#like ... i've watched it multiple dozens of times now and i'm still processing

[xcziel]

link to the kan/rom/eng lyric video bc of course the japanese comeback is in japanese

[slayingfiction]

How I push through writing when I don't feel like writing.

Here are some of the techniques that I use to help me write more often or more consistantly when my laziness/depression/anxiety starts to take over.

I watch TV. I don't do it with the purpose of zoning out though. I watch something popular and well-liked such as the LOR or Harry Potter to get new ideas on how I can develop my story and apply their in-depth world-building ideas to help develop mine. Without plagarizing of course!!!!

Zoning out and daydreaming. As I have mentionned before, daydreaming is a huge part of my story outlining and world-building process. I'll stand in the shower, or take a walk and think about how my charcaters would act/react/behave in situations, mundane or not. Doing this gives me a better sense of my characters, and sometimes gives me ideas for scenes I use later on.

Work on writing related projects. These work well at keeping me distracted while still being productive on my writing goals. Example, I have one story I am working now, I made a new language (alphabet and numbers included) to include as a cool and fun component for the book. So, at times when I don't wan't to write, I continue creating the dictionary (very fun, 8/10 would recommend). Also, for the same book, my characters don't work off the Georigian calendar and 24 hour clock, so I've been working at creating a new calendar (harder than it seems, 2.5/10 dont recommend). These are side projects that help my story, without having to write.

Reading. You saw this one coming, I know. Reading is great, especially when you're editing, your writing style will unconsciously change to be more similar the author you were just reading. Also, most importantly, I'll be reading and think, "this story is really good, but you know what story I like even better? Mine." then change to writing.

This one is my biggest life saver!! I learnt about a year ago that sometimes I'll get bored of writing a story, and have difficulty keeping on track. That's why I finished my first book in 2016 and just started editing the first draft last week. The solution for me was to work on multiple projects at once, because it was much harder to be bored of multiple stories. I stick to 2, but will sometimes add a third. This is easy for me, because I have a list of over a dozen series I want to write. Don't abandon one project for another, use them as a distraction/ motivation for each other, so you're always furthering at least one project. I've never heard someone say, "oh no, i accidentally worked on this other writing project for three months instead of the other writing project I was doing. Dammit." No, we're just happy we have written something. Be sure to have well outlined story lines before starting, don't just start writing randomly or you'll reach a point where you don't know where to go from there.

Author/ writer projects. Maybe this is building a following, or community to share your projects and engage with. Tumblr, Insta, Reddit, whatever it is. My hope this year is to start up my website to offer publishing services (editing, graphic design, short writing courses) and build a following as a writer. (See what I did there? Never a bad time to self-promote ;) ) Having your own projects like this will help you in the future when you're going to try to publish and sell your books!

Talk with friends and a writing community. Never underestimate the passion that will burn inside you when talking about your story, or when others are talking about theirs. Surrounding yourself with a positive writing community can be the best thing for you as a writer.

Write or read (your story) every day. I'm not going to be one of those people that say you need to write 1000 words a day, that's a lot. But maybe try for 100? That could maybe only take 5 minutes, and at the end of the year that's still over 36 thousand words of a novel. Or just read your story, and I've always found it helped me get in the creative mood.

Make a playlist of songs that remind you of your characters, your story, or just puts you in the mood to write. Then play it ONLY when you're having trouble writing. Playing it while writing will not help, you'll get annoyed with the songs.

Just really can't do it today? That's okay, take a break. You deserve it. There's always tomorrow.

Does anyone else have ways they push themselves to keep writing? Let us know in the comments!

Happy Writing!

[kasdan]

𝐸𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟'𝑠 𝐹𝑢𝑟𝑦 {𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 12}

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a/n: this chapter literally took me forever to write i'm so sorry, and i actually can't write lovey dovey stuff i think there's something wrong with me anyhoo enjoyyy

summary: frank tries to teach you about your powers and how to control them

pairing: frank castle x reader

warnings: slight fluff, angst (sorry it's all i'm good for), language, frank begs. yes you heard me. trauma

word count: 2.1k

chapter song: i like me better - lauv

I freeze at the contact, not knowing what to do in the moment, or entirely of what I'm feeling, I just know that it feels right.

Suddenly, tingles shoot throughout my body as if all my limbs have fallen asleep, and are now in the process of trying to wake up.

I feel them make their ways to my hands and connect to where I grabbed Frank's wrist. We both jump back from each other at the feeling, and my mind races to come up with an apology and explanation.

"I'm sorry, I don't-" I bring the hand up that shocked him, but lose my train of thought when I see a dark red hue emitting from it.

At this point, I'm not surprised with what I see, as it's happened so many times already.

Frank's gaze locks onto my hands, and you both just sit there as if in a trance from the glow. The trance is broken when we hear a throat clear in the room, and both of us tear our gazes away from my hands to the source of the noise in the room.

David stands in the doorway to the room, looking over at the two of you with slightly narrowed eyes before walking into the room.

"Everything's packed, might wanna get going before it gets too dark." David speaks towards Frank, and my eyebrows knit in confusion.

"Where are you going?" I look at Frank who's working his way up from the ground and heading towards the door.

"Where we're going, you're coming with." Frank speaks before walking out of the room.

I look up at David, still confused and he just shakes his head and follows Frank out of the room. Frank shows up in the doorway again with a bag slung over his shoulder and motions for me to follow him out when he sees me sitting in the same spot.

I follow him to the van that Curtis dropped off earlier in the day when it was left at the motel. All I heard after the drop off was him cussing out the guys for not telling him about what happened, and that he had to get through a dozen cops in order to get the van out of the parking lot.

Frank opens the door for me to get in while he throws the bags he had on him in the back. "Are you not going to tell me where we're going?" I ask when he gets in the drivers seat, starts the van up, and backs out of the bunker.

"Nope." He smiles when he hears me huff at his unwillingness to let me know where we're going.

The drive allows me to admire more of the outside world that I've missed out on. There are trees almost everywhere you go, but I find myself still in awe of how tall they are and how bright everything is.

Soon, the number of buildings around slowly dwindles down to nothing, and trees become the main thing that is seen. I still don't know where we're going; I try to ask Frank multiple times during the drive, but he only says the same thing along the lines of "you'll see." I give up trying to figure it out after the third time I don't get an actual answer and end up zoning out, staring out the window and watching blurs of colors pass.

Suddenly the van stops at an open field, and Frank hops out and grabs the bags he threw in the back. I hesitantly get out and slowly start to walk towards where Frank is.

He laughs at my confused look and just beckons me to follow him out into the field. I follow him, though still clueless about what we were doing here, and we soon stop in the middle of the field.

Frank drops the bags he was carrying down onto the grass and opens one of the bags he had. A various amount of guns littered the inside of the bag, and I feel myself instinctively take a step back.

He says nothing as he grabs a pistol from the bag and immediately turns around and tosses it to me. I'm not expecting the movement so suddenly, and my body immediately flinches away; my arms come up in an attempt to block my body from the weapon, and my eyes squeeze shut, waiting for the impact.

When the impact never happens, I slowly open my eyes to see the gun lying on the ground a couple of feet in front of me, not getting even close enough to be able to hit me.

Frank makes a noise of content before walking forward and grabbing the gun from the ground, turning around, and going back to the bag on the ground.

"What the hell is happening?" I take a few steps towards Frank, who's now loading the gun with weird-looking bullets.

"The start of your trainin'," he exclaims, cocking the gun in his hand, making it ready to shoot.

"What?" My voice is full of confusion, and I see him lightly smile at me.

"Do you know what happened when I threw that gun to you? How your body reacted?" He takes a couple of steps towards me as he talks, the gun still being held in his hand.

The only thing I could come up with is to shrug my shoulders up slightly. My brain can't comprehend everything that's happening, and I can't stop it from going to the worst places again.

"Hey." I snap out of the daze I'm in to find Frank standing in front of me, with a concerned look on his face as he watches me. "You're okay." His palm is placed on my cheek, and I notice that my whole body is practically shaking.

The shaking stops almost immediately as soon as Frank's skin was pressed against mine. I can feel tingles start to form over my body again, but this time we don't break the connection.

My body soon feels like a light burning sensation going through it, and I feel Frank's body tense. I quickly pull myself away, remembering what happened last time that we touched for this long.

Besides the slight change in body language, he doesn't act like he was bothered at all from the shock. I find myself not being able to say anything, ending up opening my mouth, but closing it quickly after.

"How do ya feel?" His voice comes out just above a whisper, his eyes still staring into mine.

It takes a couple of attempts for words to leave my mouth; his eyes leave me in a sense of trance. "Like- like I'm burning."

Frank just lets out a small hum before stepping back away from me once again. "What?" I can only feel dumbfounded by his reaction as he nonchalantly walks away from me. He hasn't been telling me much of anything about why we're out here, and I can feel myself starting to become impatient.

He stops a ways away from me and turns to look at me. "You hear 'bout rubber bullets before?" He inspects the pistol he still holds in his hand before glancing up at me for my answer. I slowly shake my head at him, my brain still processing everything.

"Well, they're less lethal than the ones you're used to, but will still hurt like a bitch if ya get hit by one." His explanation seems to knock me out of my trance, and my eyes quickly flick over to his.

"And you're planning on using it on me?! Are you insane?!" I see him slightly recoil at my reaction, and I feel my stomach slightly twist at the sight, but I'm still mostly hung up on what he said to me.

He takes a short breath before speaking again. "I know it's not ideal, but it's the only thing we could think of that would help." He takes a small step towards me while he's speaking, and I can see emotions swirling in his eyes, but I can't interpret what they mean. "Darlin', I need you to trust that I would never intentionally harm you in any way. 'M just tryin' to get you to understand your emotions and the power that stems from them."

"What do you mean the power that stems from them?" I already have a sense that my powers are connected with my emotions somehow, with how many times things have happened when I feel a rush of emotion at once, but I feel the need to hear it from him to get an explanation as to why.

"Whenever you feel a strong emotion, you release a certain power that correlates to it. The lab was tryin' to control what power went with what emotion, but soon it got out of hand, and no one could keep up with the development of them. You were too powerful even for them, and of course, they got scared, so thought the best they could do was try to subdue you as long as they could until they could find everything they're lookin' for."

"How- how do you know all of this?" My voice comes out shaky when I speak, still trying to comprehend everything that was just said to me. It sounds like he knew more about me than I did, and I would be lying if I said that it didn't scare me a little.

"It's all in your file. David and I managed to read most of what we could in order to get a better read on you. We just wanna help you, sweetheart. It makes me physically sick on what they did, especially with children and how young you were when they started this shit. I can't imagine how you feel, to have to have lived your entire life locked up like you're some type of lab rat." At this point, there are tears in his eyes from the passion in his words, and I can't help my own doing the same from feeling the emotion in him that's practically hitting me in the face.

He slowly moved closer to me while he was talking, which leaves him standing in front of me again, and doesn't leave me room to say anything before he's speaking again. "Every time I think of the shit that they forced you through I can feel my heart clench, as if someone grabbed ahold of it 'n just started squeezin' the life outta it." His voice is a lot softer than it was when he first started talking, and if he talked any lower his voice would just barely be above a whisper.

"Let me help you, please. I think I'd never get over it if I just let you figure this out on your own, I would hate myself knowing that I did that to you when I coulda helped. Please." During his speech he brought out his hand to mine and gently took ahold of it, but I can't even focus on it when all I can see is him standing in front of me letting everything in his mind out in the open.

At this point, I can feel the tears that were once gathering in my eyes freely falling down my cheeks, and I can't bring myself to say anything back to him. I have no idea what to say back, all I can do is just stare at him.

I don't even notice the tingles in my hand where our skin is touching, or how Frank glances down at where our hands are connected, and tightens his hold on me. The only thing I start to realize after a minute is the feeling of water falling on me.

I look up at the sky to find water coming down from it again, causing me to squint my eyes at the suddenness of the water crashing onto me. "C'mon, let's get inside." Frank gently starts to pull me in a certain direction and I realize that there's a small building at the edge of the field we're in. How did I not notice that before?

Frank pulls me away from the area we were just at in order to make our way to the building. He grabs the bags full of things I still don't know what are yet, only letting go of my hand for the moment he needed to pick the bags up, and grabbing ahold of it again. He ignores my mention of being able to carry one of the bags inside, knowing it couldn't be all that light considering one mainly just had guns in it, and instead just walks me towards the building, not letting go of my hand once.

@sleeperthelazy @hathay @lunaticgurly @casa-boiardi @mattmurdocksstarlight @stilldreaming666 @cherry-berry-ollie

buy me a coffee ♡

[dropoutconfessions]

this is directed towards the owners of the account, and sure, any "fans" too. you cannot pretend to not realize that ALL you're doing is bringing toxicity into the fandom.

it's been less than a week and your posts are already mimicking 2018/2020 fandom misogyny.

you're giving hate a platform. that's all you're doing. it's not fun, it's not interesting.

that in addition to how clueless you are about slurs and general etiquette and respect on the site, maybe should be a hint that you shouldn't be running this.

You can go ahead believe that I am clueless about slurs, but personally, as someone who's very identity gets called a slur all the fucking time, I get pretty annoyed when someone makes the call that something is a slur when it doesn't apply to them. Whenever something annoys me, I tend not to do it to others, but that's just me.

I may be a minority on a couple different fronts, but unless I was suddenly an expert in Native Canadian or Alaskan culture and general opinions of the term, I'm not making that call, and in my opinion, neither should anyone else who isn't either well informed or affected personally by that specific term. I know how etiquette on this site works. I've also been on this site, for long enough, to have formed my own opinions on how well this site practices etiquette. (That means I've watched enough people get run off this site to know this site kinda doesn't practice etiquette). I have explained, in my pinned post, exactly why I choose to ignore the rules people have decided are the standard, because they do not work for spoiler tagging, and we are discussing a media partially locked behind a pay wall. There are dropout fans, who can't watch every season of dimension 20, because they watch through YouTube and/or Spotify. I am going to continue using the primary tags as well as the anti tags for tagging purposes, because I do not want to be the reason someone learns about a character death, every time someone wants to talk about how they kinda didn't like a character who may or may not be a backup character wink wink to those of you who know which season i am referring to I fully gave everyone a new tag (#negative dropout confession), that I retroactively went back and applied to all the posts I believed it fit, so that you could block posts that were negative. Now I'm not perfect, and am actually pretty shitty at social queues and kinda forgetful, so if you find a post you think is negative in a way that isn't "i kinda would have preferred this, but i loved the season" let me know, i will retag it as such. I'm only human and just like everyone else, not above being checked on my shit. If that's still not enough, it's a 3 click process to block this blog entirely. We here at dropoutconfessions will be sad to see you go, but I'll still understand. A place of anonymity, to freely share how you feel, is going to attract people who have feelings that usual get them hatred. And yes, some people misuse it. Typically, I do one of 2 things when that happens.

If it's a misunderstanding of the media, I'll add corrections to to the response to clarify, anything I miss, 3-5 people will probably take care of within an hour of the post going up, just check the replies

If it's something truly awful to say, I'll block the asker and delete the ask. Something I've had to do about half a dozen times already.

I have, multiple posts, debating those very posts you are referring to I have, multiple people, defending those characters, in the replies and reblogs of those posts you're referring to I have, multiple posts, in queue (as of me writing this reply) because i don't like flooding people's blogs, that are saying the exact same thing, without calling me toxic and clueless I understand you don't like the hatred, I don't like it either. But I do believe everyone deserves a platform if they'll be civil about it, and they give their opponents an opportunity to call their take absolute dogwater, once again, check the replies, some of these asks get flamed almost immediately. And no. I don't think all I do is bring toxicity to the fandom. People use this as an outlet for how they feel about just, the story. There's like, multiple posts about how people are a bit overbearing expecting perfection from the cast and how certain seasons deserve more love and how amazing some of the other shows are and how amazing some of the cast members are. It's easy to see the negativity, but it's not all there is. And trust me I'm not immune to that either, it's exhausting sometimes. I have gotten more asks about how "obsessed everyone is with Brennan Lee Mulligan" than I ever have about Brennan in a context outside of d20, the show that he runs. Tunnel vision is a bitch sometimes. And at the end of the day, if you think I'm doing a bad job at this, you can make your own confessions blog. This blog exists cause I got bored of my statistics homework, and realized there wasn't a confessions blog. You can too, and if everyone prefers yours, they can use yours, I truly do not mind. This blog is just something I feel like needs to exist, and since no one else was actively doing it (as far as I could tell, no one has told me the contrary). It's really just something to do with my hands so I can focus on dnd games and my video calls with my gf. That's it. If you have any specific suggestions on how I can improve, I'm open to listening to them, as I have proved in the past, but beyond sharing how I feel and addressing how you feel, I don't really know what to say or do. Thank you for telling me how you feel about this blog, this fandom, and Dropout, a media company we love. That's all I could ever want from an ask on this blog.

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

Since AI is a controversial hot topic right now and I've been watching Battlestar Galactica (1978) for the first time in 10+ years I'm going to make a post about what AI SHOULD be.

So yesterday I finally got to rewatch what was one of my favorite Battlestar episodes when I was a teenager, "Fire in Space". In it, the Galactica is rammed by two cylon fighters, causing massive damage to the bridge and one of their landing bays. This also starts a fire burning on multiple decks which traps a group of people in a rec room, including three main characters: Boomer, Athena, and Boxy. (post introducing Battlestar characters here)

Now, the group in the rec room are trapped by fire on both sides. They have only five oxygen masks for probably 15 people, including a number of wounded and Boxy, who is about six. The only possible escape route at this point is an air vent, which is only big enough for Boxy to get through, but as Apollo (Boxy's father) points out, Boomer would never take a chance with the little boy's life by sending him for help.

But. Boxy's constant companion is a dog named Muffet. And Muffet is a mechanical, artificially intelligent, dog. Muffet has already saved people from a dangerous situation before in "The Gun on Ice Planet Zero" when he gets help for the team stranded on the planet during a snowstorm. The crew on the bridge is still skeptical that the dog will make it though, because there are dozens of air ducts he could wander into that don't lead to the bridge. However! Apollo remembers that Boxy taught his dog to sniff out candy (as any small child would do) and tells them to put some in the bridge's air duct to lure the dog there.

It works. Muffet arrives on the bridge with a note from Boomer explaining their situation and lack of oxygen masks. They attach a bag of the masks to Muffet and send him back through the air ducts, telling him to "Find Boxy". Muffet does, bringing the masks and a note that, in a desperate attempt to stop the out-of-control fire, they're about to blow a hole in the hull of the Galactica (so basically, hold on and don't get sucked into the vacuum of space!).

And then Muffet goes back into the air ducts to rescue a fireman he'd seen trapped and injured by the blaze. He pulls the man out in the nick of time, getting half fried in the process.

So what's my point here about AI? My point is that Muffet, as a mechanical dog, can do much more than an ordinary dog and do it in a way that doesn't risk an animal's actual life. Muffet was able to go through the vents and endure the smoke because he doesn't need to breathe air. When he was damaged by the fire he can be repaired and made to work again. He is also intelligent enough to be trained and follow basic commands like a normal dog, as well as having the problem solving/prioritizing skills to bring the oxygen masks to the people who needed them first and then go back to save the fireman.

My point is that THIS is what we should be striving for with artificial intelligence: to have robots smart enough to think logically, follow commands, and who are able to go into situations that would be horrifyingly dangerous/lethal for a human or animal and save/help people. Like, Idk how to say it more clearly, but this mechanical dog from a 70's sci fi show is literally the peak of artificial intelligence we should be striving for. Emergency workers wouldn't even be losing the emotional bond they have for animals they work with, because Muffet is programmed to act like a real dog and he does! He's basically Boxy's emotional support animal. They could get sent into fires, violent areas, etc and not only be helpful but comforting to people who needed it!

Additionally, this is all taking place in a show where they literally told us that the cylons, the evil race trying to eradicate the humans, are robots who became smarter than their creators (who were not humans, btw) and outlived/killed them. Both sides of the coin are 100% present here.

Also, Muffet looks like this:

tl:dr this mechanical dog from a 1970's tv show is the peak of artificial intelligence and I don't know why we aren't making more of him.

[ambitionsource]

and on that note i am officially caught up !! oh man this past season has been a wild wild wild ride and i am very glad i gave myself the time to process that...and also that i've caught up to an episode where many major storylines have been tied up (i think if i had been witnessing, in dread, the first semester nigel fiasco™ i would have never recovered properly)— just working of 408 by the way, since i just finished it minutes ago, that was sosososo much fun. i love the call back to season 3 (?) and the reunification of unsung heroes lucas and charlie doing another high level crack down and the ending of that was so satisfying!! like when lucas dropped that cold line on graham after watching the mfer throw a tantrum oh my god i actually cheered out loud. and don't think we don't see the posturing with that tiny gofundme reference....i see the setup and i'm very, very excited for what's to come.

i'm gonna have to track back now to some of my fave tidbits from the season so far since i really went full steam ahead trying to finish it once i got started on catching up. i think the thanksgiving episode was one of my favorites, i'll admit. we got to see the culmination of the anya storyline with jade and the nigel fiasco ™ being addressed, maya and josh reaching an uneasy truce, etc etc probably a dozen more amazing things i'm forgetting off the top of my head. i also loved seeing the resolution of the roommate situation too and that both isa and lucas were able to walk away acknowledging that it wasn't really a specific fault of either of them but just...not being compatible in that way! there's just a line of maturity there between them that we wouldn't have seen in the past seasons and i'm just sososososo happy we get to flex those muscles for them. also isa and farkle...right person wrong time trope....you guys are sick for that.

i'm also very glad 408 ends with a Lot of optimism for (most of) our main cast too...yindra maya jade bonding!! jade being appreciated!! yindra giving it her best shot!! yindra jade roomies!! maya ep!! farkle....he's on his way! charlie lucas roommates!! jack winning!! nigel looking at those unis in the uk!! josh maya understanding!! again like a mentioned a lot of long building storylines that haven't exactly ended, per say, but have at least reached a point where they're still being actively developed.

this is getting very very long and i have many more thoughts that i know i'm neglecting but i want to just highlight lucas' gift performance for riley during christmas— i just saw immediate parallels to season 1 rl with the two of them on the steps and i had to pause and take a deep breath because w o w i used to dream of times like this...seeing the two of them happy and domestic and very very secure in their relationship!! you guys promised us multiple times they would get here!! i know!! it just sorta occurred to me right then (even though that's the least of happy rl we've seen this season) that we really made it that far!! and also put into perspective for me how much you guys have really been able to develop ambition since then— i've been following along since the og pilot dropped when the idea of a josh matthews was a crazy, far off plot line being teased for post-graduation and NOW HE'S A REGULAR!!!! i'm just really really overjoyed at seeing that everything is coming into play and you guys have been able to execute on these plans you've had in your back pocket for so long. please know that all praise is deserved and i wish i could put it in words how amazing i think y'all are doing, but suffice to say i'm not as good with them as you two are. can't wait for what comes next!!

p.s. the dinner sequence in the new years episode went crazy hard and i loved seeing everything get put to light, but more so the intercut of riley telling everyone dylan and asher were moving in together and everyone pausing like "?" before going back to tearing each other to shreds. comedic genius.

p.p.s. TECHIE GANGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!! DYLAN AND ASHER ASHER AND DYLAN DYLAN AND ASHER ASHER AND DYLAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'VE MISSED THEM SO MUCH YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!!!!!!!!!!!! also i love the tidbits we get on how successful dylan's channel really is and also the fact that he lowkey has a cult behind his back in the best way possible....only the best for the best. i missed them dearly

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL YOU TWO DO AND I'M SORRY ABOUT DUMPING IN THE ASK BOX ALL OF A SUDDEN I HAD A LOT OF EMOTIONS AFTER THAT LAST EPISODE !!! good luck with the next set of episode and all that jazz !! i just know they're gonna be as amazing as all the rest have been :D

wowowowowow. this is such an incredible message, thank you so much for sending it!!!! we're so happy you enjoyed the journey thus far and that you've been able to catch up in your own time and way. also to hear that you're also one of my og og readers... that's so great omg. we really have no idea how long people have been reading for / following the journey unless they outright tell us so every time we learn people really have been walking this trail with us for 4 years (CAN YOU BELIEVE?), it's truly unreal. thank you thank you thank you 💕

and there's so much awesome in this comment i don't even know where to begin haha, though i think i'll let most of it speak for itself. it's a lot to try and put into words when you binge s4 thus far (which, you must be superhuman bc... these eps are long af lol. you did that!!)

but please NEVERRRR apologize for dumping in our ask box!! we love it, and interaction is always more than welcome. (we also are still working on putting together a discord server for the show that will POTENTIALLY hopefully be live very very soon... if that is of interest to anyone to connect with fellow warriors... just putting that out there 🤪)

again, thank you SO much for reading, and i hope you continue to love the ride!! 409 is just around the corner!

-- Maggie

[innuendostudios]

Thoughts on... some funny games

[no spoilers to speak of]

Thoughts on Lair of the Clockwork God

The wisdom of the gaming cognoscenti insists that comedy is hard to do in video games. Having grown up with Monkey Island and Zork, I've never found this convincing. But one true thing is this: it's hard to write about comedic games. The ineffability of humor is hard enough to describe in less-interactive media; I can't even explain to my partner why Gretchen saying "I met January Jones once!" on You're the Worst busted me up, and they were sitting right next to me when she said it. Throw in the "you had to be there" nature of the player's active participation and I lose myself in a cornfield. The thing I found hilarious might come a beat to early for you, or not at all, or not be funny in text like it is in gameplay.

Why did I like Lair of the Clockwork God? It made me laugh.

The premise and particulars are a lot of "that could go either way." Ben and Dan - stars of Ben There, Dan That and Time Gentleman, Please! - have returned. Ben is still an adventure game star, but Dan has adopted platforming mechanics in an attempt to get with the times. So playing the game involves switching back and forth between a character who can leap across canyons but can't pick up items or talk to people, and one who can combine inventory but can't climb over a 3-pixel rock.

Does that sound potentially funny? Potentially grating? Yes to both!

The plot centers around our heroes trying to save the world from several simultaneous apocalypses and having to teach human emotions to a supercomputer in order to do so. (Don't ask.) These means, rather like Ben There, Dan That, traipsing through a number of fantasy worlds (read: computer simulations) until the correct emotion is provoked. This requires cross-genre cooperation: finding ways to get Ben to areas only Dan can access, getting Dan new power ups by combining objects in Ben's inventory (an act Dan insists on calling "crafting").

The best bits are at these intersections, when Dan's platforming is the puzzliest and Ben's puzzles take advantage of Dan's skills. Periodically the game gives you a Dan-centric platforming gauntlet the controls are NOT precise nor pleasant enough for, or a Ben-only moon logic puzzle that leaves you googling the walkthrough.

But I liked it! A lot. The genre-hopping seems to have invigorated the developers, Ben Ward and Dan Marshall. I discussed my favorite joke in Ben There, Dan That (in what is probably the least popular video I've ever made that wasn't asking for money), but was also dismayed that the game was never that clever again. But this one is, several times over! Progression here involves cheating your way to a better respawn zone, goofing around in game menus, exploiting "glitches," exiting out and loading up entirely other games. There is a lot of poking and prodding at what a game of this nature can or should be.

But, honestly? The only real selling point is... it was funny. The humor is as anarchic and metatextual as in previous titles, but it feels good-natured in a way BT,DT didn't. And there are, here and there, little bits of meat on its bones - the characters wondering if, as a couple thirtysomething white guys, the world hasn't left them behind, no longer comfortable with the juvenile humor of their youth but not really understanding the youth of today, but having not yet fully escaped the mentalities they used to hold. (There's an unspoken humor to Dan's idea of "modern" gameplay being 2D platforming mechanics, especially at a time when adventure games are significantly more popular than on his last outing; this is a good joke whether or not it's intentional.)

Also: this game contains the most poignant urinating-on-a-grave puzzle in gaming history, and you may quote me on that.

Having finished it months ago, I can't even remember what all the gags were that tickled me at the time. Comedy fades from memory faster than drama or frustration. Mostly I just remember having a good time.

Thoughts on The Darkside Detective

Here's a hook: sometime after the mayhem ends in Ghostbusters, The Exorcist, Evil Dead 2, or some other paranormal blockbuster that you watched over and over in the 90's until the VHS wore out, some overworked detective has to come into your town and piece together what the hell happened.

This is his story.

It's a good gag, and the devs wring every drop from it. Existing in a world where these things are commonplace and you have to fit them into some notion of "police procedure" is just funny. Like, it's one thing to have a running gag where you keep observing the moon in outdoor scenes, commenting, with increasing hostility, that its behavior is suspicious (it has been present at multiple crime scenes); it's a slightly different thing when, given the things you've encountered, the moon being the Big Bad is actually somewhat possible.

The game is divided into six main cases and three bonus DLC missions (which come included in the base game now, and the third of which is the proper ending/setup for the sequel). You are the cop tasked to deal with The Other Side - and, when The Other Side bleeds into our own world, its cops have to deal with you. You have a sidekick with a mental maturity of about 6, which I guess makes you the straight man. (You have to grade on a curve to find a straight man in this game.) And you solve tasks like rounding up escaped gremlins or finding an AWOL lake monster all juxtaposed with mundane problems like inter-office squabbles and having not bought your Christmas presents early enough. It's (pleasantly) lo-res and sparsely isolated, so the dialogue and premise do most of the work, but they are ably up to the task.

The gameplay... not so much. I'm an adventure game lifer, so I can put up with a lot of nonsense. It's mostly straightforward inventory puzzles and occasional minigames. Most of the puzzles are fine enough. As the cases progress, things get more involved, and the DLCs especially involve some awful moon logic. And the minigames are not above using that same jumping peg puzzle you've solved in a dozen other games already. So gameplay ranges from serviceable to irritating, but it mostly exists to string together funny lines and silly images. (Christmas mall elves being secretly in service to Krampus - that's the kind of thing we're talking about here.) You won't feel much guilt for opening up a walkthrough; the puzzles aren't why you're here.

The sequel has just been released, and both games are cheap, so check them out if you feel like smiling.

Thoughts on The Procession to Calvary

It's rare for a game to be hilarious to look at.

The Procession to Calvary takes its name from the Bruegel painting. It also takes all it's graphics from Renaissance oil paintings, and the designer delights in making famously rendered heroes and religious icons steal, stab, fart, and swear.

A strong Terry-Gilliam-with-After-Effects vibe is what we're describing.

You play as a lady knight from a war that's just ended, which sucks for you because, in this age of peace, you're no longer authorized to kill. And killing's, like, you're whole thing. But the one person your new, pacifist king wouldn't stop you from killing is the warlord you just deposed, who fled to the South. So you embark on a nonsensical journey to seek out the one human on Earth you are authorized to kill, because killing is just The. Best. Ever.

Of the three games we're discussing, this is the most overtly cheeky, and, at times, the most scatological. I could've done with a bit less scatology, if I'm being honest, but the cheekiness is very winning. As with Lair of the Clockwork God, a lot of jokes could go either way - a field of people being tortured and a woman on a blanket selling commemorative torture merch could be painfully try-hard. But something about the victims being seemingly everyone ever crucified or broken on the wheel in a famous painting, and having them writhe on their crosses in a way that is both gruesome and goofy, and having a cacophonous soundtrack of their screams and moans that you will now imagine every time you look at one of those elegantly elegiac paintings from now on... it works. That the music score is being played by an extremely jaunty piper who dances behind you just out of sword's reach as you traverse the field pushes it over the top.

Oh, and the puzzles, while never hair-pullingly obtuse, will leave you stumped at times. Push past that to get the proper ending, but, if you're sick of trying, you can, at any point, just start stabbing your way through problems. Which, again: it takes a very deft touch to make "protagonist resorts to violence" actually funny rather than lazy and obvious. And maybe, in another game, the perfect timing of every animation, the clever quips, the careful contrast of cathedrals and high-society music halls with gleeful sword-swinging wouldn't be enough. But something about it being frickin' Renaissance paintings carries it the last mile.

This is probably the basest game of the three, but it's also the one that made me giggle the most. Having a BFA that required several art history classes may have something to do with it. But check this thing out.

[thewidowsghost]

The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 5

(Y/n)'s POV

I have weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill me. The rest wanted food.

I must've woken up several times, but what I hear and see makes no sense, so I just pass out again. I remember lying in a soft bed and spoon-fed something that tasted like (Favorite/Food), only it's like pudding. The girl with curly blond hair hovers over me, smirking as she scrapes drips off my chin with the spoon.

When she sees my eyes open, she asks, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"

"What?" I manage to croak.

She looks around, as is afraid someone would overhear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"I'm sorry," I slur, "I don't . . ."

Somebody knocks on the door, and the girl quickly fills my mouth with the pudding.

. . .

The next time I wake up, the girl is gone.

A husky blond dude, like a surfer, stands in the corner of the bedroom keeping watch over me. He has blue eyes - at least a dozen of them - on his cheeks, his forehead, the backs of his hands.

When I come around for good, there is nothing weird about my surroundings, except they are nicer than I am used to. I am sitting in a deck chair next to Percy - who was looking at me with concern - on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smells like strawberries. There is a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that is great, but my mouth feels like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue is dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt.

On the table next to me is a tall drink. It looks like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol sticks through a maraschino cherry.

My hand is so weak I almost drop the glass once I get my fingers around it.

"Careful," says a voice.

Grover is leaning against the porch railing, looking as though he hadn't slept in a week. Under one arm, he cradles a shoebox. He is wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops, and a bright orange t-shirt that says CAMP HALF-BLOOD.

"You two saved my life," Grover says. "I...well, the least I could do...I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this."

Reverently, he places the shoebox in Percy's lap.

Inside is a black-and-white bull's horn, the base jagged from being broken off, the tip splattered with dried blood.

It hadn't been a nightmare. My mother was gone.

"The Minotaur," Percy asks.

"Um, Percy, it isn't a good idea -" Grover gets cut off.

"That's what they call him in the Greek myths, isn't it?" Percy demands. "The Minotaur. Half man, half bull."

Grover shifts uncomfortably. "You two have been out for two days. How much do you remember?"

"Mom," I say softly. "Is she really . . ."

Grover looks down.

I stare across the meadow. There is a grove of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley is surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, is the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looks beautiful in the sunlight.

My mother is gone . . .

Nothing should look beautiful. The whole world should be black and cold.

"I'm sorry," Grover sniffs. "I'm a failure. I'm - I'm the worst satyr in the world." He groans, stomping his food so hard it comes off. I mean, the Converse hi-top comes off. The inside is filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole. "Oh, Styx!" he mumbles.

Thunder rolls across the clear sky.

Mom had really had been squeezed into nothingness, dissolved into yellow light.

Percy and I are alone. Orphans. We would have to live with . . . Smelly Gabe? No. I'd live on the streets first.

Grover is still sniffling.

Percy says, "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you."

"Did our mother ask you to protect me?"

"No. But that's my job. I'm a keeper. At least . . . I was."

"But why . . ." Percy begins and I suddenly feel dizzy, my vision swimming.

"Don't strain yourself," Grover says. "Here."

He helps me hold my glass and puts the straw to my lips.

I recoil at the taste because I was expecting apple juice. It isn't that at all. It's chocolate-chip cookies. Liquid cookies. But not just any cookies - Mom's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chips still melting. Drinking it, my whole body feels warm and good, full of energy. My grief doesn't go away, but I feel as if Mom had just brushed her hand lovingly against my cheek, given me a cookie the way she used to when I was upset and told me everything was going to be okay.

Before I know it, I'd drained the glass. I stare into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.

"Was it good?" Grover asks.

I nod.

"What did it taste like?"

"Chocolate-chip cookies," I reply and Percy looks at me knowingly. "Mom's. Homemade."

He takes the empty glass from me gingerly, as if it's dynamite, and sets it back on the table. "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting.

3rd Person POV

The porch wraps all the way around the farmhouse.

Percy's legs feel wobbly, trying to walk that far, and (Y/n), though her legs feel like Jello, had moved to support her brother. Grover offers to carry the Minotaur horn, but Percy holds onto it. I'd paid for that souvenir the hard way. I'm not going to let it go.

As the trio comes around the opposite end of the house, (Y/n) catches her breath.

Percy's POV

We must be on the north shore of Long Island because on this side of the house, the valley marches all the way up to the water, which glitters about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply can't process everything I'm seeing. The landscape is dotted with buildings that look like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—except that they all look brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school–age kids and satyrs play volleyball. Canoes glide across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's are chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shoot targets at an archery range. Others ride horses down a wooded trail, and, unless I'm hallucinating, some of their horses have wings.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sit across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl who'd spoonfed (Y/n) is leaning on the porch rail next to them.

The man facing me is small, but porky. He has a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it's almost poker. He looks like those painting of baby angles - cherubs. He looks like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He is wearing a tiger-patterned Hawaiian shirt, and he would fit right in at one of Gabe's poker parties, except I get the feeling that this guy could out-gamble even my step-father.

"That's Mr. D," Grover mutters to me and (Y/n). "He's the camp director. Be polite. That girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron . . . "

He points at the guy whose back is to me.

First, I realize he's sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognize the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, and the scraggly beard.

"Mr. Brunner!" I cry.

The Latin teacher turns and smiles at me, then looks curiously at (Y/n), who is still supporting some of my weight. His eyes have that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulls a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice answers B.

"Ah, good, Percy," he says. "Now we have four for pinochle."

He offers me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looks at me, then (Y/n), who is leaning against my chair, with bloodshot eyes, and heaves a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to the glad to see you."

"Percy, why don't you introduce me?" Mr. Burnner says, sending a soft smile towards (Y/n).

"Oh, this is my twin sister, (Y/n)," Percy says.

(Y/n)'s POV

I smile and wave shyly.

"It's nice to meet you, sir," I say. "Percy's told me a lot about you. Even said you were his favorite teacher."

A warmer smile spreads across Mr. Brunner's face and then he turns. "Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner calls to the blond girl.

She comes forward and Mr. Brunner introduces us. "This young lady nursed you back to health, (Y/n). Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy and (Y/n)'s bunks? We'll be putting them in Cabin Eleven for now."

"Sure, Chiron," Annabeth replies.

She's probably about my age, maybe an inch or two taller, and a whole more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she is almost exactly when I think a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruin the image. They are startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she's analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight.

She glances down at the Minotaur horn in Percy's hands then looks back up at me. She says, "You drool when you sleep." My cheeks take on a slight red tinge as she sprints off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her.

"So," Percy says, looking anxious to change the subject. "You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?"

"Not Mr. Brunner," not Mr. Brunner says. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron."

"Okay," Percy says, looking totally confused, then looking at the director. "And Mr. D . . . does that stand for something?"

Mr. D stops shuffling the cars. He looks at Percy like he'd just belched loudly. "Young man, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason.

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"I must say, Percy," Chiron - Brunner breaks in, "I'm glad to see you alive, and the chance to meet your sister. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time."

"House call?" I ask, interested.

"My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct Percy. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met him. He sensed he was something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to...ah, take a leave of absence."

"You came to Yancy just to teach me?" Percy asks.

Chiron nods. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother, let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood, and then we learned of Miss (Y/n), here." He nods to me. "But you still had so much to learn, Percy. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

"Grover," Mr. D says impatiently, "are you playing or not?"

Percy's POV

"Yes, sir!" Grover trembles as he takes the fourth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt.

"You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyes me suspiciously.

"I'm afraid not," I answer.

"I'm afraid not, sir," he corrects.

"Sir," I repeat, liking the camp director less and less.

"Well," he tells me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules"

"I'm sure the boy can learn," Chiron says.

"Please," I plead, "what is this place? What are we doing here? Mr. Brun— Chiron—why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?"

Mr. D snorts. "I asked the same question."

The camp director deals the cards; Grover flinches every time one lands in his pile.

Chiron smiles at me sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if to let me know that no matter what my average was, I was his star student. He expected me to have the right answer.

"Percy," Chiron prompts. "Did your mother tell you nothing?"

"She said . . ." (Y/n) begins and I remember her sad eyes, looking out over the sea. "She told us she was afraid to send us here, even though our father had wanted her to. She said that once we were here, we probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep us close to her."

"Typical," Mr. D says. "That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are you bidding or not?"

"What?" I ask.

He explains, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did.

"I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron says. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient.

"Orientation film?" (Y/n) asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"No," Chiron decides. "Well, Percy, (Y/n). You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know -" he points to the horn in the shoebox - "that you have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either. What you may not know is that the great powers are at work. Gods - the forces you call the Greek gods - are very much alive."

I stare at the others around the table.

I wait for somebody to yell, Not! but all I get is Mr. D yelling, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" He cackles as he tallies up his points.

"Mr. D," Grover asks timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Eh? Oh, all right."

Grover bites a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chews it.

"Wait," I tell Chiron as (Y/n) sits down on the edge of my chair. "You're telling me there's such a thing as God."

"Well, now," Chiron says. "God—capital G, God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical."

"Metaphysical? But you were just talking about—"

"Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter."

"Smaller?"

"Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class.

"Zeus," I say. "Hera. Apollo. You mean them."

And there it was again—distant thunder on a cloudless day.

"Young man," says Mr. D, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around if I were you."

"But they're stories," I say. "They're—myths, to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science."

"Science!" Mr. D scoff. "And tell me, Perseus Jackson"—I flinch when he says my real name, which I never told anybody—"what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now?" Mr. D continues. "Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals—they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come so-o-o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me."

"Percy," Chiron says, "you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?"

"You mean, whether people believed in you or not," (Y/n) says.

"Exactly," Chiron agrees. "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you Perseus and (Y/n) Jackson, that someday people would call you a myth, just created to explain how children can get over losing their mothers."

My heart pounds. He's trying to make me angry for some reason, but I wasn't going to let him. I say, "I wouldn't like it. But I don't believe in gods."

"Oh, you'd better," Mr. D murmurs. "Before one of them incinerates you."

Grover pleads, "P-please, sir. He's just lost his mother. He's in shock."

"A lucky thing, too," Mr. D grumbles, playing a card. "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with boys who don't even believe!" He waves his hand and a goblet appears on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet fills itself with red wine.

"You're Dionysus," (Y/n) says and Mr. D looks at her. "The god of wine."

Mr. D nods then stares at me as I say, "You're a god."

"Yes, child."

"A god. You."

He turns to look at me straight on, and I see a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man is only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I see visions of grapevines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turn to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I know that if I push him, Mr. D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a straitjacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life.

"Would you like to test me, child?" he says quietly.

"No. No, sir."

The fire dies a little; he turns back to his card game. "I believe I win."

"Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron says. He sets down a straight, tallies the points, and says, "The game goes to me."

I think Mr. D is going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighs through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He gets up, and Grover rises, too.

"I'm tired," Mr. D says. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment."

Grover's face beads with sweat. "Y-yes, sir."

Mr. D turned to me. "Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson. And mind your manners." He sweeps into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably.

"Will Grover be okay?" I ask Chiron.

Chiron nods, though he looks a little troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been . . . ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."

"Mount Olympus," I say. "You're telling me there is really a palace there?"

"Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do."

"You mean the Greek gods are here? Like...in America?"

"The what?"

"Western civilization?" (Y/n) guesses and Chiron nods for her to continue. "It started in Greece, then spread to Rome, right?"

"That's correct, Miss (Y/n)," Chiron says.

"And then they died?" I ask, looking between my Latin teacher and my sister.

"Died? No. Did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, Percy, of course, they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in Rockefeller Center, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. Like it or not—and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome, either —America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here."

"Who are you, Chiron? Who . . . who am I? Who . . . who are we?"

Chiron smiles. He shifts his weight as if he was going to get up out of his wheelchair, but I know that was impossible. He's paralyzed from the waist down.

"Who are you?" he muses. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."

And then he does rise from his wheelchair. But there's something odd about the way he did it. His blanket falls away from his legs, but the legs don't move. His waist keeps getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, I think he's was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he keeps rising out of the chair, taller than any man, I realize that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair isn't a chair. It was some kind of container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all of him. A leg comes out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.

I stare at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk.

"You're a centaur!" (Y/n) says in awe, and Chiron's eyes sparkle with amusement as he nods.

"What a relief," the centaur says. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy and (Y/n) Jackson. Let's meet the other campers."

Word Count: 3702 words

[ardentamphibianpatton]

Patton couldn't have said it better himself. To know of the multiple monsters that roamed the streets with no one knowing was a secret he wasn't ready to share just yet. Knowing it would get him into too much bother, what with only knowing Logan for a short while. Though, he would say he trusted the man, being gone for so long, he had no doubt the man remembered anyone around there.

"I dunno either if i'm honest. Maybe some respect for caring? Though, I suppose I shouldn't have such high hopes, what with everyone walking around like doom and gloom run through their veins... Kinda like you right now, bring the smile back from looking at those shiny friends of yours." He comments as he shows his own cheery grin, trying to ignore the irritation on his cheek.

He had watched Logan make his little drawing from afar. Folding up the damp cloth as he looked around, noticing a dozen more people pass through the streets which was not too out of the ordinary, but definetely something to check on soon.

That thought was pushed to the far end of his brain once the slammed bang filled the room. Making Patton jumped as he immediately put a hand over his chest to stop himself from shaking too much. He was about to question what that was all for until the curious man spoke up. His question leaving the baker stunned as he tried to process what he meant.

"I... Wouldn't say all of them are stolen. Mostly just the alcohol. A've got some gin in the other room, and that's probably the most expensive thing I've stolen. Running low on it as well. Nevermind that though! How dare you, Mr Todd! Accusing me of stealing constantly. If I could steal quality ingrediants and tools, do you think I'd be in this state?"

He asked this with a raised eyebrow to counter the others squinted gaze. Stomping over and halting just before he got into his personal bubble. Respecting it this time. However, he still was a little fuming. Arms crossed and pout present.

"For shame, Mr Todd... For shame!"

💈 There was something comforting about the swarm of rats following him down the street. Better than the fish that swarmed around him, having been close to drowning at sea. A ship on its way to London rescued him, yet he still held the appearance of a walking corpse, sunken eyes staring ahead at the road, through the swarm of dully dressed crowds. Of course everything around him was faintly familiar, but one building caught his eye- a bakery, to be exact. Hesitantly, he goes to investigate.

🍥 Patton had not been having a good day. It felt all too natural, really. Believing that one day his shop would be filled with multiple customers and sun shining through the window was becoming merely a dream. A hope that he was close to discarding forever.

Until the little ring of the bell chimmed through the room. His heart jumping into his throat as he let out a short gasp, the adrenaline kicking in to seeing a new face enter the shop.

A customer!

“Afternoon! Or morning- I’ve lost track of time. Don’t be a stranger, come in, come in!”

He rushed around the counter and quickly invaded the taller males space. His face lighting up with so much glee as he placed his hands onto the other’s shoulders. Leading him to a table.

“Sit!” He exclaims a little loud, his smile wide and eyes sparkling with joy.