#none of his pets were mentioned again but he has a fourth one since apparently everyone had a pocket pet?
Text
Writing Whispers Challenge
Rules: find a few paragraphs of writing from as long ago as you can. Re-write them how you would now.
@sarahlizziewrites left an open tag for this fun idea, so I went looking for some old writing. I ended up going a little sideways from the original prompt so that I could rewrite a passage from one of my oldest substantive stories, The Princess and the Vampire. I rewrote it a little more than stylistically, but I kept the chain of events the same.
I'll tag @outpost51, @writernopal, and @kingkendrick7 (extra no pressure on this one because I know it can be weird to share your old writing), plus anyone who wants to join in!
2009
His name is Sam. He's a vampire. But he's nothing to be afraid of. Sam owns a house 3 miles out of Bereglet. He has 3 pets, too. His first pet is a golden retriever named Rocky. The next one is a bat named Klaus. And then he has a fish tank full of guppies. Now anyway, Sam was heading to the farmer's market for some fresh fruit. When he got there he overheard two old ladies talking about the princess. Sam asked where he could find the princess. Lucky for him, the ladies didn't see his vampire teeth. They said that they heard the princess was somewhere around Seacliff, which is 60 miles away from where Hermia's tower actually was. Sam bought his fruit, went home, put it away, and got ready to go to Seacliff. Then he went out to the stables and mounted his horse, Wizard. They rode away toward the northwest. Seacliff, in case you didn't guess, is on a strong cliff over the sea.
2023
Sam ducked through the crowd to the nearest stall with peaches. It was blood peach season, finally, and while they didn't really live up to the name, they were still his favorites. As he looked over the bags still on offer, he heard the other thing he'd come for: news. At the next stall over two old ladies were tasting the mustard and having a serious chat about the princess being stuck in a tower. That was a rumor from the capital if he'd ever heard one. And yet, the more he listened, the more he started to believe it, too. Anything could happen with an overly familiar Great Wizard around. The women moved to the peach stall, still deep in conversation.
"Excuse me," he said as one made a lull in the conversation by popping a sample into her mouth. "I didn't mean to overhear, but…did you say the princess is in a tower somewhere?"
"Yes," they both said a little too intensely.
"Where would they have put her?"
The second old lady shook her head. "Seacliff, no doubt. No better place to defend."
He couldn't argue with that, but apparently her companion could, because they immediately got into an argument. Sam excused himself from it by buying a bag of peaches and slipping away into the crowd. He didn't want to participate, but either way, the longer he stayed, the more likely someone was to notice his fangs. Once he was home, the peaches went on the peach shelf, and he immediately started packing his bag. Wizard seemed to know what was up when he stepped into the stable. As soon as she had a saddle on her pale back and his things were settled into her saddlebag, they were off northwest to Seacliff.
Bonus, based on the next events in the story and the fact that I did not address the fresh fruit in canon lol:
By the time they arrived, almost two hours later, he couldn't put off eating any longer. He checked into the inn, left Wizard in the stable, and climbed the stairs along their threadbare runner to his room. With the door locked tight behind him, he unpacked the one peach he'd brought with him. Holding it in both hands, he slowly pressed his fangs into the skin until it punctured, letting his teeth sink into the firm flesh. There wasn't much juice he could get from a single bite of a peach, but the bite itself was the most satisfying he'd found in something that didn't actually have blood.
#the story ended abruptly as Sam was going up to his room#I think I got distracted and forgot what I wanted to do next lol#none of his pets were mentioned again but he has a fourth one since apparently everyone had a pocket pet?#I also made a note about what color Wizard is lol#c: Sam Rosemary#writing whispers challenge#tag games
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
In the Name of Science: Chapter 3
Fandom: Sonic Movie (2020)
Rating: T for unethical experimentation, implied violence and gore, and implied torture
Summary: Tom and Maddie didn’t make it in time to rescue Sonic from Robotnik. Hopefully it’s not too late to save him now. Unfortunately, hope is hard to come by in the labs of the mad doctor himself.
Note: :(
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dr. Ivo Robotnik, M.D. Log 3
Subject has been given time to rest. Recovery appears to be more rapid than previously speculated, as subject is active and aggressive with and without scientists present. Full anatomy examination to be conducted soon.
Behavioral training has begun in earnest.
End log
……..........................................................................
Sonic comes to on a metal surface with his face smushed against cold steel. He hopes it won’t become a pattern.
With a few careful breathes he takes stock of himself. Tired, sore but not as sore as before that horrible shock. The lab is dark and quiet – well, mostly. As much as one can be with humming, blinking machines everywhere – and the hedgehog realizes he must have been out for a few hours at least. With a start he also realizes his limbs are no longer bound together.
He pulls himself up to a sitting position immediately, staring at the four silver metal rings set tight around his wrists and ankles. There’s no indication that they can attach to each other, but just to be safe he tries to keep his limbs apart as he inspects the rest of himself.
Still in the cage? Check. Still hurting from the fight and everything since? Double check. Still planning to get out of here, especially now that the Eggman and his crazy assistant aren’t around? Triple check Sunday with a cherry on top.
The teen carefully gets to his feet, grateful for the returned movement, and notices two new additions to his little prison. They look like giant bottles hanging upside down the front mesh of the cage, with thin nozzles sticking through to the inside. Sonic warily edges near them, pausing after each step to see if it’s some awful trap the scientist has set for him. Nothing happens even as he gets close enough to touch them. With a little more hesitation he reaches out and taps the end of one nozzle. His glove comes back wet.
“Uh…?” He rubs his thumb against the damp spot, puzzled, then turns to the other bottle. A quick touch finds the tip of his finger stained in something green-brown and mushy.
Sonic sniffs it gingerly. It’s got a weird, almost oatmeal smell that he only recognizes cause the town hosted a big breakfast event one summer day and he gorged himself from the food line every time people’s backs were turned. The hedgehog realizes with disgust that it’s supposed to be food, that these bottles are meant to feed and water him like some kind of pet.
He smacks the mesh angrily but they don’t budge, so then he starts pushing and pulling at the nozzles, hoping to dislodge them or break them or do something at least. They rattle in mockery, making the teen even more upset.
Dropping to his back, Sonic lifts his feet up in a biker position and kicks the two spigots hard. Something responds with a loud creak, so he kicks again, and again, until finally the water bottle flies clean off its hinges and falls to the ground in a crash of metal and water. The hedgehog freezes, suddenly nervous instead of indignant. His ears swivel every direction in case Robotnik or a robot appears out of nowhere to hurt him. He’s barely breathing.
As the seconds turn into a minute or more without anything happening, Sonic lets out a slow puff of air and rubs his face.
“Great, Sonic, just great. Way to cause a mess you can’t explain away. Do you want the deranged lunatic to shock you again or do you just enjoy his company? – No, don’t answer that, it’s rhetorical. I know it’s rhetorical, I’m not an idiot! Clearly you are if you’re doing stupid stuff like this!”
He gestures to the mess on the floor, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s started pacing. The teen stops himself, pressing a palm to his forehead.
“Okay so obviously I need a little self-control here if I’m gonna find a way out. Wait, did that make a weakness in the cage?”
Sonic pats the mesh where the bottle used to sit. He makes a loud noise in frustration as it’s obvious the screen won’t budge.
“So that’s a bust. Busted plan, not busted cage or I’d be out of here by now. Okay, hmm…”
His eyes drift to the other bottle and his stomach gurgles. He can’t remember the last time he’s eaten. Probably with Tom. The thought of the human sends something sharp through his chest that he has to stuff down real fast. Now isn’t the time for that.
Instead, he experimentally lays back down and lifts his feet again. With only a moment of hesitation, he jams them against the other nozzle. Forget his hunger. Forget getting in trouble. If he can weaken the wall now and get out, none of it will matter anyway.
It takes a few more kicks than last time to knock this bottle loose – probably because he’s not running on outrage anymore – but soon it joins its duplicate in a loud clatter. Sonic grimaces at the sound but hops up to test the mesh again.
Still nothing.
Frustrated with a growing sense of panic, the teen gets back down and starts kicking directly at the metal wiring. It barely yields, only giving Sonic a horrible backlash of vibrations through his feet for the effort. A growl sticks in his throat as he tries again.
It’s a long time before he’s too exhausted to kick anymore.
……..........................................................................
Robotnik sits at his personal desk with five monitors up. Two of them are running comparative analyses on the quill and blood samples he’s obtained. The third has diagrams of all seventeen different hedgehog species and their anatomies. The fourth is a series of videos of animal trainers offering tips for more rowdy animals, as well as accounts of former human psychological techniques meant to restrain and subdue, usually in old asylums and prisons.
The last monitor is video feed of the alien hedgehog himself, and everything he’s been getting up to.
He had been in and out of consciousness for the first four hours after Robotnik had departed, as the heart rate monitor in his wrist restraints indicated. Most likely his body had been overwhelmed by the stress and had forced a recovery shut down. Then he’d woken up completely at nearly 3 pm.
And what a ruckus he’s created since then.
The scientist strokes his mustache, attention entirely on the video feed for the time being. After breaking off the nutrient feeders (an unnecessary cry for attention, if you ask the doctor) the little creature had pounded at the front of the cage for nearly twenty minutes. He’d dropped flat on his back for a while, panting like a dog, before getting to his feet and running in a circle within one side of the pen.
Whether he’d been planning to try and break through the metal with his body’s speed alone or some other ridiculous plan, it didn’t matter in the end. Because Robotnik had coded those restraints to record velocity, and once they reached a certain threshold their magnetic fields would respond.
This was demonstrated directly when the hedgehog’s ankles were pulled together and he crashed into the far wall. It was a remarkable impact, all things considered.
That was about two minutes ago. Now the man watches as the restraints are deactivated, leaving the alien still half-laying where he hit the ground but definitely aware of the change, if his flicking ears are anything to go by.
“Doctor, I have the items you requested.” Stone’s voice calls confidently from behind.
Robotnik takes one more moment to marvel this creature’s candid personality and behavior, from his position as a hidden observer. Then he leans back in the chair until he’s practically horizontal with his head upside down. He meets his assistant’s gaze.
“Fantastic. Let’s not waste any more time.”
He swivels around and rocks forward out of the chair, his momentum pushing him to his feet and up into Stone’s personal space. He holds his hand out expectantly and the other man obliges, dropping the objects into his open palm. A quick glance tells the scientist they’re exactly as specified.
Without another word the doctor heads down to the main laboratory. He notes with glee how the hedgehog scrambles to attention when he enters the room.
“You’re looking much healthier this afternoon,” he comments, already seeing improvement in the creature’s posture and stance. Then he pretends to notice the broken nutrient feeders for the first time. “Well. Much more active too apparently.”
Sonic tenses. There’s a slight dilation in his pupils that the man almost smiles at – a fear response already, good news. But then he crosses his arms and lifts his chin, still too defiant.
“Yeah? You gotta p-problem with that? It’s just how I roll.”
“On the contrary, I’m delighted by it.”
“What?” The alien’s arms almost drop in his bewilderment. Robotnik tilts his head and purrs.
“Well of course. I want to see what makes you tick, and your behavior is part of that. Not to mention that stunning energy you’ve displayed. I cannot wait to harness it to its fullest potential.”
He watches the way his subject’s mouth works, every twitch of confusion and revulsion and beautiful intelligence. Not on par with him of course, nothing in the universe will ever reach that level, but there’s something so thrilling about interacting with a lifeform from beyond Earth that has given him a literal run for his money.
It’s on this thought that he brings the objects in his hands out in the open. The hedgehog’s eyes lock on to them with the most wide, alarmed expression he’s shown thus far, which is honestly quite the accomplishment given the last half-day.
“I take it you know what these are.”
The alien swallows, and his hands are clenched tight. He doesn’t respond.
“Tell me what you think these are.” It’s an order, the first of many planned.
Sonic takes a deep breath and points at the item in the scientist’s left hand. His arm stays close to his body. “That’s a….that’s a collar.”
“So it is.”
He turns the thing over, letting his subject get a good look at it. The collar is black with the Robotnik logo splashed across in red. Most notable however, is the fairly large black box attached to the center of it, as well as the shiny set of silver dog tags dangling just under them. One finger taps the box.
“Do you know what this does?”
The hedgehog shakes his head. He’s looking rather pale now.
“It’s designed to administer a shock under certain circumstances, the parameters of which will be decided by me. No doubt you remember the one you received earlier today.”
His ears flatten. Robotnik smiles.
“Do you recognize the other object?”
The doctor wiggles his right hand, drawing Sonic’s attention there. He starts trembling just a bit as he stares.
“It’s – that’s a, that’s…” The alien trails off, either struggling to remember the word or not wanting to verbalize it.
“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue? Feeling stifled? Gagged, maybe?” He lifts the other item under two fingers, giving it a little shake as part of the joke. “Remember when I told you I expected nothing out of your mouth unless it’s a response to a direct question? We’re going to practice that.”
Robotnik outright revels in the sudden retreat his subject tries to make from the muzzle in the man’s hand, backing up against the far side of his pen like distance alone will have an effect.
“No…” He whispers. There’s something very vulnerable in his voice, something that goes beyond the idea of physical restraint. “No, no no no.”
“Save your heart-wrenching pleas for someone who has one.” The doctor says coldly, already pressing a few buttons to activate the hedgehog’s magnetic bonds.
Sonic’s wrists come together, as do his ankles, and he loses his balance immediately. He hits the ground on his left side but doesn’t stop struggling to shimmy away nor cease his begging.
“You know, perhaps I would’ve considered only using the collar for the time being, but then you had to be an absolute brat and destroy perfectly functional equipment. Act like an animal, I’ll treat you like an animal. Only fair don’t you think?”
Robotnik makes an irritated noise as his gloating is met with an increased volume of ‘no’ being repeated like a protective mantra. Not that he doesn’t love the groveling, but really. Gloating’s only fun when someone can appreciate it. He sighs and sends a few drones into the cage’s ceiling hatch.
The little hedgehog sees them coming and does the only thing he has left – he curls into a ball, every quill straightened up to create a deadly sphere. It doesn’t help much when the drones hover near enough for his restraints to yank his limbs out into the open, attaching themselves to the robots against all his best efforts.
He’s screaming now.
The robots drag him halfway out of the hatch, leaving his legs dangling in the cage. As Robotnik approaches he can see tears forming in Sonic’s eyes. It gives the scientist pause.
“You are…remarkably impacted by the concept of this. I wonder.” He transfers the muzzle and collar to one hand. The other hand shoots out to grab the teen’s snout, causing him to freeze in shock. “What about it frightens you so? Is it the further loss of body autonomy, or something else?”
His subject’s gaze scatters away from Robotnik’s face for a moment before coming back just as pitifully.
“Please,” he’s back to whispering. “Please, don’t. Please.”
The doctor leans in close, letting the hedgehog feel his breath on his fur and see the utter contempt in his own eyes. He holds him like that for a long moment, and Sonic visibly shudders at it all.
“You don’t get the privilege of begging anymore.”
Sonic’s pupils blow wide. He opens his mouth to scream.
“NO–”
Robotnik jams the muzzle against his face, pressing cold metal into his cheeks and cutting off the wail so fast it leaves eerie silence in its wake. His drones make short work of pulling the Kevlar straps through razer-sharp quills to fasten together where the organic scientist cannot reach. The collar comes next and is almost harder simply because of how much the alien is thrashing.
But it’s soon secured as well, leaving a shaking, near-sobbing teen with his arms stretched above his head and his head still held by his captor. Robotnik drums his fingers against the metal wrapped around Sonic’s face, causing a harsh flinch each time.
“I think this looks quite fetching. Perhaps I should consider keeping it on even outside of training.”
The hedgehog closes his eyes with a whine. The man strokes his mustache.
“Mm, but perhaps not. It all depends on your behavior from here on out.” He checks the time. “For now though, I’d say the rest of the day should be enough to teach you the meaning of the word ‘silence’. What do you think?”
Sonic shakes his head.
“Rest of the day it is! Oh, and let’s not forget to get your sustenance feeders back up, hmm? I’m sure it will be much more difficult to eat and drink like this, but I’m sure you’ll figure something out with that clever little mind of yours.”
A flick of his wrist and the drones drop Sonic back into his pen. The teen scrambles away from the front, into the far corner on the bed side.
“I don’t trust you not to try and take off the extra accessories prematurely either, so your restraints will remain active for a while yet. Not that it matters, because if I find out you tried to break anything else – the feeders, the muzzle, the collar, anything – then the shock I gave you earlier will feel like a tickle. Got that through your thick skull?”
Robotnik waits until he gets a slow, defeated nod before turning away. Something tells him the quill and blood sample analysis is complete, and he doesn’t want to miss a single detail.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: Hey guys, sorry it took so long. With everything going on right now I went to stay with family, and it has been a lot harder to get time to write around family than I thought ehehe. Hopefully the longer chapter makes up for it.
Also, sorry if Sonic seems OOC for this one, but I was thinking a lot about how his second greatest weapon after his speed is his motor mouth. This lad uses it to fill the void when no one else is there, and I'd imagine (at least for Movie Sonic) that losing that ability is just as terrifying as losing his speed.
On a technical note, I've decided to keep the focus on Sonic for this fic, and not Tom and Maddie. The original plan was to show them working to find him, but that wasn't working out so well in the end, so it's gonna be pain train all the way through.
Chapter 2
Chapter 4
37 notes
·
View notes
Text
Books We Pretend We’ve Read – The Catcher in the Rye: A Review
Rating: ★ ★★ ☆ ☆
MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD
Don’t get me wrong, I like this book, I really do. There were parts of it that knocked me out, no kidding. Old Holden is a character for the ages I tell ya, and some of the conversations and all that, they were really great. But some of it depressed me.
Ok….. enough of that.
Synopsis
Our hero, or anti-hero as the case may be, Holden Caulfield, flunks out of prep school again, something he apparently has a habit of doing. The thing is, he gets kicked out a few days before Christmas break begins, and he doesn’t want to go home early and tell his parents that he’s been kicked out. Again. So he leaves Pennsylvania — where his latest prep school is located — and heads back to The Big Apple (where he’s from, and where his parents live) to lay low for a few days. That’s where the majority of the book takes place.
During these three days, we follow Holden as he calls old girlfriends, goes out dancing, visits any bar he can find that will serve underage patrons, and even hires a prostitute at one point. The misadventures of Holden Caulfield sure are entertaining, but they don’t seem to have any real point.
So why is this book still so famous?
I honestly can’t tell you. People seem to either LOVE this book or DESPISE it. I can only assume that the people who hate it don’t understand why it’s lauded as such a classic, and they’re disappointed because their expectations were so high. But we live in an age where people review things as either 1 star or 10. There’s no in-between. But that shouldn’t be the case with Catcher in the Rye. There were parts of it that were beautiful — like when he talked about his dead brother Allie, and when he told his little sister that he wants to be a catcher in the rye when he grows up. It had a few magical moments that I honestly think make it worth reading. But if you’re looking for a classic three-act story with an enlightening resolution, look elsewhere. In a way, I think Catcher in the Rye was ahead of its time. It’s a post-modern, anti-thematic book with a narrator who breaks the fourth wall while wandering about NYC for three days with no real purpose. And maybe that is the purpose: that none of this stuff in this crazy thing we call life has any real meaning.
Does it pass the time test?
No. Nononononononononononononono.
No.
This book was published in 1951, and it reads like it was published in 1951. J.D. Salinger took a hard stance with the narrator’s voice, making it one of the most unique voices in the history of literature. But it’s one of the most dated as well. Because the narrator is a teenager, he uses a lot of slang, and like all slang, it ages poorly. This doesn’t just happen with the dialogue, mind you: the book is written in the first person, so literally everything our narrator says has the same tone and uses the same dated slangy 1950s terminology. There are also references to music, clothing items, and other slangy words (did anyone EVER use the word ‘flit’?) that have long since either changed drastically or been dropped from the mainstream lexicon altogether.
My Beef
I can get past all of the long lost slang, and I can even get past the fact that a whole lot doesn’t really happen in this story. But what I really took issue with was the plethora of cool side stories that never panned out. There were so many setups and so few punchlines. It would have been fascinating to hear more about his classmate who committed suicide. But the story is barely mentioned in passing. When Holden woke up to his drunk, much older male ex-teacher petting his forehead in the middle of the night... that shit was insane! The fact that Holden said that pervy things like this have happened to him about 20 times before was even crazier! But it’s just dropped. Hell, we don’t even figure out why he was sick at the end of the book. We don’t hear a lot about his writer brother, who’s out in Hollywood, and we never learn what happens to Holden when his parents find out that he got kicked out again. I understand that this isn’t a typical linear plotline type book, but I just wish that some of the side plot lines had a little more resolution. Or, at the very least, were explored at greater length.
#hottake
All right, I’m just gonna come out and say it, and maybe this is just me, but Holden’s relationship with his little sister seemed creepy. The way he described her, the way he talked about her. Maybe times have just changed. Maybe the dialogue hasn’t aged well. But I just can’t get over how weird their relationship was. I actually have a little sister, and I never talked about her or looked at her the way Holden Caulfield looked at old Phoebe.
Final Thoughts
If you love action, horror, fantasy, sci-fi, Harry Potter, Hunger Games — basically any book where shit ACTUALLY HAPPENS, then I’m sorry to say, but this book may not be for you. It’s not as much about the events in the story as it is about the philosophical ruminations of an anxious and moody teenager from the early 1950s. And full disclaimer: I love that shit. I love the mumblecore movement. I love raw, gritty music like The White Stripes and MC5. But I also understand that it’s not for everybody. But if you like thinking, and you don’t mind taking a 300-page journey with no real purpose or goal in mind, then I think there’s a lot to be gained from this book. If you go in with no expectations, you might just get your socks knocked off. I swear to God. You really might!
#catcher in the rye#book review#literature#books we pretend we've read#classic books#holden caulfield
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
If These Walls Could Talk
Welcome back.
I’ve wanted to make another post for well over the last week, but unfortunately that desire came while I was working 7 straight days in a row, 12 hours each day. So to say I was a little more than exhausted by the time I got home each day is an understatement. In addition, I’m once again switching to my night shift schedule, so my mind and body are all out of whack. HOWEVER. As I try to go back to sleep this beautiful rainy morning before returning to work tonight, I can’t. Because my mind is alive with everything I haven’t been able to share with anyone this past week, and it needs said.
It’s still a little strange for me to turn to my blog in these moments, and not my journal. As you can imagine, since I was never a very good blogger, I certainly am not a great journalist, either. But it was an outlet - is an outlet, still. Only, with carpal tunnel in my right wrist/hand, it’s become increasingly harder to hash out all the thoughts I want to on paper. Plus, my fingers have always kept better pace with my mind when keys are involved versus a pen; not to mention the legibility this affords me upon later reflection, as sometimes I’ll write so goshdarn fast and messy that even I, myself, can’t decipher what the hell I was trying to say.
So, sleepy and shivering, I welcome you back into the pit of thoughts.
I am going to be addressing some slight depression issues, “broken home”/family issues, self-harm, and anxiety issues in this post. Still not sure how exactly this whole thing works, so I hope this is enough of a warning for anyone sensitive to those.
Without unraveling the entire rat’s nest that is my childhood, let me just say that I’ve never really known a “peaceful” home. Brief summary: my mother was absent a lot due to her own depression, my father has quite a temper, and they both fought like it was their jobs. This is why I came to love Peter Pan - whenever the yelling came pounding through my walls, I curled up underneath my window with my suitcase packed and wished for nothing else than for Peter to come take me away to Neverland. Obviously, this never came to fruition, but it helped some part of my tiny brain cope. If you’ve ever read Peter Pan, you know each child’s Neverland is their own making - I cannot tell you how upset it makes me that every. single. version of Peter Pan never includes Wendy’s pet wolf. All the same, whenever I imagined my own, it was fantastic. Full of wonder and joy and happiness, just like in the story. Only, very unlike the story, I always came home. Here, however, my home was happiness. My parents didn’t fight, my sister didn’t hate me (of course, she didn’t really hate me, but I was the pesky younger sibling that she just couldn’t be bothered with), and no one was ever angry with me. This, I realize, is probably where my anxiety began to stem from - always wanting to please everyone, at any cost. It made for a very self-inflicted traumatic childhood on my end, because I quickly learned to silence a lot of who I was just to satiate what everyone wished of me.
And for a long time, I remained this person. It wasn’t until I was about 10 years old that the depression hit, though we hardly knew that’s what it was at the time. See, I had finally made friends with a group of girls that I could be myself with, and I was happy. But, we were considered weird. Or, at least, they were - they were still more free with themselves than I was, comfortable with making strange noises and doing strange things just because they wanted to. And while I indulged in those moments shared with them, I still kept fairly quiet and reserved when on my own. This led to bullying from my classmates, because of who my friends were. It wasn’t so much aimed at me personally, but at my choice of friends. And these girls meant the world to me - they still do, 2 decades later as our friendship remains as strong as those early days. I couldn’t grasp why someone would make fun of me, tease me, because of something that finally made me happy. There just had to be more that my little preteen brain wasn’t understanding.
There had to be something wrong with me, right?
I promise, this has a point.
My non-diagnosed anxiety (I didn’t even know what anxiety was, back then) only worsened as I began struggling with finding some reason for why these kids were picking on me. None of my friends seemed to care - why did I? Because I was a people-pleaser. It ate away at me to know that someone didn’t like me, regardless of the reason for it. I tried so hard. I let people say what they wanted to about me, I gave people second and third and fourth chances all because I was afraid of what would happen if I stood up for myself. I changed how I acted, how I dressed (a whole other can of worms we will probably never address, haha), how I lived, just to try and fit in with everyone. It was exhausting, and it wore me down quick.
It also didn’t help that by this point, my older sister had hit high school. She was pretty, she was popular, and she was damn good at sports. I’m pretty sure her track record at high school is still intact, and she graduated 16 years ago. This only served to create my inferiority complex.
Why couldn’t I be as great as my sister?
Going back to the family issues - my dad was my everything growing up. He did so much for our family, made sacrifices I never knew how to appreciate until I got older. All I ever wanted was to make him proud of me, to prove to him that everything he did for us wasn’t in vain. I could see that pride in his eyes when he watched my sister excel at sports. Field hockey, basketball, track and field. She had his love in a way I coveted. I played those sports too, while in middle school, but never nearly as well. Never well enough to see that shameless pride gleaming back at me from my father’s eyes. And that killed. Because no matter how I tried, I wasn’t her.
I was more like my mother. Interested in arts (though not art itself, I can’t draw to save my damn life), music, theatre. When I finally made it to high school, I was too damn scared of failure, of being compared to her, to really try anything I had once enjoyed. It distanced me from my father. You would think, then, that this would have brought my mother and me closer; it did not. That chasm carved between us by the lack of her involvement as I grew up was too wide to bridge entirely. I grew to feel isolated in my own family, unwanted and certainly unneeded. What did I possibly bring to the table?
When I turned 16, I told my mom I needed to talk to someone. Depression still wasn’t something anyone really talked about. A taboo in society, frowned heavily upon. Full of labels and judgments I wasn’t able to bear just yet. My mom understood, even if my dad didn’t. He never used to believe in depression. He was one that agreed it was all attention-seeking, an excuse. And here I was, drowning hard and fast in it, afraid to confide in him lest he think less of me as well. So I got good at hiding it. So damn good. Because how do you tell the man you idolize that you’ve started cutting when he’s made the statement of, “if you’re going to start it, you should just finish the job”?
It wasn’t until I was much older that I was able to tell my father much of any of what I suffered through back then. Now, he tries to understand. But he’s getting older, and more ornery, and sometimes that patience wears so thin it could snap in a light breeze. More so now, because I finally stand up for myself. And while he encourages that, he certainly never anticipated I would have to do it against him.
There’s still so much screaming inside these walls. Some of it is mine, now. I hate it just as much, hate how involved with it I’ve become. But I simply cannot shoulder the weight of the world anymore.
Atlas, I am not.
My father and I never used to have such blow-out arguments. I never used to have to scream until my throat burned, my lungs ached, and my chest collapsed. Not with him. Yet I’ll do it a thousand - a million - times over if it means remaining who I’ve become. This version of me may not be perfect, and I’m certainly not happy with her just yet, but it is so much better from who I used to be. Because the girl I once was would have been dead by now. She already very nearly was.
ANYWAY.
This particular fight started over something incredibly stupid - a statement. A belief I have that doesn’t necessarily align with my father’s. I have no political affiliation. He’s a strong Republican. I made the mistake of voicing a belief that apparently leans more liberal, and he just... lost it. Got super nasty with me, made hurtful comments, refused to hear me out. And I know it’s only because he’s getting older, and like his father before him, losing his temper more often because of it. My mom constantly insists I be the bigger person, that I understand the true reasons behind his behavior and brush it off. “You know he doesn’t mean it. You know he’s in pain, how that makes him lash out.”
Yes, I do know. That doesn’t make it okay.
All my life I’ve been the punching bag for this family. The therapist listening to every member complain about each other. All my life, I’ve tried and given everything to fix it. To somehow fit this family into the mould I had imagined for us. All my life, I have sacrificed more and more of me just to make things right.
When is enough, enough?
I called my boyfriend that night, shaking and crying. Trying to understand how a parent can talk to their child that way, wondering when my family became... well, this. He listened oh so patiently, let me just cry in silence until my body was spent. He will never know just how much I loved him in that moment. Because though Peter Pan never came to steal me away, I know exactly where my Neverland is. And it’s in my boyfriend’s arms.
My father still hasn’t apologized for how he spoke to me, let alone what he said. He’s not the type to. I love him with everything I’ve got, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without him, but. I am done. I am done suffering for his - or anyone’s - sake. Sometimes, it has to be about me. As hard as that is for me to do.
If you have made it this far - if you have read any of this at all - know that you are worth so much more than you think. It isn’t always obvious, and it certainly isn’t easy, but there is meaning in your existence. I still have yet to find what mine is, but I know it’s there. Somewhere. Yours is too.
If these walls could talk
I’m afraid of what they’d say
The shouting they would echo
The image they’d portray
But I’m not afraid to hear it because I don’t know what was said
No, I heard it all the first time
It still rattles in my head
So give me all the silence
All the quiet that you’ve got
Enough to end the crying
And drown out my own thoughts
#blog#blogger#family#depression#anxiety#self harm#inferiority complex#father#mother#sister#mom#dad#struggle#self worth#doubt#bullying#rant#support#enough is enough#second chance#third chance#faking it#faking a smile#therapy#talk to someone#growth#atlas#escape#home#friends
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
headcanon/meta;
Part 1 on Why Cruella is the worst the parent, now with more proof from canon material:
this gets long so its under the cut
Movie Proof
D1
First Cruella states that Carlos can’t go to Auradon because she wont have anyone to do some of her hygiene routine such as her hair and scraping bunions. Second, Cruella uses Carlos’ fear of dogs that she instilled in him, against him because “there are dogs in auradon, carlos.”
Third, these visuals from the movie itself and promotional material:
Fourth, Carlos’ bag is a trash bag, implying he has little to know possessions, and why would that be when Cruella is one of the most extravagant villains hmmm. Fifth, “I will never forget mother’s day again” regardless of what I have written on the subject, the fact that Carlos’ reaction to seeing his mom is a specific event, should tell you something. Jay sees what his dad really is, Evie sees her mom and honestly to me it sounds like she kind of misses her mom, and Mal gets her show tune. But Carlos’ is very clearly a traumatic event.
Sixth, in Auradon at the parents day message, Cruella only cares about the fact that Carlos has a dog, clearly for her own uses. Seventh, at this same parents day meeting Carlos looks uneasy after standing up to his mother. Eigth, “Our parents will be really really angry” said before Ben promises their parents wont reach them here, and before Carlos turns good. He agrees to be good, to stay away from his mother.
D2
First, “hear her voice in my head.” I have seen so many posts claiming that because this is Mal’s dream sequence that this line indicates that she still feels her mom’s pressure or whatever. However I don’t agree with that, because in my opinion this is something that he has spoken with Mal about. Each of the the others all have lines indicating things that they have to over come in order to stick it to their parents. This is also telling of suffering that we don’t see on screen.
Second, the second they are on the isle, we see a completely different Carlos from Auradon Carlos. His guards are up in a way that Jay’s and Evie’s aren’t. He mentions that they don’t want their parents to find out that they are there, he really means his mom. Not to mention there is a reason he does not want Dude on the Isle.
Third his little rivalry from Harry (and this actually stems from Uma’s Wicked Book), stems from the fact that Harry tried to steal Cruella’s car, and then locked him in a stockade for two days til Hook got Cruella to release him. If Cruella had her henchman do that to someone who isn’t her son, what would she do to her own son? Much worse. But yeah, that feud caused by Cruella, and Carlos knows it.
Book Proof
Aside from Uma’s Wicked Book mentioned above, lets start with the Spell Books since those act as companions to the movie. I will also later add to this post with the novelization of the movies to further show my proof. I also wont be going into much of the 3rd novel because their isn’t much about the parents in there.
Mal’s Spellbook
First off I’d like to remind everyone that the blanket that Jay and Carlos are fighting over is blue (not that I think its the one Evie gave Carlos but still), Carlos says “It was the one thing I wanted. Can’t I have a little security here?” Not only is this an awful pun, but it implies Carlos had none of that on the Isle thanks to his mom. .Later on page 81 he states, “I just want to go back to the Isle of the Lost, where no one expects much of me.”
On Page 108, he sees the hair spell, and thinks he should use it for his mom, so clearly still in that mindset of what his mother would want.
When asked about the saddest thing that ever happened to them on page 123, Carlos states, “A lot of of sad stuff happened to me, I don’t get upset about it, though, or cry about it. I guess I just try to forget. (And writing about it here isn’t going to help.)” So not only does Carlos have alot of sad stuff that happened to him on the Isle, he refuses to talk about it or get help, this could be just bullies, but considering what the others are writing about, their parents (save for Evie and her doll), its safe to say its not bullies with Carlos.
On page 141, and 143 Carlos claims he’s nothing like his mom after mentioning Ben states that they are not their parents. He also talks about how scared he is when Cruella sees Dude. Then on page 144, he states that they have to take over Auradon because he can’t say goodbye to Dude because he wont take the dog tot he Isle (which Disney Carlos is more than the fucking dog). Carlos also on page 148 is worried that Dude wont be safe once they get the wand, but I have a feeling he is projecting a bit here.
After Parents Day Carlos begins to think that they are as bad as their parents and they are as bad as the Auradon students and people say they are. Carlos also mentions that before Ben they had never met a “truly good person”.
On Page 166, the first thing on Carlos’ list of reasons to celebrate staying in Auradon, is being away from their parents.
Mal’s Spellbook II
The book starts out and one of the first things Carlos talks about is bananas, now its no surprise that food is bad on the isle, but Carlos’ fascination with it shows a bit more than it just being bad.
He feels bad and angry at himself for not confronting Chad even if that is the right thing to do. He can’t seem to speak, which I believe is fully related to Cruella. He had little to no ability to speak with her when she made him do something he did not want to. The same goes for anyone with significant power over him, like Chad.
So while its listed under funny things dude has said, I find it very telling that Carlos included it considering the other things on the list, I mean they are all about dog things, but this one just seems a bit odd to me. “Would you want me to walk you on a leash?”
School of Secrets - Carlos’ Treasure Hunt
I am not going to talk alot about this book mainly because I do not own it, and have not read the entire thing.
HOWEVER, Cruella has many items relating to dogs, and getting people to bend to her will without question. One of these items is in fact a dog collar, and she more or less implies that Carlos needs to use it. She also more or less implies that she would never need to use it on him.
The Isle of the Lost
First I am not going to go through every single page of the book, but I am going to talk about the bigger scenes in the book.
Carlos admits that sending his mom into hysterics isn’t hard, and he will hum Roger’s song for her to help her do it, At a cost to him of course. So on page 41 we have this conversation between Evie and Carlos. Evie is finally let out of her banishment, and admits she doesn’t remember much about her party, and that she doesn’t know Carlos is her neighbor. Carlos says he lives down the street in Hell Hall, and Evie is a bit confused and states, “But I thought no one lived but that crazy old lady and her---” Carlos cuts her off, and doesn’t want her to say the next word but Evie does anyways. Evie thought Carlos was a dog. Evie then goes on to say “BUt she’s always calling someone her pet, I thought you were a d---” She then goes onto ask “But how do you fit in the crate at night.”
When presented with an image of his mom in all her glory he shudders and ignores class. When Mal announces that their will be a party at Carlos; house, he states that she knows that his mom doesn’t like having people over. Carlos lives in isolation, because of his mother.
This quote from page 64, “Cruella was always telling him how boring hew as because all he liked to do was fiddle with electronics all day. His mother declared he was wasting his time, that he was usless at everying except chores... Still, he wished that one day Cruella would see him as more than just a live-in servant who happened to be related to her.” This is a pure example of a type of abuse.
Carlos’ room on the Isle consists of a corner of his mother’s coat closet, which is covered in bear traps. He has what the book calls a “mattress” though its hardly that, no pillow, and no blanket. Again key signs of neglect. Along with this he states no one has ever cared if he was warm or not, when referencing a blanket, and the fact that he is not allowed to touch Cruella’s furs (something tells me he has tried before). He also gets embarrassed when he says he never had a pillow before. The only place he can keep things is in his tree house so his mom does not get to them.
On page 130 Carlos insinuates his mother will skin him for the party, “If his mother had any idea that he’d let a bunch of people come over... and even worse let them near her fur closet.... let alone be tackled in a pile of full-length grade-a-pelt coats--- well lets just say it wouldn’t be a puppy she would be trying to skin.” Not to mention just before this, people apparently tell Carlos that Cruella has mellowed out with age, but his response is they don’t have to live with her, meaning she is just as bad if not worse.
Carlos like school, it is not a surprise he’s a nerd, but one thing he likes is structure. This is key because structure is not something he gets at home. On page 194 while Carlos got everyone to help him clean his house in order for him to go with them to retrieve Maleficent’s scepter Mal admits, “Her mother might ignore her, and resent her, and scold her; but at least she wasn’t Maleficent’s virtual slave” referencing Carlos. This isn’t the big quote from Mal about Carlos but this is a pretty big doozy if Mal admits that Carlos has it bad, if not the worst out of all of them, and all the kids on the Isle really.
Later on the same page, Cruella comes home. Carlos shakes because Cruella is home early, the house isn’t clean, and their are people inside. Mal even admits that no one is as scary as her mother so she doesn’t understand why Carlos is so jumpy. When Cruella calls out, “Carlos, Carlos, My baby!” Mal thinks that it isn’t too bad, because she is under the impression Cruella is talking about Carlos. Cruella then says her Baby needs a wash, which Evie is like “she knows your dirty from here.” Carlos then announces that Cruella is referring to her car, not him. The scene continues and Cruella asks about her one true love, Jay, Mal, and Evie all turn to Carlos, and Carlos is like hello what now? And Cruella elaborates she meant her furs. Carlos is embarrassed he forgot, something Mal can even tell. The scene goes on, and Cruella essentially makes them all clean her car by the end of it.
“...Carlos with his screeching harpy of a parent...” Now this quote is used all the time. I want to be clear that what we see from Carlos’ life it is more than just yelling. However even if it it was, that is still abuse.
Carlos’ trial in the book is about his mother. The creatures ask what his mother’s one true love is, and Carlos cannot bear to say it out loud. She never means him though, because it is her furs and not him. Admitting out loud, and then saying that the other three already knew that is not easy for him. Upon leaving the castle, where they have to cross the bridge again, Carlos admits he doesn’t know if he can do it again.
Upon his return home, Cruella finds her coat closet, Carlos forgets to clean it. She starts screaming at him, and he says it will never happens gain. But he also indicates that he not only sees the gargoyles laughing at him, she ends with saying Carlos is a disappointment.
Also at some point in the book Mal states that while her mom is bad, she is not as bad as Cruella.
Return to the Isle of the Lost
On page 48 Carlos on the prospect of getting a message from his mother, and potentially having to return to the isle twists in fear at that his mother is right behind him (Even though she isn’t). Even though he says he just feels like she is near. On page 49 he then says, “While Maleficent might be able to turn into a dragon, Cruella was a dragon.” Mal throws his thoughts and words about her off as paranoia. But friends I think at this point we all know Carlos’ fear is valid from years of abuse and neglect.
When the four return to the Isle, and they are looking for their parents, they come to Hell Hall. Carlos whispers for his mom where Evie just goes right and yells causing Carlos to freak out.
On page 271 Carlos admits that his house was a house of horrors thanks to Cruella.
In collecting his talisman Carlos is the only one who actually faces his parent. Cruella wants him to leave, and Carlos almost does because she told him to. In fact the book states “everything in his brain told him to run from his mother...” He has to physically fight his mother. In fact when he gets the ring of envy, his mother says he can do what he wants with it. And he very nearly does destroy her. On page 278 the book implies that destroying Cruella would rid of him of his nightmares, “destroy his mother, rid the world of another villain, and stop having nightmares once and for all.” Cruella goads him, but he doesn’t do it when he puts the ring on because he thinks that “he is better than oyu, mother. no matter what you’ve always told me.” We know that this is all a vision, and not actually his mother, but a vision is a vision. He sees his mom (only confirming the line in D2) in his head all the time.
Conclusion
Cruella was abusive to Carlos both verbally, and physically. She neglected him worse than any of the isle kids could imagine, and submitted him to torture, such as making him submit to being a dog.
So that’s all I got for book proof at the moment, stay tuned for a part 2.
5 notes
·
View notes
Note
👻 Nathan!
Okay, so I started with this non-human prompt meme, picked up most of Part I of this from a random prompt that passed by on my dash somewhere to get me started, and drew some ideas for Part III from @spys-art-blog‘s thoughts about godklok stuff. It DOES include Nathan talking to a ghost. It’s also a little like that thing that happened in fourth season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer when suddenly Dawn is there, and always has been, and technically that’s new but she’s been retconned into everyone’s memories so no one questions it.
~
I. Because One Day You May Be Called
It would forever baffle Charles as to how quickly things could go wrong. One minute he was driving along the familiar route between the office and home. The next, he was spinning out of control towards the concrete barrier at the end of the bridge, barely able to glimpse the truck that had decimated the right side of his car. In the short time it took for his hands to let go of the wheel and his car to reach the barrier, he’d managed to bang his head on something and gain a nice little cut along the side of his face.
Then the car hit the barrier. The sudden stop made him imagine the entire world halting on its axis, his stomach lurching and his head spinning even faster now that he was no longer in motion with it. Groaning, he blindly reached out for some kind of surface, only then realizing his glasses had been flung from his face. The blurry interior of the car made him more disoriented, but he managed to locate the window and look up.
A dark shape was rushing towards him, too large to be a person. The truck, his mind supplied simply. The implications of what that rapidly approaching shape meant only clicked when it was a few feet away and he only had enough time to take a sharp breath in understanding.
II. To Meet The Mighty Gods
At first, it came as a shock when he regained consciousness. Okay, Charles thought, so I’m not dead. He felt as though he was floating, which he supposed meant he was safe in a hospital bed, wrapped in a soothing cocoon of pain medication, with medical attention only a call button press away. The second and far more lasting shock came when he opened his eyes.
He actually was floating, cushioned by thin air about ten feet above the scene of the crash. What little he could see of the passenger car left little hope that the body inside was still intact, and yet, when he touched the numb skin of his cheek, there was red on his apparently solid fingertips. How could he bleed if he was already dead?
Everything was eerily silent.
And he felt watched. The clusterfuck of snarled traffic rapidly lost his interest as the feeling intensified, as though eyes were boring into him from several different directions at once, pinning him in place.
Charles whipped his head around, half expecting to see… what? There was nothing. Just a sweeping view of ocean, glittering and blue and deep. The freeway had been built atop steep cliffs, and from where he hovered it seemed that one impatient shrug of the earth was all it would take to tumble the entire ribbon of asphalt and cars into the churning water. Golds, oranges, and reds bled into everything from the setting sun, painting everything but the pale sliver of rising moon with brilliant light. There was no wind, at least where Charles was.
He’d driven home this way hundreds of times. Thousands. Yet, as he hung in the air above his mortal remains, he couldn’t remember ever taking a single moment to appreciate the view.
“It’s beautiful,” he whispered.
IT IS.
He hadn’t realized that he hadn’t been breathing before. Funny what the lack of breath catching in sudden terror could tell you. And had he been straining his eyes looking for whatever was watching him, or did the glints of reddish light catching on the ocean waves form the vague shape of a man?
A man that seemed more real and more imaginary the longer he stared, far away and right there at the same time. Not a man — there was no way, it was too impossible. Whatever it was, it looked down at the wrecked vehicles below with an air of passive satisfaction.
Then it turned it’s terrible gaze upon Charles with decidedly less passivity. Shadows fell across its face like long dark hair, or long strings of seaweed swaying in the current below the water’s surface, and that, Charles knew, was what had been watching him.
It bared it’s shark teeth at him and asked, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?
Charles opened his mouth, closed it, looked down at the rapidly drying blood on his fingers. “I, ah… I used to be someone,” he mumbled. “Now I’m dead.“
YOU ARE NOTHING.
He found himself nodding. No family. No wife or kids, not even a girlfriend. Not even a pet. Riding a desk in a dead-end job that he’d had since graduating college with a degree in law that he’d never bothered to use, and was too apathetic to leave for anything better. There was no one to miss him, no way to claim that he’d made any sort of positive impression on the world before leaving it. Or even a negative one, for that matter. Nothing.
“Yes,” he agreed quietly.
WOULD YOU CHOSE TO BE MORE?
Charles felt his heart leap at the suggestion, and that seemed to be answer enough. The apparition narrowed its glowing red eyes. It seemed pleased.
SO BE IT.
And suddenly there was wind, twisting and writhing around him like a bed of snakes, as though it had always been there but had been holding still, awaiting orders. The earth flew towards him and the sea rose up, the sun and moon grew huge in the sky, and Charles passed unto utter blackness as reality reknitted itself around him.
III. Deep Within The Ocean
The ghost stood in the center of a cavernous office. Somewhere in the gloom above there were elaborate chandeliers, but most of the lightbulbs were broken and the only light of the setting sun came in weak streams between the boards nailed up over broken windows. It was deathly still, and the air tasted of ash and dust.
He wasn’t sure what he was doing there, or how he knew he was a ghost. The longer he stood there the more he felt as though it was where he belonged. It was a nagging, annoying feeling, as though he had just been about to do something very important but forgotten what it was. Or… hadn’t been told yet?
A sudden crash behind him made him flinch, but just barely.
“CHARLES,” someone roared. A man, very gravelly-voiced and very, very drunk. The ghost was distantly impressed that amidst all that stumbling he was still managing to keep his feet. “CHARLES, it’s me, NATHAN. Where… where the fuck…!”
His dark green eyes fell on the ghost, who felt the impact as a full body jolt because he hadn’t expected to be seen. Apparently the man, Nathan, hadn’t exactly expected to see him either because he swayed to a stop. With one hand — the other still had a tight grip on a bottle of tequila — Nathan pushed long hair out of his face and squinted uncertainly.
“Charles. Is that… You’re here?” Nathan looked up at the ceiling as though the broken chandeliers could offer some sort of explanation, then at his feet, then at his bottle, which he took a swig from. That seemed to strengthen his grasp on the situation. “I mean… You. Are here. Good.” He swayed. “I’ve got… There’s… fuckin’ problems.”
“I see,” the ghost replied, and cleared his throat. “Please, have a seat.” The hand gesture toward the big dust felt perfectly natural, though the ghost hadn’t previously paid much mind to the furniture before that moment. So did walking around the dominating piece of furniture and taking a seat, ignoring, for the moment, that there was a dust cover on the large wingback chair and he sank into it slightly without so much as a crinkle or rustle of fabric.
Nathan trailed after him. Both of the chairs in front of the desks were on their sides, as though the same impact of whatever had blown the now shuttered windows in had knocked them over as well. He gamely put his bottle down and spent a minute clumsily righting one, then dropped into it with a huff and squinted again.
“What was I talking about?”
The ghost folded his hands before him on the dusty wooden surface. “I believe you mentioned having problems.”
Nathan’s dower expression brightened a fraction as he remembered. “Fuck, yeah…” Then his face fell. “It’s all fucked up. All the… money, and… You… We’re broke.”
He retrieved his bottle and sipped from it, shoulders slumped and looking older than the ghost thought he should — not that the ghost knew what his age actually was. But there was a dawning familiarity building up in the back of his mind, like a favorite, nearly forgotten tune just in the edge of hearing.
“It’s hard,” Nathan confided, slumping further towards the desk. “It’s really… hard without you. I don’t know how to do this shit. Press releases and financial… fuckin’… bullshit…”
Yes, the ghost thought, I remember this. Did he, though? Or had the information just arrived his head? He couldn’t remember. Absently, he adjusted his glasses and rubbed his fingertips against the side of his face, tracing a scar that ran from cheekbone to jaw.
It didn’t matter. There was a job to do, and he was the best man for it.
“I’m sure we can sort this out,” Charles said firmly. “Walk me through it.”
IV. And If You’re Not Prepared
Air slammed into his lungs, accompanied by the sting of pins and needles in… well, everything.
Charles remembered reading once that many bodily functions — digestion, for example — were quite painful, but the human nervous system was wired to tell the conscious mind to ignore it. For a moment, he felt every cubic inch of his body, and could ignore none of it.
When the feeling passed and the echoes of his hoarse screams died away, Charles tried to sit up and was gently pushed back down.
“Be still,” a soothing, age-worn voice told him. “The Gods of the Klok have restored you, but at great cost. It will be some time before you are truly whole again.”
Charles allowed himself to fall back into the soft bed, secretly relieved. “What happened,” he croaked.
“They have chosen you to be their champion, and made it so that it has always been so,” the old man told him solemnly.
He remembered the ocean and broken glass.
“You are the Dead Man.”
He remembered talking to something that looked like Nathan, and then remembering who Nathan was after the fact, because… because…
“In time, you will forget that it was any other way.”
V. Your Soul Will Not Be Spared
Thousands of leagues away, in a dragon-shaped mansion hovering miles above sea level, Nathan Explosion woke with his cheek resting on a puddle of tequila-drool. He lifted his head and immediately regretted it.
“Dood, wake up!” Pickles was shaking his shoulder. “Don’t know what you’re doin’ in’ere anyway, it’s still a disaster area in this wing…”
“Wha…?” Nathan squeezed his eyes shut, feeling like they were about two sizes to large for his head, and tried to focus on where ‘in here’ was.
He had been… What had he been doing?
There had been drinking, obviously. And then he’d wandered around, pacing down up and down the halls until he’d arrived at their manager’s office.
“I was. Uh. Talking to Charles about… money?” he guessed. As he said it, the memory solidified somewhat in his head. “Yeah. Money.”
Pickles’ stopped shaking his arm and frowned. “Nat’n, that’s impossible. Ofdensen’s d… He hamburger timed. Remember?”
“But I…” Nathan froze halfway towards wiping the gross spit off his face. He’d just gotten so used to Charles being there all those years that he’d stormed in blind drunk and… passed out and dreamed the whole thing, apparently, because the man was dead. They’d had a funeral pyre and everything; there was no way what he remembered could have actually happened.
Unless it was a ghost, Nathan thought despondently. But what were the chances of that?
While he was still mulling that over, Pickles sighed and shook his head. “Dood, ya really gotta lay off the tequila. Now c’mon, this place ain’t gonna remodel itself. I think I’ve almost got the hang of that circular saw thing…”
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ninoir Week - Day 1: Gay Chicken
I still have a migraine but fuck it. (The first one is two, I cheated. Also I firmly believe Nino calls his parents māmā and bābā. Also also, it kind of turned into a reveal fic? I know reveal is a prompt later this week but I guess you’re getting something different that day? Also also also: it’s an ass day, I guess? Or Nino is definitely an ass man, either way.)
Title: Five Times Nino and Chat Noir Played Gay Chicken (And One Time They Were Just Gay)
Summary: When it started was still up for debate. (In which Nino flirts with a superhero, neither Chat or Nino really knows the meaning of Gay Chicken, and Alya is the bane of Nino’s existence in the best of ways.)
One.
When it started was still up for debate.
Marinette insisted it was during an akuma attack she hadn’t even been present for, when Chat Noir had scooped Nino up bridal style to get him out of the way of a cannonball being launched towards him. She claimed she’d heard it on the recording Alya had taken of the whole battle (which Nino was still dubious about), the words from Chat Noir still loud and clear in his own mind.
“Guess I better get some shining armour for next time, my prince.”
Alya, on the other hand, said it was before that, because obviously it was just retaliation.
There was no akuma that time, just the two of them enjoying one of their many dessert dates together by the Seine. It was dark, the sky lit up only by the street lamps, and she’d been needling him for an answer for the better part of an hour.
“It doesn’t matter if you don’t like either of them, I want to know. Who do you think has a better ass? Ladybug or Chat Noir?”
It had been a class wide debate earlier in the day with no clear winner, as both Adrien and Marinette had sat with him comfortably on the fence. But now he was flustered with Alya’s beserker like focus on him, he’d let his guard down with delicious ice cream… So he answered.
“I guess Ladybug’s is great, but Chat Noir in that leather… Yeah, he has the better ass.”
The squeak they heard was nothing compared to the sudden appearance of a startled looking blonde superhero, his pigtailed partner as red as her suit on the lamp post above.
Yeah, Nino’s timing had been bad, but it was all definitely Alya’s fault.
(Adrien refused to answer which he thought was correct and tried to change the subject quickly whenever it was broached.)
Two.
The second major event was a lot more clear cut, for one particular reason.
Chat’s hand was glued to Nino’s ass.
It was genuinely an accident, for what it was worth. Nino had been running up the stairs at the school, trying to get out of the way during a smackdown with the latest akuma to tear up the place (a student in the year above angered about the destruction of their artwork). Chat had summoned his Cataclysm, heading forward to destroy the shrapnel of her broken artwork, when the akuma had caught him off guard. One, two shots of her cement glue, the first obliterated by his powers, and the second catching around his hand and throwing him backwards.
Right into Nino. Or more specifically, his backside.
The two had taken a moment when they realised where, precisely, Chat’s hand was stuck, but to their credit they managed to get to their feet and out of the way, leaving Ladybug to finish the fight by herself. Nino had just been reassured that at least he wasn’t the only one embarrassed by it all. Chat’s face was bright pink, a rather lovely hue if Nino were honest, and he seemed solely focused on getting Nino out of the way and out of trouble. Until…
“Feel free to cop a feel in return. Seems only fair.”
Chat’s voice was shakier than Nino had heard it before, the confidence fake to anyone who heard it, but it was enough to shatter the awkwardness he was feeling. Instead, Nino reached up and stroked the top of the superhero’s head, fingers running over faux leather ears like he was petting a cat.
“Nah. I don’t go in for that until at least the third date. My māmā would kill me.”
“I’ll pick you up on Friday, then. 7 work for you?”
(They were freed not long later, and for some reason, Adrien avoided time alone with Nino for a week.)
Three.
The third major event was, obviously, the date.
At first, Nino had been positive the feline themed hero had been joking, but sure enough, Friday came and there was a tap at his window. It actually took his mother coming in and asking him to check what the noise was for him to notice, due to his headphones, but he did indeed check and there he was.
Chat Noir.
At his window.
With flowers.
“Oh, Mrs Lahiffe!” Chat grinned, giving her an awkward little bow from his perch on his staff. “Sorry to bother you, but I’ve come to pick your son up. He promised me he’d show me the best music store in Paris, and I couldn’t resist that offer.”
News just in: Chat Noir was both a dirty liar, and a horrible one.
The fact his mother allowed him to leave with the superhero (and took the flowers with a look of utter glee) only served to make the whole thing more embarrassing. To try and save some kind of dignity, Nino opted to take the stairs out through the front door, rather than hitch a lift out his window as Chat seemed to want.
(The look on his face was definitely not heart breaking, and Nino did manage to resist. Damn cat.)
The date, as it turned out, was a picnic on one of the many rooftops in Paris. It wasn’t a huge meal, but having spent as much time as he did with Adrien, he recognised a couple of the items in the hamper that were far out of his price range. Maybe someone had donated them to him, or perhaps Chat’s real identity was loaded? He’d have to mention that one to Alya.
The time went by in a blur. Nino mostly remembered laughing at a lot of cheesy jokes, and Chat smiling brighter than the sun. Nino would have been happy just seeing that smile again, any day.
But that had to be it. The joke was over now, Nino was certain, and once Chat dropped him back off, that would be the end of it, right?
(Adrien was quiet the entire time Nino gushed about it the next day.)
Four.
The fourth one was Alya’s fault.
Well, not completely. Alya got kidnapped by (another) akuma, and Nino had no idea where the superhero duo of Paris could possibly be. Adrien and Marinette were locked in a room together which Nino couldn’t get them out of, and he couldn’t just leave one of his best friends to the mercy of an angry fan of her blog.
He dashed through the building, following the faint shrieks of Alya’s former fan, shouting how her detective work wasn’t thorough enough, how she wasn’t updating enough, how could she not see that Ladybug and Chat belonged together.
(Maybe it wasn’t Alya’s fault. If he hadn’t told her about the date, she never would have written that speculation article about Chat’s sexuality.)
It wasn’t long before Nino found himself on the top floor of the department store they were in, staring across the room at Alya, being smothered in photographs ripped from her blog. He did the only thing he could - grabbed the nearest item and started charging at the akuma, ready to deck her over the head, hoping to stun her and rescue Alya.
A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back before he could even shout, a blur of red charging past him instead.
He looked back to find Chat Noir, eyebrows creased in concern as he shook his head.
“Nino, you need to get out of here. We’ve got this.”
He couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, even as more panic overwhelmed him. Yes, they’d rescue Alya, he was sure of it, but what about- “Adrien? Marinette? They’re trapped downstairs, I don’t know if there’s an air vent or-”
Chat’s eyes left his face for a moment, looking over to where Ladybug was already liberating her (apparent) favourite reporter, and he looked back at Nino.
“They’re safe. I promise. Just get yourself out of here and we’ll make sure they all come back to you, safe and sound.”
The kiss pressed to his cheek at that was soft, tentative, almost afraid - words he’d never associated with Chat Noir before - and then the warm presence of the blonde’s body was gone, staff swinging above his head as he went to help his Lady. Nino’s cheek, however, continued to burn as he jogged down the fire escape.
(Sure enough, Alya, Adrien and Marinette were returned to him shortly, unscathed. Adrien and Marinette became closer after that day, but his best friend refused to admit what happened in the closet. Nino wasn’t upset about it. Not at all.)
Five.
The fifth event was an accident.
It seemed like Nino couldn’t catch a break lately. Since the flirting started, the DJ seemed to be running into more and more of the akumas than he wanted or intended. On the one hand, it was nice. It meant seeing more of Chat Noir, of the fond looks and concerned glances the hero would send his way. They’d had two more ‘dates’ since then, much to Nino’s surprise, getting closer without either of them doing more than joking about their apparent ‘bromance’.
Except Nino was beginning to get nervous about it all, because he didn’t want it to be a joke.
None of that mattered right now, though. The storming akuma had thrown Chat clear across a few buildings, crashing into the middle of a road and leaving him dazed. Nino had been present to see him use his Cataclysm and even as he ran up to him, he could hear the beeping he already knew meant his transformation was running out.
“Chat!” he shouted, sliding to his knees and not caring about the grazing to his knees or the rip in his jeans. Even though a groan was all he got in reply, Nino helped his hero (and when had he started thinking of Chat as his?) get to his feet and pulled him into the cover of a nearby alleyway.
He’d heard two more beeps in the time it took to get Chat on his feet and moving.
The blonde looked down at the ring on his finger and back up at Nino, a soft laugh escaping his lips.
“I guess I was going to tell you at some point anyway. It’d make dating a lot easier.”
Chat leaned forward and pressed his lips to Nino’s. Nino didn’t pull away, eyes closing just as a flash of green surrounded them, fingers moving up to grip softer material than he expected. Lips moved against his own and he knew, in his heart of hearts, that he was absolutely, utterly doomed now.
He pulled back, eyes fluttering back open.
(Adrien staring back at him was the best thing he could ever have asked for.)
Plus One.
“So, are we crashing at my place or is your pops gonna let me hang out at yours tonight?”
“You really think my father is going to let you over now that we’re dating? He didn’t like you when we were just friends.”
“Yeah, but before that, I didn’t know you could carry me into your room with your super cat powers.”
“Plagg would never go for it. It’s abusing my powers and not in ways he approves of.”
“What if I buy him like, three wheels of Camembert?”
“This one’s a keeper, kid.”
(Adrien did, in fact, keep Nino, much to both their delight.)
216 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Lord of the Rings review: Part 1
So first off, this review is mainly about the lord of the rings book, although i will be doing some things in different orders. I am partly making fun of the plot, and partly making fun of the way it's written, and additionally, this is not meant to show disrespect for LOTR or it's fans, just as a fun thing, and while i do like LOTR and think it's cool, i do have some things to complain about.
Without further ado, the review:
The Lord of the Rings. One of the most popular and respected works of fantasy fiction in the world. And yet, the most boring book to read since the unabridged Oxford English Dictionary. What makes LOTR so popular, and what makes it so boring despite such critical acclaim? Let's find out.
The story begins with a riveting 40 pages detailing a party that has little to no significance to the actual plot. During this time, we learn that this part of the story takes part in a place called the shire, a peaceful farming land with rolling green hills and inhabited by hobbits(rumor has it that tolkien originally called them "fat midgets" but changed this as it wasn't culturally sensitive enough). Soon(a mere 36 years or so) after the party, the main character, frodo, finds that bilbo's ring, which he had passed on to frodo, was in fact the most dangerous magical artifact since the stainless steel cheese grater. It also happens to be the only thing capable of bringing the antagonist to full power. Yes, this humble ring is in fact the Legendary One Ring, created by the most hated and feared enemy of the people of middle-earth, and whose name inspired the title of the book: The Dark Lord, "Of The".
Wait, no, sorry, his name was actually Sauron. Frodo's generic bearded mentor, gandalf, informs him that the only solution is to destroy The Mcguffin Ring by throwing it into the Fires Of Mount Doom in which it was forged(created). Armed with this knowledge, and his faithful minion friend and gardener, sam(and his cousins, mary merry and pippin) our humble young hobbit sets out on an epic journey to destroy the ring.
100 short pages later, something actually relevant to the plot happens, garnished throughout with important events such as the finding of mushrooms(you had to be there, these mushrooms were really good), the appearance of a disturbingly cheery weirdo freak person named tom bombadil, and a chase scene wherein four midgets hobbits used to a comfortable life of eating twice their weight in junk food and moving no more than is neccessary for using the bathroom somehow manage to outrun several dark, evil, and anciently powerful creatures riding dark, powerful horses with an apparent max speed of 7.5 MPH. This plot-worthy event occurs in the village of bree, where the four hobbits get drunk and, due to their shrewd intellect and four long seconds of consideration, decide to take on a creepy guy with a sword they just met(they just met him, not the sword) named strider as a companion on literally the most important quest in the world.
While our young hobbits are thus occupied, the old wizard gandalf gets captured by an old friend, saruman, who decided to turn to the dark side because he gets a cool plasma ball as a "Welcome to the club" gift. Gandalf escapes, with the aid of a suspiciously convenient pet bird he purchased from the "help, i'm trapped at the top of a 500 story building" store for the price of one moth(which it is suspected that he stole).
After leaving bree, thomas frodo and his friends make it to weathertop(literally, "Large Rock") where they were supposed to meet gandalf. Gandalf is, of course, absent, so strider, using his strategical skills and a dash of common sense, decides to abandon the hobbits while he goes sightseeing. It is, of course, just what the Dark Riders(known as Ringwraiths) from the last paragraph were waiting for, and they charge in and attack the hobbits using the tried-and true battle technique of Standing Around Looking Intimidating Instead Of Actually Attacking the targets who they could easily overpower armed with nothing more than a saucepan while they wait for the protagonist's backup to arrive. And arrive it does, with strider breaking in at the last second to save the group. One of the more astute ringwraiths surmises that it would likely be a good idea to actually attack the target, and so stabs frodo with a dagger so ancient and powerful it crumbles to dust as soon as it is removed from the wound. While frodo struggles to remember first aid and decides to substitute ancient elven language as a family-friendly replacement for swear words, strider bravely fends off these most Ancient and Powerful enemies using the legendary weapon that is the bane of evil creatures everywhere; that's right, the legendary Fire On A Stick.
After seeing that frodo is unlikely to survive the roughly 700km trek to rivendell(literally, "Convenient Elf City"), the group encounters a Convenient Elf named arwen, who takes frodo to the city on horseback. Arwen and the now unconscious(he spends much of the book like this) frodo are chased by the black riders to the front porch of rivendell, a river, which spontaneously floods as soon as the black riders attempt to cross it.
Frodo awakes safe in rivendell, brought back from the very brink of death through powerful elven healing magic and the fact that he's the protagonist. Gandalf greets him and explains the whole unpleasant "being captured" business, which is quickly followed by roughly 200 pages of boring and pointless exposition mixed with 7 page long songs(which, being in book form, have no set tune, causing readers to have to substitute familiar tunes such as "Yankee Doodle") after which the elves, gandalf, strider(who is fined by the elves after it was discovered he used a fake ID and his real name was in fact aragorn), and a crowd of racially diverse people such as dwarves, humans, and the other hobbits meet together to discuss the ring. The decision, voted on by the group, is that a phenomenally dangerous and evil artifact(e.g the ring) should probably be destroyed. This is agreed to, and after heated discussion of how to accomplish this(some suggest the use of acid, fire, clorox, or exposure to justin bieber CDs), it is mentioned that the ring must be destroyed by throwing it into an active volcano. Unfortunately, mount st. helens had not been invented yet, and so the only volcano on the entire continent is Mount Doom. It is henceforth unanimously agreed upon that the only thing capable of bringing the dark lord sauron back to power is to be brought to within three blocks of his house in an attempt to destroy it. The obvious choice for this mission is the most skilled, talented, and strong among them: The very likely overweight and chronically depressed hobbit whose entire experience in this field is that he's pretty sure he knows how to pronounce "Macguffin".
Before leaving, bilbo, who had moved to rivendell, gives frodo his old sword and a piece of rare "Plot Armor", which is impenetrable to all but the most fourth-wall breaking attacks.
And so, the group sets off, consisting of frodo, sam, merry, pippin, gandalf, aragorn, boromir, an elf named legolas, and a dwarf named gimli with anger issues. Shortly after leaving rivendell, the group is forced to cross a snowy mountain, upon which they realize that none of them brought any warm clothes. It is then decided that they will go through the mines of moria, a gigantic mining city that has evaded the regulations of OSHA for centuries.
After being attacked by Cthulhu outside the mines, gandalf, who forgot the password, contacts technical support and gets it reset, allowing them to enter said mines. It is then revealed that the entire population of the mines was wiped out by orcs(literally "Big Ugly Guys") with the I.Q. of warm salad. Being dwarves, the inhabitants of the mines needed plenty of ceiling room, and thus the mines are way bigger than is strictly neccessary or convenient. after wandering around lost for a while, the group encounters a large group of orcs, who, of course, being mighty and feared warriors, are easily dispatched by the group without them even breaking a sweat.
However, the orcs had broughten(broughted? broughtinated?) a cave troll with them, which managed to stab frodo before being defeated. However, frodo, who the rest of the group had presumed to be dead, is revealed to be absolutely fine due to the shirt of plot armor he is wearing. Despite being extremely important and worth more than the shire itself, this shirt is completely forgotten and never brought up again. After the attack, the group finds they are being pursued by a large and powerful creature called a balrog, which chases them into a structurally ludicrous room the size of north dakota that completely lacks guardrails. Upon being asked what a balrog is, gandalf replies that it is a foe beyond any of them in power, and subsequently decides to challenge it to a 1v1. After picking a spot(specifically, a balance beam over a bottomless pit AKA literally the worst place to fight a balrog in the entire mine), gandalf spleefs the balrog into the pit, but is thrown down into it himself after he wisely decides to stand there and watch instead of running to safety. The rest of the group, heartbroken, then decides to journey to lothlorien(literally, "Rivendell MK2") for refuge, where the elves, having a clear understanding of economics, provide food and shelter free of charge to a group of people they just met.
After receiving these gifts(including a rope for sam and a glowstick for frodo), the group sets off downriver in boats procured(read: basically stolen) from the elves and end up in amon hen, where frodo, showing wisdom beyond his 85 years, wisely decides to wander off by himself, upon which the ring corrupts boromir who subsequently attempts to take it from frodo. The rest of the group, also very skilled in the fine art of strategy, wanders off randomly by themselves as well in order to search for frodo, which causes boromir to have to sacrifice himself to save merry and pippin from the conveniently placed orcs, which end up capturing the two anyway. Upon finding boromir, who, thanks to the orc archers, now resembles a large pincushion, aragorn, legolas, and gimli get to watch him die from his wounds, after which they send him downriver in a boat in a makeshift burial at sea.
Meanwhile, frodo(who becomes wiser every page), attempts to sneak off to mordor on his own, but is caught by sam, who is determined to go with him.
This ends part 1 of the review of the lord of the rings.
2 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
gillsbailey
all things
aunlovedlover
The Anthology
1directioncutefacts
One Direction Facts
ehmgem
The Gem That Is Ehm
thegomaximilian-blog
Untitled