sighed and nodded. “A long time ago a young farm girl met a wanderin’ rogue and convinced her parents he was a weary traveler so they put him for a little while in exchange for work in their fields. She fell in love with the rogue. Before she could find out if he returned her affections the rogue absconded with all the coin they owned. Her parents reckoned they could recover from this, as devastated as they were. But when their daughter fell pregnant they dinnae feel as forgiving.”

“Craig get to the good parts,” Ruby demanded. “I hate this part.”

Craig reached over and combed his fingers through Ruby’s coffee brown hair, taking solace in knowing the pup’s father would slaughter anyone who’d harm her in the way Lyanna’s mother had been. Craig didn’t much like hurting anyone but he’d do the same in an instant for the pups as though they were his own. Ruby and Noah had nestled deep into Craig’s heart in a way his own pack scarcely ever had.

“I know but Nigel hasnae heard the tale. I’ll get to it in a moment. Patience.”

Craig took a couple more swigs of tea, sipping the gentle crackling and whispers of the fire with it. He took a moment to appreciate that wolves of three different packs had gathered up to relay the tale of one’s origins. Not an uncommon occurrence in the old days. But in modern times it was rare and often fleeting. Nigel was the only remaining member of his pack. Who would tell the story of his ancestors the Cartwrights when he was gone?

“The young lass was forced out on her own but she was tough, makin’ her way the best she could. A bit later a wee bairn was born. Squallin’ and already set to take over the English countryside.” A wide grin bloomed on Ruby’s face into her mug and a warmth settled in Craig’s chest. “Even as a baby she was fierce. And she needed to be, only havin’ herself to rely on. Especially one year. Lyanna lost her mum on a cold winter night trying to bring her baby sibling into the world. She was on her own. According to Aiden, the way the story’s always been told, grief and heartache brought out the inner wolf in Lyanna.”

Nigel’s lips quivered and his eyes fell to Ruby safely cocooned by her older cousin. A portrait of her ancestor sat above the fireplace. The resemblance they shared was uncanny. Both Lyanna and Ruby had alabaster skin, big brown eyes, and soft chocolate hair. Their differences were just as striking as well as heartbreaking. Lyanna’s expression was cold and hardened compared to Ruby’s pure bright smiles. A child should never have to see so much of the world’s darkness. Nigel set down his cup of tea and clutched Craig’s hand tightly. “Facing that all by herself…”

Craig squeezed back and briefly leaned on Nigel. “Aye. Wasnae easy bein’ a newly turned wolf at any age even back then, especially since there were so many more wolves runnin’ about. It was even tougher for a lass. That book ye got there Noah weaves many a tale about how she managed and some of ‘em seem like a stretch to me - ”

“They’re all true!” Noah exclaimed, cocoa sloshing about in his mug from his shaky hands.

“All right fine. Anyway. At some point our tough young wolf learned the ancient pack law about alphas. Ye take down an alpha, ye become the new one. Simple as that. We still live by those rules. Young Lyanna wasnae just tough but clever to boot. She wanted a roof over her head and a safe place from humans to be herself. To be a wolf. She quickly learned packs had that. All by her lonesome how was Lyanna to get it? There was no other way than to take it.”

“You’re not serious.”

Charlie growled at Nigel and nudged Craig’s leg.

“It’s true. Well. I can scarcely imagine how the Hoynes came about if she’d failed. Miraculous as that may sound, it still took her years to accomplish. Most packs back then were started by groups of mutts banding together - yes I know she wasnae a mutt but the fact is she started out as one. And there’s nothin’ wrong with that. She wasnae perfect just like all of us. Lyanna trusted the wrong wolves, and gave up on humans early on. She got into battles and lost plenty of times. Yer pack lives on because she learned from those mistakes. It made her stronger. She had no other choice but to be strong. Lyanna won the battles that mattered the most and garnered a reputation for her tenacity.

“Ye know ye cannae just waltz up to an alpha and challenge them. Ye’ve got to be a worthy opponent, even today. A pack leader’s reputation is also on the line when they defend their pack and their honor. The book says Lyanna was around Aiden’s - age when she challenged a pack alpha not far from here. She didnae want the pack as much as she did the title of alpha, and their fertile forests which were a safe distance from the nearest human settlement. She very nearly lost but she won, and her packmates helped her chase off the losing alpha’s clan from their acquired territory. She knew she could never gain their respect so they were useless to her anyway.

“After Lyanna became alpha she also became a target herself. She was approached by suitors left and right but her mother raised her to be wary of males and their intentions. The book was supposedly written by one of Lyanna’s daughters, and it tells of her struggles with knowing she needed to grow her pack and her aversion to sharing her title with a male. She’d worked too hard for too long to give it up. The stories are vague about how she accomplished it but Lyanna managed to successfully continue her bloodline. In the end she had six children and turned at least a couple dozen wolves, living to the ripe old age of - ”

“They’re asleep,” Nigel whispered.

Craig sighed a chuckle. “Hot cocoa works every time. Should’ve given them some with bed. Hindsight is 20/20.”

“Maybe they won’t get up as early in the morning?”

Craig hoped Nigel was right. Previous occasions like this suggested otherwise, however. From his understanding they only narrowly escaped danger, and it could still be at their heels at that very moment. Although the pups were finally asleep when they awoke they’d still be wondering the same thing Craig was, what’s the next move? Fortunately they didn’t have to face the reality that Craig did when Aiden and the heiress made it to the flat; that their father had been shot at. Having been hunted just once before, Craig would never forget the familiar scent of charcoal and metal clinging to Aiden and the heiress. So in those few quiet moments nestled between twilight and sunrise, once again Craig was unable to escape wondering what the future held for them.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Craig prided himself on being Aiden’s close confidant. When Aiden told him of his plans for taking down Rose Tyler that early autumn evening he was filled with optimism. Aiden Hoynes was bloody clever, there was no way he could ever fail. Craig felt the contrary when the man he considered his alpha limped back into the London flat with a bloody leg half torn open. It was rare when Aiden dared expose his delicate side but he didn’t have barely any energy to walk, let alone to compose himself. He yelped and collapsed in the entryway. Craig wrapped him up in a couple towels and carried him to the bathroom.

Any proper wolf worth his salt knew really basic first aid, as A&E was never an option for them. Having grown up in a big pack of foolhardy wolves, Craig was no exception. Scuffles between wolves were commonplace. But Aiden’s wound made even Craig’s stomach turn, and its teeth marks were unmistakably canine. His first thought while tending to the unconscious wolf’s wound was Aiden had run into mutts in the park. But Aiden could easily take a mutt without serious injury most of the time. And there wasn’t a trace of another wolf’s scent on him as there should’ve been if he’d gotten in a fight. Craig built up a wall thought by thought wondering about this, just to keep his mind busy enough to stave off changing, because previous dealings with injuries did little to slow down the panic when the acrid scent of Aiden’s blood overtook his senses.

The first hint that something had gone dreadfully wrong came when Aiden didn’t change back to his human form after Craig bandaged him up. Changing forms was already painful enough; shifting limbs, joints, muscles, and skin was made that much more difficult with an injury. Craig was gored in the belly by a buck’s antlers during a hunt shortly after he first turned, and changing afterward was more excruciating than any other change he’d endured previously. Aiden’s body didn’t automatically take over, instead ghosting between the lines of consciousness.

Craig wrapped him up in a blanket and carried him to his bed and started to leave him be to rest when he heard the crying. Little puffs of his jowls, chest heaving, and his coffee eyes glassy and welling up. They spilled over when Craig sat next to him, his hand hovering over the bundle of fur, bandages and blanket. His hand hesitated, jumping back to his chest. It was taboo to pet a wolf one wasn’t really close to. Noah and Ruby did all the time, but they were his pups. A pitiful whimper quickly changed his tune, however. He peeled back enough of the blanket to pat Aiden on his shoulder. When Aiden reflexively leaned in, Craig gripped it, cupping his hand into a mouth shape to ‘groom’ him. On previous occasions this had been Charlie’s job. That night, the task of bringing Aiden back from this fell to Craig.

“I can get ye some scotch and ye can tell me about it, but ye’ve got to change first,” Craig reasoned as he continued massaging Aiden’s shoulders and down his spine. Aiden shuddered and recoiled. “Or ye can bottle it up if ye like, risk the pups seeing their alpha broken up by something.”

Aiden chuffed and began kicking at Craig’s hip with his good leg. Hint taken, Craig filed out of the room and went downstairs to leave Aiden to change alone. He went straight to the liquor cabinet to set the bottle of the good scotch and a pair of glasses on a tray to take upstairs. Just for good measure he also warmed up leftovers from the dinner he’d made the pups that night. Aiden would fuss and complain before eating it, every bit the skinny hypocrite that was always lecturing everyone else about a wolf’s metabolism. Werewolves healed a bit quicker than humans - but only if they took care of themselves. If Aiden was making any sounds while changing they were muffled. Craig had no doubt it was incredibly painful but they both wanted to avoid waking Noah and Ruby. They’d see their father’s injured leg and panic. Aiden hadn’t bothered to get dressed, opting to wrap himself back up in the woven blanket instead. Craig poured him some scotch and watched Aiden gulp it all in one go. He slowly nursed his second glass, resting it on his blanketed knees as he stared off at the wall.

Craig pulled Aiden’s armchair over to sit in, feet resting on the bed as he cupped his glass in both hands. “Something happened,” Craig prompted. He took a sip of his scotch, it coated his throat in fire and he welcomed it.

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“The wound’ll heal right quick. Ye’ll see. No worries.”

Aiden shook his head and peeled back the blanket. His face paled in a grimace and he scrambled to wrap it back up. “I doubt that in this case. Not this wound.” Craig just narrowed his eyes at Aiden and took another sip of scotch. “Craig, I did something unforgivably bad.”

“Whatever it is, Alph- sir, we can recover, aye?”

We. Craig always spoke as though he was part of the Hoynes pack, and Aiden never once corrected him or admonished him for it as any other alpha would’ve. Aiden started crying again, hiccuping and spilling a bit of his drink on his knees.

“Not this time. There’s no recovering from this. It’s the one thing a wolf can do that’s… permanent.”

“So ye killed her? The heiress? Death is pretty permanent, last I checked. Mission accomplished then? It’s a good thing, sir.”

Aiden’s knuckles went white as he squeezed the life out of his scotch glass. He downed the rest of it and slammed the glass on his bedside table. “I couldn’t go through with it.” His head sank and he spoke into his legs. “I held her life right there, it was delicious. Fuck, I could hear her heart scrambling even, Craig. It was glorious. Just what I’d been waiting for.” Craig’s stomach flipped before Aiden even continued. “I couldn’t do it. You’d only been working for me for a little while when my father… passed. But he was an alpha who didn’t believe in killing if it could be avoided. I just. I could see his face like he was there watching over me… and I panicked. I couldn’t… couldn’t disappoint him like that.”

Craig canted his head. “So he’d be proud of ye then.”

Aiden bursted into a sob at those words. “You’re wrong! He’d be… he’d be so ashamed!”

“Whatever happened, ye’re alive. Pups are alive. Everybody’s safe. That’s what’s important.”

“Yeah but the cost…”

Craig tucked in his legs and sucked in a deep breath.

“I bit her. Like, bit her. To keep her from dying.”

A cold shiver shot down Craig’s spine. “Where?”

The silence could’ve been sliced with a knife it was so thick. Aiden just looked Craig square in the eyes. Craig put it together quickly, particularly considering his faculties were already drained by the scotch and adrenaline. “So that wound on your leg is… hers?” Aiden sobbed and wrung his face in his hands. “What does this mean?”

“I’ve chained myself to a bloody werewolf hunter, is what it fucking means!”

Craig cleared his throat. Aiden nodded. They didn’t want to wake Ruby and Noah. Aiden opened his mouth to speak but before he did he went ashen and darted out of the room clutching a sheet to his waist. He slunk back to his bed several minutes later with a grimace on his clammy face. Craig tucked him in, bile rising in his own throat at the scent of sick mixed with blood still hovering in the air.

“Ye’re not goin’ in today are ye?” Craig prompted once Aiden had collected himself.

Aiden rose up a bit in bed. “I have to. There’s too - ”

“Forgive me, but… Babbish, he’ll smell her on ye. He’ll work it out. Not to mention yer leg, sir.” Looking back, Craig realized he’d rattled it off so fast, chest puffing up like a sail in the wind. “The royals will be… they’ll be so angry.”

It was no coincidence that Aiden’s colleague Richard Babbish was also the prince of werewolves in England. (The English claimed of Scotland and Northern Ireland as well but Scottish and Irish wolves didn’t follow English wolves. Never had, never would.) Craig and his pack felt the Babbishes and their chokehold on the kingdom were responsible for its rapidly dwindling population. Their stupid bloody laws got stricter and stricter the longer they reigned, slaughtering decent wolves over minor infractions. They were corrupt, using their sway to benefit the higher ranking and wealthier packs while letting everyone else die off. Aiden confided in Craig once that the only reason he befriended Babbish years ago was to get close enough to him to take him down. They both knew Babbish wasn’t a fool. He’d take any excuse to pay Aiden the same courtesy, which made Aiden’s predicament that much trickier.

“Taking a couple days off will only make him suspicious. I’m in deep shit either way. If it was you who’d bitten her they wouldn’t care but I’m a threat. Babbish will find out one way or another.” Aiden slid off the bed and hobbled a couple steps, growled with his fists clenched, and plopped back down. He drummed the mattress instead.

“Ye’re not invincible. Sir. Please. Ye’re hurt, humor me?”

Even though the feeling wasn’t reciprocated, Craig saw Aiden as a close friend. If he was talking to one of his idiot brothers or cousins he wouldn’t have given two shits about their injuries. If it weren’t for Craig there’d be nobody to stop Aiden from running himself into the ground in his quests to change the world.

Aiden sighed. “Fine. One day. But only if you take the day off. I won’t have you glaring at me for pushing myself.”

“Lemme take the pups to school at least.”

“Fine fine whatever.”

Craig was halfway out the door to help the wee ones with their breakfast when Aiden sobbed, fresh tears slowly filling his empty scotch glass. “Sir?”

“Hunters took him away from me.”

It took Craig a moment. “Joseph.”

Aiden choked and sobbed as he toppled over onto the bed. “Her life and mine are hopelessly stuck together forever. A hunter! It was people like her who stole him from me. From my pack.”

Craig grimaced and rolled his tense shoulders before sitting back down in the chair in front of the bed, tucking his feet in and resting his head on his shoulders. He was rubbish at this, comforting people. Especially Aiden. “I reckon ye can avoid her as much as ye like, maybe? As long as ye stay close by?”

“I’ve already been careless enough as it is. That’d be taking a huge risk.” Aiden buried his face in his pillow for a minute, gulping down a breath when he resurfaced. “He’d be so disappointed in me! His face… I could never… he’d hate me.”

“Would ye hate Noah if he’d done this?” Aiden shut his eyes and clutched his covers tight between his thin fingers. No force on Earth seemed more powerful than Aiden’s love for his children. “What would yer dad do?”

“Make the best of this.”

Aiden then hopped off the bed and began pacing his room. And for anyone else it might not seem that significant. But the sight brought much needed relief and warmth sinking into Craig’s chest. Aiden was doing what he did best: plotting.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Every time something happened in the Hoynes pack Craig only caught the aftermath of it. It’d become his lot in life to miss all the action. He only missed it because he sorely wished he could’ve helped. He never felt this more than on the day Lord Joseph Hoynes passed. It’d been his night off, as Aiden was home early that day and Charlie was off from uni for the week. All Craig had known after speeding back to their flat was something catastrophic happened. He’d been filled in on the details weeks later over a bottle of wine in the wee hours of the morning. Seemed to be a habit for this pack.

Aiden’s father was alpha at the time and had instituted lockdown, as werewolf hunters had targeted England’s high ranking packs. They were all to check in with Joseph every ten hours. Joseph himself missed check in and Aiden panicked, assuming the worst. When he finally made it home nearly a day later Aiden tore into him before giving him a chance to explain. This was Aiden’s biggest regret, he’d confessed to Craig in chokes and sobs. Those had more or less been Aiden’s last words to his father. The hunters had followed Joseph home - Aiden would never find out from where. He told Craig there hadn’t been any time to change, and believed him when he said it had all happened too fast. Two hunters broke through their garden door and shot Joseph on the spot. One immediately headed upstairs while Aiden wrestled with the other. Quick changing was a rare skill among werewolves, and for most it was twice as painful as a normal one. But in a pinch it could be done. Luckily Charlie was one, and luckily he’d been upstairs sleeping at the time. Aiden told Craig that Charlie heard the shot, changed, and instinctively ran into the hall to keep the hunter from getting to the pups’ rooms. The hunter who shot Joseph wound up running away. Every now and again Aiden mentioned this with a fire in his eyes and a growl in his throat. He’d helped Charlie take down the hunter upstairs, which was fortunate because he admitted to Craig he felt Charlie wouldn’t have made it otherwise.

When Craig arrived at the flat Aiden was on the floor in the kitchen with his eyes blown wide staring at Joseph. Were it not for the spilt blood he would’ve looked like he’d fallen asleep on the table. Death invaded Craig’s nose and knocked him back against the wall at first. Aiden had texted him for help but he hadn’t the slightest idea what to do. He picked up Aiden’s mobile and texted the only other relative Craig was familiar with, Aiden’s uncle, who sent Aiden’s cousins to help. In the meantime Craig made piss poor attempts at first aid on Charlie. It was enough to keep him alive until a trusted paramedic friend of the family’s arrived in the morning. Aiden’s cousins dealt with the bodies and the legal matters while Craig tended to Aiden, Charlie, Noah, and Ruby.

Aiden spent much of the night clutching Noah and Ruby for dear life, one under each arm as he leaned up against the bed frame in his room. In rare form Noah didn’t complain about the close contact. He just lay there limp in his father’s arms staring off at the wall while Ruby cried. This had been the first time Craig met Charlie and he was keeping him company on a pile of blankets next to Aiden. Charlie wanted to be close to Aiden, panicking and howling if he was out of sight. The night had been understandably chaotic but just before sunrise the storm clouds cleared enough for the Hoynes to look one another in the eyes. Craig couldn’t be certain when they accepted that their alpha was gone but something in their expressions told him they realized their lives were about to change.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Craig resurfaced from his contemplations with his head in Nigel’s lap, strong fingers combing through his hair. “Well there you are. Thought you’d fallen asleep like that hungover ferret over there.” Nigel nodded at Charlie before turning his attention to Craig. “Talk to me.”

Craig sighed and rolled over, taking in Nigel’s earthy cologne mixed with fabric softener and fresh paint from work. The cologne was new, entirely unlike his usual sweet or spicy fragrances. A shiver shot down his spine and settled low in his stomach. He wasn’t one to make assumptions but he indulged himself in the idea that Nigel had put the cologne on for him. It grounded him. Craig reveled in his heart’s deep and steady drumming against his chest, taking deep breaths. The scotch had worked its magic but he was still wide awake and too anxious to join the others in sleeping.

“Just thinkin’ about other nights like this. Wonderin’ what’s next. Wonderin’ if she’s stayin’. Wonderin’ what he plans on doin’ about all this. Wonderin’ when Torchwood will make their next move.”

“Shh,” Nigel soothed. “You might be laying still but you’re working at a mile a minute honey. You and grumpybear downstairs got more in common than you think. You both act like you’ve got to carry the world on your shoulders but you’re both terrified of tackling it alone. I got no clue about the rest of the day but right now everything’s fine baby. They’re sleeping peacefully. Your alpha (whether you wanna admit he is or not, official or not, whatever I don’t give a fuck that’s what he is to you admit it), has Rose Fucking Tyler in his bed. And if I was a straight man in his shoes I wouldn’t be going any fucking where in the foreseeable future. You and me are going out for a run in those woods and if you need a good excuse let’s say we’re checking them for hunters. I’m gonna hunt you some breakfast and you’re gonna run your cute little butt off because you need it, whether you wanna admit it or not.”

“But - ”

Nigel pressed his finger to Craig’s lips. “Mm mm. Not hearing your whinging. Up you get, let’s go. Time to run off your anxiety, sugarpaws.” Craig groaned and sat up. He was just getting comfortable, and royally loathed when Nigel was right. Nigel was normally a clown and Craig groused about it but he also didn’t know how to deal with Nigel getting serious and mother henning.

“Don’t ye have to be on the build site later?”

Nigel waved his mobile and grinned wickedly, mock coughing. “Sick.” He licked his teeth and kissed Craig. “Besides. You’ve been nagging me for being so busy and here I am. It’s properly shameful we’ve been dating a year we haven’t run together yet. I’ve barely seen your wolf form.” Nigel pouted.

“All right all right fine.”

Nigel jumped up and hummed triumphantly. “There we go, see was that so hard?” He cupped Craig’s chin. “If you’re really good there’ll be an extra treat in it for ya,” he added with a wink. Craig pursed his lips and hid his face in the crook of his shoulder. Nigel crouched down next to Charlie and poked his shoulder. Charlie snapped and nipped Nigel’s hand. “Hey hooch hound. We’re gonna go for a run, you got this?” Charlie groaned and sleepily waved his paw at them after bobbing his head up to check on Noah in the chair, Ruby still slumbering soundly against his belly.

Nigel ushered Craig downstairs and out the front door headed towards the estate woods, stopping briefly to smile gently at a giant portrait of Joseph Hoynes. “Joseph  was one of my first clients when I first got my business going. Didn’t really know him more than by reputation. But if Rose is anything like what she is in magazines and telly I bet Joseph would adore her.”

“How can ye say that when ye barely know ‘em?” Craig argued.

Nigel shrugged as they shut the front door. “Dunno. I just have a hunch is all.”

[iamnotaprepper]

GO KITS!

I’ve been looking forward to writing this entry, because it’s way more fun than water storage.  In a nutshell, the Go Kit (Kit, Bug-Out Bag, 72-Hour Kit, Go Bag, etc) is intended to keep you alive for 72 hours post-disaster, and it should be portable in case evacuation is required.  You may be evacuating to a local shelter, or you may be leaving town by car or foot.  Either way it’ll be handy to have supplies.  And if evacuation isn’t required and you can stay at home or nearby, the Go Kit can serve to get you through the first few days, even if you’ve done nothing else to prepare for a disaster.  As discussed in the last post, it’s not unreasonable to think that after three days there will be some assistance available, so let’s focus on surviving that long.

A few notes:

1)      Two good lists for very good, very basic kits are at the Red Cross and Ready.gov.  What I’ve outlined in this post is for a more involved kit.   Here’s a link for my own checklist as a Word document.  Please download a copy and edit away for your own needs.

2)      Everything here applies to kids and adults (more on that below).  Infants and toddlers have special needs, and probably necessitate a separate kit.  This is way, way out of my wheelhouse, but the California Department of Health has a website with a ton of links for more information.

3)      The Go Kit is for basic (very basic) survival, not comfort.  We’ll get more into the comfort zone when we talk about hunkering down (rather than evacuation) in later posts.  Think about your Go Kit as the worst case scenario.

4)      Most of the stuff that goes in your Go Kit you already have around the house.  HOWEVER, don’t load up your bag with stuff you use all the time.  DO NOT USE THE STUFF IN YOUR GO KIT IF IT’S NOT AN EMERGENCY.  I promise, you’ll forget to put the flashlight back and then you’ll be sorry.  Basically, you’re going to need duplicate materials for your kit.

5)      Wikipedia has a pretty good entry on survival kits, including a fascinating list of names for these kits.  I prefer not to call it an “Emergency Kit” or “Emergency Bag” because that’s confusing with all the other emergency supplies you’re going to have on hand.  I use Go Kit and Kit interchangeably.

6)      I’m not going to write about guns or other weaponry.  The internet can be a strange and dark place, and many of the sites with information on this topic are filled with post-apocalyptic fantasies involving all-out civilian warfare.  These tend to have names like “Real Man Survival Guide” and talk a lot about how much spare ammunition you should keep in your kit.  Apparently, allegedly “real men” will need all this ammunition to keep their women-folk safe from… whatever.  I went there so you don’t have to.  I’ll save the post-disaster community discussion for another post, but for now let’s just say that there’s not actually any evidence, based on other natural disasters in the US and around the world, that you need a gun in your Go Kit (or at all), so I’m skipping it.

Buy or Build

As stated above, most of the stuff in a Go Kit you already have around the house.  However, I am lazy and so I just purchased a kit off the internet.  [Actually it’s worse than that, I’m so lazy I asked my mom to get me one for my birthday one year.  Thanks Mom!] I’ve since slowly added to my kit and replaced the items that aren’t right for us.

When I first got my kit, I was in a stage of my life when I was starting to worry about emergency preparedness but it was too big and scary a topic to spend much time thinking about. I had thought about building my own bag, but I’d get overwhelmed really fast and give it up.  Having a pre-made kit gave me some peace of mind while getting me 95% of the way to being prepared.  If you’re just starting with earthquake prep, I highly recommend purchasing a kit, to the point where if you actually know me I’ve probably told you at least twice to just go online and buy it already.

This is what our kit looks like:

It’s a 2-person, 3-day “Elite” kit from a company called Guardian Survival Gear.  There are a lot of pockets because pockets are appealing.  You’ll also notice there are lots of straps, which, since I’m from the Pacific Northwest, make me feel like I could attach all kinds of necessary but as-of-yet unforeseen things to the outside.

Kits seem to range from $50 to about $150.  Make sure that you’ve got stuff for every member of the family, either in individual or combined kits.

If you’ve already got a kit, I’d skim this post and think about what you’ve already got.  It might be worth switching things out or high-grading some essential items.

How Many Kits to Have

You should have enough material, in easy to transport bags (backpacks or duffels) for 3 days for every member of your family.  We’ve got 1 kit that’s sufficient for 2 people for 3 days.  The backpack is such that either one of us could carry it.  We’ve also got a smaller, less extensive kit that lives in our car.  That way, if we’re separated, both of us are likely to have access to one or the other kit.

As usual, when planning for an emergency, don’t forget about your kids  (actually, probably just best to never forget that you have kids).  It would absolutely work to count kids as adults and have the adult carry/manage a joint kit.  For instance, a family of 4 with 2 parents and 2 children could just buy a couple of 2 person/3 day kits and plan on the adults carrying them.  Make sure things like gloves and face masks are fitted for kids.

However, in this era extreme divisiveness in the American population, the one thing we can all agree on is that kids’ backpacks are freaking adorable.  Less importantly, building a kit specifically for your kids, with their help, can be a fun and age-appropriate way to discuss emergency preparedness and your family plan.  Having their own kit can give kids a sense of control in an uncertain situation.  How Does She and Life As Mom (ugh, mommy blogs, I know.  But again, we’re outside of my wheelhouse here) both have great tips on building kits for kids.

Organizing Your Go Kit

Everything in our kit came in giant zip-lock baggies, and I’ve kept that method as I’ve traded stuff out. Things will stay dry even in the rain, and it makes it easy to search for items very quickly, rather than digging through a bunch of random stuff (if you read this whole post, you’ll see there’s a lot of random stuff to pack).  Also, I imagine the baggies could come in useful for other stuff.

What Goes in a Go Kit

Water.  I’m so glad you took last month’s post to heart and filled gallons and gallons of water that are now safely stored away in case of an emergency!

But that’s not actually going to help in an evacuation situation.  If we’re evacuating by private vehicle, you can probably load up those containers.  But it’s not hard to imagine a situation where you’ll have to leave your stored water behind.  For the Go Kit, I just bought water that’s rated for 5 year storage.  Water bottles don’t stack or pack very well, but can be resealed (potentially a big plus).  Our kit has juice-box style water, with 17 oz per person per day. It’s less than ideal, but remember, it’s basic survival.

I’d also recommend some kind of water purification in case additional water is available.  Again, lots of details in the last post. Boiling is not ideal because then you need to carry fuel, and you want to keep things as simple (and light weight) as possible.  We keep our Steri-Pen in the Go Kit.

Food.  Full disclosure: Although I love to eat, I don’t actually cook, plan meals, or grocery shop, so I’ve got the least advice for this section.  Our kit came with these gems:

I call this stuff People-Suet because that’s basically what it is.  Two of these bars will give you minimum caloric intake for one day (12 bars total in the kit) and require no food or additional water.  They’re small, don’t weigh much, and don’t require much. I’ve been curious to taste test, and since they’re nearing their 5-year expiration date, we opened a pack.  I was prepared to be completely repulsed, but they’re… not bad?  Sure, I’d rather eat cake, but I can now state with authority that these are way better than starving.  They’ve got kind of an oily texture and are a bit sweet, so I’d probably pair with a dry German Riesling, or a Brut Champagne if you’re feeling a bit fancier.

Now that we’ve opened these, I need to replace with equivalent calories.  There are lots of food options out there- MREs, camping food, etc.  Think carefully about what you would need to consume those things in terms of fuel, extra water, etc.  Canned food is very heavy for less nutritional payout.  The Suet is potentially the least satisfying option in terms of flavor and volume, but it’s certainly the simplest and most space/weight effective, so I’ll probably get the same or similar product as a replacement. Others have informed me that they’d never eat the People-Suet and so have MREs.  It’s your kit, so choose your own adventure.

Staying Warm and Dry.  Since this is a worst-case scenario, think about the winter in Portland.  It’s cold and wet, and you can’t guarantee what you’ll have on you when the earthquake strikes.  I’d recommend ponchos and space blankets, since they’re easy and you won’t be tempted to raid your kit for them.  Our kit also came with a very basic tent (essentially a fancy tarp), which is nice and could be useful.

There’s a lot of information on the internet about what clothing to pack in your Go Kit.  I disagree with this a bit, since I’m not worried about having clean pants for each day of my 3-day use of the kit.  I made a skivvy roll with wool socks and a thermal layer and that’s all I’m including for extra clothing.

First Aid.  It’s safe to say that everyone should have a first aid kit as part of their Go Kit.  Think about the things you’re most likely to need- bandages of all sizes, pain killers, etc. After opening things up to write this post, I decided I didn’t really like the kit that came with my bag- the hard case makes it bulky, and didn’t seem to have that much stuff in it.  I switched it out for a smaller, soft case with more in it and added some extras, especially bandages and sterile gauze.  Think about what you’re comfortable using and high-grade your kit.  Also, we’re discussing a potentially low-water situation, so that no-water hand sanitizer is a very appropriate thing to keep in your kit.

It’s also important to keep extras of any prescription medication.  Really, really important.  I sometimes have asthma problems, and I keep an extra inhaler in my Go Kit.  With all the dirt that’s going to be in the air, plus all the stress, there’s a high likelihood that I could need it and it’s the worst situation to be without it if I need it.  Do you take anti-depressants?  The post-disaster uncertainty and chaos is NOT the time to go off them. Even going off oral BC for a week or two can mess up your hormones in a way that could make it harder to function in a stressful situation.  

Remember, you’re going to keep your Go Kit somewhere you’re likely to be able to get at it, even if you can’t get into your medicine cabinet because the house has collapsed. This can get tricky for a number of reasons, mainly:

1)      Medication can have Goldilocks storage requirements (not too hot, not too cold) and a shorter shelf life than the other items in your kit.

2)      Many insurance companies are dedicated to making sure you’re not stockpiling your medication and will only pay for enough to keep you going.

If you can get an extra dose/week/month of your prescription, or if it’s something you only need once in a while, rotate your newest batch into your kit and take out the older stuff to use in your house.  You’ll probably still be going through it before any expiration date, but it’ll ensure that in case of an emergency, what’s in your kit is fresh enough.

For the second obstacle, you could call your insurance company and explain why you need an extra few weeks of your medication, and I’m sure they’ll help you out [HAHA!  That was a joke.  Good luck with that.]  In reality, it’s worth asking your doctor for free samples of medications for your emergency kit.  They may be able to give you something that’s off brand or close to your actual prescription that can do in a literal emergency, especially if you’re having trouble getting expensive medications.  I don’t know how true this is across the medical profession, but a couple of specialists I’ve seen have been really helpful for this.

Safety Equipment.  After an earthquake, there’s likely to be a lot of broken glass around. Leather gloves (or at least gardening gloves) will save you a lot of grief.  Make sure there’s a pair for everyone your kit is providing for.  The pair that came with my kit is way too big for me, so I high-graded to a nicer pair in my size.

Along the same lines as gloves, my kit came with respiratory masks and safety goggles, for obvious reasons. Neither of these items are expensive at any local hardware store so I’d throw them in.

Flashlight.  Batteries have shelf lives, so they’re not really designed to be stuck in your kit and forgotten for years.  Also, they’ve got limited life once you start using them, so you need to think about sticking replacements in your bag, too.

The obvious solution is to forget about batteries.  There are many flashlight options these days that don’t require batteries.  I personally like the hand-squeeze flashlights so much that when I found the one in my kit, I went online and bought a bunch of them to replace the regular flashlights in our house and car.  They can be ignored forever and then they’ll work forever once you need them, and they’re not expensive.

Radio.  Remember, cell phones aren’t going work and the power will be out.  A little hand-held radio, either hand-crank or with extra batteries (see above), will help you to get information about the state of things and where resources are being gathered.  

Lots of people keep walkie-talkies or simple 2-way radios in their Go Kits.  Again with the batteries, but I think this is a pretty good idea. They generally don’t have a huge geographic range, but it’ll be better than nothing when cell phones don’t work. Decide on a channel for your family to use before packing it all up.

Documentation.  Most lists recommend keeping photocopies of identification (DL or passports) for all family members.  This could a) help prove you are who you are if you lose your wallet in the earthquake; b) help to track down missing family members.  I keep these, and other documents, in a waterproof document package (expensive versions of this exist, but no shame in using a Ziploc baggie).

Copies of any essential medical information are important to keep.

Do you know the phone numbers for the people you’ll need to contact after an emergency?  Me neither, and once my cell phone is out of battery, I’m out of luck.  Write down those phone numbers and stick them in your kit.

Also recommended are copies of the deed to your house and insurance policies.  I think this may be a holdover from pre-internet days, and I haven’t bothered doing this for our kit.  However, it is important to know where to find those documents online. Since we’re talking about a regional disaster (not a planet-wide apocalypse) I’ve made sure this stuff is in a [relatively] secure place on the Cloud.

Cash.  Without power and internet, cash will be king and may not be readily accessible from your bank.  I don’t keep our cash (or personal documentation) in the kit, but in another location we’d be able to get to it. It’s not a long term investment strategy, but it could help to stash something aside.

Miscellaneous.  Here’s some random stuff it’ll be useful to have:

Pocket knife and/or multi tool.  This is pretty self-explanatory.

Cord or Rope.   Rope is always useful.  Make sure your knife is up to cutting it.

Matches.  Essential for any survivalist fantasy.

Tissues and/or Toilet Paper.  My kit came with about a billion little packets of tissues.  I’d recommend this and/or a roll of toilet paper.

All-purpose camping soap.  Good for hand washing, dish washing, showering, shampoo, etc.  It’s not the best at any one of those things but it’s non-toxic and does the job.

Miscellaneous 2: Here’s random stuff that came in my kit that I find confusing.

Sewing Kit. My kit has a mini-sewing kit.  I have no idea why.  I don’t even know how to sew on a button or hem pants, so I have no clue what the hell to do with this stuff after an earthquake.  The needle/thread aren’t even appropriate for surgical stitches, but I guess needles can be generally useful anyway.

Toiletry Kit. My kit came with a little toiletry kit, complete with toothbrush, wash cloth, hotel soap, and a razor.  I’m into the toothbrush and paste, since dental hygiene is very important to me. I even traded out the toothbrush for one I like better, because I am a diva.  I don’t see myself using the razor, ever.

Deck of Cards.  All the lists seem to recommend this.  I never play card games in my normal life, but maybe I’ll turn out to be a poker shark after the earthquake and I’ll use it to win essentials like fuel for my camp stove.

And that’s everything I know about building a Go Kit.  Remember, it doesn’t all have to be completed in one sitting!  Don’t Panic! Start with the most important things and work your way up to a complete kit you can be confident in.