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waywardstraysau · 1 year

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Stalker, Part 2

By: Mod Nightmare

Zim is reprogrammed, and runs

DT listens to the Ex-Invader, then brings Zim back

Dib has his therapy sessions doubled, because suggesting vivisection for the Irken was disturbing enough to warrant that.

All in all, things worked out, though DT now has an added responsibility of keeping a pair of volatile mortal enemies from killing each other.

Thank Buddha for magic

The reprogramming plan Hunter pushed for did not end well.

Like, “Zim broke out and is now god knows where out in the woods” kind of not ending well.

Hunter had chased after the irken, but unfortunately lost track of the little green boy the moment he’d crossed over the treeline.

That didn’t stop the witch from continuing to search.

He recognized the look on the recently freed boy.

And he was a boy, not much older than Dib, according to Krel’s estimations regarding his mental maturity. The Akiridon wanted nothing to do with the admittedly bold plan, but he did lend assistance despite his clear discomfort, and Hunter respected him for it.

Though he felt bad knowing the poor guy was probably losing his shit back on campus, knowing a dangerous intergalactic criminal was on the loose.

All the more reason to find Zim quickly

Hunter crouched down and shifted into his wolf form, sniffing the ground in hopes of finding a trail. If his experiences with Krel were to be considered, otherworldly beings had a sharply contrasting scent with those of earths natural ecosystem. The violette sincerely hoped the same was true of the irken, for if it wasn’t, he’d have a much longer search ahead of him.

Blessedly, it was not long before the young witch picked up on a rather sharply out of place smell, akin to that of an industrial grade sanitizer mixed with the dragon scales that Jake shed from time to time.

Zeroing in on the drastically out of place scent, Hunter began following the trail.

Along the way, the young witch picked up on the small displacements in the natural arrangement of the woods. Claw marks with too few digits, bits of bright pink fabric clinging to thorns, and occasionally the tiniest splatters of green blood that were growing fresher as he continued on. Though, thankfully, the spots were less common the newer they were.

Eventually, Hunter’s trail went cold.

Well, not exactly cold, but it did stop at the base of a very large tree. One of those trees that seemed to have many trunks that reached up towards the sky, giving many routes for potential climbers to take. And somewhere in the multiple canopies those trunks connected to, he could hear the Irken’s unique voice muttering a nonsensical language.

To Hunter, the pattern of speech was familiar, even if he couldn’t understand the words.

The irken was having a mental breakdown.

No time to waste, then

Shifting into his feline form, Hunter circled the base of the tree, sniffing the trunks, and managed to pinpoint which had been scaled most recently.

Leaping onto the trunk, the young witch proceeded to scale the tree with expert efficiency, reaching the canopy in no time at all.

The scene he was met with was not unfamiliar, but still heartbreaking in its own right.

The young green alien was curled in on himself within a rather large hollow in the trunk, obscured from the ground by abundant, lush branches. Hunter couldn’t understand a word he was saying, but judging by his posture and trembling, the young witch could make a pretty good guess.

Sighing, knowing he couldn’t leave him to deal with whatever his issues may be alone, Hunter pulled himself into the opening.

No response from the irken.

I was right, mental breakdown

Bolded by the confirmation, the witch quietly made his way to the irkens side, pressing his fluffy body up against him with a quiet mewl.

The response to this was near instantaneous, the Irken scooping him up and burying his face into his purple fur, hugging him so tightly any normal cat would have been obliterated.

Thankfully, to Hunter, the pressure was simply mildly uncomfortable, not life-ending.

The violette begun purring with his whole body as he nuzzled the side of the Irken’s head, his research on therapy cats having prepared him for moments like this.

Eventually, Zim began calming down, his trembling lessening as Hunter began whispering comforting sentiments, this not being the first time he’d been in such a situation. He kept the purring up even when Zim eventually stopped trembling entirely, loosening his hold on the witch and sitting back a bit to get a better look at who had joined him in his hideaway.

“Pff- I really don’t get earth creatures” the invader commented after a moment, smiling a bit as he wiped a tear from his eye. His face was still supporting darkened pigmentation, perhaps a blush, his eyes supporting stress lines, but as a whole, he seemed to have calmed significantly. “Such an odd creature”

Hunter made no protest as the irkens clawed hands cupped the underside of his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks far more gently than the witch considered the invader capable of.

Things stayed quiet for a short while, the silence only interrupted by occasional quiet purring as Zim graduated to pulling the witch back into his arms, running a hand down his back.

“…Massive, I was played for such a fool” The young alien finally spoke again, earning a look from the disguised witch in his arms. “I had more options for free thinking than my peers, and yet I failed to see anything for what it truly was”

Hunter remained silent, staring at the irken.

However, unlike before, the staring seemed to be more of an invitation, rather than an act of distain.

Zim took the offer as a sign to continue.

“I was stupid enough to believe the Tallest wanted to conquer a planet anywhere near Diamond territory. Dumb enough to believe this was anything aside from downright banishment” The young being sighed, gently cupping the disguised witches face. “I’ve done so many horrid things, all in the name of an empire who wanted nothing to do with me. Did these humans deserve any of it? Probably not. Did my actions accomplish anything aside from causing pain? No”

The irken took a deep breath, an attempt to steady himself.

“All it took was some human hacking into my PAK, and everything just… fell apart” Zim huffed, sounding… defeated. “I’m thinking more clearly than I’ve ever experienced in my life, yet the first thing I do is run like a coward”

Another deep breath. Trembling claws were calmed by the creature setting its paws on them.

“So many lives…” The irken shuddered, calming himself by rubbing his thumbs on the creatures paws before he continued on. “I… don’t know what to do. What can I do?”

Silence returned as the Irken withdrew his hands, attempting to curl back in on himself.

Nope. Can’t have that

“Well, you can start by getting out of this tree” Hunter spoke, startling the Irken enough for a shriek. He chuckled at the reaction, putting a paw up to his face. “What? You didn’t seriously think I was a regular cat, did you?”

“… I don’t even know what a cat is” The irken replied meekly, before the weight of the admission reached his brain, and he kept to his feet. “Wait, you- you consciously dared to stalk the almighty ZIM!?”

“Ah, theres that passion” Hunter cackled, pouncing on the Irkens head with a triumphant mewl. “Now, why don’t you and I have a little chat back on campus, yeah?”

“Wait, YOU-“

The irken didn’t get to finish before shadows swallowed the both of them up, leaving nothing more than a shed whisker behind.

……………….

Neither boy resurfaced for a couple of hours.

When they did, it was by walking into an argument between the pair of Steven (whom Dib had run into instead of Ford) and Jack versus Krel and Dib.

It was obvious to even the most oblivious of students that whatever was going on in that hallway was to be avoided at all costs, so the four had been locked in a stalemate for nearly the entire duration of time that Zim was MIA.

It wasn’t even a particularly flashy interruption, Hunter simply strolled into the room, Irken boy at his heels, and interjected himself between the warring parties with little more than a flick of the tail.

His effortless nonchalance about interrupting said intense debate silenced everyone involved. However, if you knew where to look, you’d assuredly see the discomfort Hunter masked with despondence as he met the gaze of Steven before speaking.

“Zim has good in him, underneath the understandable insanity” He stated, tail twitching a bit at the end as Steven regarded him. “I think we should give him a chance, at the very least”

Steven seemed to contemplate the statement for a bit.

“… Alright then. I’ll trust you on this”

“Are you out of your-!?” Krel attempted to interrupt, terror in his expression, but he was quickly silenced underneath the combined weight of both Hunter and Steven’s warning looks. “… Fine. Keep it out of my space, and we won’t have a problem”

“Zim?”

“I do not appreciate being referred to as an “it”, Akiridon” the irken hissed, appearing highly offended. “But, contrary to popular opinion, I am no fool. I will stay out of your way”

“That’s debatable” Dib scoffed, but went quiet when Hunter set him a disapproving look.

“See to it that you do” Krel agreed, before hastily making his exit as Hunter turned back to Steven.

“Tell Ford Zim wishes to enroll here. If there are any issues regarding problematic conduct with him in the future, I shall see to its resolution myself” Hunter addressed his peer stiffly, but Steven seemed not to mind.

“If thats how you want it” the other boy replied, and followed Krel out of the lab, heading down towards the basement.

The moment Steven was out of Hunter’s earshot, the room immediately lost a lot of tension, and Jack finally spoke up for the first time.

“Are you sure it’s smart to keep someone infamous enough to cause an intergalactic panic on school grounds?” The redhead questioned as Hunter sat down on the table, much more laid back and comfortable than he’d been moments before. “I’m all for letting him live, don’t get me wrong, but won’t we be inviting trouble if he stays?”

“Jack, I’m pretty sure the school taking Edric and I in was the very definition of “Inviting Trouble”” He chuckled, before gesturing to where Dib and Zim were having a glaring contest, before devolving into a no-holds-barred wrestling match on the floor. “Besides, despite the animosity, I’’m pretty sure Dib will be much more comfortable having his sworn enemy where he can reach him”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure they’re actively trying to kill each other right now” Jack pointed out, looking disturbed as Dib pulled some kind of funky dagger out of his trechcoat, raising it up to strike the screeching irken.

However before Dib could commit an intergalactic hate crime, the dagger dissolved into dust, leaving an opening for Zim to take back the upper hand and shove the human off of him.

“And that, my friend, is what magic is good for” Hunter chuckled, spell circle still in the air as two glasses of fancy pudding appeared on the table while the kids kept fighting in the background. “Just, relax. Stan’s commentary on children fighting isn’t without its merits, after all”

And so, the pair of friends spent the next hour just watching two minor mortal enemies scrapping on the floor until they wore themselves out, any possibility of a fatality intercepted far before it could cause damage.

All in all, not the weirdest Thursday Hunter had experienced.

#wayward strays au #wayward strays #wayward tides au #wayward tides #toh hunter #the owl house #hunter toh #toh #crossover #steven universe #invader zim #fanfic #dib membrane #zim iz #you can’t expect expert parenting from a sixteeen year old boy #but he does a good enough job

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xensilverquill · 1 year

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The woodland amphithere (Amphitheris silva), also known as the fairy dragon or the beech wyrm, is a small draconoid endemic to the temperate broadleaf forests of the Sunken Continent. Vestigial wings aid in thermoregulation and can be freely contracted and expanded. The shapes of these wings have evolved to resemble the leaves of beech, hornbeam, and other marcescent trees that are the favored hunting territories of woodland amphitheres. Fur-like moss growth on its head and tail enable it to supplement its primarily insectivorous diet with photosynthetic energy.

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(Extended species description under readmore.)

The woodland amphithere (Amphitheris silva), also known as the fairy dragon or the beech wyrm, is a small draconoid endemic to the broadleaf forests of the Sunken Continent.

Vestigial wings aid in both gliding and thermoregulation. Each wing can move independently of one another, and their membranes can be freely contracted and expanded (see last image/GIF in gallery). The shapes of these wings have evolved to resemble the leaves of beech, hornbeam, and other marcescent trees that are the favored hunting territories of woodland amphitheres. Whole covens have been observed sunning themselves on tree branches in autumn and winter.

Fur-like moss growth on its head and tail enable it to supplement its primarily insectivorous diet with photosynthetic energy. This adaptation along with their unique wing structure allows them to forego hibernation altogether in more temperate regions.

Two pairs of eyes make these creatures adept hunters. The rostral pair are used to observe shape and color while the caudal pair specialize in tracking the movement of their prey.

Like many extant members of the amphitherid and other draconoid families, the woodland amphithere possesses relays, growths on the head which house complex electroreceptors. Relays in this species have evolved as rigid, antler-like structures. The exact purpose of these relays is unknown, but it is hypothesized that they may be involved in communication between members of a given coven.

Woodland amphitheres are semisocial and congregate in single-generation groups known as a coven or a flight. Covens are typically made up of six to ten individuals, although covens as large as two dozen have been observed. While they do not exhibit the same coordinated hunting prowess of other amphithere species, they are still remarkably sociable and have been observed to groom and to sing to one another.

Eggs are laid in communal nests in small ponds in early spring, and the brood is left to fend for itself by the parent coven shortly after hatching. The fry begin life as tadpole-like creatures with their wings and relays becoming fully developed by midsummer. The brood may linger for up to a year near its birth pond before leaving in search of new hunting territory.

Birds of prey, including eagles, owls, and lesser rocs, are typical predators of woodland amphitheres. Its primary defense is its own coven, which will swarm upon and harass the predator to drive it away. Larger covens have even been known to kill and subsequently feed on their would-be attackers, especially during the nesting season.

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First entry in what will be a small series of original dragon amigurumi patterns following a general amphithere body plan (basically all wing and no leggies lol).

My personal challenge for each of these is that I cannot directly reference patterns from other creators. This is to (1) force me to figure out how to work up complex shapes and (2) so that I can avoid copyright infringement if I ever decide to sell these patterns a later date. Which was why a good portion of the time for this entry was working out the shapes of the leaves for the wings, haha.

#dragon #amigurumi #fantasy #crochetblr #speculative biology #beasts of the sunken continent #xen makes frens #her name is beech and she compels you to boop the snoot

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homocidal-invader · 2 months

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Professor Membrane: Good or Bad Father?

I've decided to scientifically argue weather or not Professor Membrane from Invader Zim father of Dib Membrane and gasoline the other one by going through EVERY EPISODE of Invader Zim (that he appears in) and making a point counter of every good and bad action he does.

Episode 1 The Nightmare Begins Ignores Dib -1 point

Episode 2B NanoZim Just gives him the tiny ship when he needs help even though what he says is insane. Proffy doesn't even call him insane just tells him to run along + 1 point

Episode 3A Parent Teacher Night He tried to show up for the meeting,,, even if it resulted in the lab exploding. + 1 dad point - 1 scientist point

Episode 6B Battle Dib Didn't recognize his son - 1 point Too hard to contact - 1 point Gave Dib the permission slip + 1 point

Episode 8B Bad Bad Rubber Piggy MADE HIS SON INTO A COOL ASS BATTLE ROBOT TO PREVENT HIM FROM DYING + 1 point

10B Bloatys Pizza Hog Only one annual family night out - 1 point Lets Gaz choose wherever she wants + 1 point Made sure Dib also came + 1 point If Dib doesn't show up, he'll put it off for next year - 1 point 12B Game Slave 2 One of the best lines in the show + 1 point

13 Battle of the Planets Told his son aliens were fake and said he had a big head as a baby. The iconic line "my poor insane son" debuts this episode. - 1 point

14 Halloween Spectacular of Spooky Doom said "It was only a matter of time" for Dib going to HIS INSANE ASYLUM THAT HE OWNS. - 1 point Did not consider Dib's opinion for a second. - 1 point Sent Dib to the asylum. For the rest of his life. - 1 point And an extra bad point, because that's really bad, and the worst thing he's done in the show and what most people remember him for. - 1 point Another bad point for apparently experimenting on baby Dib so much he has subconscious trauma over it. - 1 point

15B Future Dib Neglects his children (hasn't shown up for weeks) - 1 point However he makes prerecorded messages for them so he's not totally abandoning them. + 1 point Inviting his kids to the infinite energy thingy. + 1 point Pat Gaz on the head + 1 point Noticed Dib was missing immedietely + 1 point He told Gaz to make sure Dib doesn't do anything embarrassing. - 1 point Waited for his kids despite jeers from the audience + 1 point DOESN'T GIVE EVERYONE PERPETUAL ENERGY BECAUSE THEY DISRESPECTED HIS KIDS + 1 dad point - 1 scientist point Membrane doesn't realize the robot dib is fake - 1 point

18B The Sad Sad Tale of Chickenfoot Invasion of privacy by letting randoms in the house. - 1 point Calls his son insane to everyone there. - 1 point Insisting what his son's future is as I'm assuming he does that a lot offscreen. - 1 point Not defending Dib when everyone starts laughing at him - 1 point

20 Tak The Hideous New Girl Trying to make friends with Dib's friend :) + 1 point

21 Backseat Drivers from Beyond the Stars Tells Gaz to be nice to his brother and helps her out with her problem. + 1 point Calls Dib insane behind his back - 1 point

23b Dibship Rising He LIED about the can of beans wiping out ALL HUMAN LIFE - 1 point?

25 Gaz Taster of Pork Always keeps the fridge stocked with good food + 1 point Stopped what he was doing immedietely to help Gaz with her problem + 1 point Put his kid on public TV without consent - 1 point Turned his kid into an experiment - 1 point Makes his children have to do an escape sequence at all - 1 point Apologizes + 1 point

27 The Most Horrible X-Mas Ever Trusted Dib with his anti-santa arsenal + 1 point

DELETED EPISODES!

Mopiness of Doom Listened to Dib + 1 point Told Dib to give up on his dreams - 1 point Very encouraging to Dib + 1 point Constantly checking in on Dib + 1 point Very tuned into Dib's emotions and be able to tell when something is bothering him + 1 point Professor Membrane's love is conditional - 1 point Complaining about Dib to Gaz - 1 point

10 Minutes to Doom Did not recognize his son - 1 point Did not want to get involved with Dib's fashion matters - 1 point Deciding to take a look anyways + 1 point Didn't to his son and now insisting that they have to stop him - 1 point

Day of Da Spookies Calls his son insane - 1 point Stopping work to help him anyways + 1 point

TOTAL SCORE

Good Points - 25 Bad Points - 30

ENTER THE FLORPUS

Making his kids a food robot + 1 point Waiting for Dib + 1 point Calling his son insane to Gaz - 1 point Telling Gaz to be supportive, even using metaphors + 1 point BEHOLD MY BOY CHILD + 1 point Mean to Dib about his interests - 1 point Arguing - 1 point Calling Dib's spaceship fake - 1 point Wishing isn't very scientific son - 1 point Patting his son on the head + 1 point Unprovoked calling Dib's ideas imaginary - 1 point Confirming he knows aliens exist, thus meaning that he's just saying they don't to be mean to his son specifically - 1 point Insisting it's a hallucinations so hard - 1 point Saying he'll always be proud of his son before he thinks he's going to die + 1 point Saved his son from a pit! + 1 point Helped fight off robots with Dib + 1 point Saying "great work honey" to Gaz + 1 point Using the moose without arguing + 1 point Pretending like all of it was a hallucination - 1 point Convincing everyone else it was a hallucination too - 1 point 10 Good point 10 Bad points

TOTAL SCORE

Good Points - 35 Bad Points - 40

RESULTS ARE IN!!!! Professor Membrane, SCIENTIFICALLY, is a BAD DADDYO!!!!!!

#INVADER ZIM #professor membrane

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emeraldspiral · 7 months

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I know a lot of people like to do Invader Zim crossovers with Gravity Falls and Paranorman so Dib can be paired up with some boys his age who are into hunting ghosts and cryptids and the supernatural and stuff. But I feel like yall are sleeping on the most obvious universe where he'd fit in: Danny Phantom.

Like, Dib would fucking love Danny's parents. They're living his dream. They're not just running around in the woods scribbling notes in a loose leaf journal, they're building high-tech devices designed to help them capture, study, and better understand what ghosts are and what they can do and what other kinds of applications ghost energy and ectoplasm and shit can have. And they know what it's like to have to their chosen field mocked and dismissed and discredited as legitimate science for most of their lives before ghosts became a commonly accepted fact of reality in their world. Danny's parents would love his curiosity and enthusiasm for their work and he'd love having some actual good role models in the paranormal community. I feel like if he spent enough time around them he'd really start to see how bad of a parent Membrane actually is and develop a healthy disrespect that allows him to finally break free of his need to impress him.

I think he'd get along fine with Danny himself too. They're only two years apart in age and Dib's a pretty tough, self-reliant kid so he wouldn't be the annoying tag-along child Danny has to protect, he'd be an actual useful ally. And I think having Dib around would motivate Danny to mature more as a hero to set a good example for him, and that would maybe help Dib learn to be less of an asshole when dealing with Zim.

#invader zim #danny phantom #dib #dib membrane #danny fenton #maddie fenton #jack fenton

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kingsanddragonsandgods · 7 months

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⁂Early life:

Princess Visenya Targaryen of Runestone was born on the last day of the year 90AC, at her mother's ancestral home.

The newborn child was named after the Conqueror Queen, Visenya, by her father and anointed by holy oils seven days after her birth at the Sept-by-the-Sea in Runesport.

Queen Alysanne, who held the child during the ceremony is noted for having remarking that ‘the girl has all of Viserra’s beauty, but Alyssa’s temper’ to which the King is said to have answered ‘Gods be good’.

As Princess Visenya grew, her parents continued to battle, using the young girl as a pawn in their conflict, with both parents appealing to the King and Queen to take their side on occasion.

During her early years she grew especially close to her natural born brother, Orys Stone, the illegitimate son of Prince Daemon by Lady Rowena Royce, Lady Rhea’s older third cousin. The young boy was brought into Lady Rhea’s household in the year 90AC, following the passing of his mother.

From the age of five, her parents’ estrangement was permanent, with Prince Daemon returning to the Crownlands and Lady Rhea and their daughter remaining at the Vale. After royal intervention it was agreed that the Princess time was to be split between living in Runestone with her mother, and between the Red Keep and Dragonstone with her father, alternating during the seasons, summer and winter was spent on the Vale, while spring and autumn in the Crownlands, special celebrations were shared.

Her education appears to have been strict and somewhat old-fashioned, thus, in addition to her studies, Grand Maester Runciter notes in his journals, she was taught spinning and weaving and had an innate talent for weaving intricate tapestry. From the year 92 forward, Visenya, who had been betrothed to her newborn cousin, Prince Aerion, was expected to become Queen Consort, and her education reflected it. Her betrothed passed away in his cradle two years later, and Visenya was then betrothed to his newborn brother, Prince Aelor.

Her tutors at the time, Maester Adelin, Archmaester Vaegon and Master Petrarca of Volantis, regarded Princess Visenya as an extroverted, lively, highly intelligent, and strong-willed girl. Prince Daemon was reported to be proud of her horsemanship and marksmanship.

Because of her outstanding intellect, and his blunt favoritism, King Jaehaerys named Princess Visenya as his cupbearer in the Year 96AC, at the age of six.

The young princess often was allowed to discuss the classics, philosophy, and the affairs of state with ambassadors and envoys visiting the court of Jaehaerys. Moreover, she was personally acquainted with the painters, musicians, writers, and scholars who lived in and around the royal court.

Princess Visenya if often considered one of, if not, the best educated women of her generation.

The year 96AC marked another milestone for Princess Visenya: on the eight moon of the year, the young princess bonded and became the first rider of a she-dragon she named Huraxes. The same dragon that as a hatchling had been brought to Princess Daenerys Targayen. Huraxes had pearly scales and iridescent wing membranes, with pale and pinkish flames. The princess was allowed to bond with the she-dragons by royal decree after falling ill with a bolt of Spring Fever that nearly took her life.

Matches for Princess Visenya started being discussed by the Small Council, brought up by the Lord Hand. Thought Visenya was heiress to the largest fortress in the Vale and to the Ladyship of Runestone, it was argued that as she was a Princess of the Realm, the matter of her marriage was a prerogative of the King, which infuriated Prince Daemon, who at the time occupied the seat of Master of Law, the Grand Master agreed that such line of thought might anger the Vale, as the Princess was highly regarded by her people and her second cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn. Lord Corlys suggested his own son as a match for the princess, four years her junior, most likely to tie another dragonrider to his house. His Grace put down all talks of marriage for his niece, agreeing that such was the right of his brother and good sister to choose her match.

For the celebration of his niece's fifteenth nameday, the king ordered seven days of celebrations, with a tournament and grand feasts. The Queen's absence was noticed, excused as Her Grace was in the early stages of her final pregnancy, and Visenya was allowed to sit in the seat usually reserved for the consort; she was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty by the Dornish Ser Eldric Dayne, the Star in the Morning.

Since the Princess's return to court early in the spring of 104 AC, Visenya had caught the king’s eye, and it is reported that Viserys and his niece have become very close, spending hours each day in each other's company, promenading in the gardens, hunting in the Kingswood, and dancing together during feasts and balls.

The king is said to have spoiled his niece with lavish gifts, including presenting her with a manse in King’s Landing, a country estate crossing the Blackwater Rush and later a sea palace in the Reach.

⁂Marriage and Queenship:

After the death of Queen Aemma Arryn in the Year 105 AC, Princess Visenya, aged 15, became the 2nd wife and Queen Consort of her uncle, King Viserys I Targaryen. Their betrothal was announced a month following the queen’s passing, and a private ceremony was held three months later in Dragonstone.

It was a scandal at the time, as not only the King’s new marriage was announced a moon after the late queen’s passing in childbed, but it had also been rumored for some time that Viserys and Visenya had been lovers.

More salacious tales propagated by the fool Mushroom during the Dance of the Dragons tells of the princess sitting on her uncle's lap during feasts, kissing him shamelessly, and nibbling his fingers sensually as he fed her like a beloved pet; of the king fondling her breasts in public, and announcing to his courtiers that he and his niece would retire to make love. These have no contemporary support, with Septon Eustace calling such tales absurd and slanderous.

Over the matter of his marriage to his niece Viserys claimed that the marriage was in the public interest and ordered a grand celebration for the occasion of his new queen's coronation, to happen after the end of mourning period for Prince Baelon. Visenya was the first Queen Consort crowned in a separate ceremony from the reigning King. During the occasion the apparent advanced state of the queen's pregnancy caused a new wave of rumors that Visenya had been the King's mistress while the queen was still alive and that their child was conceived out of wedlock.

In their more than two decades of marriage, Visenya and Viserys had fourteen children, all survived into adulthood, something that the maesters attribute to the queen’s management of the nursery. Visenya’s role as a mother was glorified throughout the realm, their young new queen’s obvious fertility was seen, by the smallfolk and nobles alike, as both a bless from the Mother and a sign from the gods. With the birth of her twin girls, Princess Viserra and Princess Rhaelys, coins were issued, portraying her as the Mother, an allegory that would repeat itself many times for the remaining of her husband’s and son’s reign. If in her maidenhood, as a young princess, Visenya posed as a model for sculptures of the Maiden, in motherhood and queenship, she was now the Mother.

Although it was not the norm of the age, and in fact, apart from the late Queen Alysanne, no other queen receive such a honor, King Viserys granted Visenya a seat on his Small Council, leaning on her for advice on varied subjects due to his respect for her opinion and good judgment. She became a formidable figure with far-reaching influence during this time. According to some sources, her influence was such that Queen Visenya effectively ran the government alongside the Hand of the King.

In the year 115AC, around the time of her stepdaughter’s wedding to Ser Leanor Velaryon and in the years that followed, the Queen Consort started to work and put her own trusted people in ever higher positions to strengthen herself and her sons through them.

Visenya acted as her first husband’s regent after his health decline, sat in her eldest son’s war table following Viserys’s death.

⁂Personality:

Some historians have contended that to some extent she deserved her negative reputation propagated by her stepdaughter following the death of King Viserys I, despite the inaccuracies of the claims that she was sexually disreputable or regarding the legitimacy of her children, other criticisms of her were valid: she was ambitious, proud, obstinate, and masked her cunning behind a sweet-toned voice and flawless manners.

Princess Rhaenyra described her as a woman of reckless extravagance and wantonness, who seduced a grieving man, and whom the King nonetheless loved passionately and faithfully. It is widely known that those part of the Black Court of the Princess of Dragonstone took to call the queen ‘the King’s Great Whore’ and ‘Lady Concubine’, however always away from both the queen and the king’s ears as well as her supporters, further spreading the rumors of an extramarital affair while the late Queen Aemma still lived and questioning the validity of the legitimacy of their children. Despite rumors spread on her sons legitimacy supported by the queen's supposed lasciviousness, all of Visenya’s children resembled those of her lineage.

In her youth, Visenya was celebrated as ‘the most beautiful creature in the world’ and that there was ‘nothing lacking in her that the most beautiful girl should have’. Ser Alyn of Hull would reflect later in her lifetime that regarding her appearance ‘there were few women who could compete with the Queen in her prime’.

Visenya was fiercely independent, a trait she shared with her mother. Mellos described her as having ambitions to match her pedigree. However, Archmaester Gyldayn notes that Visenya was fully aware that a woman in Westeros could not hold power in her own right. Instead, Visenya orchestrated the rise of her sons.

Capable of acts of extreme ruthlessness, she, in contrast, was also able to demonstrate uttermost kindness and charity.

⁂Issue:

At four and thirty of age by the time of their weeding, Viserys was already considered in his middle age. The union however proved itself to be a happy one, and together they had 14 children, nine sons and five daughters.

Visenya had been taught the importance of receiving an education and came to play an extensive role in her children' education, resulting in the creation of a "superior breed of princes."

Queen Visenya was know to call her children her 'precious jewels', and took great pride in all of them, she was particularly close to the princesses Alyssa and Elaena, however it is said, that from all her children, her favorite was Prince Aegon.

edited on 11/04/2024

#house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #it's pro team green #kinda #viserys married his own niece #so she's team red #she's the bitch people accuse alicent of being #the children are there in essence #Aemond is the same #mostly #hotd #viserys targaryen x oc #viserys targaryen x reader #tyland lannister #fuck viserys

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theyodelerz · 1 month

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Soundwave

Like the cassettes Soundwave is a Wyverian though its not clear whether he is a snake an eel or something else. He is a giant Wyverian.

He took in the cassettes after they were all abandoned by their parents. He is incredibly protective of them, Soundwave rarely leaves the volcanic region but when he does its never a good thing. On the occasion that a cassette is cornered (once even captured) he has made chaos to rescue them.

Soundwave is not capable of actual flight instead having a membrane along his side like that of a flying squirrel that lets him glide. He can use his body like a spring and launch himself into the air to begin gliding. He has a clear scale covering most of his face that protects his eyes and nose.

#transformers #maccadam #dragonformers #soundwave

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espion7971 · 3 months

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SandWing tribe sheet!

Here's tribe #2! i find myself liking sandwings more the more i think about them :) they'e definitely one of my less changed tribes, i like joy ang's design for them so i just referenced some desert lizards to give them a little more uniqueness and mostly left it otherwise. hope yall enjoy!

Edit: I ended up changing the blood color a little to be more interesting :)

Physical Appearance + Traits:

-SandWings, in stark contrast to MudWings, are the smallest of Pyrrhian dragons. They are very light, and barely more than half the height of some taller tribes.

-Their appearance is most comparable to other desert reptiles, particularly the horned lizard, with spines, ridges and darker markings across their sides.

-SandWing coloration usually lands on the spectrum between gold and white. Sometimes a more yellowy color might be seen, and rarely, a darker brownish tint. Their colors reflect desert sand, and allow them to bury into it unseen, whether for shelter from enemies or the blazing sun. Despite lighter SandWings performing better under desert conditions, those with darker coloration are often seen as more attractive, and dark tattoo patterns are popular.

-Darker scales near their eyes absorb light, allowing SandWings to see despite the sometimes oppressive glare of the desert sun. They also have an extra eyelid to protect from sand and dust.

-At the end of their tail is a barb that can inject lethal venom at its most potent; SandWings themselves have some level of resistance to the venom.

-They have stiff, upright fans, or ridges, along their backs, which help with temperature regulation; when hot, the veins within fill with the body’s warm blood, and the high surface area allows it to cool off quickly. The same process can also be done with the wing membranes, though a bit less effectively due to the thick scales on the outside of the wing.

-SandWings have thick, dark skin lining their mouths, which protects them both from sun damage and the spikes and thorns often found in desert food (cacti, spiny lizards, etc). They also have a high tolerance to some toxins, and to alcohol resulting from fermenting fruit. (This is true of RainWings as well.)

-They eat little and drink less, like all animals surviving under desert conditions. One good meal a week is all SandWings really need, and usually they get enough water from the food they eat that they don’t need to go in search for more.

-SandWing fire is not as suited for combat as that of other tribes. They can’t produce very much of it at once and it’s more akin to natural fire than typical dragon fire. It certainly can be used to fight, but they prefer to fight with tails and claws; their fire is better used for food and light.

-SandWings are good fliers, and can glide long distances without needing to land and while using minimal energy, but more notably, they’re also the best runners out of any tribe. Their stamina and ability to walk or sprint over vast stretches of desert is unmatched, and some prefer it over flying.

Life Cycle:

-SandWings lay between one and three eggs; usually it’s just one or two, and three is somewhat uncommon. They incubate for a short period of time, usually just three months, and hatch small but able to fend for themselves. SandWing dragonets lack a ridge along their backs, which makes it easier to bury themselves in the sand to stay safe, and their venom, while less outright deadly, acts much faster and usually induces sharp pain, nausea and even minor paralysis. It’s effective at keeping them safe from predators.

-SandWing parents - mothers in particular - are usually present and able to look after dragonets, so these defense mechanisms are only in place as a last resort.

-Dragonets have distinct “young”, “adolescent” and “adult” phases of growth, and usually reach adult size at around seven years. Like all dragons, they do continue to grow, but very minimally in their case.

-SandWings do not generally partner for life, and exclusive monogamous coupling is not the societal expectation. Some do it, but it’s more common to jump between short relationships based largely on physical attraction. Fathers aren’t usually expected to help raise dragonets.

Society and Culture:

-At a time, SandWings were one of the most organized and well-educated tribe, but later they became divided into two very distinct groups: Palace SandWings and Scorpion Den SandWings. These titles aren’t literal; not all “high-class” SandWings live in the palace, and not all street-dwelling SandWings live in the Scorpion Den, but these places are fairly representative of their group. In the palace and nearby areas, SandWings keep up with news and are typically well-trained in combat, in service of the queen. The Scorpion Den, meanwhile, is an infamously criminal town where dragons aim to survive and scrounge for anything they can get. Run largely by assassins and hired theives, this town is to thank for the ‘shifty and untrustworthy’ stereotypes often pointed toward SandWings.

-SandWings in general, in later parts of history, are more focused toward physical training than education, but the Den, as well as other scrappy and chaotic outskirt towns, has changed general perception of them in a somewhat negative light.

-They are known for heavy slang and “colorful” language, including those in the palace, and when paired with regional accents of some of the outskirt towns, some other tribes find SandWings difficult to understand if they speak too quickly.

-SandWings eat rarely, and as a result they sometimes reserve eating for specific occasions. To celebrate, they conduct tribe-wide parades and festivals, and these are often the main time for treats and feasts. At these times, they indulge in (usually roasted) foods - insects, lizards, birds - seasoned with a variety of spices, and elaborate fruit dishes that often include rainforest delicacies brought by RainWings.

-The events inspiring such celebrations usually revolve around celestial movement. Solstices, moon cycles, eclipses, etc. are all celebrated to different degrees. SandWings worship day and night equally, and the sun and moons have equal cultural significance to them. The unity of the two keeping the desert in balance is what they care about.

-SandWings, in fact, are so intrinsically connected to time and movement that this is thought to be the reason behind their musical inclination and sense of rhythm. Music and dance are another major part of these parades, and SandWings have a great love for engaging and complex rhythmic music. Those watching from the sides will often swish sand and rattle their scales in time with performances. (RainWings are commonly invited, to bring their food and dance with the SandWings, as SandWings greatly respect their skill.) SandWings also have a particularly hard time coping if they are removed from the day cycle; it can be extremely disorienting and unpleasant.

-Jewelry, gold especially, is extremely popular and can be worn to excess. It’s also common to tattoo or bejewel scales to the preference of the individual.

Diet: Omnivorous. Will eat almost anything available: insects, reptiles, mammals and birds; cactus fruit, cactus itself, coconut, nuts; and a wide variety of spices, many of which are outright poisonous to other tribes.

#wings of fire #wof art #wof headcanons #sandwings #my posts

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praetorqueenreyna · 2 months

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Summary: A month after the tragedy that made both him and Tamlin High Lords, Rhysand returns to the Spring Court to finish the job.

Happy Tamlin Week! This is for Day 1, Heir of Spring. Click here to read on AO3, or continue reading below!

@tamlinweek

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

Rhysand was immediately suspicious when he flew across the Spring border and wasn’t accosted. With the regime change, the sentries should have been on high alert for intruders. The further he went without being challenged, the more wary he became. Something was very, very wrong. Tamlin was planning something, trying to lull him into a false sense of security. It didn’t matter. The new Spring Lord would die.

He landed on the front steps of Tamlin’s manor. The front doors were closed, but opened easily with a slight push. Still no sentries. Unwanted memories of the last time he had been here washed over him. It had been a night just like this one. He had been on high alert, wings folded tight against his back to keep from making a sound. Then, he had been flanked by his father, still grieving the loss of his wife and daughter. There was no one left to grieve them except Rhysand now.

Ascending the spiral staircase to the living quarters, Rhysand fought back other, happier memories. Tamlin leading him by the hand, eager to show off a new set of hunting knives. Passing the Lady of Spring on those stairs, bobbing his head respectfully only to have her pull him into a hug. Instinct led him to Tamlin’s old bedroom, rather than the High Lord’s quarters. Rhysand couldn’t even look at the room his parents had lain in, and he suspected Tamlin felt the same. The door was ajar. Rhysand reached out to push it open, when the attack he had been expecting came from behind.

Jagged claws tore through his clothing, raking across the sensitive membrane of his wings. Rhysand dropped to the ground and kicked out, intending to trip up the feet of his assailant. The attacker had to step back to avoid this, giving Rhysand a chance to get a good look at them.

It was a beast, huge and gangly, with antlers that stretched across the length of the hallway. Long drips of saliva hung from its jaws as it snarled. Only the familiar green eyes betrayed who this creature was. Clearly, the mantle of High Lord had granted Tamlin access to stronger, wilder magic than he had before.

A pair of razor-sharp amethyst daggers appeared in Rhysand’s hands. He attacked, graceful and deadly, grinning a satisfied smirk when red blood splashed across the walls. Tamlin didn’t even stagger from the wounds that opened up on his flanks. He lunged forward, slashing out with claws and a desperate ferocity Rhysand had never seen before. Rhysand struck again and again, growing frustrated that he could never get more than a glancing blow. The floor under his boots grew slick with Tamlin’s blood and threatened his balance. Tamlin’s strikes had grown wilder and out of control, and Rhysand saw his chance. With a decisive thrust, he slammed one of the daggers to the hilt into the beast’s paw, pinning it to the ground. Tamlin howled in fury and in pain, fruitlessly trying to tug his paw free.

“I’m going to kill you,” Rhysand growled as he pressed the blade of his other dagger against the creature’s throat. “You do not deserve to live when they are gone.”

The beast’s shape shimmered and melted and reformed back into Tamlin, the male that Rhysand knew every inch of. He was kneeling on the marble, his hand still trapped, splayed out against the ground in a puddle of blood. He looked up, and Rhysand was struck by how hollow his gaze was.

“Do it.” Tamlin rasped. “Kill me. You’re right. I deserve it.”

For a long, long minute, Rhysand didn’t move. The dagger in his hand was still against Tamlin’s throat, drawing a thin line of blood. Here it was, the opportunity he had been waiting for. Just a little bit of pressure, and Tamlin would be dead. His mother and sister would be avenged. And quite frankly, it would be in Tamlin’s best interest to be put out of his misery. The new Spring High Lord was a fucking mess. His clothes were in tatters, and clearly hadn’t been washed in weeks. Where before there had been strong muscle and healthy tan skin, now was a gaunt, gray figure. Add in the fact that there didn’t seem to be anybody else in the Spring Court to stop him or enact vengeance, the most logical choice was to kill Tamlin.

The seconds ticked by. Tamlin waited patiently for his death. Finally, Rhysand sighed.

“I can’t.”

Tamlin’s brow furrowed in a way that Rhysand had once found cute. “Why not?”

Rhysand changed the subject. “What happened here? What’s happened to you?” A black speck jumped from Tamlin’s hair onto Rhysand’s hand, causing him to drop the dagger in alarm. “By the Cauldron, Tam, do you have fleas?”

“Probably,” Tamlin answered, carelessly scratching at his scalp with a filthy hand. “Everyone left. The ones that didn’t leave on their own, I drove out. I’ve been maintaining my borders myself for the past month.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I’m a monster, aren’t I? It’s what I do.” He picked up the dagger that Rhysand had dropped and handed it back, hilt first. “Finish it.”

Rhysand had been furious for weeks on end. The rage had filled him with fire, threatening to burn his entire Court to the ground. All of that anger drained away at once. He had thought that Tamlin had tricked him, been lying to him the whole time they had been together, always intending to sell him out. Looking at him now, bedraggled and miserable and begging for death, that was obviously not the case. Even in the worst of his grief, Rhysand had had a support group around him, keeping him away from the edge. Tamlin had been here alone. He had nobody left.

“Not until I get you cleaned up.” Decision made, Rhysand vanished the daggers, both the one that Tamlin offered him and the one embedded in his hand. “There’s no honor in killing you like this. It would be like killing a blind elderly human.”

“Hilarious,” Tamlin intoned sarcastically. He ripped a section of his tunic off and wrapped it around his bleeding hand. Based on the smattering of wounds that criss crossed his body, he hadn’t been magically healing his own injuries for a while now. “Either kill me or go away.”

“No.” Rhysand pulled Tamlin to his feet and guided him to the nearest washroom. Tamlin struggled against him, but in this current state he was no match for Rhysand’s strength. With a wave of his hand, Rhysand began filling the marble bathtub with hot, fragrant water. He stripped Tamlin down and burned his grimy clothes right then and there, ignoring Tamlin’s protestations. It was harder to ignore the state of Tamlin’s body, now fully on display. Though he was still large and muscular, Rhysand could now see his ribs, and his skin had an unhealthy grayish tinge. More injuries revealed themselves, including a large burn on his thigh that he had hastily slapped a bandage on.

With some not-so-gentle prodding, Tamlin stepped into the bath. “Happy now?” he groused, standing waist-deep in the water with his arms crossed.

“Not really. That’s disgusting,” Rhysand pointed to the bloom of dirt and dried blood that surrounded Tamlin. Under Rhysand’s judgemental gaze, Tamlin began half-heartedly rubbing at his skin with his palms. “Do it right, or I’m coming in there and doing it for you.”

With a stubbornness that Rhysand had once admired, Tamlin looked up at him. It was a relief to see something other than apathy in his eyes. “Make me.”

“You are such an asshole,” Rhysand grumbled. He magicked away his own clothing and joined Tamlin in the bath, making sure to send away the dirty water before it could touch him. A tray laden with bottles and fluffy washcloths appeared next to him, floating a few inches above the water. The first thing Rhysand did was put a palm on the top of Tamlin’s head and shove his entire body underwater. Tamlin resurfaced, sputtering and flailing like an angry cat. “We have to drown the fleas and lice and whatever other vermin are hiding in your hair,” Rhysand explained. “Go under again, or I’m holding you down.”

Seeing that Rhysand was not making idle threats today, Tamlin complied. He laid on his back in the water, leaving just his face above the surface. Rhysand poured soap onto a washcloth and pulled Tamlin’s floating body against him, bracing and keeping him in place. With meticulous attention, Rhysand began to clean Tamlin. Starting at his neck and moving down, he scrubbed at Tamlin’s skin until it was soft and clean. Whenever he encountered a cut or bruise that Tamlin was too weak or stubborn to heal, he magicked it away. The tension that Tamlin was holding drained away. He closed his eyes and hummed appreciatively when Rhysand massaged a sore muscle.

“It was my fault.”

“Hmm?” Rhysand could barely hear him, and was distracted by the burn. He held his hand over the charred flesh and pushed, sending healing magic deep into the tissue so it could start healing from the inside out.

“My father found the last letter you had written to me.”

Rhysand froze. “We were supposed to burn those.” They had communicated by letter frequently, with the understanding that they would immediately dispose of the incriminating evidence. The knowledge that his words were temporary often gave Rhysand the courage to be bolder than he otherwise might have been.

“I know. I always did. But I held onto that one.” Tamlin smiled sadly. Rhysand couldn’t even remember what he had written that would have been worthy of saving. “I was stupid. You said you’d be traveling in it, and they took advantage. They went to kill you.”

Rhysand could see it, clear as day, playing out in his head. High Lord Theon and his two eldest sons, jeering and joking as they armed themselves and prepared to take out the heir to the Night Court. Even when he had thought Tamlin had intentionally betrayed him, he had had a hard time envisioning him cavorting with his family. He was too gentle, and they hated him for it.

“I actually hoped that you would be there,” Tamlin continued. Tears were falling from his eyes, dripping down his face and mixing with the bath water. “I hoped that you would kill them. And instead…”

Instead, the two people that Rhysand cared about most in the world were ripped to pieces, defenseless and afraid. They had repaid that violence with more violence, and now they were the last remaining members of their respective families.

“Sit up,” Rhysand ordered. It was easy to maneuver Tamlin’s loose-limbed body to a bench by the side of the bath. He poured the liquid from another vial over his hands and began massaging it into Tamlin’s dirty hair. Silence fell over them as Rhysand focused on his self-appointed task.

“Why are you doing this?” Tamlin asked. “You came here to kill me.”

“I don’t know,” Rhysand answered. A flea jumped out from under his hands and tried to escape. Rhysand squished it flat against the tile with his fingernail.

“You should just do it. I deserve it.”

“Maybe so. But your Court doesn’t.”

Tamlin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t fall apart like this anymore. You’re the High Lord. When you break down, your Court does as well. You owe it to your people to get your shit together.”

Tamlin sighed. He leaned back, pressing more of his bare skin against Rhysand’s. “I don’t know if I can.”

Despite everything, despite the rage that filled his heart and the sorrow that clung to his bones, Rhysand pressed a soft kiss to the top of Tamlin’s head. “You can. You have to.”

With Tamlin healed, cleaned, rinsed, and dried, he almost looked normal again. Relaxed for the first time in weeks, he was pliant in Rhysand’s arms, allowing himself to be dressed in soft pants and laid down in bed. As Rhysand had suspected, Tamlin was still living in his old room. It was a disaster; clothes and weapons were strewn everywhere, and there were multiple fist-shaped holes in the walls. The bed was oddly clean and well-made, as if Tamlin hadn’t slept in it since the servants had left.

“Why are you doing this?” Tamlin asked again as Rhysand fussed with the sheets, tucking them around his prone form.

“I don’t know,” Rhysand answered again, but this time it was a lie. He knew. He had always known.

Because I love you. Because killing you would kill me. Because you’ve been alone your entire life, and no matter what you’ve done, you don’t deserve that.

“Go to sleep,” he said instead. “Tomorrow, you fix this.”

Tamlin smiled at him, his eyes more lively than they had been all evening. “Thank you.”

Rhysand took his hand and kissed the back of his knuckles, sending one last wave of magic to Tamlin. The Spring Lord’s eyes closed, the magic knocking him out into a healing sleep.

Tomorrow, Tamlin would wake up and begin to get his life together. Tomorrow, Rhysand would go back to hating him. Tonight, he sat by Tamlin’s bedside for hours, holding his hand.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #tamlin #pro tamlin #tamsand #rhysand #tamlin/rhysand #tamlin x rhysand #tamlin week #tamlin week 2024 #tamlinweek #tamlinweek2024

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iodotsys · 11 months

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Whats your HONEST opinion on professor membrane? Is he a good dad, bad dad, abusive, yada yada - give us your insight o wise one

My honest opinion on Membrane?

Membrane suffers from a lack of empathy and inability to see anything outside of his own point of view. Does this make him a bad father? I believe so.

He doesn't have a clue in the world what he's doing in any regard as a father. He probably is going based on things he has seen on TV or a very brief overview of a parenting guide from the 1950's, if anything. I believe he truly views Gaz and Dib as extensions of himself, to the degree he will talk to them as if he was talking to himself. And if they react in any other way than how he himself would react, he can't comprehend it and writes it off as incorrect behavior on THEIR part. Membrane is also rather immature. When he sees something that he views as 'wrong', he will make fun of it. In the episode Battle of the Planets, he does just that to Dib.

He does the basic family things because he knows, logically, he is a father. He goes to Parent Teacher Night because he knows he's required to. He has family night out because he knows he's required to. He provides 'food' to his 'kids' because he knows he's required to. He says "I love you" to his kids because he knows he's required to. Its all very robotic. He was going to cancel family night because Dib wasn't there. Family night MUST have all parties involved or logically its not family night.

He probably believes he's doing his best as a father since he is doing 'father-like' things. But to the outside he is neglectful and work driven.

Does he care about his kids? Yes, in a way he does. Not in an unconditional father-like way, but in a way he may care about an experiment. Science is first, care is second to him. He was not devastated his daughter had an incurable disease, he cared that he couldn't find the cure for the disease. Yet, he really wanted to show off Dib and Gaz in Future Dib. He was even excited to. He makes sure Gaz doesn't go out alone to get her new Game Slave 2 because he doesn't want her to get hurt.

He is devastated that Dib isn't following in his footsteps. He feels he's done something wrong that Dib turned out enjoying the paranormal. This is shown in his agony in Mopiness of Doom. He questions his own abilties.

In fact, Membrane is quite mentally unstable, as is seen with his freakout in the Christmas special. He runs out screaming his head off, unable to handle the PTSD he was going through. And how does Dib react? "Geez dad…"

Its rather normal in that household for Membrane to have complete breakdowns it seems. Not to mention in the comics Membrane's complete catatonic depression from people not listening to him. He relies on his 11 year old daughter to take care of him because he is so lost in his own head.

In conclusion, Membrane is emotionally stunted and immature. He does not have solid child rearing abilities so Gaz and Dib are left to fill those needs for themselves, with very basic human needs met by Membrane. Things like food and shelter. In addition, Membrane is sometimes required to be taken care of by Gaz and Dib due to his emotional instability.

I am happy to provide my wisdom to the fandom.

#invader zim #dib membrane #gaz membrane #professor membrane #this is my view on the whole membrane father thing #have i become the invader zim canon guru?#i will gladly take that title

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henrysglock · 4 months

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Henry is 7 — Unloved Boys, Killer Parents, and Non-Linear Time.

I'm not sure how many of us out there are up to date on our "media that features Captain Midnight" lore, but tonight I want to talk about Jeffty is Five, a short story by Harlan Ellison, as it relates to Henry Creel circa 1952.

Jeffty Kinzer and his best friend, Donny, were five. They were huge comic book fans, especially of Captain Midnight. But then Jeffty was five, and Donny was seven. After that, Jeffty was five and Donny was fourteen. You see where I'm going with this, no? Jeffty is perpetually five years old.

Because of his peculiarity, his parents resent him.

Jeffty's mother, Leona, specifically, dislikes him most...to the point she wishes he'd died as a baby.

Jeffty, for his part, is a good kid, despite the barely-hidden dislike he's shown. He has a secret hideout under the porch of his house, where he draws, reads comics, and listens to radio shows.

There's something strange about Jeffty, though (aside from the not-aging, and specifically linked to his not-aging). He can bring new pieces of the past into the future. Discontinued radio shows have new episodes, discontinued comics have new issues, and new merch is made for shows that no longer exist.

Specifically, Ellison writes about Jeffty bringing a brand-new Captain Midnight Secret Decoder Code-O-Graph into the future:

Donny talks about how living these new-past experiences via Jeffty thins the membrane between worlds, between Past and Present.

There's a problem, though. Exposing Jeffty to the Present eats away at him. In an attempt to hurry Jeffty away from the Present, Donny sends him off by himself to get tickets for the movie they're meant to see. Along the way, Jeffty gets roughed up by some older teens. Instead of taking him to a hospital, Donny takes him home to his parents.

Spotting the chance to take back a normal life and live in the present...Leona kills Jeffty in the family bathtub, playing present-day rock music over the radio.

Now, something I was struggling to answer in my big Time Loop Post was the question of "What happened in 1952, when Henry was 7?"

Jeffty, Joseph and Joseph, Henry and Henry: Changelings

Jeffty's now-grown friend, Donny, misses the way things were in the '50s, when he and Jeffty were little. He'd like things to go back to the way they were...

...and he gets that through Jeffty's time-bending powers.

Jeffty has a hideaway spot in his family home where he hides away from his resentful, fearful mother to draw, read comics, and listen to the radio:

Jeffty, whose mother wishes he'd died as a baby because he's precluding her from having a "normal" life...

And who killed him in a bathtub.

Another detail to add—Patty asks Henry if he isn't a little old to be as obsessed as he is with Captain Midnight, as if being a fan is something for little kids.

I'd like, then, to put this is all in concert with:

The Creel-Carmichael parallels per Changeling (1980), wherein Joseph, a disabled boy who's resented by his father, Richard, is locked away in his attic. Richard drowns Joseph in a bathtub at age 6, and replaces him with a "normal" boy. This "normal" boy is mostly convinced he's the real Joseph Carmichael until the end of the movie.

2. Em's Doppleganger TFS Henry theory (which suggests that at some point Henry was replaged with a dopple-gorgon who almost believes he's the real Henry Creel). 3. Em's post about Before I Wake (wherein a little boy drowns in a bathtub and is replaced by a new boy with strange abilities). 4. (A post I have yet to make, regarding) Parallels between ST and the show Servant, wherein a new mother accidentally kills her newborn son, Jericho, by forgetting him in a locked car during a heatwave. She's given a hyperrealistic baby-doll as a replacement in order to cope, which their nanny Leanne magically transforms into a real baby boy. ST5's code name is Jericho, and other parallel to the series include (but are not limited to): psychic powers, spiders, stalker cults, murderous yet somehow well-meaning nannies, and giant cracks opening up in the earth (psionically).

Thus, my hypothesis: I wonder if we aren't dealing with a matryoshka-doll-meets-Fringe type situation, wherein Henry died/was killed at age 7, was replaced by or swapped for another boy (like Peter Bishop...staring directly at Peter Owens/Peter Ballard) via the 1979/1952 incident, and then was swapped again with a doppleganger via the 1956 gate.

#pure speculation in the hypothesis bit...but *no doubt* in my mind that Jeffty is Five was an inspiration for Henry's backstory #st: tfs #Jeffty is Five #henry creel

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steveinscarlet · 16 days

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Another vintage Kerrang article for your delectation. This one is loooong. Text below the cut...

THEY'RE ALL concerned and they all want answers. Mötley Crüe drummer Tommy Lee, hauling ass down Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles, in a sparkling silver Corvette, certainly does. So does Blackfoot mainspring Ricky Medlocke, a recent unexpected apparition within the Marquee's glistening vaults. So does just about everyone I've met in the course of recent field-trips. They're all wearing that 'there but for the grace of God' look and they all want to know. So do I...

"Every time you speak to Rick on the phone you come away with a big grin on your face because he's in such good spirits. He's handling it better than I thought he would. He's matured 10 years overnight. He's totally accepted the fact that he's only got one arm and he's being very realistic about coming back into Def Leppard. He's mad to go for it, though, and we're mad to let him try."

That drummer Rick Allen will try, however, isn't in doubt. He's adamant about it and Leppard vocalist Joe Elliott is equally adamant that the band will give him their unrestrained support. As they've said all along, the decision is totally his "We aren't trying to show off or get sympathy," spells out Joe, "it's just the way we are. Def Leppard is simply five lads - we could have been a football team, we could have been international bank robbers. Rick's a mate, and just because he's had an accident doesn't mean he can't still be in the band. If he physically can't do it then obviously there's going to be problems, but with the technology available today I don't see why he can't play snare drum with his left foot, say. And if he can do that, and maybe have tom tom fills already recorded on a trigger, then the kit would look exactly the same. "Bill Ludwig, who builds Rick's kits, actually got in touch with him as soon as it happened, and it seems that there's a lot of one-arm drummers, guys who came back from Vietnam, y'know. The thing is, they tend to play Holiday Inns and places that like that; it's a different approach to drumming. Rick has a very John Bonhamish style - I mean, the quy doesn't need monitors, he's ridiculously loud! - and he'd never be able to do with one hand what he did with two for an hour and three quarters. It would kill him! So he's gonna need the technology. It's just down to whether he can accept the fact that there are gonna be people in the crowd trying to peer through the cymbals to see a plastic arm. He'll have to wear a shirt now, whereas before he'd always go bare-topped..."

THE DETAILS of the car crash that removed 21- year-old Rick (temporarily at least) from the Leppard ranks have been pretty well documented, grabbing column inches in the Nationals and beyond. The bare facts seem plain enough: at 12.50pm on New Year's Eve, while driving his Corvette along the A57 from Sheffield to his parents home in Dronfield (Derbyshire), Rick was involved in an incident which sent his car spinning out of control, turning over several times, injuring his female passenger and removing his left arm in the process. He remembers what happened vividly, and really can count himself fortunate to be alive. When the debris from the accident was examined it was found that the top half of the steering wheel had been bent back, Rick's particular power clearly preventing the steering column and dashboard from crushing against his chest. But why did it happen?

Picking through the events with Elliott it soon becomes obvious that the whole story is a little more complex than yer typical life-in-the-fast-lane pile up. Think about it...

When you're young and successful, with a streamlined US car and a female companion to match, it can sometimes sting the nasal membrane of the folks you've abandoned to a dole queue existence in your humdrum hometown rut. People have been known to glow green with jealousy, and on New Year's Eve people have been known to take a drink. Sometimes even a life...

"Yeah," says Joe quietly. "There was another car involved in the accident."

Mucking Rick around, you mean?

"That's right. But the people have denied it and there's nothing we can do. The coppers have interviewed them but it's no good I'd love to go round and kill 'em!"

Joe takes a moment to collect his thoughts, then continues... "The arm was placed in a bucket of ice gathered from all the houses nearby and Rick was in hospital (the Royal Hallamshire) within 19 minutes, which is unbelievable. He underwent an 11-hour operation; his arm was back on by ten to one the following morning, but infection set in and after three days they had to take it off.

"His nerves are still alive, though. They've got them wrapped up like spaghetti, and it's possible to have them connected up in a way that can give movement to a prosthetic arm. So the Steve Austin 'Six Million Dollar Man' thing is not beyond the realms of possibility one day. Rick still feels his arm because of the nerves."

When did you hear what had happened?

"I heard at about ten to four the same afternoon and I couldn't believe it. I cried like a baby for about three hours - my face was hurting. Peter (Mensch, manager) rang and said, 'Rick's had an accident, his arm's off, but they've sown it back on'. I've heard of that working before but unfortunately it was torn off, not cut off, so everything snapped and stretched in different places, which made it more difficult."

How soon after the accident did you visit Rick in hospital?

"I saw him two days after it happened... it was the worst experience I've ever had... but he was walking a week earlier than expected and telling the nurses to f**k off after three days because he was fed up having his bandages changed. He sounds in fine form now and wants to get back; drumming's all he's ever done, and he's done it very well."

"It's just up to him if he can stand the strain. I mean, he's going to go through some crap. He's not had it yet, but he's gonna suffer from depression; bad depression. He's being very realistic about it, though. He said to me, 'When it comes, it comes.' He wants to come out here to Holland but he knows he can't."

Presumably he won't be ready to play a part on the forthcoming tour?

"No, and he knows that. Somebody will guest with us until we know the result of Rick's convalescence." Would you consider using two drummers on any subsequent tours?

"Possibly, yeah, and Rick could do specific bits. We've definitely thought about that, but he's got a lot to learn first. I mean, there's certain things that are now a fact of life. If Rick wants to wear baseball boots, for example, he's gonna have to wear Velcro ones. And he's probably gonna need press-stud trousers. He's got to learn to bath himself even..."

"The thing is, at the moment his right arm doesn't work. The ball is smashed so they've had to pin it. He's got a six inch pin as big as a poker in there. Imagine if your elbow was sown to your hip; well that's all the movement he's got. I guess he's a bit of a mess, though mentally he's the best he's ever been."

What would happen if Rick returned to the band yet clearly wasn't cutting it? Would you have to tell him? "No, because he'd know himself. He's said that to me on the phone. He's being realistic- if he can't do it he can't, but he's definitely gonna try. There'll come a time when Rick will say, I'm ready, and we'll get together in a rehearsal room for a month and see what he does. He'll either turn round and go

'Yes!' and we'll go 'Yes!', or else he'll say 'Sorry, I'm not coping with it.'

"The important thing is that he tries, otherwise he'll never know, and that would be awful. I know he'd rather fail than not try at all. Besides, it's no big secret that we use drum machines on the records so, whatever happens, he could still be involved on that side. We would just take a session drummer out on the road."

"At the moment, we're trying not to get too depressed about the whole situation, but we were mega-depressed at first. I was in a real state, like a zombie for five hours, and for quite a time after I just didn't want to get into a car. I know it's daft, but it's true

A BONHAM of the biscuit tins, a Titan of the tupperware, since the age of 11 Rick Allen has thought of little outside of drums and drumming. At the moment he's at home, probably watching Cheech & Chong videos on the new system bought for him by Phonogram Records. But chances are that his thoughts are elsewhere, no doubt wafting with the music around the booths and corridors of Wisseloord Studios near Amsterdam, Holland, where Leppard are recording their fourth, as yet untitled, LP. As always, he's with his colleagues 110 per cent (for now it can be in spirit only), a continued commitment that should spur him on through the tough weeks and numerous hospital visits ahead.

Prior to the accident, he'd laid the groundwork for eight backing tracks, and the remaining two songs on the album were always destined to feature a less human touch, the band specifically wanting a more clinical punch, so there's no problem on that front. As for his work on backing vocals, well, Elliott can easily deputise in that department, leaving Rick free to concentrate on the speediest recovery possible and, as Elliott puts it, "Learn to live again. He's having all these drums built and a special car designed, all sorts of stuff..."

All things considered, '84 certainly wasn't an easy year for Def Leppard, a rude awakening for an almost unbroken streak of good fortune. First longstanding associate 'Mutt' Lange proved unable to produce the new LP, likewise his replacement Jim Steinman (though for different reasons - read on!), and then came The Accident, which instantly eclipsed all previous hassles, reducing apparent mountains of doom and dismay to easily skirted molehills. But, if anything, adversity has caused the four active members of the Leppard clan to virtually graft respective beaks to the grindstone in a collective consummate effort to make their next album their best.

The band's first LP, 'On Through The Night', produced by (Colonel) Tom Allom, took a mere 18 days to record and remains something of an embarrassment in Elliott's eyes (someday he'd like to remix it and touch up a few of the vocal parts), while the second, 'High 'N' Dry', with Lange now at the helm, was laid down in three and a half months, including a month's pre-production, bang, bang, bang, 'Mutt' clearly wanting to capture the excitement generated by these 21-year-old 'let's go for its'. But 'Pyromania' now that was a different story, with band and producer (Lange again) making a conscious decision at the outset to pin back the ears of a generation with something of genuine lasting quality; an attempt to update the glories of Queen's 'Sheer Heart Attack' and 'Night At The Opera' LPs...

They went for it in a big way and 10 months later came up trumps, creating a slice of history that many have doubted they'll be able to top; an album that left the whole of the music industry wide-eyed and open-mouthed, and caused bands both big and small to almost instantly re-assess their directions and aims. A (hard) labour of love still selling around a thousand a week, it broke taboos and set fresh standards right down the line.

"Hopefully, it'll be an Heavy Metal 'Sergeant Pepper...'," says Elliott, "who knows, but we've got to do more. It'd be tragic if our best album was our third and we end up doing 17 LPs."

Whatever the next album sounds like, however, Joe's convinced that it's gonna be slated by the press. He's resigned himself to the fact (not having heard the record beyond a few notes ricocheting out of the studio doors, I really can't comment), but, along with bassist Rick Savage and guitarists Steve Clark/Phil Collen, he's ploughing on regardless, helping to create something different to 'Pyromania' in content yet as good, if not better, overall.

"Since 'Pyromania' we're two years on technically," he explains. "The Fairlights are better, the keyboards are better and the microphones are better. And we're two years more experienced, of course. Actually, we keep putting on 'Pyromania' and listening to it back-to-back with what we've done; you have to imagine it without the mix, but it's definitely up there to my ears."

JOE ELLIOTT leans forward in the chair, tucks a fold of his rather battered dressing gown tight against private parts and pours himself another glass of one cal Coke. This for the moment is home, and has been since the middle of August: a simple hotel room in Holland ten minutes drive from the studio complex. Originally, the band were due to play the 'Mick Wall Festival' in Rio, but they eventually decided against it on grounds of not wanting to interrupt recording. So while certain jammy so-and-so's were sunning themselves on the Copacabana sands (maaaan!!), Elliott and co, tax exiles all, were trudging across frozen lakes, wrapped up tight against temperatures of 25° below! Still, there's always next year And if nothing else, in their present position the four are conveniently cut off from all domestic distractions. Through the hotel room window I can see Dirk, Elliott's treasured Renault 12 (and centrespread star of Kerrang! 79), basking quietly in the hazy sunlight, the central motif on an idyllic pastel canvas shaded only by the distant foghorn fuming of an adrenalised Peter Mensch. Somewhere, behind closed doors, he's informing an unfortunate Halfin that a five-piece outfit close to the latter's wallet have been 'stiffing' horribly in the South, and he doesn't mean Torquay! Let's just say he's on form...

Later, on the flight back to London, having persuaded Mensch to fund my purchase of a duty free Sony Walkman in tasteful pink, I tentatively suggest that the forthcoming Leppard biography should be titled 'Me & My Whine'...

"OH, YEAH, DAAAN-TAY!!" he snaps, blood vessels popping like balloons, "AND HOW LONG DID IT TAKE YOU TO THINK THAT ONE UP???"

Back to business...

"We've always upheld the theory," theorises Joe as things quieten down, "that we don't want to put out a record every nine months. We'd much rather put out a record every two to three years that's of real good quality

"When we started this album 'Mutt' was involved; we did pre-production with him in Dublin, Ireland, which is why we've put him down again on the songwriting credits. It's an honesty thing with us. He doesn't write anything as such; the six of us just sit round a table with a piece of paper in front of us and guitars turned down really low, then whoever chucks in an idea - be it Rick or 'Sav' or me or 'Mutt' - we play with it."

"Steve, for example, will come up with an idea and 'Mutt' will say, 'Change that round', 'Use this', 'Do it in another key', ' or whatever. It just creases me up to think that there are some people out there who look at us and say, 'Ha! They can't write their own songs', which isn't true at all. And even if it was, I'd much rather be involved with an album that sold six million copies co-written with a producer than one that sold 200,000 copies that wasn't."

Surely helping with the arrangements and so on is part of a producer's job, though "Yeah, right, but it's almost as if it's some kind of crime to let your producer be involved. That's what a producer's there for - to kick you up the arse and bring out the best that you can do. We encourage 'Mutt' to be involved and we repay him by sticking his name on the songwriting credits. Who cares! It's only a bloody song anyway..."

Isn't it true, though, that a lot of producers are really just glorified engineers and can't make the extra step up to that level of involvement?

"Yes, that is true, but 'Mutt's an exception anway because the guy's a musician, he's been an engineer since he left school - he's been doing it for 17 years and he's only in his early thirties now and he's also a brilliant singer and great songwriter, so you've got everything going for you! Whereas an engineer will be able to tell you if something's out of tune, 'Mutt' can go further than that and say, 'It doesn't feel right' or 'Sing it this way, shape your mouth like this, let's alter the phrasing'. "With most engineers, if it's in tune and it's what you want then it's a take, and that's all their job is, because if it's that way round it's normally the band who are producing, the way we are with this album. I noticed in Kerrang! it implied that Nigel Green is now producing – he's not, we are. Nigel's assisting." "Actually, he's worked with us on our last two albums, though not as main engineer. Mike Shipley was always our main engineer. Nigel's as good as Mike, it's just that at the time he was involved in other projects; so when Mike took a holiday or went to the dentist Nigel would come in. We've never worked with him on a long term basis before but we do know him."

What happened with 'Mutt' Lange, though? As I understand it, he originally agreed to produce the album as well as help out on pre-production...

"Yeah. In fact, he was still going to do it last February. We started with pre-production, as you've mentioned, but it soon became obvious that 'Mutt' was in no state to see the whole thing through. The Cars' album ('Heartbeat City') nearly killed him; our last album nearly killed him, and the Foreigner record ('IV') the same. I think he's just reached the stage now where to attain certain standards you're talking about grafting for a long time."

"The way we worked on 'Pyromania', for example, we were doing 20 hour days and the guy was sleeping on the couch in the control room. You just can't do that forever, so for the sake of his health he made a wise decision not to do our album. At the time, we were panicking; we thought, 'Oh, Christ!', cos things had all been planned. It wasn't a case of us being afraid of what the album would sound like if 'Mutt' wasn't there, it was simply the availability of other producers that we were concerned about. With top people like Ted Templeman, Mike Stone or Trevor Horn, you've got to book 'em years in advance, you can't just get in touch two weeks before you want to start..."

"Actually, we did approach Templeman just to see how much he wanted, and I don't think he was too keen to do it; he put in such a ridiculous money offer that no band in the world would have accepted it! But then we really wanted somebody a bit different, anyhow. We were interested in the people I've already mentioned initially because we thought, well, these are the names that we've listened to, Bob Ezrin, y'know. But then we started to think about people like Alex Sadkin, who we found was doing the new Foreigner album ('Agent Provocateur'). Trevor Horn would have worked with us in England, but Chris Thomas (Roxy Music, Procol Harum) turned us down flat - he obviously doesn't like us. We actually tried to get Phil Collins, who was interested but tied up with the latest Clapton LP ('Behind The Sun')."

So you were looking at people outside the world of heavy rock...

"Yeah, we were looking at up and coming producers like Terry Manning, who's engineered for ZZ Top, and Steve Lillywhite, who's yet to do a hard rock album but possibly could do a good one. Some of us were interested in him, some of us weren't. I like the fullness of Simple Minds' 'Sparkle In The Rain' LP, it's brill, but sounds are really no problem for us now, we can get good sounds; the thing we always like to have is musical input, and that's where we thought Steinman would come into his own. I mean, the guy's a good songwriter and he's had a hell of a lot of success with what he does."

He worked on the last Billy Squier album, 'Signs Of Life', with Tony Platt, didn't he?

"Yeah, well, he 'navigated' it is what Squier says. We thought, OK, we'll get the sounds and let him do the producing, but it turned out that Jim wasn't really what any of us thought he would be. In fact, I wonder how he's ever got a production credit on anything - especially with Squier, the kind of ego he's got. I can't understand why he even let Steinman's name appear on his album cos we're not putting it on ours."

What was the problem with Steinman then?

"Ahh... I wouldn't be lying if I said that you could have done it as well. I mean that. The guy just sat there reading 'Country Life' all day and going, 'Yeah, yeah, that sounds good', when it plainly wasn't. He's simply not used to recording the way we record. When we said, 'Listen, this is the way we work, you'd better get used to it', he tried and he couldn't. He just could not hear if something was wrong."

Were your standards too exacting for him, do you think?

"Possibly, yeah. It sounds strange to say that, though, cos to me those standards are normal. Doing 'Pyromania' was like going to college; I've grown up listening to things a certain way. As far as I'm concerned, getting the timing, the tuning and the feel spot on is the usual way to work, but Jim Steinman for all his reputation - could not hear it."

"After a while, we just thought, well, this is silly, we're wasting our time and money and wasting his time, though we weren't too bothered about that cos he wasn't too bothered about the project. I honestly don't think he was doing it for any reason other than credibility in the States. "We'd say, 'Right, we start at 12', and he'd wander in at 3.30. We'd stay till 12 or one in the morning, then he'd go back to his hotel and start writing songs for his own future projects, and he'd be up till nine o'clock doing that. So when he finally got round to us, he'd only had five hours sleep. he wasn't there half the time. I mean, he was there in body but not in mind. We found more and more that we were doing the work, which was fine, we didn't mind doing it, we just thought, why the hell should we be giving this guy so many points and so many dollars to sit there reading 'Country Life'!"

So how much did you manage to accomplish with Steinman?

"We did about eight backing tracks and scrapped them; almost everything has been done again. And even the things that went down were our decision Steinman never overruled us on anything. If he said a certain take was good and we said it was bad, we'd do it again."

Who was actually getting the sounds at this stage?

"Us and Neil Dorfsman, Steinman's engineer. He was good, actually, cos he was doing all the work. Jim was the ears of the partnership, but the ears were plugged up, I think..."

"Y'know, it annoys me intensely when a producer walks into a control room and says, "This carpet has got to go!' Sod the desk, that's not important. An SSL desk, 150,000 quid's worth of equipment, and the carpet's got to go! He even had the carpet changed in his hotel room. The guy was living in a suite while we were happy in rooms with a fridge and a cooker. Obviously, we paid for it all..."

"And the food! He went out to the North of Holland and had a 12 course meal! Which is fine, that's his personality, but when somebody walks into a studio and says the carpet has got to go... if I'd been there I'd have decked him. Seriously. Who gives a flying s**t what the carpet looks like!"

How long did Steinman last, then?

"Oh, we dumped Jim about November, we gave him a fair chance. We thought, well, alright, we're doing the spadework, what he might consider the boring side of the album, let's see what he's like on vocals, maybe that's his strongpoint. He did tell us that he spent something like five weeks trying to get Meat Loaf to sing one line, so we thought, OK, the guy's definitely got stamina."

"But when it came to doing vocals with me, it was exactly the same situation as with the backing tracks - everything was my decision. He'd say, 'Yeah, that's good', and I'd go, 'Jim, it's f**king useless!' I'd run out of breath at the end of a line cos I wasn't quite familiar with what I was singing, and he'd say, 'It's got a bit of feel'. Isn't that pathetic?!"

"I mean, Steve and Phil wanted to get rid of him two weeks after he was here. But I just kept saying, 'Give the guy a chance, blah, blah, blah' made meself look a right arsehole. But it was only fair to let him get to the vocal stage of things."

"Anyway, when Steinman went we all sat down and asked Mensch to sort out which other producers were available. We put down everybody we thought might be good. Mike Shipley couldn't do it cos he was off co-producing the new Loverboy album, so we just suggested Nigel. We were doing a better job than Steinman, so we thought, well, what's the point getting in another producer? We send 'Mutt' the odd tape now and then and he sends it back saying, 'It sounds brilliant to me', which shows that we can do it, so we are."

Has having Phil Collen involved from the start of this album (he became a Leppard member during the recording of 'Pyromania', replacing guitarist Pete Willis) made things different in any way?

"Yeah, it means that the songwriting's changed a little; Phil's input is better than Pete's ever was. Steve will always be the major songwriter, I think, but he's really encouraged Phil a lot. He doesn't just sit down and say, 'I want to write all the songs', stuff like that. In fact, everything that Steve's written, he's written with Phil in the same room... Phil's probably involved in eight of the 10 songs on the album."

And what about 'Sav'? He writes too, doesn't he?

"Yeah, but 'Sav's weird; I can't get to grips with him sometimes. More than anyone else in this band he likes your Journeys and your Bryan Adams, occasionally even the odd Duran Duran song, yet he was the one who came up with 'Stagefright' and 'No No No'. And on this new album he's got a number called 'Ring Of Fire' - not a cover of the famous Johnny Cash song! which is an uptempo, thrash, crash, Metal job. He just never writes like the people he listens to."

Will Steve and Phil be sharing the guitar breaks on the new LP?

"Oh yeah, 50/50, right down the middle. Actually, they argue about who's gonna do 'em; not in the sense of, 'I wanna do this', but Phil's telling Steve that he should do a certain solo and Steve's saying, 'No you do it, it's more up your street'. I remember hearing stories about KK (Downing) and Glenn (Tipton) from Priest not talking to each other for four months at a time, but it's the other way round with Steve and Phil. The only thing they argue about is who's gonna buy the drinks!"

What about you, though? You play a bit of guitar...

"Badly!"

...have you written anything on the new record?

"Er... I did come up with some stuff but I don't think it got used. I wrote little bits on the last album, but my main worry is obviously melodies, lyrics and vocals."

"Sometimes, though, we'll have a vocal line and work the backing around that. We've got this one new song, 'Armageddon It', which is Piltdown, just two chords all the way through; it's based around a tongue-in-cheek vocal thing."

Is it a 'Rock Of Ages' type number?

"I suppose it is a bit, yeah. The vocals come out from all over the place once it gets going. It's just a totally stupid lyric... like 'Rock Of Ages', just a piss-take of ourselves, though not mocking the fans in any way."

"And then there's 'Ring Of Fire', which I've already mentioned. It's actually about an Indian meal, the day after, but nobody would ever know that... well, they will now!"

When you're writing lyrics, do you ever think about how the song will work live?

"Not really, no. Obviously, a number like 'Rock Till You Drop' is a stage song, and the same with 'Stagefright', but I've never consciously sat down and thought, well, I'd better come up with two songs about 'Rock This Place To The Ground', or whatever, and one meaningful one about Vietnam, and another about a vigilante in New York. They just turn out that way. You do it in moods. I was probably watching something about Vietnam on TV and 'Die Hard The Hunter' (from the 'Pyromania' LP) came out, and I'd probably been to see 'Deathwish' when I wrote 'Billy's Got A Gun' (also on 'Pyromania'). I can't remember, I just do it."

"I actually wrote 'Photograph' (ditto) while I was sitting on the bog. I was stuck for a chorus and I had a picture of Marilyn Monroe staring me in the face... Bob's your uncle!"

When you made the decision to go for something extra with the 'Pyromania' album, were you confident that you could pull it off?

"We were confident, yeah, very confident, because 'Mutt' was producing. We just had so much faith in the guy and in return he had total confidence in what we were doing. We didn't see how we could go wrong, though Mensch was tearing his hair out when we were nearly a million pounds in debt and the record company were drumming their fingers waiting. I think we had to sell 1.2 million copies of 'Pyromania' to break even, we were in a real big mess..."

"I mean, I nearly had a nervous breakdown, I just couldn't handle it. I was going through so much crap towards the end - do it again, do it again... I got what a lot of singers get, 'Lastitis', which comes from the pressure of finishing. We went through a lot of hell on that record..."

Including, of course, the slightly wobbly exit of young Mr Willis...

"Yeah, but in all honesty I think that did us more good than anything. The thing is, you sometimes take situations for granted and then all of a sudden something like that happens and it's like, wow, it's different, there's only four of us, he's gone, really gone. I mean, Phil joined the day after, but then he almost joined back in '81."

"I tried to get him cos we were having trouble with Willis in America. I rang Phil up and said, 'Can you learn 16 songs in two days?' He said, 'I'll try', but that was just totally out of desperation, there's no way he could have done it. However, when Pete started to act in the studio like he did on tour, which was making Keith Moon look like a bloody vicar, it was time for him to go."

Why doesn't he get some help?

"Well, I think he's beyond help, to tell the truth. He doesn't even realise he needs it, he doesn't accept he's got a problem, though the guy's been in hospital twice as a result of drink and drugs. He had a collapsed liver or something, and epileptic fits, God knows what."

That hasn't happened to the rest of you, though, and you're all the same age, you've all worked your way up together...

"No, it's just him. Pete's always had something to prove, y'see, probably because he's a midget. The guy thought he was 10 feet tall when he was pissed and he'd be taking on people as big as you it didn't work. He was like a gigantic ball and chain around our ankles..."

THE LATEST whisper on Willis is that he's currently swanning around the environs of Sheffield, complete with Rolls Royce and minder, recounting tales of some hush-hush supergroup he might be throwing in his frets with. Elliott finds it hard to take the whole thing seriously, and I think it's fair to say that the recording of album number four is proceeding all the smoother for the wee man's absence.

Already, a number of lead vocals are complete, and the band (employing two studios simultaneously) are steadily piecing together their ten new songs, ready to convince a waiting world that Life After 'Pyromania' does exist.

So what's on the boil? Well, in no particular order, there's 'Armageddon It' and 'Ring Of Fire', already mentioned, 'Excitable', 'Gods Of War', 'Fractured Love', 'Don't Shoot The Shotgun' (Stonesy, I'm assured), 'Animal', 'Love Bites' (a ballad), 'Run Riot' and the enticingly handled 'Women', all proudly produced by the Leppard members themselves, who, without the invaluable 'Mutt' Marten to administer the prods, are taking great and serious pleasure in booting each other up the bum! "Actually, I never envisaged us producing ourselves," admits Joe, "I thought it might be the one thing that would lead to us falling out. It's always been dead important to us that Leppard is a friends situation; we want to keep the element of why we started. Five mates who can still go into the same bar and look each other in the face after seven years. Happily, that's the way it's remained, and producing ourselves is working really well..."

The new album, which now looks set to be mixed by Lange in the UK, an added bonus, should be available by August, after which the band plan to tear up the tarmac on a world tour of, well... y'know. The idea, it seems, is to blow away the studio cobwebs with about eight shows in Ireland, some in smaller places, then steer a course for the UK, perhaps for a September stint (the British dates have already been put back four times!) of 20 or so gigs. A headline appearance at Wembley Arena isn't too far off for the boys, according to Queen's Brian May, a staunch Leppard supporter, but this time around I reckon they'll settle for something a little more cosy.

Next tour, though Europe too seems odds on to cop a visit, particularly as 'Pyromania' has now shifted over 100,000 copies in France and is making a late burst for the tape in Scandinavia as well. Business in Germany, however, remains a little slow, and as for Holland... well, now we're talking about a massive 639 units shifted. Still, at least it means the band don't have to worry about being recognised. Def what?!

By December Leppard should be into America, after which it's likely they'll travel to Japan, though probably not Australia, that stage of the tour having lost them around 60 grand last Feb. Indeed, all in all, their schedule will be less arduous than last time, including more days off to recover and recharge. The band should certainly feel healthier as a result, but then with the Rick Allen episode having shocked the Leppard camp into a highly body-conscious state, that's the way things are heading anyway "I don't want to waste away and vegetate," explains Joe. "I'm 25, I'm supposed to be at the peak of my fitness; I'm supposed to be Glenn Hoddle but I wasn't. I'd run a mile and be out of breath. Now I can run a six minute mile, no trouble, and I do half an hour's worth of exercises every day. 'Sav', Phil and myself all go jogging too - we take less for granted now than we did before..."

#the bit about Steve and Phil writing together 🥹#def leppard #magazine scan #my scans

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dirty-bosmer · 7 months

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WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @skyrim-forever @lucien-lachance @thequeenofthewinter @kookaburra1701 @mareenavee Thank you <3

Tagging: @gilgamish @atypicalacademic @elavoria @dumpsterhipster @wispstalk @miraakulous-cloud-district @ladytanithia @viss-and-pinegar @nuwanders @sylvienerevarine @paraparadigm @rainpebble3 @inkysqueed @throughtrialbyfire @orfeoarte @weirdisme @fenverflymm (<- forever keeping up with ur usernames lol) and whoever else has something to share this week :D

Back on my Slither and Writhe brainrot. A snip from chapter 5.

An hour or so later (who could tell, really), Sylawen returned to the large indent in the ground she’d come to claim as her bed. She wondered if the ransom letter had ever made it to her parents, if they were gathered around the hearth having sent off the money as demanded, praying to their disparate gods for her safe return. And if it hadn’t? Surely by now they’d know she hadn’t made it to Whiterun. Yes, of course. Surely. With a groan Sylawen curled inward, reverting to a primordial grub-state, hoping some pale, filmy membrane would sprout outward from her spine to enclose her, and she prayed to whichever of her parents’ gods would listen that when she woke up, either the world would be sparkly and brand new or she would. “... done wasting all my time with this, Thrynn,” came Garthek’s voice from the floor above. “No word yet, and it’s been weeks. I ain’t waiting around to hear back about this damn rendezvous.” “C’mon, it’s not been so long. Not sure if you’ve bothered looking at a map, but Falkreath is several thousand miles away from—” There was a thud and a stumble, the sound of wood scraping against wood. Someone had been shoved against a chair. “Don’t smart mouth me, boy,” Garthek hissed. “Now, I’ve wasted too much damn time on this plan of yours, and for all we know, her family’s sending mercs instead of money. We need to get back to the Pale, been south for too long with nothing to show for it, and now the damned Jarl is hounding me for tribute if we want to keep working in his hold. Says he needs a cut, and it’s sure as all hells’ ain’t coming out of my pocket.” “I know it’s taking longer than expected,” Thrynn said, his voice strained, “but her family’s good for the money.” “That’s what she told you? Shit, I’d tell you my papi was good to lick your ass if I thought it would keep me alive a day longer.” “Look, it’s slim pickings here. Few caravans come through the pass this near to winter, and scouts say the Legion’s been gathering near Helgen, so we’re pretty much limited to—” “Nah, we ain’t limited to shit. We’re going north, Thrynn, back to the camp, and we’re not bringing your little elf bitch with us, so get rid of her.” “Garthek—” But Garthek didn’t reply and as his heavy footsteps stomped out of the room to an inaudible distance away, Sylawen realized Thrynn was left alone upstairs, alone with his orders and his bone-handled knife. She bolted up. From above came the sharp creeak, creeak, creeeaak of the floorboards and his steps moving closer to the basement hatch. He wouldn’t. She sunk her hands into the dirt beneath her as if to find a root buried nearby, something to grasp onto, to ground her. He wouldn’t. He can’t. Creeak, creeak, creeeaak. There he was, right outside the hatch now, and she could hear the rattling of the iron rung as he grasped it to lift. The rusted hinge croaked out its late lamplight dirge because for all it knew, this was the last time it would be opened, and once it shut again, it would remain forever closed.

For whatever reason the fact that Thrynn had a history as a bandit has remained embedded in my brain, and if there's anything I know about writing fic, it's that I have to cram in all the random NPCs I can.

#wip wednesday #skyrim fic #slither and writhe #Sonny writes

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medusapelagia · 2 months

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Dark Weeping Angel

written for @strangerthingswritersguild - Time for a joust for Devonia (@devondespresso) Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve & Eddie TW: dark fic, mention of injuries, blood and wounds, vampire Eddie Munson, ambiguous/open ending, Eddie Munson as Kas Prompt: Weeping Angel Word Count: 1572 AO3 link

A newborn first breath.

That’s what Vecna is thinking about, while the dead body, covered in dirt and blood, gasps in front of him.

It’s not really a breath because the man that once was Eddie Munson is dead, but it resembles it. The body sits, too abruptly, spitting blood and mud and cleaning his mouth with his arm. It takes a moment for him to notice that he is not alone, and when he turns Vecna’s blue eyes are staring at him.

The boy tilts his head, like a curious cat. He is not worried or scared, just curious. He is wondering if Vecna is a friend or an enemy. Eddie‘s eyes are blurred, but they are pointed exactly where they should be.

“Good morning sleepy head,” Vecna says, getting closer, and offering his hand to the creature in front of him.

Eddie sniffs it a few times and licks Vecna’s palm, finding that he likes the man’s taste and that he is not a threat.

“Can you get up?” Vecna asks, stepping back and looking at Eddie trying to stand up a few times and failing miserably until he notices that there is something on his back: a big pair of dark wings and a tail are testing his equilibrium. The boy stares at Vecna in confusion, but the man keeps smiling at him, like a proud parent, so Eddie tries again, and again until he finally manages to stand up.

The black membranous wings are so big that they touch the ground and his thick tail scratches against the rocks. Eddie whimpers in pain, looking at his body that’s so different from what used to be.

“You should be grateful to me.” Vecna says getting closer, grabbing one of Eddie's wings and twisting it until the monster tries to free himself roaring, “You’re mine to play with. Never forget about it!” Vecna hisses before releasing the wing and Eddie wraps himself in his huge wings like he could hide from the man that‘s still staring at him. He tentatively touches his wings with his hands, discovering that new part of his body. He startles himself while his wings flex under his fingertips, as he slowly understands how to move them.

“Are you ready to get back?”

Eddie tilts his head in confusion.

“Don’t you want to see your friends?”

Eddie makes a sound that’s definitely not a word but sounds like a question.

“I’ll let you go back where you came from.” Vecna says, pointing at the destroyed white trailers just a few feet away, “Back home.”

Home is a word that Eddie doesn’t know, but he licks the air as if he could taste it.

Home is nice.

Home is good.

Home is edible. Maybe.

The ground trembles and once more Eddie falls on the ground with a whimper, trying to understand what he should do, but Vecna grabs him by his arm and helps him stand up.

“Home.” He insists, pointing at the trailer, “Go home.”

This time Eddie follows the order and wobbles toward the red rift on the ground, jumping through it. He tries to open his wings, but they are still too new, so he falls to the ground with a whimper.

The trailer park is empty, the place looks abandoned and there are no cars in the parking lot. One part of Eddie's mind, the part that vaguely remembers that home is a good thing, knows that’s not normal, but neither is it having wings and a tail.

He starts walking through the woods, keeping his wings up even if the muscles of his shoulders ache, while his tail keeps moving from one side to the other.

It doesn’t take long before he sees a house. A pretty familiar one. A house that’s not home but that he visited enough times to know that there is a room with horrible wallpaper and a heated pool.

A pool sounds so nice.

Eddie walks towards the house and tastes the air with his tongue like a snake. Nothing. The house is empty. He sits near the pool, staring at his reflection, and when he reaches out with one hand toward the reflective surface he loses his equilibrium once more and falls head-first into the pool. The creature squirms, kicks, and howls, trying to escape from the deadly trap he fell into, too busy shrieking and screaming to notice the shift in the air. His cries for help cover the sound of a car getting closer, and in his panic, he doesn’t taste in the air the presence of another person.

A young man is holding a nailed bat in front of him. Somewhere in his broken memories, a voice whispers to him to take care, that the bat could hurt him, but the water is trying to drown him so the creature that once was Eddie Munson cries out of fear, and the boy with the bat steps closer.

Eddie’s hands have claws but they can’t get a grip on the water or else. His blurred eyes are wide with fear and then the boy with the bat does something stupid. Or brave. Eddie can’t really tell.

He strips off his clothes and jumps into the pool, swimming toward the screaming creature.

“Calm down! You need to calm down!” The familiar voice insists, but the monster keeps fighting the terrible water that’s trying to swallow him and drag him down where everything is cold and bad.

Somehow the boy manages to grab the monster, even if he keeps scratching his chest, and drags him towards the pool stairs.

Finding finally something he can use as leverage, the monster gets out of the pool as fast as he can, not caring about the whimpers behind him and pushing the boy underwater more than once without even noticing it.

When the boy reemerges, spitting dirty water, the creature is hiding behind a little house, pool house his mind supplies, still scared and unsure about what to do.

“Eddie?” The boy calls, and the creature knows that he used to answer that name before, but it feels something so far away, like a childhood memory that he forgot but somehow is still lingering in his mind.

“Eddie?” The boy calls again, and the creature dares to peek from his hiding spot at the boy.

The boy is naked, apart from his boxers and his socks, and his chest is a bleeding mess: the creature’s claws tore the skin and cut muscles and fat.

Still, on his four legs, the creature gets closer, smelling the blood and feeling a terrible hunger.

How long has passed since he fed himself?

He jumps at the boy and the young man falls on the pavement hitting his head hard. He whimpers in pain, but Eddie's new limbs make sure that the boy can’t move when he starts to lap at his wounds.

The blood metallic taste fills his mouth and it’s the most divine thing he has ever tasted.

Under him, the boy cries and screams but Eddie keeps sucking at the bloodied wounds.

Ambrosia.

That’s another word that comes to his mind, unlocked from the memory of the boy who was Eddie Munson.

“Eddie… Eddie, please stop! It’s me! Steve! I’m your friend! We helped you at the boat house. It’s me! Come on man! It’s Steve!” The boy yells while the monster is licking his teeth.

“Steve…” he murmurs and that’s the first word he has ever said.

He doesn't really know what a Steve is but he hopes that’s a good word, being the first he ever pronounced.

“Yeah! That’s me! I’m Steve!” The boy insists and in his eyes, there is hope for recognition “I’m Steve and you are Eddie! Right?”

The monster tilts his head, still straddling the boy.

“Eddie?” He asks again, but this time the boy doesn’t try to move.

Eddie is a familiar word but it means nothing to the creature that’s hovering over him, so he keeps scenting the air, tasting it on his tongue to be sure if the boy is a threat or not, and when he smells him, he smells like food.

The creature ducks his head, ready to continue his feasting, but something stops him.

Steve is a good word, the voice inside him tells him, too good to be eaten.

But there are other creatures out there, creatures named Jason, Andy, and many more, that they can devour without feeling guilty.

Steve is not on the list.

Steve is something they must protect, even from themselves.

It physically hurts removing himself from Steve’s body, an ache old and deep that has no words. The creature tastes the air with his long tongue and he tastes remorse, regret, and a pain he can’t explain.

It’s not physical, but it’s so strong that it makes his eyes water.

The creature that once was Eddie Munson gets up and stares at the boy. He has friends, the voice inside him reassures him, they’ll take care of him, so the monster steps back and turns toward the woods.

He knows that he is just a puppet, but if he still can, he will try to preserve what Steve is.

The creature turns one last time to stare at the boy, and for a moment he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the water: a dark weeping angel crying blood tears.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #dark fic #Stranger Things Fanfiction #medusapelagia fanfic #stranger things fanfic #my fanfic #medusapelagia #TW: blood #TW: injuries #exchange fic #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Steddie #Steve x Eddie #Steddie Fic

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