#whenever i start opening cans of worms it becomes a huge worm monster that is not fuckable but is in fact very mean

[airbrushfather]

just kind of like, wondering, am i allowed to imply someone is a monsterfucker in a totally unrelated fic about like, feelings and shit? or is that gonna open a can of worms?

[xanketori]

Immortal

Wrote another thing based on this idea I had. Content warning for death, dead/dying bodies (both human and animal). Kinda morbid, descriptive stuff.

They say if you impress the gods, they will grant you the wishes of your dreams. Anything you can imagine, they will give. Power and wealth and fame, all within your grasp. Godhood, if you wanted. 

But how does one impress the gods?

It isn’t impossible. You know that for sure. You’ve seen the proof.

You know their names. Heracles. Ariadne. Ganymede. Asclepius. Even Dionysus himself. They had been mortals once, just like you, prey to the course of nature, to the treacherous jaws of death.

And now they live forever.

You want to live forever, too.

It started out small. A fleeting thought making a pit stop in your consciousness before moving on to oblivion. You dismissed it as an idealistic dream, one to never see the light. You do not need the powers of the gods, you had said, whenever anyone asked. Humans can thrive just fine without them.

But the thought worms its way into your brain again when you stand waist-deep in front of your flooded home, your family’s dead bodies floating in the freezing water.

Their bloated, pale bodies follow you, ghosts that will haunt you forever.

And all you can do is stare, the last images of them burning in your mind.

You travel inland and try to forget.

When it appears next, you are kneeling in the sand, fire burning everywhere around you. A war plagues your land and all you can hear are the screams of death.

Smoke and ash fill the air and Something moves near you. You squint into the fog, tensing up, trying to determine friend from foe.

It is a person, their face marred with horrible burns and scars. They crawl on the floor, their lower half torn in pieces, blood seeping from their wounds and forming a warning trail in red behind them. They make eye contact with you and you freeze, your hand on your knife.

You do not recognize them.

Maybe you should.

Their voice is raspy as they reach a withered hand out to you, begging you to save them. Splatters of red drip from their mouth and you take a step back, involuntarily, your knife shaking in your head. You can smell it, the putrid stench of decaying flesh and the horrors of war.

You turn and run. 

You do not want to die today.

It is months later, when you’ve settled far into the forest, with nothing but the trees and birds to keep you company, does the thought finally anchor itself within you.

You had thought you were free from the others--from the pain and suffering inflicted by mankind on itself.

But as the sun begins to set, you can smell it again, the smell of something rotting, of something wrong. The animals chitter noisily, uneasily, their ears flicking and heads adjusting, eyes blinking as they try to pinpoint the source but find none.

It takes days, but it cannot be stopped.

One by one, the animals near you start to die, their faces contorted in agony, their skin falling. Teeth rattle in loose gums and the heavy sounds of thudding bodies fill your every waking moment.

Even animals are not free from pain, you realize.

You make a resolve. You will not die. Not now, not ever. You will not be like the others, succumbing to the same torture.

You begin your quest in earnest.

The gods are not easy to find. They have never been easy to find. But you refuse to give up.

You travel the world far and wide, collecting hints and clues. Along the way, you help others whenever you can. Heroism will be rewarded, you think.

But the years pass, with not even a whisper of the answers you seek.

You scour the lowest valleys and dive into the depths of the deepest waters. You search the coldest tundras and climb the highest mountains, your breath coming out in gasps. You fight monsters and men alike, your strength growing at every turn, your reputation reaching the heights of legend.

And still--nothing.

One day, you hear rumors of a cave, supposedly housing the hearth of a minor, long-forgotten god.

The others jest and jeer, mocking you when you ask of it.

“Even if there is a god,” they say, “what powers could they possibly have? They have been lost to time, forgotten by all even among their brethren.”

The god may be dead, even.

You do not care. A chance, as small as it may be, is a chance you will still take. There is only one thing you fear. It is not disappointment.

You wrangle the location of the cave out of the others, and when the sun rises the next day, you hike towards it.

It is a dark cave, carved deep into the earth. You can see no end, the path twisting and turning, narrowing until you are on your knees.

You crawl forward. The air becomes stale, and your fire flickers, devouring the very air you breathe. You put it out and resume in darkness.

It feels like hours. Maybe days. You continue to crawl, your knees and elbows bleeding but refusing to stop. There is only one thing behind you--the scythe. 

You will not take that.

You have no choice but to continue.

Finally, at long last, the path widens, and light somehow flickers in.

You blink, dazed.

In front of you is a small cavern, lit by glowing crystals. Something is in there, something expansive and omniscient.

You had sought the gods above.

But now you have found the gods below.

You cry.

Slow eyes blink at you, large and unyielding. They stare at you, studying you with such an unnerving gaze that you know with certainty that they can see everything. You are a small mouse within their grasp. You wipe your tears away in embarrassment.

“Are you...one of the gods?”

“I’ve been called that. A god.” A widespread grin reveals itself, flashing rows of sharp teeth. The crystals glimmer on the walls. “You can call me what you want.”

“You’re immortal? And you can grant wishes?”

“I’m not some pathetic genie,” the god scoffed. “But yes, I can do that.”

You stand up, dusting yourself off as much as you can, trying to make yourself presentable.

The eyes watch you.

“Will you grant me a wish, then?”

There is a low hum. “If that is what you want.”

“It is.” You are eager. You have been waiting for this moment your entire life.

“Very well. What do you want, little human?”

“Immortality.”

The word is released from your mouth like a spring, gushing out of you like water from a broken dam.

“Immortality? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you say. “I want to live forever, to never die or suffer or feel pain. I want to be like the gods, existing forever and ever.”

The crystals seem to glow brighter. “I will grant you your wish.”

There is a bright flash and you close your eyes against it, holding your hands out to block the brilliance as much as you can.

When you open your eyes again, you are back in front of the cave.

You test yourself, taking your knife and making a small cut.

You feel no pain.

Your dreams have been fulfilled.

Time passes and you find yourself with too much of it on your hands.

You travel the world, choosing to trek on foot rather than by vehicle. You visit all the remote villages, and see all the famous and dangerous sights. You venture where no one else dares, for you have nothing to lose.

And yet, even after so many years, you still have so much to see. The planet is huge, and you are glad you are immortal. You spend days laying on grass, watching the clouds go by. You spend months on humanitarian projects, rescuing lost children and building homes. You spend years living life the way you want to, without a single care in the world. Time does not run out for you after all.

The years tick by. You age more every day. Wrinkles start to form, and you think, I have reached my limit. I will stop aging soon, forever stuck in the middle ages. Or, maybe you will be like Gandalf, stopping somewhere further down the line.

It matters little to you. You will not die.

One day, you wake up, feeling weak. You are nearing your nineties and lately you have found it hard to breathe, to walk, to eat. You know you cannot be dying--you are immortal.

The problem plagues you, gnawing at your mind, wearing your sanity away.

You try to carry on as normal, but you find yourself unable to even get out of bed.

Your loved ones find you like that, weighed down on the bed, tears streaming down your face. Their concerned voices clammer around you but you can’t seem to hear the words they say.

They take you to the doctor, who gives you a series of checkups before settling you onto one of the patient beds.

The doctor’s eyes are solemn, watching you, the way the god did all those years ago.

Your verdict is handed to you.

Your body is dying.

You lay in bed, with only the beeping monitor for company. The minutes trickle by, slowly, the way sand in an hourglass does.

All you can do is watch, too weak to even move anymore.

Your loved ones stop by to visit you, but even that starts to fade away, until one day, the monitor stops completely.

The doctor comes in to check on you, and pronounces you dead.

You open your mouth to protest, to tell them you are still alive, but no words come. Your eyes see but they are no longer absorbing light.

Your family comes to see you one last time, a tearful, mournful affair.

You want to shout at them, to remind them that you are immortal, that you cannot die…

And yet...

It is eerily silent. 

They place your body in a nice, fancy coffin, one purchased with the gold and wealth you had amassed over the years.

You laugh at the irony of it all, but there is no sound.

They bury you deep beneath the ground, covering you in layers of dirt, leaving you alone in the darkness. 

You find yourself screaming into the abyss.

Time continues on.

Your body rots away, until there is nothing but bones, a skeleton in the dark.

And that, too, fades away. Your bones disintegrate, and yet you are still here.

Centuries pass, and one day light shines through. 

A metal claw reveals itself, digging up the dirt one by one. Humans with hard plastic hats on their heads peer at you, muttering to themselves about the measurements of the land.

For the first time in a long time, you can see the sky again.

It’s a lovely light blue, dotted with dense clouds and streaks of yellow sunlight. You can hear the birds chirping and feel the breeze going by, though you have no physical body to sense with.

When the dirt is cleared, you can see, for the first time, just how many centuries have passed.

Where once was woodlands, now there is a foreign city in its place, filled with massive towers and bustling streets. You hear new sounds and smell new scents, and there is the chatter of a million voices.

You have been buried into the next age, concealed in silence as the generations went by.

The sun sets and then rises again. A new day.

You are still alive. Still conscious.

And you will be, for many more centuries to come. A presence, rooted to the spot. Conscious and sentient but unable to do anything.

Immortal.

This was the deal you made.

You should have been careful with your words.

[cluelessnamelessao3]

But It’s Not Funny

17. Stay with Me

You were, to say the least, a little nervous. Though, that nervousness was quelled in part with your sheer determination. It was time to get some answers. The curiosity and the confusion you felt from the conversation with Frisk had never left you. It had only grown with time.

You wanted to know more. Still, Frisk was just a child, albeit a mature one, and you couldn’t place the expectation of an explanation on them. Besides, they had a lot on their plate—clearly. You needed to know exactly what had happened, especially as it seemed that it was going to affect you and your friends. You didn’t feel like you could talk to Sans, at least not until you knew what can of worms you were opening up.

So, here you were, outside of Alphys and Undyne’s home, pacing as you gathered your courage. Your plan was to learn about her job as the Royal Scientist, and, as a bonus, to learn about that which you could find no real information about the idea of souls, of magic, and of what actually forced monsters under Mount Ebott.

With a deep breath, you stalked up to the door and knocked. There were a few moments of nothing, then you could hear the clattering of claws against hardwood floors. The door opened and there was Alphys, herself.

She looked happy to see you, though you could sense a vague apprehension. It was nothing out of the norm, however, since she tended to be a very timid little lizard monster.

“H-Hi!”

You waved, “Hey Alph!” and she let you inside.

The house was not what you expected. You weren’t sure what you had expected, but certainly not an open floor plan with a minimalist style. There was a small entryway, from which you had just come. The focus of the main room was on an elegant white grand piano. You noted the sheets of music that sat on the stand and on the little piano bench. Did Alphys play? you wondered idly. A large kitchen was off to the right and a simple living room with a rather expansive dvd collection sat to the left. You took a moment to admire the huge flat-screen television, before taking in the rest of the house. There was a hallway directly to the back, which was where Alphys started to walk. The hall had three doors, one to the left, one to the right, and the last one at the end of the hall.

“You have such a nice home,” you said as you followed her. You could just see a slight pink tinge to her orange scales and smiled. She was so easily flustered.

“Undyne d-did most of it,” she announced proudly.

“Oh?” You asked with some surprise, “Is the piano hers, then?”

“Yes!” She squealed, “She’s amazing.”

Whenever Alphys talked of Undyne it seemed as though she forgot her anxieties for a moment. Her stutter diminished; it was heart-warming to see the love between them.

You couldn’t believe the two were not already dating. Not only did they share a home, but it was so obvious to anyone who had spent more than a minute with either of them that they were head over heels for each other.

“So, you live together, but you aren’t together?”

This was the wrong question to ask, judging by the flush on her scales and the sudden sweat beading her yellow head.

“Y-yeah… Is that weird?”

“No!” You rushed to assure her, “I just feel like it is clear that you both like each other…”

She continued down the hallway, opening a door off to the right into a room that was notedly different from the rest of the house. While the greater part of the house was decorated in simple colours and only a few paintings or ornaments, Alphys’ room was absolutely vibrant, and a little messy. The walls were covered in posters of anime and there were several manga strewn about the room. The bed was unmade, with crumpled pink sheets and an anime themed comforter. You, mercifully, did not comment on the body pillow with the face of some heroine you didn’t recognise.

“I j-just d-don’t know if…” Alphys faltered, “I… she’s great… and I’m…”

You placed a comforting hand on the madly blushing monster, “Alph, I don’t think you know how great you are. Any fish-lady with an ounce of sense could see it.”

She flapped her hands in embarrassment, “Y-you’re just saying that.”

Before you could say anything else, she cleared her throat, “B-besides, there is a l-lot… t-that she doesn’t know yet. Th-things that would make her… She’ll hate me.”

In an even smaller voice, she added, “I hate me.”

You felt the urge to just grab her and hug her but resisted it—you didn’t want to add to her stress.

“Alphys, whatever it is that you haven’t told her… she’ll forgive you. I just know.”

She smiled, but it was a sad smile.

All she said was, “Well, we’ll see if you change your mind.”

With that, she gestured to another door that you had assumed was a closet. However, when she opened it, you discovered that it held another room. This room was in stark contrast to Alphys’ bedroom. It was sterile, clinical, with white walls and a tiled floor. There were machines beeping with indecipherable information flashing across them and counter tops filled with a variety of what you presumed to be scientific instruments.

She took a moment to point some of these things out, explaining that she still continued some of her research above ground. She admitted shyly that she hoped to get some kind of job as a scientist or researcher.

“This is so cool!” You exclaimed.

She waved her hand dismissively, “My lab Underground was much bigger.”

“What did you do down there?”

“Uh, I, uh, well,” she stuttered, sweating more and more as she floundered for words, “I experimented… f-for Asgore. I—Asgore w-wanted SOULs?” The last part sounded more like a question than a statement.

You stayed silent but tried to look encouraging. You knew about souls from the conversation with Frisk.

She seemed to consider something, then asked, “D-do you know what SOULs are?”

“Only vaguely. I know they exist, I guess,” you answered truthfully.

“Y-yes, SOULs exist. Th-they are… uhm, monsters have them and h-humans do too. Th-they’re basically your ess-essence.”

You nodded, that wasn’t new. Humans had beliefs about souls, after all.

Alphys’ tone become more serious and her speech less fragmented as she explained the properties of the SOUL.

“Monster SOULs are white and shaped like an upside-down heart, but human SOULs are also heart-shaped, but they have colour. I was researching SOULs for Asgore because they were the key to our escape.”

This was new information, “You needed them to escape? You said monsters have, uhm, SOULs, right?”

She nodded in affirmation, looking uncomfortable, “Yes, we do, but they’re just not as strong as a human SOUL. Do you know how the monsters were forced Underground?”

You shrugged, “Kind of. Frisk talked to me about it a little bit. Humans were at fault, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There was silence for a moment. You felt a heaviness in your heart—or perhaps, in your SOUL.

Then, she continued. Alphys explained the history of the monsters and the seven mages that forced them Underground. She talked about the War of Humans and Monsters, which took place long before Frisk had ever come Underground. So many monsters died, due to an unfounded fear that the humans held—it was here that you learned that monsters could, theoretically, absorb a human SOUL. You wondered, could humans do the same? The seven mages created a barrier with their magic and sealed the monsters under Mount Ebott. She spoke of the bitterness in many of the monster’s hearts that came from the loss of so many of their own and their entrapment in the Underground. You felt sick, knowing that it was your kind that caused such destruction.

Then, she told you something that made you feel so much worse.

“To take down the barrier… we needed seven human SOULs.”

“But I thought Frisk took down the barrier?”

“They did. Th-they did… I-I don’t remember exactly how… It’s kind of a blur… but they didn’t do it alone,” she looked as though she had more to say, but was unsure of how to say it, or what your reaction might be.

“We had six SOULs before Frisk came.”

You couldn’t hide your shock and she cringed at the expression on your face.

“How!?”

She responded simply, “They fell. The same way Frisk fell.”

“What does this have to do with working for Asgore?”

And so, she told you. She told you the truth of it all—that she had lied to Asgore about creating an artificial SOUL so that she could impress him—that because of that lie, she became the Royal Scientist. She told you that she created Mettaton, that she tried and tried again to create a SOUL. She told you that she experimented with a compound found in some human SOULs known as determination. She told you of the true lab, of the failed experiments, of the melting amalgamations (you thought of Endogeny, suddenly understanding the nature of their existence) of monsters that had passed, and of the one that didn’t quite fail, but disappeared, nonetheless. She told you of the humans who had fallen before Frisk and the way those SOULs had been taken. At some point during her confession, she had started crying.

And, despite the horror you felt, you reached over and gave her a hug. She cried into your shoulder, talking of her failure and her deceit, talking of her shame. She cried and she cried, confessing her sins and the desperation of the monsters who spent many a year trapped Underground.

“And, in the end, SOULs couldn’t even be artificially made. Everything I did was pointless,” she choked out.

Alphys was shaking, being practically held up by you. All you could do was hold her as she cried. You hadn’t known. You hadn’t known at all that this was what you would learn. You had only meant to learn more about magic and why the monsters were pushed Underground. You hadn’t known that she would tell you everything.

One thing was clear to you, however: this secret had weighed heavily on her heart.

“Does anyone else know?” You knew the answer, or rather, you could guess it.

“Y-yeah, Frisk does.”

It was as you expected.

“And Frisk doesn’t hate you,” your tone was a statement, but in reality, it was more of a question.

“N-no… but Frisk has always been… F-Frisk is so f-full of mercy.”

“Well,” you laughed, unable to keep the urge at bay, “I’m not so full of mercy.”

At this, Alphys stiffened, but you hurriedly continued, “And I don’t hate you in the slightest… I just… feel bad.”

“Me too.”

The rest of the visit was far less emotional and heavy, although the two of you did cover some difficult topics—such as the existence of human magic and whether or not there was a possibility of humans pulling the same abhorrent stunt. You learned a lot, though. You understood better how Frisk had fought and fought for a peaceful resolution. You learned about monster magic in more detail and perhaps in a more scientific way than your brain could fully comprehend, but Alphys was patient with your questions.

You still felt uncomfortable, unsure of what to make of the little reptilian monster and her past, but overall, you felt compassion for her and for the monsters. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live your life without having seen the sun, or the moon. So, in some part, you understood why they had done the things they had. Even if the murders were something terrible to hear about, you could still understand why.

There was nothing but empathy in your SOUL.

You were both in the kitchen, sitting at a pristine table, each drinking a cup of tea—Alphys had said it was “golden flower” tea. You had never heard of it before, but it helped soothe you. It seemed like it was helping Alphys, as well. The two of you chatted on more light-hearted subjects: the anime Alphys was currently watching, how cool Undyne was, and how Mew Mew Kissy Cutie was the best show ever.

Soon enough, evening had fallen, and it was time for you to go home.

Before you left, however, you still had one thing you felt the need to say to Alphys.

“I think you should tell Undyne everything.”

“W-what?”

“Seriously, tell her everything. Tell her about the lab and what you did. She’ll understand. She really cares about you. You’ll see.”

She still looked unconvinced but said she would try anyway.

“Th-thank you,” Alphys said to you as you were leaving, “for listening.”

“Hey, I’ll always listen. You’re not a bad person, Alphys. You were just in a bad situation.”

Alphys did not say anything, but she appeared to take those words to heart. You could feel a sense of calm in her that you had never seen before. Perhaps, although the conversation was not what you expected, it was what both of you had needed.

 There was a lot on your mind, walking home. You were still trying to process everything that you had been told. It was hard to comprehend and there were still pieces missing. Alphys did not mention any magic that Frisk had; she didn’t seem to know that Frisk was capable of magic and you had not pressed her about it. That fact, though, seemed to confirm the idea that Frisk really had kept their powers a secret. You still did not know about Sans, either, and his involvement in any of what had taken place Underground, or whether or not he was truly the ‘he’ that Frisk had alluded to. You knew a whole lot more than you had previously. Although it had not been an easy discussion, nor had any of the information been something simple to digest, you were glad that you knew the truth. Or, that you knew part of the truth.

There was still more to uncover—like the experiment that Alphys said had partially worked. Where did that creature go? It made you think of Asriel—or Flowey, you corrected yourself. Frisk said that he had no SOUL. How could that be? Would it be so easy to say that Flowey was the creation that Alphys had mentioned? It seemed almost too convenient, or too obvious.

You would have to ask Frisk about that when you got the chance.

At that moment, something broke you from your thoughts.

It was getting late, and the streets were empty. You were still somewhat far away from your apartment building. You paused in your walk, straining to listen, while looking around surreptitiously.

You didn’t see anything, or anyone for that matter, but you had the peculiar feeling of being watched. You thought of the threatening note that had been left outside your apartment building so long ago and felt a spike of fear rising within you.

With more caution, now, you stepped forward. This time, you were listening intently. You stayed alert as you continued to walk home.

With a forced sense of casualness, you grabbed your phone out of your pocket and held it in your hands as you walked. You noticed the slight tremble in your hands. Your palms felt clammy, and your stomach was filled with dread. There was something terribly wrong. You didn’t know how you knew—you just knew. You knew that something bad was going to happen. You felt as though it already had.

You flipped the phone open, hearing footsteps from a distance behind you as you continued to walk down the sidewalk. In your head, you were working to calculate just how far of a run it would be to get back to the safety of your apartment.

All you could think about was the threatening note. It struck fear into your heart.

As you took a turn, from the corner of your eye you saw several dark figures a few yards down the street you had just left. They were staring, following, with no real sense of urgency. They were undeniably human, or at least humanoid—although you heavily doubted the idea of several monsters tracking you through the night. Your heart was pounding as you rounded the corner.

Most alarmingly of all, was that they made no motion to hide the fact that they were, indeed, stalking you.

[whimsicalworldofme]

The Undying Ember

So I’ve had this character kicking around in my brain since TFA, a young Jedi named Ava. She grew up an orphan in the Resistance with Poe and Ben and eventually trained under Luke to become a Jedi. There’s nothing wholly remarkable about her other than her Force sensitivity.  

In this particular story line I’ve created (set after the events of TLJ), Rey is trying to build up a new school of Padawans and has recruited Ava to go and retrieve Force sensitive children. But her mission goes tits up when she is captured by Kylo Ren and their interconnected past is dredged up, creating serious issues for them both. I saw a prompt about one character having kept a huge secret from another and this angsty stuff is what my brain churned out.

Please be gentle with me if you feel like commenting, this is strictly for my own enjoyment and I don’t write much fic. But I hope you’ll enjoy reading it.

Word count: 2432

No triggers that I can tell. Some serious angst though.

Images of a little boy with brown eyes, a long nose, and thick black hair flashed through their minds. He giggled and laughed, running through a field of tall yellow grass, wearing a crown of amber flowers on his head.

           “Mama!” He called out with delight and pointed to a formation of X-Wings coming in for a landing. “Baba’s home!”

           Not this, Ava tried to turn Kylo onto any other track in her mind. Anything but this.

The bond broke and Kylo staggered back, gasping for air. Ava gulped for breath herself, the strain of having to fight him out of her memories put far more of a toll on her body than she’d care to admit. When he lurched back beside her, towering over her, the snarl on his lips didn’t match the brokenness in those deep brown eyes.

           “You have a son?” He didn’t sound hurt or curious but accusatory, like she’d committed a heinous crime.

           “That’s none of your concern,” Ava said. She put up more defenses around her mind to keep him out of any and all thoughts about the boy.

           “With that pilot,” he sneered and she understood now why he took on the attitude that her child was an assault against him. “It was only a matter of time before he tried breeding more Rebel brats-”

           Ava smacked him so hard across the face that the sound of it reverberated across the room and left a red imprint of her hand on his cheek. Kylo threw her with the Force and she reached out to it herself just in time to prevent her from slamming into the wall. But Kylo was stronger and he lifted her off the ground, an invisible hand around her throat. She coughed and fought, trying to worm her way into his mind to get him to let her go but it didn’t work. Ben was gone. Kylo’s eyes burned with the same rage as the night at the temple when she’d refused to go with him to Snoke.

           “When I find the new rebel base I will personally see to it that your precious pilot and his son are annihilated like the scum they are.”

           “Your son,” Ava gasped against his hold. “Yours.”

           Those three words caught him off guard enough to give Ava some air as she dropped to the ground. Her knees and the heels of her hands hit the hard floor sending reverberating pain through her whole body. She rasped for breath and sputtered out cough after cough trying to fill her lungs.

           Kylo and Ben seemed to be at war with each other as Ava stayed there on the floor, watching the emotions roil across his face like a storm at sea. She didn’t say anything. She’d already said too much but if telling him the truth might save her son, then so be it. At least he wouldn’t be likely to try to kill the boy now.

           “Liar!” Kylo snarled and she was up in the air again.

           “Ben,” Ava clutched at her throat. “Look for yourself. See the truth.”

           The bond between their minds opened once more and Ava willed herself to relive the hardest moments of her life. Seventeen years old, meant to be training as a Jedi, suddenly feeling the presence of another life emanating from her own body. They weren’t supposed to have any form of attachments. Master Luke made them swear. The old Jedi forbade attachment altogether, but Master Luke said that they should just wait until they were done with their training to form any bonds that might distract them. That hadn’t stopped Ben and Ava from sneaking away from the temple when no one would notice they were gone. She wanted to tell Luke. He always made time for her and seemed to know what to do no matter what. But the next night Ben turned.

           The look on his face made her heart wrench even now, seeing it replayed in her thoughts. He’d begged her to join him, to become one of the Knights of Ren. He hadn’t known, couldn’t sense it yet. When she refused and cried and pleaded with him, his eyes flamed with rage and he pulled her little stone hut down on top of her. The panic enveloped her again and she hoped that right now Kylo felt every terrifying fear that she had that night. Heartache over the loss of her love, broken bones and bruises and cuts all over her body, and the terrifying thought that the baby hadn’t survived even though she somehow had. She opened her eyes and watched him. He’d loosened his hold on her and let her stand on the ground, but she was still held in place. There was something of Ben there, the boy who felt others pain too deeply, who wanted nothing more than to be reassured that he was loved despite the demons he struggled against. He was broken and confused.

           Ava turned her attention back to showing him exactly what had happened. How a group of rebels had come the site of the temple at Leia’s behest to check for survivors. How she was bloody and mangled when they dug her out of the rubble. She made sure he felt the loneliness and fear when the doctor told Leia about the baby. The General had known even before the doctor said anything and she knew whose it was too. Ava wanted Ben to feel that horrible ache she and his mother had shared as they wordlessly acknowledged that Ben was gone and they didn’t know what to do about his unborn child. She showed him the way people glared at her and gossiped about her, about how she should’ve seen how evil he truly was and that might’ve saved her from winding up in that position. And then there was the pain of the people who treated her as a pitiable urchin, clicking their tongues and shaking their heads as though she’d been stupid to fall for his advances. And Poe. Sweet, selfless Poe, who told everyone the baby was his even though no one believed it. It wasn’t remotely possible, but he’d made up a story about going to visit her at the temple and if anyone spoke ill of Ava or the baby he’d charge angrily to their defense. He’d gotten more than one black eye and official reprimand from his superiors.

           “Enough!” Kylo snapped and Ava shut down the bond between them.

           He said nothing and Ava didn’t bother trying to talk to him. What could she possibly say? She never wanted Kylo to know about her son. The less he knew the safer the child would be.

           “What’s his name?”

           “You don’t deserve to know that.” Ava didn’t care what he did to her. She wouldn’t tell him anything further.

           “I am his father!” Ben slammed his fist into the wall. “This is why you shut yourself off to the Force? To keep me from him!”

           “I’ll not have my son bent and twisted into a monster that he isn’t. I will not lose him to the dark side the way I lost his father.” Ava shouted and Ben stopped short. That painful, deep look of longing brimmed in his eyes and it made her heart hurt. “I’ve lost too much already.”

           She thought of Han who had been like a father to her, how he’d taken them out flying as little kids in the Falcon. And how he’d occasionally fall into old smuggling habits to bring them candies and toys from faraway planets. She thought of Leia who, despite not being able to spend much time away from her obligations to the Resistance, would always tell them stories about cities in the clouds or treehouse villages full of Ewoks whenever she had a chance. And Luke, always patient and loving, who delighted at their triumphs as they learned how to utilize their connection to the force. They were all gone now.

           “Kylo Ren took everyone I love from me,” she murmured. “Please don’t let him take my son too.”

           There was a pause. Ben took heavy breaths, a panic and confusion about him that Ava hadn’t seen since they were children. She knew he felt the conflict, could sense the light and the dark clawing at his heart. All control he’d had on her melted away and she felt herself able to breathe again. But there was no way of knowing what he might do next. Rey had been right about one thing, there was still good in him. She could feel it like the embers in a dying fire clinging to life, burning warm and soft. All it needed was the right fuel and Ben could be brought back. Ava didn’t want to be that fuel. She didn’t want her son to be either. If Ben Solo were to come back to life it would have to be of his own accord, his own choice. But it gave her hope.

           In a flurry Kylo grabbed her by the arm and started to drag her out of the room. She couldn’t exactly resist or fight him off. He was a foot taller and quite possibly twice her size. So she went along, unsure of where he meant to take her and if she would ever return.

           I have to find a way out. I have to find a way home.

           She refused to give up hope. Other members of the Resistance had been in worse binds than this.

           “Ready my ship,” Kylo barked an order that sent a couple of lower officers of the First Order scrambling. They were all terrified of him, Ava felt it very clearly. That sent a pang through her. As a kid, Ben had only wanted everyone to love him, his parents especially, but he always sought the approval and affection of his peers and mentors. He’d been so soft and kind. A little sassy, to be sure, but good.

           How did Snoke twist you so fully into something you’re not? She watched him wince as her thoughts reverberated in his brain. His hold on her arm tightened, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh. Next thing she knew, Ava was being shoved into the tiny space behind the pilot’s seat of Kylo’s tie fighter and they were screaming off the massive star destroyer to who knew where.

           “Where are you taking me?”

           She knew he wouldn’t reply but felt the need to ask just to keep her thoughts from completely spiraling out of control. Since talking would obviously do nothing, she decided to meditate. It didn’t take long before they landed expertly on a distant planet though Ava couldn’t quite get her bearings as to where it was in relation to the ship they’d left. It wasn’t a remarkable planet. Grassy and tranquil. There were some wild cattle looking creatures in the distance whose heads rose when Kylo marched her off the ship but they were too absorbed in their grazing to care about the two bipedal aliens in the distance.

           “Why did you bring me here?” Ava asked. It didn’t make sense. If he meant to kill her he could’ve just done it on the star destroyer. Something was amiss.  

           “You want your son safe?” He jerked her a little closer, leaning down to look her in the eye. “That’s why we’re here. You go around screaming about him on that Star Destroyer, Hux gets wind of him, he’ll be worse than dead.”

           Ava wasn’t sure she understood but something about that prick of a general struck a real, genuine fear into Ben. He had a reputation for conniving and murder but surely he feared the wrath of Kylo Ren? A son though, the right pressure, that could provide leverage. It clicked and Ava nodded to show she understood what he meant.

           “He’s what, twelve now? Is he like us?” Desperation filled his voice, his brown eyes softened as he searched her face for any sign of an answer.

           “I told you everything I’m willing to tell,” Ava insisted. A rush of wind hit them and she wrapped her arms around herself trying to stay warm. She wasn’t dressed for the chill. Her mission had been to a desert planet in search of a Force sensitive child Rey wanted to bring into her new academy. Ben took off his cowl and held it out to her, unsure of how she would react. There had been a time when they were younger that he’d wrap her up in his cloak if she caught a chill. Now they were distant, he was hesitant and she was fearful. She took the offered garment and wrapped it around her shoulders.

           “Thank you,” she mumbled.

           “I’m leaving you here,” he snapped, not wanting to seem interested in her gratitude. “Your rebel friends will no doubt come looking for you. I know Rey can sense you.”

           “I will not be bait for your trap,” Ava stood firm. She could cut herself off from the Force just as easily as before.

           “It’s not a trap,” Kylo grabbed her arm and drew her in again. She didn’t like it when he brought her closer, it made her woozy and sad. He still smelled the same and it made her heart race despite her every thought screaming that she hated him.

           “It’s a warning. Your only warning. Get your son and get far away from the Resistance, far away from the First Order. Find a planet on the outer rim and disappear.”

           He pushed her so forcefully away from him that she stumbled and fell to the ground. But he didn’t see. He’d already turned his back and with those long strides re-entered his tie fighter.

           “Ben!” Ava shouted as he shut the hatch. “Ben!” She didn’t know exactly what it was she wanted to say but suddenly she didn’t want him to go. She wanted him to come with her, wanted him to run far away. They could all go together. Of course, it was selfish. Realistically she knew she could never leave the Resistance like that, could never be that heartless. But for a brief and glimmering moment she thought of how things could have been.

           The Tie shot into the atmosphere and Ava knew that Kylo hadn’t given a single backwards glance as she called his true name. Wrapping the cowl tight around her shoulders she shut her eyes against the sting of tears.

           Luke. Your son’s name is Luke.

           The light grew a little warmer before Ben’s presence faded entirely from her reach.  

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[cloakedsparrow]

From the moment “Pacific Rim” was announced, the idea always boiled down to one thing: giant robots fighting giant monsters. The robots got a lot of attention, but there was no denying the appeal of the huge creatures known as”kaiju.” They were more than just big beasts for the robots to pound on, because there was a lot going on with the monsters behind-the-scenes, and the film crew spent a lot of time and effort to make them.

Some things about the kaiju you might not have noticed if you only saw the movie once. Even if you’ve seen the movie 100 times, there are still some interesting facts behind the scenes you wouldn’t get. With development ongoing in the sequel, “Pacific Rim: Uprising,” CBR is here to count down 15 things you didn’t know about the kaiju.

15. WHAT ARE KAIJU

If we’re gonna talk about kaiju, then we should start with the word itself. Even though “Pacific Rim” made it more popular in the West, the movie didn’t invent the word, because “kaiju” is actually a Japanese word that’s roughly translated as “strange beast.” Americans just think of kaiju as “giant monsters,” but it really means the giant monster genre of Japanese TV shows and movies.

The first and most famous kaiju that most movie fans think of is the titular creature from the 1954 movie “Godzilla,” about a giant fire-breathing dinosaur-like creature brought back to life by nuclear testing. There are lots of other Japanese monsters like Mothra that can be considered kaiju, and there’s even a giant Frankenstein’s monster in 1965’s “Frankenstein Conquers the World.” The Japanese made the kaiju an analogy of the rampant destruction of the nuclear bomb, but in “Pacific Rim,” kaiju were inter-dimensional monsters that come out of a breach at the bottom of the ocean.

14. KAIJU IN SUITS

The kaiju of “Pacific Rim” are awesome, but still feel familiar, because they’re inspired by the Japanese monster movies of the ’50s and ’60s, which have a special place in the heart of the director Guillermo del Toro. Many of the movie’s fans share the same love of watching giant monsters smash their way through cardboard cities, and “Pacific Rim” pays homage to those old films, including the designs.

Most of the kaiju from the old movies had to be made with stuntmen wearing rubber outfits. Unlike those old movies, the giant monsters in “Pacific Rim” are all computer-generated, so they could look like anything, but del Toro went in the opposite direction. He told his designers to make all the kaiju look like something a human being could fit into. In other words, they look like men in suits. However, del Toro ordered the team not to rip off their designs from existing kaiju, but rather come up with new ideas.

13. KAIJU IDOL

The kaiju in “Pacific Rim” are a collection of weird and stylish creatures that make the movie fun to watch. One reason why the kaiju are so great is that only the best of the best made an appearance. That was what del Toro wanted, because he didn’t just hire a bunch of designers, have them hand in kaiju designs, and take what he got to put them on screen. Nope, del Toro did what he called an “American Idol”-type competition to vote on designs, and get the best of the best.

Del Toro had the production team design 40 different kaiju silhouettes and then had everyone vote on which ones they liked best. Then they eliminated the lowest-ranking kaiju and voted on the winners. They kept doing that until only nine were left, the cream of the crop, and those became the kaiju which would appear in the movie. They basically held a tournament and the winners made the team.

12. KAIJU ARE ANIMALS

Just like the kaiju in “Pacific Rim” could have been any shape but stayed in the form of men in suits, they also could have been unearthly creatures that have never been seen on Earth before. After all, it’s CGI. There could have been giant worms or glowing balls of light. Del Toro gave the designers another order, which was to make the kaiju based on real animals, and they knocked it out of the park.

The kaiju all have animal qualities that make them seem familiar. For instance, the brawling creature Leatherback walks on huge oversized arms like a gorilla. The creature Onibaba that terrorized the young Mako Mori in a flashback has multiple legs and claws like a crab. That’s a callback to the original Japanese kaiju, who usually had qualities of different animals like the giant moth Mothra and the giant praying mantis Kamacuras in 1967’s “Son of Godzilla.”

11. BIOLOGICAL WEAPONS

The movie described the kaiju blood (called “kaiju blue”) as being toxic. There’s more to that side of them, because the creatures are toxic in every way. Everything about the kaiju is poisonous, including their blood and excrement. Whenever a kaiju is hurt, its blood spreads everywhere, covering the city in noxious glowing ooze. When the kaiju dies, its body decomposes, and the kaiju blue turns into a poisonous mist that spreads through the air. If anyone breathes in the mist, they go into shock and can die.

The toxic nature of the kaiju isn’t an accident. The aliens that created them, called the Precursors, wanted the kaiju to be as damaging to humans as possible. The kaiju are basically biological weapons made to destroy as much of the Earth as they can. Just walking on the ground, a kaiju is causing disaster. When they die, the monsters ruin the ground around them, making any attempt to stop them a pyrrhic victory.

10. NOT SO DUMB

Watching “Pacific Rim,” it would easy to call the kaiju “big, dumb monsters,” but that would be a huge mistake. The kaiju are definitely big and they are monsters, but they aren’t dumb. In fact, the kaiju are smart enough to make anyone who fights them regret thinking they could just shoot at them until they die. In fights with the kaiju, Earth and the jaegers have seen the giant monsters pull off some major moves.

For one thing, the kaiju can communicate with each other telepathically, which allows them to coordinate their attacks. It works sort of like the drift in the jaegers, where they can work together, and we saw in the Triple Event that the kaiju weren’t just standing around. They were pulling off sneak attacks and targeting critical parts of the jaegers. The kaiju also have two brains; one to handle cognitive and motor functions in the front and a second brain in the back of the body. That also gives them a boost of intelligence.

9. THE SERIZAWA SCALE

Given their destructive power and toxic nature, a kaiju attack is more like a natural disaster than an animal attack. That’s probably why the kaiju are sorted into categories, just like hurricanes and earthquakes. In “Pacific Rim,” kaiju are classified by the Serizawa Scale, which fans believe is named after Dr. Daisuke Serizawa, the scientist in 1954’s “Godzilla” who came up with the “Oxygen Destroyer” that killed Godzilla.

The Serizawa Scale has five categories. The water displacement (or size), the toxicity level of their blood, and the amount of radiation the kaiju give off decides which category the kaiju fall into. Category I kaiju like Onibaba are no cake walk, but they’re the easiest to fight and least destructive. Category V kaiju Slattern was the most dangerous monster the jaegers had ever faced. The scale is helpful in knowing what the robots are up against, but the bottom line is that all kaiju are bad.

8. MADE TO ORDER

The kaiju are different from any other lifeform on Earth, and not just because they’re giant monsters from another dimension. Well, that’s certainly part of it, but the kaiju are also created differently than any other creature because kaiju aren’t born, they’re made. As Newton discovered in “Pacific Rim,” the kaiju are grown as cloned body parts from a single genetic line instead of whole animals. The body parts are then sewn together by the Precursors to become whatever they need at the time.

That makes the kaiju incredibly versatile, malleable, and quick to produce. If the Precursors need a kaiju with two clawed arms, four legs and two heads, they can do it. If they need a kaji with one arm that sprays acid, they can make that too. Almost any creature they can imagine becomes real. The Precursors are like the Burger King of monster makers, because they always have it their way.

7. BEST OF THE BEST

Now let’s talk about some things you definitely wouldn’t know just from watching the movie. The prequel comic and novelization of “Pacific Rim” provided details that filled in more of the background of the kaiju. For instance, the life of a kaiju in its native dimension (called the Anteverse) isn’t all roses and sunshine. In fact, it’s downright hostile. The Precursors don’t just build kaiju and send them to Earth. The kaiju have to go through their own trials first.

In the Anteverse, kaiju are pitted against each other in combat to find out which are the strongest. The ones that lose the battles are killed. The ones that survive are forced into combat again until only the strongest and most deadly come out on top. It’s a Darwinian tournament that means only the best of the best are sent to Earth. We should be thankful getting the cream of the crop if they weren’t there to kill us all.

6. KAIJU CULTURE

In our world, kaiju are really popular among fans of Japanese monster movies, which makes sense because giant monsters are cool. In the world of “Pacific Rim,” the love of kaiju is cranked up to 11. As we saw in the opening montage of the movie, the kaiju made a huge impact on the environment, but also pop culture. Kaiju have influenced everything from entertainment to fashion in the near future, which only makes sense. Seeing giant crabs and lizards on TV is bound to inspire someone.

In “Pacific Rim,” children play with action figures of kaiju and jaegers. People idolize the kaiju and tattoo them onto their bodies, like Newton. There are fashion designers who make outfits and makeup inspired by the kaiju. There are kaiju on TV shows and in movies, and the kaiju are even worshipped in temples made from their corpses like we saw outside Hannibal Chau’s shop.

5. HOW KAIJU ARE NAMED

The kaiju have some awesome names like Leatherback, Knifehead and Slattern. It seems like every kaiju gets a cool name right out of the gate, and that’s not an accident. In the world of “Pacific Rim,” people don’t sit around during an attack going, “What do you think that one should be? It’s got a cool horn on its head. What about Hornasaurus?” No, the government has a database that generates and assigns names to kaiju the moment they’re identified. It’s not an original idea. Tropical storms are given names based on databases generated by international agencies. Government projects get randomly assigned names as well.

Of course, in reality, the kaiju are given names by the movie’s designers. It’s not much of a coincidence that Knifehead has a head shaped like a knife. The movie gives all the kaiju titles based on their appearance or traits, plus whether the name is cool or not, which is why all the names are great and add to the monster’s mystique.

4. GREAT MOMENTS

When Guillermo del Toro agreed to direct “Pacific Rim,” he worked with the screenwriter Travis Beacham to create some new story elements. Several of the coolest moments in the movie came from del Toro, who had some pretty specific ideas of what he wanted to see. You can thank del Toro for the “live birth” kaiju scene and the flashback of Mako Mori to her childhood attack.

When we mention the live birth scene, we’re talking about the part where a dead kaiju turned out to be pregnant and its baby burst from the body on a rampage. Del Toro has said the moment came from his desire to see a kaiju born on screen. The scene where Mori flashed back to her traumatic childhood watching the kaiju chasing her through the city was del Toro’s idea of seeing a kaiju attack from a child’s perspective. Both scenes were great moments in a great movie.

3. KAIJU EVOLUTION

One of the biggest mistakes Earth made in fighting the kaiju was not realizing they were facing a coordinated threat. It was a mistake that cost them dearly. From the beginning, the defense forces (and the audience) assumed that the kaiju were just random creatures wandering through the breach into the normal universe. Each attack was treated separately from the others, so the military assumed they could eventually get the upper hand. Unfortunately, they underestimated the kaiju. Or, more importantly, they underestimated the forces behind the kaiju.

As Newton discovered, the kaiju were being sent to destroy Earth’s population. Each kaiju was designed and built to overcome the weapons that had beaten the last ones. That’s why the kaiju were able to smash through the Wall being built along the Pacific coast: that particular kaiju was specifically made to smash it. That’s also why the jaegers faced kaiju equipped with acid and even an electromagnetic pulse, meaning both were designed with the purpose of destroying the robots. If left unchecked, there would have been no stopping the kaiju.

2. NO NUKES

The world of “Pacific Rim” was more carefully designed than viewers gave it credit for. One of the biggest complaints came from people who would say, “Why didn’t they just use nukes or missiles to stop the kaiju? Ha, plot hole!” Well, they actually did think of that and it was explained in the 2013 graphic novel prequel, “Pacific Rim: Tales of Year Zero” (written by Travis Beacham, drawn by Sean Chen, Yvel Guichet, Pericles Junior, Chris Batista and Geoff Shaw).

When the first kaiju attacked, the military launched all the missiles they had against it and couldn’t stop it. In the process, the kaiju’s toxic blood got all over the place. The only thing that stopped the kaiju were nuclear weapons, which destroyed the city. When the next kaiju attacked, nukes were used again and again. After a while, the governments realized they couldn’t nuke the kaiju every time, because it would devastate the planet. Blunt force trauma was the best way to stop the kaiju without spilling too much blood. We’re talking trauma in the form of giant fists belonging to giant robots.

1. THEY’RE FULL OF AMMONIA

As we said earlier, the kaiju are really toxic, and part of the reason is that (as Hannibal Chau said) their bodies are literally full of ammonia. That’s not just something that makes them dangerous, but it comes from a branch of science called xenobiology that imagines what other life could be like. Some scientists believe that alien life could exist whose body chemistry is based on ammonia instead of water.

The idea is that ammonia is just as common as water in the universe, shares a lot of the properties of water and is a solvent that can support needed chemical reactions. No one has found a creature with an ammonia-based chemistry yet, and scientists debate whether it’s even technically possible. In “Pacific Rim,” it’s not only possible, it’s a fact. It helps the kaiju goal that having thousands of tons of ammonia crashing its way through New York City is a disaster for everything it comes in contact with.

[seniorbrief]

Walt Disney Reveals Just How Disneyland Was Created in Rare Interview

David F. Smith/AP/David F. Smith/AP/Shutterstock

This article was written by Ira Wolfert and originally appeared in the April 1966 issue of Reader’s Digest.

“Twenty years ago,” Walt said as we drove toward Disney­land, some 25 miles south­east of central Los Angeles, “I was always trying to think of a place to take my two small daughters on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon—a place where I could have fun, too.

“At an amusement park, the only fun provided for a father, besides having his bottom dropped out from under him on the roller coaster, was the same he enjoyed all week: Buy­ing the tickets.”

Now Walt has created his own park, to satisfy—in parents as in children—the profound human hunger to wonder, be amazed, and make believe. With that incompara­ble Disney sorcery, he has combined fantasy and history, adventure and learning in a way that sets every tendril of the imagination to tin­gling. Get a behind-the-scenes look at the first map Walt ever made of Disneyland.

From the beginning, Disney de­cided to lay out this 31-million-dollar playground like a gigantic theater. You’re in the lobby the moment you hand in your ticket: It’s Main Street, U.S.A., as it looked 50 years ago, when Walt was growing up. To the left and the right and straight ahead are the entrances to four “stages”—Adven­tureland, Frontierland, Fantasyland, and Tomorrowland. On these stages are set 45 different attractions, irresisti­ble toys more costly than an em­peror could buy.

Main Street has gaslights, hand­cranked telephones, a penny candy store with jelly beans and orange slices, and a bank where bankers (real ones) wear high stiff collars and massive watch chains and work at roll-top desks. An apothecary shop offers herb remedies and real live leeches in bottles of water. At the “Main Str. Cinema,” real (1914) Thomas A. Edison and Pearl White movies play. Only the ceilings and lighting inside the stores are mod­ern. “I’m sorry you noticed that,” said Walt disconsolately. “We had to change the gaslights here—people complained that they made the mer­chandise look too gloomy.”

At the far end of Main Street stands Fantasyland, the entrance guarded by moat-encircled Sleeping Beauty Castle. “It’s not far away,” said Walt, “but let’s have some fun getting there.” He led me to a quaint old horsecar pulled by a gleaming, burly Percheron. The driver snapped the air between his tongue and his teeth, said, “Giddy­yap,” and clanged a bell. We clip­clopped down Main Street.

The ride over, Walt explained why it had been shorter than it looked. “It’s not apparent at a casual glance,” he said, “but this street is only a scale model. We had every brick and shingle and gas lamp made five-eighths [of] true size. This cost more, but it made the street a toy, and the imagination can play more freely with a toy. Besides, peo­ple like to think that their world is somehow more grown-up than Papa’s was.”

That’s how you make people feel taller and confirm their belief in progress—if you have the genius of a Walt Disney.

David F. Smith/Shutterstock

Fantasyland, “the happiest king­dom of them all,” is a place where childhood dreams come true. Here you can go to the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party in a whirling cup and saucer; ride Dumbo, the Flying Elephant; fall down the rabbit hole with Alice in Wonderland. When you take the Peter Pan ride, sitting in a pirate galleon, you make lovely, airy swoops over rooftops that seem to lie far below. You feel the speed and the wind of your passage as, through the masterly use of tricks of perspec­tive, you soar through the inky night toward the stars.

This sort of thing could be scary for some people, but whenever it seems necessary Walt interrupts re­ality with a wink to let you know it isn’t really real. On this ride the wink comes in advance. The galleon is lifted onto its rails outside the Peter Pan building, before you go into the darkness, so you can see for yourself that it’s all going to happen only three feet off the ground.

“When you go to Frontierland, make sure that Walt takes you to Tom Sawyer’s Island,” said Dick Irvine, head designer at the Disney Studios. “Walt was brought up in Missouri—Mark Twain country—­and that island is all his. He didn’t let anybody help him design it.” Check out some more secrets Disney employees wish they could tell you.

You get to the island on a spittin’ image of the raft Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer built. All around you zip authentic keel­-boats, Indian ca­noes paddled by real Indians, and a grand gold-and­-white stem-wheel steamboat, the Mark Twain. The swift-flowing waterway is kept warm and brown, like the Mississippi River itself.

Everything on the island is free; you need a ticket only to get there. “I put in all the things I wanted to do as a kid—and couldn’t,” Walt explained. “Including getting into something without a ticket.”

So there’s a tree house to climb into and a pontoon bridge to cross, like those built in frontier days—planks laid on empty barrels that bob up and down when you walk on them. From the top of a log fort you can sight in with guns on a forest in which Indians lurk. The guns don’t fire bullets—they’re hydraulically operated—but the recoil is so real­istic that you’d never guess they aren’t the genuine article. You can fish in the water around the landing, and your chances of catching some­thing are good. A net has been hid­den there, and it is kept stocked with catfish. Fishing tackle? You borrow a bamboo pole and worms from an overalled, straw-chewing lad so freckled and friendly he looks as if Mark Twain created him.

We went into Injun Joe’s Cave. This is just a rock tunnel with a hill heaped over it, but it has been tricked out with dripping caverns and a bottomless pit (three feet deep) from which ghostly roaring emerges to curdle the blood. Here Walt has added something to the pages of Mark Twain: A series of little passageways, looping off from the main tunnel, that are just large enough for children only. The kids scoot for them like chickens for feed. There is nothing to see in them and nothing to do, but the dimen­sions are what count. There is joy and nourishment for the spirit in being alone from time to time in a space adults can’t enter—that’s what the children’s hoots and hollers pro­claim.

Uncredited/AP/Shutterstock

From Frontierland we moved on to Adventureland. “Everyone dreams of traveling to mysterious far-off places or exotic tropical re­gions,” Walt said to me. “Let’s go.” We climbed aboard a powered launch. The cruise took us down the misty Amazon, up the murky Mekong, and through the hippopota­mus-filled Congo, with tropical rain forests and bright orchids all around us. Adventure lurked at every bend; crocodiles snapped at us; bull ele­phants trumpeted; lions, tigers and headhunters eyed us suspiciously through the jungle growth.

From this primitive world it was quite a jump—mentally—to Tomor­rowland. Suddenly I found myself in the interior of a space ship, and Walt and I were about to take a ride to the moon. Actually we were in a theater. Around a giant viewing screen in the floor, the seats rose in circular tiers; in the ceiling hung another great screen. The voice of our pilot sounded over an intercom, matter-of-factly warning us to pre­pare for take-off. The lights went out. A view of the earth as seen from a launching pad appeared on the lower screen, and overhead was a full moon as seen from the earth.

Now a great shuddering and jar­ring began. Our seats and the walls and floor of the theater shook. Rockets gushed in deep-throated tones. There was a sudden, uncanny clattering—cosmic rays pelting like bullets as we passed through the ra­diation belt beyond the atmosphere. We saw the earth drop away and become round, the moon come close enough to touch, the stars and plan­ets as they look when there’s no atmosphere to dim them. All this is authentic, made of motion-picture film taken from missiles and satel­lites, from planetariums and observ­atories. The effects were so carefully worked out that the sensation of drifting in the stillness of gravity­-free space became real, too­ astounding and blissful.

“Two of the leading figures in the space field, Wernher von Braun and Willy Ley, helped us with the engi­neering of this ride,” Walt told me. But the biggest help was the father who, 20 years ago, longed to sit with his children and enjoy not just a thrill ride but also a genuine sense of wonder.

In Tomorrowland, too, is the Sub­marine Voyage, one of the most elab­orate illusions ever created. You have the sensation of being completely submerged. Actually, the craft rides on rails and only the part of the hull where you sit facing a porthole is beneath the surface.

The sub starts out under a water­fall, with water foaming and splash­ing over the portholes as over a submerging conning tower. The commands “Dive! Dive!” coming over the squawk-box are the real thing: They were tape-recorded on submarines in actual ocean dives. Ballast tanks are blown, and bub­bles stream past the portholes at a 45-degree angle, to give you the feel­ing you’re at the angle of descent. When the uproar stops and the bub­bles clear, not even a veteran submariner could resist the illusion that he had leveled off after a dive.

Now you are cruising in the deep. Monsters of the underwater world peer at you curiously through the portholes. Giant squid that spread out 26 feet loom up, and clams huge enough to trap a man. But—the Dis­ney wink—when the huge clams open their jaws, you see they’re holding pearls. It reassures the chil­dren and makes their elders smile.

Suddenly you are under the North Polar ice cap, pale cold sunlight fil­tering eerily down. Overhead, ice­bergs grind and scrape, and the conning tower bumps as it glides under the floes. None of this is ex­aggerated. The sounds were re­corded by U.S. Navy subs in the Arctic.

Now you slide into another ocean, one peopled by snow-white mer­maids with flowing purple and sil­ver tresses. “Listen,” Walt cries, as the submarine’s “sonar” tunes in to the silliest symphony ever re­corded: The gruntings, whistlings, and shriekings of fish and shrimp. These sounds, too, are genuine, brought back on tape from the wild world of deep waters. Take another look back in time with a boy who met Walt during his first trip to Disneyland.

Don Brinn/AP/Shutterstock

For our last ride in Tomorrow­land, Walt and I boarded the Mono­rail, a train that runs on rubber tires on a single elevated concrete beam. No toy, this $1,300,000 installation is a seriously proposed commuter­-transportation system. It occupies only a narrow strip of ground, which doesn’t have to be graded; the piers supporting the beam just have to be built to different heights. Since the Monorail can cope with difficult topographical conditions—­rounding sharp curves at high speed, and climbing steep grades—the track could be erected on the divid­ing strip of existing highways. It is being considered as one solution to the traffic problems of congested metropolitan areas.

Where is the roller coaster? In Disneyland you don’t just zip up and down hills that stand on stilts. Between Tomorrowland and Fan­tasyland is a $1,500.000 model of the Matterhorn, “snow-capped” and breath-taking, every feature repro­duced meticulously at 1/100 of actual size—which makes the mountain as high as a 14-story building. (Even the evergreens, edelweiss, and other plants growing up to the timber line are in scale; when they grow larger they’re replaced.) You swoop down the slopes on a bobsled, hear­ing the roar of mountain winds. You pass behind real waterfalls, through icicle-hung caverns and a glacial grotto. And at the bottom you glide to a halt on a glacier lake.

In Walt Disney’s magic kingdom there is nothing to convey the feel­ing you get at most amusement parks—that you’re watching a nerv­ous breakdown and being invited to share it. There are no barkers selling tickets, no “Hurry! Hurry! HURRY!” Thoughtful cards on the display tables of the Main Street gift shop say: “Relax. We do not charge for accidental breakage.” In place of a neon nightmare to lure customers all night, tiny lights resembling fire­flies have been set to twinkling in the trees. Adults whose children have strayed are soothed by a sign that reads: “Lost parents, please wait here for your children to find you.”

More than 19 million people, from all 50 states and 70 foreign coun­tries, have visited Disneyland in the five years of its existence. Among them are King Baudouin I of Belgium, King Hussein of Jordan, Princess Sophia of Greece, and Presi­dent Sukarno of Indonesia. King Mohammed V of Morocco, after his official tour of the park, sneaked back to pay his way in and enjoy it incognito.

The success of the venture has put a ferment into the amusement-park business everywhere. Denver’s Magic Mountain; New York’s Free­domland; La Montaña Mágica in Caracas, Venezuela all follow the basic Disney idea of stretching the imagination while providing fun. At Pleasure Island near Boston last summer, youngsters were piling into whaleboats to take off after a 50-foot replica of Moby-Dick—a far and noble cry from the underprivileged kind of fantasy such parks used to offer.

But the others will find it hard to imitate Disneyland. For something unique and intangible is expressed here—the creative personality of a master of the fairy tale. Next, check out some more fascinating facts about Disneyland that even Disney fanatics don’t know.

Original Source -> Walt Disney Reveals Just How Disneyland Was Created in Rare Interview

source https://www.seniorbrief.com/walt-disney-reveals-just-how-disneyland-was-created-in-rare-interview/

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“Why not? What's so self-evident?” Treatle turned and looked down at her. He hadn't really paid much attention before, she was simply just another figure around the campfires. He was the Vice-Chancellor of Unseen University, and quite used to seeing vague scurrying figures getting on with essential but unimportant jobs like serving his meals and dusting his rooms. He was stupid, yes, in the particular way that very clever people can be stupid, and maybe he had all the tact of an avalanche and was as selfcentred as a tornado, but it would never have occurred to him that children were important enough to be unkind to. From long white hair to curly boots, Treatle was a wizard's wizard. He had the appropriate long bushy eyebrows, spangled robe and patriarchal beard that was only slightly spoiled by the yellow nicotine stains (wizards are celibate but, nevertheless, enjoy a good cigar. “It will all become clear to you when you grow up,” he said. “It's an amusing idea, of course, a nice play on words. A female wizard! You might as well invent a male witch!” “Warlocks,” said Esk. “Pardon me?” “My granny says men can't be witches,” said Esk. “She says if men tried to be witches they'd be wizards.” “She sounds a very wise woman,” said Treatle. “She says women should stick to what they're good at,” Esk went on. “Very sensible of her.” “She says if women were as good as men they'd be a lot better!” Treatle laughed. “She's a witch,” said Esk, and added in her mind: there, what do you think of that, Mr so-called cleverwizard? “My dear good young lady, am I supposed to be shocked? I happen to have a great respect for witches.” Esk frowned. He wasn't supposed to say that. “You have?” “Yes indeed. I happen to believe that witchcraft is a fine career, for a woman. A very noble calling.” “You do? I mean, it is?” “Oh yes. Very useful in rural districts for, for people who are -having babies, and so forth. However, witches are not wizards. Witchcraft is Nature's way of allowing women access to the magical fluxes, but you must remember it is not high magic.” “I see. Not high magic,” said Esk grimly. “Oh, no. Witchcraft is very suitable for helping people through life, of course, but -” “I expect women aren't really sensible enough to be wizards,” said Esk. “I expect that's it, really.” “I have nothing but the highest respect for women,” said Treatle, who hadn't noticed the fresh edge to Esk's tone. “They are without parallel when, when -” “For having babies and so forth?” “There is that, yes,” the wizard conceded generously. “But they can be a little unsettling at times. A little too excitable. High magic requires great clarity of thought, you see, and women's talents do not lie in that direction. Their brains tend to overheat. I am sorry to say there is only one door into wizardry and that is the main gate at Unseen University and no woman has ever passed through it.” “Tell me,” said Esk, “what good is high magic, exactly?” Treatle smiled at her. “High magic, my child,” he said, “can give us everything we want.” “Oh.” “So put all this wizard nonsense out of your head, all right?” Treatle gave her a benevolent smile. “What is your name, child?” “Eskarina.” “And why do you go to Ankh, my dear?” “I thought I might seek my fortune,” muttered Esk, “but I think perhaps girls don't have fortunes to seek. Are you sure wizards give people what they want?” “Of course. That is what high magic is for.” “I see.” The whole caravan was travelling only a little faster than walking pace. Esk jumped down, pulled the staff from its temporary hiding place among the bags and pails on the side of the wagon, and ran back along the line of carts and animals. Through her tears she caught a glimpse of Simon peering from the back of the wagon, an open book in his hands. He gave her a puzzled smile and started to say something, but she ran on and veered off the track. Scrubby whinbushes scratched her legs as she scrambled up a clay bank and then she was running free across a barren plateau, hemmed in by the orange cliffs. She didn't stop until she was good and lost but the anger still burned brightly. She had been angry before, but never like this; normally anger was like the red flame you got when the forge was first lit, all glow and sparks, but this anger was different-it had the bellows behind it, and had narrowed to the tiny bluewhite flame that cuts iron. It made her body tingle. She had to do something about it or burst. Why was it that, when she heard Granny ramble on about witchcraft she longed for the cutting magic of wizardry, but whenever she heard Treatle speak in his high-pitched voice she would fight to the death for witchcraft? She'd be both, or none at all. And the more they intended to stop her, the more she wanted it. She'd be a witch and a wizard too. And she would show them. Esk sat down under a low-spreading juniper bush at the foot of a steep, sheer cliff, her mind seething with plans and anger. She could sense doors being slammed before she had barely begun to open them. Treatle was right; they wouldn't let her inside the University. Having a staff wasn't enough to be a wizard, there had to be training too, and no one was going to train her. The midday sun beat down off the cliff and the air around Esk began to smell of bees and gin. She lay back, looking at the nearpurple dome of the sky through the leaves and, eventually, she fell asleep. One side-effect of using magic is that one tends to have realistic and disturbing dreams. There is a reason for this, but even thinking about it is enough to give a wizard nightmares. The fact is that the minds of wizards can give thoughts a shape. Witches normally work with what actually exists in the world, but a wizard can, if he's good enough, put flesh on his imagination. This wouldn't cause any trouble if it wasn't for the fact that the little circle of candlelight loosely called “the universe of time and space” is adrift in something much more unpleasant and unpredictable. Strange Things circle and grunt outside the flimsy stockades of normality; there are weird hootings and howlings in the deep crevices at the edge of Time. There are things so horrible that even the dark is afraid of them. Most people don't know this and this is just as well because the world could not really operate if everyone stayed in bed with the blankets over their head, which is what would happen if people knew what horrors lay a shadow's width away. The problem is people interested in magic and mysticism spend a lot of time loitering on the very edge of the light, as it were, which gets them noticed by the creatures from the Dungeon Dimensions who then try to use them in their indefatigable efforts to break into this particular Reality. Most people can resist this, but the relentless probing by the Things is never stronger than when the subject is asleep. Bel-Shamharoth, C'hulagen, the Insider - the hideous old dark gods of the Necrotelicomnicon, the book known to certain mad adepts by its true name of Liber Paginarum Fulvarum, are always ready to steal into a slumbering mind. The nightmares are often colourful and always unpleasant. Esk had got used to them ever since that first dream after her first Borrowing, and familiarity had almost replaced terror. When she found herself sitting on a glittering, dusty plain under unexplained stars she knew it was time for another one. “Drat,” she said. “All right, come on then. Bring on the monsters. I just hope it isn't the one with his winkle on his face.” But this time it seemed that the nightmare had changed. Esk looked around and saw, rearing up behind her, a tall black castle. Its turrets disappeared among the stars. Lights and fireworks and interesting music cascaded from its upper battlements. The huge double doors stood invitingly open. There seemed to be quite an amusing party going on in there. She stood up, brushed the silver sand off her dress, and set off for the gates. She had almost reached them when they slammed. They didn't appear to move; it was simply that in one instant they were lounging ajar, and the next they were tight shut with a clang that shook the horizons. Esk reached out and touched them. They were black, and so cold that ice was beginning to form on them. There was a movement behind her. She turned around and saw the staff, without its broomstick disguise, standing upright in the sand. Little worms of light crept around its polished wood and crept around the carvings no one could ever quite identify. She picked it up and smashed it against the doors. There was a shower of octarine sparks, but the black metal was unscathed. Esk's eyes narrowed. She held the staff at arm's length and concentrated until a thin line of fire leapt from the wood and burst against the gate. The ice flashed into steam but the darkness - she was sure now that it wasn't metal - absorbed the power without so much as glowing. She doubled the energy, letting the staff put all its stored magic into a beam that was now so bright that she had to shut her eyes /and could still see it as a brilliant line in her mind/. Then it winked out. After a few seconds Esk ran forward and touched the doors gingerly. The coldness nearly froze her fingers off. And from the battlements above she could hear the sound of sniggering. Laughter wouldn't have been so bad, especially an impressive demonic laugh with lots of echo, but this was just -sniggering. It went on for a long time. It was one of the most unpleasant sounds Esk had ever heard. She woke up shivering. It was long after midnight and the stars looked damp and chilly; the air was full of the busy silence of the night, which is created by hundreds of small furry things treading very carefully in the hope of finding dinner while avoiding being the main course. A crescent moon was setting and a thin grey glow towards the rim of the world suggested that, against all probability, another day was on the cards. Someone had wrapped Esk in a blanket. “I know you're awake,” said the voice of Granny Weatherwax. “You could make yourself useful and light a fire. There's damn all wood in these parts.” Esk sat up, and clutched at the juniper bush. She felt light enough to float away. “Fire?” she muttered. “Yes. You know. Pointing the finger and whoosh,” said Granny sourly. She was sitting on a rock, trying to find a position that didn't upset her arthritis. “I - I don't think I can.” “You tell me?” said Granny cryptically. The old witch leaned forward and put her hand on Esk's forehead; it was like being caressed by a sock full of warm dice. “You're running a bit of a temperature,” she added. “Too much hot sun and cold ground. That's forn parts for you.” Esk let herself slump forward until her head lay in Granny's lap, with its familiar smells of camphor, mixed herbs and a trace of goat. Granny patted her in what she hoped was a soothing way. After a while Esk said, in a low voice, “They're not going to allow me into the University. A wizard told me, and I dreamed about it, and it was one of those true dreams. You know, like you told me, a maty-thing.”