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bizlawgal · 3 years

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I wanted to share a prompt! Hope is ok ❤️: Emma is norman's bodyguard. And he's so cute 😳. But she has to focus because she's a professional 😎. But he's so sweet and treats her like she was a princess! But he's also super important and she needs to give the 100% to protect him. But the way he calls her, it's just... Would be people surprised if she falls for him? What would people think if she tries to take him for her 🤭😏.

This took a while.

Here’s Lyn’s first contribution to the N/E tag for 2021 on Tumblr.

I personally enjoyed writing this because it’s so angsty, but it’s a dessert with a cherry on top for an ending.

I. There was no fitting person for the job other than her.

With a slender built, an agile reflex, and a taste for anything below the surface of safety, she was more than willing to accept the terms and conditions that came with the job.

"Oliver tells me you're experienced in this line of work," said Ray, the person-in-charge with most of the personal bodyguards assigned to the Minerva Family. "You do know that individuals who prefer this line of work are the ones who have —"

"— nothing left to lose, I know," she continued. This line was something she had memorized long ago. "No one will be looking for me if I do lose my life somewhere along the line. I have no more family to go back to."

Her father had died a couple of years back. Incarcerated for a murder she knew he did not commit, and died a sorrowful death behind bars because of an undetected disease.

Since then, she had taken a liking to the profession of looking after people; being a bodyguard gave her a purpose to live, and another way to make amends with her helplessness.

Ray's face echoed skepticism. "As long as you won't die before the person you're in charge of, then there won't be any problems. At least during this coming election period. Your service is of utmost importance."

Emma released a deep sigh upon learning that she had finally landed this job. "Who am I in-charge of protecting?"

"The heir of the Minerva Family," he answered as he flipped through her folder full of credentials one last time. "Consider this as your first day on the job. Here's the itinerary for today. He's a very busy person but make sure you leave a good impression."

He? She had never worked as a bodyguard for any man before, but being ever-so devoted to what she did for a living, she shoved the underlying curiosity in her mind.

Emma nodded submissively as she extended her hand to claim the supposed itinerary and immediately implanted the details inside her head. The idea to process everything in an instant was something she was good at.

"Memorized it?" Ray quipped, a challenging smirk making its way to his lips.

"Yes," she beamed, "I’ve memorized it by heart."

"Do you still have any inquiries about what your job will be? About the person you're in charge of?"

She shook her head in an absolute stance. "I think I'm well-informed."

"Good, because here comes the Minerva you're in-charge of."

She heard the simultaneous clicking of heels against the marbled floors, and when the door to the room opened, she swang her head to officially meet him with a smile.

Instead of a smile on her lips, she only registered an expression of awe; lips parted in wordless wonder and eyes widened with a different kind of expectation.

He was the first to move on, reflecting the same enchantment on his face, and spoke, "You must be —"

"Emma," she supplied. "I'm Emma Mikhaylov, and starting today, I'll be your personal bodyguard, Sir Minerva."

He smiled, and she was sure that it might've made her heart twitch a bit. "It's nice to meet you, Emma. Are you aware of our itinerary for today?"

She looked over at Ray, and back at the heir. Her breath hitched upon answering. "Yes, sir."

There was one thing that Ray failed to mention.

Norman Minerva, the heir to the family of politicians, was a damn well-proportioned, good-looking man.

II.

"How are you supposed to protect me if you're the one behind the wheels?"

It was another one of his comments that initially swayed her to think that he wasn't just one of those old money brats from a political dynasty.

It had been three months of being his bodyguard, and she couldn't deny that he was suspiciously treating her better than how he did with others.

Without taking her eyes off the road, she answered, "It's my job to chaperone you, too."

He subtly scratched his head. "Do I have to spell it out for you that I want you next to me? We could've asked Ray to chaperone us, could we not?"

"Ah, but Ray is out doing his own chaperoning for your sister."

He snorted. "There is no winning that. He fancies my sister, after all."

Emma chuckled lightly. "Miss Anna is really lovely. I doubt anyone would second-guess their attraction towards her, sir."

"Emma." There was a sternness to the way he said her name that made her slightly jolt in her seat. "I've told you a thousand times to simply call me by my name."

"It's inappro—"

"It is not," Norman sighed heavily, thinking how many times they've had this conversation. "I already told you that I do not think of you merely as my bodyguard. I simply enjoy your company and I think you know by now that I fancy you. We should try to be more casual."

This brought out another laughter from her, yet it was laced with awe and disbelief. She hoped that he couldn't see how hard she was trying to gulp down her nerves.

"That isn't part of my job description, si— Norman. What you're suggesting is highly inappropriate."

Norman raised a skeptical brow from the rearview mirror, and she tensed in her seat when his eyes bore into hers. "But you find Anna and Ray's illicit affair romantic? What makes my attraction for you different from theirs?"

Emma took a deep breath and internally reminded herself that she was a professional. This was not something she should be entangled in, especially since her sole purpose was to keep him safe until the elections were over.

She was simply thankful that they had arrived at the first one on his itinerary. "Would you look at that? We're here! Wait for me to open your door, okay?"

"Emma, you don't have to —"

She whipped her head and raised a finger. "No buts. This is my job."

It was when she got out of the car and paused for a second did she let the facade fade from her face.

Just being in the same space with him was getting harder and harder each day.

III.

It was rare for her to curse, but given the scenario they were in, it was hard not to.

"Damn election period," Emma hissed at the side, aiming the gun towards the door.

The Minerva Estate was breached and unidentified men were detected rummaging within the massive palazzo. Ruckus could be heard from the outside of the walls, and the more it came, the more fear resonated between her fingertips.

"Emma!" Norman cried out from within the confines of his walk-in closet, drenched in his own fear and misgivings. "Let me out this instant!"

It was rare of him to question his lack of strength or physical means to pry a door open; this was one of those rare occurrences.

"No can do, Norman," she vocalized it with depth, making it known to him that there was no way she was letting him out for the sake of his safety. "Stay right there. It's for your own good."

In a hysterical voice, he rebutted, "And what about you? Why can you not hide here with me?"

She found the whole thing utterly ridiculous. "Are you insane? I'm your bodyguard, remember? It's my job to keep you safe!"

"And what will I do if you die trying to protect me?" His words were more of a plea than a question, knotting within the hollows of his stomach.

"I cannot lose you, Emma."

She hissed at the words, and begrudgingly closed her eyes before snapping her view at the walk-in closet.

"And I cannot lose you!" She almost screeched it — everything that she had been bottling inside for the sake of her sanity, eating away every bit of suppressed emotions that she carefully placed at the back of her heart. "I will not allow anything or anyone to bring you harm. I can’t let another person I care for die! This is my job —"

"Who cares about this job —"

"— and this is what I feel for you! Do I have to make it more obvious?" She gritted her teeth and sucked in what was left of her confidence and her time.

He couldn't see her face, but as she spoke, he could imagine her smiling, the one that was ever-so bright in his eyes and never wavered.

"I'm keeping you safe not only because it's my job, but also because... I love you."

The sounds of constricted breathing inside the closet kept crushing her from the inside.

"Emma, I —!"

It left him no room to speak when he heard the door to his room opened, and the succession of gunshots took place.

Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours.

Silence consumed him, yet successions of calling out her name proved no merit.

She never answered.

IV.

"You are an idiot! An idiot, I tell you!"

Emma winced, not only for the pain inflicted on her by the graze of a bullet but also for the commotion caused by the man that had just barged through the door.

One look at him was enough of sedation for her; he was unscathed and safe.

She was about to lift herself up, gradually moving to position herself to sit on the bed, when his pair of arms reached out and enclasped her in an embrace.

His smelt of honeydew mixed with smoke, and she could feel the debris of wherever he had gotten himself into while she was asleep, against her cheek. Hearing his raspy shivered breathing against her ear struck every nerve on her body and the amount of tension on the tips of his fingers indicated that he was beyond worried for her dear life instead of his.

If they weren't surrounded by a mountain of eyes that would dare scrutinize this shared moment between then, she would've tackled him to the ground herself.

"I'm glad you're ok—"

"You idiot! Don't ever do that again!" His voice was demanding — pleading even, and seething through her skin. "I thought... I thought I lost you!"

His arms remained tightened around her, and she could only eye Ray with green eyes full of hesitancy. He only shrugged, but the way he cradled the smirk on his lips wasn't enough to deceive her.

She was merely her bodyguard.

She had no rights to him.

"Earlier," he voiced out, trembling, "You told me what you felt. What was I supposed to do inside that closet you locked me in, Emma?!"

The way he held her instigated that he no longer held any plans of letting her go.

"I wanted to keep you safe, si—"

"Do not call me 'sir'. I am simply Norman to you, and you're simply Emma to me."

His eyes are stained with unshed tears; only remorse for moments that he thought he'd never have with her again. "Will you let me hear it again?"

Emma seemed lost. "Hear what?"

His face softened with the memory. "What you told me earlier. Let me hear it once again. Let me know that it wasn't just a hallucination on my end."

That unexpected confession of hers from earlier earned her a bright, rosy blush all over her face.

"I-I have feelings for you."

Norman gave a low chuckle. "I guess that's another way of saying it. But I'm in love with you, Emma. From now on, stop being my bodyguard and simply be with me instead. Please, consider it." His smile came off sheepish. "I can't handle your constant disregard for your own safety for the sake of mine."

"B-but who's going to guard you?"

"I'll take over," Ray interjected, arms crossed over his chest. "It’s not as if I haven’t noticed the way you two have been acting for the last couple of months. Also, it's high time you stop being so reckless, Emma! You shouldn't have handled that situation all on your own. You could've called for back-up in his room!”

Emma nearly winced at Ray's reprimanding; he was right on the dot. She placed her sights on Norman and said, "But I'd still like to look after you. I've... grown to like it."

"Emma," he said her name a soft and gentle as he always had, and she knew that what would come next after her name were words meant to last a lifetime.

"I might not be as strong as you are with a gun, or as fast as you are when you run, but I'll look after you all my life, just as you'll look after mine. I’ll be your family. We’ll be a family."

Emma tried to suppress the grin on her face, but it failed spectacularly, and now she was facing him with immense joy, intertwining her fingers within his. His touch his warm and inviting, and it allowed her to further lament why she never allowed the idea of ever becoming his and him ever becoming hers.

"And we'll be equals?"

She searched his sights and he responded with the same amount of affection in his eyes; in his hold, she’d always be home.

"We were always equals."

#noremma #noremma prompt #the promised neverland #tpn emma #tpn norman #a bit angsty but it's a happy ending i swear

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thewildomega · 3 years

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Second Chance ch.8

Running towards the hidden entrance to the town behind the waterfall he held y/n tightly to his chest. Looking to the homes he saw all the lights off and knew most were probably sleeping. Refusing to stop he ran as fast as he could to where his home was. Coming up on the hill he saw another smaller home built not too far from it. Using his haki he felt a bit of relief come over him at the familiar presence. "MARCO!" Getting to the door he saw it was small, about half his height, he was back to his old size. "MARCO!" he called again. Seeing a light turn on from inside the window he breathed heavily. As soon as the door opened he looked down to see his son rubbing his eye.

"What the hell is..." Marco asked in a sleepy voice, dropping his hand and looking out his door. Seeing nothing but legs he craned his neck to gaze up at the tall man. Knitting his brows and blinking a few times he snapped his eyes around. Long blond hair, same warm yellow eyes, huge as hell but younger? Way younger. "H..how... I...I don't.... Pops?"

"I don't have time to explain now son. I need your help. I need you to help her." Seeing his son still frozen he grit his teeth. "Marco now!" he yelled and saw the man snap out of it.

"Right. Okay." he said firmly more to himself than the man who resembled his late father. "Go take her to your home and I'll grab my things."

"Marco honey? What is it?" a feminine voice said from behind him.

Glancing behind his son he saw a woman standing there, wearing nothing but a nightgown. While he was intrigued about who this young woman was he didn't have time right now. Hurrying over to his home he was happy to find his door unlocked, the large wooden door slamming back against the wall as he pushed his way inside. Turning on the lights he moved to his own bedroom and placed her down on the dusty bed. Standing back up to look down at her he took in her size compared to the large bed and knit his brows. Hearing feet running towards them he saw Marco come up beside him and start looking y/n over. When he pulled back the coat and her ripped shirt he saw the bleeding gunshot wound on the right side of her chest, just over her breast and swallowed hard.

"I need to get her shirt off so I can see if the bullet went the whole way through." Pulling out a knife he started cutting away the blood soaked shirt.

Helping sit her up and pull off her coat and shirt he tossed them to the side to be taken care of later. Seeing no wound on her back he knew the bullet was still in her. Laying her back down gently he watched as Marco checked her pulse and heartbeat.

"Her heartbeat is faint. She needs a blood transfusion or she'll be dead in minutes." the doctor said and saw as the large man moved to sit on the floor by the bed table, holding out his arm. "You don't know if ..."

"I do. I am."

Nodding he quickly grabbed the things he needed and stepped in front of his father. Finding a vein quickly he shoved the needle in. As soon as the red liquid of life started filling the bottle he stepped back over to the woman on the bed to get her hooked up as well.

Sitting back against the wall he watched quietly as Marco worked on saving his lass's life. The woman from before had come over soon after he hooked Y/n up to an IV and she gave him a look before moving beside Marco and speaking to him. He heard her weak whimpers and cries as the doctor started digging for the bullet still lodged in her chest and it sent a sharp pain through his chest. The woman who he had overheard Marco call Zella helped in holding y/n down for the painful procedure. Once it was out he saw the bright blue flames come from his hand that pressed over Y/n's wound.

Healing her as much as he could with his powers he grabbed his supplies to start stitching the wound close. Wrapping the wound in bandages he looked over her other injuries to start on them.

After a good two hours he heard Marco let out a sigh and step away from the bed to turn to him. "She should be just fine." he told the younger version of his pops. Looking behind him he rose his chin. "Zel, go get some stuff an clean her up will ya?"

Seeing the woman nod and make her way out of the room he looked back to see Marco looking at him with lowered brows.

"How? I don't understand how you are here. You died, Ace died, we buried you both..."

"It's complicated..."

"I don't care tell me. Tell me how you just show up here, alive and young after almost two damn years."

"Two years?" he repeated, his face falling and his eyes going a bit wide. Seeing Marco's face serious he took a deep breath and tried to take it all in. He had only been in Y/n's world for almost two months but it had been near two years here? Looking back up to Marco he saw the woman return with her arms full of different things. Noticing the bathing supplies and such he stood and walked over to his dresser. Taking out one of his few shirts he held it out for the woman to take. "It'll be big on her but it will work for now." he said and saw her nod, a kind smile on her face. Glancing back to y/n one last time he swallowed hard and walked out, hearing Marco follow behind him.

....................................

All the while Zella who he learned was his son's wife, cleaned y/n he had told Marco everything as Marco took care of the stab wound on his forearm that he had forgotten about. He told him how he had washed up on the shore of the lake and how y/n had found him. He told him how when he had woken up he was somehow young again. Telling him about y/n and her world Marco stayed quiet through it all, ever the clam and collected one. Refusing to hold anything back from him he also spoke to him about the strong connection the two had towards each other. Lastly he spoke to him about the events that had just occurred before the two of them had been sent back here.

"She is your soulmate then?"

Humming he grinned. "Yes."

"Does she know that?"

Taking a deep breath he let it out in a long sigh, "No. I don't believe they are a thing in her world."

Nodding Marco looked to where Whitebeard's bedroom was, thinking about the woman who had all in all saved her father's life. "So what is she like, Y/n?" he asked and couldn't help but grin when he saw the way his father smiled.

"Oh she is kind, so very kind and quiet. She's a hardworking woman but she never complains. She also has a temper as well though." he said with a chuckle at the end but then felt his smile fall away some. "But... she's been hurt before. I don't exactly know how, she hasn't opened up to me yet and I haven't pushed her on it." huffing a bit he looked to the blond and smiled, "You'll like her though, she's been making me take vitamins and eat more healthy."

"She's a keeper."

Laughing he smiled and leaned back into the chiar. "Now, tell me, what's happened since I died."

Rubbing the back of his neck he looked into the large yellow eyes and started relaying the events from the last 19 months. He told him about how the crew and some others, along with Shanks buried both him and Ace. Then he told him about the payback war they had had with Blackbeard and his crew. Admitting the defeat he grit his teeth. and bounced his knee. "We all disbanded after that. With Teach and his crew, then the World Government after us I thought it would be best if we went our own ways.... I didn't want to do it but..."

Sighing he crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. "It's alright son, I understand. You did the right thing."

"It get's worse." Seeing his father look back to him he blinked slowly, "Because of Teach beating us the World Government named him the new Emperor."

"What?"

Nodding Marco saw the man's massive muscles flex.

"What about Ace's brother, that strawhat runt?"

"Luffy. I don't know, no one has heard anything from him since a about a week after the war. He showed up at Marineford again with both Jinbe and Rayleigh..."

"Rayleigh?"

"Yep. Luffy didn't attack anyone or start any trouble. All he did was go up and ring the OX bell before taking off his hat. There were many pictures taken of him, it was put on the front page. After that he left and no one has seen him or any of his crew since."

Humming he lowered his brow in thought. He didn't think the boy was giving up, not from all the stories Ace had told him. Before anything else could be said he heard the door open and looked towards his bedroom to see Zella walking out with a y/n's clothes in her arms.

"I cleaned her up as best I could. There was a place on the back of her head that i don't think you saw but I cleaned it and bandaged it as well." Zella told her husband who nodded.

"I'm going to go take a look at it real quick."

Watching his son walk out of the room he looked to the young woman and saw her smile at him. "Well hello my dear. I hear you are my son's wife."

Nodding Zella looked to the large man. "Yes. It's so nice to be able to meet you, Marco has told me all about you. I don't understand exactly how you are here but I am happy nonetheless. Marco and the rest of your children missed you dearly."

Grinning he hummed. "I missed them as well. I do hope you are taking good care of my boy... not making it too easy for him though right?" he asked and heard her chuckle lightly.

"Not at all." she assured him. Remembering something she held out the items she had found in the woman's clothing. "Here you go, I found these in her clothes, I don't think they would do well in the wash."

Taking the items Zella handed over he saw y/n's phone, notebook and a few other items.

"Of course. I am going to wash her pants and other clothes but I am afraid her shirt is past the point of repair."

"Thank you dear." Seeing her nod as Marco walked back out he looked to him.

"Yea that's a nice sized bump on her head, it's got a small gash as well but not enough for stitches. She may have a slight concussion and her head will probably ach for a few days once she wakes. Nothing some herbal tea won't help though. Still once she wakes she will need to take it easy, she did lose a lot of blood."

Nodding he stood and saw Marco cover a yawn. "You both should get back to bed."

"Sounds good. If you need me you know where to find me. I'll be back over to check on her in the morning." he told him and saw him nod. Looking up to his father he smiled "Goodnight pops."

Grinning he kneeled down to hug his son, "Goodnight my son." Watching them both leave he set the items down on the table and moved towards his bedroom. The light was off but with the light from the living room he could still see fairly well. Walking over to the bed he looked down at her and saw wrapped up under the covers. She had bandages on her cheek and wrapped around her head, he could also make out the light bruise on her lip and jaw. Her skin was still flushed but not as much as it was. Dropping his eyes to her chest he could only see so much with the blankets pulled up to just under her shoulders but he knew she was wearing his shirt. The white fabric looked more like a sheet on her than anything with the first few buttons undone and some of the bandages peeking out. The slowly rise and fall of her chest told him she was sleeping soundly and he let out a sigh of relief. If Marco hadn't been here then there was no doubt in his mind that she wouldn't have made it, the very thought making his heart clench. Threading his fingers through her hair he heard a small groan and noticed her lashes fluttering a bit, her brows knitting together in discomfort. Crouching down beside the bed he continued stroking her hair and then her unmarked cheek with his thumb. "Yer alright lass, go back to sleep darling."

Hearing the deep, comforting voice you relaxed and did as it commanded.

Seeing her drift back off he grinned. Standing back up he tugged the covers up over her a bit more before going back out to the living room. Looking towards the couch he gave a sigh and rubbed the back of his head. While there was plenty of room for both of them on his bed he didn't want to risk making her uncomfortable or worse hurting her. So couch it was. Turning off the light he walked over to the old sofa and layed down on it, his feet hanging off the side.

.................................

Groaning giving a whimper when your whole body seemed to ache you slowly lifted your hand to your face to rub your eyes. Feeling a bandage and then another one you knit your brows and then started attempting to open your eyes. At first they instantly closed from the bright light but after a little bit you managed to get them open and take a glance around the room you were in. First thing you noticed was the ceiling, it was wooden with large beams running along it. Turning your head to the walls you saw them to be made of what looked like plaster, the trim and door made of the same wood as the beams along with the floor. The room itself was of nice size with a dresser, side table and the huge bed you were laying in. It had to be a California king with white sheets and deep blue bedding. Seeing a window on the far wall with white curtains you tilted your head a bit at the view outside. From where you laid you could see what looked like bright green grass and a large mountain in the far landscape, a clear blue sky above. Just where the hell were you?

Thinking back to the last thing you remembered you recalled the incident at the bar, those men, they had robbed the place and then you had taken off after the man. The two of you were fighting and then he... he tried to... he was going to rape you but he hadn't. Edward had shown up, he had saved you. Then him and the man had fought and the guy had pulled a gun. He was going to shoot Edward so you jumped in the way. Glancing down to your chest you pulled the large shirt... gown, whatever it was away some and saw bandages there. You had been shot. Your memory went a bit fuzzy after that. You could remember Edward yelling, the other man screaming and then the ground shook but then Ed was there. He was holding you and he was so warm, you could hear his heartbeat and then nothing.

Letting out a long breath you laid your head back on the pillow and thought. Had you been taken to some hospital? You had never heard of any hospitals that looked like this. Blinking you decide to go find out what was going on. Trying to sit up you bit your lip to muffle your cry as every injury on your body seemed the throb. Sitting up on the bed you were overcome with a coughing fit and covered your mouth with one elbow while the other hand moved to clutch your chest. Whimpering when your head felt like it was going to split into you closed your eyes tight, your face scrunching up in pain. Once you had gotten a bit used to the pain you opened your eyes and looked around the room again. Dropping your eyes to your own body you knit your brows and lifted the large shirt hanging on your body. It was way too big but it didn't look like a gown and... sniffing it you leaned back some, you knew that scent. Was he here, was he okay? Going to stand up from the bed you heard one of the two doors open and froze. Looking up you saw a man come walking into the room but there was something off about him. Why was he so small? He had blond hair on the top of his head and when he looked up to you, you saw he had glasses on as well. Was he a dwarf?

"Oh. We weren't expecting you to be up so soon." Marco said to the woman with a smile. Walking over to her he looked up to her, "Pops will be happy. I'm Marco by the way."

Marco, Edward's son? How was he here? Had he somehow been teleported to your world too? Licking your dry lips you looked down to the man. "Hello. I'm y...y/n." you told him, your voice cracking a bit.

"Yes I know, the big man has been talking about you nonstop all day." he chuckled.

"Edward is here?"

"Yea, well not here, he went to grab a few things from town but he should be back soon. In the meantime though I'd like to check over your injuries." Stepping forward some he saw her a tad bit uncomfortable and grinned softly. "It's okay, I'm a doctor."

Nodding you tried to relax some "I know Ed talks about you a lot as well."

"Hopefully good things." he smiled.

Sitting still as Marco did his exam you listened to him tell you the extent of all your injuries and that you would have to take it easy for the next week. Rubbing your face you sighed, "I have to call work and tell them..."

Rubbing the back of his neck he looked off to the side, "Ah yea well about that..." He didn't get to finish his sentence as he heard a door shut and then the footsteps coming towards the room.

Seeing him look towards the door you followed his eyes as it opened, standing in the frame was him, "Edward?"

Looking over to the bed his face split into a large smile when he saw his lass awake and sitting up. "Y/n darling you're awake."

"Yep, doing good too. She should be able to get up and move about a bit but nothing too exerting." Marco told them.

"I'll make sure of it." Grinning and giving a nod he saw Marco look to the flowers in his hand and raise his brows.

"Well I am going to head out. I'll get Zel to bring over your clothes."

"Thank you." you told the small man and saw him nod as he turned to walk by Edward, only coming up to the man's knee. Hearing another door shut you looked back to Ed and saw him move towards you.

Holding out the bouquet of white flowers he smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Here ya go lass."

Looking down at the daffodils you felt a warmth in your chest that flowed up to your cheeks. Smiling softly you reached out to take them from him. "Thank you Ed." Observing the beautiful flowers you smiled, there was even a purple ribbon tied around them and already you could smell their pleasant scent. Raising your eyes back to him you saw him only looking down at you with a soft smile.

Moving to sit on the bed beside her he took a deep breath, "You know you had me scared there for a moment darling. I didn't know if you were going to make it." he said, looking down and feeling his lip twitch. Looking up to meet her eyes he glanced to the bruises and cuts on her face. "You took a bullet for me and while I am grateful I don't ever want you to do something like that again." seeing her brows knit he shook his head when he saw her go to speak. "No. You are never to put yourself in danger like that again. Promise me y/n."

Taking a deep breath you said nothing and saw his brows lower.

"Y/n." he grunted.

"I can't make a promise that I don't know I will be able to keep." you said softly and saw his hand move up to rub his face and pinch the bridge of his nose.

"You have to be the most stubborn women I have ever met." he grumbled.

Giggling a little you grinned and smelled at the flowers. "I'll take it as a compliment." seeing him give you a small glare, making you smile more he shook his head. Looking towards the window again you saw rolling green hills with a few other homes or buildings here and there. This didn't look like anywhere in Montant you had ever seen. Knitting your brows you took another look around the room that now you thought about it looked more like a bedroom. Seeing a white hat sitting on the dresser with yellow trim and what looked like a pirate symbol on the front you also noted the other personal items here and there throughout the room. Before you knew it you heart started beating a little faster. "Umm Ed.... where are we?"

#edward newgate #feedback would be appreciated #edward newgate x reader #Whitebeard #whitebeard one piece #one piece whitebeard #whitebeard x reader #marco the phoenix #soulmate au

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flufflebones · 3 years

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some more fun hcs about delphine [mc 1.... closest 2 my heart since ive used her in various settings for a While]! it’s a little long so im slapping it under a cut but its all sfw and all very much in good fun.

you know, mostly. i only really got two headcanons down and one is brief/about michael and the other is about pets in the devildom

- can and will fight michael do you think they saw the angel/anni event and were ok with it? yeah? no! just going to kick him hard enough in the shin to....... probably bust their own foot but its FINE

- has an approximate accumulated f*ckton of devildom native and possibly (definitely) magical pets

[The list:

Sosig / Sausage - Hellhound - Gift from Beelzebub!:

A beast of considerable size and [reportedly] god awful temperament, bearing charcoal fur and the lingering [faint] scent of sulphur. More vulpine than canine, their frames are typically gaunt, with the flames that fuel their bodies licking out from the ends of their tails, their ankles and wrists [on their normal quadrupedal legs], the inner portions of their ears [leaving them at a disadvantage when it comes to hearing], their somewhat visible / open ribcage, and the corners of their mouth.

Despite this general introduction, hellhounds are wildly varied and have a number of breeds and variations in recent history, typically intended for one of three purposes.

Companionship - These hellhounds are typically smaller in stature and less sturdy, with a tendency to bond strongly to one or two masters [with some consideration/leeway for those close to their master: See- Cerberus]. Arguably the most docile of any class of hellhound, they are still dangerous if not raised correctly, and have a nasty bite. Though not a true classification and with no formal means of training a hound to do so naturally, some companion hellhounds serve as a psuedo service dog, heavily attuned to the needs and potential problems unique to their primary master. This isn’t to say that they are an alternative to service animals, or anywhere near as well trained, *of course*, but the devildom is hardly the safest place for a regular human realm animal; And sometimes, you’ve just got to work with what you’ve got.

Sport / Show - Typically very much breed standard. While raised to tolerate handling and grooming, these traditionally built hellhounds are temperamental at best and borderline terrifying when their willful nature comes in direct conflict with a demonic handler who bit off more than they can chew. Heavily regulated, and typically owned by the elite.

Protection - The devildom is dangerous, and nobody is questioning that. Demons with a knack for animal handling [or demons who can afford to hire someone skilled with animals, of course!] breed and train these creatures to guard many things; People, places, objects, etc. They’re typically territorial and hard to train as a rule, as one cannot allow for a beast such as this to be tempted by treats or good petting from *anyone*, yfm?

Sausage is a bit of a mixed bag. Born from protective stock and bought by Beelzebub after overhearing Mammon trying to convince Lucifer to get Delphine/my mc a pet [who lays eggs, we’ll get there, that he can sell for a massive profit]. Being the youngest present brother at the time, anything capturing his interest other than food is both welcomed and encouraged in an attempt to positively reinforce him to not put the devildom at risk of a famine.

Delphine unintentionally raised this brick house of a hellhound puppy into a sort of in-between of companion and protector, with him being very social, very sweet, and *fairly* defensive and willful if things aren’t going his way. He’s typically the one to step in most successfully to motivate her to move around [yes, moreso than the brothers!] and do her day to day tasks, and is probably the best way to find out if something’s wrong with her-- Past being able to just kind of drag her off due to their size differential, his general wit and ability to communicate his needs and wants have led to unexpected food deliveries, blankets spread over her shoulders, and human world medicines arriving a few days before she shows any real signs of illness that she can see.

He’s also spoiled as all get out. If you’re sharing a bed/couch/blanket/etc with her, you can bet Sausage is soon to follow. Sorry, Mammon! He loooves table scraps and is almost as bad as Beel when it comes to eating things he shouldn’t [and looking too cute to be scolded about it too heavily].

Rocky - ... That’s just a rock, dude. - Gift from Belphegor:

It’s really hard to tell if Belphegor is messing around when he presents Delphine with a rough hewn black rock bearing two googly eyes, a pair of hilariously out of place crystalized horns, and a pair of similarly out of place crystal wings, but I swear on all things unholy, he’s doing it for a reason.

Though not... Really sentient, initially, Rocky just needs a good, possibly year long charging. Soulstones are sort of... Weird, in that they are inert and lifeless for as long as they remain with the boulders from which they are harvested. but typically-- After being exposed to a single party’s magical runoff and signature for a year or so-- absorb enough energy to come to life, their coloration and mineral makeup adjusting to fit the nature of the being they owe their life to. Delphine’s takes the form of a celestine and blue goldstone peryton; A winged stag. With crystalized wings and antlers, Rocky would almost look majestic; If it weren’t for the fact that the googly eyes have remained a feature that she has never been able to figure out how to remove. Soulstones are typically quiet observers, not requiring active care to thrive but delighting in contact [especially immediately post spell casting or magic use]. They are attuned to the needs of their magic bound masters, and typically exude an air of-- if not positive-- reassurance.

In Delphines Little Canon Divergence Corner, it’s likely that rocky coming into her care is one of the first of many attempts at reconciliation that Belphegor makes with her post chapter 16; And it honestly really, really sets him back, like, even when she returns to the human realm. Forgotten but included in her luggage, it’s a few weeks into her settling down on Earth that she finds the dinky little stone, and an overload of magic-- Possibly emotionally sourced, possibly due to unresolved tension/a discussion that never got to happen because he was being a little jerk about it-- sets off the transformation, which occurs overnight.

She recognizes the little stone figure when it approaches her in the morning, and one of her first texts about it is a simple, succinct “WTF” + an image attachment sent to Belphegor, specifically in the dead of night with the intention to wake him.

Henry “Pogchampion” 6.0, 7.0, and 8.0, A.K.A: “Pip! Minette! Beans!” - Infernal rats - Gift from Leviathan:

A note: If you don’t care for rats or you’re more familiar with their popular association with illness or disease/classification as vermin, and are only capable of thinking of them in that context, I don’t care. I am specifically talking about rats in the context of them being pets-- And good pets, at that. If you want to talk about how much you wish they were dead/didn’t exist, thats not my problem. Just don’t do it on a post discussing them as a pet, or I will block you!

Anyway!

Leviathan is probably the most appropriate person for them to get pet recommendations from, but her asking never winds up a necessity; When he finds out that he’s got another pet enthusiast in the house, he’s *all* about it, and when he finally [very unsubtly] weasels his way into the information he needs, he gets them to come along with him to what’s supposed to be a routine supply trip for Henry that just *CAN’T* be accomplished online. It’s a trip to *a* shop, but not what she’s expecting, especially when she gets to meet a handful of very curious, very playful, larger than a medium sized dog mice and rats. These guys are very much pests turned pets, with a small niche of hobbyists raising them and breeding them for temperament and overall health and disease resistance. Very social and very intelligent, they tend to thrive best in groups if one is not devoting all of their time to them as an individual. The type Leviathan recommends are on the smaller side, with cloudy, soft fur and sweet temperaments. And massive teeth, nubby horns, spade tipped tails, and very large, typically bony or leathery wings.

Levi is... Probably the one who wanted them, really. They get a little big, and tend to like to roughhouse, and they chew like nobody’s business-- And while he can’t risk his figures or merch or other Otaku Trappings or wires for everything in his room, he *CAN* risk Delphine’s. Plus, Sausage needs a friend, right? Or three?

They pick up three, all of whom are sisters, and all of whom on paper are named Henry “Pogchamp”, 6.0, 7.0, and 8.0, since he *is* technically the one paying for them and at least gets to do that much. Even when they start being named Pip, Minette, and Beans, in casual conversation, he can still hold on to the fact that they’ll always be Henries in his heart of hearts.

Sausage loves them to bits, for the record, but their interactions tend to be supervised/very brief even without the worry of him being able to harm any of them due to the general (and very appropriate) ill advisement of large predators interacting with smaller prey animals. It’s cute, sure, but it can be dangerous, and Delphine (and Levi, to a lesser extent, because he’s using the excuse of them being friends to keep Lucifer off of his ass for adding another animal to her menagerie) isn’t about to risk it.

Sweets - .... A black cat? That glitters? - Gift from Satan and Asmodeus:

Small, sleek, and independent, Sweets is probably the pet people see the least of all of Delphine’s little collection-- Though that doesn’t mean she’s not well loved. A pet project between Satan and Asmodeus, Sweets isn’t *technically* a cat; They’re a being comprised of shadow, somewhat similar in nature to a familiar without the connotation of them technically being a demon slash demonic. Who just so happens to have been enchanted to appear like and generally function in their day to day life as a cat. That sparkles, the only concession Satan was willing to grant Asmodeus in return for his help obtaining the materials necessary to create the little beast (and in return for him taking the heat when Lucifer inevitably got pissy about it). Given its unique nature, very little is actually known about the little being of shadow past basic care and assumptions based on its generally feline behavioral patterns. The rats scare the hell out of it, however, and it tends to be out of sight except when called, hiding in shadows and only occasionally emerging on its own.

... Oh, and be careful. Satan hasn’t told Del yet, but it seems that the belly rubs this shadowy kitty offers tend to bite off more than they can chew if they’re not careful. Asmodeus thinks its horrible. Who wants a pet with a massive maw of teeth in their stomach? Satan desperately wants to use this quirk in Sweets’ nature for a prank. Delphine already knows, but is playing dumb for the sake of faking surprise when its formally revealed.

Elysia - Gilded Crow - Gift from Lucifer and Mammon:

SO, i”M going to keep this short because i’ve been writing this for several hours at this point on and off and i really really want to be ready for my dinner when its ready, but!

Elysia is a sort of... Special circumstance. Literally. Devotees to Mammon-- And yes, there *are* people who think he’s a legitimate demon lord, the only people really allowed to treat him like garbage are his brothers and a few choice officials too strong to be eradicated as any lesser demon might have been-- with a background in magical augmentation specifically enchanted this line of crows to reflect that which is most valued by their Lord; Riches. They’re technically not legal due to their status as something of an organic money generator, but a select few in a small flockare kept under the watchful eyes of the Demon Lord and his immediate family, and those who have been trusted by his family members. This is where Lucifer comes in.

Understandably, Mammon is not allowed to have care of his flock, though he certainly wouldn’t be the worst at caring for them. He’d just also be selling their products illegally, and you can’t have that!

Elysia wears a small enchanted band comprised of dull, unimpressive iron-- The kind of thing Mammon would neither notice nor have interest in. This band is enchanted, and serves as a sort of storage space for any of Ely’s dropped organic components. Talons, feathers, eggs-- Everything is automatically absorbed into the band, rendering the bird borderline useless outside of being a gorgeous pet, and a gigantic nuisance.

Lucifer hates to admit it, but he really is a fan of the large, intelligent, gorgeous creature; And Mammon thinks it’s really funny to teach her to take shiny things (like grimm, loose jewelry, gum wrappers, etc), even past the sentimental value of the bird itself and what her kind represents to him.

Delphine adores her, too, and is about as good an influence on her as Mammon is-- Teaching her to speak, in some capacity, simply by repeating certain words or phrases to herself as she does things in the day to day, especially during feeding time. It’s all fun and games, until this pretty golden bird calls Lucifer a ‘motherf*cker’ while she thinks he’s out of the room while visiting with Diavolo for an update on her health.

#long #obey me #obey me mc #obey me mc headcanon #obey me headcanons

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calligraphist-artemisia · 4 years

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The Smallest Blade (Part iv)

Summary: AU. Kolivan knew raising a half-Galra cub wouldn’t be an easy task, especially while running a super secretive organization dedicated to bringing down a corrupt empire. What he didn’t take in consideration was how much the boy would change his life.

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune

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iv.

Since meeting Katla, Keith's days were filled with fun and laughter. His heart felt light in a way that it hadn't since the last day he saw his dad and he latched onto that feeling, determined to keep it for himself.

He'd been a little wary of her at first. She looked different from the other Galra who Kolivan had introduced him to and he hadn't been expecting someone his own age. Her ears fanned out on either side of her head and were so fluffy-looking that he had to hold himself back from touching them. Coupled with her tufted tail and light purple hair, he often thought she resembled an oddly colored lion.

When she told him she was only half-Galra, like he was, he thought that was all the explanation he needed as to why she looked so different from Kolivan, who was the only other Galra whose appearance he had seen. (The others always wore those odd-looking masks to hide their identities. Keith hadn't worked up the courage to ask Kolivan why yet.)

Then he met Katla's mom.

She was tall and slender, with long pointed ears and antennae ringed with green sticking up through her lavender hair. Soft fuzz covered her exposed skin, though it wasn't fur like Katla had.

Keith's confusion only grew when he was introduced to Mattox and then to their dad.

Mattox, at least, bore a stronger resemblance to his mom, and shared her pointed ears and soft fuzz. Like his sister, his hair was a shade of light purple, though his was cut short. Their dad - (“Samvil,” he introduced himself.) - reminded him more of Kolivan; they shared the same coloring, but he was smaller and less intimidating. Samvil also had a tail, just like Katla.

Every Galra looked startlingly different. It was a massive change from Earth, where all humans looked mostly the same, but with varying skin and hair colors.

Keith looked down at his hands, which were a shade of blue-violet unseen in humans and was clearly a mark of his Galra heritage. It was a relief, in a way, to be in a place where the only reason he stood out was because of his age and not the way he looked.

Katla bounced on her toes as she skipped over to him, her tail swishing behind her in excitement. “Wanna see something cool?”

It wasn't the first time Keith had heard those words from her and it was certain to not be the last. “Didn't Shiro tell us to stay here until he got back?”

“Well, yeah, but he doesn't have to know,” Katla said with a shrug. “We'll go and come right back. Promise!”

Keith hesitated.

Kolivan was really disappointed the last time they snuck out and explored the air vents. He never yelled, which was nice, but there was an underlying tone that he recognized as disapproval.

Although, if they didn't get caught...

“Okay,” Keith agreed.

Katla trilled happily and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the door. He gave her a boost up to the keypad and it only took her a minute to crack the newest code and open the door. She climbed down and they both scouted out the hallway before leaving the room.

“This way,” she whispered, turning left.

They padded down the hall, moving quickly and silently, with Katla leading the way to their mysterious destination. Keith began to worry when they made another turn and then Katla gestured for him to lift her up to another keypad, which took her another minute to figure out. Footsteps sounded from the hall ahead and they ducked inside the room before they could get spotted.

Katla pressed her ear to the door, listening intently until she was sure they were safe.

Keith waited until she withdrew with a relieved sigh and then asked: “Why are we here?”

“Oh!” Katla clapped her hands together, her golden eyes glittering with delight. “You're going to like this! I found it when I was playing flee-and-find with Matt the other day and knew that I had to show you!”

Keith was a little bewildered as he watched her walk over to another door, which she opened with a flourish to reveal a small room piled high with sheets and pillows. Looking around, he realized that they were in what appeared to be a laundry room of some kind. “I don't... I don't really understand.”

“It's supplies for a pillow fort,” Katla explained with all of the patience she could muster. “See? We've got plenty of pillows and blankets and there's string to hold it all up with!”

Keith had never built one himself, but he'd seen movies and TV shows where kids would make one with help from their parents. His dad tried his best to give him the childhood he deserved and on pleasant nights they would set up the old tent in the backyard and tell stories beneath the stars. He figured that was even better than a silly fort.

But as Katla began to gather as many pillows as her tiny arms could carry, Keith started to wonder if it wasn't so silly.

“Here, let me take some,” he offered.

Katla eagerly piled them into his arms instead and he struggled to see over them as she added several more. Once she picked a few blankets and one box of cords, she led him by the elbow to the door and continued to direct him back to their room.

There they encountered a new problem: how to get back inside.

“We'll have to set everything down,” Keith said, realizing what was wrong after standing still for longer than a few seconds.

“Yeah...”

They didn't need to. As soon as Keith moved to set the pillows down next to the wall, the door slid open to reveal Shiro standing inside with his arms crossed over his chest and a disapproving frown on his face.

“Oops,” Katla squeaked in alarm.

Shiro stared at them for a moment and then gestured for them to come inside. “If you wanted to make a pillow fort, you only had to ask,” he said, eyeing the supplies they had gathered.

“I wanted to show Keith the cool room I found,” Katla said.

“I see,” Shiro said, taking half of the pillows from Keith's arms. “Well, maybe you could show me and Mattox as well? I think we'll need more than this if we want to make a pillow fort worthy of the Blade of Marmora.”

Keith exchanged an excited look with Katla.

Some time later, once a massive fort stretched across the entirety of Shiro's room, Keith settled down snug and warm between Katla and Shiro and closed his eyes. He didn't think he had ever been happier.

A soft purr filled the space as Keith drifted off to sleep.

#voltron #fanfiction #kidgemas #kidge #half-Galra Pidge #The Smallest Blade

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suburbanmetaldad · 5 years

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What can I do for you?

Here, friends, is my super power:

I can create an entire book — a good one — quickly, with very little help.

You want a book with your name on it. I can make that happen.

Maybe you typed up a draft, and you’re not sure where to go next.

I can take it from here.

And anything smaller than that will be cheaper and faster.

Get on the schedule while you can.

Following are more details about me and my work.

Follow are links to different things D.X. Ferris makes & does.

I am D.X. Ferris.

I grew up obsessed with music and reading. I went to school for writing. At the time, I thought I couldn’t create things. I didn’t know it yet, but I was wrong. I tried to quit. Writing wouldn’t let me. It kept pulling me back in.

Once I figured out how to do what I wanted to do, I made up for lost time. Now I’ve covered a Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction for Rolling Stone. I endured a career-ending injury. I’ve been to the Pentagon on business. I’ve written books with & about some of my iconic heroes. Communication is my business, and business is good.

I do a lot of different things.

I am an award-winning writer, editor, manager, publisher, teacher, speaker, cartoonist, maker, co-author, ghost writer, and overall communications professional. To me, those various & sundry processes are all part of the same sphere — and here’s the common thread: Communication is the art of organizing information. That, friend, is what I do. I can do it for you. And we can make some money together.

I have written/co-written nine books. My personal record is four new books in 16 months.

I cut my teeth as a rock & roll journalist. Then I successfully transitioned to hard news. Lately, I’ve been creating motivational literature and self-help books. I write very effective press releases & promo material. I write & storyboard short videos. I’m writer for a documentary I can’t talk about yet.

I get around. I teach college. My CV includes work for dozens of publications, including Rolling Stone and Alternative Press (America’s two top rock & culture magazines). I’ve also written for leading outlets such as The A.V. Club and Decibel. I write and stage communication seminars.

I have been to the Pentagon and National Air & Space Museum on business. I have been backstage at the Vans Warped Tour on business. My body of work includes book-length oral histories.

I have collaborated with certified Grand Masters, civilians, and high-profile musical & Hollywood creative types. I have had Almost Famous moments on the side of the stage at European festivals. I wake up so early it hurts. I make money for my partners.

I am a 33 1/3 author. An Ohio Society of Professional Journalists Reporter of the Year. And a third-degree black belt (in Taekwondo). Also a 32° two-time WM/PM.

Let’s do some good work — and then let’s do some good with what comes from it.

Click the following links for my...

Good Professional Wrestling: Full Contact Life Lessons From the Pinnacle Performance Art The Good Advice From... series is now officially a franchise. Volume II features a foreword by Diamond Dallas Page, motivational icon, founder of health & wellness movement DDP Yoga, and WWE Hall of Famer. Professional wrestling is the toughest business. It is a form of competition built on collaboration and cooperation. Every successful wrestler has a diverse skill set that can help you get over too, no matter what your business or lifestyle. Filled with short chapters and useful advice, this browsable motivational manual features inspirational quotes from dozens of wrestling icons. Each is followed by easy-to-read analysis and actionable tips that can turn a life around.

I collaborated with Darren Paltrowitz on this one-of-a-kind positivity handbook. It breaks down the habits, skills, and strategies that your favorite superstars practice — and you can too, starting today.

Good Advice From Goodfellas: Positive Life Lessons from the Best Mob Movie It’s the last — or maybe first — motivational manual and self-help guide you’ll ever need. 320 pages, paperback; Kindle ebook also available, cheap. At 145 short chapters, it’s the perfect airport/travel book. This unique meditation & reading finds teachable moments in all your favorite and quotes and scenes from this beloved, seminal movie. If you know what to look for, Goodfellas covers all the same evergreen topics as your favorite business podcasts and startup seminars... but it’s a lot more fun. No, seriously.

Co-author of motivational/how-to Masonic leadership manual

Co-author of parents’ motivational guide to kids’ martial arts

I am the most prominent, prolific non-marquee contributor the music-writing/music journalism textbook How to Write About Music, from the brain trust running Bloomsbury/Continuum’s 33 1/3 series. TECHNICALLY, I AM ON THE SAME LABEL AS NEIL GAIMAN. This is one of two or three books on this topic. Note to self: Write your own.

Wrote the official book with Donnie Iris and the Cruisers For my money, Donnie Iris & the Cruisers are the best-kept secret from 80s rock radio. That had not one, but seven hot 100 hits. The bandleader/songer penned an enduring disco hit. AND he worked with three Rock Hall of Fame artists. The band have a continuous near-40-year run. During this epic tale, they work with a young Trent Reznor, Kiss, Breathless, Cinderella, Sam Kinison, Gamble & Huff, the Jaggerz, Wolfman Jack, and bunch of others. The book is a painstakingly researched oral history that plays like a mix of the four-hour Tom Petty documentary, the movie That Thing You Do!, and the American Hardcore book. Coffee-table book, 464 pages, 102 images, 308 endnotes, 8.5x11″.

Wrote two books about thrash-metal icons Slayer

One is part of 33 1/3, the vanguard series of music-related writing.

One is an exhaustively researched full-length biography featuring 33 images and over 400 endnotes.

Publisher of 6623 Press, home to creator-owned, useful, reasonably priced, unconventional books about popular culture, success, and other cool stuff. People like them.

Full-service, full-contact indie publishing. I write, co-write, ghost-write, edit, and publish books. Quickly.

Do you have book in you? We’ll get it out.

Worked for Rolling Stone, the no. 1 music & culture magazine ever.

I’ve been writing for Alternative Press — America’s no. 2 music magazine — off & on since 2002. More recent pieces are here. Older material is here.

Wrote for alternative newsweekly Cleveland Scene, in various capacities, for 8 years. Won numerous awards for news reporting, business reporting, arts reporting, commentary, feature writing, personality profiling, and sports reporting. Click here for profiles, business features, columns, reviews, and more.

I think this piece about Cleveland’s LeBron James banner won me the Ohio Society of Professional Journalists’ Best Reporter award: Literally the entire city was looking at an iconic, massive piece of public art/advertising — and I was the one person who looked behind the scenes. For alt-weekly Cleveland Scene.

https://www.clevescene.com/64-and-counting/archives/2010/08/05/goodbye-lebron-banner-hello-sunshine-workers-behind-the-banner-speak

For Rolling Stone, I interviewed a band and created unofficial liner notes for a classic album:

https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/they-might-be-giants-flood-track-by-track-guide-to-the-geek-chic-breakthrough-82345/

This kind of piece is a specialty. For Alternative Press, I interviewed an infamous punk musician about his friendship with the late, great Anthony Bourdain. I supplied many conversation prompts, transcribed it, then edited his answers into one continuous narrative, while I remained invisible in the piece. If it looks like I didn’t do much, then that was the entire point.

https://www.altpress.com/features/anthony-bourdain-harley-flanagan-cro-mags-tribute/

I visit a business, describe the experience, and research how a controversial industry works. For Cleveland Scene.

https://www.clevescene.com/cleveland/game-of-chance/Content?oid=2183398

While the rest of the rock-journalism world were writing SOPA stories (Summarizing Other People’s Articles) about a developing story, I dug deep, excavated some court records, and wrote an informed summary. For Metal Sucks — for my money, the best metal news & views site.

https://www.metalsucks.net/2019/06/11/how-many-more-misfits-reunion-shows-will-there-be-according-to-legal-documents-probably-just-one/

A friendly multi-person Q&A and sidebar, stitched together from three different interviews from different media. For Alt Press.

https://www.altpress.com/features/punk-goes-fearless-records-interview/

Cover story/feature profile of the president of a local university — and how his work has helped shape the city. It’s pretty whitebread and dry, but I can work in that style when I’m not writing about raging hellions. For Cleveland Magazine, the city’s upstanding guide to what’s happening and who’s doing it.

https://clevelandmagazine.com/in-the-cle/the-read/articles/city-mission

News interview with Dan Gilbert, owner of the Cavaliers and Quicken Loans. For Scene.

https://www.clevescene.com/cleveland/enhanced-interrogation-dan-gilbert/Content?oid=1678536

Excerpt from Good Advice From Goodfellas, my self-improvement book that draws positive life lessons from the greatest gangster movie:

https://6623press.tumblr.com/post/181078213342/the-new-self-helpmotivational-manual-good-help

Christmas Sevenfold: Metal Dad, Compendium Two My second comic-strip compilation collects seven years of Christmas & fall holiday stripes, with new art, a foreword, and an essay about why the kind of guy who wrote two books about Slayer still loves Xmas. 180 pages, oversized 8.5 x 11″ paperback.

Suburban Metal Dad, Compendium One: Raging Bullshit. The first compilation book for my webcomic. It collects Years III and IV of the comic, with 172 strips, 8 previously unreleased demo strips, an updated FAQ, and a true-life, all-text real-life metal dad story (so there’s something to really read). 180 pages, oversized 8.5 x 11″ paperback.

Individual strips of Suburban Metal Dad, an online comic that has run twice weekly since 2010.

I am totally into the Misfits/Danzig/Samhain, and wrote a bunch of stuff about this record-setting continuum of ground-breaking musicians

I wrote things for Metal Sucks

Guest on heavy metal podcasts, and bloggage about it all

Guest on assorted TV and superhero-show podcasts

Guest host on rock podcast Lost Together

Annotated both versions of “Once Bitten, Twice Shy” at Genius

Random bloggage about stuff that isn’t necessarily metal... mostly movies and holiday stuff like a survey of Christmas imagery in True Detective season 1

Tweet too much, but it’s healthier than taking cigarette breaks.

The Pentagrammarian: I take note of writing, grammar, usage, and the business thereof. I am one of very few professional writers who can list the four parts of a well-rounded profile or break down the constituent parts of a sentence, in correct technical grammar terms.

The goat had it comin’. I swear.

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180abroad · 5 years

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Day 152: Prague Castle (and the Window that Sparked a War)

On our last day in Prague, the miserable heat that had been oppressing us throughout our stay finally broke. But it went out with a bang. It stayed above 80 degrees until after midnight and only fell to the mid 70s by morning, where it stayed for the rest of the day.

Still, it was bliss simply to wake up to a merely warm morning. At least, it was bliss for the first few seconds of consciousness I enjoyed before a wasp stung my hand.

I’d never been stung by a wasp before, and at first I didn’t know what happened. It was like a bolt of sheer electric pain coursing through my hand and up my arm. I managed to kill and flush the cursed thing (literally) before it could sting again or call for reinforcements.

I was able to wash and clean the puncture quickly--no real harm done--but my hand was throbbing and stiff for the rest of the day. Not a great start, but luckily things got better.

Prague Castle is on the far side of town from where we stayed, across the Vltava River. So, for the first time since we checked into our flat, we took the metro.

The metro doesn't go all the way to the castle, but that gave us a chance to enjoy a picturesque, if largely uphill, walk through the beautiful, shop-lined streets of the Castle District.

One of the shops was a Koh-i-Noor Hardtmuth--a major Czech pen, pencil, and art supply manufacturer. As a professional stationery fan, I had to go in.

Meanwhile, Jessica entertained her own professional curiosity at a nearby gingerbread museum.

There were also a lot of shops selling puppets and marionettes. The Czech people apparently have a rich history of puppetry dating back to the middle ages.

That doesn't necessarily make them less creepy, though.

Once we made it to the top of the hill, we had a great view of central Prague. As well the surprisingly close Eiffel Tower.

(It's actually the Petrin Lookout Tower, but it was directly inspired by the Eiffel Tower.)

Prague Castle has been an important center of power for centuries--first for the medieval Bohemian kingdoms and later for the Austrian Habsburg empire that eventually absorbed them. It was also the home of the first president of Czechoslovakia after the country gained its independence in 1918.

It's also huge--a sprawling complex of palaces, churches, and squares. By some measures, at least, it is the largest castle on earth.

Outside the main castle complex is the Castle Square, lined with former palaces of important noble Czech families. One is still occupied by the Archbishop of Prague. Many of the buildings are painted with an interesting "envelope" pattern that gives the smooth plaster walls the appearance of being made of geometrically carved stones.

In the center of the square stands an elaborate column erected as thanks to God and Mary for ending a plague. It seems innocuous enough, but it is actually stands as a reminder of Prague's subservience to Habsburg Austria, which was were the tradition of erecting these Marian plague columns came from. After Czechoslovakia gained its independence in 1918, a similar column in the Old Town Square was torn down by a celebrating mob.

The castle grounds are free to enter as long as you don’t mind going through a security checkpoint. Once inside, you can buy tickets that cover various “routes” or sets of sights. When we got in, there was a huge line at the first outdoor ticket vendor. But the second ticket vendor, just inside a nearby building, had almost no one in line at all. Besides us.

(Thanks for the tip, Rick Steves!)

Just as we entered the middle courtyard, we got to see the changing of the guard.

The centerpiece of the castle complex is St. Vitus cathedral. It is big and impressive like a national cathedral should be, and was also one of the slowest cathedrals to ever be built. It was started in 1344, and due to wars, plagues, and religious reformations, it wasn’t completed until 1929. You can see modern architects with business suits carved into the western facade–representing the men who made the final push to get the cathedral finished in honor of Czechoslovakia’s independence following WWI.

Besides its massive size, beautiful Gothic architecture, and everything else we’ve seen in so many other cathedrals by now, one of the coolest features to us was a stained glass window designed by–you guessed it–Alfons Mucha.

The center panes show a young St. Wenceslas being taught Christianity by his grandmother, St. Ludmila. The two young women at the bottom of the window represent the Czechs and Slovaks. And the sides tell the story of Saints Cyril and Methodius, two brothers who brought Christianity to the Slavic lands from Greece.

One of the brothers’ biggest problems in spreading Christianity was that the Slavs had no written alphabet. So Cyril, the younger brother, decided to invent one for them. Over the next few generations, that alphabet evolved into the modern Cyrillic alphabet, which is still used today in many Eastern European languages.

Sadly, the brothers’ lives didn’t go so well after that. When they returned to Rome to show the pope their new Cyrillic Bible, Cyril got sick and passed away. Methodius returned to Bohemia as an anointed bishop, but eventually a new pope came along and decided that the Cyrillic Bible was actually heretical. The church arrested Methodius and locked him away for years. He was eventually released, after which he spent the rest of his life quietly in a monastery.

So, if Wenceslas, Cyril, and Methodius are the three most-venerated Saints in Prague, why is the church named for St. Vitus, a 4th-century Sicilian boy who was boiled alive in tar?

(The legend holds that a rooster was thrown into the vat of tar with Vitus as a sacrifice to the Roman gods, so Vitus is often depicted with a rooster at his feet. The legend also holds that Vitus was miraculously saved from the boiling tar. But not healed, so he still died--just later.)

In 925 AD, Duke Wenceslas--a Christian ruler of the still largely pagan Bohemia--received a relic of St. Vitus as a gift from the king of Germany. Wenceslas built St. Vitus Cathedral to house the relic, and it became an epicenter of Christianity in Bohemia.

It may have helped that the Slavic pronunciation of Vitus's name sounded a lot like the name of a pagan Slavic god.

Other cool sights in the cathedral included a 400-year-old carving of the city of Prague as it stood in the early 1600s, as well as a massive silver tomb dedicated to another local saint: St. John of Nepomuk. John was a Bohemian priest who was murdered by King Wenceslas IV in 1396. The actual reason was most likely a disagreement over the appointment of a Benedictine abbot, but according to legend it was because John refused to divulge to the king what the queen had said to John during confession.

In any case, the tomb is staggeringly opulent. A huge crowd was gathered in front of it, and it was actually getting hard to move as we approached. Jessica was hit with a wave of claustrophobia and made her way through as quickly as she could, but I managed to stay behind a bit longer to get a good look.

I also managed to get a peek into the gorgeous (and strictly cordoned) Chapel of St. Wenceslas, where the saint himself is entombed.

On our way out of the cathedral, we stopped for a moment to ponder the theological and economic implications of coin-operated electric votive candles.

Back outside, we walked around the central courtyard to find the cathedral's spectacularly gilt south façade.

The next stop on the castle tour was the old royal palace. It was mostly empty, centered around a massive great hall that was once used for feasts, markets, and even jousting tournaments. Today, the palace holds the country's modest crown jewels, a throne room, and a room covered in painted coats of arms.

But the most important thing in the palace is a window. A window that helped spark the one of the bloodiest conflicts in all of European history--the Thirty Years’ War.

One of the few things I still remember from my high-school European History class is the Defenestration of Prague. Mostly because it taught me the word "defenestration."

Defenestration: (Noun) The act of throwing someone out of a window.

To me and all the other kids in the class, that was fantastic. In reality, of course, it was deadly serious.

Long story short: It is 1618. Under the terms of the Augsburg Settlement, rulers within the Holy Roman Empire could choose whether their state would be Protestant or Catholic. Bohemia is an Imperial state, and its rulers are Catholic. But much of Bohemia's nobility is Protestant, and they're tired of being ruled by Catholics.

So, following in the tradition of the Hussites 200 years earlier, the nobles go to Prague Castle and throw the Catholic rulers out of a window. One thing leads to another, alliances are invoked, opportunists join the fray, and soon all of Europe is embroiled in a brutal, convoluted war that kills millions--mostly German civilians caught in the middle.

In the hardest-hit German states, over half the pre-war population die by violence, plague, or starvation before the war ends.

The Peace of Westphalia--a series of treaties that finally ended the Thirty Years’ War in (appropriately) 1648--is seen by many as the beginning of the age of sovereign nation-states.

It’s kind of crazy to me that the idea of countries being independent entities with precisely defined borders and their own separate governments is only four or five hundred years old. But it’s true. Throughout the Middle Ages, Europe was more like a chessboard, with squares constantly being traded back and forth into increasingly large and convoluted hierarchies. A single marriage could join two countries together, and a single death could tear them apart again. One man could be the king of England, an heir to the throne of France, and also the descendant of a French duke. Does that make England part of France or France part of England? It took five generations of war to decided that the answer was “neither.”

You can’t really understand medieval and early-modern politics without adopting a much more fluid sense of what a country actually is. It’s still really hard for me to do, and I’ve spent a lot of time trying.

Anyway...

After the royal palace, we visited the Basilica of St. George--an old Romanesque church that served as the royal chapel before the construction of St. Vitus Cathedral. It is smaller, less crowded, and more intimate than St. Vitus. Among the old Czech rulers buried there is St. Ludmilla, St. Wenceslas's grandmother and the first Christian ruler of Bohemia along with her husband Bořivoj.

Our tickets gave us access to one more sight as we left the castle: a medieval shop-lined street called Golden Lane. The name comes from the goldsmiths who used to work their and serve the castle's opulent needs, but today it houses a wider variety of shops and museums. There were jewelry shops, of course, and a puppet shop that creeped Jessica right out.

The coolest part for me was a showcase of medieval arms and armor, which was housed in the long attic that ran across the length of the street. Jessica found it immediately claustrophobia-inducing, so I stayed back to take pictures while she went on to look at the other shops along the lane.

Having made it from one end of the castle to the other, it was time for us to decide what to do next. There was the highly recommended Lobkowicz Palace--home to the oldest and largest private art collection in the Czech Republic--but Jessica and I had been around enough at this point to know that we didn't have another museum visit left in us that day.

The option we had in mind was a visit to the monastic brewery of Pivovar Strahov. It may have been considerably cooler than the previous days, but we had still worked up a strong thirst walking around the castle. Some traditionally brewed beer from a 17th-century monastery sounded like just the right way to cap off our stay in Prague.

Of course, that meant turning around and walking all the way back up through Prague Castle and another half-mile uphill beyond. It was worth it, though.

I'd wanted to try their "most award-winning" dark lager, but sadly it was sold out. So instead, I opted for their mainstay amber lager. Jessica chose from the more adventurous seasonal menu a coconut wet-hop ale.

Both were good, but we each preferred our own choice.

Thoroughly spent, we called an Uber to take us back to our flat. Jessica tried to make small talk with the driver, but he cut her off with a cursing tirade against an aggressive cyclist on the road. Typical Slavic conversation atmosphere.

Overall, Prague was one of our most challenging cities, but it also left us wanting more. Even five perfect days would not have been enough, and with so much heat and so little sleep, we had been at a significant handicap. So instead of pushing ourselves to see one last thing, we contented ourselves to an early evening and an eager desire to return--preferably during spring.

Next Post: To Vienna

Last Post: The Slave Epic (and a Break for Beer)

#180abroad #prague #czech republic #castle #cathedral #history #beer

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taswhapstuff · 5 years

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My Longest blog ever (Khoa Vu)

Andrew Marr’s History of the world BBC Ep.5-2-6

After two weeks of rest, it’s time for us to get back to our hard work days of school. How was your holiday guys? Did u people get enough money from that red envelopes, hope 🙏 that u did. Anyway, I'm very blessed to be back to our discussion about world history. Today we’re looking after 7 episodes from Mr. Andrew Marr’s history of the world BBC show. Thanks to him we will get the chance to look closer to the world stories through an epic journey of human history, telling the story of how great forces of nature and individual genius shaped the world we live in today. To add on, Andrew Marr's History of the World is a 2012 BBC documentary television series that covers 70,000 years of world history from the beginning of human civilization, as African nomadic peoples spread out around the world and settled down to become the first farmers, up to the twentieth century. However, there will be 3 episodes must be covered, analyzed and reviewed as our instructor - Mr. Lovely Matt has requested 😭😰 (screw you):))). Therefore, for this blog, I will give u guys some information, backgrounds, and themes about episode 5 - Age of plunder, my favorite episode in this series. Moreover, please don't forget to catch me up to the next blog for more information about another episode. 💕

Episode 5

To start this up we will talk about Marr’s thesis statement concerning the “Age of Plunder” that you may need to know from the beginning to the end if you are uncertain from the introduction. Generally, in a relatively short amount of time, Europeans had gone from plundering to private enterprise. How do we know this? Well, the author gives us some evidence there when he shows the advancements and actions of the Europeans over time. Furthermore, who capitalizes on the wealth of a new world economy? Everyone capitalizes overall, but this video focused on Europeans. To add on, this video focuses on the 16th century when Europeans began to discover their new lands and resources. Moreover, it also highlights some of their problems in the war with new territories, the importance of new resources and technology. Christopher Columbus, a famous world icon is also related to this episode. His job in this episode is described as a founder of America when became a motivation for Portuguese to spread out and explore new lands from Europe to America and connected them to create new and better economy trade routes.

To continue, let's talk more details about European exploration. First of all, they attacked and plundered the Native American tribes. What was their excuse? The Native Americans did not recognize the writing of the Europeans, so they unwittingly rejected Christianity. Therefore, the Europeans used this as an excuse to plunder and attack 👊 them as the first step to capitalism. Also, there was a big exploration in the scale trade route when Columbian exchange took place and increased the advantage of receiving goods from the American, most of it was gold, silver, and slaves. However, due to the spread of diseases 😷 in Europe, the American population was rapidly decreased in a short time. Since the Native Americans had been cut off from humanity for around 13,000 years, they had no immunity to diseases like Typhus, Small Pox, or even the common cold. Therefore, they died in massive amounts.

( Map 🗺 show the spread of diseases )

At that time, Europe stepped into a new period called the Reformation. Came along with the period, the power of religion became stronger and stronger. With the power in their hand, The Catholic church community ruled the lives of the majority of average Europeans in the early 16th century. They also had the power of mercy that people called indulgence -printed certificates for the absolution sins ” Passport” heaven. Furthermore, the invention of the printing press allowed many copies of books protesting the church’s authority to be made which help them to spread out the ideas of the Reformation. Also, the unexpected negative consequence to the beginning of the Protestant Reformation was viewed over that time. A violent scene, social revolutions occurred, Protestants and Catholics went to war for 125 years. Martin Luther, a priest from Germany prideful announced 95 arguments and theses against the Catholic church in 1517 after witnessing the corruption of the Church to Rome. With the help of China's printing press advance technique, his book was widely and rapidly spread out to the world and Europe.

To move on we will talk about the expansion of Europe through colonizing, discovering new goods and resources which had a big effect on new technologies and economy. First of all, due to the success 📈 in Southern America, Spain became the center of gold and silver. With the help of advanced weapons, thanks to the Inca conquest, they maintained a strong 💪 army and kept moving forward since they have had in their hand one of the biggest resources of all time: silver and gold. Furthermore, they spent their plunder by gliding their churches and palaces and spent the rest of the plunder on religious wars. However, there are some crops made a greater contribution to the history of the world than gold. Potatoes, maize, and tomatoes are three of the example. To add on, talking about food supplies like potatoes 🥔, maize, and tomatoes, they have made a greater contribution was because of the necessity of people back then. They were cheap and easy to cook 🔥, compared to gold, the necessity of having enough food supplies was bigger. Secondly, we need to talk about spices. In England and Dutch (Netherlands 🇳🇱 ), spices also took a very important part of the economy. Spices were also known as a supporter of medical treatment and because of that, spices value were raised in a massive amount. Therefore, two of the biggest company in England 🇬🇧 and Dutch, English East India and Dutch East India competed against each other in other to win the spice trade, especially the Nutmeg in Indonesia. The Dutchman also marked the first sign of capitalism when they opened the first stock market. Moreover, they sent traders to sell and buy Tulip bulbs since Tulip bulbs value increased. However, in the end, Tulip bulbs market collapsed and slowed down some of the processes of the economy. Talk about the expansion of territories and lands, Russia stepped into a whole new level when Ivan IV Vasilyevich, or ”Ivan the Terrible”, put Russia onto the world stage by exploiting the Russian forest’ vast amount of Furs. Furthermore, there was a small ice age at this time, and fur was the best way to stay warm. Moreover, Russians conquered Siberia and created an empire that stretched all the way to the Pacific Ocean. However, it took the Russian 60 years to conquer Siberia and create their far-reaching empire. (not a short time) :(((.

Let's move on to the last part. Not only the Americans, but Asian also took place during the time and had an important role in the economy. Japan was one of the fastest growing countries in Asia back then. Thanks to the help of William Adams from England, Tokugawa Ieyasu built a strong Japanese fleet and opened the economy advantage when they traded with the Europeans. However, because of the religious conflict, Japan closed its doors to trade with the outside world. When Christianity was banned in Japan, Japanese Catholics supported a rival of Ieyasu, Ieyasu massacred 40,000 Christians and banned Christianity. Therefore, European’s obsession with religion led to its banishment. However, I took them more than 200 years to close off the European trade. Furthermore, Nutmeg in Indonesia was the most highly valued spice from Asia into Europe in the market. East India Company of London became the first multinational corporation. Dutch overtake the Spanish and Portuguese in dominating global trade when Dutch merchants joined in companies and reinvested their earnings in ships until they had the most powerful Navy in the world. Also, paintings, fashions, and porcelain became the status symbols. To add on, the first stock exchange was created in 1607 in a Dutch textile merchant’s Harlem home. It showed the rise of capitalism came along with the Tulip Mania in Amsterdam.

(Nutmeg)

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scoundrelstars · 6 years

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League of Traitors

We fight the Long War, not through vain notions of duty and honour, but through a far purer purpose: hatred. --Ferrous Ironclaw, Warsmith of the Iron Warriors

[118.M42]

The tortured thrum of the void engines echoed throughout the Hangman’s Shadow like a heartbeat. Pict-screens shone sullen red, casting the cluttered Workshop in a bloody hue. The vaulted compartment echoed with the sounds of forging metal and agonizing screams blending together in a discordant symphony.

The Workshop was a nightmare combination of fabricator’s shop, surgical suite, and sorcerous library. Mortal men and women were strung up on steel trusses, skin and muscle flayed from their bodies to reveal bones upon which articulated mechanical arms carved blasphemous runes with lascutters. Maulerfiends, unholy amalgams of flesh, fire, and steel were chained to the decking in rows, their balefire hearts banked low. Occasionally, the screams that echoed through the Workshop would flare the daemon-engines to lash out at the mortal slaves who tended them, but they were in no short supply.

The ship lurched suddenly and Halaphus Stein, Warsmith of the Iron Warriors, grimaced as he mangled the exposed brain of the man he had on his table. He was a lord of the IV Legion, but centuries of mechanical adaptation and transplantation had elevated him to something that was so much more. He was clad in armor of gunmetal that shifted and moved with a mind of its own. Cabling and articulated tentacles coiled about him like living things, draping him in an unsettling mechanical cloak.

He’d been in the middle of hard-wiring the unfortunate’s synapses to a delicate, eight-pointed cogitator star that would have fed the brain with an unending stream of crushing dreams so vivid as to be real. Hours of work ruined.. Instead of a powerful testament to the Ruinous Powers’ revelations, he was left with a drooling vegetable. He remained calm; he had left emotion behind in another age. His prostheses, however, had their own reactions. His cloak of mechadentrites lashed out with a rage all their own and hurled the failed experiment across the Workshop, leaving trails of blood and spinal fluid where it streaked across the deck.

Mechanician slaves scattered out of his path as the metahuman warrior retrieved his cruel-looking war axe and stalked out of his lab.

The bridge of the Hangman’s Shadow was a thing of precision horror. Legion serfs, mutated beyond recognition, had become one with the machineries and consoles of the great ship. Distorted faces pressed against the fabric of the bridge’s walls to whisper dark secrets or maddening truths in languages long dead. Dataslate screens, holo-tanks, and auspex displays flickered with leering daemons who were drawn to the ship’s fell presence. Only the chosen of the Dark Gods--or those who had left their humanity behind--could command a glorious amalgam of machinery and warpcraft like the Shadow.

The ship rocked again as Stein came through the bridge doors. Something was hitting the void shields, the Warsmith could feel it.

“Report,” ordered Stein. His voice was a deep, digitized rumble.

Baltarius, Stein’s second, was hunched over the railing of the command pulpit, issuing orders to scurrying slaves, ship’s officers, and stoic Iron Warriors. He was clad in his battleplate, his helm mag-locked to his belt. Stein’s mechatendrils writhed with displeasure at the breach of protocol.

Baltarius saluted with one fist. “Warsmith. The sensorium has picked up a group of unknown ships in-system from the translation point. Initial scans reported they were scrap, but as soon as we began our acceleration burn, they opened fire with long-range ballistics.”

The Warsmith strode to the ship’s command throne and sat, his thrashing cable cloak snaking to interface with the Shadow’s systems. Sensory data flooded his mind and he began to take in the tactical situation. The ship was burning steadily towards Vraesis, the misbegotten star at the center of the system. Stein had expected more Imperial activity, even here in the far reaches of the heliosphere, but sensors picked up nothing. Only the strange foe-signs milling just off the ecliptic of Vraesis V. Auguries and scrying put a heavy Imperial presence in this sector, but so far, there was no sign.

The Iron Warrior continued. “The Tyrant of Enmity and the Bilious Prize, along with their tenders, have powered to full yield and are proceeding at full burn sunward in pursuit.”

“Enemy strength?”

“Unknown, lord. Auspex findings for all active threats read as system debris until they engaged. All active foes have changed course away from pursuing ships.”

Another missile on a ballistic course reached them and exploded in a blaze of nuclear fire. Hangman’s Shadow’s void shields flickered, but held. The plates of Stein’s armor trembled in annoyance as the squirming fleshmetal shifted. The enemy was so far away that the incoming missiles were unpowered by the time they got in close. This made them easy targets for point defense and maneuver, but even so. They were proving to be an exasperating navigational hazard.

He was a master of mechanology and yet he recognized nothing of the readings coming in from the sensorium. The enemy ships were of unknown design, built in ways that defied all logic. A more in-depth study was needed. Preferably when his fleet wasn’t taking fire.

But for now, he needed to reign in the fools racing in-system.

Stein stood, cabling unspooling from his harness, letting him walk about the bridge while still being plugged into the bridge systems, and took his place on the hololith communion pad at the center of the bridge’s great gallery. He banged the butt of his warcog axe on the deck.

“I want Antaryon and Mortekai. Now.”

The fused vox-slave let out a gurgling acknowledgement and the hololith pad ignited with ghostlight. After a short moment he felt the data handshake through his neural uplink verify the connection to the Tyrant of Enmity and the Bilious Prize. At least those two were still coherent enough to answer their vox.

Ghostly figures appeared as if through mist. Motes of light coalesced in the hololith to form the hulking figures of two massive Astartes.

Antaryon, lord of the Sons of the Butcher, was a towering pillar of fury. The hololith light seemed to dance and burn around him. His battleplate smouldered like black iron out of the forge and he wore a cloak of ragged skin taken from his defeated enemies. He paced, dragging the tip of a savage daemon blade across the deck of his bridge, leaving furrows of tortured metal. Stein’s tendrils recoiled in disgust, but the Warsmith himself showed no reaction to the wanton destruction of his ancient voidship.

In contrast to the Khornate lord’s impatience, Mortekai of the Mouldering Claw, was a languid presence, wholly unperturbed by the sudden summons of the nominal master of the the entire raiding force. The hololith motes danced around his projection like flies. His green Terminator plate was distended and cracked, Bilious fluid leaked from the joints and rotten flesh spilled from rents in the once-proud armor. His enormous bulk was carried by a horde of gibbering daemons that shouted and gamboled around him. The lord of contagion picked at the rusted surface of a cruel axe that rested across his swollen gut.

“Stein,” Antaryon spat, “what could you possibly want now?”

The insubordination would have rankled ordinary men, but Stein let it pass him by.

“Return to formation,” he said, “Sensorium readings do not support this course of action. Caution is required. Enemy strength is unknown.”

“Caution is cowardice and I do not follow cowards,” growled Antaryon, “This foe is mine. I’ll offer their skulls to the throne and yours too if you get in my way.”

“So impatient!” chortled Mortekai. He spoke like he had fluid in the lungs and the nurglings that held him jeered and echoed his words, “I must say that I am eager as well. We don’t want to let the enemy die without the seven blessings.”

“There is an asteroid belt between the fourth and fifth planet. Enemy ships appear as dormant debris. Calculations point to an ambush there.”

“I do not need a lecture on how to wage war from a glorified servitor. Nor will I be taken by surprise by Imperium dogs. There’s nothing in this system that could pose a threat to the Tyrant.”

Stein contemplated letting both of his “subordinate” warbands rush to their death. Would the Despoiler praise his foresight or punish his wastefulness? Losing two complements of Astartes warriors could be a black mark against him.

His contemplations were cut short by his vox-slave’s pained announcement of an incoming message.

“It is from the fourth planet, my lord. Enemy transmission!”

“Main viewer,” said Stein, “We shall see the face of our enemy, my lords.”

On the bridge’s massive pict-plate, the image of an Ork of truly massive size fuzzed into view. It sat upon a throne of scrap, weapons, and crude effigies atop a plateau of alien green stone. Crackling emerald energy danced in crystaplas bottles that were tended by smaller orks in white coats and set into carved alcoves within the stone. The sky was clouded by the exhaust of a legion of orkish vehicles idling below the throne dais.

“Well, well, well,” grumbles the Ork, “wot ‘ave we ‘ere? Puny ‘umies makin’ their way inta Warrakka’s system? S’been a long while since we fought any ‘umies!”

The image resolved even further and Stein was able to make out the truly incomprehensible armor in which the Ork was clad. Stacks belched black smoke and crude hydraulics powered a savage pincer claw that looked like it could cut an Astartes in half with ease. Muscles bulged beneath leathery green skin and red eyes flashed with brutal cunning.

“You’m be in my sights now!” it bellowed, stomping on one of the grots that was scampering around the scrap throne, “You’m be eager for a fight! But don’t go tryin’ ta be sneaky! Only Orkses can be sneaky! SHOW ‘EM BOYS!”

Threat warnings lit up the sensorium as the Ork Warboss’s order burned like fire through the system. The entire asteroid belt seemed to light with red foe-sign as dorman ships came online at the huge Ork’s word. Antaryon’s ship was barreling straight into what looked like an asteroid fortress bristling with ship-killer weapons.

A savage smile split Antaryon’s face. “This is more like it! Weapons to power! Bring reactor up to maximum yield!”

Stein dismissed the holo-ghost of the Khornate lord and went back to studying the Ork’s ferocious countenance. All along his body, strange electrodes were burrowed into his flesh. Arcs of emerald power crackled from the strange electro-bottles that surrounded the dais. The white-coated orks that scuttled around the ramshackle machinery started gibbering excitedly. Their boss’s ire was up.

“We’ll kill ya just like da other ‘umies! We gots da Horderock! FIGHT DA WAAAGH AND DIE LIKE DA REST! I’M DA BIGGEST, BADDEST WARBOSS AND YOU BOYS ARE GONNA FIND OUT!”

All around Warakka, his minions were dramatically throwing switches on their machines with great showers of sparks. More green lightning streaked and cracked, rending deep furrows into the dais. Most was drawn to the electrodes in Warrakka’s flesh and he bellowed as the power coursed through him. Muscles bulged and grew as the energy danced into him. The chords in his neck strained as the Warboss hunched over in pain.

The machines sputtered and started to explode, causing the Orks to start jabbering excitedly. Warrakka howled as he grabbed his vox-caster and started laughing. It seemed to Stein that the Orks eyes were looking through the vox and right at him. His tendrils thrashed with excitement.

“You think you gots what it takes, ‘umies?” he growled and crushed the caster in one massive hand. The vox went dead.

Stein turned to Mortekai, who was watching bemused through the hololith. “Make sure Antaryon doesn’t get himself killed. It seems the Orks have our warpstone.”

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samanthachowiln3001 · 3 years

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The Tower of London Research

When William the Conqueror built a mighty stone tower at the centre of his London fortress in the 1070s, defeated Londoners must have looked on in awe. Now nearly 1000 years later, the Tower still has the capacity to fascinate and horrify. As protector of the Crown Jewels, home of the Yeomen Warders and its legendary guardians, the pampered ravens, the Tower now attracts over three million visitors a year. Here, the Ceremony of the Keys and other traditions live on, as do the ghost stories and terrible tales of torture and execution. But the Tower also has a richer and more complex history, having been home to a wide array of institutions including the Royal Mint, the Royal Armouries and even a zoo. As the most secure castle in the land, the Tower guarded royal possessions and even the royal family in times of war and rebellion. But for 500 years monarchs also used the Tower as a surprisingly luxurious palace. Throughout history, the Tower has also been a visible symbol of awe and fear. Kings and queens imprisoned their rivals and enemies within its walls. The stories of prisoners, rich and poor, still haunt the Tower.

The Conqueror’s fortress

In the 1070s, William the Conqueror, fresh from his victory but nervous of rebellion, began to build a massive stone fortress in London to defend and proclaim his royal power. Nothing like it had ever been seen in England before. William intended his mighty castle keep not only to dominate the skyline, but also the hearts and minds of the defeated Londoners. The Tower took around 20 years to build. Masons arrived from Normandy, bringing with them stone from Caen in France. Most of the actual labour was provided by Englishmen. Throughout history, the Tower has been adapted and developed to defend and control the nation. Henry III (1216-72) and Edward I (1272-1307) expanded William’s fortress, adding huge ‘curtain’ (defensive) walls with a series of smaller towers, and enlarging the moat. In 1240, Henry III had the Tower’s great keep painted white, making it the White Tower.

The Medieval Tower

They also transformed the Tower into England’s largest and strongest ‘concentric’ castle (with one ring of defences inside another). Inside, the medieval kings built magnificent royal lodgings.

Tower of strength

Kings and queens used the Tower in times of trouble to protect their possessions and themselves. Arms and armour were made, tested and stored here until the 1800s. The Tower also controlled the supply of the nation’s money. All coins of the realm were made at the Tower Mint from the reign of Edward I until 1810. Kings and queens also locked away their valuables and jewels at the Tower and even today, the Crown Jewels are protected by a garrison of soldiers.

The Tower’s defences failed once. During the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381, rebels ran in through the open gates!

The Bloodier Tower

The Tower of London has also been the infamous setting for stories of royal tragedy and death. During the Wars of the Roses, Henry VI was murdered here in 1471 and, later, the children of his great rival Edward IV – the Princes in the Tower - vanished within its walls in 1483. In 1674, two skeletons were unearthed at the Tower. The bones were re-examined in 1933 and proved to be those of two boys aged about 12 and 10, exactly the same ages as the princes when they disappeared. Henry VI was supposedly murdered while at prayer in the King's Private Chapel in the Wakefield Tower.

The palace guards

The famous Yeoman Warders, recognised as symbols of the Tower all over the world, have been here for centuries. They were originally part of the Yeomen of the Guard, the monarch’s personal bodyguard who travelled with him. Henry VIII (1507-47) decreed that some of them would stay and guard the Tower permanently.

Henry VII's personal guards were the first 'Beefeaters', so named as they were permitted to eat as much beef as they wanted from the King's table.

Ceremony of the Keys

Today the Yeomen Warders or the 'Beefeaters' guard the visitors, but still carry out ceremonial duties, such as unlocking and locking the Tower every day in the Ceremony of the Keys. They wear their red state ‘dress uniforms’ for important occasions at the Tower, and also for special events such as the firing of the huge cannon on the Wharf, known as the Gun Salutes.

Royal life and death

Medieval kings and queens lived in luxurious apartments at the Tower. They worshipped in the Chapel Royal, kept a menagerie of exotic animals (which lasted until the 19th century) and welcomed foreign rulers at magnificent ceremonial occasions. Although long since vanished, there was once a splendid royal palace to the south of the White Tower. Henry VIII modernised the rooms inside in preparation for the coronation of his new bride, Anne Boleyn in 1533. She and the King feasted here in splendour the night before Anne processed in triumph through the City of London to Westminster Abbey. Three years later Anne was back at the Tower, this time accused of adultery and treason. She was held in the same luxurious lodgings before being executed by sword on Tower Green.

Sent to the Tower

For over 800 years, men and women have arrived at the Tower, uncertain of their fate. Some stayed for only a few days, other many years. During the Tudor age, the Tower became the most important state prison in the country. Anyone thought to be a threat to national security came here. The future Elizabeth I, Lady Jane Grey, Sir Walter Raleigh and Guy Fawkes were all ‘sent to the Tower’. Even in the 20th century, German spies were brought here and shot.

The Chapel Royal of St Peter ad Vincula

The Chapel is perhaps best known as being the burial place of some of the most famous Tower prisoners. This include three queens of England: Anne Boleyn, Catherine Howard and Jane Grey, all of whom were executed within the Tower in the 16th century. Henry VIII's wives were accused of adultery and treason. Lady Jane Grey was an unfortunate pawn in a plot to replace Mary I and was executed for high treason in 1554, aged only 17.After their execution, the headless bodies of the queens were buried quickly and carelessly under the Chapel without any memorial.

Resting in peace

In 1876, when the Chapel was restored, the remains unearthed in the chancel, including those of Anne Boleyn, were reburied beneath a marble pavement, inscribed with their names and coats of arms.

Legends and ghosts

The Tower has been a visitor attraction since the 18th century, but numbers of tourists increased dramatically in the 1800s. Visitors were fascinated by the stories of England’s turbulent and sometimes gruesome history. Stories of ghosts haunt the Tower. Anne Boleyn is said to stalk the site of her execution on Tower Green. Arbella Stuart, the cousin of Elizabeth I who starved while under arrest for marrying without royal permission, is said to frequent the Queen’s House still. Two smaller ghosts are thought to be the ‘princes in the Tower’, and the Yeomen Warders even tell a chilling tale of a huge bear who occasionally appears to frighten visitors to death.‌

The Tower today

The Tower of London is still one the world’s leading tourist attractions and a world heritage site, attracting visitors from all over the world. And when the gates are locked and all the visitors have gone, the Tower embraces a thriving community within its walls. The Tower of London is still home to the Yeomen Warders and their families, the Resident Governor, and a garrison of soldiers. There is a doctor and a chaplain. And there is even a pub!

Hauntings:

During its 900 years of existence, the Tower of London has earned the reputation of being one of the most haunted places in the UK. Thomas A. Becket is said to be one of the first ghosts seen in the tower. When the Inner Curtain Wall was still in construction, Thomas seemed to be very unhappy about it and reduced the wall to rubble with the strike of his cross. The grandfather of Henry III was said to be the reason for Thomas A. Beckett’s death so he built a chapel in the Tower for the Archbishop. People believe that Beckett was pleased with the construction of the chapel because no further interruptions were reported after the incident with the Inner Curtain Wall.

Arbella Stuart is one of the castle’s most famous ghosts. It is said that her ghost stays in The Queen’s House on Tower Green. According to records, Arbella Stuart married the nephew of Lady Jane Grey, William Seymour. The marriage was thought of as a threat because it did not have the permission of King James I. Arbella was put under house arrest in Lambeth while her husband William was sent to the tower. Arbella plotted to get William released so that they could travel together to France, however, William missed the rendezvous. Arbella set sail all alone but she was recognised and was sent back, this time to the Tower. William, on the other hand, made it to freedom. She stayed there until her death in 1615 in The Queen’s House. It is believed that she was murdered in the castle.

The most persistent of all ghosts in the Tower of London is that of no other than Queen Anne Boleyn. She was married to King Henry VIII. She was arrested and taken to Tower Green and was beheaded on the 19th of May 1536. Several sightings of Anne Boleyn have been reported. She appears close to the site where she was executed and has also been seen leading a procession down the aisle of a chapel. Several people have reported seeing her headless body walking the Tower’s corridors.

The Bloody Tower is a place in the castle which conjures up grisly images. There is the story of the two young princes, Edward V and his brother Richard, who were declared illegitimate by Parliament and sent to the tower. They were often seen playing around happily in the grounds but suddenly vanished and were never seen again. It was assumed that they were murdered by order of their uncle, the Duke of Gloucester. Two skeletons, believed to be the children, were unearthed beneath a staircase in the White Tower. The ghosts of the children are often seen wearing nightgowns clutching each other in terror in the rooms of the castle. They are also heard throughout the Tower.

There is also the White Lady of the massive White Tower. The White Tower is one of the oldest and most foreboding buildings and it is the eerie haunt of the White Lady. She was said to have stood once at a window waving to little children at the building on the opposite side. Her cheap perfume impregnates the air on the entrance to St. John’s Chapel.

Guards of the Tower of London have reported having a terrible crushing sensation upon entering the place where King Henry’s VIII impressive suit armour is exhibited. A guard who was patrolling the grounds have reported a sensation of someone throwing a cloak over him. When he tried to free himself, the cloth was seized from behind and pulled tightly around his throat by his unseen attacker.

The Tower of London was built by William the Conqueror in 1078. It is a complex of multiple buildings set within two rings of walls built to keep intruders out. Several expansions have been made by kings during the 12th and 13th century. Although there have been a lot of modifications and additions to the tower, the original layout of the tower remains. The Tower of London has played a major role in the history of England. It has been a treasury, a public records office, an armoury, the Royal Mint’s home, and the home of the country’s crown jewels.

The country’s history would be incomplete if the Tower of London is not mentioned. The tower has been besieged several times. Kings and conquerors believed that in order to control the country, the tower must be controlled first. During the 15th century, the castle was used as a prison. However, the peak period of the castle’s use as a prison was in the 16th and 17th centuries. Elizabeth I was one of the many prominent figures who were held captive in the tower. The use of the tower as place for captives popularized the term “sent to the Tower”.

Although there has been a lot of talk and a pervading belief that the tower is a place of death and torture, only a total of seven people were executed within the tower, a figure which is low compared to other places. The executions were commonly held on the Notorious Hill of the castle. In a 400-year period, 112 executions took place on Notorious Hill.

Two men, John Taylor and Anthony Salvin, restored the castle to what they believed was its medieval appearance. They cleared out most of the vacant post-medieval structures. During the two World Wars, the castle was again used as a prison and 12 men were executed for espionage. The castle was badly damaged during Blitz in the Second World War but it was repaired and opened to the public. Today, the castle is cared for by the Historic Royal Palace, a charity, and protected as a World Heritage Site. 1483, the two young princes were infamously murdered in the Tower, with their murder remaining unsolved to this day. The shadowy figures of two lost little boys – holding hands – are a relatively common sight in the White Tower, as they drift between rooms and melt into the walls.

In Many other tales of Tower of London ghosts involve Anne Boleyn. Anne was, of course, imprisoned in the Tower and beheaded in 1536. The ghost of Anne has been spotted in many different parts of the Tower of London: both roaming the inside of the buildings, and outside upon the Tower Green. It’s said that her headless torso paces through the Tower at night, and is most frequently spotted in the Chapel of St Peter, where she was buried following her execution.

In 1864, it’s recorded that a soldier guarding the Tower saw the terrifying, headless figure of Anne, panicked, and tried to stab it with his bayonet. The dagger, of course, went straight through her ghostly figure. The soldier fainted from fright, and was about to be court-martialled for being asleep on duty.

However, many other guards came forward and claimed they’d also seen the ghost of Anne whilst on night duty. As a result, the soldier was let off.

As I mentioned above, Anne’s decapitated body was originally buried beneath the floor of St Peter’s Chapel. In 1876, Queen Victoria ordered that the bodies in the chapel should be exhumed, and buried more appropriately.

A short while later, one of the captains of the guard was patrolling the Tower at night and saw a strange flickering light in the chapel. He climbed to one of the windows and pressed his face against the glass. He was amazed by what he saw. Inside the chapel, he saw a procession of lords, ladies and knights in armour. At the centre of the festivity was a small, delicately dressed woman. Later, he identified her as being Anne Boleyn. He remained at the window, transfixed by this strange and otherworldly scene.

After a few minutes, the lights in the chapel faded – and the procession of ghosts disappeared into thin air. The captain of the guard was left gazing through the window of a dark and empty old church.

The White Tower is effectively the ‘keep’ at the heart of the Tower of London.

Here’s a truly terrifying fact for you. Almost every castle keep in England seems to be haunted by one common ghost – a spectre of a woman, either dressed in white or black robes. These ‘white women’ or ‘black women’ feature in countless tales. They haunt all manner of castles – from Warwick to Goodrich, Tamworth to Leeds.

As you might expect, the White Woman of the Tower of London is spookier than most.

Often, visitors only glimpse a figure in white in the corner of their eyes. Then, quite suddenly, they smell the terrible, pungent smell of an old, overpowering perfume. Some visitors then describe the feeling of the world closing in around them; and chills run from their neck down their spine.

In recent years, tourists to the tower have even reported the sensation that something is tapping them on the shoulder. When they turn around, there’s nothing there- just a wisp of white which disappears into the periphery of their vision.

Here’s a very strange story indeed. Edmund Lenthal Swifte was the Keeper of the Crown Jewels between 1814 and 1852. He lived inside the Tower of London with his family.

He recorded a truly spooky experience. In his own words, it happened on a Saturday night in October, at “about the witching hour”.He was in the Jewel House (now the Martin Tower) – the “doleful prison” of Anne Boleyn. The windows were closed; the curtains were pulled over, and the room was lighted by a couple of candles. His family were seated within. Suddenly, something very odd happened. Let’s hear it, in exactly his own words.

“[My wife looked up] and exclaimed, ‘Good God ! what is that?’

“I looked up, and saw a cylindrical figure, like a glass tube, seemingly about the thickness of my arm. [It was] hovering between the ceiling and the table: its contents appeared to be a dense fluid, white and pale azure, like… the gathering of a summer cloud, and incessantly rolling and mingling within the cylinder.

“This lasted about two minutes. [Then] it began slowly to move before my sister-in-law; then, following the oblong shape of the table, before my son and myself; passing behind my wife, it paused for a moment over her right shoulder.

“Instantly she crouched down, and with both hands covering her shoulder, she shrieked out, ‘Oh, Christ! it has seized me!’

“Even now, while writing, I feel the fresh horror of that moment.”

To help give a bit of context to this story, we know that all types of exotic animals were imprisoned in the Tower of London during Tudor times. It was a bit like a modern zoo. Some of these animals still haunt the place. There are many stories describing the roars of long-lost lions, which echo around the Tower at night. Some have also described the phantom shapes of horses, which gallop along the cobbles at night – their eyes a terrifying, blazing red. However, this animal-from-the-underworld was something more ominous altogether. I’ll again quote from E.L. Swifte, writing in the 1800s.

“[One of the] sentries at the [Martin Tower] was… alarmed by a figure like a huge bear [emerging] from underneath the door.

“He thrust at it with his bayonet, which stuck in the door.

“He dropped in a fit, and was carried senseless to the guard-room…

“Of all this, I avouch nothing more than that I saw the poor man in the guard-house prostrated with terror….

“And that in two or three days the ‘fatal result,’… was that he died.”

This chilling tale has been told and re-told over the years, and many now say that the bear was no less than the devil in ghostly disguise, pulling the hapless to the underworld with him.

Have your wits about you when you visit the Tower, because one of its most popular exhibits – the old armour of Hing Henry VIII – is said to be possessed by a particularly malevolent ghost.

To explain, over the years, many guards have reported horrible sensations when patrolling the Tower of London at night. Different men and women have described the feelings of dread or of chills running through their spine when entering a particular chamber. However, some guards have told of truly harrowing experiences. Some describe walking into a room and feeling like they’re being crushed alive.

Some say that it feels like an demon has jumped from the ceiling, has wrapped its arms tight around their chest, and is trying to suffocate them. Others say that it feels like an invisible monster is trying to strangle them. They’ve felt the tight grip of hands around their neck, and have stumbled, gasping for oxygen, into another room. There’s even a tale which tells of a guard being assaulted by a ghost wielding a visible cloak. Again, the guard struggled as he felt the cloak wrap right around his neck. He managed to escape the room – but although his assailant was invisible, the remaining bright red marks on his neck were real. All these stories of suffocation and strangling have one thing in common: they occurred in the room storing Henry VIII’s armour. Wherever the armour was moved in the Tower of London, these terrifying experiences would occur in the same room. Nowadays, the armour is on plain display in the Tower. I’d advise you to be very careful when you pay it a visit – it appears to be home to a one of the most vicious Tower of London ghosts.

One guard patrolling through here in the early hours of a stormy winter morning got a sudden and unnerving sensation that a black cloak had been flung over his head. As he struggled, the cloak was seized from behind by his phantom assailant and pulled tight around his throat. When he arrived at the guard room, after freeing himself, gasping and choking, the marks on his neck bore vivid testimony to his brush with the unseen horror

There is an old prophecy that, if the ravens leave the Tower, the monarchy will fall. These proud territorial birds are, therefore, protected by Royal Decree, and the future of the monarchy is assured by the clipping of the ravens. wings.

Here another tragic resident, Lady Jane Grey, "The Nine Day Queen", was kept prisoner.

On 12 February, 1554, she watched from an upstairs window as her husband, Guildford Dudley, was led, sobbing, to his execution.

Later that same day, the sixteen-year-old girl, who had been pushed onto the throne by an ambitious father-in-law, walked bravely to her own death.

Ever since, her ghost has appeared on the anniversary of her execution as a white shimmering figure that floats from the rolling river mists, strolls sadly around the green or glides along the battlements, then withers slowly away.

You are standing upon the spot where a number of illustrious historical figures ended their days on the headsman's block. Many of them are buried in the church you are facing – St Peter Ad Vincula.

One execution, however, stands out as more shameful and gruesome than all the others, that of seventy-two-year-old Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury.

Her crime was nothing more than the fact that she was the mother of Cardinal Pole, who from his safe haven in France had vilified Henry VIII’s claim as head of the Church in England.

Unable to punish the Cardinal, Henry opted to exact savage retribution by sentencing his mother to death.

On 27th May, 1541, she stepped onto the scaffold and stared contemptuously at the executioner.

When told to place her head on the block she refused. "So should traitors do and I am none."

The executioner raised his axe, took a swing at her, and then chased the screaming countess around the scaffold and hacked her to death.

Her last moments have been played out on the anniversary of the shameful event ever since, as her screaming phantom attempts to escape from a ghostly executioner.

The exhibition inside the Bloody Tower commemorates the imprisonment here of Sir Walter Raleigh, and his ghost seems to appreciate the fact, as it has been seen here on more than one occasion.

But it is the little princes, Richard and Edward, whose tragic tale has given the Bloody Tower its sinister reputation.

The boys were sent to the tower by their uncle Richard, Duke of Gloucester, in 1483 when he became Richard III, both boys mysteriously disappeared.

It was always assumed that they had been murdered on Richard's instructions and their bodies buried somewhere within the grim fortress.

When two skeletons were uncovered beneath a staircase of the White Tower in 1674 they were presumed to be the remains of the little princes and afforded royal burial in Westminster Abbey.

But their whimpering ghosts, wearing white nightgowns and clutching each other in terror, often return to the dim rooms of their imprisonment. Witnesses are moved to pity, longing to reach out and console the spectral boys. But, if they do, the trembling wraiths back slowly towards the wall and fade into the fabric.

TRAITORS GATE

Kings, queens, lords, ladies, clerics and commoners would have taken their last look at the outside world from the top of those steps.

The Tower of London has been no respecter of birthright or rank. So offer a prayer for their repose as you shake the dust of history from your shoes and leave this grim fortress to its memories and shadows.

Our first ghost story was pretty recent – only as far back as the mid 1980s. One young yeoman warder was up in the Byward Tower reading the paper. Suddenly, next to the fireplace, the warder noticed a pair of “spindly medieval-looking men” smoking clay pipes. As he stared, one of the men turned and stared back. Then the moment was over, the men vanished. In Yeoman Clerk Wilson’s words, the young man wasn’t sure “whether he had seen the past, or the past had seen the future”.

There have been sightings of two young boys dressed in white gowns wandering aimlessly around the Tower grounds. Even children of pre-school age, who couldn’t possibly know the history, have reported the two melancholy youths in “funny clothes”.

You might be surprised to learn that only six people have been beheaded at the Tower of London. The first was Anne Boleyn, but the second – Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury – was far more gruesome.

Margaret was sentenced to death as a Roman Catholic in Henry VIII’s new Protestant England. But she didn’t go quietly to the Tower scaffolding, claiming her treatment was for traitors and she was no such thing. She broke free of the executioner and ran back towards her lodgings. But the executioner pursued, hacking her with his axe. On the anniversary of her death – which became seen as martyrdom – her screams are said to still be heard at the Tower. More than that, the shadow of the executioner’s axe has been seen cast against the walls.

One quiet day a yeoman warder was in one of the Tower’s rooms full of engravings remembering some of the Tower’s many prisoners. He was approached by a woman and her daughter, who were interested in the room’s sombre decorations. But as he happily explained, the daughter (perhaps 18 or 19 years old) started wailing: “So, so much suffering.” The warder was concerned, but his mother reassure him that sometimes she just picked up vibes and would be alright soon. They then proceeded to an area around a former altar where other interesting engravings were to be found. “So, so much suffering,” the teenager wailed once more. The warder tried to reassure her that they were “all gone now”. “Not him,” the woman replied, putting her hand behind her as if touching a man’s shoulder. She pointed to an engraving reading “Thomas Talbot, 1498″.

Bibliography:

Historic Royal Palaces. (n.d.). The story of the Tower of London. [online] Available at: https://www.hrp.org.uk/tower-of-london/history-and-stories/the-story-of-the-tower-of-london/#gs.kbibi8 [Accessed 2 Nov. 2020].

‌Exploring Castles. (n.d.). The Tower of London Ghosts: Headless Haunts, Suffocating Sensations and Wandering White Women. [online] Available at: https://www.exploring-castles.com/uk/england/tower_london_ghosts/ [Accessed 2 Nov. 2020].

Richard Jones. 2020. The Ghosts of the Tower of London.. [ONLINE] Available at: https://www.london-walking-tours.co.uk/free-tours/tower-of-london-ghosts.htm. [Accessed 02 November 2020].‌

http://home.bt.com/tech-gadgets/tech-news/6-of-the-spookiest-tower-of-london-ghost-stories-as-the-chilling-tour-goes-live-on-periscope-11364013274910

Haunted Rooms®. (n.d.). The Tower of London, London. [online] Available at: https://www.hauntedrooms.co.uk/the-tower-of-london-ghosts [Accessed 2 Nov. 2020].

Londonist. (2016). Who Exactly Are The Ghosts Of London? [online] Available at: https://londonist.com/ 2016/10/who-exactly-are-the-ghosts-of-london [Accessed 29 Oct. 2020].

Geographics (2019). The Tower of London: History’s Most Notorious Prison. YouTube. Available at: https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ebqW84tH2k [Accessed 29 Oct. 2020].

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whimsicmimic · 7 years

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what's marbleverse?

i hope u dont mind that i answer this publicly because im about to write you a real fuckin long response.

So You Think You Lost Your Marbles (aka Marbleverse) is a massive project ive been working on for the past few years!! The easiest way to describe it is a modern magic universe with a bit of a post-apocalyptic twist. Or maybe its a post-apocalyptic universe with a modern magic twist?

who knows maaan. think elves living in rvs.

yknow how in most stories with magic, magic is a very old concept? like, elves and dwarves and fae existed long before humans? that isn’t the case here.

Basically, these weird crystal growths just started rapidly forming one day in seemingly locations, reaching higher than 15′ and 20′ wide in as little time as a week. And when folks were trying to figure out exactly what the hell was going on with these dang rocks, it was discovered that when a chunk was paired with even a very weak electrical current, it had the potential to power entire buildings for months!

‘course, the catch is that these fuckers were volatile as hell. The less beneficial discovery was that when exposed to certain conditions, they fucking exploded in a pseudo-nuclear fashion. Scars in the earth were torn across the countryside. An entire city was leveled, leaving nothing but wreckage and ruin where it once stood. Those who could leave left. In most cases, those who survived were left with nothing. And while those outside the blast radius did give aide to some areas, a lot of people were just left that way.

People are hardy as hell, though. Those who were fucked over sought each other out. People banded together, built shantytowns which turned into more permanent structures and settlements over time. This aint some nitty gritty survival of the fittest story. People took up agriculture, people took up construction and carpentry, people learned what they could about medicine, people became teachers, regulators, chroniclers, spinners, weavers. A lotta them became scavengers, picking their way through the wreckage and finding a use for what was left. And shards of spiritstone, as these crystals would come to be called, proved to be invaluable as ever. A handful of the dust of it could keep a flashlight lasting for weeks, a handful of the dust acted as a catalyst for plant growth, with heavy alteration, even the smallest shard could power a vehicle for a long while. The very thing that ruined folks lives and tore apart the earth became as valuable as gold to em.

it was valuable to everyone else as well; those unaffected by the blast offered a pretty penny and supplies to scavvers in exchange for shards found, as they made an invaluable energy source. Was it shitty? yeah. Did they still do it? yeah. Such an offer meant a golden ticket out of the Wastes. Some took it. Others turned their backs on those outside just as those outside turned their backs on them. Some held a grudge. Others just wanted to be left alone at this point.

The largest town they built directly above the epicenter of one of the blasts when they learned it was safe. They called it Haven, because that’s what it became to them, and that’s what they hoped it would continue to be for years to come.

The land would recover from the blasts. Plants grew at an accelerated rate for reasons unknown. Animals would come back with time. They would live and they would thrive.

With the passage of time in months, years, generations, they’d say that the energy within the spiritstone that was released during the blasts rooted itself deep in the blood of those living in the Wastes. They’d say that it felt like something was always watching them, despite no one being around. They’d say that they could’ve sworn a plant had moved of its own volition, but maybe it was just the wind after all. They’d say the inhabitants were capable of peculiar things, things that shouldn’t be possible by any means at all. They’d call it magic, but magic doesn’t exist, does it?

The first true magician was a man with an affinity for flame. They say he burned himself alive by mistake after his magic turned on him and ate him whole.

They got a lot more careful after that.

The outsiders didn’t even think of them as human anymore; after generation by generation living in the Wastes, they looked less and less human, shaped into something human adjacent by the magic in their roots to prevent spells from backfiring as severely. Their lifespans became longer, the telltale signs of age slowing after a point of maturity. Some they’d call elves or fae or satyrs, gnomes or imps or harpies after the stuff of legends. But as a whole, they were simply called the Waste-touched.

And in the years to come, the Waste-touched would leave the citadel of Haven or the numerous other towns scattered throughout the Wastes, curious about how the world has changed outside since their isolation. In years to come, a new city would be built atop what once was the wreckage of the old one, leveled so long ago. They would call it New Haven, in hopes of creating a place with the potential to start anew once more, in hopes of tearing down the walls built between the Wastes and those who turned their backs on them so long ago.

And that, my guy, is where we begin.

THERES A HELL OF A LOT MORE TO IT THAN THIS like this is. Barely even a slice of whats in store.

tl;dr, humans fucked up and those who had to live with the consequences were turned into magical creatures/users over the course of generations to better adapt to the aftermath.

family portrait is a collection of drabbles I’m going to be putting on my writing blog as practice! Its about a traveling circus made up of these magic users, and the drabbles are snapshots of the lives the circus members lead. Ive already finished the first one, but I’m holding on to it until I have a few more to post!!

this is probably more information than you wanted and for that I apologize, but I’ve been working on this project for a REALLY LONG TIME and I’m suuuuper excited about it and I loooooove talking about it

#creampuff rambles #lost marbles #a walnut #IM SORRY IK THIS IS A BIT LONGWINDED i get very veery very very very very excited #send me asks abt marbleverse and i will excitedly talk for long periods of time because i get very very excited

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un-enfant-immature · 5 years

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Falcon Heavy’s first real launch on Sunday is the dawn of a new heavy-lift era in space

The Falcon Heavy has flown before, but now it’s got a payload that matters and competitors nipping at its heels. It’s the first of a new generation of launch vehicles that can take huge payloads to space cheaply and frequently, opening up a new frontier in the space race. Watch it lift off Sunday afternoon (we’ll post a reminder).

On the 7th, Falcon Heavy will fly for the first time since its inaugural test last February, delivering the now-infamous Tesla Roadster and “Starman” into a trajectory that has taken them past Mars. That successful launch garnered SpaceX its first customer for the system, and Sunday’s launch will take Arabsat-6A, a Lockheed-built communications satellite, into geosynchronous orbit.

A static fire today went well, so weather permitting takeoff should Notably, SpaceX CEO Elon Musk pointed out on Twitter that the Block 5 Falcon Heavy (that is to say, the production revision as opposed to the test version we saw) has 10 percent more thrust capacity than before, which also translates to a better safety margin if using less than its maximum.

So why exactly is Falcon Heavy important? After all, launch vehicles capable of putting a hundred a hundred tons of material into or beyond orbit have existed since Apollo. Simply speaking, the difference comes down to price.

Putting anything into space is difficult enough. But heavier payloads get exponentially more difficult to lift: The equations we’ve known for a century or so governing how much lift is needed to get a certain amount of mass into orbit, and how much fuel is needed in turn to generate that lift, are clear on this.

As advances in materials and rocket engines have progressed, they have disproportionately benefited small and medium launch vehicles. Combined with the decreasing size of satellite payloads, this has created a new and promising era for small craft, which can be launched in great numbers — as we’re seeing in the many promises to deploy constellations thousands strong.

Efficiently made disposables like Rocket Lab’s Electron and reusable ones like the Falcon 9 have begun the process of pushing the price of small and medium-size launches down to a fraction of what they once were.

But heavy and super-heavy launch vehicles have remained phenomenally expensive due to the fundamentally difficult nature of building these physics-defying monsters. So while putting 10 tons in orbit has gotten cheap enough that startups can do it, putting 100 tons up there remains the province of global superpowers.

Falcon Heavy is really the first to start a similar price shift for this category, cutting the cost of putting large payloads up by a huge amount. And while an estimated price tag of around $100 million per launch is hardly pocket change, it’s a whole lot less than the $350-$500 million a Delta IV might cost.

That level of savings can transform an entire space program. NASA could add an entire planetary exploration mission to its budget for the price difference of one launch alone. This math may not always add up (the Delta IV’s excellent launch record rightly commands a premium) but it’s impossible to ignore.

A Delta IV takes off in 2016.

The market for heavy launches is, like that for small ones, heavily supply-limited. Governments and major corporations are lined up for years to put major items into or beyond orbit. SpaceX will sell room on Falcon Heavy systems as fast as it can make them. And because its side stages are reusable, it can make them faster than others can make theirs! It stands to make a huge amount of money while also massively empowering the global space community.

Falcon Heavy has little competition at payloads above the 50-ton threshold, but below that the field is getting crowded. ULA, Ariane Group, Russia and China, even upstart rival Blue Origin are preparing cheaper next-generation platforms to take part in the new ecosystem. (A comprehensive accounting of this new phase of launch vehicles is a worthwhile endeavor, but one for another time.)

For now, though, Falcon Heavy is an anomaly, but a welcome one. Lowering the cost and complexity of more distant and ambitious space projects is an exciting prospect, and Sunday’s launch is one of the first indications that we are witnessing that change take place.

#TechCrunch

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aceb133 · 7 years

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Star, Queen of Mewni: Part IV

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter In which there is a skip forward in time, and in which I could have edited this further to make it less terrible but OH WELL

Long ago, the Spider’s Lair had been a small, compact Mewman village built right against the ponderous, winding River of Mudd. Heavily laden with silt and prone to flooding, the river had often washed over the small village, burying the town’s structures beneath thick layers of mud. Stubborn and resourceful, and unwilling to abandon their claim, the Mewmans had persisted by building the foundations of their homes and businesses on top of their sunken predecessors, constructing layer after layer of brick and stone to stay above the floodwaters. For generations, the Mewmans had raced to build up their homes before they could sink into the mud, adding level after level as first floors became basements, second floor windows became doors, and rooftops became new foundations. But in the end, it was a race the Mewmans could not win-and so, the village was eventually abandoned, leaving naught but a cluster of overgrown rubble that only hinted at what laid beneath.

Long after the Mewmans had moved out, however, the monsters had moved in. The first occupants hadn’t been rebels, not at first-they’d merely been monsters desperate enough and tenacious enough to try and excavate the ruins, to try and make a living fishing and trading along the river. But the strategic value of the reclaimed hamlet was too great to be ignored-and so, the Monster Liberation Front had taken the town over for themselves, putting forth a new, intensified effort to dig deeper and wider. Though undetectable from the surface, the base now known as the Spider’s Lair was a vast subterranean maze, made up of a dozen sunken Mewman structures connected by a complex series of tunnels. By this point, it was by far one of the largest and most heavily fortified bases available to the Front

Deep below the surface, in a small, cramped office on the lowest habitable level, the commander of the Lair, Kran Bearclaw, paced nervously. An elderly monster with long, bear-like arms, razor-sharp teeth, a pair of nearly useless legs, and a wrinkled, worn exterior, Bearclaw was a longtime veteran of the fighting between Mewmans and monsters, and was not typically given to panic or paranoia. But, as he circled his office again and again, slowly hobbling along with his wooden cane, he could not shake the feeling that something had gone horribly wrong.

Breaking his stride, he turned and took yet another look at the large, crinkled parchment on the wall. An intensely detailed map of the Butterfly Kingdom, it was covered in notes and pins tied together with string, each detailing but one of the numerous setbacks the Front had suffered over the past three weeks. A red note on the edge of the map, for instance, marked the destruction of the San Loma supply cache, a collection of weapons and food that had taken the Front two months to assemble. Only twelve monsters had known where the cache was located, and Bearclaw would have trusted each one of them with his life. And yet, that hadn’t changed the fact that just two nights ago, the entire cache, and a good chunk of the hill it was located under, had been destroyed in a massive explosion.

Frowning, Bearclaw followed the string tied to the pin to another note, this one on the opposite end of the kingdom-the disappearance of Marcus Brosche, a key Mewman sympathizer who had helped assemble the cache. Only a few days before the cache had exploded, he’d sent a coded letter to his handler explaining he’d taken ill, and was going to take a vacation in another dimension. He hadn’t specified which one, and hadn’t been seen since.

Each note told a similar story. Disruptions of supply routes. Missing patrols. The destruction of safehouses. The disappearance of entire Front cells. Some of the actions Bearclaw could easily attribute to the increased activity of the Butterfly Army, which had been fully unleashed against the monsters in the weeks since Renwick’s takeover and Queen Star’s disappearance. For others, there was seemingly no explanation-just a tenuously connected series of misfortunes and setbacks.

Bearclaw’s eyes settled back on the note detailing the destruction of the San Loma supply cache. The thought of Queen Star’s disappearance, and all that had transpired since that night, had stirred within him a memory he’d nearly forgotten. When the surviving monsters had returned from the raid, a few had brought with them what little corn and other supplies they’d managed to scavenge from the disaster. Nearly all of it, Bearclaw realized, had been transported to the San Loma cache, under the watchful gaze of Old One Eye, a terrifying bug-like monster. A longtime veteran of the fight against the Mewmans, Old One Eye was one of Bearclaw’s best field commanders and one of his most trusted assets.

He had also, Bearclaw remembered, been scheduled to return from investigating the destruction of the San Loma cache seven hours ago. Thus far, he hadn’t returned.

Slowly, his heart pounding, Bearclaw reached out and touched the map, tracing a line from San Loma to the Spider’s Lair. He then traced it back to San Loma, back to Brosche, and back even further.

In the distance, Bearclaw heard the rumble of thunder.

Moving as quickly as his withered legs could manage, Bearclaw burst out of his office. Outside, a trio of monsters were pouring over a large map. Three of the best leaders under his command, Bearclaw had tasked them earlier with planning out a supply raid on a Mewman outpost in the Forest of Certain Death. In this moment, Bearclaw knew he needed their skills now more than ever-he could only hope he wasn’t too late.

One of them, a tall arthropod with a hard black shell, turned to Bearclaw. “Commander, it is good to see you,” she clicked. “We just had a minor disagreement in tactics, and we wished to-“

“There is no time.” Bearclaw said. “Quickly, has Old One Eye returned? And how recently has the perimeter patrol checked in?”

“Old One Eye has not returned yet, I believe.” The youngest monster, a gelatinous abomination named Hirschfield, replied. “As to the perimeter patrol… I’m not sure, Commander Bearclaw. I suppose we should have heard from them recently, but-“

“Then there is no time.” Bearclaw said, pounding his fist on the table. “The Spider’s Lair is compromised. We must evacuate at once.”

The monsters looked at each other. “Commander, are you quite sure you’re alright?” Hirschfield finally asked, as gently as he could manage. “The patrols miss their check-ins all the time. There’s no evidence that anything’s gone wrong.”

“If anything, there is too much evidence that everything has.” Bearclaw replied. “I cannot explain, we may only have a bit of time. We may be caught in a vice, and we must do everything we can to escape before it is too late.”

Another burst of thunder from high above punctuated his remarks. The arthropod looked up at the ceiling, clicking her mandibles. “That’s odd,” she said, “I didn’t think you could hear thunder down here.”

The monster standing across from her, Franz Grossjaeger, turned ashen. “You can’t.”

Suddenly, another monster burst into the room, wheezing. Bearclaw recognized him immediately as his nephew Roarsch, who had begged his uncle to let him join the fight-and whom Bearclaw had immediately assigned to messenger duties, in deference to his sister’s wishes to keep her only son away from bloodshed.

“Sir!” Roarsch nearly shouted, “There’s been some kind of attack on the outer perimeter! Wilfork took his men to go investigate, but-“

“Then he’s already dead.” Bearclaw said, solemn. “Roarsch, go to the barracks, and call every monster who can fight to arms. Let them know we must prepare the Kranz protocol.”

For a second, Roarsch stood still, horror-struck. Then, he nervously saluted, and dashed back out of the room.

Across the table from Bearclaw, Hirschfield stared at his commander. “The Kranz protocol? You can’t be serious. We’d lose everything!”

Bearclaw glared at him. “If we act now, we can rebuild. If we hesitate, we will lose everything. This is no time to hesitate, Hirschfield! You do not know who we are dealing with!”

The monster gulped, and nodded. “I… I understand, Commander. What are your orders?”

“Find every monster who knows the location of the Eagle’s Nest and prepare to have them evacuate to the Neapolitan safehouse immediately.” Bearclaw began. “If we are to contain this catastrophe, we must not allow any of them to fall into enemy hands.”

The monster nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Lyudmila?”

“Sir!”

Bearclaw smiled. As deadly commanding troops as she was on the battlefield, Lyudmila was one of the brightest young commanders in the Front. Out of every other monster in this base, he knew he could rely on her, and her alone, to accomplish practically any task to which she was assigned. “Prepare to activate the scuttling charges, and bring me the detonator.

“And Franz?”

“Yes?”

“Torch the archives and map room.”

The monster looked heartbroken. A studious fellow, it had been Franz’s personal mission over the past several years to collect and sort through vast troves of books, maps, and other documents believed to be of value to the resistance. It was, in a sense, his life’s work.

And now, he stammered as he attempted to comprehend the order given to him. “Burn the-But we’d lose everything! Years of work, everything we’ve collected and built!”

Bearclaw smiled sadly, and clapped his hand on Franz’s wolf-like hide. “You know these documents better than I do, friend. If anyone can reconstruct them, it is you. But at this time, we must assume everything in this base that we do not destroy or evacuate will fall into the hands of the enemy.”

Another burst of thunder echoed through the base, and the ground beneath them shook.

“Go! There is no time.” Bearclaw shouted. “And once you have completed your tasks, evacuate immediately. We can afford to lose this base, but we cannot afford to lose you three.”

Their orders distributed, the trio of monsters quickly dispersed, leaving Bearclaw alone in the room. Sighing, he began to walk around, touching the walls. It had taken years to build this base, to dig through the mud and silt to excavate the intact spaces beneath. In terms of its proximity to the Butterfly Castle, Bearclaw doubted the monsters would be able to find anything as well-suited towards providing safety or security to the Front’s rogue monsters.

But Bearclaw was a monster accustomed to setback. In the seven decades he’d spent living on Mewni, he’d struggled and agitated against each generation of the Butterfly regime, fighting for the rights the monsters so desperately deserved, and so cruelly lacked.

There was another rumble of thunder, and the room shook violently. Bearclaw was forced to steady himself against the wall, and a shower of dust and debris fell from the ceiling.

The old monster grinned wryly. Another blast like that, and they wouldn’t even need to implement the Kranz protocol-the ancient, rotted structure would take care of that itself.

In the corner, an old PA one of the Front’s more technologically-savvy monsters had set up began to blare. “Attention, a breach has been reported on level one. All members of Vrak’s Guard, please report to level two and begin defensive preparations.”

Vraks. A strong, powerful monster with a heart of gold, who had saved Bearclaw’s life once many years ago.

Bearclaw would miss him.

A few minutes later, Lyudmila reappeared, holding a small remote in one of her claws. Behind her, a stream of over a dozen monsters followed her into the command room, quickly crowding the cramped space. Right away, Bearclaw could tell these were monsters who were fresh from the fight-nearly all of them had clearly suffered grevious injury, and several were being carried in on makeshift stretchers.

Lyudmila looked positively apologetic as she approached. “I’m sorry, Commander, but I couldn’t leave them behind.”

“Do not apologize, you did the right thing.” Bearclaw said. “Every monster that can survive today is a monster that can fight tomorrow. Now quickly, do you have your scissors?”

She nodded, holding up a spindly pair of dimensional scissors, accented a deep black to match her carapace.

“Good,” Bearclaw said, “Then go, and take them with you.”

“But Commander, what about you?”

He smiled sadly. “Where I shall go, Lyudmila, is a place you would rather not follow.”

She looked as though she was about to protest, then silenced her mandibles. Instead, she used her scissors to tear open a dimensional portal, and gestured to the monsters that followed her. “Come! We cannot delay, our comrades can only hold out for so long.”

The injured monsters quickly began moving through the portal. At the tail end, Bearclaw saw Franz running towards him, a massive box filled with files clutched in his hands.

“Sir!” he said, “The archives… the archives are burning now. These papers are everything I could grab that we can’t afford to lose.”

“Excellent work, Franz.” Bearclaw said. “Follow Lyudmila, and keep those files safe. But burn them too if you must, we cannot let them fall into the hands of the enemy.”

Franz nodded, and rushed through the open portal. Lyudmila began to step through it as well, then stopped and turned to Bearclaw. Without a word, she tossed the remote, and then stepped through into the void. A second later, the portal collapsed, leaving Bearclaw alone in the dim and dusty command room.

“All members of Jaeger Team, pull back to level four. Repeat, all members of Jaeger team, pull back to level four.”

Bearclaw walked back to his office, and began surveying the cramped, messy space. Countless documents and mementos covered every available surface. There were model Mewni Battleships, the skulls of some of the realm’s fiercest creatures, an old, rusted troll battleaxe, and, nailed to the wall behind Bearclaw’s overcrowded desk, a small portrait of the monster’s father.

It was funny, Bearclaw thought, ruminating over the memorabilia of a life spent fighting for freedom. Every decision, every action, and every mistake he’d ever made had, in some small way, helped lead to this moment.

“Level six has been compromised! All reinforcements, fall back to level-what do you mean, she’s already there? Son of a-PULL BACK, NOW!”

The sounds of battle were getting closer, now. For a moment, Bearclaw considered joining them-but then he remembered his withered legs, and his trembling arm. No, he thought sadly, his last battle was long behind him.

“Is anyone left on level eight? Please respond, repeat, please-OH S-“

With a screech, the PA went dead.

Slowly, Bearclaw walked over to his own broadcaster, a rusted, nearly-broken set of indeterminate age, nearly buried amidst the papers in his office. He personally hated using the unreliable device, but he couldn’t deny its usefulness. Now, he prayed it would work one last time.

“Attention Monsters,” he said, and was rewarded by the sound of his voice echoing throughout the base. “This is Commander Bearclaw speaking. Under my authority, the Kranz protocol is in now effect. The Spider’s Lair has fallen. Evacuate while you still can.”

He paused for a moment. “To all monsters who can still bear witness… it has been an honor, to fight by your sides.”

With nothing left to say, he switched the broadcaster off. Walking back out of his office, Bearclaw hobbled back over to the central table, set down his cane, and leaned on the table. By his count, it had been only ten minutes since he’d realized the base was doomed. Now, he estimated it had about three left.

She arrived in two.

Bearclaw couldn’t help but tremble as the door in front of him exploded open, shaking the room and filling it with a cloud of dust. Raising his arm to protect himself from the debris, Bearclaw quickly lowered it as he saw a shape emerge from the ruins before him.

And just like that, Star Butterfly appeared, clad in full Viking armor, her eyes and cheeks glowing an iridescent blue.

“Queen Butterfly,” Bearclaw said, clutching the table in front of him for support, “This was an unexpected visit.” He grinned slightly. He had been fighting since he could stand, and he would not show fear now. “Please, pardon our dust, my Queen,” he said sardonically, “After all, we hardly had any time to prepare for your arrival.”

“Can it.” Star demanded. Her words reverberated with power, and the room shook slightly. “My daughter. Where. Is. She.”

It wasn’t a question-it was a statement. In response, Bearclaw merely shook his head and laughed. “Why, my queen, I didn’t even know you had a daughter! Perhaps, you could give us a description?” He grinned wider, now, reveling in his defiance. “Maybe we could even put her picture on the back of a milk carton.”

The Queen stepped forward, the ground rumbling with each step. “Don’t you play with me. I know she was here. I know you took her somewhere. Tell. Me. Where.”

Bearclaw laughed. “Oh, Queen Butterfly, how little you know. Wherever else has happened, your daughter has not been kidnapped. Where she has gone, she went of her own free will.”

Instantly, Star ceased her advance, and the light in her eyes and cheeks faded. “…What? What do you mean by that?”

For a moment, Bearclaw almost pitied her-for in that instant, he heard not the voice of a ruthless monarch, but that of a desperate mother looking for her lost child.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Goodbye, Star Butterfly.”

With that, Bearclaw triggered the detonator. There was a quick series of rumbles throughout the base, as a dozen explosive charges tore through each of the critical structure points that the monsters had built to reinforce the old, crumbling foundations. Within seconds, the ceiling began to creak and groan-and before Bearclaw could react any further, it gave way completely to the onrushing weight of countless tons of mud and dirt.

In his last moments, Bearclaw wondered if he would see his father.

----------

Far away, Princess Constellation Butterfly was dreaming.

She was back at the castle, in her room. Outside, the sun shone brightly, trickling a warm ray of light through the window. For a moment, she felt safe.

Then, she saw it-her wand, hovering in the air. It made no sound, and remained motionless. As she looked at it, Connie was overcome with a sudden, paralyzing fear.

She turned to run away, but her path was suddenly blocked by a spectral image of her mother. The apparition towered over her, sneering with a look of disgust.

Connie fell to the floor and backed away. The walls of her room had fallen away, and all illusion of safety and security had been shattered. There was nothing now but an inky black void behind her mother, and there was nowhere Connie would be able to run.

Struggling to overpower the fear that gripped her heart, Connie glanced back and saw the Wand still hovering behind her. Avoiding the urge to retch, she ran up and grabbed the wand, and spun around to face her mother. But instead of Star Butterfly, it was Ludo who faced her-sneering vilely.

“Worthless,” the apparition said, speaking with her mother’s and Ludo’s voice. “Weak. An aberrant. A mistake.”

Her mind filled with shame, rage, and disgust, Connie did the only thing she could do: She woke up.

And found herself face-to-face with the snout of Grazgul looming over her bed, his hands only inches away from snatching the wand that lay beside her.

Connie had no time to think, only to react. Leaping out of bed, she snatched her wand out from under Grazgul’s claws and rolled onto the floor, scurrying to stand up as the massive monster spun around to face her. Before he could lunge at her, Connie leveled her wand and fired a spell directly into his chest, sending him flying backwards into the wall. The entire room shook with the tremendous impact, and when the unconscious monster slid to the floor, his falling body revealed a massive crack in the stone underneath.

Before she could react any further, Connie was knocked to the floor by a painful impact to her side. Landing hard on the cold ground, Connie involuntarily let the wand slip from her fingers, and the wand clattered against the floor and rolled away out of her reach. Above her, the lean figure of Clam Johnson scrambled after it, stretching his long, reedy fingers to scoop up the invaluable prize.

Connie, by now fully awake and feeling nothing but pain and rage, was having none of it. Reaching out, she grabbed Johnson’s leg and pulled the short, grubby goblin to the ground, sending him crashing hard into the stone floor. Howling with pain, Johnson nonetheless continued to stretch for the wand-but Connie pulled him back, and launched herself up. Kicking the goblin hard in the side, she saw the monster reflexively curl-and it gave her an opening to run up and scoop up the wand for herself. Swinging it up, her vision was suddenly filled with the image of Chef Frog bounding up towards her. Her heart skipped a beat, and she hesitated for a moment-but only just. Before Bulgolyubov could get any closer, he was struck by blast of magic in mid-air, sending him spiraling back into a wall head-first. The monster immediately crumpled to the floor, and did not move.

Breathing heavily, Connie swept the room with her wand. Another three monsters she didn’t recognize were still standing, but faced with the prospect of attacking the armed and alert princess, they paused.

Connie immediately took advantage of the opening. With a twirl of her wand, she blasted the monster to her right, sending him spiraling into a cabinet.

With that, the other two monsters looked at each other nervously, and charged.

Connie took aim at the center monster first, and shouted “Cactus Cyclone!” at the top of her lungs. A storm of knee-high cactuses immediately erupted from her wand, spinning around the monster and forcing him to fall back, covered in cactus juice and needles.

The monster on the right, however, was able to dodge the spell, and by the time Connie was able to shift targets the monster had already managed to close the distance. Desperately, Connie tried to launch a spell at the attacking monster-but it was too late. Ducking under her wand, the monster planted a fist squarely in Connie’s stomach, and the Princess was sent flying back into the wall. As her head hit the solid stone, Connie heard a loud CRACK, and her body spasmed with a massive, all-encompassing burst of pain. As she slid to the floor, the room in front of her began to shift into and out of focus, and a high-pitched ringing filled her ears. Fighting to keep her eyes open against the suddenly blinding light, Connie was able to do nothing but look on helplessly as her triumphant attacker strode towards her, his fists raised.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.”

As her vision slowly came back into focus, Connie watched as Ludo strolled into the room, glancing disapprovingly at the defeated monsters. “Jawsworth, was that really the best you could do? And Grazgul, really? You could have had the wand if you Had! Not! Hesitated!”

Ludo glared as he approached Connie. “And you, Princess. You barely wake up in time to save your wand, and once you have it, you can’t even beat six monsters? Your mother would have beaten ten!” He shook his head disapprovingly. “Pathetic.”

The bird sighed, and turned back to the groaning creatures that were only now picking themselves up off the floor. “Alright, get out of here you numbskulls. Princess, once you drag yourself off the floor, I want to see you in my office this afternoon. I want to go over Levitato again, after that shameful effort you showed me yesterday.”

After watching the battered and bruise monsters follow Ludo out of the room, Connie groaned as she tried to lean forward from the wall. Her head felt like it’d been split open, and the rest of her body ached horribly. She was covered in bruises, scrapes, and a new, nasty scar on her arm where a monster’s claw had gotten too close two weeks prior. As she’d discovered over the past three weeks, Ludo’s idea of “training” was, much like the monster himself, cruel, intense, and violent. Nearly every day was the same-an unending series of fights with the Front’s most fearsome and unyielding monsters, designed to push the Butterfly princess to the absolute limit. And even when that was finally over with, it was often followed by long, grueling sessions of practicing every spell she (And Ludo) knew.

Accustomed to years of living in peace, luxury, and security in the Butterfly Castle, life at the Eagle’s Nest was almost the polar opposite of what Connie had known. Her room was a cramped storage room she’d found in a disused corner of the complex, with little more than a straw mattress and coarse beddings for furnishings. It was cold and damp at the best of times, and sleep in this place was fleeting-and that was when Ludo wasn’t springing monsters on her to ambush her in her sleep, to wake her up for late-night or early-morning training, or simply for the sheer cruel amusement of it. During the day, when she wasn’t training, she was forced to steal food from the kitchens, take showers in the bitter cold snow runoff, and beg, borrow, and steal from the monsters everything else she needed to survive, from clothes to books. It was a brutal and harsh lifestyle, and every night, as she laid her aching body to sleep, she dreamed of being back in the castle.

She wanted to go home. She wanted to go back to sleeping on her massive four-poster bed, instead of a dirty mattress in a dark dungeon. She wanted to eat real food, instead of practically begging for scraps from the few monsters who felt more sympathy towards her than disgust. She wanted life to go back to normal, to the way it had been.

But she knew she couldn’t. Even though she was, as Ludo so often reminded her, free to give up and leave at any time, there was nowhere to go. She certainly couldn’t go back to the castle-from everything she’d heard, Renwick and Polaria had begun a veritable reign of terror, and she had no doubts that should she return, she’d be imprisoned-or worse.

One other option did exist, of course: her mother. If Connie were to somehow reunite with her mother, she was certain everything would go back to the way it had been-Renwick would be deposed, she’d go back to the castle, and all would be well. But nobody had even seen her mother since the night of her birthday celebration-there’d been rumors and whispers, but nothing remotely concrete. Chasing after Star Butterfly, at this point, would be like chasing after a ghost.

The worst of it all, however, was that a small part of her didn’t want to leave-because as much as it hurt, and as much as she hated her teacher, she knew Ludo’s training was working.

Grinning in spite of the pain, she looked down at her wand, and as she willed it, it glowed a bright red and hummed with magical energy. By the end of the first week of her training, she’d gained more control over the wand than she’d learned in six months. At this point in time, though her fighting skills were still severely lacking, she was more than capable of channeling magic and casting spells in almost any situation. Her proudest moment, in fact, had come only a few days prior, when one of the older monsters she’d been fighting with had stated that he hadn’t fought an opponent as fearsome as Connie since he’d fought her mother thirty years prior.

It was, in Connie’s eyes, the greatest compliment she’d ever received.

Fighting through the pain, Connie stood up, and winced when she felt the back of her head. Part of her wanted to go back to bed, but the last time she’d done that, Ludo had sent some monsters to ambush her again-and besides, she was hungry.

Strolling through the dimly lit corridors of the Eagle’s Nest, Connie did her best to try and shuffle past the various monsters she saw without incident. In the time she’d been here, she hadn’t made friends, exactly, but she’d been accepted-at least as accepted as a Butterfly could be in a den of monsters. Though a few greeted her with a scowl, the majority of the monsters she passed simply ignored her, a few greeted her with a nod or grunt.

That was, until she came across a familiar face. “I heard you beat up my brother today, Princess!” Razgriz said, chuckling as Connie approached.

“Is he alright?” Connie asked. “I hit him against the wall pretty hard. I didn’t mean to-“

“Princess, please.” Razgriz said, raising his hand. “My brother is made of stern stuff, he will be fine. And besides, on the battlefield, you do not have time for restraint. Frankly, he would be disappointed if you didn’t give it your all, even in training.”

He then lowered his voice, and whispered “Plus, he bet me he could take the wand without waking you, so frankly I would have been disappointed if you held back.”

Connie giggled. Of all the monsters in the Eagles Nest, it had been Grazgul and Razgriz who had done the most to take her in as one of their own. This hadn’t earned them much popularity-Connie still received plenty of wary glares from monsters suspicious of her true allegiance, and threats from those who viewed any member of the Butterfly family as an enemy. But they’d done everything in their power to make her feel safe and accepted, a stark reversal from the way Ludo had treated her.

Of course, as Grazgul had told her, the Boss treating her poorly, if anything, should make her feel more accepted-after all, he treated everyone poorly.

“So, what torture does the Boss plan on putting you through next?” Razgriz said.

Connie sighed. “He said Levitato, but knowing him, he’s probably planning on me practicing it all day to get it right, and then throwing me at some other thing I’ve never even heard of.”

“That does sound like the Boss.” Razgriz nodded. “He is a devious monster, to be sure.”

He chuckled. “Why, I remember when I and my brothers first joined, he had us-“

Suddenly, an alarm began blaring loudly throughout the base. For a moment, both Connie and Razgriz stood, shocked. Connie had never heard the alarm before, and by the looks of it neither had Razgriz.

“Come with me, Princess.” Razgriz said. Connie felt no reason to object, and she followed the tall, bulky lizard man as turned and began marching in the direction of the foyer. As they moved through the tunnel, they were forced to shove their way through a veritable crowd of scurrying monsters-some moving with purpose to their assigned stations, like Razgriz, and others clearly fleeing in a blind panic. It was all Connie could do to avoid getting bogged down and trampled in the scrum-but she managed to stay on her feet and keep Razgriz in sight as they moved through the lower levels of the base.

As they got closer to the foyer, Connie began seeing more and more monsters she’d never seen before-many sporting ghastly burns and gashes on their person. The floor gradually became more and more slick with blood, and Connie’s stomach curdled at the sight and sounds of the wounded monsters around them.

Once they finally arrived in the entrance hall, Connie gasped. Nearly every square foot of space on the ground was taken up by wounded monsters, each one the clear-victim of a bloody battle. Beyond them, more monsters were slowly being led in through the narrow doorway to the mountain cavern, nearly all of them staggering from either grievous wounds or sheer shock.

Connie clapped her hands to her mouth, shocked. Razgriz remained stoic, and strode over to a tall, purple arthropod-like monster.

As he approached, she turned and nodded. “Razgriz.”

“Lyudmila, what is going on here? What happened?”

The monster sighed, a process that involved a flare of gills along her back and the shrugging of her top two appendages. “We were attacked. The Spider’s Nest has fallen.”

Razgriz looked shocked. “How? The Spider’s Nest was our mightiest fortress in Mewman lands!”

Lyudmila shook her head. “It happened so quickly, Razgriz. One minute, everything was fine-and the next, we were all fighting for our lives.”

Razgriz shook his head, and leaned against a wall for support. “I just do not understand how the Mewmans could have done such a thing! Any force large enough to cause this much damage surely should have been spotted by our patrols long before they arrived!”

As she prepared to answer, Lyudmila spied Connie, and her mandibles curled into a scowl. “It was not the Mewmans, Razgriz. It was Queen Butterfly herself.”

Razgriz gasped, and in that moment, Connie felt an overpowering sense of dread. Looking all around her, she suddenly felt overwhelmed by the scale of the carnage around her. She knew her mother was powerful, and she’d heard stories of how fearsome she was in battle. But had she really done this? To the monsters that had taken her in, when she had nowhere else to run?

As she contemplated the horrific scene before her, Connie barely noticed the argument raging in front of her-until a massive, segmented appendage was thrust in her direction.

“What the hell is that thing even still doing here!” Lyudmila shouted. “We fight and die, and the Boss keeps that thing around and trains her like some kind of pet! And now, the Spider’s Lair is gone, and you just know they’re going to come here next!”

“Lyudmila, please.” Razgriz said. “This is not the time for-“

“If not now, when?” Another monster, a tall, wolf-like creature covered in heavy armor plating, strode towards Connie, his sword held in his hand. “Every day, the Butterflies gather their forces. Every day, more monsters are killed or forced to flee their own homes. And every day, one of them sleeps and breathes in our greatest fortress, learning our secrets!” He turned angrily to Razgriz. “You and your brother may tolerate this Mewman filth, Razgriz, but I shall not! Not after this.”

Shaking, Connie turned and looked around. All of the monsters were staring at her, and as the latest declaration echoed through the halls, she felt a wave of fear rush through her.

But, beneath the fear, there was another emotion: Anger. Defiance.

And, as Ludo had been training her to do, she took that anger, and held onto it like an anchor.

“Frankly, I don’t care what the Boss has to say anymore.” The wolf-monster continued. “She’s still a Butterfly, we all know that! I say we-“

He never saw the blast coming. It hit him in his side, sending him spiraling across the floor and landing in a heap.

Hissing loudly, Lyudmila charged her. But though the monster was fast, Connie was faster-and after a second blast of light and magic, Lyudmila too was thrown to the ground.

“Well?!” Connie shouted, raising her sparking wand, “Anyone else have anything to say?”

She was met with silent stares-but she didn’t care. “What the hell makes any of you think I’m on their side?” She shouted. “You think they didn’t chase me out of my home? That they didn’t try to kill my family? That they wouldn’t just kill me if they thought they could get away with it?” She laughed-a high pitched, manic laugh she would have barely recognized as her own. “But if that’s the way you want it, fine, I’ll leave! I’ll leave, and you, and the boss, and my mom, and Renwick and everyone else can go burn the entire kingdom down for all I care!”

Razgriz looked pained, and reached out. “Princess-“

Connie ignored him, and stomped off through the first tunnel she came too. For a few minutes, she simply marched forward, furious at the monsters, at her mother, and at herself. To hell with the monsters. To hell with her training! She’d leave here, and she’d… she’d…

Her anger was subsiding now, and her rage was slowly being replaced with the same old doubts and fears. Nothing had changed-she still had nowhere else to go! What was she doing? How could she just-

Connie did her best to push those thoughts aside. At the moment, she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was get out of here and-

“Connie!”

She turned, surprised. Chef Frog was bounding towards her, breathing heavily. As he landed near her, he took a second to catch his breath, clutching his stomach. “The Boss… he wants to see you, he said. Is urgent.”

At the mention of the Boss, Connie nearly turned around and marched off then and there-but she forced herself to calm down and relax. “Chef Frog,” she said, “The last thing I want to do right now is see the boss. Can’t you just-“

“Connie, please.” Chef Frog said, interrupting Connie. “I overheard what you said, and… I do not wish to see you go. You must forgive Lyudmila and the others, they do not know you like I do.”

Connie looked away from Chef Frog. “So what? It doesn’t matter, they’re still right. I’m not a monster. I’m a Butterfly. I don’t belong here.”

“You might be a Butterfly, Connie, but don’t you see?” Chef Frog pleaded, placing his hand on Connie’s shoulder. “You could help monsters! You are more powerful than any monster here. You have your wand! You could defeat your family, and bring justice to this wretched kingdom!”

Connie stepped back. The anger and frustration she’d felt had vanished almost instantly, drowned out entirely by the impact of the monster’s suggestion. “Chef Frog, I don’t… I…”

Her reaction was clearly not the one the monster had been hoping for, and he shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, perhaps I expected too much.”

“Chef Frog, no, I just-“

“No, I understand,” he said, smiling sadly. “I could not ask you to turn against your own family, and I should not have expected you to. If you wish to leave, you know I will not stop you.”

Connie bit her lip, caught in a moment of inner turmoil. “I just don’t know, Chef Frog.”

The monster chuckled sadly. “Who does? It is not I.”

The princess sighed. “So, what did the boss want to see me about?”

A faint glimmer of hope sparked in Chef Frog’s eye. “I do not know, but it sounded urgent. If you decide you wish to see him, I would leave quickly. You know he hates to wait.”

Connie nodded. “I guess, I’ll, uh, see you, then.”

Chef Frog reached over and gave Connie a hug. She accepted it gladly, then turned and began walking towards Ludo’s lair.

As she navigated the tunnels of the base, her mind raced with the implications of what Chef Frog had suggested. On the face of it, the very idea seemed insane. Use the power of the wand against her own family? It went against everything she’d ever grown up believing in.

But then again, she reflected darkly, it wasn’t as though the rest of the family had exactly adhered to the ideals and values they’d tried to instill in her. Even before Renwick and Polaria’s coup, she’d known her extended family to be vicious, devious, and cruel. Her mother had told her it hadn’t always been like that-when she’d been growing up, they’d been competitive and ambitious, certainly, but not murderous. But whatever they used to be, Connie thought, That doesn’t really change what they are now, does it?

And, her mother… Connie trembled involuntarily as images of bloody bodies and screaming monsters flashed through her mind. A part of her simply couldn’t believe that the woman who’d raised her was capable inflicting the carnage that she’d seen-but at this point, she wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

Finally, she arrived at the Boss’s office. Entering Ludo’s lair, she saw the diminutive monster was already waiting for her, standing in the middle of the room and contemplating the large map of Mewni on the wall. As she approached, she saw him turn and glare at her with his one good eye.

“Planning to leave us so soon, Princess?” he asked.

She stared. “How did you-“

“Oh Princess, please.” He said. Don’t you know the walls have ears?” He paused. “And occasionally, microphones. Not that I needed them, I could have heard that outburst from here.”

Connie sighed. “So what if I do leave? This whole time, you said I was free to go if I wished. Are you changing your mind?”

As she spoke, the wand began to crackle with magic energy. “Because if you do, you can’t stop me.”

“Keep you here?” Ludo rolled his eye. “Princess, do you realize why I called you to my office?”

Connie hesitated to respond, confused. “No, but-“

“Oh, really? Well, allow me to enlighten you.” Ludo said. “I allowed you to stay here out of the goodness of my heart. And what has it brought me and my monsters? The Spider’s Lair is destroyed. Dozens of monsters are missing or wounded. And your mother, who need I remind you is an individual I am not fond of, is still unaccounted for, and is undoubtedly planning an elaborate assault on this base as we speak.”

“But that’s not-“

“Frankly, Princess, I don’t care.” Ludo said. “This whole ‘training’ thing has been fun, but the free ride is over. I want you out of this base, and our of my feathers.”

Connie stepped back, shocked. “But, you can’t-I just-“

“I can’t what?” Ludo flapped his arm in a shooing-away motion. “I can’t do this? Well I’m sorry, because I just did.”

It felt like the world was spinning. Only a few minutes ago, she’d been set to leave of her own volition-but now, forced upon her like this, it felt like a stab in the gut.

Her mind raced. She didn’t really want to leave, not yet! She still had so much to learn about magic, and about the wand! The thought of losing her teacher was, in that moment, unbearable-as unbearable as that teacher may have been.

Her thoughts turned back to her conversation with Chef Frog-and in an instant, the unthinkable suddenly became her only option.

“Well?” Ludo said impatiently. “Are you going to go or what?”

“Wait! I can… I can help you!” Connie blurted out. The moment the words left her lips, she immediately regretted it-but, they caused Ludo to raise an eye.

“Help me?” Ludo asked. “And what, perchance, does that entail?”

“I could… I could help you against my aunt and uncle!” Connie said. “I hate them too!”

Ludo looked her over with a calculating expression. “Really.” He said. “You, the crown princess, would take the side of monsters over your own family? To help topple the Butterfly Kingdom, once and for all?”

Connie stepped back, biting her lip. “Well-“

“And you would defend us against your mother, who apparently actively working to destroy everything we’ve worked to build?”

“I-“

“Princess, the offer is sweet, really, but let me put it bluntly.” Ludo said harshly. “You are a Butterfly like the rest of your family. And let me tell you, I have known the Butterflies for years. They are deceptive, conniving, and would stab you in the back for any hint of power. Your grandmother was no different. Your mother was no different. And you, girl, will be no different. You would take everything you learn from me, and then lead your mother straight to this monster haven. And then you could go back to your precious castle, and you could grow up to be another queen, sitting atop a throne of monster skulls. Is that right?”

Connie stared at Ludo, aghast. “No! That’s not-I’m not like that! You know I’m not like that!”

“Then prove it.” Ludo said. “Denounce your family. Renounce your throne.”

“I-“

“Well?”

There was silence in the chamber for an uncomfortably long period of time.

“I denounce my family.” Connie finally whispered.

“And?”

She gulped. Her throat felt as though it were made of sandpaper. “I renounce my throne.”

Ludo sighed, and leaned back in his chair. “Well, it’s a start. I’ll see you in the morning, I still want to go over Levitato, your efforts yesterday were absolutely dreadful.”

Speechless, Connie staggered out of the room. She felt as though she could barely move her legs, and her wand felt as though it were an anchor.

In the darkness, Ludo watched as the former Princess left the room. And once she was gone, he smiled. Next Chapter

#Star Queen of Mewni #star butterfly #ludo avarius #star vs the forces of evil #svtfoe #fanfic #fast writing bad writing #Man I'm really not happy with this chapter but it could be worse I Guess

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cmc-alumni · 5 years

Photo

19TH STREET, Manhattan

In mid-September 2008 I embarked on my first Forgotten mission after a brief, but horrendous battle with a stomach flu of some kind that struck on September 11th, of all dates, a couple of hours after a meal of baked chicken and boiled frozen vegetables. (Even now, in mid-October, your webmaster hasn’t returned to frozen corn, beans or peas, but I know I have to eventually for the sake of health; I have been depending on salads for vegetative intake). So, I opted for a relatively brief hike on 19th Street, which I had found interesting some monhs back and filed a mental note to revisit. Not only did I find interesting architectural elements, but also some oblique references to my own life, as we’ll see…

The Joyce Theatre, at 8th Avenue and 19th, is a 472-seat dance performace venue opened in 1982 in the renovated and remodeled Elgin Theatre, opened in 1942, that had come on hard times in the 1970s as a porno palace — the renovation was suprvised by architect Hugh Hardy, whose Radio City Music Hall tour I attended — he revived RCMH as well — as part of Open House NY in 2008.

Your webmaster is not a ballet or modern dance fan, but I note the theatre because it is named for one of the founders of one of my workplaces. Joyce Mertz-Gilmore along with her parents, Harold and LuEsther Mertz, founded Publishers Clearing House, the premier direct marketing company in the country, in their basement in Sands Point, NY, in 1953. photo: wikipedia

The Joyce Theatre exists in great part due to the philanthropic efforts of LuEsther Mertz.

Directly across the Joyce, on 8th Avenue and 19th, was a Blimpie where I would get lunch once a week while employed at an international-language typesetter, ANY Phototype, on West 29th. In June 1990 I acquired one of my worst-ever stomach flus (until this year) at that Blimpie. Look, it made me remember the place. It was decorated unusually: it was filled with house plants.

I’ve only been in the Peter McManus Cafe, at 7th Avenue and W. 19th, once — in 1993, I had just gotten out of class at the School of Visual Arts, went in and called a friend to meet me there, whence we went to see The Fugitive, the Harrison Ford version. (I had a splitting headache that day.)

McManus looks as if it has been here forever, but it isn’t nearly as old as, say, the Old Town Bar or the granddaddy, McSorley’s Ale House. It has been owned and operated by the McManus family since it opened in 1936.

Looking south on 7th Avenue toward the old Barney’s. Several new residential towers have appeared on this stretch in the last few years (not at the fever pitch of 6th Avenue in the West 20s, though). Dominating the landscape is the new Coke bottle-green-glass-clad Yves Chelsea tower at West 18th. The penthouse will go for $10M, at least it was going to before all the Wall Street hotshots, bankers, and ill-advised real estate buyers tanked the economy.

Speaking of the economy, the last time your webmaster was out of work, all my unemployment check arrangements were handled electronically and there was less of a need to cut up paperwork before throwing it away. Nevertheless there will always be a neeed for scissors and shears, and that’s where Griffon came in. According to faded ad historian Walter Grutchfield, the Griffon Cutlery Works was founded by Albert Silberstein in 1888 and was located here on West 19th between 1920 and 1968. As you can see from the link the ad was in much better shape in 1986, and time is gradually taking a toll.

Note the palimpsest at the bottom. The company changed from “Works” to “Corporation” in the 1940s and painted over Works with Corp. Both are showing up now.

This sign is also an “example” of unnecessary quotation “marks.” They��re all over the place.

Pinking shears, by the way, are shears with jagged edges, used to cut thick cloth.

2008, meet 1908 along the south side of West 19th just east of 7th Avenue.

The Henry Siegel-Frank Cooper Dry Goods store, built in 1895 and in business until 1914, is the largest of the 6th Avenue Ladies’ Mile emporia, containing 15.5 acres of floor space. It used to have a clock tower as well as a large fountain, since removed and placed in Forest Lawn Cemetery in Los Angeles. A ramp from the old Sixth Avenue El (razed in 1938) allowed passengers to walk directly into the store from the platform on the 18th Street side. This is Beaux Arts at its most Beaux.

The store pioneered the use of free samples, female salespersons, and air conditioning as customer inducements, and one of its mottoes was “Everything Under The Sun.” Industrialist/barbed-wire king John Warne Gates once made a bet with financier J. P. Morgan that the boast was just rhetorical. Gates asked a floorwalker if the store sold elephants, whereupon he was directed to the toy department; Gates responded that he meant a real elephant. The representative asked him what color, Gates responded “white” and the answer was “we’ll let you know the delivery date.” A few weeks later Gates received a telegram informing him his order would be arriving the next day at the docks: an albino elephant shipped from Ceylon. Gates paid Morgan the bet and donated the pachyderm to the Central Park Zoo.

I see something new every time I pass or enter the Siegel-Cooper building. For example, here is one of the intertwined S/C’s that flank the arched entrance.

All 4 corners of West 19th and 6th are held down bu beautiful buildings of varying beauty and fame. On the NW corner (above right) is the Simpson-Crawford Building, constructed in 1900 and home to the titular store until 1915. The store popularized the phrase, “if you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it” and indeed the store eschewed the use of sales tags.

A Greek Revival building on the NE corner (above right) is home to a Sports Authority. Paragon, on Broadway between East 17th and 18th Streets since 1908, is the big sports dog in the area.

At the SW corner (left) we see the first Benjamin Altman Building from 1876-1906, whereupon the store moved to a massive building that filled an entire block between 5th, Madison, East 34th and East 35th Streets, where it was in business for the following 83 years. Altman opened his first store at 3rd Avenue and east 10th Street in 1865.

At a time when real estate has gotten so prohibitively expensive that even big retailers like Barnes and Noble are forced out by high rents (as they were from their 6th Avenue and West 22nd Street location in 2008) it’s comforting to know that Apex Tech is still holding down the corner plot on West 19th. The school offers training in automotive, refrigeration, electrical, plumbing, carpentry, welding and auto repair since 1961.

Throughout the 1980s, when local channels 5, 9 and 11 were independently owned and showed mostly reruns and movies, the Apex tech commercials featuring the mustachioed Apex Tech Guy were a staple. His catchphrase was “Now, I can’t call you…”

Naturally, he doesn’t utter the famous phrase in this vintage Apex tech spot, but you get the idea…

A couple of midblock views between 5th and 6th Avenues. 35 West 19th, on the right, now home to Sala, a Spanish restaurant, is notable for being the longtime home of The Magickal Childe, ostensibly an occult bookstore but also featuring hexerei of the weird such as voodoo dolls, herbs used in potions, tarot cards and wicca (not witchcraft to devotees) paraphernalia. The Charmed girls would have fit right in.

The Cluett Building at 22-28 West 19th runs right through the block to 19-23 West 18th. The name of the building stirred a memory. Walter Grutchfield: The building was constructed in 1901/02 as the New York headquarters of Cluett, Peabody & Co. of Troy, NY. They were collar manufacturers and created the Arrow brand of detachable shirt collars. According to the Free Dictionary, “About 1905 the company began an advertising campaign that featured an idyllic young man wearing an Arrow shirt with the detached collar… Hundreds of printed advertisements were produced from 1907 to 1930 featuring the Arrow Collar Man. The fictional Arrow collar man became an icon and by 1920 received more than 17 thousand fan letters a day.”

I had to reach deep in the ForgottenArchives for this: Cluett, Peabody was a name I heard frequently in youth; both my grandmother and my mother (who I indicated, at left, in the photo of a company gathering that I’d estimate was from the early 1950s) worked at the Troy, NY company in the 1940s and 1950s.

Free Dictionary again: In the early 1920′s Cluett, Peabody & Co. began manufacturing their shirts with attached collars in response to consumer demand and became the most successful company in the U.S. at that time. Their sales increased to 4 million collars a week and arrow shirts with attached collars were being exported to foreign ports such as Jakarta, Indonesia, Java and the Belgian Congo. The Arrow Collar Man campaign ended in 1930 having been one of the most successful advertising campaigns in history.

My mother, of course, is the most attractive woman in the picture.

The Flatiron Lounge at 37 West 19th takes its name, of course, from the famed Fuller (Flatiron) Building at 5th Avenue, Broadway and 23rd Street.

I’m rarely in Sam Flax but only because I fear that when I’m in here, I’ll spend too much. Flax is second only to Pearl Paint in providing art supplies and everything necessary for putting pen or brush to paper. I hope its locale between 19th and 20th Streets west of 5th Avenue isn’t closing.

LEFT: Idlewild Books, a new travel book store, has become one of my new favorites (especially since the ForgottenBook is displayed prominently within). “Idlewild” was the old name for John F. Kennedy International Airport. Good luck, though, in the shadow of the Barnes and Noble flagship at 5th and East 18th.

At the SE corner of 5th Avenue and West 19th is the Arnold, Constable Building, yet another former department store.

Jim Naureckas, NY Songlines: Nine West, Victoria’s Secret are in former department store (1869-1914) that took up the entire block from 5th to 6th avenues; founded by Aaron Arnold and son-in-law James Constable, it offered “Everything From Cradle to Grave.” Mary Todd Lincoln was a frequent customer, as well as Carnegies, Rockefellers and Morgans.

Another Constable building can be found on Canal Street.

Briton Arthur Arnold opened a dry goods store in 1825 and took on James Constable as a partner in 1842. After the firm thrived for over a century, the last Arnold Constable store, at 5th Avenue and 40th Street, closed in 1975. (The comma, like the New York Times period, has disappeared along the way, so latterday customers thought an Arnold Constable was the original shopkeeper.)

Two narrow 1900-era towers flank West 19th Street at 5th Avenue. The building on the right was the longtime home of Weiss & Mahoney Army & Navy store and the former locale of the 5th Avenue Presbyterian Church (1852-1875). Your webmaster’s first job out of school was in 150 5th Avenue, a block away on 20th.

A pair of great escapes on East 19th between 5th Avenue and Broadway.

ABOVE: ABC Carpet, SE corner Broadway and East 19th, formerly W&J Sloane Furniture. RIGHT: contrast 35 and the Modernist 37 East 19th. 35 was the residence of Horace Greeley, editor, abolitionist and politician, from 1850-1853.

LEFT: NW corner Park Avenue South and East 19th, new tower tries for a Starrett-Lehigh vibe but doesn’t quite get there; I prefer the Doric-columned neo Renaissance apartment building at 105.

The American Woolen Building actually is entered on 221-227 Park Avenue South (marked with a ram’s head), while this, at 102-104 East 19th, is the freight entrance.

I’ve always loved the corner apartment building at 81 Irving Place and 123 East 19th — it’s festooned with dozens of terra cotta gnomes. And more gnomes.

For this 14-story apartment house, architect George Pelham, one of New York’s most active apartment-house designers, exploited the requirements of the zoning law to create an exuberant design [in 1929-1930] with dramatic setbacks and a striking rooftop pavilion surrounding the water tower. The building, planned with 107 small apartments, is faced with brick, often laid in intricate patterns to add excitement to the facades. The building is ornamented wth beige terra-cotta detail of a very high quality. Terra-cotta features include columns, balconies, and gargoyles embellished with animal heads, monsters, and other fanciful detail. NYC Architecture

The figure below right seems to be influenced by cartoonist R.F. Outcault’s 1890s creation, the Yellow Kid.

East 19th changes character, rather abruptly, for the block between Irving Place and 3rd Avenue and transforms itself into a tree-lined, suburban-style stretch dotted with small brick buildings, carriage houses and cottages. The tone is set by the ivy-covered NE corner building. Pete’s Tavern is one block south of here at East 18th.

In the early 20th Century the creative community had a great presence on this block, which was home to actresses Theda Bara, Dorothy and Lillian Gish, Ethel Barrymore and Helen Hayes; playwrights, authors and activists F. Scott Fitzgerald, John Reed, Emma Goldman and Eugene O’Neill were visitors.

There’s some riotous terra cotta tilework on the north side of the block; much of it is the work of architect Frederick Sterner and artist Richard Winthrop Chandler.

146 East 19th was home to painter George Bellows from 1910-1925, a man who lived the high life. “I went there in the evening a young girl and came away in the morning an old woman,” as Ethel Barrymore once said. Bellows, along with Edward Hopper, studied under Robert Henri at the NY School of Art and became a luminary in the modernistic Ashcan School. Possibly Bellows’ most famous painting was his depiction of Luis Firpo (“The Wild Bull of the Pampas”) knocking Jack Dempsey through the ropes in the first round in a 1923 fight. Dempsey recovered to KO Firpo in the second round. Artist Eric Joyner does a takeoff on Bellows’ vision in The Final Blow.

At 226 3rd Avenue on the NW corner is a terrific painted sign for the Piccolo restaurant.

The block of East 19th between 3rd and 2nd Avenues is dominated by the rather forbidding Mother Cabrini Medical Center, originally Columbus Hospital. Andy Warhol was treated here when he was shot by Valerie Solanas in 1968.

Saint Frances Xavier Cabrini (1850-1917), the first US Citizen to be canonized as a saint by the Roman Catholic Church, founded the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart and established 67 orphanages throughout the USA , South America and Europe. Since 1931 her preserved remains have been displayed at Mother Cabrini Shrine in Fort Washington in upper Manhattan on a street named in her honor, Cabrini Boulevard.

Some bits of an increasingly retreating Little Old New York in the easternmost segment of East 19th, between 2nd and 1st Avenues.

We’ve already seen an item on 19th Street that reminded me of my mother. Here’s one that reminds me of the old man, who worked at Stuyvesant Town from 1955-1988 as a custodian. The apartment complex was constructed in the 1947 by Metropolitan Life Insurance Company; Peg Leg Pete, the Director-General of New Amsterdam, lived in this site on his farm in the late 1600s. It was championed by Robert Moses as part of his slum-clearance program in mid-century. When first opened, the complex would not rent to African-Americans, and the discrimination was held up in court. “Stuy Town” reversed the policy several years later. For many years, though the project didn’t have the necessary wiring for air conditioning, the waiting list for an apartment was quite long. The list was abolished when Met Life set about converting and upgrading the apartments to market rents beginning in 2006. Your webmaster foolishly never asked to get on “the list”, though Stuy Town would no doubt be trying to get my rent stabilized self out if I lived there now!

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totallyrhettro · 7 years

Text

The Lone Jedi, Chapter 1

Word Count: 2185 Rating: This chapter: PG. Overall story: explicit Warnings: Depictions of blood and injury Summary: Jedi Knight Rhett McLaughlin managed to escape the purge of the Emperor to become one of the last of his celibate order. After years of a solitary life, he finds himself with a former slave for a friend. Despite his efforts to maintain anonymity and the jedi code, he starts to realize that doing either is easier said than done. Notes: Star Wars AU; Events take place between episodes III and IV

*See the end of each chapter for additional notes on star wars terms*

Link POV

On a remote planet, Andasala, out among the outer worlds, was a small mining colony run by one Jor Hutt, a disgusting gangster and slaver. He had thousands of slaves, most of whom worked mining rare ores for him, which he sold off world for profit. He never dealt with those slaves personally, however, leaving that to his overseers. Instead he preferred to spend his time at his home or cantina, watching various other, more exotic and cared-for slaves entertain him. One of those slaves was a shaggy-haired brunet named Link. Link was born a slave, raised a slave, lived as a slave his entire life. He didn't know any other way to exist. When he was old enough, he was taken from his family and his home in the mining camps to serve in the cantina of his master, Jor, and learned the trade of entertainer. He danced and sang with the best of them, quickly becoming one of, if not the favorite, of Jor and his staff. By the time he was seventeen, he was treated like a prince. He wanted for nothing and was very happy. He began to sense things were changing when he was in his mid-twenties. Where he was used to performing for the beloved master himself, he found he wasn't being requested as much anymore. Younger and, in his opinion, more beautiful slaves were being called to dance for Jor. Link meanwhile was dancing for the slave drivers and mine overseers. He was more confused than insulted, wondering what he had done wrong to lose his master's favor. When he turned thirty his life as a cantina dancer was over. Link didn't understand why, but he just wasn't wanted anymore. Being in peak physical condition he was still a viable worker and the Hutt reassigned him to work in the mines with the lower slaves. He was devastated. It wasn't the fact that he was demoted to a menial laborer, destined to work in the dirty caves for the rest of his life, or the fact he had lost his home in the lap of luxury. No, it was the fact that for the first time he saw himself as having no value. If his master didn't want him then, in Link's own eyes, he was worthless. It was at least a week's journey traveling to the mining camps with the caravan. Shipments of slaves, equipment and goods were being transported on a few cargo carriers, with what must have been the absolute bare minimum of security. A large group of guards wasn't seen as necessary; anyone willing to steal from a Hutt had to be a fool, or incredibly desperate. About halfway to their destination, the caravan made a stop at a small forest village to trade for supplies, mostly food. Link, along with the other slaves bound for the mines, wasn't aloud to explore the town, but was being stored like a commodity in one of the cargo holds. He was on the side of the carrier, able to peer through tiny slits built in mostly as air holes. He couldn't see the village very well, but he could see well enough. He watched as the villagers went about their daily business. A Hutt caravan was a fairly common occurrence and a welcome source of income. Link watched, with mild interest, as some of them traded with the mine overseers. Looking beyond his immediate surroundings, he saw a few people shopping in a market close by. One figure stood out among them, being taller than anyone else in the square. Well over six feet this mysterious man wore a simple brown robe. His skin was slightly tanned, revealing he wasn't a native of the sun-deprived woods. Link continued to watch this man and wonder about who he was as he moved about the marketplace. He'd never seen anyone like him. His dirty blond hair was long, swept up and back, and he had a big, bushy beard to match. Link rubbed his own stubbly beard absent-mindedly. He had never grown a beard before; his master didn't like it. He wondered if he would be able to shave it off once he was in his new home. When he looked again the tall man had turned, facing the caravan. He was so close now Link could see his eyes. They were green, almost like the moss that grew in dark secret places in the forest. He had never seen eyes like those before and he instantly felt drawn to them. Those eyes were watching the traders talking to the caravan guards, but Link couldn't hear. After a few minutes, the man walked off, out of his view. Link craned his neck, trying to see where he went, even pushing other slaves to get a better look but to no avail. The stranger was gone and Link felt sorrow that he would never see him, or his like, ever again. The caravan didn't stay at the village very long. The recently purchased rations were handed out to the people in the cargo holds, and soon they were back on the path towards the mining camp. The caravan had only traveled a few hours away from the town that Link heard the first shot. He couldn't see where it came from, but he could hear it ricochet off the hull with a bang. Seconds later, more shots rang out, pounding the vehicle ahead of him. He saw it veer harshly to the side, crashing into a rather large tree. Shouts echoed through the cargo hold as the slaves began to panic. Link was scared too, but didn't make a sound. He was paralyzed in fear, gripping the slits in the wall until his knuckles turned white. More shots were heard, this time closer. The ship he was in rocked suddenly to the side, knocking everyone into one another. The dark-haired slave fell away from the side, losing sight of the woods completely. He fell on top of the other people in a mass of tangled limbs. A large explosion echoed through the forest behind them and he felt the shock wave hit the cargo hold he was in. Suddenly, a mass of steel broke through the rear hull, tearing a huge hole in the bulkhead. Link struggled to get to his feet as the other slaves swarmed around him, desperate to flee the oncoming wreckage that was now piercing the vessel. When he finally able to stand, he was separated from the group. Everyone had rushed towards the bow of the carrier, pleading to be released from their prison. Link ran to join them, unwilling to be left behind. Just as he reached the mob, an elbow came out of nowhere and hit him hard, right in the face. He felt a sharp pain in his nose, and the unfamiliar warmth of blood starting to run down lips. Then there was only blackness. ~

Link woke up what must have been hours later. The sun had long since set, covering the forest in darkness. Though he couldn't see it through the incredibly dense canopy, the moon and stars were shining brightly far above him. The sounds of battle that had raged outside had ceased. The only sound that registered in his ears was the flicker of flames coming from somewhere nearby. His head pounded as he slowly sat up from the cold metal floor. The horde of slaves stampeding to escape was gone; he was alone in the cargo hold. The light from the fire burning outside barely lit the room, revealing the hatch nearby had been forced open. Link wobbled to his feet, slightly woozy, and stumbled towards the exit. In the darkness he failed to see just how ragged the edges of the opening were and he slit open the palm of his right hand as he grabbed onto it for leverage. "Ah!" he exclaimed, pulling back. Tears welled up in his eyes from the pain and he looked down at the blood pouring from his hand. He had never seen blood this close before. On rare occasions he had seen other slaves reprimanded so badly that they bled, but it was always too far away for him to see clearly. Now, seeing his own blood, he felt light headed. Closing his eyes, he forced himself not to heave only with great effort. When the wave of nausea passed he opened his eyes, careful not to look at his hand anymore, and looked back at the hatch. Moving cautiously, he made his way out of the hole and into the night. The fire, his only source of light, was coming from the wreckage of the crashed vehicle in front of him. Behind him a third cargo carrier lay in ruins. Scattered on the ground all about him where signs of battle: dropped weapons and fallen guards lay dead at his feet. He couldn't see their faces clearly and he was glad for that. He didn't see any sign of the other slaves, or the bandits that had attacked the caravan. He was alone and very much afraid. He stepped carefully across the battlefield, his thin sandals providing poor protection from the wreckage-covered ground. As he wandered about, looking for other survivors, he heard another unfamiliar sound. It was a low growl and he froze in his tracks. He turned slowly to find the source. Underneath the arch of a fairly large piece of debris, slices of flesh hanging loosely from its jowls, was a creature he had only seen in the arena: a nexu. Three feet tall, nearly nine feet long, the cat-like beast looked much bigger at this short distance. It's four beady eyes glared through the dim light at Link, who felt glued to the spot. As he watched, the nexu crept forward on four legs, each ending in paws tipped with fierce claws that could easily slice a man in two. Long spikes twitched on its back and a whip-like tail swooped behind it, but it was the massive maw filled with razor-sharp teeth that kept Link's eyes transfixed. It seemed to grin maniacally at him, reveling in his terror, as it slowly padded towards him. A second growl pulled the brunet's gaze from the first beast to a second appearing from behind another pile of debris. It was slightly smaller, but no less frightening. Link felt his heart pounding, suddenly aware of his body's proximity to the creatures, and the adrenaline that flowed through his veins hit a peek. Not sure where he was going he started running, ducking aimlessly into the forest. Link was quick on his feet from years of rigorous dancing, but the animals were faster. He weaved through the thick underbrush but the nexus were closing in. The light from the wreckage was quickly eaten up by the forest and soon he was running through almost pitch-black shadows. He held back a yelp as he stumbled in the darkness, falling to the ground. Immediately he tried to get back up but a nexu was on him in a flash. For a moment he was certain he would be torn apart, but the other nexu leapt at the first, determined to take this prey for its own. The two beasts rolled off of the man, seemingly forgetting that he was still alive. Not waiting to see which beasts would win, Link scrambled to his feet and dashed off again into the woods. He knew the creatures would not stay distracted forever so he ran as fast as he could deeper and deeper through the trees. What he didn't know was where he was headed; he'd never been in this part of the world. With the exception of the occasional visit to an execution, Link had never left the luxurious facilities of his master. Yet he had strange sense of which way to run. It was like a beacon he could neither see nor hear was drawing him forward, deeper through the forest. Suddenly he was knocked off his feet as a nexu leapt onto him from behind. It dug its claws into his back and this time he couldn't hold back a scream as the beast tore into his flesh. It wasn't enough to kill him, just to hold him down, but it was still agonizing. Desperately he reached out, trying to pull himself out from under his captor, but it seemed hopeless. Blood was pouring from his back and hand, and he could feel himself growing weak from the loss. Once again death seemed all too near. Before the beast could finish off his prey, a bright, green light flashed through the darkness, slicing through the nexu's neck and separating its head from its body, both falling to the ground right beside Link. He turned to see the source of the light illuminating a tall figure before him, but before his eyes could adjust to the sudden brightness and identify whoever it was that had rescued him, the darkness pulled him back. He slipped into unconsciousness and saw no more...

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Additional notes- Nexu: Nexus are agile predators with four red eyes and sharp quills. They have infrared vision and are 4.51 meters long. Typically 0.94 meters tall, nexus possess sharp teeth and claws, as well as long tails.

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