#Captain S. P. Meek

[rjalker]

Beyond the Heaviside Layer

By Capt S. P. Meek

Published in the July edition of the Astounding Stories of Super-Science magazine.

* * *

McQuarrie, the City Editor, looked up as I entered his office.

"Bond," he asked, "do you know Jim Carpenter?"

"I know him slightly," I replied cautiously. "I have met him several times and I interviewed him some years ago when he improved the Hadley rocket motor. I can't claim a very extensive acquaintance with him."

"I thought you knew him well. It is a surprise to me to find that there is any prominent man who is not an especial friend of yours. At any rate you know him as well as anyone of the staff, so I'll give you the assignment."

"What's he up to now?" I asked.

"He's going to try to punch a hole in the heaviside layer."

"But that's impossible," I cried. "How can anyone...."

My voice died away in silence. True enough, the idea of trying to make a permanent hole in a field of magnetic force was absurd, but even as I spoke I remembered that Jim Carpenter had never agreed to the opinion almost unanimously held by our scientists as to the true nature of the heaviside layer.

"It may be impossible," replied McQuarrie dryly, "but you are not hired by this paper as a scientific consultant. For some reason, God alone knows why, the owner thinks that you are a reporter. Get down there and try to prove he is right by digging up a few facts about Carpenter's attempt. Wire your stuff in and Peavey will write it up. On this one occasion, please try to conceal your erudition and send in your story in simple words of one syllable which uneducated men like Peavey and me can comprehend. That's all."

= = =

He turned again to his desk and I left the room. At one time I would have come from such an interview with my face burning, but McQuarrie's vitriol slid off me like water off a duck's back. He didn't really mean half of what he said, and he knew as well as I did that his crack about my holding my job with the Clarion as a matter of pull was grossly unjust. It is true that I knew Trimble, the owner of the Clarion, fairly well, but I got my job without any aid from him. McQuarrie himself hired me and I held my job because he hadn't fired me, despite the caustic remarks which he addressed to me. I had made the mistake when I first got on the paper of letting McQuarrie know that I was a graduate electrical engineer from Leland University, and he had held it against me from that day on. I don't know whether he really held it seriously against me or not, but what I have written above is a fair sample of his usual manner toward me.

In point of fact I had greatly minimized the extent of my acquaintance with Jim Carpenter. I had been in Leland at the same time that he was and had known him quite well. When I graduated, which was two years after he did, I worked for about a year in his laboratory, and my knowledge of the improvement which had made the Hadley rocket motor a practicability came from first hand knowledge and not from an interview. That was several years before but I knew that he never forgot an acquaintance, let alone a friend, and while I had left him to take up other work our parting had been pleasant, and I looked forward with real pleasure to seeing him again.

Jim Carpenter, the stormy petrel of modern science! The eternal iconoclast: the perpetual opponent! He was probably as deeply versed in the theory of electricity and physical chemistry as any man alive, but it pleased him to pose as a "practical" man who knew next to nothing of theory and who despised the little he did know. His great delight was to experimentally smash the most beautifully constructed theories which were advanced and taught in the colleges and universities of the world, and when he couldn't smash them by experimental evidence, to attack them from the standpoint of philosophical reasoning and to twist around the data on which they were built and make it prove, or seem to prove, the exact opposite of what was generally accepted.

No one questioned his ability. When the ill-fated Hadley had first constructed the rocket motor which bears his name it was Jim Carpenter who made it practical. Hadley had tried to disintegrate lead in order to get his back thrust from the atomic energy which it contained and proved by apparently unimpeachable mathematics that lead was the only substance which could be used. Jim Carpenter had snorted through the pages of the electrical journals and had turned out a modification of Hadley's invention which disintegrated aluminum. The main difference in performance was that, while Hadley's original motor would not develop enough power to lift itself from the ground, Carpenter's modification produced twenty times the horsepower per pound of weight of any previously known generator of power and changed the rocket ship from a wild dream to an everyday commonplace.

hen Hadley later constructed his space flyer and proposed to visit the moon, it was Jim Carpenter who ridiculed the idea of the attempt being successful. He proposed the novel and weird idea that the path to space was not open, but that the earth and the atmosphere were enclosed in a hollow sphere of impenetrable substance through which Hadley's space flyer could not pass. How accurate were his prognostications was soon known to everyone. Hadley built and equipped his flyer and started off on what he hoped would be an epoch making flight. It was one, but not in the way which he had hoped. His ship took off readily enough, being powered with four rocket motors working on Carpenter's principle, and rose to a height of about fifty miles, gaining velocity rapidly. At that point his velocity suddenly began to drop.

He was in constant radio communication with the earth and he reported his difficulty. Carpenter advised him to turn back while he could, but Hadley kept on. Slower and slower became his progress, and after he had penetrated ten miles into the substance which hindered him, his ship stuck fast. Instead of using his bow motors and trying to back out, he had moved them to the rear, and with the combined force of his four motors he had penetrated for another two miles. There he insanely tried to force his motors to drive him on until his fuel was exhausted.

He had lived for over a year in his space flyer, but all of his efforts did not serve to materially change his position. He had tried, of course, to go out through his air locks and explore space, but his strength, even although aided by powerful levers, could not open the outer doors of the locks against the force which was holding them shut. Careful observations were continuously made of the position of his flyer and it was found that it was gradually returning toward the earth. Its motion was very slight, not enough to give any hope for the occupant. Starting from a motion so slow that it could hardly be detected, the velocity of return gradually accelerated; and three years after Hadley's death, the flyer was suddenly released from the force which held it, and it plunged to the earth, to be reduced by the force of its fall to a twisted, pitiful mass of unrecognizable junk.

he remains were examined, and the iron steel parts were found to be highly magnetized. This fact was seized upon by the scientists of the world and a theory was built up of a magnetic field of force surrounding the earth through which nothing of a magnetic nature could pass. This theory received almost universal acceptance, Jim Carpenter alone of the more prominent men of learning refusing to admit the validity of it. He gravely stated it as his belief that no magnetic field existed, but that the heaviside layer was composed of some liquid of high viscosity whose density and consequent resistance to the passage of a body through it increased in the ratio of the square of the distance to which one penetrated into it.

There was a moment of stunned surprise when he announced his radical idea, and then a burst of Jovian laughter shook the scientific press. Carpenter was in his glory. For months he waged a bitter controversy in the scientific journals and when he failed to win converts by this method, he announced that he would prove it by blasting a way into space through the heaviside layer, a thing which would be patently impossible were it a field of force. He had lapsed into silence for two years and his curt note to the Associated Press to the effect that he was now ready to demonstrate his experiment was the first intimation the world had received of his progress.

drew expense money from the cashier and boarded the Lark for Los Angeles. When I arrived I went to a hotel and at once called Carpenter on the telephone.

"Jim Carpenter speaking," came his voice presently.

"Good evening, Mr. Carpenter," I replied, "this is Bond of the San Francisco Clarion."

I would be ashamed to repeat the language which came over that telephone. I was informed that all reporters were pests and that I was a doubly obnoxious specimen and that were I within reach I would be promptly assaulted and that reporters would be received at nine the next morning and no earlier or later.

"Just a minute, Mr. Carpenter," I cried as he neared the end of his peroration and was, I fancied, about to slam up the receiver. "Don't you remember me? I was at Leland with you and used to work in your laboratory in the atomic disintegration section."

"What's your name?" he demanded.

"Bond, Mr. Carpenter."

"Oh, First Mortgage! Certainly I remember you. Mighty glad to hear your voice. How are you?"

"Fine, thank you, Mr. Carpenter. I would not have ventured to call you had I not known you. I didn't mean to impose and I'll be glad to see you in the morning at nine."

"Not by a long shot," he cried. "You'll come up right away. Where are you staying?"

"At the El Rey."

"Well, check out and come right up here. There's lots of room for you here at the plant and I'll be glad to have you. I want at least one intelligent report of this experiment and you should be able to write it. I'll look for you in an hour."

"I don't want to impose—" I began; but he interrupted.

"Nonsense, glad to have you. I needed someone like you badly and you have come just in the nick of time. I'll expect you in an hour."

he receiver clicked and I hastened to follow his instructions. A ringside seat was just what I was looking for. It took my taxi a little over an hour to get to the Carpenter laboratory and I chuckled when I thought of how McQuarrie's face would look when he saw my expense account. Presently we reached the edge of the grounds which surrounded the Carpenter laboratory and were stopped at the high gate I remembered so well.

"Are you sure you'll get in, buddy?" asked my driver.

"Certainly," I replied. "What made you ask?"

"I've brought three chaps out here to-day and none of them got in," he answered with a grin. "I'm glad you're so sure, but I'll just wait around until you are inside before I drive away."

I laughed and advanced to the gate. Tim, the old guard, was still there, and he remembered and welcomed me.

"Me ordhers wuz t' let yez roight in, sor," he said as he greeted me. "Jist lave ye'er bag here and Oi'll have ut sint roight up."

I dropped my bag and trudged up the well remembered path to the laboratory. It had been enlarged somewhat since I saw it last and, late though the hour was, there was a bustle in the air and I could see a number of men working in the building. From an area in the rear, which was lighted by huge flood lights, came the staccato tattoo of a riveter. I walked up to the front of the laboratory and entered. I knew the way to Carpenter's office and I went directly there and knocked.

"Hello, First Mortgage!" cried Jim Carpenter as I entered in response to his call. "I'm glad to see you. Excuse the bruskness of my first greeting to you over the telephone, but the press have been deviling me all day, every man jack of them trying to steal a march on the rest. I am going to open the whole shebang at nine to-morrow and give them all an equal chance to look things over before I turn the current on at noon. As soon as we have a little chat, I'll show you over the works."

After half an hour's chat he rose. "Come along, First Mortgage," he said, "we'll go out and look the place over and I'll explain everything. If my ideas work out, you'll have no chance to go over it to-morrow, so I want you to see it now."

I had no chance to ask him what he meant by this remark, for he walked rapidly from the laboratory and I perforce followed him. He led the way to the patch of lighted ground behind the building where the riveting machine was still beating out its monotonous cacaphony and paused by the first of a series of huge reflectors, which were arranged in a circle.

"Here is the start of the thing," he said. "There are two hundred and fifty of these reflectors arranged in a circle four hundred yards in diameter. Each of them is an opened parabola of such spread that their beams will cover an area ten yards in diameter at fifty miles above the earth. If my calculations are correct they should penetrate through the layer at an average speed of fifteen miles per hour per unit, and by two o'clock to-morrow afternoon, the road to space should be open."

"What is your power?" I asked.

"Nothing but a concentration of infra-red rays. The heaviside layer, as you doubtless know, is a liquid and, I think, an organic liquid. If I am right in that thought, the infra-red will cut through it like a knife through cheese."

"If it is a liquid, how will you prevent it from flowing back into the hole you have opened?" I asked.

"When the current is first turned on, each reflector will bear on the same point. Notice that they are moveable. They are arranged so that they move together. As soon as the first hole is bored through, they will move by clockwork, extending the opening until each points vertically upward and the hole is four hundred yards in diameter. I am positive that there will be no rapid flow even after the current is turned off, for I believe that the liquid is about as mobile as petroleum jelley. Should it close, however, it would take only a couple of hours to open it again to allow the space flyer to return."

"What space flyer?" I demanded quickly.

"The one we are going to be on, First Mortgage," he replied with a slight chuckle.

e?" I cried, aghast.

"Certainly. We. You and I. You didn't think I was going to send you alone, did you?"

"I didn't know that anyone was going."

"Of course. Someone has to go; otherwise, how could I prove my point? I might cut through a hundred holes and yet these stiff-necked old fossils, seeing nothing, would not believe. No, First Mortgage, when those arcs start working to-morrow, you and I will be in a Hadley space ship up at the bottom of the layer, and as soon as the road has been opened, two of the lamps will cut off to allow us through. Then the battery will hold the road open while we pass out into space and return."

"Suppose we meet with Hadley's fate?" I demanded.

"We won't. Even if I am wrong—which is very unlikely—we won't meet with any such fate. We have two stern motors and four bow motors. As soon as we meet with the slightest resistance to our forward progress we will stop and have twice the power plus gravity to send us earthwards. There is no danger connected with the trip."

"All the same—" I began.

"All the same, you're going," he replied. "Man alive, think of the chance to make a world scoop for your paper! No other press man has the slightest inkling of my plan and even if they had, there isn't another space flyer in the world that I know of. If you don't want to go, I'll give some one else the chance, but I prefer you, for you know something of my work."

I thought rapidly for a moment. The chance was a unique one and one that half the press men in San Francisco would have given their shirts to get. I had had my doubts of the accuracy of Jim Carpenter's reasoning while I was away from him, but there was no resisting the dynamic personality of the man when in his presence.

"You win," I said with a laugh. "Your threat of offering some of my hated rivals a chance settled it."

"Good boy!" he exclaimed, pounding me on the back. "I knew you'd come. I had intended to take one of my assistants with me, but as soon as I knew you were here I decided that you were the man. There really ought to be a press representative along. Come with me and I'll show you our flyer."

The flyer proved to be of the same general type as had been used by Hadley. It was equipped with six rocket motors, four discharging to the bow and two to the stern. Any one of them, Carpenter said, was ample for motive power. Equilibrium was maintained by means of a heavy gyroscope which would prevent any turning of the axis of its rotation. The entire flyer shell could be revolved about the axis so that oblique motion with our bow and stern motors was readily possible. Direct lateral movement was provided for by valves which would divert a portion of the discharge of either a bow or stern motor out through side vents in any direction. The motive power, of course, was furnished by the atomic disintegration of powdered aluminum. The whole interior, except for the portion of the walls, roof and floor, which was taken up by vitriolene windows, was heavily padded.

At nine the next morning the gates to the enclosure were thrown open and the representatives of the press admitted. Jim Carpenter mounted a platform and explained briefly what he proposed to do and then broke the crowd up into small groups and sent them over the works with guides. When all had been taken around they were reassembled and Carpenter announced to them his intention of going up in a space flyer and prove, by going through the heaviside layer, that he had actually destroyed a portion of it. There was an immediate clamor of applications to go with him. He laughingly announced that one reporter was all that he could stand on the ship and that he was taking one of his former associates with him. I could tell by the envious looks with which I was favored that any popularity I had ever had among my associates was gone forever. There was little time to think of such things, however, for the hour for our departure was approaching, and the photographers were clamoring for pictures of us and the flyer.

We satisfied them at last, and I entered the flyer after Carpenter. We sealed the car up, started the air conditioner, and were ready for departure.

"Scared, Pete?" asked Carpenter, his hand on the starting lever.

I gulped a little as I looked at him. He was perfectly calm to a casual inspection, but I knew him well enough to interpret the small spots of red which appeared on his high cheekbones and the glitter in his eye. He may not have been as frightened as I was but he was laboring under an enormous nervous strain. The mere fact that he called me "Pete" instead of his usual "First Mortgage" showed that he was feeling pretty serious.

"Not exactly scared," I replied, "but rather uneasy, so to speak."

He laughed nervously.

"Cheer up, old man! If anything goes wrong, we won't know it. Sit down and get comfortable; this thing will start with a jerk."

He pulled the starting lever forward suddenly and I felt as though an intolerable weight were pressed against me, glueing me to my seat. The feeling lasted only for a moment, for he quickly eased up on the motor, and in a few moments I felt quite normal.

"How fast are we going?" I asked.

"Only two hundred miles an hour," he replied. "We will reach the layer in plenty of time at this rate and I don't want to jam into it. You can get up now."

I rose, moved over to the observation glass in the floor, and looked down. We were already five or ten miles above the earth and were ascending rapidly. I could still detect the great circle of reflectors with which our way was to be opened.

"How can you tell where these heat beams are when they are turned on?" I asked. "Infra-red rays are not visible, and we will soon be out of sight of the reflectors."

"I forgot to mention that I am having a small portion of visible red rays mixed with the infra-red so that we can spot them. I have a radio telephone here, working on my private wavelength, so that I can direct operations from here as well as from the ground—in fact, better. If you're cold, turn on the heater."

The friction of the flyer against the air had so far made up for the decreasing temperature of the air surrounding us, but a glance at the outside thermometer warned me that his suggestion was a wise one. I turned a valve which diverted a small portion of our exhaust through a heating coil in the flyer. It was hard to realize that I was actually in a rocket space ship, the second one to be flown and that, with the exception of the ill-fated Hadley, farther from the earth than any man had been before. There was no sensation of movement in that hermetically sealed flyer, and, after the first few moments, the steady drone of the rocket motor failed to register on my senses. I was surprised to see that there was no trail of detritus behind us.

"You can see our trail at night," replied Carpenter when I asked him about it, "but in daylight, there is nothing to see. The slight luminosity of the gasses is hidden by the sun's rays. We may be able to see it when we get out in space beyond the layer, but I don't know. We have arrived at the bottom of the layer now, I believe. At any rate, we are losing velocity."

I moved over to the instrument board and looked. Our speed had dropped to one hundred and ten miles an hour and was steadily falling off. Carpenter pulled the control lever and reduced our power. Gradually the flyer came to a stop and hung poised in space. He shut off the power an instant and at once our indicator showed that we were falling, although very slowly. He promptly reapplied the power, and by careful adjustment brought us again to a dead stop.

"Ready to go," he remarked looking at his watch, "and just on time, too. Take a glass and watch the ground. I am going to have the heat turned on."

I took the binoculars he indicated and turned them toward the ground while he gave a few crisp orders into his telephone. Presently from the ground beneath us burst out a circle of red dots from which long beams stabbed up into the heavens. The beams converged as they mounted until at a point slightly below us, and a half-mile away they became one solid beam of red. One peculiarity I noticed was that, while they were plainly visible near the ground, they faded out, and it was not until they were a few miles below us that they again became apparent. I followed their path upward into the heavens.

"Look here, Jim!" I cried as I did so. "Something's happening!"

He sprang to my side and glanced at the beam.

"Hurrah!" he shouted, pounding me on the back. "I was right! Look! And the fools called it a magnetic field!"

Upward the beam was boring its way, but it was almost concealed by a rain of fine particles of black which were falling around it.

"It's even more spectacular than I had hoped," he chortled. "I had expected to reduce the layer to such fluidity that we could penetrate it or even to vaporize it, but we are actually destroying it! That stuff is soot and is proof, if proof be needed, that the layer is an organic liquid."

He turned to his telephone and communicated the momentous news to the earth and then rejoined me at the window. For ten minutes we watched and a slight diminution of the black cloud became apparent.

"They're through the layer," exclaimed Carpenter. "Now watch, and you'll see something. I'm going to start spreading the beam."

He turned again to his telephone, and presently the beam began to widen and spread out. As it did so the dark cloud became more dense than it had been before. The earth below us was hidden and we could see the red only as a dim murky glow through the falling soot. Carpenter inquired of the laboratory and found that we were completely invisible to the ground, half the heavens being hidden by the black pall. For an hour the beam worked its way toward us.

"The hole is about four hundred yards in diameter right now," said Carpenter as he turned from the telephone. "I have told them to stop the movement of the reflectors, and as soon as the air clears a little, we'll start through."

It took another hour for the soot to clear enough that we could plainly detect the ring of red light before us. Carpenter gave some orders to the ground, and a gap thirty yards wide opened in the wall before us. Toward this gap the flyer moved slowly under the side thrust of the diverted motor discharge. The temperature rose rapidly as we neared the wall of red light before us. Nearer we drew until the light was on both sides of us. Another few feet and the flyer shot forward with a jerk that threw me sprawling on the floor. Carpenter fell too, but he maintained his hold on the controls and tore at them desperately to check us.

I scrambled to my feet and watched. The red wall was alarmingly close. Nearer we drove and then came another jerk which threw me sprawling again. The wall retreated. In another moment we were standing still, with the red all around us at a distance of about two hundred yards.

"We had a narrow escape from being cremated," said Carpenter with a shaky laugh. "I knew that our speed would increase as soon as we got clear of the layer but it caught me by surprise just the same. I had no idea how great the holding effect of the stuff was. Well, First Mortgage, the road to space is open for us. May I invite you to be my guest on a little week-end jaunt to the Moon?"

"No thanks, Jim," I said with a wry smile. "I think a little trip to the edge of the layer will quite satisfy me."

"Quitter," he laughed. "Well, say good-by to familiar things. Here we go!"

He turned to the controls of the flyer, and presently we were moving again, this time directly away from the earth. There was no jerk at starting this time, merely a feeling as though the floor were pressing against my feet, a great deal like the feeling a person gets when they rise rapidly in an express elevator. The indicator showed that we were traveling only sixty miles an hour. For half an hour we continued monotonously on our way with nothing to divert us. Carpenter yawned.

"Now that it's all over, I feel let down and sleepy," he announced. "We are well beyond the point to which Hadley penetrated and so far we have met with no resistance. We are probably nearly at the outer edge of the layer. I think I'll shoot up a few miles more and then call it a day and go home. We are about eighty miles from the earth now."

I looked down, but could see nothing below us but the dense cloud of black soot resulting from the destruction of the heaviside layer. Like Carpenter, I felt sleepy, and I suppressed a yawn as I turned again to the window.

"Look here, Jim!" I cried suddenly. "What's that?"

He moved in a leisurely manner to my side and looked out. As he did so I felt his hand tighten on my shoulder with a desperate grip. Down the wall of red which surrounded us was coming an object of some kind. The thing was fully seventy-five yards long and half as wide at its main portion, while long irregular streams extended for a hundred yards on each side of it. There seemed to be dozens of them.

"What is it, Jim?" I asked in a voice which sounded high and unnatural to me.

"I don't know," he muttered, half to me and half to himself. "Good Lord, there's another of them!"

He pointed. Not far from the first of the things came another, even larger than the first. They were moving sluggishly along the red light, seeming to flow rather than to crawl. I had a horrible feeling that they were alive and malignant. Carpenter stepped back to the controls of the flyer and stopped our movement; we hung in space, watching them. The things were almost level with us, but their sluggish movement was downward toward the earth. In color, they were a brilliant crimson, deepening into purple near the center. Just as the first of them came opposite us it paused, and slowly a portion of the mass extended itself from the main bulk; and then, like doors opening, four huge eyes, each of them twenty feet in diameter, opened and stared at us.

"It's alive, Jim," I quavered. I hardly knew my own voice as I spoke.

Jim stepped back to the controls with a white face, and slowly we moved closer to the mass. As we approached I thought that I could detect a fleeting passage of expression in those huge eyes. Then they disappeared and only a huge crimson and purple blob lay before us. Jim moved the controls again and the flyer came to a stop.

Two long streamers moved out from the mass. Suddenly there was a jerk to the ship which threw us both to the floor. It started upward at express train speed. Jim staggered to his feet, grasped the controls and started all four bow motors at full capacity, but even this enormous force had not the slightest effect in diminishing our speed.

"Well, the thing's got us, whatever it is," said Jim as he pulled his controls to neutral, shutting off all power. Now that the danger had assumed a tangible form, he appeared as cool and collected as ever, to my surprise, I found that I had recovered control of my muscle and of my voice. I became aware that the shoulder which Jim had gripped was aching badly, and I rubbed it absently.

"What is it, Jim?" I asked for the third time.

"I don't know," he replied. "It is some horrible inhabitant of space, something unknown to us on earth. From its appearance and actions, I think it must be a huge single-celled animal of the type of the earthly amoeba. If an amoeba is that large here, what must an elephant look like? However, I expect that we'll learn more about the matter later because it's taking us with it, wherever it's going."

uddenly the flyer became dark inside. I looked at the nearest window, but I could not even detect its outline. I reached for the light switch, but a sudden change in direction threw me against the wall. There was an instant of intense heat in the flyer.

"We have passed the heaviside layer," said Jim. "The brute has changed direction, and we felt that heat when he took us through the infra-red wall."

I reached again for the light switch, but before I could find it our motion ceased and an instant later the flyer was filled with glaring sunlight. We both turned to the window.

We lay on a glistening plain of bluish hue which stretched without a break as far as we could see. Not a thing broke the monotony of our vision. We turned to the opposite window. How can I describe the sight which met our horrified gaze? On the plain before us lay a huge purple monstrosity of gargantuan dimensions. The thing was a shapeless mass, only the four huge eyes standing out regarding us balefully. The mass was continually changing its outline and, as we watched, a long streamer extended itself from the body toward us. Over and around the flyer the feeler went, while green and red colors played over first one and then another of the huge eyes before us. The feeler wrapped itself around the flyer and we were lifted into the air toward those horrible eyes. We had almost reached them when the thing dropped us. We fell to the plain with a crash. We staggered to our feet again and looked out. Our captor was battling for its life.

ts attacker was a smaller thing of a brilliant green hue, striped and mottled with blue and yellow. While our captor was almost formless, the newcomer had a very definite shape. It resembled a cross between a bird and a lizard, its shape resembling a bird, as did tiny rudimentary wings and a long beak, while the scaly covering and the fact that it had four legs instead of two bore out the idea that it might be a lizard. Its huge birdlike beak was armed with three rows of long sharp teeth with which it was tearing at our captor. The purple amoeba was holding its assailant with a dozen of its thrown out feelers which were wrapped about the body and legs of the green horror. The whole battle was conducted in absolute silence.

"Now's our chance, Jim!" I cried. "Get away from here while that dragon has the amoeba busy!"

He jumped to the control levers of the flyer and pulled the starting switch well forward. The shock of the sudden start hurled me to the floor, but from where I fell I was able to watch the battle on the plain below us. It raged with uninterrupted fury and I felt certain of our escape when, with a shock which hurled both Jim and me to the ceiling, the flyer stopped. We fell back to the floor and I reflected that it was well for us that the interior of the flyer was so well padded. Had it not been, our bones would have been broken a dozen times by the shocks to which we had been subjected.

"What now?" I asked as I painfully struggled to my feet.

"Another of those purple amoebas," replied Jim from the vantage point of a window. "He's looking us over as if he were trying to decide whether we are edible or not."

joined him at the window. The thing which had us was a replica of the monster we had left below us engaged in battle with the green dragon which had attacked it. The same indefinite and ever changing outline was evident, as well as the four huge eyes. The thing regarded us for a moment and slowly moved us up against its bulk until we touched it. Deeper and deeper into the mass of the body we penetrated until we were in a deep cavern with the light coming to us only from the entrance. I watched the entrance and horror possessed my soul.

"The hole's closing. Jim!" I gasped. "The thing is swallowing us!"

"I expected that," he replied grimly. "The amoeba has no mouth, you know. Nourishment is passed into the body through the skin, which closes behind it. We are a modern version of Jonah and the whale, First Mortgage."

"Well, Jonah got out," I ventured.

"We'll try to," he replied. "When that critter swallowed us, he got something that will prove pretty indigestible. Let's try to give him a stomach ache. I don't suppose that a machine-gun will affect him, but we'll try it."

"I didn't know that you had any guns on board."

"Oh yes, I've got two machine-guns. We'll turn one of them loose, but I don't expect much effect from it."

He moved over to one of the guns and threw off the cover which had hidden it from my gaze. He fed in a belt of ammunition and pulled his trigger. For half a minute he held it down, and two hundred and fifty caliber thirty bullets tore their way into space. There was no evidence of movement on the part of our host.

"Just as I thought," remarked Jim as he threw aside the empty belt and covered the gun again. "The thing has no nervous organization to speak of and probably never felt that. We'll have to rig up a disintegrating ray for him."

"What?" I gasped.

"A disintegrating ray," he replied. "Oh yes, I know how to make the fabulous 'death ray' that you journalists are always raving about. I have never announced my discovery, for war is horrible enough without it, but I have generated it and used it in my work a number of times. Did it never occur to you that the rocket motor is built on a disintegrating ray principle?"

"Of course it is, Jim. I never thought of it in that light before, but it must be. How can you use it? The discharge from the motors is a harmless stream of energy particles."

"Instead of turning the ray into powdered aluminum and breaking it down, what is to prevent me from turning it against the body of our captor and blasting my way out?"

"I don't know."

"Well, nothing is. I'll have to modify one of the motors a little, but it's not a hard job. Get some wrenches from the tool box and we'll start."

An hour of hard work enabled us to disconnect one of the reserve bow motors and, after the modifications Jim had mentioned, turn the ray out through the port through which the products of disintegration were meant to go. When we had bolted it in place with an improvised coupling, Jim opened the vitriolene screen which held in our air and turned to his control board.

"Here goes," he said.

He pulled the lever to full power and with a roar which almost deafened us in the small flyer, the ray leaped out to do its deadly work. I watched through a port beside the motor. There was a flash of intense light for an instant and then the motor died away in silence. A path to freedom lay open before us. Jim started one of the stern motors and slowly we forced our way through the hole torn in the living mass. When we were almost at the surface, he threw in full power and we shot free from the amoeba and into the open. Again we were stopped in midair and drawn back toward the huge bulk. The eyes looked at us and we were turned around. As the ray swung into a position to point directly toward one of the eyes, Jim pulled the controlling lever. With the flash of light which ensued, the eye and a portion of the surrounding tissue disappeared. The amoeba writhed and changed shape rapidly, while flashes of brilliant crimson played over the remaining eyes. Again the ray was brought into play and another of the eyes disappeared. This was evidently enough for our captor, for it suddenly released us and instantly we started to fall. Jim caught the control levers and turned on our power in time to halt us only a few feet above the plain toward which we were falling. We were close to the point whence we had started up and we could see that the battle below us was still raging.

The green dragon was partially engulfed by the amoeba, but it still relentlessly tore off huge chunks and devoured them. The amoeba was greatly reduced in bulk but it still fought gamely. Even as we approached the dragon was evidently satiated, for it slowly withdrew from the purple bulk and back away. Long feelers shot out from the amoeba's bulk toward the dragon but they were bitten off before they could grasp their prey.

"Let's get away from here, Jim," I cried, but I spoke too late. Even as the words left my mouth the green dragon saw us and raised itself in the air, and with gaping jaws launched itself at us. It took Jim only a moment to shoot the flyer up into space, and the charge passed harmlessly beneath us. The dragon checked its headway and turned again toward us.

"Use the machine-gun, Pete!" cried Jim. "I've got to run the ship."

I threw the cover off the gun and fed in a fresh belt of ammunition. As the green monster dashed toward us I hastily aligned the gun and pulled the trigger. My aim was good and at least fifty of the bullets plowed through the approaching bulk before Jim dropped the ship and allowed it to pass above us. Again the dragon turned and charged, and again I met it with a hail of bullets. They had no apparent effect and Jim dropped the ship again and let the huge bulk shoot by above us. Twice more the dragon rushed but the last rush was less violent than had been the first three.

"The bullets are affecting him, Pete!" cried Jim as he shot the flyer upward. "Give him another dose!"

I hastily fed in another belt, but it was not needed. The dragon rushed the fifth time, but before it reached us its velocity fell off and it passed harmlessly below us and fell on a long curve to the plain below. It fell near the purple amoeba which it had battled and a long feeler shot out and grasped it. Straight into the purple mass it was drawn, and vanished into the huge bulk.

Jim started one of the stern motors. In a few seconds we were far from the scene.

"Have you any idea of which direction to go?" he asked. I shook my head.

"Have you a radio beacon?" I asked.

He withered me with a glance.

"We're beyond the heaviside layer," he reminded me.

For a moment I was stunned.

"We can't be very far from the hole," he said consolingly as he fumbled with the controls. "But before we try to find it, we had better disconnect one of the stern motors and rig it as a disintegrating ray so that we will have one bearing in each direction. We may meet more denizens of space who like our looks, and we haven't much ammunition left."

We landed on the plain and in an hour had a second disintegrating ray ready for action. Thus armed, we rose from the blue plain and started at random on our way. For ten minutes we went forward. Then Jim stopped the flyer and turned back. We had gone only a short distance when I called to him to stop.

"What is it?" he demanded as he brought the flyer to a standstill.

"There's another creature ahead of us," I replied. "A red one."

"Red?" he asked excitedly as he joined me. About a mile ahead of us a huge mass hung in the air. It resembled the amoeba which had attacked us, except that the newcomer was red. As we watched, it moved toward us. As it did so its color changed to purple.

"Hurrah!" cried Jim. "Don't you remember, Pete, that the one which captured us and took us out of the hole was red while in the hole and then turned purple? That thing just came out of the hole!"

"Then why can't we see the red beam?" I demanded.

"Because there's no air or anything to reflect it," he replied. "We can't see it until we are right in it."

I devoutly hoped that he was right as he headed the ship toward the waiting monster. As we approached the amoeba came rapidly to meet us and a long feeler shot out. As it did so there was a flash of intense light ahead of us as Jim turned loose the ray, and the feeler disappeared. Another and another met the same fate. Then Jim rotated the ship slightly and let out the full force of the ray toward the monster. A huge hole was torn in it, and as we approached with our ray blazing, the amoeba slowly retreated and our path was open before us. Again there was an instant of intense heat as we passed through the red wall, and we were again in the hole which Jim's lamps had blasted through the layer. Below us still lay the fog which had obscured the earth when we had started on our upward trip.

Down toward the distant earth we dropped. We had gone about thirty miles before we saw on the side of the hole one of the huge amoeba which were so thick above.

"We might stop and pick that fellow off," said Jim, "but, on the whole, I think we'll experiment with him."

He drove the ship nearer and turned it on its axis, holding it in position by one of the auxiliary discharges. A flash came from our forward ray and a portion of the amoeba disappeared. A long arm moved out toward us, but it moved slowly and sluggishly instead of with the lightninglike swiftness which had characterized the movements of the others. Jimmy easily eluded it and dropped the ship a few yards. The creature pursued it, but it moved slowly. For a mile we kept our distance ahead of it, but we had to constantly decrease our speed to keep from leaving it behind. Soon we were almost at a standstill, and Jim reversed our direction and drew nearer. A feeler came slowly and feebly out a few feet toward us and then stopped. We dropped the ship a few feet but the amoeba did not follow. Jim glanced at the altimeter.

"Just as I thought," he exclaimed. "We are about forty-five miles above the earth and already the air is so dense that the thing cannot move lower. They are fashioned for existence in the regions of space and in even the most rarified air they are helpless. There is no chance of one ever reaching the surface of the earth without years of gradual acclimation, and even if it did, it would be practically immobile. In a few years the layer will flow enough to plug the hole I have made, but even so, I'll build a couple of space flyers equipped with disintegrating rays as soon as we get down and station them alongside the hole to wipe out any of that space vermin which tries to come through. Let's go home. We've put in a good day's work."

Hundreds of the purple amoeba have been destroyed by the guarding ships during the past five years. The hole is filling in as Jim predicted, and in another ten years the earth will be as securely walled in as it ever was. But in the mean time, no one knows what unrevealed horrors space holds, and the world will never rest entirely easy until the slow process of time again heals the broken protective layer.

[lemonnsss]

Moral of the Story: Chapter 8

Warnings: Mild tangent based off of an actual conversation I had (I'm actually from D.C. so this was fun), one singular bad pun- it deserves its own warning, and probably strained warning.

Feedback is always appreciated

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

Taglist: @vicmc624 , @mostlymarvelgirl , @yvonneeeee, @beetlejuicesupremacy , @moonlightreader649 , @whattheduckisupkyle , @chrisevans-realwife, @nekoannie-chan , @mrsbarnes32557038 , @imyourbratzdoll , @weallhaveadestiny

Word Count: 1.8k

“Apologies but until you had agreed and were here it was still considered confidential.”

“O-okay, um, where- or how should I start?”

The director stood across the bed from me, eyebrows furrowed, the room filled with silence apart from the constant, steady beeps of the machinery.

“How the hell should I know? You’re the one with the super-abilities.”

“Right, sorry, that was dumb. Do you know if any of his internal organs were damaged when he went under? Or have you had the chance to run any tests yet?”

“I’m sorry, what crash are we talking about?” Tony said, still standing in the doorway.

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance before responding, “When the Captain here decided to take a trip twenty thousand leagues under the sea he was in a, shall we say, pseudo-nazi aircraft with a fixed route on its way to the states. His options were to let the ship take its course and let millions die or take a nosedive, he took the latter, rather obviously. Speaking of,” the attention turned to me, “how did you know that?”

“Sir, I’m a licensed teacher from pre-k to high school- I’m not by any means immune to misinformation; although, I do have a bit more knowledge on the topic than most people- not to mention my…” my mind trailed off for a moment before coming back, “former colleague taught history, rather fitting as he lived through it, too.”

His one eye began to look me up and down, “Remind me, where did you work last? Aside from with the X-Men that is.”

There was an uncertainty in his voice that made the agents who went down the elevator with us glance at each other nervously. What I had seen twice in my less-than-a-day stint of knowing this man seemed uncommon or unsettling for those who had known him longer.

“I don’t believe I said. Besides, doesn’t your file on me say?” We were both fishing for information, a push and pull I’d grown adjusted to on the flight over.

He remained silent, motioning one of the residents to come over.

“S-so we ran s-some tests-,” he took a moment to breathe and calm himself down, he spoke with a light stutter, likely to have been more prevalent in his earlier years. It sounded like he had gotten speech therapy, and was likely better, nervous, but better, “a lot of the scans were, well are, useless. His blood, everything about him really, was frozen, barely mobile. So the extent of the internal injuries he potentially sustained upon impact is uncertain. I sent for some new prints of the scans we took last week, but they haven’t come in yet; they’ll probably arrive today but it’s pretty touch and go sometimes.” He finished talking with a meek smile, likely proud of how he handled the situation.

“You did the scans last week and they’re only coming in today?” I could feel the look of confusion that overtook my face, he chuckled lightly and rubbed his neck.

“Yeah, we don’t have the equipment to produce the scans here so we send them over to the hospital over in Takoma Park to print- they have the most up-to-date machinery, and they were the only ones willing to work with us privately- so it takes a bit of time.”

“Perks of D.C., eh? Either have the most outrageous tax or go out of district.”

“Exactly! Say, did you grow up ‘round here?”

“No, up in Salem. I used to teach. I planned enough ‘government trips’ to last a few lifetimes.”

I could’ve sworn I heard him mutter a few “cool” s under his breath before he spoke up again, “It was nice getting to talk with you, but I kinda have some other patients I gotta check up on.” he moved by Fury, a “sir” slipping out as he passed and a little wave to me as he left.

The four who accompanied me in the elevator looked at each other, all but Tony practically questioning if this was normal for me.

The director cleared his throat, calling my attention back over to him, "When can you start?"

"Oh! Any time. I was only wondering how badly he was hurt so I can give you my best estimation for how long it'll take me to finish this."

“Will this not be a one-time excursion?”

“...No? Not likely.”

I was done with conversing, done with this nonsense. Placing my hand on the captain’s chest the area where we touched began to glow with a golden hue- I’d always been told my eyes did the same. It was unlike healing Tony a year ago- I didn’t have to rush, it wasn’t life or death- I could take my time and triage.

His biggest issue was hypothermia, unsurprisingly. I felt the cold move through his body to mine. A deep chill settled in my bones.

I pulled away, “Do you know if there’s a heating pad somewhere? Or something like it?” I hadn’t looked at them, afraid of how they would react. A few seconds of silence passed before I turned to them- Tony looked confused, maybe he didn’t see what my powers looked like, and he probably had some blood loss going on at the time; Fury stood unwavering with the smallest tent in his brow, but then again who could read him; the male agent who’d gone with us was standing, mouth slightly agape; and the female agent was gone slipped out without a sound- weird.

She looked like she’d be the ‘hard-ass’ type despite her being, what, 5’3”-5’4”. She was maybe Tony’s age, though it was difficult to tell, her seemingly ageless golden skin a potential factor, Tony’s substance abuse didn’t exactly help his cause though.

She walked back in, a wired heating pad in hand, she lifted it in the air inquisitively before tossing it to me.

“Thank you, Agent-”

“It’s no problem.” She cut me off gruffly.

I set the heating pad up in a chair and sat down, placing my hand back on the captain, and, over a few hours, I healed him as much as I could before returning to the hotel for the night. A comfortable cycle that lasted for a few months.

I walked into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s office for what would likely be the last time, at least soon.

I walked up to the agents who had escorted me on my first day- Agents May and Coulson I’d learned.

“Ready for your last day?” Coulson asked a melancholic tone laced his voice.

“Are you excited to be done with babysitting me?” I teased.

I’d gotten more comfortable around Coulson, though it wasn’t exactly difficult with his rather ‘easy-going’ nature, and comfortable enough around Agent May to talk to her. We walked along the rather familiar path to Captain Rogers’ room. I made quick work of healing what remained of his injuries.

He still wasn’t awake. For whatever reason I thought Cap would wake up when I had finished healing him.

Coulson and I talked for a while before heading to the entrance once I’d gotten word back from Tony that his chauffeur was there to pick me up.

“I’m gonna miss you, kid.” he whispered, pulling me into a side hug.

“I’ll miss you too, Phil.” I replied, “ It was nice getting to know you, Agent-”

“May, call me May.” She cut me off, “And, unless you quit within the next year we’ll probably see you soon. Stark has an odd habit of getting in trouble with almost anyone and everyone.” 

“I’ll miss you too.”

A car horn was blaring outside for a minute and I knew it was Tony, “Guess that’s my cue, goodbye.” I sent them a soft smile and a wave before I got in the car.

A few months passed by with ease with the Stark Expo taking up more time and paperwork than I could’ve imagined. I walked in one day to see Coulson in Tony’s office.

“Phil? Oh my gosh, it’s so good to see you! What’s got you across the country?”

“It’s good to see you too, kid. I’m here because S.H.I.E.L.D. is requesting Mr. Stark’s presence.” He spoke rather cooly about Tony, a stark contrast to his normal.

“TONY! Did you break the Geneva Convention?!” Tony looked at me speechless, feigning hurt I would even think of it, Coulson stood beside me struggling and barely holding back a chuckle.

“No, unfortunately not. ‘We’ need to borrow him, more specifically the ‘Iron Man’ suit. As I was saying before, we have a helicarrier waiting for your arrival.”

“Okay, Tony. Please, stop being a bitch and get your shit. You’re lucky they step in enough to keep you out of prison for some likely war criminal activity. Suck it up and grab your bags.” I walked to Tony’s desk and put down his coffee before walking into my office and grabbing the duffel I had stuffed in the corner of the room.

I walked back out, “Where’d you say the plane was?”

Coulson showed me to the plane where we waited for about twenty minutes before Tony walked over with his bags. We piled in and got up to the helicarrier, a giant airbase I was told was legal.

May was waiting for us on deck and showed me to my room before leaving me to unpack.

I had to have been walking through those damn near identical hallways for half an hour before giving up.

After yelling into my hands I spoke, to no one but myself, “How do people even get around these things? It’s a whole death trap, I swear.”

“Exactly!” A voice called out from behind me. I turned around to find a familiar face, Captain America, “I guess you don’t work here either?”

“Oh, um, no. You couldn’t pay me to stay on this thing.”

He laughed revealing a warm smile that fit his beautiful, angel-like face perfectly.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Kyrie Eirsson- I’m Mr. Stark’s personal assistant.”

I saw his eyes widen in recognition at the second half, “Oh! You’re the person I’m supposed to find.”

“What? Oh, fuck, that’s embarrassing.” I held my face in my hands, my face flushing furiously, I moved my fingers to see the Captain’s face. He stood across from me, face turned away, fist in front of his mouth in a failing attempt to hide his wide grin.

“In any case, Stark’s having a fit without you on the bridge. Shall we?” He held out his arm for me to take.

“I disappear for what, forty-fifty minutes and he goes nuts without me, shocker.” I took his arm gleefully, laughing at how ridiculous the situation was.

[poohbea]

second story from this req post

wordcount: 999

content: spanking, you get bent over his knee, fingering, light choking, punishment, dom and sub themes

— synopsis: captain levi has warned you time and time again to stay out of the lab and away from it's scientist. it seems a punishment is in order.

note from pooh: this one is a lot shorter and condensed as i didn't wanna bombard you with another 3k of content hahaha, thank you again for the req and for being such a huge supporter of the blog it's been so lovely seeing one of my first followers continue to interact with me. you're amazing, that's why you deserve both of these ♡

WARNING: this is smut, so please ensure you have your age visible on your account before interacting. Minors (below 18+), ageless and blank blogs will be BLOCKED

Hope you enjoy ♡ reblogs are greatly appreciated

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Levi deadpans, shuffling through the ocean of paperwork strewn across his desk. 

You fidget on the loveseat to the side of the room, afraid to meet your captain’s chilling gaze. “I’m sorry, she was teaching me about titan regeneration and I just-” 

“Oh, so squad leader Hange’s word has more influence over you than mine?” You watch his brow rise in your peripherals, a gesture that has your heart leaping into your throat.

“N-No of course not, captain. It was my mistake!” You blurt, locking eyes with him for a brief moment before retreating to your lap once more. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, l/n.” His command was dominant, voice lowering an octave at your disrespectful demeanour.

“I-I’m sorry, captain!” You watch him pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration, a heavy sigh following soon after. 

“Stop apologising.” He groans, eyes pinning you to your seat. 

“S-Sorry-” A raised hand cuts your instinctual grovelling short, Levi’s tensed jaw telling you he’s had enough. 

Metal scraping across wood sounds as he rises from his seat, footsteps closing in on your meek figure on the small couch. His boots soon come into view when he stops in front of you, fingers hooking under your chin to have your eyes meet his. 

“Stand up, y/n.” His voice was acerbic, paired with a stoic glare. It was enough to make you stutter. 

“C-Captain?” You jump to your feet and he takes your place on the sofa, legs partially spread, a look of expectancy on his face. 

“Pants to your knees.” He barked, gesturing to the clothing in question. 

Heat overcomes your cheeks to your ears, flushing the skin a shade of dusty rose. “P-Pardon?” 

“You heard me recruit, I expect you to follow an order!” Not wanting to upset him more you oblige, pulling your pants down to your knees, still leaving your underwear on. “Lay yourself over my knee, y/n.”

“Captain I’m not sure if I-” With a simple raise of his brow you were reduced to an anxious mess, voice dying in your throat in his intimidating presence. Silently you position yourself over his lap, skin glowing beet red at the intimate arrangement. “Captai-!” 

You yelp when a hard smack blisters the skin of your ass suddenly, your bottom lip captured by your teeth to muffle your whimper. “Now let me teach you a lesson on following instructions, recruit.” 

Another smack resonates within the small office, the sting of his palm sending a jolt up your spine, searing his handprint into the soft flesh. “When I tell you to stay away from Hange Zoe,” smack. “I expect obedience from my recruits. Especially you, y/n.” His knowing look has butterflies erupting in the pit of your stomach. 

“Levi.” You whine as he massages the already welting fat of your backside. “I’m sorr- ah!” He cuts you off with another strike of his hand, the pain nearing unbearable as he continues to hit the same spot over and over. 

“What did I say about apologising?” He warns before smoothing it over again. “What are you not gonna do from now on?”

“Apologise?” You look up at him with pleading eyes, only to be met with a hardened stare in return. 

“And?” His fingers dip between your thighs, grazing over your clit slightly while absentmindedly soothing the redness he had caused. 

“And stay away from squad leader Hange.” You surrender to the expert motions of his fingertips along your slit, soft moans threatening to spill as he teased you through your panties. 

“Good girl. So you do know how to listen.” He pulls your panties to the side like it means nothing, tips of his fingers already dipping into your folds, the slick of your arousal meeting the rough pads. “Look at that, already wet from being spanked like this. Are you that desperate or do I just have that effect on you?” 

He slowly plunged his fingers into you, wrapping his free hand around your throat to make your back arch. He forces you to meet his gaze as he begins to pump his fingers, searching for your g-spot with each light nudge of his digits. When you let out a particularly strained moan he smiles in triumph, knowing full well he’d found what he was looking for. 

“Play with your clit for me, pretty.” He encourages, letting your throat go to play with your ass some more.

Obediently your hand finds its way between your legs to the sensitive bud. A jolt was your first reaction at initial contact, a loud raspy moan falling from your lips. You try to match Levi’s pace, the Captain relentless in his stroke along your gummy walls. 

“Captain… fuck, Levi, I’m close.” You whine, pussy tightening around his fingers. 

“I know, pretty, I know. You’re gripping my fingers so tight.” He groans, picking up speed, digits moving in a steady come-hither motion, ensuring to rub against your g-spot with each thrust. 

Your own fingers encircle your clit at equal pace, pressure building in your pelvis. A pressure that had you breathing less and less until it finally popped, releasing a wave of euphoria over your body. Levi continues his ministrations through the tightening of your thighs that came with your orgasm, soaking up the cries of pleasure freely spilling from your lips, his name among the incoherent array of words you managed to articulate. 

As you come down with an exasperated exhale your body goes limp in his lap, a sight he finds endearing as you’re comfortable enough to actually lean on him like that. He replaces your panties before helping you sit upright, letting you sink into the sofa cushions, your body relaxing instinctually.

“Learned your lesson?” Levi smiles, laying a kiss on your temple. 

You nod tiredly, trying hard not to let your eyes close as you attempt to regulate your breathing. “Definitely.” 

© poohbea, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, reupload or modify my work to other accounts and platforms. if you intend to translate any of my works please ask permission first ♡

[everlastingangst]

hi! this is my blog :)

i loveeee film & music

also writing as long as it’s just for fun and no pressure involved

my favorite musicians include (from all eras): queen, mcr, hozier, tøp, linkin park, abba, 1d (+ solo), taylor swift, bruno mars, mac miller, frank ocean, the smiths, nirvana, pink floyd, finneas, billie eilish, david bowie, rex orange country, elton john, cavetown, mitski, phoebe bridgers

my favorite (comfort) movies: pride and prejudice, dead poets society, love rosie, rocketman, bohemian rhapsody, the perks of being a wallflower, harry potter, if i stay, captain america & the winter soldier, my neighbor totoro, luca

when i’m older i want to have a cute record shop + a film revealing part that also sells a bunch of vintage cameras because i never had either where i live so that would be cool

comfort characters: remus lupin, sirius black, fred & george, bucky barnes (mcu), gilbert blythe (awae), grizz viser (the society), peter parker (mcu), elizabeth bennet (p&p), patrick (tpobaw), klaus hargreaves (tua), todd anderson (dps), steven meeks (dps)

things you can leave in my ask & requests you can leave:

one-shots

headcanons

follow-ups for things i’ve already posted

general questions

playlist requests (& songs to add for my existing playlists)

at the moment i will write of: dead poets society, any marauders character(s)/ship except: malfoys, snape, tom riddle, dramione, snily, anything that contains y/n or x reader, smut or stuff like that, any incest ship or professor x student, etc.

you can also message me or send me an ask! i’d love to make friends :)

also: send me fics!!! can be ones that you liked or didn’t like and we can just talk about that as well!

[meme-spren]

Hello everyone I've barely dipped a toe into the dark and mysterious waters of mechs fandom but I've already inflicted pictures on the discord to see what the squad thinks they do

[Image of Drumbot Brian, seated, looking off to the side]

S: Criminal S: I'm gonna guess morally repugnant P: Well it's a pirate band so that stands to reason S: One bad bad man P: I think this guy would be the captain because who else would wear a full suit and a rose on his hat O: Not captain, I'd think. Captain is for a lead person and drummer is not. O: I wanna say... the one that fires the cannons? P: Probably bard vibes S: It's a band P S: I bet they all have bard vibes R: He looks horny R: He looks like he flirts with everything that moves, that is

[Image of Nastya Rasputina playing her violin]

S: Assassin S: Was assigned to kill one of the band members and just S: Is REALLY into the cover story S: Maybe turned on the people who hired her? S: Maybe about to kill the dude? S: Who knows S: Not even she does

J: Geddy lee from rush realizes she's trans, switches from bass to violin haha classic rock jokes that everyone else here definitely understands

R: Bad luck on a ship is her deal M: I'm gonna tell you this because I hope it'll just raise more questions: she's romantically involved with the ship R: PILOT R: SHIP FUCKER PILOT R: Or engineer S: Yeah I'll still go with my idea

P: I will second pilot P: Also despite being romantically involve with the ship she's somehow the proverbial straight man of the group M: Love how you've drawn the conclusion that everyone else is ridiculous just from these two pictures and the fact that I'm the one presenting them to you

O: Uh, clearly Fiddle here is the Necromancer

[Image of Raphaella La Cognizi singing into a microphone, two other indistinct figures behind her]

J: dlc fenyx dionysus-themed armor and wing skin

O: Hmm, alright so, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say... she's the singer :V M: Why do you assume there's one(1) singer M: (also like: ah yes, the pirate job of... The Singer) O: If One Piece has taught me anything, then yes :V

P: I'm gonna say she's the lookout, because having wings is very handy for getting to or leaving the crow's nest P: She's also the best fighter of the group P: Maybe also the treasurer? or w/e the pirate equivalent is P: Which is why she has fancy velvety clothes with gold decoration P: Actually no scratch that P: Its because her backstory is she ran away from her rich parents

[Image of Ashes O’Reilly playing their bass]

O: Captain, obviously S: Yeah, with that hat

P: Gunner P: Because cigar

R: Lesbian S: If anyone in this crew is cishet I'll bake an edible hat and eat it

[Image of Gunpowder Tim, dimly lit, playing his guitar. His hand is motion blurred and his guitar is dramatically angled toward the viewer]

J: the token bastard warforged S: he has goggles he must be the engineer

M: His last name is Tim J: First name Tiny

O: Goggles on hat are aesthetic. Goggles on forehead means madlad. Either Engineer or something something chemistry, alchemy, whatever. Something that can explode.

[Image of Ivy Alexandria, holding a book in one hand and her flute in the other.]

P: I'm gonna say tough love mom friend P: Probably the smartest one because book P: Maybe the cartographer?

O: I'm gonna say she is smart, but NOT the "meek scholar" type. More like, brains and brawn. People that know how smart she is are surprised by how strong and brutal she can be, those that only have seen her fight are surprised that she is so intelligent

S: She's the quartermaster

[Image of Jonny D’ville, with a hand on his holstered gun]

R: Home of sexual S: Your fav S: He's got a scar and some weird tech on his chest S: I'm guessing he's another fighty boi S: Gunslinger extrordinaire xP P: Trigger happy loose cannon trash boy P: Commonly drunk P: Causes at least half the crew's problems S: Reminds me of [Spades] Slick R: Wait no R: Omnisexual R: Crew omnisexual

O: Stowaway who snuck aboard

[Image of Marius Von Raum, squatting and holding his little claw thing.]

J: Gremlin J: In the sense of gremlins in the works J: Ship gremlin

P: He gambles P: that's his entire job I think he'd also be like, a spymaster of sorts? P: Knows how to get into places or how to chat up the right people to get that juicy gossip

O: That weird head thing makes me think of a doctor, so, I'm gonna say he's the ship doc P: Counter-point: the doctor really should not be carrying live ammunition around O: Counter-Counterpoint 1: Should not? Sure. Doesn't mean wouldn't Counter-Counterpoint 2: Also, Pirates R: Counter counterpoint 3: gunpowder can be used in emergencies to cauterize a wound :mspa:

S: Oh he's definitely a sharpshooter S: That monocle thing looks like a fantasy rangefinder S: Smug bastard energies S: Like S: 17 rogue/2 bard energy

[Image of the Toy Soldier, saluting cheerfully]

S: Conductor? S: Waiter? S: Avatar of the ship? O: Season One antagonist who used to hunt the crew but got defeated and disgraced and joined them to take revenge on its original boss S: If u combine that with my idea of it being the avatar of the ship then that makes for one hell of a TV show P: It does have an aura of not-pirateness about it P: I'm gonna say this is a recurring "antagonist" and is in fact still hunting the crew, except it kind of sucks at its job and is basically no match for these pirates But it keeps up a chipper attitude regardless

[leo-interactive-fiction]

What if the romances overhear MC telling their friend that they would like a dominant partner?

Haha, let's see...

E: They slam the wall near you in an attempt to impress you, causing the brick to crack and break making them unable to hold a stern face as they're overcome with guilt. "S-Sorry, I didn't mean to do it that hard!"

R: they press a finger to your chin, directing your attention to crystalline eyes that look down at you amusedly, "Feeling daring today, arent you Captain?"

L: they begin pacing towards you with determination, though it gradually decays as they get closer, eventually returning to a meekness as they confront you fully, "Um...I-I dont know if I can do this...

V: They tense and look slightly passed you, "I can't be a commander."

P: "Shut up," they huff as they sstride into the room, shooting you an annoyed glare, "Be happy if you get even one person to like you, Dumbass. Beggars cant be choosers."

M: They slide up to you with an explicit smile, pressing cold fingers to the back of your neck, "This could be...fun...You'll enjoy yourself...wont you...?" an undertoned chuckle emits from them.

Ra: they stalk closer to you, a wide smile lengthening sharply on their face as their hands press to the wall behind, entrapping you. They lean close, a sinister whisper reaching you, "Tell me what you want..."

S: They idle around quietly in thought before spinning around suddenly to face you, "Ah! Ya got a put down kink, don't'cha? Hm, let's see..." they jab a finger at you, showcasing a stern face, "Ya stupid sack'a shit! Good fer nothin' fuckwit! Bet ya take lessons from piles'a scrap, useless tick," they clear their throat, nodding succinctly, "how's that for ya?"

F: a chilling, amused laugh passes their lips as they take meticulous steps toward you. A sinking feeling in your stomach creeps in as their piercing green eyes stare into yours, and a treacherous smile rises in your periphery, "Be careful how you wish...You may attract the attention of a malevolent spirit."

Haha, thanks for the ask!

[dcdvscv]

There were lamprey pies

C. Sold me to Madame C., who keeps a large flower-garden. Another may remark inconveniences, and, indeed, real evils, in it, of which we

ropa golf junior

may be said to have lugosis carhartt been all our lives scarcely conscious. So, also, evils which, upon first acquaintance, revolted our whole nature, and appeared intolerable, custom almost makes us forget even to see. P. S.—It might have been stated above that on this estate there are about one hundred and sixty blacks. Stout new gates had gone up first, to replace those that had been burned. Then the collapsed roof of the Great Hall had been cleared away and a new one raised hurriedly in its stead. As the Lord of the Dreadfort slipped out, attended by the three maesters, other lords and captains rose to follow. Hother Umber, the gaunt old man called Whoresbane, went grim-faced and scowling. The soup was made with eggs and lemons, the long green peppers stuffed with cheese and onions. There were lamprey pies, capons glazed with honey, a whiskerfish from the bottom of the Greenblood that was so big it took four serving men to carry it to table. Axell Florent was making a toast as Jon took his place upon the dais. “To King Stannis and his wife, Queen Selyse, Light of the North!” Ser Axell bellowed. There is no remedy. This discipline belongs to the state of slavery. In two minutes she came to herself. The cab in which Alyosha had come was standing not far off; he called it. It’s like that rule in the Latin grammar, do you remember: the significance takes precedence of the ending. But I believe I’m still drunk from this morning. She began to be feverish and delirious. I looked at her white little face, at her colourless lips, at her black hair, which had been done up carefully and pomaded, though it had come down on one side, at her whole get-up, at the pink bows which still remained here and there on her dress — and I had no doubt at all about the revolting facts. Of course they shall be trained at arms. They shall also churn butter, hew firewood, muck stables, empty chamber pots, and run messages … and in between they pantofi sport cu scai barbati will be drilled with spear and sword and longbow.”. “No. I know nothing special. He hoped the two new garrisons would make a difference. The Watch can make the free folk bleed, but in the end we cannot hope to stop them. She was fond of my polo raflorene late son and suspects cizme din denim you of having some part in his demise. Lady Barbrey is a woman who knows how to nurse a grievance. Outside the pyramid, it began to rain. Ser Barristan sat along in the dark, listening. I’ll tell you about it afterwards. How many times I began hinting to him to forgive her; I daren’t say it right out, so I begin to hint at it, in a tactful way. Pennytree proved to be a much larger village than he had anticipated. The war had been here too; blackened orchards ghete galbene piele and the scorched shells of broken houses testified to that. The defendant appealed to a higher court, and the decision was reversed, on the ground that the hirer has for the time being all the rights of the master. The remarks of Judge Ruffin are so characteristic, and so strongly express the conflict between the feelings of the humane judge and the logical necessity of a strict interpreter of slave-law, that we shall quote largely from it. In one of the three windows on the ground floor there was a miniature red coffin — as a sign that a working coffin-maker lived there. The windows of the upper storey were extremely small and perfectly square with dingy-green broken bocanci grisport 480 panes, kimono long femme grande taille through which I caught a glimpse of pink cotton curtains. The larger, heavier, slower ships made for Lys, to sell the captives taken on the Shields, the women and children of Lord Hewett’s Town and other islands, along with such men who decided they would sooner yield than die. Victarion had only contempt for such weaklings. The warg stopped beneath a tree and sniffed, his grey-brown fur dappled by shadow. A sigh of piney wind brought the man-scent to him, over fainter smells that spoke of fox and hare, seal and stag, even wolf. Two years after, the General Assembly, by a sudden and very unexpected movement, passed a vote exscinding, without trial, from the communion of the church, four synods, comprising the most active and decided anti-slavery portions chanel ágynemű of the church. The reasons alleged were, doctrinal differences and ecclesiastical cizme vara cu toc practices inconsistent with Presbyterianism. Underneath her furs the female was just skin and bones, but her dugs were full of milk. The sweetest meat was on the pup. Ole folks die. O, dat’s be my boderation, Missis,—when ole people be dead, den we be scattered all ‘bout. “Will you give me your name?” he asked, as he took a cup of wine from her. “No?” The wine was strong and sour and required no translation. In the meek and submissive haste of the poor decrepit old man there was so much to provoke compassion, so much to wring the heart, that the whole company, from Adam Ivanitch downward, took a different view of the position at once. It was evident that the old man, far from being capable of insulting anyone, realized that he might be turned out from anywhere like a beggar.. “0-oh! I ask you because I think I know the house. So much the better. Jaime, I need Jaime. But if her twin was in the city, why had he not come to her? It might be wiser to wait on Jaime until she had a better notion of what was happening beyond the walls of the Great Sept of Baelor.

[renaerys]

Excerpt: Hoenn Fic (HoennChampionShipping)

Hmm, well since it’s been literal years since I started teasing the Hoenn fic, have a nice excerpt of some early HoennChampionShipping scenes I’ve got in store. For context, May and Steven are held prisoner on a pirate ship and it’s not going super well for either of them, but at least they have each other. Enjoy!

xxx

The spurned crewman—Tuck—came for May that night, late. He brought two others with him.

“Jonah, Djiwadi, meet May,” said Tuck.

“What’s going on?” May asked, backing up to the wall of her cell as Tuck unlocked the door.

“I told ya I’d be back,” Tuck said, leering. “Said ya wanted to meet a real man, eh? The boys’n me are gonna teach you some manners.”

Steven rose from his corner and approached the bars. “Leave her alone.”

“Stay out of it,” Djiwadi growled. His lip piercing trembled when he spoke.

“What are you doing? Get out!” May’s wide, blue eyes found Steven’s.

Steven gripped the bars that separated them, but Tuck and his goons had cornered May in her cell.

“C’mon, little bird,” Tuck crooned. “Be a good girl now.”

May seemed to shrink before them, and Steven’s blood boiled at the sight. Archie was many things, but he never imagined that the pirate captain would condone the abuse of his helpless captives.

“I said, leave her alone,” Steven bellowed.

The tone was enough to make Jonah flinch, but Tuck reached for May where she cowered. Her meekness turned out to be a ruse when she launched herself at Tuck with a screech and went for his eyes. He yelped in pain as May tackled him to the floor, but Djiwadi was there to pull her off him and get her on her back. May screamed and struggled in the big man’s hold.

“Shut up!” Tuck shouted, scrambling to his feet. “Shut her up!”

Djiwadi slammed May’s head on the floor, cutting off her shouting. Jonah moved to help him, but he made the fatal error of straying too close to the dividing bars. Steven snatched his chance without hesitation and tugged Jonah back by his shirt. The tall man grunted in surprised, but all he could do was gurgle and twitch the moment Steven got his hands around his throat.

“Release her,” Steven said in a low, brutal voice that promised violence.

Djiwadi and May paused their struggle. Her blue eyes were wide with fear and a primal anger that seemed to possess her.

“What are you doing? Don’t listen to him!” Tuck sputtered.

The pause was all May needed to heave all her might against Djiwadi. The angle was bad and he was far larger and heavier than her, but the element of surprise worked in her favor, and she managed to unbalance him enough to wriggle free.

“Stupid girl, hold still!” Tuck caught May before she could get far and shoved her hard against the wall.

Steven recognized the look in the portly sailor’s eye. He wasn’t going to stop until he shed her blood or worse. Djiwadi was back on his feet and looked ready to help Tuck. May might be able to fend off Tuck alone, but not with Djiwadi helping him.

So Steven made a decision, and he did not hesitate to snap Jonah’s neck like a toothpick. He was dead before he could even blink, and Steven hauled his limp body up and off the ground.

“Oh shit!” Djiwadi turned just in time to catch Jonah’s corpse flung at him with all the force Steven could muster through the bars, which was not much but enough to cause the sailor to lose his balance.  

“I’m gonna break that pretty jaw so ya can’t scream no more, little bird bitch,” Tuck spat in May’s face as they struggled.

Steven tried to grab Tuck through the bars, but he was just out of reach. “May!”

She caught his gaze over Tuck’s shoulder, wide-eyed and wild, and he willed her to move. Somehow, she did. With a yelp, she shoved Tuck with all her might and kneed him in the balls. He howled in pain, but just when Steven was sure May might get away, Tuck grabbed her neck and shoved her against the bars…

…Right in front of Steven.

Steven moved without hesitation once more and reached through the bars around May’s head to grab Tuck’s neck, who only now realized his grave mistake.

“No! Get away!” He tried to launch back, but Steven held firm. “P-Please! Lemme go!”

“Oh, like you were going to let her go?” Steven hissed.

May was stuck in between them, so close that Steven could not speak without feeling her hair flutter against his cheek, nor ignore the frenetic pounding of her heart against his chest. Tuck still had his dirty fingers around May’s neck.

Djiwadi had managed to get out from under Jonah’s corpse, but he froze and stared at the three of them locked at an impasse.

“Lemme go or—or I’ll choke her-aaaaggghh!” Tuck wheezed as Steven tightened his grip to the point of near suffocation.

May jerked against the bars as Tuck strangled her in turn. She pawed at his hands, but he was stronger than her.

“Calypso’s cunt, what in the hell’s going on down here?”

Steven recognized Archie’s rumbling voice preceded by heavy footsteps down the stairs. Archie burst into May’s cell, followed closely by three more crewmen. Djiwadi backed away.

“He killed Jonah, Cap’n!” Djiwadi said.

“C-Captain, I can’t—hhhrrrrghh.” Tuck’s eyes rolled back in his head, but still he wouldn’t release May.

Archie’s sharp eyes took in the scene. He drew a Pokéball from his captain’s mantle, but he dared not approach.

“Release her,” Steven said. “This is your final warning.”

“Tuck, do as he says,” Archie said.

May shuddered through the bars. So close, Steven could hear her struggling to breathe. “S-Steven—”

Tuck glared hatefully at May. It did not matter what he or Archie said; Tuck was not going to let May go. Archie seemed to come to the same conclusion and tossed out his Pokéball, but Steven was faster and crushed Tuck’s windpipe before the sailor knew what hit him. May choked and frantically clawed free of Tuck’s dead hands.

Archie’s Crawdaunt appeared in a flash of light just as Tuck’s neck crumpled like tissue paper under Steven’s Adamantine strength. Crawdaunt reached for them with a spiny, red claw, but Steven shielded May as best he could and caught the beast’s pincer around his wrist. He hissed in pain, the pressure from Crawdaunt’s pincer enough to crush stone, perhaps even steel.

“Fuck, he killed Tuck with his bare hands!” said one of the Aqua grunts who had descended with Archie.

“That’s enough!” Archie commanded. “Crawdaunt, to me.”

Steven gritted his teeth. He was sweating bullets from the pain and the heat of the moment. Crawdaunt made a hair-raising, wet clicking sound, but she released his wrist and crawled back to Archie.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth, Stone,” Archie said.

“I’m worth quite a lot these days,” Steven said.

Archie looked down at May, but when he offered her his hand, she pulled Steven’s arms tighter around herself. Small and curled in a ball, she shook like a leaf. Steven thought nothing of letting her cling to him, too pissed off to care.

A tense silence stretched, and for a moment Archie almost looked pained.

“Fucking mess,” Archie swore. He glanced at Tuck’s corpse, the neck mangled and black. “Haul the corpses on deck. I want ‘em off my ship.”

“But…the proper sendoff,” Djiwadi said. “Tuck ’n Jonah deserve—”

“Men who lose their lives at sea deserve at proper sendoff, but only animals attack defenseless women for no reason.” He cast Djiwadi a hard look. “You got a problem with that?”

Djiwadi had several problems with that, but he wisely held his tongue.

“What’re ya lookin’ at?” Archie demanded of the rest of the grunts who remained, and the few tho had poked their heads in from above. “Get back to work!”

The Aqua grunts did as commanded and brought the two bodies upstairs, but Archie lingered in May’s cell.

“My apologies,” he said once they were alone. “Prisoner or no, s’long as as you’re on my ship you’ll be treated with the decency you deserve.”

“Fuck you,” May spat, her voice hoarse but strong.

“I won’t take your anger from you, but I won’t indulge it, neither.” He showed her his back and locked up her cell once more. “It won’t happen again, on my honor.”

Steven was not sad to see him go.

“May,” he murmured against her hair. He tried to shift, but she held to his arms fast.

Her breathing was still shallow and erratic. At some point, she’d begun to cry. There was something inherently terrifying about a girl crying in his arms, but this wasn’t about him or his feelings. He just happened to be here, and that wasn’t her fault.

It was not the most comfortable position, and his wrist ached where Crawdaunt had nearly snapped it, but Steven slowly managed to shift onto his hip so he could hold her as closely as the bars separating them would permit. Before long, her hot tears fell upon his hands. He caught a few on his thumb and carefully wiped them away, but he never told her to stop.

He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed before she let out a shuddering breath and finally, finally relaxed.

“Steven?” she asked.

“Hm?”

She turned her head to see him through the gloom. Her breath was warm and shallow against his cheek. “Can you please stay?”

He should have refused her. He’d done far more than enough, and because of her, he’d had to kill two men today. He owed her nothing, but… But this wasn’t about him.

“All right.”

May finally fell asleep in his arms, and he let her.

xxx

Sunlight warmed May’s cheek as she slowly woke from a dreamless, depthless sleep. She shifted against the cell bars, cold against her skin, and sat up with a yawn. A sharp pain in her throat made her wheeze, and she remembered the harrowing events of last night. That Aqua grunt had nearly strangled her to death, and if it hadn’t been for Steven…

She whipped around, her hand gripping a bar in fear, but he was still there, still in reach. And shaving?

He sat crosslegged on the floor and slowly dragged a long razor blade along his cheek. May had never wielded a straight blade razor, but even her layman’s eye could tell he was struggling with his left hand and no mirror. His right hand sat useless in his lap, mottled with bruising.

“Good morning,” he said, pausing to rinse the blade off in a small cup of water.

His eyes fell to her neck, which she guessed looked no better than his wrist. She touched it self-consciously and ignored the pain when she swallowed. “Morning.”

May’s eyes lingered on his long, thin fingers curled around the razor like they’d curled around Tuck’s neck last night. She had seen death before, but never so close, so brutal, so… So terrifyingly easy. Those same hands had saved her life, and then they had held her as she trembled and cried herself to sleep.

He raised the razor to his lathered chin, but May reached through the bars and stayed his hand. “My hand is steadier.”

Steven considered her, but there was no divining his thoughts behind that dispassionate gaze. Just when she began to wonder if she should not have said anything at all, he handed her the razor.

A bit of shuffling later, and May found herself with her arms draped around Steven’s shoulders as he leaned back against her thighs and offered her his neck. The angle was a bit difficult with the bars separating them, but not impossible. She set the sharp blade to his neck.

“How close do you want it?” she asked.

“Close enough to draw blood.”

May slowly dragged the razor along his skin, careful to scrape away every inch of lather and stubble underneath. When she needed him to tilt his head, she touched his cheek. When she needed to rinse the blade, she tapped his chest. The only sounds were the gentle scrape of the razor and the lull of the sea.

Lost in concentration, May swept the blade over his Adam’s apple a bit too harshly and winced.

There was an apology on her lips, but no blood. She gently touched his neck, pristine and smooth. She had heard that Steel Adamantines were said to have skin that could not be cut by conventional blades, but to see it for herself, to feel his skin impervious to the blade in her hand was an odd sensation. Hands that could crush bone and skin that could not be cut…

He was watching her, passive but no longer impassive. Those pale, silvery eyes lingered on hers, as though her curiosity itself was curious. His scrutiny, more than the intimacy of their position and activity of which May was now acutely, bafflingly aware, was what unnerved her the most. She was suddenly extremely conscious of him and the weight of his attention on her.

“I, um, I’m almost done,” she said, rinsing the blade and forcing herself to touch him as little as possible while she finished up as quickly as she could.

Steven wiped his clean-shaven face on an old but remarkably clean rag he kept neatly tucked away in a corner of his cell. “Thank you. It would have taken me twice as long.”

May glanced at his bruised right arm and remembered how he’d stopped that Crawdaunt from getting to her. “It’s nothing.”

She rose and puttered about her cell, itching for something to grab on to. The window perhaps, or the bars, or Steven’s jacket neatly folded. She hadn’t needed it last night when his arms kept her plenty warm.

“Was that the first time you’ve ever done that?” he asked.

“What?” May bit her tongue. That had come out a bit more harshly than intended. “Oh, shaving?”

“If I were anyone else, you may have slit my throat.” He was giving her a look that was not quite amused, but almost.

“You said close enough to draw blood.”

“I did.”

May bit her lip. Damn it all, but she couldn’t help but wonder. What must it be like to have skin like steel? Could nothing break it?

“I can bleed,” he said, reading her expression. “If I’m unfocused or severely injured, I can be cut. It’s like a muscle; it tires.”

“Oh.”

How did a man whose skin was literally blade-proof wind up a pirate’s prisoner? If he could crush Tuck and Jonah so easily, why couldn’t he resist Archie? Why was he wasting away here with her when he could be out in the world?

“What did you mean when you said it was a mistake that you ended up here?” May asked.

Steven slid his gaze to the window in his cell and slipped his hands in his pockets. The angry bruise on his wrist was a purple and red ink blot. “Just that. My mistake.”

May moved to the bars separating them. Her fingers found the subtle grooves Steven had made in his anger last night. She clenched them tight. “What kind of mistake?”

“The one men like me have been making since the beginning of time. I underestimated a someone I thought was beneath me.”

“You’re the Champion. Technically, isn’t everyone beneath you?”

“It’s only a title, May. And I’m just a man. I never should have allowed myself to forget that.”

Who could have humbled the Champion of Hoenn to the point of imprisonment on Team Aqua’s ship? May couldn’t imagine such a fearsome person. Not even the Gym Leaders were said to be able to match the Champion.

“You’re not just a man, though. Your title is only as good as you are, and you’re supposed to be the best. More than a man.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Is that what you think of me? That’s a lot of pressure to put on one person.”

She didn’t return his smile. “I think you have a responsibility to the people of Hoenn. You’re the Champion; you don’t get to be just a man. That’s the sacrifice you made when you accepted the title.”

He was no longer smiling as he regarded her. “No. I’m a Stone. I’ve never had to sacrifice much of anything.”

The simple, despicable truth of his words uttered with embittered ease struck May with an almost physical force. She thought of Brendan then, Brendan who struggled and fought and tried his best to be the son his father wanted, and how he never would be. She thought of Wally, wanting for nothing and wanting nothing, except to be with his friends and live by his own terms. She thought of herself too, and all the places she could have seen if she’d only taken flight like she always promised herself she would.

One day.

One day I’ll be free.

She gripped the bars of her prison cell and tried to ignore the fiery pain in her throat and the tears that threatened to fall.

“I was wrong about you,” she said, fighting to control the anger in her voice. “You’re not a coward. You’ve just never failed before, and now that you have, you don’t know how to find your way back.”

That steely gaze steeled even more at her lashing, but she didn’t care. Let him bristle, let him seethe. Maybe then he’d open his fucking eyes, dust himself off, and get back up. Of all people, surely he could.

“But you can,” she went on. “You have to.”

“How’s that?” he asked.

“By trying.”

“I’m behind bars.”

“That didn’t stop you from helping me last night.”

He said nothing. May retreated to the wall and sat down. His jacket was still folded on the floor next to her.

“Take it from me,” she said softly. “I’ve been behind bars my whole life. But one day…”

One day I’ll be free.

Lunch came and went, and they did not speak again.

[brooklyntobattlefield]

i went through and transcribed what i could from the spoiler/leak

OBVI THERE ARE SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT & PLEASE DONT REPORT

[large warehouse]

steve: “…set. generators are on standby”

prof!hulk: “good ‘cause if we [couldn’t hear] the grid I don’t want to loose tiny here in 1950s”

natasha: “he’s kidding. can’t say things like-”

scott lang in scene but has no lines

[house from team thor video? maybe?]

bearded!thor hugs prof!hulk

thor: “oh my god its s good to see you! come here little rascal”

beard!thor gives rocket a hug/noogie

rocket: “i’m good im good! that’s not necessary!”

bearded!thor: “These are my friends meek and korg”

korg: “hey”

[(same???) large warehouse]

tony: “ratchet, how’s it going”

rocket “its rocket take it easy your only  a genius on earth pal”

beared!thor burps while wearing sunglasses

[white room with lab? tech?]

prof!hulk, nebula?, rhodey or cap

[that corrider from the walking scene in all the tailers]

steve: “..of us.  we lost friends we lost family, we lost a part of ourselves. today we have a chance to take it all-”

bearded!thor walks with them not stubble/normal!thor.

all walk onto a large raised platform

[ruined cityscape (i think its during the battle of NY in A1)]

tony, prof!hulk, scott, and steve stand in a circle

steve: “…assignments. 2 stones uptown 1 stone down. stay low keep an eye on the bar/box[couldn’t hear]”

-cuts to normal!hulk smashing a car

steve: “maybe smash a few things on the way”

prof!hulk: “i don’t think its good to do this but whatever” [im only 80% sure here]

[glass walk way]

steve is fighting a clone/skrull/alternate universe version of himself

steve: “..i know”

they fall over the edge of the walkway

[same ruined cityscape]

prof hulk putting on a glove made by tony (red and gold metal) with 5 gems. bearded!thor watches nervously with rocket. tony/rhodey is nearby with a shield up, clint behind it.

light/electricity courses up the arm, prof!hulk groans

bearded!thor: “take it off take it off!”

steve: “no wait bruce are you okay? talk to me banner!”

[battle field]

thanos in his battle gear, with a large double ended sword that glows

bearded!thor with storm breaker, tony with a huge energy blade thing, and steve w his shield fight him

-cut to a hanger door in a ship it looks like it is closing, there is visible rough water

-cut to prof!hulk groaning and some blue light

[battle field]

steve is fighting thanos solo with his shield and mjolnir

steve hits him in the head

steve stands in the field breathing heavy but not hurt

sam: “captain sam, can you hear me?”

steve touches his earpiece in confusion

sam: “on your left”

steve turns to a glowing gold portal

 tchalla, shuri and okoye step out, sam flies out overhead

steve seems overwhelemd, then smiles

[battle field]

steve, drax, shuri, t’challa, mantis, peter q, thor, tony, someone on a pegasus, prof!hulk face thanos

steve: “avengers reassemble”

everyone screams and runs towards thanos

[...idk its a closeup shot]

tony hugs peter

peter parker: “…everything he does all the time…what are you doing?….oh this is nice”

-cut to SUPER quick shot of someone being blasted with light

-cut to a huge plane being shot down while cap & someone else watched

-cut to carol (with short hair) comes out from the wreckage. she watches from above as it crashes into some water

[again its a close up]

peter p: “…parker”

carol: “hey peter parker got something for me?”

peter p hands her the new tony stark made gauntlet

[rjalker]

fuck it I'm removing the reader's corner from the master document. they're annoying. I'm not editing all of them en masse.

here's one at random since I had to highlight it to delete it anyways. tumblr can do with the formatting whatever it likes IDC.

The Readers' Corner, August, 1930

To the Rescue

Dear Editor:

I hope you can see fit to print this letter in the July issue of Astounding Stories. This letter is written in defence of Ray Cummings and in reply to the letter of C. Harry Jaeger, 2900 Jordan Road, Oakland, California.

Following is an extract of Mr. Jaeger's letter: "Also I like my authors to make an original contribution to whatever theory of science they develop fictionally. This, Ray Cummings does not do in his very interesting story, "Phantoms of Reality." His beginning is palpably borrowed from Francis Flagg's story, "The Blue Dimension," which appeared in a Science Fiction magazine in 1927." Another paragraph is devoted to explaining his claim. He claims that Cummings' method of transporting his characters from one dimension or planet to another is practically copied from Flagg's story. The method, that is, not the narration. I hope to prove that if any borrowing was done, it was done by Flagg. Incidentally, Flagg's story "The Blue Dimension" was printed in 1928, not 1927, as Mr. Jaeger says.

I have in my possession a story by Ray Cummings named "Into the Fourth Dimension" and published in another magazine during the last month of 1926 and first ones of 1927. And in this story—printed two years before Flagg's story—Cummings uses almost the same apparatus of passing from one dimension to another as is used in "Phantoms of Reality." I will not discuss whether this procedure is to be approved or not.

This letter is not to be construed as an attack on Mr. Jaeger, or Mr. Flagg, or on either of the two stories under discussion.

If Mr. Jaeger will let me know I will send him Ray Cumming's story "Into the Fourth Dimension," as clipped from the magazines.

I write this letter to the magazine, instead of Mr. Jaeger, so that if any one was misled by Mr. Jaeger's well meant but mistaken criticism they will be straightened out.—Donald Coneyon, Petoskey, Michigan.

A Wish for Success

Dear Editor:

I have read both of your first issues. I am writing to say that I wish you success with your new magazine, which I know will succeed.

Also to say I wish you would get more of the "Carnes and Dr. Bird Stories" by Captain S. P. Meek, for I think everybody, including myself, likes them. I also enjoyed "Creatures of the Light."—Thomas D. Taylor, 415 So. 7th St., Boise, Idaho.

No Kick Any More

Dear Editor:

I have been a reader of Astounding Stories ever since you started it, and I guess I'm getting too particular as I don't get the kick out of it any more that I did out of the first issues. That is, I don't get the kick out of ALL of the stories as I did at first. However, "Murder Madness" sure is a hot one. Why not print a story by Sax Rohmer, H. G. Wells, or some of them?—H. Elsworth Jones, Box 340, R. R. 6, Battle Creek, Mich.

Via Postcard

Dear Editor:

Astounding Stories is an astounding magazine. It has really astounding stories. It couldn't be better. There's hardly room for improvement. May Astounding Stories be more astounding yet. I like it!—Monroe Hood Stinson, 1742, 12th Ave., Oakland, California.

Only Fiction!

Dear Editor:

I have just finished a story in the February, 1930, issue of Astounding Stories entitled "Into Space," by Sterner St. Paul.

I would like to know if it is a true story, if the actions described in it really happened, or is it merely a story of fiction.—Dan S. Scherrer, Shawneetown, Ill.

Perhaps—Soon

Dear Editor:

I have just finished reading your new magazine, Astounding Stories. It is the best magazine I have ever read. Keep up the good work and you will find me a constant reader. I have only one suggestion to make: Let Astounding Stories come out every other Thursday.—Harold Kulko, 433 Palmer E., Detroit, Michigan.

More Preferences

Dear Editor:

I have read with great interest the second issue of Astounding Stories and note your invitation for readers to express themselves.

I enjoyed the whole magazine, finding the literary quality surprisingly high. Especially good were "Spawn of the Stars," and "Creatures of the Light." Harl Vincent's tale was the best of his I have read; and Captain Meek's are always good. "The Corpse on the Grating," however, was merely Poe's "Fall of the House of Usher" done over, and not half so well.

As for the sort of tales I like, here they are in order of preference:

1. Tales of weird mystery—Merritt's "Moon Pool" and his others; Taine's "White Lily."

2. Interplanetary Adventure—"A Columbus of Space," by Serviss; "The Skylark of Space," by Smith.

3. "Different stories," that defy classification, based on new ideas of science—most of Wells' short stories are examples. 4. Detective, Fourth Dimension, and air adventure—only well done.—Jack Williamson, Box 661 Canyon, Texas.

A Brick or Two

Dear Editor:

For the last three years we have been reading any and all of the various Science Fiction magazines which have appeared upon the market. We therefore feel that we are as well qualified as anyone to offer the criticism and advice that follows.

First, the stories. We feel that it would be a good idea to get your stories from the same authors whose work has been and is being accepted by the other magazines in this field. In one case you have already done this, and I consider his stories to be the best in each issue. I believe that you will be forced to do this eventually, anyhow, because the people who read this magazine will naturally be readers of the others also, and will therefore, be used to the standards set by those publications. Then, you should have someone who is well qualified to pass upon the science in the stories.

Second, the cover design and the pictures at the beginning of each story. Up to this time the cover and inside pictures have contained many mistakes. The cover of the March issue was especially atrocious. In the first place a voyager in outer space would find it jet black and studded with stars, instead of blue and apparently empty, except for a few tremendously oversize planets, a moon with entirely too many craters, and a total eclipse of the sun with a very much distorted corona visible beside the earth. Illustrations by your cover artist also appear in another publication, but these are much superior to the ones in Astounding Stories. Here also a scientific advisor would be welcome.

Third, I think it would be a good idea to have a department in which readers could write their opinions of the stories and suggest improvements in the conduct of the magazine.

Fourth, I think there should be a scientific editorial in each issue by some eminent scientist. This is also a feature in the other magazines.

We hope that you take these criticisms and suggestions, as they were offered, in good faith. We also hope that the circulation will increase as the magazine becomes better.—George L. Williams and Harry Heillisan, 5714 Howe St., Pittsburgh, Pa.

"Wonderful"

Dear Editor:

I received your magazine last week, Astounding Stories, and I think it is wonderful. I am very glad that I subscribed for it. I can hardly wait to get the latest one which I hoped to receive to-day and was very much disappointed when it did not arrive. I hope you will consider a quarterly or at least an annual in the near future.

I wish you success with this magazine, and hope you will forgive my writing you so often in reference to your magazine—Louis Wentzler, 1935, Woodbine St., Brooklyn, New York.

—But We Made Our Bow Only Last January!

Dear Editor:

Last month my boy brought one copy of this magazine home, and I want to ask you if you would send me the copies from last January, 1929, up to December, 1929. If you charge no more than $3.00 would you send them C. O. D.? Do you have the issues for 1928, too?

I never knew there was a magazine like that on the market. I never bought one because most of them are no good, and when one has children one has to be doubly careful.

But this magazine is just right. No silly love stories and mushy stuff in them. It sure keeps your mind from unpleasant things. We can get them from the newsstand but I would like to subscribe for them.

Keep up the good work and please send me the last year's copies and let me know if I could get 1928, too.—Mrs. M. Ristan, 4684, No. Broadway, Denver, Colorado.

"Best One Yet"

Dear Editor:

The April issue is the best one you have put out yet. Arthur J. Burks is GOOD. I hope to see much of him in the future. "Brigands of the Moon," by Ray Cummings, is getting better with each instalment. The stories of Dr. Bird are always interesting. I would like to see one in each issue, if you could arrange for it.

As long as the other readers like the size of Astounding stories, I will, too, but please cut all edges smooth like the latest issue of Five Novels Monthly. I would like to see a full-page illustration with each story, and if possible by Wesso.

I am glad that you are starting another serial in the May issue of Astounding Stories. I like serials and I hope that you will always have two in each issue.

Your schedule for the May issue looks good, and I'm sure it will be, with such authors as Murray Leinster, Victor Rousseau, Ray Cummings, Harl Vincent and Sewell P. Wright.

I am still waiting for a different colored cover.—Jack Darrow, 4225, N. Spaulding Ave., Chicago, Illinois.

An Enthusiastic Reader

Dear Editor:

As a reader of long standing of Science Fiction I feel I am qualified to make some remarks and give my opinion of the wonderful Astounding Stories magazine lately put out. Although I read three other Science Fiction magazines none of them have aroused in me such a wonderful enthusiasm as Astounding Stories. Before I forget it I want to mention that I read two quarterlies also.

The reason, or rather reasons, for my enthusiasm I will now enumerate. (1) The stories are wonderful. (2) The binding is very strong and efficient. (3) The print is just right, and soothing to the eyes of one who reads much. The paper is good, and the size and price of the magazine is just right. The covers are excellent, and with the addition of "The Readers' Corner" the magazine becomes absolutely perfect. Truly a wonderful start. See that it is kept up. The only thing that can still spoil the magazine is poor stories. Science Fiction stories that contain no science.

In "Vampires of Venus" the plot was rather weak. Even if the Venerians knew nothing of entomology, they should have brains enough to get rid of the vampires the way Leslie Larner did without having to call an Earthman to help them. Another thing: the Venerians kept only insects that were not harmful to the crops. On Earth there are such insects who help the farmer by eating harmful insects. If the harmful insects were exterminated—an almost impossible and gigantic task—the harmless insects would change their diet and become harmful too. And it seems funny, too, that such a highly civilized planet as Venus should still depend on domesticated animals for food, drink and clothing instead of manufacturing what they need synthetically.

The April cover on your magazine was wonderful.

Before I close I wish to say a word about the Science Correspondence Club of which I am a proud member. There is little to say, however, after reading Conrad Ruppert's letter in the April issue. The membership has increased to over 300 now, numbering among them quite a number of famous scientists and authors. All I can say is that I hope every scientifically inclined person of whatever nationality, creed, color or sex they may be, will join this wonderful and rapidly progressing club. I will now close thanking the publishers of Astounding Stories for issuing such a wonderful magazine—Stan Osowski, E2, Railroad St., Central Falls, R. I.

But—Conniston Was An Impostor!

Dear Editor:

I read with interest Mr. Ray Cummings' story, "Brigands of the Moon," in the March number of Astounding Stories. The tale was a worthy one from the pen of so clever a writer. I do think, however, that the author might have left out the point about Sir Arthur Conniston, an English gentleman, turning traitor. This sort of thing is hardly calculated to bring about a friendly feeling between England and America, the two greatest countries in the world. I have the greatest admiration for the United States, and though we may have a little fun at each other's expense, there is no ill feeling meant, but I really hope you will not publish any other story like that one.—An Englishman, Montreal, Canada.

Likes the Romance

Dear Editor:

I have just finished my second copy of Astounding Stories and I wish to say I have enjoyed every story.

For some time I have been a reader of Science Fiction, but none will compare to Astounding Stories. These stories seem to have the proper amount of romance in them to make them really interesting, and it adds the proper touch.

I have no criticism to make. May I wish you a great success with this magazine—Frank I. Sontag, 825 Prescott Ave., Scranton, Pa.

High Praise

Dear Editor:

Allow me to congratulate you upon the establishment of "The Readers' Corner." I do not know which was the first issue of your delightful magazine, but I have been buying it regularly for quite a few months.

I may not be an experienced critic, but it can be easily seen by anyone that this magazine is one of the best on sale. I, for one, enjoy your stories more than any other stories I have ever read.

I have just finished the second part of the four-part serial entitled "Brigands of the Moon." I thing Ray Cummings is the best author I have ever met up with in stories. The drawings are fine, the print is excellent, but I think the paper could be improved. But by no means change the size of your little magazine. The size is just right.

In your April issue I read in "The Readers' Corner" about a Science Correspondence Club. Believe me when I say I'm sending immediately for an application blank. I think the idea of this club is excellent.

Truly you have contributed a great gift to Science Fiction readers in offering this magazine to the receptive public.—Theodore L. Page, 2361 Los Angeles Ave., Pittsburgh, Pa.

"Don't Do It!"

Dear Editor:

This afternoon I saw Astounding Stories for the first time and immediately grabbed a copy, as I have read others of the Clayton group, and moreover am a Science Fiction fan.

The newsstand has no back numbers, and I simply must have the March 1930 issue, as I wish to read "Brigands of the Moon," so here is 25¢, in stamps to cover purchase price and cost of mailing me a copy of that issue.

Have you a complete file since Vol. 1, No. 1? If so, what is the cost including charges? I'm sorry that I missed this magazine before, but you can rest assured that I'll miss no more.

In the "Readers' Corner" I notice a call from Stephen Takacs for a change in size. DON'T DO IT! The size and shape are O. K., and to make it the awkward size of most magazines (including two of the Science Fiction magazines that I am now a confirmed reader of), would not improve it a bit.

You have two of my favorite authors in the April number; no, I see it is three—Burks, Cummings and Meek. They are O. K., but don't forget a few others, such as Burroughs, Verrill, Hamilton, Coblentz, Keller, Quinn, Williamson, Leinster, Repp, Vincent, Flagg—oh, why continue; you certainly know all the good authors of OUR kind of fiction; try them all. Of course, the other Science Fiction magazines that I take are full of stories by my favorites, but you can get stories by them too.

From this one issue that I have read I can see only praise for your publication. Here's to a long life and a happy one.

Don't forget to send me the March issue as fast as the mail can get it here—Robert J. Hyatt, 1353 Kenyon St., N. W., Washington D. C.

"Worst Ever Read"

Dear Editor:

Since you invite criticism as well as praise, I am impelled to state that by far the worst story I ever read in any Science Fiction magazine was "Vampires of Venus," by Anthony Pelcher, which appeared in your April issue. It was so idiotic, so flat and inane, that it might have passed for a burlesque rather than a straight story, were it not painfully evident that the author was serious. The yarn was unworthy of Astounding Stories and did not belong in this magazine.

The other stories, except for an amateurish attempt called "The Man Who Was Dead," were deeply engrossing and of unusual merit.—Sears Langell, 1214 Boston Road, New York.

"The Readers' Corner"

All Readers are extended a sincere and cordial invitation to "come over in 'The Readers' Corner'" and join in our monthly discussion of stories, authors, scientific principles and possibilities—everything that's of common interest in connection with our Astounding Stories.

Although from time to time the Editor may make a comment or so, this is a department primarily for Readers, and we want you to make full use of it. Likes, dislikes, criticisms, explanations, roses, brickbats, suggestions—everything's welcome here; so "come over in 'The Readers' Corner'" and discuss it with all of us!

—The Editor.

and another

The Readers' Corner

A Meeting Place for Readers of Astounding Stories

From Australia

Dear Editor:

I am taking the privilege of writing to you in an endeavor to show my appreciation of your magazine Astounding Stories.

Although I am an inveterate reader I must say that I have never read any book or magazine to come up to the above, and confess that though I am ignorant of the intricacies of science (and lacked interest in same prior to my reading your first issue) same is described so plainly that I have no trouble in fully understanding exactly what the author conveys. I must thank you for this other interest in the monotony of life.

Have pleasure of informing you that through my enthusiasm have created several subscribers, and on occasions when adopting the age old custom of placing my foot upon the rail and bending the elbow, have entered into many a conversation and discussion re the different stories included in your magazine.

I assure you of my whole-hearted support in the furthering of the popularity of your enjoyable and unique work in my country, and wish you every success in your venture.—M. B. Johnston, 237 Flinders Lane, Melbourne, Australia.

Mr. Neal's Favorites

Dear Editor:

The other day I saw Astounding Stories on one of the newsstands. I purchased it, and after reading "Brigands of the Moon", I eagerly finished the rest of the magazine. I did not like "Out of the Dreadful Depths." In my opinion it should not be in a Science Fiction magazine. The only thing the matter with your magazine is that it is too small. I would like to read some stories in "our" magazine by Ed Earl Repp, David H. Keller, M. D., Miles J. Brewer, M. D., and Stanton Coblentz—Francis Neal, R. R. 4, Box 105, Kokomo, Ind.

No Ghost Stories

Dear Editor:

I received your April issue and I think it is the best yet. I have but one complaint to make, and that is your magazine seems to print some good science stories, but also has some stories which do not belong in a Science Fiction magazine. They might come under the name of weird tales. Is your magazine devoted to pure 100 per cent. Science Fiction? If so, I think you ought to leave out the ghost stories.—Louis Wentzler, 1933 Woodbine St., Brooklyn, N. Y.

From the Other Sex

Dear Editor:

You'll be surprised to hear from a girl, as I notice only boys wrote to praise your new magazine. I tried reading some of the Science Fiction magazines my brother buys every month but I'd start reading a story only to leave it unfinished. But your magazine is different. When I picked it up to read it I thought I'd soon throw it down and read something else, but the moment I started to read one of the stories of your new magazine I read it to the finish. I never read such vivid and exciting stories. Even my brother who loves all kinds of Science Fiction magazines couldn't stop praising your new magazine. He said Astounding Stories beats them all.

Some of our readers criticized your new magazine, and I haven't anything but disagreement for them. Yet, who am I, to judge persons who have read and know all about Science Fiction?

Will recommend your new magazine to all my friends.—Sue O'Bara, 13440 Barley Ave., Chicago, Illinois.

January Issue Was First

Dear Editor:

I have just finished reading the April issue of "our" magazine. Can mere words describe my feelings? I am classing the stories as follows: A—excellent; B—very good; C—good; D—passable; E—poor.

A—"Monsters of Moyen," "Vampires of Venus," "The Ray of Madness," "The Soul-Snatcher."

B—"The Man Who Was Dead."

C—None. D—None. E—None.

"Brigands of the Moon" is getting more and more interesting. Can you please tell me which month's issue was the first one, as I didn't procure the first two copies and should like to do so?—Eli Meltzer, 1466 Coney Island Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y.

"Eclipses All"

Dear Editor:

Just as soon as your new magazine came out I espied it. It eclipsed all the other magazines on the stand. As a cub magazine I couldn't ask for more.

I am going to comment on your stories now because I know you want me too, for I know you would like to know what sort of stories your readers like.

I have a lot to say about Ray Cummings. He is the best writer I have ever seen. His stories couldn't be beat. "Phantoms of Reality" was a corking good story, but I believe his new serial, "Brigands of the Moon," is going to be better. Captain S. P. Meek is a very good writer also. I take immense joy in his Dr. Bird stories. And we must not forget that great writer, Murray Leinster. His stories are really good.

I congratulate you on your new magazine, Mr. Editor.—Albert Philbrick, 117 N. Spring St., Springfield, Ohio.

"A Unique Magazine"

Dear Editor:

I've been trying to write your magazine for a long time, so here goes.

I've bought every copy from the first issue and sure think it is a good magazine. In fact I should say a unique magazine; there are but few magazines in its class among Science Fiction magazines. The stories come up to the standards of good Science Fiction, and some go far above it. A few stories I did not like were: "The Man Who Was Dead," "The Soul Snatcher," "The Corpse on the Grating" and "The Stolen Mind." The science in all these stories was very poor. But your magazine became better in my eyes when you published "Phantoms of Reality," "Tanks," "Old Crompton's Secret," "Brigands of the Moon," "Monsters of Moyen," and all of Captain S. P. Meek's stories. These were extraordinarily good stories.

Wesso's drawings are very good, and I hope you keep him. I have seen his drawings in another magazine for quite a time. I don't like the illustrations of your other artist. Could you, by chance, secure an artist by the name of Leo Morey or Hugh Mackay? They both illustrate for other Science Fiction magazines and are about as good as Wesso. Please keep the latter. And why don't you have him to do all of your illustrating?

Sorry to seem such a grouch, but I don't like your grade of paper either. And why not enlarge the magazine to about 11" x 9" by 1/2", and charge 25 cents for your thoroughly good magazine, apart from the defects I have mentioned.

About your authors. They are, for the most part, good. But they are mostly amateurs at writing Science Fiction stories. I am delighted to see such expert writers of Science Fiction as Harl Vincent, Ray Cummings, Victor Rousseau and Captain S. P. Meek writing for your magazine, but couldn't you include in your staff of authors A. Hyatt Verrill, Dr. Miles J. Breuer, Dr. David H. Keller, R. F. Starzl, and a few more such notable authors? I hope to see these authors in your magazine soon.—Linus Hogenmiller, 502 N. Washington St., Farmington, Mo.

The Star System!

Dear Editor:

One star means fairly good, two stars, good; three stars, excellent; four, extraordinary; no stars—just another story.

I give "Brigands of the Moon," by Ray Cummings, three stars; "The Atom-Smasher," by Victor Rousseau, three stars; "Murder Madness," by Murray Leinster, two stars; "Into the Ocean Depths," by S. P. Wright, two stars, and "The Jovian Jest," by L. Lorraine, no stars. It was short and sweet.

Wesso sure can draw. I would like to see a full page illustration for each story by him.

My favorite type of stories are interplanetary, and, second favorite, stories of future wars. Will you have many of them in the future? I like long stories like the novelette in the May issue of Astounding Stories—Jack Darrow, 4225 N. Spaulding Ave., Chicago, Illinois.

We Expect Not To

Dear Editor:

While going over your "The Readers' Corner" of the April issue, I noticed in your answer to one of the letters that you will avoid reprints. Now many of your readers have not read the older classics of Science Fiction. Would it not be a good idea to publish a reprint at least once a year? One of the suggestions given was Merritt's "Through the Dragon Glass." Another very interesting story, and one that I am sure almost all of your followers have not read, is "The Blind Spot," by Homer Flint.

I like the idea of having three members to a volume, as it will be much easier to bind. Now, starting with the April issue, I think that the best story in there is "Monsters of Moyen." "The Ray of Madness" was up to the usual standard of Capt. S. P. Meek's stories. "The Man Who Was Dead" was fairly good; average, I would say. I did not like "Vampires of Venus."

I say that the May issue was the best of the Astounding Stories. I was satisfied with every story in it. "Into the Ocean Depths" was the best story, "The Atom Smasher" being a close second. I like the way the story "Into the Ocean Depths" ended; a slight trace of sadness and not at all like the "and they lived happily ever after" ending. A real story.

I was disappointed in not finding any story concerning Dr. Bird in the April issue. Will any more be printed soon?

Before I close I would like a definite answer to this question: Will you ever, or in the near future, reprint any of the genre of Science Fiction, stories by the late master Garret P. Serviss, or from the pen of A. Merritt and H. G. Wells?—Nathan Greenfeld, 313 E. 70th St., New York City.

Again Reprints

Dear Editor:

Although I am a reader of six Science Fiction magazines, I was more than glad to see the latest one out, Astounding Stories. Because the stories are all interesting. I consider Astounding Stories superior to most of the Science Fiction periodicals on the newsstands to-day.

My favorite stories are those of interplanetary voyages and other worlds. My favorite authors are: Ray Cummings, A. Merritt, Victor Rousseau, Murray Leinster, Arthur J. Burks and Harl Vincent. I hope that you will soon have stories by Edmond Hamilton and David H. Keller.

Now here is something I hope you will give some thought and consideration. I noticed that many of the readers wrote in, requesting reprints. I am one of those who would like to see you publish some reprints, especially stories by Edgar Rice Burroughs, A. Merritt and Ray Cummings. These authors have written many masterpieces of Science Fiction. It is very difficult, if not impossible, for a person to get these stories. They could be made available easily if Astounding Stories would reprint them.

Most of the readers who object to reprints do so because they would hate to see a story by H. G. Wells or Jules Verne. I, myself, do not like these authors as they are too dull. But if you have only reprints by the three authors I mentioned and a few other popular writers, I am sure all the readers would welcome them. At least you could have a vote and see how they stand on reprints—Michael Fogaris, 157 Fourth St., Passaic, N. J.

Likes "The Readers' Corner"

Dear Editor:

Your "The Readers' Corner" interests me very much. It surely does show how your magazine pleases its readers. You cannot get too much science in your stories to suit me. Chemistry and physics more than anything else.

I surely enjoyed reading "Mad Music" and "The Thief of Time." I don't like long stories. They are too interesting to have to wait a month for the next part.

I hope that your magazine continues to have as "astounding" stories as it has in the past.—Vern L. Enrich, R. F. D. 1, Casey, Illinois.

From Master Weiner

Dear Editor:

One day coming home from school I saw your magazine. That night I bought it and have since been an ardent reader.

But why not give us a change? I prefer stories of the Sargasso Sea, the Maelstrom, and about invasions of the Earth.—Milton Weiner, age 12, 2430 Baker St., Baltimore Maryland.

High Praise

Dear Editor:

Enclosed you will find twenty cents in stamps for the first copy of Astounding Stories.

I have just finished the May issue of Astounding Stories and the rating of the stories is: 1—"Brigands of the Moon"—Excellent! 2—"The Atom Smasher"—Marvelous! 3—"Murder Madness"—Perfect. 4—"Into the Ocean's Depths"—Good. 5—"The Jovian Jest"—Pretty Good.

The cover design by H. Wesso is good. Don't lose him.

I would like more stories by Victor Rousseau and Ray Cummings. Where are some stories by H. G. Wells, Stanton Coblens, Gawain Edwards, Francis Flagg, Henrik Jarve and Dr. Keller? My favorite stories are interplanetary stories.

Here are some things that may improve your magazine (though I must say that your magazine is about perfect as it is): More pictures in long stories; about two novelettes in each issue; about two short stories in each issue; more interplanetary novels and novelettes; about one serial in one issue; smoother paper.—Isidore Horowitz, 1161 Stratford Avenue, New York City.

"Fairly Good Satire"

Dear Editor:

I have read your two issues of Astounding Stories and I feel they will fill a very much needed place in literature.

I am especially interested in the stories like the "Vampires of Venus" and the "Brigands of the Moon." The "Vampires of Venus" can be classed as a fairly good satire on Earth beings; I consider that story one with a moral. It reminds one of Voltaire's Micromegas, and it's taking us to another planet to show us our faults at home will stimulate interest in social improvement.

I have kept tab on Edgar Rice Burroughs' writings because he teaches evolution in a way that makes it easy for the ordinary reader to grasp.

You have a great field, if you can keep up the interplanetary stories and mix some evolutionary stories with them.

The true stories are playing a valuable part in stimulating people to take a deeper view of life, and you have a field in Astounding Stories almost without a competitor.—J. L. Stark, 530 Sutcliffe Ave., Louisville, Kentucky.

He is H. W. Wessolowski

Dear Editor:

Since I have read every copy of Astounding Stories since it was inaugurated I feel well qualified to contribute a few bouquets and also some criticism. The cover illustrations are wonderful but I cannot find the artist's name on it. So good an artist should put his "moniker" on his productions. I am glad to see that the words "Super-Science" are on the top of the cover in bright red letters; some other Science Fiction magazines seem desirous of disguising the contents of their magazines for some obscure and mysterious reason.

And now a brickbat. It is my humble opinion that the science should be examined more carefully before the stories are printed in this excellent magazine. The stories should be not only astounding, but should contain some science information that will be remembered after the fiction is forgotten. "The Man Who Was Dead" is an excellent ghost story or weird tale, but is out of place in "our" magazine. (I take the liberty to call it "our" magazine since a department is given over to the readers and we express our choice of the kind of stories that are printed.) However, taken all together, our magazine is steadily improving; each issue up to now has been distinctly better than the one before.

I have graded the stories in the April and May copies as follows: Excellent—"Vampires of Venus," "The Ray of Madness," "Brigands of the Moon," "Murder Madness," "Into the Ocean's Depths" and "The Jovian Jest." Good—"Monsters of Moyen," "The Atom Smasher" and "The Soul Searcher." Poor—"The Man Who Was Dead."

My favorite authors are Dr. David H. Keller, Harl Vincent, Lillith Lorraine, Anthony Pelcher, Capt. S. P. Meek, Dr. Miles J. Breuer and Ray Cummings. I can hardly wait a month for my next copy.—Wayne D. Bray, Campbell, Missouri.

Story Says Cro-Magnons Fled to Europe

Dear Editor:

Ever since I was first introduced to Astounding Stories by a cousin I have been a steady reader. I have not missed a single issue so far.

I hope you will have stories by Hyatt Verril, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Edmond Hamilton, Leslie Stone, Stanton A. Coblentz and Francis Flagg.

The stories I like best in each issue (not counting serials) are: "Phantoms of Reality," "Spawn of the Stars," "Vandals of the Stars," "Vampires of Venus" and "The Atom Smasher." In "The Atom Smasher" it says that all Europeans descended from the Atlanteans. Now when the hero killed them all with the disintegrating ray, would he not have affected their birth?

Wesso is some artist. I saw a mistake on the cover of the March issue. The color of space is a deep black, not blue, because the blue color of the heavens when viewed from the earth is due to the reflection of light by the atmosphere.—George Brande, 141 South Church St., Schenectady, N. Y.

"The Readers' Corner"

All Readers are extended a sincere and cordial invitation to "come over in 'The Readers' Corner'" and join in our monthly discussion of stories, authors, scientific principles and possibilities—everything that's of common interest in connection with our Astounding Stories.

Although from time to time the Editor may make a comment or so, this is a department primarily for Readers, and we want you to make full use of it. Likes, dislikes, criticisms, explanations, roses, brickbats, suggestions—everything's welcome here; so "come over in 'The Readers' Corner'" and discuss it with all of us!

[pulpfest]

Offering two cents a word on acceptance, Harry Bates was able to attract some of the era’s leading professionals capable of writing science fiction to work for ASTOUNDING STORIES OF SUPER-SCIENCE.

Arthur J. Burks, Ray Cummings, Tom Curry, Charles Willard Diffin, Paul Ernst, Edmond Hamilton, Murray Leinster, Captain S. P. Meek, Victor Rousseau, Nat Schachner, R. F. Starzl, Harl Vincent, Jack Williamson, and Arthur Leo Zagat all contributed substantially to the magazine. Additionally, Bates and his editorial assistant, Desmond Hall, wrote the popular Hawk Carse series for the Clayton pulp, collaborating as Anthony Gilmour. Pictured here is Hans Wessolowski cover for the January 1931 issue of ASTOUNDING STORIES OF SUPER-SCIENCE (the last issue — except for a couple of outliers in early 1933 — of the pulp to feature that title).

[lovebunnie]

some of my (personal) favorite moments from dead poets society

this has been done to death but i wanted to do it regardless because i love the writing in this movie more than life itself

the entire exchange with spaz and his dad and hager just shuts the door in their face

looks like a STIFF

O O P S

travesty. horror. decadence. excrement.

whats his specialty, bootlicking?

knox immediately calling todd “pal” thats so gd sweet

“Spaz blows his nose a little too close to Meeks for his liking.” - an actual line from the script that made me giggle

i would go to the beach and people would kick copies of byron in my face

because we are food for worms lads. because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die

but if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you (this one gives me chills every time its s o good)

todds ‘seize the day’ on his notebook, its so subtle and yet does a lot for his character

meeks and pitts working together on the radio like fucking nerds

“that guy could eat a football”

neil in glasses,,, 

charlie eating the paper

keatings whole speech “what we stay alive for” (which i memorized and get teary eyed every time i hear it)

keating LITERALLY looking at todd and asking him SPECIFICALLY “what will your verse be”

only responding to captain

neil instantly taking an interest in the dead poets society he is so desperate to live and to be free it hurts

ill try anything once

EXCEPT SEX

knox desperately chasing charlie and asking why the women swoon

neil respecting todds boundaries about talking and just wanting him to be there

the squeak of the recorder in shock kills me istg

pitts NAILING himself in the old dome cuz he too got damn tall

who gave us half a roll?

im eating the other half. want me to put it back?

they boys running around chanting and being happy and fun teenagers like they deserve to be

keating calling knox a twerp

neil hearing the meaning of communication is supposedly to woo women and his gay ass not understanding that concept at all

RADIO FREE AMERICA

basically the whole exchange between neil and todd around the play itd be too long to type out but yall know wtf im talking about that scene is too great

IM BEING CHASED BY WALT WHITMAN!!

to indeed be a god

neil being so excited he just yelps words dont do express how excited he is hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

yawp

truth is like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold

neils FUCKING face his GAY FUCKING FACE AFTERWARDS

your parents collect pipes?

the god of the cave

laughing, crying, tumbling, mumbling, gotta do more. gotta be more

so what IS the point?

exercising the right not to walk

if i were to ever going to buy a deskset- twice- i would probably buy this one both times

this desk set wants to fly

the worlds first unmanned flying desk set

NUWANDA

to mutt

to mighty mutt

are we all just playing around out here, or do we mean what we say?

its god! he says we should have girls at welton!

damn it, neil

choking on the bone

meeks, pitts, and cameron admiring themselves in the mirror

i was good

i was really good

o captain my captain

ive only watched past the play scene once my first time watching the movie because it makes me too upset

[yums-ville]

The Gland Murder, by Captain S P Meek. Amazing Detective Tales, June 1930.

[itsfreeaudiobook]

The Earth is ruled by cruel Joovian overlords. Earthlings seeth but submit to their power and superior weapons. Who will take this yoke from the Earth? Listen and find out. This is a straightforward space opera with villans and heroes. Fast moving and exciting to the end. - Summary by Phil chenevert via Libricox

[rjalker]

The Sea Terror, By Captain S. P. Meek The Trail Of Mystery Gold Leads Carnes And Dr. Bird To A Tremendous Monster Of The Deep.

this is the one where communists genetically engineer sea monsters to take money from capitalists to fund anticapitalist groups.

[hermanwatts]

Sensor Sweep: Hammett, Hernstrom, Heinlein, Haggard

Comic Books (Paint Monk): Copyright. Public Domain. Cease & Desist. Not the words one would normally think to associate with a battle featuring Conan of Cimmeria and yet here we are. Now that the smoke has cleared, Ablaze is finally able to deliver translated versions of French Glénat’s Conan comics. Let me see if I can sum it up succinctly. In Europe, most of Robert E. Howard’s works are in the public domain. In the United States?

Publishing (Kairos):  There’s a shortage of paper, because it comes from China. The two largest printers of magazines and books in the U.S., Quad/Graphics and LSC Communications were going to merge last summer, but something got in the way. Now, LSC Communications has filed for bankruptcy. The second largest printer, Quad, has shut its book printing facilities entirely. In some regions, major distributors have shut down or disappeared, while although others, like Ingram, are still operating, although with reduced staff.

New Releases (DMR Books): The next DMR Books release is The Eye of Sounnu, the long-awaited collection of Schuyler Hernstrom’s stories from Cirsova magazine. Today we reveal the incredible cover by Brian LeBlanc (who also did the cover for Renegade Swords.) The title of the collection is taken from the cover story, “Gift of the Ob-Men,” which previously appeared in the first issue of Cirsova, as well as the free anthology The Infernal Bargain and Other Stories.

Hard-boiled Fiction (Elgin Bleeker): The Hammett novel, which I posted about (here), is a complicated yarn of murder and political corruption. Nick Beaumont is an advisor and right-hand man to Paul Madvig, a political power broker. In the book, Hammett showed the strong ties between the men who were long-time friends. A lot of that was lost in the 1942 movie starring Alan Ladd as Nick and Brian Donlevy as Paul because the story needed to be trimmed down to fit a movie’s normal running time. (There is also a 1935 version starring George Raft and Edward Arnold, but I have not seen it.)

Pulp Science-Fiction (Adventures Fantastic): OK, I’m gonna do it.  With the exception of some of the novels, I’ll be looking at the nominees for the 1945 Retro Hugos, which are awarded for stories published in 1944.  I’m going to start with the novelettes.  I read “The Children’s Hour” earlier this week as a possibility Henry Kuttner birthday post before the Retro Hugo shortlist was announced.  Might as well tackle it while it’s fresh on my mind.

Pulp Fiction (Dark Worlds Quarterly): Edmond Hamilton was a Science Fiction writer who is loved for his Captain Future novels, his Star Kings and any number of other Pulp stories. He was an important innovator of the 1920s and early 30s, as well as one of the best writers of Superman comics in the 1940s, 50s and 60s. But there was this time when Ed wrote Mystery stories for money…Hamilton was one of the first SF writers who tried to make a living writing only Science Fiction and Fantasy. He succeeded for the most part but there were lean years in the Great Depression when he turned to Mystery fiction.

Fiction (Jon Mollison): Is now really the best time to write a post-apocalyptic novel? It is if you know what you are doing. And as a writer, let me assure you – I know what I’m doing. The sad fact is that we already live in a post-apocalyptic world. Sooner than expected, we’ll be tasked with finding a path out of the relative doom that follows the American Empire. And fiction can help us do that. If it is the right kind of fiction.

Fiction (Track of Words): Black Library’s Siege of Terra series reaches its halfway point with Saturnine by Dan Abnett, a 500+ page beast of a book in which secrets are revealed, big names start to fall, and the stakes – somehow – get even higher. Having taken Lion’s Gate spaceport, the traitor host marches on the fortifications of the Lion’s Gate itself while simultaneously driving at the Eternity Gate spaceport, stretching the loyalist defenders to breaking point. With battles raging on multiple fronts and resources dwindling, Dorn faces impossible questions of compromise and sacrifice, as he searches for a strategy that might tip the balance in his battle of wills and wits with Perturabo.

Warhammer (Warhammer Community): This is Warhammer’s biggest plastic monster yet… it towers over a regular gargant and easily stares Archaon and his three-headed mount in their many faces. It’s festooned with details that mark it as a creature of the Mortal Realms, including trinkets from across the various factions and bits of monster – presumably to snack on after battle.

D&D (Boggswood): Both before D&D was written, and long afterward, Dave Arneson stocked his dungeons randomly and he devised different methods and  applied different ways to do this.  Monsters, for example, he stocked through a random “Protection Point: system.  Gold he rolled dice for and items he created random tables for.  The best early example is his The Loch Gloomen stocking list from 1972, reprinted in his First Fantasy Campaign booklet.

History and Writers (Frontier Partisans): H. Rider Haggard, an Englishman who had worked for several years in Natal in southern Africa, created one of the the quintessential Frontier Partisan heroes of fiction — white hunter and adventurer Allan Quatermain, hero of King Solomon’s Mines and a whole series of what Deuce Richardson calls “exotic adventure fiction.”  A hunter of wild game and hidden treasures; a “Man Who Knows Indians” (or, rather, African tribesmen); an English gentleman by heritage and termperament, yet one who sought out the wild places of the earth to wander.

Fiction (NC Register): The unmistakable features of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle looked down upon me from an impressive Victorian town house. Below a larger than life portrait there was a sign; it announced: “The Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Centre.” I made a mental note, intending to visit what I assumed was a place dedicated to the memory and literary legacy of the creator of one of literature’s most famous figures: Sherlock Holmes. It was then that I noticed another sign. It offered “services” and other activities: the building was a center for spiritualism — necromancy by another name.

D&D (Jeffro’s Space Gaming Blog): I just had no interest in running a game featuring kobolds and goblins like happens so often when you run Keep on the Borderlands by the book. But you know, with three healing spells at first level for each cleric, high powered rangers and paladins holding things down, and with enough money in the game that the fighting-men can afford plate armor now… hoo boy, they can hold their own up against some pretty tough opposition. Tougher opposition means bigger payoffs– a tradeoff that seems quite satisfactory, at least when the players are winning.

New Release (Amazon): A resurrected sorcerer grants the wishes of the desperate men who have returned him to life—but in ways none of them anticipates. A prince makes a bargain with a barbarian criminal to travel into a lost world of violence and sorcery to save the life of a woman who may already be dead. Marauders who attack a city devoted to a great goddess suffer her strange curse when she answers the pleas of her dying priestess. The last survivors of an ancient continent confront evil at every step as they march beneath skies of endless darkness to reach the haven they hope will lead them to safety.

Art (DMR Books): “Legacy Circle members of the Robert E. Howard Foundation have something to look forward to: The Challenge from Beyond Drafts. In 1935, fan publisher and future DC Comics editor Julius Schwartz wanted to celebrate the third anniversary of his Fantasy Magazine. He asked five prominent science fiction authors and five prominent fantasy authors to collaborate on two stories, both to be titled ‘The Challenge from Beyond.’

Louis L’Amour (Paperback Warrior): Deemed “America’s Favorite Frontier Writer”, Louis L’Amour’s chronicle of the fictional Sackett family was a bestselling series. Beginning in 1960, the 17-book series is still held in high regard with fans of the western genre. While Barnabas’ son Jubal is mentioned in these books, it is explained to readers that he was a loner and distanced himself from his family. Jubal was obsessed with exploring the far west and walking “where no white-man had ever wandered”.

Fiction (Fantasy Literature): Of the nine books that I have read over the last year or so from Armchair Fiction’s current Lost World/Lost Race series, which runs to 24 volumes, no fewer than three of them have involved the discoveries of hitherto unknown civilizations far beneath the Earth’s surface. In Rex Stout’s truly thrilling Under the Andes (1914), three unfortunate Americans go through a hellacious experience at the hands of a lost race of Incas beneath the mountains of Peru. In S. P. Meek’s The Drums of Tapajos (1930), a quartet of American adventurers discovers the descendants of both the 10 Lost Tribes and Atlantis, uneasily coexisting both inside and beneath a mountain in the Brazilian wilderness.

Heinlein (Pulp Net): As a young science-fiction fan, I read several authors, and would often gravitate to a particular author at a time, reading almost everything they did, before I moved on. Often I wouldn’t follow on their later works. One of these authors was Robert A. Heinlein (1907-88), one of the “grandmasters” of science fiction, and sometimes referred to as the “dean of science fiction.” Like many SF authors of the time, he got his start in the pulps, and was successful in leaving the “pulp ghetto” for better-paying markets, such as The Saturday Evening Post, and original books.

Sensor Sweep: Hammett, Hernstrom, Heinlein, Haggard published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/