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pixies-and-poets · 1 year

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Music of the Night - Chapter Two

Ok friends, here it is! As promised!

Do you want a DEPRESSING, DISTRESSING Mario + Rabbids crackship fanfic??! Who doesn’t, right?? Well, you’ve come to the right place! I’m really not kidding, there is a monster at the end of this book! This will NOT be a happy story!! I am warning you!

...I also have no idea how long it will be, but not nearly as long as Of Verses and Curses. In fact I was just going to write one or two more parts, but I decided to make each part a little on the shorter side (for my standards lol) so I could post more often. So we’ll see.

This is part of the Sparks of Despair AU created by @pastelprince18. Cursa won in the final battle, refugees are scattered, the Heroes are not doing too great, and formerly friendly characters have fallen to evil influence... that’s what you need to know.

So yes! Enjoy(?)!

Chapter One - In Sleep He Sang to Me

Chapter Two - Do I Dream Again?

Dryad looked at the trail of oily slime below her, careful not to hover too close. It cut through the forest floor, sometimes a thin trickle but other times widening out to a few feet, as if whatever left it had oozed suddenly. The forest guardian had been tracking this darkmess path for quite some time; there was so much of it left behind, she judged that whatever sizeable creature had left the trail must not be simply covered in it, but producing it.

Her petite pixie form was ideal for following silently, floating above the sludge; but she proceeded cautiously and stayed on her guard, ready to encounter whatever was generating this poison. She could not guess at what type of being it may be, as the noxious fumes from the darkmess covered all other scents; only that, from the rut left in the undergrowth, the creature appeared to be dragging itself. Oddly enough, here and there around its path she spotted familiar round indentations - the footprints of a mortal rabbid. They appeared fresh, but they were facing the other direction, often covered up by the slime… had this creature she was tracking been tracking someone else?

Gradually, the darkmess she encountered seemed fresher - more bubbly and roiling and less dried-out - and she heard gasps and pants in the near distance. Even in those slight exertions, the voice was familiar; it was one she had oft heard before, ringing through the woods in better times. No, the person leaving this trail couldn’t be- if it WAS, then so much was lost-

Abandoning her caution, she hurried forward, and came upon the person she was expecting and fearing to see. Only, not in the way she was expecting him.

The warden was not himself the source of the sludge. Instead, he hunched over, his breath ragged with exertion, dragging something… someone… else. One of the biggest rabbids Dryad had ever seen, in dirty and tattered clothes, with no legs, only a bulbous and transparent lower body that was leaking darkmess. The suffering creature’s eyes were closed, an expression of pain on the half of his face not hidden by a mask. It was a strange and horrifying sight, and Dryad gasped sharply. Yet Woodrow was so distracted that he didn’t notice the noise, or Dryad coming upon him. The little cloud that kept watch above his head seemed to, however, bobbing up and down as in greeting.

“Halt, poet-warden,” said the newcomer firmly, and he stopped short indeed, his ears shooting straight up. He looked up from behind his glasses at the forest spirit, now floating above him.

“Dryad,” he said hoarsely. “I should have known I would ne’er escape your notice.” What failed to escape HIS notice was Dryad herself. With every passing day, she seemed to grow more tired. Even her small pixie form looked exhausted, the bags under her eyes and slight wrinkles around her mouth giving off a strange mix of eternal youth and ancient age; the fiery autumnal leaves that crowned her head had begun to wither from a vibrant red-orange to brown. Steadily, she was being worn down by the long occupation of the forest by Cursa’s forces, by the darkmess itself, and by… other things.

“You’re lucky it’s just me so far,” she hissed. “You’re going to draw every Stooge and Ghostly Walker in the woods to follow this road you’ve created. And perhaps even… you know. So what in the name of the stars is going on here?! Who is this?”

Woodrow looked down at the pathetic being that he was dragging along. “This is… he is known as Phantom.”

“Really? That’s his name?”

“Well, at times he goes by Tom, but I cannot claim that familiarity. Besides, your name is Dryad.”

The forest spirit bit her lip. “Fair enough,” she said. “Where did he come from? Do you know him?”

“He… I do know him, in a sense. He is a celebrity among our society, a singer, an actor. But I know not why he is here now. I found him in the woods, and he has barely been conscious to speak to me.” The poet swallowed hard. “He is very ill.”

“Hmm,” said Dryad, crossing her arms. “I see that you wish to save him. A noble effort, despite the fact that he seems rather far gone. You do realize you are taking him further away from the village?”

“Oh, yes,” said Woodrow quickly. “I do not wish to take him there. I believe in his current state he is a bit of a hazard to others. And- well….” he hesitated, and then suddenly looked up at her in supplication, his ears pressed down behind him. “I wish to keep his existence here a secret.”

“Oh?” Dryad said. “And why is that?”

“Ah, well, you see, he has not exactly been on the side of the Heroes, historically-”

The forest spirit narrowed her eyes. “So you’re saying… he’s a villain.”

“I suppose one might phrase it that way.”

“He’s evil.”

“Certainly NOT!” the warden cried. “Just- full of himself, a little misguided. He has caused trouble in the past, but never from a place of true cruelty or depravity. Recently he was overtaken by Cursa…” - he winced a bit suddenly, reminded of the deep sorrow this news had caused him- “but that does not reflect on his character. Even those with the kindest and stoutest hearts may be taken by her influence.” He looked at her with intention. “We both know that.”

Dryad’s mouth drew itself into a flat line. “I can’t argue with that,” she said. She looked down at the warden, who had sat down with the Phantom’s head in his lap. “I’ll be honest- keeping this man here seems like a risk. To yourself, to the forest, to the planet. And yet I can't tell you no. I can’t find it in me to tell you that we must do away with him.”

“I’m so relieved you understand,” he said softly. “The Heroes… despite their goodness, despite their commitment to hope… I am not sure, at this point, they would all agree with us in this case. I believe they might think it wiser to... end his suffering without further ado. And that is why we must nurse him back to health in secret.”

“Well, I don’t know about we,” said Dryad. “I will keep your secret, and help you such as I can, but I want to make one thing clear: my first duty is to the Spellbound Woods and its creatures. I will not often be available to assist you, and you will be largely alone in this effort. And should his condition worsen, and he become a danger to the forest, my opinions may change. Are you alright with this?”

The poet swallowed again, and nodded slowly, not meeting her eyes but rather looking down at the Phantom. Dryad opened her mouth- she was about to ask another question: why did Woodrow insist on making this his responsibility? This Phantom was not of Palette Prime, he was not of the warden’s domain; he was some fancy, self-centered, antagonistic celebrity that he barely knew - and yet, when she saw the poet look down at the singer, his arm cradling tenderly around the shallow breathing of his chest, and caress away a fallen leaf that had become stuck to Phantom’s sweaty and feverish brow, she understood at once. She understood that he was a fool, but she could not blame him.

“Alright,” she said after a moment. “Where ARE you taking him?”

“There’s an abandoned shack deep in the woods that once belonged to a hermit,” said the warden. “Surely you know of it? We are not far, by now.”

“Of course,” said Dryad. “The hermit and I were friends, before… well. What short lives you mortals have,” she said sadly, shaking her leaf-crowned head. “Well, let me assist you, so that we cut this trail off here.” She stuck out her little arms, and with a raising motion, began to float the ghost’s massive unconscious body before her with her primordial magic. “Come, let us hurry.”

The pair made their way through the woods for several minutes. Phantom dripped some darkmess from his belly every now and then, but it was far less of an obvious path than before. “He’s so big,” said Dryad at one point, maneuvering the massive singer around trees. “Bigger even than…” her voice disappeared in a pained little whimper.

Finally, they reached their destination - an unassuming little shed, hidden against a rise in the landscape, in what could hardly be called a clearing. Woodrow opened the door, and with some effort, Dryad pushed the Phantom in with her magic, squashing him through an entrance that was far too small for his copious form. In the process, a little puddle of darkmess erupted out of him like juice from a squeezed lemon. The two conscious rabbids dodged its drops, although a sizeable amount was left on the threshold.

“Urgh,” said Dryad as she floated over it, and motioned to set Phantom down on the bed inside. It was long-abandoned, nothing but a mattress eaten by all kinds of insects; but it was just large enough. Inside the room were disused cooking implements, a table, and an armchair just as dusty and moth-chewed as the bed.

“Alright then,” said the forest spirit. “Welcome home, Mr. Phantom.” The ghost still said nothing; not even a groan. He was silent and still, but for the ever-so-slight shudders of his breathing.

“Listen,” said Dryad, “I’ve been keeping some rations for people taking refuge in the woods. I can bring you a jug of water and some nuts and berries. But after that, you’re on your own. I’m still working hard to find a remedy that can cure darkmess poisoning. If I knew, well, we’d all be doing a lot better right now.”

Woodrow nodded. He had stepped over the pile of darkmess on the doorstep and collapsed into the chair. “Thank you, Dryad,” he said in exhaustion. “I am eternally in your debt. I’m sure we both will be.”

“I can only hope he lives to thank me,” said the forest spirit. And soon she was gone, closing the door behind her.

The warden breathed out a massive sigh of relief. They were safe, for now… as safe as they could ask to be in times like these. He looked over at his patient on the bed, already making himself at home as it were, by oozing a bit of his sludge onto the mattress. Where was it all coming from?? What mysterious organ inside that body of his was producing it? Woodrow imagined that famous gramophone slowly pumping it out, and shivered. They would have to find some way to quell that, and fast- but he couldn’t worry about that just yet. Perhaps Phantom could explain when he was awake.

For now- fatigue, hunger and thirst hit him all at once. But, remembering what had happened earlier, he knew he could not sleep in Phantom’s presence. He stood up and paced, and sat down and slapped his knees, and pulled on his ears, trying to keep himself awake.

And as he did, looking over from time to time at the man resting on the bed, a bit of warmth began to come into his heart. Warmth, and even joy, such as he hadn’t felt in what seemed like an age now, though it was only a few weeks. He had done something heroic; by his own choice, he had taken in someone suffering. His heart was still his, and still hopeful. When all else seemed lost, when he had failed at protecting his own planet, he was going to help someone at last.

He had to. There wasn’t much else he had left.

#mario + rabbids #mario plus rabbids #sparks of despair #phandrow #the phantom #woodrow #ts woodrow #mario rpgs

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sostanotes · 2 years

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Owl House Pokémon AU

…or maybe Boiling Isle based Pokémon region? Either way, it was only a matter of time before my various brain rots starting trying to merge. I’m sure other people have done this before, but I wanted to give it a go.

I’m going to leave things a bit open-ended, so feel free to chime in with suggestions in the replies, tags, or comments.

My brain keeps bouncing around between “what if the Owl House characters had Pokémon” and “what if the Boiling Isles (and the tensions there during the show) were translated into a Pokémon game?”

At a minimum I want to give the Hexside Squad (with or without Luz) at least three Pokémon, because I think it would be fun to see them as an ever shifting set of double battle partners to face in 6v6 matches. So here they are in alphabetical order, with Luz at the end.

Amity: Her palisman, Ghost, is a white cat; Kantonian Persian is the obvious choice. Her favored magic is Abominations, which are purple goop; since she, in contrast to her parents, focus on a fairly pure expression of the abomination arts, I think Kantonian Muk works for that. Beyond these two, it’s a bit harder: due to her use of whips and tendrils of abomination goo, something like the water/poison Tentacruel or a bug type with string shot or sticky webs (Ariados to keep with her poison theming?); her above-gauntlets bring to mind a fighting type and the ability to fire them is reminiscent of moves like Gunk Shot and Sludge Bomb, so maybe Toxicroak; and, while she doesn’t use it often, we watched her learn a fire spell with a pink flame, so maybe shiny of the Magmortar line.

Gus: His palisman, Emmiline Bailey Marcostimo, is a blue chameleon; a Kecleon would be the obvious choice, either shiny (blue belly mark) are simply alternately colored (like the purple ones sometimes seen); His favored magic is Illusions; which makes either Unovan or Hisuian Zoroark a natural fit. He wants to re-establish contact with the giraffes so Girafarig would also be a great fit. Other Pokémon known for illusions in other ways include Noctowl and Stantler, which means Gus seems to specialize in unusual normal types.

Hunter: His palisman, Flapjack, is a cardinal; while there ARE red bird Pokémon, none of them are really anything close to a cardinal. Given his intelligence and talent for some sort of flash step or short-range teleport, maybe an Alakazam? Really Hunter is the one giving me issues pinning down much of anything.

Willow: Her palisman, Clover, is a bee; based on the prominent stinger, Beedrill could work, though Vespiquen and (as a bit more of a stretch) Ribombee (who is actually a bee FLY) are also possibilities. Willow is an immensely powerful witch with regard to Plant magic especially, so we want to lean into the Grass type; given her propensity for masses of vines, I think Tangrowth would be a good choice, though really any Pokémon that learns Vine Whip would work. She’s also quite buff, so a Breloom or some other Grass types that can learn Bulk Up would also fit.

Luz: We STILL don’t know what her palisman is at the time I’m writing this, so that’s a blank spot. I think a nice touch for Luz would be 4 Pokémon reflecting the 4 glyphs. For the Light glyph, the top 3 Pokémon in my mind are Lanturn, Ampharos, and Umbreon. For the Ice glyph, its Cryoganal; she learned it from a snowflake, after all. For the Plant glyph, while Luz does uses vines like Willow, she learned the glyph from, and often produces, FLOWERS with her glyph, so leaning into that with a Pokémon like Venusaur, Florges (learned as a Flabébé), or Comfey would make sense. Finally, for the Fire glyph, Luz leans more into the traditional orange fire, but also sometimes uses it just to make things hot; honestly, I think anything that screams “I am FIRE INCARNATE” would work for this.

#the owl house #pokémon #owl house pokémon au #amity blight #gus porter #toh hunter #willow park #luz noceda

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aeide-thea · 2 years

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[cw for a whole big tangle of internalized -isms, self-critical negativity]

always fun to do a bit of omphaloskepsis in the wee hrs abt insecurities that are totally abstract/irrelevant to yr current/imminent life, but nonetheless still floating around & possible to dredge up & bludgeon yrself with...

anyway for whatever reason i got to thinking abt the way i could never historically help feeling that probably the sorts of people i wanted would prefer a cis man to me, except when instead i was feeling that probably they'd prefer me to be more of a girl, and it's just like. christ. there's so much going on here & basically all of it is internalized -isms of various sorts.

probably it would help if i liked anything abt myself or felt that i was conveying any of my gender concepts to anyone in any meaningful way. unfortunately i don't,* so it's hard to believe that anyone else would. which produces a worldview where i can only imagine people being either (a) totally disinterested, which seems correct & fair but is a little rough to live with, or (b) interested in the ~objective reality~ of my embodied self, which is also fair but hard to bear. (not to mention my total lack of confidence or place in society, which like. i don't want anyone who wants that [groucho marx voice].)

anyway. don't mind me, just, you know, oozing a little late-nite sludge like the grimer i fundamentally am. it's fine. livable or at any rate endurable.

⸻ * okay if we're being very laboriously truthful i will admit to thinking my writing is good sometimes. expressive in clear and/or charming ways. also i think i have some good intellectual/ethical stances & soft ruffle-able hair. but that's mostly beside the immediate point, so. have i talked myself up enough that the CBT police will let me go back to complaining now.

#feelingsblogging #the psyche #embodiment (is violence)#etc

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nonsensicalobsessions · 4 years

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A Ruff Day

Author’s Note:

@catsladen wrote: Congrats my dear on your followers! That is amazing and so well deserved! Here’s a conversation prompt I found that I think you can do magic with: Person A: Why are you doing that? Person B: Doing what? Person A:Treating me like a person I picture either Tom or Loki, but I leave that up to you 😊 No smut necessary. Some fluff/angst mixture would be nice (Fangst? Anuff?) Thank you lovely!

After I wrote about having my lovely followers, Life came around and bit me, in the ass, hard. I was left with a large set of dentition marks and a massive infection known as “depression” in its wake. I say this because I know I’ve pretty much fallen off the face of Tumblr, and I am still clawing my way back. I do not have it nearly as bad as some, but I have it bad enough, and I will leave it at that.

When the events that I write about next happened in real life, I could not stop thinking about them, having worked in a veterinary hospital for three memorable years, and I ran the events through my head, over and over. I could see the events as they could have played out...might have played out...most probably played out in some aspects...and then this plot took root, and would not let go.

So, I apologize, @catsladen, for this is not the most original piece that I have ever come up with...in fact, it is derivative, and some may see it as a cheap rip off on a very real event. Still, it will not let me go, and as such, here it is. I present to you, A Ruff Day.

Working on federal holiday weekends in an emergency vet hospital always either dragged, or were so busy I could neither eat nor pee. Today seemed to be the former, and I was grateful for it. The techs were scattered around doing their busy work, while I closed myself in my office, tossing an oversized tennis ball in the air and catching it as I balanced on the back legs of a chair. I’ve done all my charting, there are no patients for me to check on. The last one through the door was a bulldog that came too close to a honeybee, and his already bulbous face swelled grotesquely. A shot of antihistamine, a script of Benadryl, then he and owner went off, right as rain. The airway was never compromised, all’s well that ends well...except for the bee, of course.

Kellie Ashe, one of the techs, came racing into the office without knocking, breathless. “You will no ever guess what is going on at intake!”

I jumped up, grabbing my stethoscope and mask (Thank you COVID) as I glared at her, “What is it and where is your mask?” The laws were quite clear, and stringent on this, and she had no mask on...and what was that twit doing? Brushing her hair and putting on eye makeup, what...? “Kellie! Focus! What is happening? Is it a hit and run, a delivery presenting badly...dog or cat...” I swear this girl has the brain of a flea...

“Tom Hiddleston is here with his dog!”

I look at her blankly. Nothing registered with me except one word—dog. “Kellie, what is wrong with the animal?” I asked, rushing to turn on the lights in the OR, making sure the X-ray machines were on and warmed up, the ultrasound is also on, and proceeding to the exam rooms, turning the lights on in one.

“It’s my turn to be the assisting tech so I ran back here to make sure you knew, it’s my turn not Claire’s, so I get to be the one in the room with you and Tom...”

I stop and freeze her with a glare. “Kellie, I don’t know what in the hell you’re blabbering about, but so far you have given me no information that has been useful to me. Therefore, there is no reason for you to be anywhere around me, the patient, or the owner. You can wait in the back.”

“What? But no...! I’m the one that ran back to tell you, I’m the one that should get to be in the....”

“If you were concerned with the animal you’d be there right now, but no, you were more interested in putting on mascara for chrissakes...get in the treatment room, I don’t even want to see you right now!”

I came to the front area to see a tall man, obviously the owner, who was obviously in a great deal of distress. “I don’t know how many he had..maybe one? It could have been two? And I don’t know if he chewed them, or swallowed them whole...” His voice was muffled by the mask we kept on hand to give to owners as they came in without masks, as they usually did, upset and stressed. Bright flowers covered the lower half of his face, but as I looked at his bright blue eyes, I finally understood what got Kellie in such a tizzy, and why there was an element of suppressed excitement that our usual emergency walk ins did not produce.

Next to him was a calmer woman, who was filling out some of the paperwork, and occasionally passing it to him to sign or for more information. “Tom, I really think it was only the one, and this is a bit over the top. One raisin isn’t worth all this...”

“A raisin, did you say?” My attention was now completely trained on the sad eyed chocolate spaniel at the feet of Claire Peyton, one of the calmest and best techs we had. She had already gotten a temperature and a weight from the little fellow, and was gently guiding the dog and owner into an exam room, while Liz, the receptionist, was explaining to the woman with the clipboard she could not follow us in because of the current COVID restrictions we were under. Only the owner was allowed in the exam room, because of the laws about remaining so many feet apart...and the worst part was, we couldn’t even allow her to wait in the interior waiting room, but she was welcome to stay on the screened porch we were using at the moment. She wasn’t thrilled, but she was accepting.

I quietly introduced myself. “Hi, I’m Dr. Diana Harris, and I’ll be helping...” “Bobby,” the man said quietly. “This is my...Bobby.”

“Okay Bobby, come here and let me look at you, you scoundrel...stealing raisins, are we? When did this happen, Dad?”

“Tom,” he said, distracted. “About ten minutes ago...maybe twenty. I saw that he was snuffling around the plate, and all the biscuits were gone...so were the little cheese squares...and there had been five raisins before, I am sure of it, and when I picked everything up, I only saw four...”

“Very precise,” I noted mildly as I listened to Bobby’s heart and lungs, which were both within normal limits, and made a hand motion for Claire to make a note of it.

“What’s that, that hand signal, what did that mean?” Oh, wow. Tom is very, very upset.

“It’s a signal I’ve developed with my techs to let them know that the patient’s heart and lungs are fine without having to take the time to say it, Tom,” I reply, keeping my life low and mild. The owner’s agitation is passing along to the little spaniel, who is looking around and panting.

“He keeps doing that, he’s panting and looking upset, is he in pain?”

“Claire, liquid charcoal according to weight please,” I murmur, and she promptly replied, “On it,” and she excused herself to open the door...only to find Kellie standing there, clearly eavesdropping. The look I gave Kellie had her scampering...but oh, it will not be far enough. Luckily, Tom did not notice.

“Okay, Tom, here’s how it stands.” I leaned against the exam table, Bobby quivering in Tom’s arms. “You did exactly the right thing bringing Bobby here, and so quickly. Raisins are extremely toxic to dogs, and the fact you got him here so fast really speaks to how much you care about this little guy...so give yourself some credit...”

“I told her...I told her I didn’t want them around where he could get to them...the Bobster is a bit of a food thief,” he muttered.

“Ok, so you’re telling me he’s a dog,” I drily replied. “Anyway, we’re going to take care of this issue right now. I’m going to take Bobby to the back and...”

“Oh no, can’t I go with him?”

Somehow, I saw this being his response. “Tom, we are going to give him some liquid charcoal. It looks like black sludge and it tastes like garbage. He isn’t going to want to take it so we are going to administer it in a way that he will have no choice but to swallow it, but there will most likely be some spluttering. This stuff is a bear and a half to get out of clothes so you do not want to be within spitting radius...and then this little charmkins, after he gives us a horrible stink eye, is going to proceed to vomit, probably in the messiest manner possible, just for spite and revenge, and I don’t blame him one bit. Again, you do not want to be in range! Then depending on what he gives me back, we can go from there. So no, I think it best you stay here...you can wait with your girlfriend, if you want, and I will be right back when I have something to tell you. I promise we aren’t going to hurt him, but we have to get this out, right away.”

“Right, right...don’t waste time talking to me...I’ll just...sit here, if that’s okay.”

“As you wish, Tom.”

I took the leash from his hand gently. His hands were so cold, I felt pity for him. “I’ll take good care of him, I promise,” I said, and left him standing there, bereft.

Bobby walked with me well enough, and I took him to the treatment area to find Claire had already drawn up the appropriate amount. She quickly got the dog in the appropriate position, and I propped his mouth open carefully and quickly administer the liquid yuck and then closed my hand over his muzzle, blowing softly to stimulate the swallowing reflex. His eyes bulged at the foul concoction, and I tenderly explained,”Ah, such are the wages of sin, my dear thief...and it tastes like ass. Down the hatch...” He swallowed, and I gave Claire the unspoken head nod to release him and step back, which she did...as did I...and Bobby, outraged at this poor treatment, proceeded to sputter and spit like a world champion. Black froth went everywhere, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his outraged expression. “Yes Bobby, that’s right. But I’m sorry, it’s going to get much worse before it gets better...”

After a few minutes, he aggrieved expression turned into the anxious canine smile that presaged a good vomiting session, which was exactly what we wanted. I let him pace about in a small area, until finally he let nature take its course and released the contents of his stomach. Ah, joy, what every veterinarian struggled and sweat blood for, the contents of a dog’s stomach...or a cat, we’re not picky...and hey, I’ll take that over shit, any day...

“Good boy, there’s a good boy,” I soothed him as he retched. He was as miserable as you’d expect, and I kept smoothing my hand over his heaving flanks. I didn’t care about my shoes, they were already black, and just for this reason. Soon I saw a lone offender, and I called for a pair of tweezers to pluck it from the mess and place it on a paper towel. Claire was also consoling the sad little fellow, who was, I hope, reconsidering his evil ways, as I then took a tongue depressor and poked through everything he so woefully bestowed upon us. Yep, cheese...chewed up crackers...mmm, that sausage looked like it was probably expensive...but no other raisins. Just the one. Plus, it hadn’t been chewed, either, excellent! Best of all, it was caught up in all this other stuff. Perfect. Couldn’t ask for better, really.

“Kellie!” I called out. When she didn’t appear right away, my heart sank and my anxiety rose. She wasn’t...she didn’t...

“Hold the leash,” I barked and walked swiftly back to the exam room, and sure enough, I heard her syrupy tones inside...I saw red.

I opened the door carefully, to find her talking to Tom who was standing in almost a corner while she was yapping away. I must have had a look on my face like an avenging goddess, because she immediately began stammering, “I just thought...I could stay and keep Tom company...while you were working with Bobby...”

“Stop thinking, Kellie, it only gets you into more trouble, and it probably strains the gerbils,” I replied softly. “I have a job for you. In the back treatment area. Where I told you to be. Go there. Now.”

She turned towards Tom and said, “So, um...”

“NOW.”

She jumped and scuttled away like a crab facing a boiling pot. Oh, sister...

Tom was blushing and looking at his feet. “It happens all the time. Please don’t be too angry with her...how is Bobby?”

“Bobby is doing excellently and is a trooper. I will be back with you in just a moment. Just...give me a second.”

I flew to the back to find Kellie cowering in a corner. I took a deep breath, and spoke very, very quietly. “You are on such thin ice with me that if you so much as open your mouth, the displaced oxygen pressure will crack the ice and you. Will. Drown. Now. You are going to clean up all of this lovely mess to a surgical grade sterility. I will want to perform open heart surgery on this floor when you are finished. Are we quite clear? Nod if you understand me, Kellie, because you are on such. Thin. Ice.”

Kellie looked around here with dismay. It really was a disgusting mess, and she knew I was going to get down on my hands and knees and inspect the wretched baseboards before all was said and done. I was that pissed.

Claire asked quietly as we walked away, “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t think he absorbed anything. Tom acted too fast, the raisin wasn’t in any way chewed or showing signs of digestion, and it was mixed up with everything else. But pull blood for a CBC-SMAC so we can have a baseline for his kidney values just in case. Better safe than sorry. And then clean up this sad little urchin. I hope you understand now, young man, that crime does not pay...” He looked positively desolate, with his muzzle coated in the foul substance he had to drink and then give back. Activated charcoal really is the worst.

“I’ll make him presentable again. Back in a few.”

I took a deep breath and went to apologize to Tom. Oh, this was going to be fun...

I found him pacing the tiny room, looking at the posters instructing about heartworm prevention and feline leukemia vaccines. “Tom, I really must apologize...”

“No, you don’t. She’s young. It happens all the time,” he tried to brush it off.

“Not when I’m in this hospital, it doesn’t. I’d already given her explicit instructions because she was star-struck, and I will not have it. When someone comes in our door, I don’t care who is on the end of the leash, or holding the carrier. It is irrelevant. What matters is the animal. I give the same treatment and quality of care to the cat from the post office as...well...”

“The dog of some poncy actor,” he concluded wryly.

“Hey, I kinda like some of that poncy actor’s work, so less of that,” I griped, as I blushed and rubbed my forehead, mainly to hide my embarrassment. “Bobby came through wonderfully, and you were right, it was only one raisin...and some crackers, cheese, and what looked like some tasty cold cuts as well. What is great is the raisin wasn’t bitten into or showing any signs of digestion, and as it was caught up in his other ill gotten gains, I think it is safe to say he really got lucky...that, and the fact you acted so quickly. Normally, we’d be talking about having to administer fluids, and have him stay at least overnight to make sure his kidneys were not showing any adverse effects...yes, it is that serious. Especially for a little fellow of Bobby’s size. But he should be fine. I want you to make sure he has access to lots of water. I am having a full blood panel pulled to get a baseline of his kidney values now but that is really just a precaution for when you bring him back to his regular veterinarian...”

“You can’t see him again? He hasn’t needed a vet since we’ve arrived, and I never anticipated having to stay as long as we have...but what if he gets sick, or needs his vaccines updated, can’t we come back here...?”

“Tom, this is an emergency vet hospital, I’m only here on the off hours. My clinic is...well, not here,” I floundered.

“May I have your card, then? I’d really like for you to keep overseeing him...continuity of care, you know,” he trailed off.

“Uh, sure...” I fished one out of my lab coat pocket and gave him one. He looked at it and said, “What should I be looking for, what if he starts getting ill again?”

“Tom, I really don’t think...”

“I can bring him back here, I suppose, I just want to know what symptoms...you said kidney damage...”

“Tom, kidney damage isn’t something you can readily observe...”

“But what if he starts getting that look again, and starts pacing, maybe he’s in pain and can’t tell me...”

“Tom.” He stopped rambling and I held my hand out for my card. Like a child, he held it to his chest. “No, please, I’ll stop...”

“Just give me the damn card, will ya?” I all but yanked it out of his hand, and wrote something on the back. “That is my private cell number. Do not call it, ever! I hate phone calls! Text me. I promise I will lose the cell number you send it from. If you have any questions you can send me video or photos or whatever. Text me...whenever. But keep in mind he picks up on your cues and if you are nervous, he gets nervous. If you are excited, he gets excited.”

He looked at it incredulously, and before he could protest, I waved it off. “Just don’t...I did the same thing for Mr. Puddles.”

“Mr. Puddles,” he repeated dumbly.

“The post office cat...urinary tract infection...anyway.”

Those bright blue eyes stopped staring at the floor impaled me, and said abruptly, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Treating me like a person.”

I looked at him steadily and replied, “Because to me, that’s what you are...you’re Bobby’s person. And...well, I know you probably weren’t supposed to stay here this long. You most likely want to go home, be with your family, what is familiar, and god knows what you are living in, some hotel or something suitably sterile...Right now, we all want to hold onto our loved ones a little bit tighter, a little bit closer. I can tell that for you, that’s Bobby. You love him a lot, and take great care of him, even to taking him to an emergency vet on a holiday weekend when the weather is gorgeous and your girlfriend says maybe you could just stay home.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Huh?” Such was my elegant reply.

“No, she’s wonderful, and we’re very close, but it’s not...we’re not...”

I hold my hands up in the air. “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain anything to me...”

“No I just, erm...”

We spent time admiring the floor when Claire came back, with Bobby cleaned and even faintly smelling of grooming spray, as well as being freshly brushed.

“Bobby!” Tom cried out, and even though I could not see his smile, I could hear it in the real joy in his voice. Bobby wriggled his behind and danced as he all but leapt into his master’s...excuse me, person’s arms.

“Well, that should settle everything,” I smiled.

“Just a moment.”

I looked up at Tom, confused. He sounded almost stern.

“I think Bobby and I could use some photographs to commemorate the great care that he received here...for our scrapbook.”

“Scrapbook? Really, Tom?”

“Instagram,” he immediately amended.

The buzz that went through the building, I swear was palpable. Of course, I even allowed Kellie to get in the photo, because I am not that bad...and if her scrubs were stained with dog vomit, well, you couldn’t really see. Much. And of course we all had to keep our masks on, so I personally thought it was the dumbest idea I’d heard in a long time, but I wasn’t going to go against the idea. I might have found three of my tires slashed and my favorite coffee mug broken, if I had...and I really like that mug, plus tires are not cheap.

Everyone took their photos, hugged Bobby, gave Tom an elbow bump, and he, Bobby and Not-Girlfriend went on their way...then I went back to my office, made sure everything was documented, and went back to my oversized tennis ball.

I thought everything was over. I could not help was smiling, despite myself. Not too shabby of a way to spend a holiday weekend, making a movie star dog’s throw up...this is why I went through all those years of school, I laughed at myself as I sat down with my frozen pizza and lemonade. I even made a bag of popcorn.

Then, at about ten o’clock, my phone buzzed. I picked it up, expecting it to be my mother, who sometimes forgot about this thing called “time zones” since she moved to Arizona...

Instead, there was a photo of a happy, smiling man, without a mask, and his happy, smiling dog. A text read, “To my favorite doc: Thanks again for helping me. Telling dad all about how the wages of sin taste like ass.”

I winced. I had no idea he’d overheard that.

So I sent a photo back of me. Without my mask, or makeup, or getting a hairdo, because in front of me was the best makeup job ever—my Corgi, Cheeks.

The attached text said, “Stop licking it then...and she says you are very welcome. I don’t know what you did, bro...but check your balls.”

The phone buzzed yet again, this time without a photo, “Thanks a LOT. Now I’m really in trouble...! TH”

“Sorry. Cheeks is still sore over that one. It happened about two months ago and he is still telling the world what a horrible human I am. DH”

“Bobby wants to know...perhaps Cheeks would like to get acquainted and play sometime soon? The dog park close to your clinic looks promising.”

“Cheeks thinks that would be amazing. He is still very much a puppy and has a lot of energy to burn. He’d love a friend to tear around with instead of trying to wrap his leash around my ankles.”

“Maybe...we could have some coffee while they wear each other out?”

“That sounds like a fantastic plan.”

“Could we say...9:00 Wednesday morning?”

“Yes, I’d like that. I’ll be the half asleep one with the hyperactive pooch, I won’t have hours until one o’clock that afternoon.”

“I’ll be the tall one...wearing a mask that is not covered with flowers.”

I laughed out loud.

“I think we will find each other well enough.”

There was a brief pause, and then, “Yes, I think we have. Goodnight, Cheeks, and Diana.”

“Goodnight, Bobby and Tom...it’s been a ruff day.”

“...I can’t believe you said that.”

“XD woof.”

Tagging all my littermates: @catsladen, @villainousshakespeare, @winterisakiller, @vodka-and-some-sass, @yespolkadotkitty, @just-the-hiddles, @hopelessromanticspoonie, @theheartofpenelope, @sabine-leo, @wegingerangelica, @ciaodarknessmyheart, @wrathkitty, @rhemasky, @sourpatchkidsandacokecan, @redfoxwritesstuff, @the-insomniac-cat2, @alexakeyloveloki, @myoxisbroken, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @ladyfluff, @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi

#Tagging:#a ruff day #Nonsensical Writes #look Christine I did a thing #200 follower prompt #tom hiddleston x ofc

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horrorlad · 4 years

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Horrorlad Reviews: The Dentist (1996)

Or at least, like, talks about it a bunch.

Boy was I overthinking my first real Horror Lad post! It was going to be Grave Encounters, but that will have to wait, because I got insomnia and decided to rewatch a movie I hadn’t seen seen since I was 14, which wound up being the perfect opportunity to write out a post!

Let’s talk about The Dentist!

So, The Dentist is a 1996 movie starring Corbin Bernsen. It was directed by Brian Yuzna (one of the producers of Re-Animator, he also directed the 1989 body horror film Society which I haven’t seen, though a cursory image search tells me I need to add to my watch list immediately).

Anyway, The Dentist is about a teethsman who catches his wife giving some other guy a BJ and gets so grossed out about it that he has a nervous breakdown about, uh, how dirty mouths are, I guess? He loses his absolute shit (though he didn’t seem to have it all that together to begin with; this guy’s Jack Torrance is way more Kubrick than King), and we the audience get to tag along for all the wacky fun.

Full disclosure: I can’t give an unbiased review of this movie. I watched it several times in high school, then completely forgot about it for ten years, until tonight. There’s too much nostalgia wrapped up in it.

That said, upon rewatching it, I am in LOVE with the structure of it as a film. You know how, some movies, you can tell that the people behind the scenes are having a blast? This is one of those movies. The structure of the shots vary wildly, and I suspect that there was not one tripod or stabilizer on that set. The makeup and effects are fun, every actor has an opportunity to shine at least once, and the pacing is totally bonkers. I will note, however, that for a slasher movie the confirmed death count is pretty low, AND most of the murders are less dentistry-related than you might expect. Still, it’s a good time, and right now it’s available to watch for free (with commercials) on Tubi, which is pretty sweet!

Read on for the content warnings and spoilers. In the meantime, I give The Dentist 3.5 tanks of nitrous oxide (use with caution).

Content warnings and plot synopsis below the cut.

Content Warnings

Also, I don’t really know what to classify this one as, but there is a lot of “ick” factor to this movie — rotting teeth, sludge, etc. If you’re easily squicked out by that sort of stuff, I’d proceed with caution.

Dental torture (and how!) – it’s basically the whole movie, folks.

Sexual assault – multiple instances, including a character having their head forced down while giving oral sex (in a daydream), and another character being assaulted while on nitrous oxide.

Spousal abuse (physical and emotional) – again, there’s a lot of this.

Child abuse – A young child has their gums stabbed by the dentist.

Animal abuse – a dog is shot offscreen.

--------------------------------------

Okay, spoiler time!

Whoo boy, here we go!

I have no idea why I watched this movie so much as a teen. Probably because it was free on FearNet (remember FearNet?) and I would watch just about anything.

Watching it as an adult, my first thought is… man this is weirdly paced. My second thought is that there’s a lot more non-dental-related murders than I would have expected, but we’ll come back to that.

So, our hero(?) is a dentist, and we meet him at the beginning of a framing device, miming dentistry and offering to tell us about his story. The bulk of the movie is then a flashback about how he got to where he is, interspersed with his monologuing or whatever. We meet him and his wife (who are a straight couple in a movie and thus required to completely hate one another) on their anniversary, a fact which becomes clear while he’s in the middle of throwing a fit about his laundry.

Pictured: a totally hinged man. Nothing unhinged going on here, no sir.

At any rate, he gets all suspicious after an interaction with the pool guy, and catches his wife having an affair with the guy. He continues framing-device-monologuing about decay and the world being filthy and all that, daydreams about assaulting his wife and murdering the pool boy, etc. He follows the pool guy to the neighbor’s house, acts all weird, shoots a dog — your basic Tuesday.

Eventually, he winds up at the office, starts hallucinating, assaults a couple of patients, and finally calls an early end to the day (self care is important). We get this delightful (in a heavy-handed sort of way) scene that keeps cutting back and forth between him setting out spooky dental tools and his wife getting dressed for the big anniversary surprise he’s has planned, and that’s when things really start to go haywire.

Okay.

So like.

I get that he’s a dentist.

I get that he’s a dentist whose whole shtick is having the themed exam rooms (though why we have aaaalll these rooms for a bunch of hygienists and one dentist is a little beyond me).

But you mean to tell me that this dude’s special anniversary surprise for his wife was to show her his new, opera-themed dental exam room?

“Oh, honey… you really, really shouldn’t have…”

Like, I know he’s settled on a revenge plot by this point, but I still definitely believe that this guy was legitimately planning the entire time to show his wife his fancy new dental suite as an anniversary surprise. Not to be that guy, but no wonder she was having an affair.

Honestly though, I love this scene. I love the camera PoV shots as he shows off the dental suite, I love the excessive gesturing with his left hand. I love how the scene starts off with his point-of-view of her, and then transitions into her point-of-view of him, cut with those big beautiful teeth-yanking shots. It’s ridiculous.

And then, they get home, he has some monologuing about the pool, etc.

Next scene, it’s the next day, some cops come to ask questions about the murdered dog, his wife is out back on a pool chair with her giant sunhat covering her face (the way normal, totally-not-drugged people hang out by the pool) while the pool guy does his pool guy stuff. Eventually the cops leave, yadda yadda yadda, the pool guy scoops the wife’s tongue out of the pool, he sees how fucked up she is, the dentist murders the shit out of him. It’s beautiful.

Don’t you love it when you finish your to-do list first thing in the morning?

The end.

Wait, no, that’s not right.

Somehow, there’s still almost half a movie left.

This movie starts with this dude fighting with his wife, catching his wife cheating with the pool guy, hallucinating his wife’s nasty mouth on everyone, etc. You’d think that, with his wife tortured all to shit and the pool guy dead, the movie would have wrapped up.

I mentioned before that the pacing of the movie is weird, which it is. I mean, he has his “oop guess I’m evil now” scene on his way to work the next day, which basically means that just over half of this movie is the origin story. It could be longer, with the big climactic nonsense taking up the last quarter or so. It could be shorter, with him freaking out about his wife, losing his shit, and having a proper dental rampage. Instead, The Dentist flies in the face of conventional story structure.

But this man is a busy man. He’s a dentist, damn it.

He has to get back to work!

Things are happening fast now, let’s get condensed.

We go back to work, he pulls some malpractice shit on that lady whose dog he shot yesterday, then strangles Jessica-the-hygienist (I think that’s her job) when she calls him on it. Later, a man from the IRS comes in and uses the dentist’s shady tax junk to get free dental work which is, uh, inadvisable. IRS man, Marvin Goldblum, starts talking about our dentist’s wife (and about how unhinged shiksas are in bed, in case we somehow we didn’t piece together that he’s an awful Jewish caricature), and I’m sure the rest of his appointment goes totally normally.

Get a guy who looks at you like this.

Meanwhile, the cops are definitely onto him regarding the murder of that dog (after all, murdering dogs is THEIR turf). They go to his house, where he left the body of the pool guy he murdered just laying around outside for anyone to find (which they do). Then they go upstairs and find his wife, who is alive but so fucked up.

Back at the office, Karen-the-other-hygienist, looking for her coworker who got murdered earlier, stumbles upon the very fucked up IRS dude. We get to listen to the dentist give a little monologue about how grossed out he is that his wife put some dude’s “dirty, rotten… in her mouth!” before he injects air into a vein in Karen-the-other-hygienist’s neck to kill her.

Next up, this girl who has been waiting for two days to get her braces off gets called back. She’s adorable and chipper, so this, of course, can only go well. When’s the last time you had your dentist pull a gun on you?

Our scrappy youngster runs off, and he gives chase (we find that Mr. Goldblum’s jaw elongation procedure is going well by the way), before eventually letting her go after she promises to take very, very good care of her teeth.

After all, he’s got his next job to get to.

Let’s go teach dental students the importance of pulling out everyone’s teeth!

Yeeep, he’s a teacher! And after he shoots one of his students while hallucinating, the cops show up, resulting in the slowest chase scene any movie has ever had (I mean the dude is literally just briskly walking down the hall and he still gets away from them). Anyway, the dentist winds up in an auditorium where a woman is practicing her opera singing. The dentist is entranced by this (we know he loves opera from that scene with his wife earlier) and reaches out to the singer, but he hallucinates his wife’s hecked up face on her and drops to his knees, presumably to have the rest of his nervous breakdown. The cops… uh… well, they just kinda stand around looking disapprovingly at him while he sits on the floor. And that’s… that’s it, I guess?

“Nah, let him rest, he’s had a big day.”

In our final scene, we have some orderlies at his new mental institution drag him down for his regular appointment, where his wife (who I guess is a dentist now) starts drilling at his teeth. This may or may not be a hallucination. It probably doesn’t matter.

Wow. That certainly was a film.

Alright, so, I’ve been typing up my thoughts as I watch, and I think I’ve figured out what I like about this movie, that had me coming back to it over and over as a youngster. There are some movies that just look fun to film, and this is one of them. A number of the shots are really charming, for lack of a better word. There’s the anniversary scene with his wife I mentioned before, but so many others — this movie plays around with point of view, extreme close-ups, some very fun effects used to indicate the hallucinations… there’s even a sideways shot of one of the cops coming down the stairs. I seem to have a real fondness for that sort-of manic, anything-goes approach to filming. Related side note: is there a single steady shot on this whole film? I’m beginning to doubt it.

Corbin Bernsen does a great job. I mean, all the actors do, really, but he is something else. Like, I can’t think offhand of many actors who could successfully take the character “dentist in bad marriage has a nervous breakdown because his wife gives someone else a blow job and it grosses him out; goes on torturemurder spree” without overacting to the point of distraction. “What are you talking about, this dude’s hammier than Easter dinner,” you say. Now, I get the urge here, but I have to disagree; Bernsen plays a fantastic Emasculated White Guy Throwing A Fit.

That picture I posted up there, after the bit about the laundry argument? A dude who makes that face over the idea of wearing the wrong cuff links to work is at most twelve seconds away from completely losing his shit at any given moment. And the dude’s anniversary surprise for his wife was to show off his new, opera-themed dental exam room; none of this behavior seems too off the wall for that character. Granted, I haven’t seen the sequel yet, and the image searches do suggest that our dear dentist is about to use his well-cared-for teeth to chew the hell out of some scenery in The Dentist 2, but in this movie? I’m just saying it’s not an unbelievable portrayal.

Disgruntled white dudes aside, the rest of the cast seems to have a fun time too. Shout out to the receptionist literally sobbing over what a great dentist this guy is (stunning work). If nothing else, stop by for wee baby Mark Ruffalo before he was famous. It’s adorable.

LOOK AT HIM.

ALL THAT SAID, I have to state again how surprised I am by the sheer number of not-dental-related murders! Like, by my count, this guy commits a hefty amount of malpractice, but for a guy on a torturemurder spree, he sure does seem to keep his torture and his murder fairly separate. Let’s tally it:

I’m tired, let’s wrap this up. The Dentist is a fun movie about a dude who loses his shit, does some dental torture, does some murder, does ZERO dental torturemurders, and then just kinda tuckers himself out and sits down. It’s a big silly mess, and I love it.

Tortures: six

The kid at the beginning, the lady he sexually assaults (it counts), his wife (not dead), that lady whose dog he shot, Marvin the IRS guy (alive when last we see him), and the person at the dental school near the end.

Murders: three people, one dog.

The dog (shot), the pool guy (knifed), Jessica-the-hygienist (strangled), Karen-the-other-hygienist (air injected into artery), and that’s… it..? He does shoot that person at the dental school, but it doesn’t appear to be a fatal wound, and Marvin the IRS guy was alive when we saw him last.

Torturemurders: HECKIN’ ZERO.

Zero! None of the tortures are murdered, and nobody he murders is tortured! What the heck kind of slasher dentist doesn’t even kill people via dentistry? No wonder everyone looks down on him at the end.

Alright, first post written. I’m going to bed.

#horrorlad original #the dentist #the dentist (1996)#corbin bernsen #brian yuzna #horror #movie #horror movie #horror movies #movies #review #film review #movie review

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dollsted · 5 years

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Chains

Chapter one: The Sting

Source: A03 --- F0rce0fnatur3

NSFW Warning: 18+

Pairing: SasuSaku | SakuIta

Plot: Sakura was just going about her daily life when her world shatters after being taken by two men who were sent to do their jobs and help fill the bank account of the third party they work for. When the job gets botched due to Sakura's intrusion her fate suddenly becomes tied in the hands of the brothers. What do they do with an extra witness? And should they tell their employer about this slip up?

I drag my fingers through my silky pale rose colored hair, green eyes fixed on the cross walk sign waiting for the light to change and the slush of people I’m mobbed into moves. I can feel the slack in my tie holding my bun up threatening to come lose, so I crane my neck so that it is straight and proper without too much motion. A few shorter layers that frame my cheeks have come free already and a bad habit of mine is to twine my hair around my finger while strangers press uncomfortably behind me crowding the corner. I’m urged forward as we move like a swarm of fish across the road to the other side. I can feel someone who’s too inappropriately pressed behind me breathing hot breath on the naked nape of my neck. I can feel him jut against me when I try to gain distance like a pair of flats that is a size too big and the extra space slaps at my heels each step. Finally I surge forward yearning for freedom and to break free from the blobby monster and break through the congestion making my way toward Macy’s.

Everyone steals these moments by emerging from their homes after being cooped up for the hopelessly long winter. Colors finally begin to paint against the sky above the skylines and warm rays of light dips its fingers through the spines of the buildings. Spring is in the air. We all mimic the flowers that are still hidden beneath the flat and muddy colors of the city, we angle our faces to the sun which has been hidden behind a veil of gray like a face behind a paper fan. We want to soak up as much vitamin C as we can and I feel the light burn against my exposed skin. Yesterday when I passed this way the store was still in muted colors reflecting the sludge outside but today it is bursting with pink. I stare in awe at the window display. Flamingo’s the size of the entire span of the window towers on each side of the entrance to the door all adorned and anatomy made up of pink roses! If these are fake, whoever fabricated the material made it look as realistic as possible. Hanging above their crowns are real flowers that dangle in tight tangles and it renews the stores vigor. I imagine the workers tirelessly staying through all hours of the night to prepare the store for spring.

I brush the left strand behind my ear and begin my shameless hunting. It’s been awhile since I binged for myself and after yesterday’s messy blood and stitches night at the hospital I felt I needed to wipe the memory clean with something material. I thumb through the sales rack, I look at the new lines on the outer edges of the store, I even gravitate towards the jewelry. Black pearl earrings. Ino told me once that my complexion was fair, so soft pastels of pinks and whites would best accent me. But I found emeralds didn’t contrast against the hue of my eye color, and soft yellows also seemed to flatter me. What did she know? She was always wearing crop tops that cut off just under the lines that silhouetted her breasts and shorts that clung too tightly to her ass. I assess a bright red sweater that would free my shoulders from its grip and add it to my basket. I swipe my right stray strand behind my ear and inspect a rose gold ring that appeals to my depth of symmetry. The gold is like filigree that curves gracefully in sharp patterns and arches that eventually build up to its center which dawns a black pearl that gleams a soft shade of gray when it hits the light and bleeds to deep black like the depths of a sea. A smatter of diamonds adorn random patterns like stars. Five on the left side of the pearl, three on the right. This will match my earrings.

With a single bag slung around my arm I wander to my usual spot which has become my favorite place to frequent for coffee. I sit at the high table crossing my legs over one another arresting the fabric of my skirt to keep it from coming loose. I pull out the book from my purse and jot down little notes. What no one tells you in medical school is that although yes you are saving lives there are more bad days that outweigh the good one does. It’s getting harder and harder to find the slips of those good moments and the more gore filled ones blot out that and remain in your head like scars. I’ve woken up numerous times in a sheen of sweat and nightmares of the faces I couldn’t save laid there on the table like a cold dead slab of meat as if they’re waiting for me to stitch up the pieces of their broken body. One of my coworkers suggested I start writing down the good. It’s a sparse entry but a little girl came in with a flesh eating virus after she went into lake water with a small open wound no more the size of my pinky’s tip. The bacteria entered that small entry point and within hours she got severely sick and in no more than eight hours later her leg began to blacken. We were able to extract the bacteria and eradicate any other threats. Had she been another hour later, she would have lost her entire leg up to her calf.

The hospital is always filled with patients. Like the cars that pack together outside like flakes of snow, so too are the halls of the hospital. I work endlessly. I’m afraid to admit that I now lean heavily on the assistance of caffeine. Like the officers that are allowed leave after a bad case to get their sanity back together, so too have I put in for two weeks’ vacation. Tsunade insisted I take more but if I don’t do something I only drown in my own thoughts and vanish into naps. She suggested I actually go on a vacation and get out of the city but it felt so odd to picture myself somewhere tropical and warm. Like residents in hotter climates who never get snow for Christmas.

Hinata shoots me a text. I extract the phone from my jacket pocket looking at the small rectangular screen and thumb away all the notifications clogging my feed until finally I get to the message board. She wants me to meet her at her apartment. She’s not too far from where I am, it isn’t a big enough strain to have to hail a cab. With four blocks I’m there buzzing at the front gate. I ride the elevator eleven floors up and walk halfway down the hall before knocking on her door. Quietly and quickly she opens it, her face is flushed, and she has tears rimming in her eyes like diamonds against her black lashes. Her pearl white eyes plead to mine and her brows are knit together. I’m startled. She’s truly upset. Usually she smiles and pretends there’s nothing wrong but after Ino and I finally staged an intervention to get her out of her abusive relationship she had been struggling. She motions me in. Her family has money but after Hinata left our small town and migrated here with Ino and I she had opted for a small apartment in a more down trodden part of the city.

“Sakura, I’m so glad you’re here. Something terrible has happened.” I look at her, my own brow arched in confusion and she’s moved like a ghost effortlessly into the other room. I go to follow but she’s already floated back and produces a note tightly gripped in the confines of her shaking hand. I gently pull the letter from the feed of her palm and look over the document. The note is hand typed and not signed. The content of the letter sends a shiver through my body.

“Someone sent you a threatening letter?”

“D-do you th-think it could be h-him?” Her whole body convulses now and her hands find one another gripping until her knuckles are as pale as the color of her pearl eyes.

“No. Your ex is a jackass but he’s a coward at heart and wouldn’t send something like this.” I take a seat suddenly feeling a dreadful weight in my body threatening to pull me down. “It seems to me the person whose contacting you wants a piece of your fortune.”

“Should I tell father? Oh…he’ll be cross. He’ll want to send the police force and private investigators.” Her voice is a feather against the drumming in my ears. She hasn’t been able to look at me since she retrieved the letter. Gingerly I put my hand against her quaking shoulder offering warmth and softening my voice.

“Hinata, I think you should let your father know about this. It could become serious…”

“No one even knows I’m out here…who…who could…?”

“It’s easy for a woman to be stalked. I hate to admit this to you too and scare you even more but if one wanted to type in your full name the internet isn’t shy about revealing articles about your fathers charity work and that you and your sister are heiresses.”

I watched her shrink into herself. I looked back to the letter.

“I don’t want my family to get hurt.”

“All the more reason to warn them that you and them may be targeted.”

I spent the rest of my visit cooing soft words of encouragement and making her several pots of herbal tea to calm her jittery nerves. When I suggested she speak to detective Naruto about all this she was all too eager to change the subject or dismiss it. I loved Hinata as the dear friend she was to me but, sometimes it was like speaking to a child who was afraid of her own shadow. Children could be difficult and stubborn and no matter what I pitched to her she shot down. Finally I had to threaten to tell my own sources about the letter and that seemed to sap any of her protests. She didn’t want me to get involved and made a promise that first thing in the morning before work she would go to the authorities with her proof and ask for help. It was enough to sate me. The letter gave her a two weeks’ notice to produce the money or transfer it to a secure private fund so I felt a little at ease that perhaps they wouldn’t come to collect her in exchange for that promise.

I lay awake all night feeling guilty about Hinata. It became too hard to leave her alone and when I shot her a text to come back to my place for the time being she politely declined still feigning that she didn’t want me to get hurt in any of this exchange so I fled my apartment taking a cab as if precious moments were slipping from my fingers. Her building was alight and it helped douse a little of my fears but when I reached her front door it was then I noticed there was a splinter in the wood at the hinge. My heart was in my throat as my fingers lightly touched upon the wood of the door and it yawned open. Her apartment was dark and I could hear muffled talking. Maybe Hinata was retiring for the night and speaking to her father but then why would her door be affected by such a thing?

I dared two steps into her room when the creak in the floor threatened to tattle on me if I moved further. I craned my neck trying to peer around the corner to the kitchen. The only light was the clock on her microwave and stove. I inched against the frame of the wall getting closer to the rush of voices. Now I heard the distinction of a male. I strained for a minute to hear Hinata’s reply but nothing came. A shadow moved across the wall in the living room. I went to strain my eyes to look into the stretch of darkness but felt a large hand press my locked lips against my teeth restraining my cries and screams of help. There was a wall of muscle at my back. My arms were pinned at my sides as the other arm snaked around me. My only free limbs were my legs which were easily lead in a dragging motion as the assailant directed us by holding my weight up and guiding us into the bedroom. My eyes widened. Hinata was slung over the shoulder of another male that seemed only a figment in the room. I could hear the venom in the elder male’s words as he hissed to the one man handling me.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Don’t know. She was lurking at the door. What should we do?” I felt the pinprick of fear radiate up my spine and I began fighting. With little avail he easily coiled his arm flexing his muscles tighter against me. It was hard to take in air. I could see black blotting the corners of my vision.

“She’s seen too much. Get rid of her.”

“This might be the one she was texting.” I felt his hand move from my mouth and I took a sharp breath of air into my lungs but felt the scream vanish inside my throat when the clicking sound and cold round press of steel touched under my jaw. It came out as a startled gasp.

“Don’t you even fucking dare.” My entire body began shaking. His voice was as deep and vicious as the steel under my chin. His arm uncoiled, he transferred the gun to his other hand and the free one plunged into my pockets. I let out a small yelp of surprise trying to shrink myself to get away from his invasive hands but moments later he plucked my phone from my back pocket. I glared blindly at him in the dark and shut my eyes when the shock of the bright screen flashed over my retinas. I blinked back burning tears watching him thumb through the phone then stopped.

“That the one?” The other male ground out through tightly gritted teeth.

“Yep.” Said my assailant with a careless sigh. He slipped the phone somewhere behind me in one of his pockets and then he resumed the hold he had before. The guns position changed to my temple.

“Your call.” The casual exchange made me think these two criminals knew one another on a personal level. Maybe even related? I couldn’t think about that right now. Right now I needed to pine for my survival. I spent my years trying to save lives and to think of becoming just a stain within my legacy and a good front page article that would be looked over by tomorrow’s new stories made my stomach churn.

“I know you two were the ones that sent the letter. I---I’ve already contacted the police about it.” There was a long stretch of silence that curdled the bile in my stomach even more painfully sour. The elder spoke.

“We’re wasting time here. Bag her too. We’ll figure it out once we’re in the clear.” The one behind me didn’t respond. He only moved awkwardly behind me slipping one sleeve of a jacket to him and forcing the other sleeve to my arm. His free hand was hidden between the shared garment and the barrel was now tightly pressed at my back. I swallowed a wet gulp feeling the block roughly glide down my throat.

“Here’s the deal. You scream. You say anything. I shoot you first. Then I shoot all the people you call out too. I don’t care if it’s a kid either. Got me?” I gave a curt nod. “Say it!”

“Yes I understand!” I held the front of my sweater with my free hand trying to steady my nerves.

Given the time of night there was no body that inhabited the entry ways or hallways. The elder had moved Hinata so it looked as though with her arm slung around the back of his neck and him holding her by her waist he looked like a gallant gentleman escorting his drunk girlfriend into a cab. But in the cabs stead was a black Lincoln. She was put in the trunk however…and I was forced to duck into the cabin of the back row of seats that faced one another. The elder took to the wheel. The black divider hid him completely and I was face to face with my captor who freed himself from the jacket. I was too terrified to shrug the rest of it off me. We were moving and I looked to the tinted windows walled around me. I felt small. I felt hopeless. My life was out of my hands. I knew in this moment how my patients felt…

The younger captor was tall, not as tall as the other one but still larger than my short stature. He had long elegant legs that were cloaked in black jeans with faint tan stitching at the seams. He had heavy steel toed boots that somehow he controlled to keep his footfalls as silent as a cats. I saw the gray outlines in his shirt that made up the peaks and mountains of his midsection to his chest. His biceps were bulging from the clad shirts tight hold. The same arms that almost crushed me in two like a toothpick. He slung his forearm on the back of his seat showing the deadly muscle beneath his flesh. I looked away before his eyes could catch hold of mine. Charcoal black and bottomless like a shark’s. He had a long aristocratic nose and his lips were thin but were perfectly shaped so if he smirked they tips of them would be like little arrows that would point to his long cheekbones. His hair was a mop of thick locks and like babies he was cursed with terrible cowlicks that swirled and curved upwards but yet---it made him look distinguished and just fit to his angelic appearance. I crushed my thoughts digging bloody moons into my palms.

Why had he put Hinata in the trunk? It wasn’t like he couldn’t overpower us if she awoke. Perhaps he didn’t want us speaking to each other. I felt my body temperature rise, the arm that was buried in the jacket suddenly burning setting wildfire throughout my other limbs. I shirked it off pulling my feet to the wide expanse of the seat tucking my knees to my chest. He was busying himself with my phone going through it and erasing the contents. I just wanted to sleep. My eyes burned with need but my body was wide awake. All my nerves were firing away with adrenaline. But as the hours went by and my mindless gaze watched the landscape scrape by in blurs I was fading. I hadn’t noticed when I stopped holding my head up and came to attention when my forehead was pressed against the cold glass. I jerked awake but couldn’t fight sleep any longer. Maybe I should just take a minuscule one---it might be my last chance for sleep. My thoughts grew heavier and became scrambled and finally I gave in to the darkness.

#sasusaku #sasusakufanfic #sasusakufanfic2020 #sakusasufanfic #sakuita #sakuitafanfic #itasakufanfic #a03 #archiveofourown #archive of our own #my works #if you want to keep up on the chapters go to my a03

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discotenny · 4 years

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Corner Store [2]

Description: Arthur Kirkland had owned and run a corner store for the past 15 years. He is determined to go through the rest of his life with minimal change. However, when he takes notice of three high school boys, his world gets turned around as he tries to piece back his life in a way that he thinks it's supposed to be. Word Count: 2.5k+ Warnings: Obsessive behavior, underlying issues, panic attacks, divorce, OCD, I don’t know perhaps slight blood mention? Characters in Chapter: Arthur Kirkland[Britain], Francis Bonnefoy[France], Feliciano Vargas[North Italy], Lovino Vargas[South Italy], Elizabeta Héderváry[Hungary], Yao Wang[China], Roderich Edelstein[Austria]. Characters Mentioned: Matthias Nilsson[Denmark], Gilbert Beilschmidt[Prussia], Alfred Jones[USA], Peter Kirkland[Sealand], Toumas Nilsson[Finland], Kiku Honda[Japan] Ship/s Mentioned: AusHun[Elizabeta & Roderich]{Brief interaction} AU: !Corner Store AU! !Human AU!

I doubt I’m going to finish this story though haha. It was fun to write, and there was a third chapter planned to post[ perhaps I’ll post a bonus later or something], though Hetalia has been in the back of my mind with the creation of this blog. Don’t worry babsies [is that the plural form of babs?] Mod Ioten will post BSD stuff soon lol

Despite the disruption in peace yesterday, Arthur opened the store with a smile on his face. Francis followed shortly, clocking in while Arthur was eating his morning sandwich and drinking his first cup of tea of the day. “Bonjour mon ami!” Francis hummed, walking in from the back.

“Did Alfred get home okay?” Arthur couldn’t help but ask, blowing on his tea before taking a sip.

Francis’s eyes softened, and he looked down at the coffee in his hand. “Yes, he is alright. Merci Arthur for allowing him to wait here with his friends. I will have to call Matthias’s guardian to share my thanks as well.”

Arthur coughed a little bit, choking on his tea a bit. “I-It’s no big deal,” Arthur got out through coughs. “I would want someone to do the same for my own son if the same situation arose with him.”

The Frenchman looked up in surprise, “You have a little boy as well?”

Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out a small Christmas photo taken last year. “His name is Peter, Alfred acts quite a bit like him,” He chuckled, handing it to Francis.

“He’s a beautiful boy…” Francis mumbled, looking over the photo. “Is this your wife?” He asked, pointing at the woman who held her hair neatly in a partial ponytail.

Arthur looked away awkwardly, “Oh- uh. Yes. Peter is much closer to her than me.” He didn’t really want to discuss any more of it, so he attempted to change the subject. “Are you close with Alfred? He talks about you a lot.”

“He talks… about me?” Francis seemed shocked. A spark lit inside, and these eyes opened wider than before.

“Does he usually not?” Arthur questioned, setting down his tea.

“Alfred at home is much more… let’s say reserved at home. He doesn’t talk much nowadays.” Francis took a drink of his beverage, turning around to begin his shift.

Arthur leaned over the counter to look at Francis going to the other side of the store. “The fruit needs to be rearranged to make it look like there’s more than we actually have!”

He waved Arthur off, and the man relaxed a little bit. Finishing up his breakfast sandwich, Arthur got up to begin sweeping the floor. There were forty-five minutes before the store had to open up; Arthur could prepare it in twenty. Thinking back to yesterday, he took note that Francis was right in that the store had an odd sour smell to it. He would never admit it though, but the itchiness in his palm crept back into his mind. He tried to rub it against the broom handle, seeking some, any relief from the result of the new revelation. However, nothing seemed to help him. In Arthur’s frustration, he stomped over to the back room. Mumbling curses to himself, he grabbed a can of air freshener and started spraying around the store.

Francis watched in bewilderment at the scene, freezing while still holding an apple. “Mon ami I do not know if it is my place to speak on your…choices. But what are you doing spraying that can like a mad man?”

“The store smells bad” Arthur mumbled, turning to the direction of Francis, getting ready to spray.

“Hey hey hey! You will poison our produce!” Francis grabbed Arthur’s shoulders, turning him around. “What is wrong with you!”

Arthur scrunched up his face when the powerful waft of fresh linen hit his nostrils. He started coughing, crouching over. “We can open a little bit later if it helps you ca-”

“No!” Arthur yelled, shooting back up. “We-” He coughed a little bit more, “We can’t afford to open later than the morning rush!”

Although it made moderate sense to Francis and was a good enough reason for him to back off, Arthur knew that wasn’t the truth. It wouldn’t be normal for him to open up the store later than 6:30 in the morning. It wouldn’t be right. “To get rid of this…aroma, may I suggest we turn on our air?” Francis suggested, and Arthur begrudgingly agreed. Francis looked on in concern as Arthur sludged over to the thermostat, turning and twisting knobbles and bobs. He knew the signs of trouble when he saw it.

Though the owner and his employee found themselves in hot water in the morning, that didn’t stop Arthur from opening up at 6:30 AM. Sitting at the counter, he sipped at his tea waiting for the customers to roll in.

A few moments later, the sound of the bell that filled him with so much joy rang; and he was filled with the euphoria that rushed over him every time a body entered. As customers filed themselves in, each one took a look at their preferred groceries. A line began to form as the first batch of customers gathered their usual items, some chatting casually with each other as they waited for Arthur to check them out.

His first customers were a pair of twins that he knew very well. The Vargas brothers, one more comfortable in the public atmosphere than the other.

“Buongiorno signore Arthur!” Feliciano set down a bag of biscotti and a sewing kit. As he bounced and made small comments of the climate of the day, his brother bashfully brought a bag of tomatoes to the counter. The twins were students who used to babysit Peter before he went off to elementary, so Arthur knew them on a more personal level than the rest of his customers. “The weather has been unpredictable lately,” Feliciano whispered, rattling his hand on the counter.

“Indeed it has,” Arthur mused, weighing the bag of tomatoes and slapping a sticker noting that it was paid on the front. “If I’m correct it’s supposed to clear up by the end of the afternoon. It’ll be a nice change of pace from all of the rain we’ve been getting.” Arthur smiled to himself as he continued the routine he’s been doing for the past fifteen years. Checking out and conversation, what more could a man need?

“Really!” Feliciano gasped excitedly and grabbed his brother’s arm. “Lovi, we can play football together then!”

His brother, Lovino, looked at him angrily. “I told you not to call me that dumbass!” He said it in a whisper, though most people around the twins could hear their conversation. Lovino jerked his arm away from his brother, who still held the excited demeanor as before.

“Your total is 12.94,” Arthur gave a polite nod to the pair as they scrambled to get their money out. With random coins and a couple of bills, their groceries were paid with exact change. “Have a nice day you boys!”

“Say hi to Peter for me! Ciao!~” The two grabbed their respective items and walked out the door, Feliciano chatting to himself while Lovino took a bite out of one of the tomatoes he had bought.

As the two walked out, the same lady who had bought his gummy bear supply walked up to the counter. She didn’t hold anything in her hand, and there wasn’t anything on the countertop either. “Hello miss, can I help you with anything today?” Despite his polite form, Arthur’s hand began to itch at the prospect of something wrong with the customer’s visit.

The young lady ducked under the counter, and Arthur leaned to see what she was doing. She was snickering to herself, and placed down the box of gummy rolls that Gilbert had purchased yesterday. She was just about to pull out her money to pay for the rolls until someone called her name, causing her to turn around.

“Elizabeta! Can you pay for this too?”

A tall, awkward man emerged from the end of the line, walking slowly up to the girl. He seemed to be in poor health, heaving with every step he took; as if just being alive took a heavy toll on him. Elizabeta sighed, taking his energy drink and cheese stick and placing it down onto the counter. “Are you okay Roderich?” She asked, reaching her hand up to caress his face as Arthur scanned their items.

“I’m fine,” He sighed, batting Elizabeta’s hand away. “Thank you for paying.” Roderich leaned into her as she got her pocket money out.

“Are you a fan of these gummies?” Arthur asked as he was halfway through scanning the 34 rolls in the box.

Elizabeta laughed, “Oh no I’m not. I have a friend who is a big fan of them though. A couple bucks to see his face when he comes to school, finding out I bought all of his favorite candies, is worth it all the way.”

Arthur smiled to himself at the childish scheme. “Well, as long as I’m getting the money for the product,” he laughed along. “Would you like separate bags?”

Elizabeta and Roderich looked at each other before Roderich turned to Arthur, replying with a short no thank you. “Very well then,” Arthur smiled, carefully placing all of the gummy rolls around the boy’s Red Bull and cheese. When the exchange of money and product finished, Arthur waved goodbye to the pair. Roderich and Elizabeta turned around to say a quick goodbye. Arthur saw them lace their fingers together, and he smiled seeing them casually walkout.

The morning rush continued with familiar faces, casual acquaintances, and the same customers who would always come in the morning. Arthur felt good, despite the incidents in the morning and yesterday afternoon.

Time seemed to fly by as he and Francis guided people into making purchases, cleaning the store in the downtime, and checking out customers. Soon enough, Francis had to leave to pick up his son from school; and Arthur was left to his own thoughts.

His mind steeped into unhealthy territory. Every single detail of his life, every single constant he thought over as he drank his tea and ate his afternoon sandwich. He smiled as he reminded himself that nothing would be changing, that everything would and could not shift.

It couldn’t happen; he wouldn’t allow it.

He thought over the boys that he’d grown fond of. A shift, maybe, but a slightly more pleasant one than the changes he’s used to. But he had thought it over, saw where they would fit in his world that never changed.

They would come in every day, that's a plus. Always ordering the same items? Even better. Then he thought further. What would happen when he would retire? What would happen when the boys graduated? What would happen when the divorce went through, and he could only see his son for three days every week?

Arthur stopped moving when his teacup was six inches from his face. He sucked his breath in, and slowly set his cup down. He felt an itch creep up into his palm, worse than all of his other incidents. He couldn’t breathe. He had to get out of such a suffocating environment. As if he was in a daze, Arthur stood up and walked towards the door. Reaching towards the sign hanging on the inside of the door, he turned it so that the ‘open’ sign faced him. He finally allowed himself to let the air in his lungs flow out. He opened the door and walked through, turning around to lock it. He scratched his hand, walking through the streets of his familiar town with a thick haze surrounding his aura.

Arthur was wandering for a while. He didn’t know how far he’d walked until he found himself at the intersection which separated the stores from the roads leading to the major highway. Turning around, Arthur found himself at his rival’s grocery. Waddling in, he kept quiet. A bell sound, different from the one he had in his store rang. The smell was completely different too.

Why was he here? Arthur couldn’t answer the question himself. He had the afternoon rush to wait for after all. However, it was too late to turn back, he’d already entered the store and caught the attention of the clerk.

“Arthur Kirkland.” He turned to the side, seeing the Chinese man that tormented his business for the past 10 years. “Come to buy something different than European product?” Yao asked, folding his arms on the counter.

“I-I…” Arthur stuttered out, not able to come up with something suitable to say. With a cocky brow raise, Yao stood up and made his way over to the unusual guest.

“If you are looking for something we have it,” Yao said proudly. “You want bowl? Soap to brighten skin? I have Kiku cut pig blood for your cooking!”

“No thank you…” Arthur moved his arm in a shooing motion.

“You walk into my grocery and say you not need any,” Yao rolled his eyes, growing frustrated with the Brit. “Why are you even here?”

Arthur stood stiff, staring at the store, at the unfamiliarity of it all. Walking off, he wandered deeper into the aisles of foreign goods. Boxes of products he’s never seen, lines of items he wouldn’t dare to carry in his store; he leaned against a shelf for support. Faintly, he could hear Yao yell a little and then give up, walking back to his counter.

Suddenly, his whole body itched, and no matter how much he tried to relieve himself, the uncomfortable sensation never ceased. His nails dug into his skin as he scratched vigorously at his palms. In addition to his discomfort, he felt skin break and a stinging feeling begin to set in. He stumbled into the next aisle, scanning the items to try and find some sense of familiarity. Boxes of medicinal tea lined the shelves, and he was comforted somewhat by the leaves he used every morning. Then he found it.

He ran towards a box that held the black tea he drank every morning and held it as if it was gold. Shaking, he palmed his pants to see if he had his wallet. He felt a wave of relief when he felt the bump in his pocket.

Arthur walked over to the counter, presenting Yao with a hesitant smile. The man behind the counter looked at him through suspicious eyes, and took the credit card Arthur held out. “What bring you to my grocery today Mr. Kirkland?” A thick Chinese accent laced the man’s tone. Arthur found it funny that the long ponytail that Yao held his hair in swayed whenever he spoke.

“A-” Arthur found his throat to be unusually dry. “A change of pace is good sometimes.”

Yao didn’t reply, only humming as he handed back the card, giving Arthur his tea in a plastic bag.

Quickly, Arthur bid Yao goodbye and ran towards his own establishment. While the itchy feeling never went away, the dryness in his throat sure did with the enormous amount of tea he drank when he got back.

He almost forgot to turn the open sign back around before sitting down at the counter. Everything was okay, Arthur told himself. All he had to do was wait for the afternoon rush.

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gofancyninjaworld · 5 years

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OPM Manga Chapter 122 Review: Insane

“Imagine you’re sliding down a banister and suddenly, without warning, it turns into a razor blade...”

That’s a paraphrase of a joke a kid told Stephen King, which he recounted in his excellent book ‘On Writing’ (get it if you like writing fiction of any sort!). Childrens’ imaginations are full of sudden horrors that manifest themselves out of seemingly mundane situations: the monster under the bed, the lady who appears in order to strangle you if you say her name too many times, the tree that will steal your breath if you nap under it... That’s okay, that’s why kids have grown ups to keep them safe.

And when there are no grown ups? That’s when you get Mr. Teddy and to help you fight the nightmares away. I think Murata has done fantastic work in illustrating a child’s worst nightmare: when the nightmare becomes real, when your weapons turn back into toys, and no one can help. Just as Child Emperor had Evil Natural Water all but frozen into the World’s Evillest Natural Icicle, a Sludge Jellyfish shows up, smouldering with as much rage as from the fire. And what happens next is a bit unexpected: Evil Natural Water drinks Sludge Jellyfish dry.

a slight feeling of foreboding descends

Child Emperor may be surprised, but simple rules interacting can produce very complex behaviour. Evil Natural Water (hereafter ENW) has two rules: 1. Target any individuals showing negative emotion and 2. Gather water to itself. For monsters, being nasty is a positive emotion, so they’re not usually targeted; however Sludge Jellyfish has an intense grudge against Child Emperor, thus becoming a source of negative emotion to target. Sludge Jellyfish’s water was admixed with oil, so ENW got the necessary fluid to continue attacking the other source of negative emotion in the room, Child Emperor. It looks very clever and goal-driven, but it’s not.

Where did the oil come from? Cast your mind back to chapter 97:

even simple throwaway gags come back as much more serious devices

And the outcome is one of the most searing panels ever, as a wounded Child Emperor stares at a manifest nightmare.

brrr....

This turkey is pro-Christmas

(cultural note: being from the UK as I am, Christmas is the occasion we eat turkey. Feel free to mentally substitute Thanksgiving if you’re American)

As we’d hoped, Genos is making all haste for the Monster Association. He’s reading the information Drive Knight left... directly off the screen he’s projected onto the inside of his left eye.

Really? Did you learn nothing about not sticking drives of unknown provenance into any computing system whose integrity you value? Oh, it’s a dire emergency and you’re in a hurry? That’s true, but don’t go crying to Saitama if you find one day that your secret lab has been stripped bare and your doctor kidnapped or worse.

Reasonably, he’s not wasting any time reading about the demon-level monsters: as he is, they’re just bigger sacks of rubbish to kick out of the way. The problem is the cadres. And what he’s reading is not comforting information -- I’m glad there’s more detailed information in finer point script than we can read or I’d feel cheated. He’s got no doubt about their strength, having crossed arms with two of them already. Nor any illusion that any other S-Class heroes other than Tatsumaki or King(Saitama) can take them on without careful planning.

no wonder Drive Knight decided to just grab the cat and run

If Drive Knight had handed this information into the HA at any point before the heroes attacked, they could have planned so much better. If Genos had more time, he could have prepared speciality weapons and picked which monsters to target, much like Drive Knight did for Nyan. But as it is, there’s no time for clever plans. His solution? Run in faster... and hope that maybe Saitama’s already killed the monsters.

I’m sorry -- you’re going to meet ALL of them, minus Orochi, unless he’s not actually dead dead and reawakens. In which case, I’m very sorry.

[Aside: this is quite a big change from the webcomic, where Genos only speculated about the possibility of dragon-level monsters, having only ever met Carnage Kabuto beforehand. Here, he knows exactly what he’s up against. And is still going in. Madness or courage, you decide.]

If I’ve likened Genos to a turkey acting against its very interests, then what can I call Saitama and Flash? They’re just turkeys.

“S-Class is Insane”

Hoo, finally! The manga finally gets to the origin of Class S and why it was set up in the first place. I like this translation and the additional panel the manga adds to make clear that a hard-working hero is definitely rewarded by the ranking system, even if they’re not very strong.

But diligence is not enough to deal with the occasional big monsters that pop up. The insane Class S was created to recognise and pull together the very few heroes with the proven ability to single-handedly defeat a demon-level monster as the big monsters got termed. Regardless of their class, ranking, or how they otherwise worked.

And Saitama? He totally should be the perfect hero to be recognised and raised to Class S. But it’s hard to get rewarded when he doesn’t even know what he smacked, never mind even remember what he smacked, never mind think to take credit for:

When you’re so strong that Orochi was just a noisier piece of shit, and Boros was almost interesting (and then he got annoying, so you killed him), it’s hard to know you should be given special recognition.

In the meantime though, the more mortal Class S heroes are showing themselves to be merely mortal, one by one:

Hang in there guys!

Help isn’t coming, but hang in there anyway!

#OPM #review #meta #long #manga #heroes #Class S #one by one they're beginning to fall

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a-cai-jpg · 4 years

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there’s a scene that comes back to me often these days.

i read this quote the other day: “In the uncertain ebb and flow of time and emotions, much of one’s life history is etched in the senses. And things of no particular importance, or irreplaceable things, can suddenly resurface in a café one winter night.”

i read it, and then i re-read it, and then i quoted the quote back at the person who sent it, because i didn’t know how to explain what the last sentence made me feel.

(it was like language had escaped me, and i was overcome by the image of the café--soft, piling snow outside the window, the soft din of diner, the clink of the coffee cup against the saucer, and the twisting in my chest.)

there’s a scene that comes back to me often these days.

i’m in nara. the streets are wide and bare, neat rows of trees lining the road. the sun bears down on the back of my neck, but i don’t feel the fatigue and heat that i know i would if i tried to actively recall the day. i’m walking to a market, and there’s a story that worms itself into my head about a ghost writer.

it mixes sometimes, with dinner in a restaurant at the edge of dotonbori, a sampler of okonomiyaki, and stories about best friends who fall in love, and songs written about the universe with melodies i can never quite pick out.

it’s funny, because the moments that come back aren’t the ones that i’ve taken pictures of. if u ask me where my favorite place in japan was, it’s probably either nikko or hakodate. but, recently, as i lie in the patch of sunlight that spreads across my carpet, i think about nara and osaka.

i was talking to a friend about how we kind of always remember the small moments. like yes, we remember the time where a friend got her necklace stolen on the streets of italy. but i also remember spilling red wine on white bed sheets, and the mirror selfie we took in that empty club, and the traitorous taste of limoncello and this beautiful, glittering strawberry liquer, and the sunrise that greeted us on the train to florence. god, maybe that was the loudest silence. i’m saying words i can’t hear, i see her mouth moving, i gasp soundlessly and give up trying to speak. i point out the window, and i see her jaw drop. the train roars in the background, and my ears pop. she fumbles for her phone, tries to take a picture, but the moment is over.

(she doesn’t actually remember this. rude.)

sometimes, i remember the taste of salty toast and dark coffee. i don’t like the taste of coffee so dark it’s sour, but i mollify it with sweet jam. it comes back to me in snapshots, one adding on top of another. it’s kyoto, early in the morning. i’m running out of things to say, so i ramble, and she listens. the day is warm, and sweat will collect in my scalp by the time the day is over.

and then very, very rarely, i feel the emptiness of the day after she left. tokyo is gloomy, but it feels like i’m dragging myself through the sludge of the summer anyways, as i walk from tsukishima to ginza. it’s not a long walk, but my backpack is heavy with my laptop, and my shoulders ache when i set it down at starbucks. i eat a slice of cake, and it reminds me of the days where i’d take a break whilst walking home from high school at a bakery, heart heavy, trying to chase away the gloom with the sugary cream of black forest cake. i’d feel sorry for myself as i methodically cut away at the slice, not sure if the presence of my grandmother at home was a comfort or a burden.

but usually, when i think of this day, i remember the chaotic trudge through the fish market, and then rain.

i don’t know if this was the same day.

but it’s raining. i find a beautiful cafe on the corner of a street. i order a sandwich and tea and a slice of strawberry cake. i am alone, and i write. the rain doesn’t stop. the check comes out to be a little over twenty dollars. the sandwich was delicious.

there’s another quote i read, “I learned things don’t happen and then disappear. Once they happen, they still are here. And you can move on and forget them but they still exist somewhere. So no matter how far behind you leave them, they still wait for you there.”

i think of howl’s moving castle--specifically, the yearning i felt when i saw howl’s room. cluttered, glittering, full of mysteries and things to be uncovered. it’s like everything we’ve ever seen, heard, or felt is kept in this room, waiting for us to wander in and pick it up again. it gives me comfort.

i think of death.

i think of my grandmother, young, selling cigarettes on the street.

i hope at the end, she looks back, and it was good.

i’ve been complaining to friends about how my grandmother ghosts me on wechat. but actually, she looks at all the pictures i send her and remembers them better than i do--snippets of my life that i never thought i’d get to share with her. she remembers that i found radishes in the garden, warns me about going to farmer’s markets and then scolds me for spending so much money buying produce. she asks my uncle to fix the camera on her phone so she can show me the scarf she’s knitting for me and my cousin. i say i want the red one, and she agrees heartily. i ask her if she’s going to send it over, and she tells me that i have to go back to get it.

i remember there’s this thing the mom says in never have i ever, when they’re praying, and she hisses, “pray that you’ll get into princeton (or some ivy league). don’t waste it on stupid things like world peace.)

i think about this as i crawl into bed, laughing at the notification of a wechat article my grandmother sent me about the dangers of preparing silk gourd soup incorrectly. i wish for world peace, not because i hold this agape love for the world, but because i am selfish, and i want to see my grandmother.

there are many moments in recent years, where i’m crying and walking on the streets of shanghai and my tears mix with the rain, and i either don’t have an umbrella or the umbrella is too shabby to actually keep me dry.

once, a nice uncle came up to me and held an umbrella over my head as i waited at a traffic light.

another time, i got lost at the same street i always get lost at, trying to find my way back to my grandparents’ apartment. i’m crying because time is limited, and i’ve somehow entered a stretch of my life that i have to walk alone, and it’s difficult for me, my mom, and my grandma.

i remember harsh things i’ve said to my grandma. i remember throwing couch cushions on the floor because i was too much of a coward to actually break things. i remember throwing a crying tantrum in high school over the set-up of my new bedroom. but i also remember leaning my head on my grandma’s shoulder, and her trying to shrug me off. i remember her stuffing apples into my mouth, against my will. i remember her cooking the same dishes over and over again because i mentioned, once, that i like it.

i remember the soft sunshine of early boston mornings, a face mask on my face, as i talk to my grandma about cooking spare ribs. she makes a comment about the posters on my walls and asks if the posters are still up in my room at home. i say yes, even though the ones she remembers are probably rolled up and stuffed in the corner of my room.

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vfdbaudelairefile13 · 5 years

Text

Dear reader, this chapter is the first chapter in a series of chapters that may trigger some of you. I will post warnings with each chapter. Nothing explicit happens here. A few vague hints to sick intentions. This is mostly an Esme chapter.

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Chapter Forty-Seven:

The One When Violet Makes the Ultimate Sacrifice

This is not the story of Lemony Snicket if it were...well we would’ve have been finished back when the Baudelaire children were being taken to Prufrock Preparatory School. No, this is not the story about Lemony Snicket or Beatrice Baudelaire. This isn’t even the story about Count Olaf, although all these stories are intertwined and interject into each other. This is the story about Violet Snicket and her two younger half-siblings, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire though.

It would be useless to tell the Lemony Snicket story, because it happened so very long ago, and because there is nothing anybody can do about the way it has turned out, although, the same could be said about Violet Snicket’s story. The reason I don’t tell the Lemony Snicket story more so has to do with the fact that it is much more difficult to investigate. So the only reason I could possibly have for jotting parts of it down at this section of his daughter’s story would be to make this chapter in her story more unpleasant, unnerving and unbelievable...but believe me when I say that this part of the story doesn’t need any help with that. This story is about Violet Snicket and Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire, and how they have an incident in the Library of Records of Heimlich Hospital that will change their lives forever and still gives me the heebie-jeebies whenever I am alone at night.

Now if this were a story about Lemony Snicket, I would pause and tell you about something that he and a few of his comrades had done many years ago that had haunted him until the day he died. It is something that I believe would still trouble him if he were alive to tell the tale today instead of me, researching, investigating, and reporting on it so many years later. Now, instead of telling you about the three children who would soon run into someone they had hoped never to see again, I will pause for a brief moment to explain a part of their parents’ stories. Now what Lemony and his comrades did was a necessary thing to do, but it was not a nice thing, and even now, I get a small quiver of shame in my stomach whenever I think about it. Whenever I think about what those three children were to endure just moments later. And after taking into consideration, information I have gathered from enduring several lengthy interviews with key witnesses to the Snicket case, many sleepless hours within the sub-basement of a deceased hotel manager, and detailing with a clueless banker the exact timeline of the Baudelaire orphans have I still come to no conclusion on one of the biggest questions that this investigation has open up. And that question is: Was it really necessary? Was it absolutely necessary for Lemony Snicket and Beatrice Baudelaire to steal that sugar bowl from Esme Squalor?

This is a question that I have unfortunately not answered and I feel as though no amount of investigation from either myself or my associate is ever going to turn up the answer to this haunting and chilling question. But as I further write into the Snicket/Baudelaire cases I must warn you that the children’s troubles are only about to get immensely worse. This may be your last chance for an escape. I’d take it if I were you.

Violet, Klaus, and Sunny walked hurriedly through the hallways of Heimlich Hospital. Each child felt a pang of guilt in their stomach. Violet felt the pang of guilt each time she reached into her pocket and found that one of her ribbons was missing. She felt a quiver in her stomach as she walked when she thought about what she and her siblings had done. Klaus looked every which way afraid that Olaf will soon detect the three siblings on their way to the Library of Records. He had a similar quiver in his stomach that Violet had, whenever he felt Hal’s key shift in his pocket and he was reminded about the little trick that he and his sisters had pulled on Hal. While Sunny, who was being carried by Violet, could feel a quiver in her stomach as the three were sneaking their way into the library at night when no one was supposed to be in there.

“Is this absolutely necessary?” Violet asked herself aloud but it was a bit louder than she thought because both her siblings heard her. They looked to their older sister with frowns painted on their faces.

“It’s not a nice thing to do,” Sunny admitted.

“I know,” Klaus said patting Sunny’s shoulder. “I have a quiver in my stomach just thinking about it. But it’s the only way we can get our hands on that file,”

“Before Olaf,” Sunny pointed out, seemingly agreeing with Klaus. “Can get his grimy hands on us,”

“I still feel terrible about this,” Violet whispered to her siblings as they got closer and closer to the Library of Records.

“One day, we’ll apologize and explain our situation,” Klaus explained. “We’ll apologize to Hal for playing this mean trick on him, and explain why we had to break the rules. This might not be the nicest thing we’ve ever done but...it’s necessary.”

“And we’ll return to the Last Chance General Store,” Violet reasoned. “And explain to the shopkeeper why we had to run away without paying for anything,”

“First we need that file,” Sunny reminded them as the three siblings reached the door.

“Sunny’s right. Until then...we need to hurry,” Violet said as Klaus handed her Hal’s keyring. Violet hurriedly went through the keyring, desperately looking for the correct key for the hole. She looked at the lock of the door, which had a very short and narrow keyhole, and then looked at the loop of string, which had one very short and narrow key, and in no time at all the children were re-entering the Library of Records and looking down the dim aisles of file cabinets. “Olaf could still be watching us,”

“I’m going to lock the door behind us,” Klaus said cautiously. “So that nobody will get suspicious if they happen to walk into the anteroom.”

“Like Olaf,” Sunny chimed in.

“We definitely don’t want him in here,” Violet muttered. “Now let’s go,” she cried.

“Hal said he had specific instructions about where to file those specific files,” Klaus recalled trying to remember the exact words Hal had used to describe the film.

“And the file is called the Snicket file…” Violet muttered.

“S!” Sunny shrieked as she climbed onto one of the comfy chairs that were in the corner of the room. She wasn’t able to read or understand the alphabet as much as her siblings so she allowed them to look for the file while she sat down and suggested where they should look.

Quickly, Violet and Klaus raced down the ‘S’ aisle. The only noise in the eerie lit Library of Records was the children’s echoing footsteps.

“Secretary to sediment,” Violet called out to Klaus.

“Shed to sheepshank,” Klaus called back to Violet.

“Shellac to sherbert,”

“Shipwreck to shrimp,”

“Sicily to sideways,”

“Sludge to smoke,”

“Snack to snifter,” Violet called out

“Snowball to Sober,”

“Sonnet to spackle,”

Klaus stopped in his tracks. “Wait!” he cried. “Back up! We passed Snicket,”

Violet facepalmed as she backed up a bit. “Snack to snifter?” she asked as he slid to her quickly.

“That’s the one,” he said happily.

“I was so distracted by all the strange file names that I forgot what we were looking for,” Violet hurriedly opened the filing cabinet.

“It would be in the bottom drawer, closer to Snifter,” Klaus explained as he and Violet knelt quickly to see if the file they desperately sought out would be there.

The two older orphans looked as they ran their fingers through the files. Now, there are plenty of words that are close to ‘snifter’ in the alphabet, and the children found many of them. There was a file on Snell’s Law, which states that a ray of light passing from one uniform medium to another produces an identical ration between the sine of the angle of incidence and the sine of the angle of refraction, which Klaus already knew by the time he was ten. There was a file on the inventor of the sneaker, whom Violet admired very much, and one on snicking, which is something Sunny had done many times with her teeth. But there was not a single scrap of paper marked ‘Snicket’ The two older children sighed in disappointment as Violet harshly slammed the drawer closed. “No Snicket,” she muttered.

“J?” Klaus suggested with a shrug of his shoulders. “For Jacques?”

“I mean...it’s plausible,” Violet replied.

“Shh,” Sunny whispered as she put her finger to her lips.

“Why?” Klaus asked.

“I hear something,” Sunny explained.

Violet and Klaus strained their ears to hear what Sunny was hearing. The two older siblings looked at one another worriedly as they could barely hear the clomping of odd, teetering footsteps as if someone were walking on very thin stilts. The footsteps grew closer and closer, and then stopped, and as the three children held their breath, the door to the Library rattled as someone tried to open the door.

“Maybe it’s Hal?” Violet whispered worriedly. “Maybe he forgot something and he’s using the sham keyring,”

“Or...maybe it’s Olaf,” Klaus whispered terrified. “And he’s looking for us,”

“Janitor?” Sunny guessed.

“Well, whoever it is,” Violet whispered with determination. “Needs to fuck off. We have a file to retrieve,” she said as she dragged Klaus towards the J aisle. As the two older orphans tiptoed quickly down the J aisle, they called out names of the filing cabinets to each other.

“Jabberwocky to Jackal,” Klaus whispered.

“Jacket to Jack-o-Lanterns,” Violet whispered back.

“Jackline to Jacutinga,” Klaus whispered. “Vi, it’s this one,”

Violet rushed towards her brother, almost falling flat on her face. Violet hurried to find the right key and the children opened the drawer to look for ‘Jacques’. As Violet knew, a jackline is a kind of rope used in sailing, and as Klaus knew, jacutinga is a sort of gold-bearing iron ore found in Brazil, and once again there were plenty of files between the two, but there were no files marked ‘Jacques’.

Violet shut the filing cabinet harshly forgetting that there was someone outside the Library trying to desperately get in. Violet sighed and pulled at her hair as Klaus looked disappointingly to the ground.

“What about B?” Klaus suggested. “For Baudelaire?”

“Why would the ‘ Snicket’ file be under ‘ Baudelaire?’” Violet asked annoyed.

“I don’t know but it wasn’t filed under ‘Snicket’!” Klaus hissed.

Violet sighed as Sunny shrugged her shoulders. “This is Hal we’re talking about,” Sunny explained. Violet sighed once more but nodded her head.

“I guess it’s worth a try,” she said as she and Klaus tiptoed down to the B aisle. Violet could slightly hear a muffled scratching from behind the door as if something long and thin were being stuck in the keyhole to try to unlock the lock. Violet knew, from her days of breaking into her father’s things, that a lockpick can often take a long time to work properly, even if it has been made by one of the world’s greatest inventors, but she still dragged Klaus quickly across the room.

“Babbitt to Babylon,” Violet whispered.

“Bacteria to ballet,”

“Bamboo to Baskerville,”

“Bat Mitzvah to Bavarian Cream,” Klaus whispered smiling. “This is the one,” Violet hurriedly tried nine different keys before finally, the key she was using had opened the filing cabinet. Klaus quickly scanned through the files, a frown appearing on his face. “Dammit,” he muttered as he slammed the door shut.

“Shhh!” Sunny reminded him.

“So now that you’re finished wasting our time,” Violet muttered. “Does anyone have any helpful suggestions,”

“You don’t need to be a bitch, Vi,” Klaus muttered angrily.

“I’m sorry but someone is trying to get in here and I am not leaving without that fucking file,” Violet whispered. “Now, who has suggestions?”

“L?” Sunny suggested.

Violet and Klaus looked at one another as they simultaneously said, “Lemony,” Violet frowned as Klaus put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“It’s worth a try, Sunshine!” Klaus called out to Sunny as the two older orphans raced down several aisles.

Instead of going down a single letter aisle as the children had in the ‘S’ ‘J’ and ‘B’ aisles, the children were walking perpendicularly to the filing cabinets now, with each row being its own letter.

“Igloo to illness,” Klaus called out.

“Jam to jazzier,” Violet called out.

“Kiss to kite,”

“Laughter to lettuce,” Violet called out, smiling. “It’s this one!”

Klaus hurried to where his elder sister stood as she opened the cabinet. Within a mere thirty seconds, Violet kicked the filing cabinet as Klaus slammed the open drawer shut angrily. “Nothing,” he muttered disappointingly. Both older orphans forgetting about the person on the other side of the library door, but Sunny didn’t remind them because the noise has ceased entirely as if the person had given up on the idea of entering the Library of Records.

“I’m tired!” Violet shrieked. “I’m so sick and tired of not understanding what’s going on around us!” she yelled. “Missing files...complicated codes…”

“Mysterious guardians...that tunnel that led to my house,” Klaus added.

“Olaf,” Sunny chimed in.

Then Sunny smiled as she shouted three letters that made Violet’s blood boil and created a smile upon Klaus’ face. “V.F.D!”

“Volatile Film Document,” Klaus recalled in a monotone. “Sunny, you’re a genius!”

“I try!” Sunny called back, clapping.

“The cult,” Violet hissed under her breath.

“Do you think that could be it?” Klaus asked his older sister.

“I don’t know how we could miss that...the cult is so self-absorbed they plaster their logo everywhere,” Violet said as she and Klaus raced down the ‘V’ aisle.

Once the cabinet was open, it took Violet only a mere fifteen seconds to find that file. She and Klaus looked at one another smiling as Violet grabbed the film with a trembling hand and handed it to Klaus. Violet raced to where Sunny was seated and carried her over to where the projectors were, which happened to be at the other end of the library. Away from the door that was now beginning to shake slightly as if the person on the other side of the door was obviously getting frustrated with trying to pick the lock. But the children didn’t seem to notice this at all.

Once Violet got the film rolling, all three kids gasped once they saw Jacques Snicket appearing on the screen. He sat in front of a small, cluttered desk. He looked mournfully in the camera.

“Have you heard the news about your brother?” an off-screen VFD agent asked Jacques, who immediately frowned and shook his head.

“He’s either dead or on the lam. But either way, he doesn’t mind,” Jacques said sternly in a tone that Violet didn’t know how to take. On one hand, Violet could take it as a grieving brother who refused to believe that his brother, who had faked his death for nearly fifteen years, was actually dead this time. She gave a quick glance towards Klaus and Sunny thinking that if it had happened to her, she’d be just like her uncle. Refusing to believe the truth. But on the other hand, there was something about his tone that felt confident as if he knew what he was talking about. Either way though, all three children’s eyes were locked on Jacques as he pushed his tea away after taking a sip.

“Uncle Jacques,” Violet practically whimpered. She frowned when she remembered how she had ultimately failed him and her father when Olaf murdered him. She stole a quick glance towards Sunny. It may have only been temporary but Sunny had explained to Violet that her uncle had been able to rescue her and the two Quagmire triplets before getting caught and being murdered by Olaf. She wished she could have saved him or at least thanked him for his efforts. During her nearly fourteen and a half years alive, she had never met either her uncle or aunt. She knew her father had two siblings but she was never lucky enough to meet them and now as she silently watched her uncle on a projector, she realized that like her birth mother, she was never going to have an actual conversation with her uncle.

“I never thought we’d see him again,” Klaus admitted in a whisper.

Sunny cringed and covered her eyes with her hands. She shook slightly. Violet and Klaus both glanced down at Sunny, who shook her head and turned away from the projector entirely. “Poor man,” she said as tears began to fall down her face.

“Sunny…” Violet whispered as she began to kneel down to comfort Sunny but as her uncle spoke again, it caused her to focus solely on the film.

“Are we rolling?” Jacques had asked.

“Yes, we’re rolling,” the VFD agent replied. The children could hear that the agent had sat down in a chair off-screen, probably near the camera. They watched as Jacques heavily sighed and rubbed the back of his head. As if he had something he wanted to say but he didn’t know how to say it. “This is the official VFD debriefing of Jacques Snicket.” the agent said as Jacques gave the camera a small wave and gentle smile as if he was being forced to do this and he was trying to look as ‘volunteering’ as possible. “Mr. Snicket, I need you to layout in excruciating detail, if you can, about everything you know about Count Olaf, your brother, this rash of fires, and anything else we need to know about the orphans,”

Jacques nodded and sighed again. “I suppose I should start from the very beginning,” Jacques began. Violet and Klaus smiled happily at the prospect of learning everything from the very beginning. Sunny, on the other hand, was trying her best to focus on the film but seeing Jacques Snicket alive and well was causing her to remember that he wasn’t alive and well. “But first, before I do,” Jacques paused again. His face was full of contemplation. Violet and Klaus looked at one another nervously and excitedly. They were about to learn everything and by the way, Jacques was hesitating, the two older siblings were sure that he was going to spill all of the answers to every question the siblings had. “I have an important update...it seems there may have been a survivor of one of the recent fires.”

All three children felt their faces drop and their hearts plummet.

“Did he say?” Violet and Klaus asked simultaneously in a desperate tone. The two older siblings glanced at one another. Both thinking slightly similar thoughts.

“Did you say?” the VFD agent in the film asked.

“Yes, that’s right,” Jacques said sighing again, nodding his head.

“One of our parents could still be alive,” Klaus muttered to Violet and Sunny.

And then without any prompting, Klaus’ mind repeated one word that made him feel a tad bit guilty. Mother! His mind screamed. Sunny glanced at Jacques and her only thought was Dada!

But Violet’s only thought might have been more desperate than both of her siblings combined. For her heart, soul, and mind were all screaming Mr. Lemons! She looked at her uncle’s serious face and she couldn’t help but feel excited. It had to be her father! It just had to be! That’s why Uncle Jacques said ‘he’s either dead or on the lam’. She reasoned. A smile appeared on her face as her hopes began to rise. He’s not dead...I can apologize. We can be a family again. My life...can go back to normal. She gave a quick glance at her siblings, even though she knew they were thinking slightly different thoughts, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt in her stomach but at this moment. She didn’t care. Her uncle just confirmed that her father was alive. “I never thought I’d live to see the day…” Violet said aloud. Her tone mesmerized but still entirely full of hope.

Violet, Klaus, and Sunny all stood and looked at Jacques Snicket as he paused once more as if he were giving the children time to register exactly what he had just said. But as the three siblings stared in complete and utter awe about what they just heard, something in the back of Violet’s mind didn’t seem right. If her father was alive...why wasn’t he trying to rescue her like he rescued her siblings? But before Jacques could give any more details to the three children.

As a terrifying figure stepped in front of the film, giving each sibling a haunting smile. Violet gasped, Klaus grabbed onto Sunny’s shoulder instinctively as his eyes widened and little Sunny began to whimper and shake. But each style stood frozen in shock. The orphans had been so shocked by what they had found that they had forgotten all about the person breaking into the Library of Records, and now they looked at a tall, skinny figure standing before them.

“I’m wild about movies,” Esme snarled, as she smirked towards the children. “Now who wants popcorn?”

Quickly, Violet turned the projector off just as Jacques Snicket was beginning to speak once more. Esme smiled viciously first at Klaus. “Why, hello, Klaus.” she sneered giving the thirteen-year-old boy a small wave of her hand. Her eyes glanced down at Sunny, “and if it isn’t the Baudelaire baby... did you miss me?” Esme asked leaning down slowly so she can be at eye-level to Sunny. Sunny retreated to behind Violet’s left leg as Esme slowly stood back up, only glaring towards Violet.

“ Go!” Violet cried picking up Sunny rather quickly.

“ Run!” Sunny cried burying her head into Violet’s shoulder as Violet and Klaus began to run.

Esme’s smile slowly faded into a look of sheer annoyance as she angrily took a step forward. As the villainess walked her heels stuck into the floors harshly, causing her to nearly trip.

“ Damn these stiletto heels!” She shouted as she pulled her heel from the floor. The children took no time running between filing cabinets in a desperate attempt to hide from Esme. As Esme walked, her heels continued to make tottering click- ing noises. For as long as the children had known her, Esme Squalor had been a slave to fashion, a phrase which here means, ‘dressed in incredibly expensive, and often incredibly absurd outfits.” This evening Esme was wearing a long coat made from the fur of a number of animals that no doubt had been killed in particularly unpleasant ways and on her feet, she had a pair of shoes with stiletto heels. A stiletto is a small, slender knife resembling a dagger, such as might be carried by a carnival performer or a murderer, and the word ‘stiletto’ has been used to describe a woman’s shoe with a very long and narrow heel. But in the case of Esme Squalor, on her shoes was a pair of stiletto knives where the heel should be. The stilettos were pointing straight down so that Esme viciously stabbed the floor of Library of Records with each step, occasionally the stilettos stuck, so the wicked woman had to pause and yank them out of the floor.

Violet, Klaus, and Sunny ran as fast as they could across the room in the direction away from both the exit and Esme. Esme followed as quickly as she could, doing her best to learn how to walk along the floor without her shoes getting stuck. The entire time, she was merely smirking towards the children reveling in their fear of her. Klaus pushed both his sisters behind him as the three siblings chose to hide behind the same row of filing cabinets. Esme sighed as she hid behind a row of filing cabinets herself.

Sunny held on to Violet as tightly as she could. “We’ve gotta get out of here,” Klaus cried as Sunny nodded her head in agreement.

“Not without that film,” Violet replied trying to locate Esme but it seemed to the children that she had vanished. “We have to go get it,”

“ Vi,” Sunny whimpered. Violet turned towards her younger siblings and she saw the look of sheer terror on their faces. Sunny held Violet tightly as she shook while Klaus looked to Violet with uncertainty and worry. Both sets of eyes were as wide as could be. With every second that passed and not knowing Esme’s location was scaring all three children, even Violet.

“We can’t let Esme get Sunny...again,” Klaus cried as he used his arm to keep Violet and Sunny behind him. “They can’t have her again, Vi!”

Klaus looked to his younger sister, who was burying her head in Violet’s chest, shaking in their sister’s arms.

Violet placed a hand on Klaus’ shoulder. “They’re not getting you either.”

The children looked around once more doing their best to try to locate Esme. But they could no longer hear her tottering footsteps. The children huddled closely together, they could have sworn they heard Esme muttering to herself for a moment, and then the three youngsters began to hear a terrifying sequence of sounds. There was a long and screechy creak! and then a loud booming crash! And then another long, screechy creak! Followed by yet another booming crash! And the pair of sounds continued, getting louder and louder. The youngsters looked at one another in puzzlement, and then, just in the nick of time, the eldest of the three figured out what the sound was.

“She’s knocking over the file cabinets!” Violet cried. “They’re toppling over like dominoes!”

“I’m filing you under ‘S’ for smashed flat!” Esme yelled, laughing maniacally as Violet pushed Klaus as hard as she could away from the falling row of filing cabinets. The row of filing cabinets thankfully missed all three children as it hit the wall of the Library of Records, creating a last crash! Sound as it damaged the wall. Esme growled when she realized she missed all three orphans. Esme began to push over another, which pushed over another, which pushed over another and now several heavy metal cabinets were crashing towards the children like a wave crashing on the shore. Violet reached out and grabbed Klaus as she carried Sunny, successfully pulling them out of the path of yet another row of falling file cabinets. With a creak! And a crash! The cabinet fell to the floor, right where Klaus had been standing. The three children breathed a sigh of relief, having just narrowly avoided being crushed beneath the cabinet.

“ I’m going to flatten you!” Esme screeched as Klaus began to shake and tremble as hard as Sunny was. “Olaf and I are going to have a romantic breakfast of Baudelaire and Snicket pancakes!”

The noise around the siblings was escalating quickly causing Klaus to feel too stimulated. “ Vi...I wanna go home,” he cried grabbing onto Violet tightly. Violet felt her heart break a little. She gripped onto her little brother and sister tightly, listening to the very unpleasant sound of Esme’s shrill laughter and the sound of filing cabinets crashing into hospital walls and tiled floors.

Violet sighed knowing exactly what she had to do. She turned to Klaus as she gently disentangled Sunny from herself and handing her over to Klaus, who gripped Sunny tightly. “You take Sunny and head for the door,” she instructed.

“What about you?” Klaus asked desperately.

“ Come out. Come out. Wherever you are!”

“I’m going back for the film, I’ll catch up,” Violet explained as confidently as she could, avoiding eye contact.

Sunny buried her head into Klaus’ chest as gently as she could as she shook her head in disagreement.

“But…” Klaus began.

“ Vi,” Sunny whimpered into Klaus’ chest.

She sighed as she looked into Klaus’ eyes, she gently patted Sunny on the shoulder to get her to look at her. Sunny turned her head slightly so that only one of her eyes had to open to see Violet. Violet gave both siblings a brave smile as she placed one hand on Sunny’s cheek and her other on Klaus’ shoulder. “I’ll be right behind you,” Violet said gently, although she wasn’t entirely sure how this was going to end. She knew how she wanted it to end and she also knew how she expected this to end. She gave her siblings one more small smile as she gently turned Klaus in the direction of the door and gave him a slight push.

“Peek-a-boo!” Esme squealed joyfully at the sight of Klaus and Sunny. Giving Klaus a vicious smile and Sunny a slight wave of her hand. “ I see you!” she hissed pointing directly at the two orphans.

Klaus gripped Sunny tighter as he ran behind a row of filing cabinets. Esme clapped her hands excitedly. “ I love games!” she squealed. “Are we playing hide and seek?” she asked in a chilling tone. “What do I win when I catch you?”

She took a moment to slap her own leg as she began to burst into laughter at her own joke. “ Cause I will catch you, Klaus.” she hissed in a tone that sent chills down all three siblings spines even if Sunny wasn’t entirely sure why she felt the chills. Unlike Violet and Klaus who both had some sort of idea.

Esme took another taunting step towards the kids, stupidly forgetting that she should walk as gracefully as possible, instead of rough and menacingly. “Ugh! These shoes!” As she pulled her shoe out of the floor once more, she glanced around for the third brat, the Snicket brat. Oh, how Esme would love to kill her. Olaf wouldn’t be able to get too mad at her if she explained that it was dark and she was haphazardly pushing the filing cabinets down and Violet had accidentally been the only fatality. She laughed amongst herself wickedly. Esme smiled as she could see the end of Klaus’ shoe from behind a row of filing cabinets, she stealthily walked to a filing cabinet in the same row as the boy and his baby sister. She placed her cold hands on the cold metal, ready to give it a push. But she tapped her nails along the side of the filing cabinet. “ Oh, Klaus, dear,” she called out, making sure that he couldn’t see where she was at, in case he garnered up enough courage to look. Violet glared towards where she believed the villain to be, her blood was beginning to boil. “ Why don’t you make this easier for your baby sister? And merely surrender, now?” she suggested counting out her long, slim, sharp nails waiting until she reached ten. “ I can convince Olaf to go easy on her...and you,”

Don’t you dare! Violet thought to herself as she continued to sneak towards the film.

Esme reached ten and sighed. “Fine, have it your way,” she growled as she tapped her stiletto-sharp fingernails along the filing cabinet as she turned to face the cabinet before giving it a big push.

Klaus gripped onto Sunny tightly as he rolled out of the way of the falling row of cabinets. The row of cabinets hit the wall and floor creating the loudest creak! And crash! Violet heard the sound and quickly ran out of hiding to make sure her siblings were okay. Esme caught sign of Violet before Violet quickly hid behind a row of cabinets. Esme began to rapidly push several rows Violet’s way. “ I’m going to destroy you, orphans! Heimlich Hospital is about to have three new patients,” she snarled and began to chuckle amongst herself. “ But I’m afraid it’ll be too late for any doctor to save their lives.” Esme cackled loudly and stomped her foot as Violet made it passed the falling filing cabinets unscathed.

Violet reached the projectors as Klaus realized he was the furthest from the exit that he could be. “Dammit,” he muttered. Sunny whimpered when she glanced towards the exit to see Esme standing by it pacing around in a small circle with her hands firmly on her hips.

Esme smirked when she noticed the two children looking at her from afar. “That’s right! You orphans are never going to escape!” she explained as she glanced around at the filing cabinets near the door. She smirked wickedly at Klaus and Sunny as she pushed the filing cabinets to the ground in front of the door. “The door’s blocked! There’s no way out!”

Violet began to breathe heavily in fear as she waited for the film to roll up. She glanced around to see if she could locate her siblings or Esme. No luck.

Klaus and Sunny tried to hide behind cabinets as they walked the opposite direction as Esme. Esme’s footsteps echoing the library once more. With each subtle click! All three orphans felt their hearts beating rapidly but oddly enough to the same pace as Esme’s footsteps.

Sunny held tightly to her brother as Klaus whispered, “What would Violet do?” to himself over and over again. He pressed his back to one of the filing cabinets, holding Sunny as close to him as he could. “What would Violet do?” he asked himself again, in a more frantic tone as Esme began speaking once more.

“You don’t have to hide from me, children,” she called out in a sickeningly sweet tone. “Maybe we can help each other?”

Klaus looked around frantically as he tried to listen to the sound of Esme’s footsteps to determine where in the library she was at.

“You see, I’m looking for something,” Esme explained still using that sickeningly sweet tone with the kids. “Small, round... full of secrets.” as she walked and talked, she pushed down singular filing cabinets, creating loud booms! Causing all three children to jump in terror with each sound.

Violet put the Snicket file back into its case as she listened to Esme ramble. She glanced down at the file in her hand. Esme can’t know that Mr. Lemons survived. She and Olaf would just go after him. She thought as she slipped the file into her pocket for safekeeping.

“Your uncle, Jacques Snicket, thought he could hide it from me,” Esme snarled. “ But now he’s dead.”

Violet glared towards where she believed Esme to be as Esme began to cackle loudly as if Jacques Snicket’s death were a joke to her and not a seriously traumatic event for Violet or her siblings.

Klaus glanced around until he noticed a possible escape out of the library. He smiled. “That’s something Violet would do,” he told himself as he pulled Sunny even closer to him. “I think we can make it to the mail chute, Sunshine.” Sunny glanced towards where her brother was pointing, she merely nodded her head as she glanced around desperately for their older sister.

Esme wiped tears from her eyes as she ceased her laughter. “ And I want it!” she shrieked as loudly as she could. As if she was in a contest with the filing cabinets to see what could produce the most terrifying sound that the three children have ever heard in their short lives. As she shrieked, she began to haphazardly push down filing cabinets, no longer caring who she hits as long as she hits someone.

Klaus took this time in Esme’s weirdly inconvenient mid-life crisis to haphazardly run towards the mail chutes, no longer caring if the madwoman could see him and Sunny because she is already sending filing cabinets flying in every direction. Klaus and Sunny reached the mail chutes only a few moments before Violet, who ran quickly glancing around to make sure Esme wasn’t near. Her breathing was heavy and her eyes were beginning to water as Esme’s footsteps continued to be heard even in the midst of every other sound that was terrorizing the children.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Violet admitted giving both of them a smile.

“You’re never going to get out of this room alive, you imbeciles!” Esme screeched as she continued to haphazardly push filing cabinets.

As Klaus opened the mail chute, Violet glanced at him and Sunny. She knew what she had to do. She had her doubts that all of them were going to make it out of the room. She quickly wiped her tears as Klaus set Sunny on the ground. Before Klaus could maneuver himself into the chute, Violet grabbed him and hugged him tightly. He tensed up at the embrace until slowly relaxing into it. He didn’t understand why his big sister was hugging him, but he didn’t care. He was so terrified and her arms felt so warm and safe. He hugged her just as tightly still not aware of her intentions. She released her grip from him slowly, wishing that she didn’t have to do what she knew she had to do. She wiped tears from her face again, once Klaus was distracted by hoisting himself into the chute. As Violet picks up Sunny, she begins to bawl. She holds Sunny tightly into her arms, the toddler feeling the same warmth and safety that her brother had felt when Violet had embraced him, wrapped her arms around Violet’s neck tightly refusing to let Violet go. Sunny didn’t understand why Violet was crying. She didn’t understand that Violet was equally as afraid as they were. But Sunny and Klaus couldn’t see Violet being fearful. From the moment they met their older sister, she was this powerhouse force that dared idiots to try to mess with them. She didn’t have fears, but as Violet sobbed as she held Sunny near, the teen forgetting that imminent danger was literally behind her. She sighed heavily as she disentangled herself from Sunny, handing the toddler to a rather confused Klaus.

“Violet?” Klaus cried out.

Violet shook her head. “I won’t fit,”

“I’m taller than you, how…”

Violet sighed as she looked to her siblings, correcting her previous statement. “All three of us won’t fit,” she admitted. “One of us has to stay back,”

“ No!” Sunny cried as she reached her arms out to grab onto Violet. Violet stepped back out of the toddler’s reach causing Sunny to bawl.

“I’ll find another way,” Violet said. Her voice was calm, but Klaus and Sunny could see that her eyes were wide with fear no matter how hard she tried to mask it. They could now see that, she too, had the ability to fear. It was written entirely on her face. Her voice was calm but they could hear the slight shake in her tone.

“That’s out of the question,” Klaus argued. “Sunny and I will climb out…” he began as he started hoisting himself out of the mail chute. Violet rushed to the mail chute, pushing Klaus back down.

“We can’t risk it!” Violet pleaded. “Esme won’t catch all of us, not if we split up. We’ll meet back in the unfinished wing,”

“No!” both siblings shrieked simultaneously.

“This is what happened with the Quagmires, remember? When we left them behind, they were snatched away.” Klaus cried trying to push Violet away so he can climb out of the chute.

“Yeah, but we stayed together,” Violet said pointing at the three siblings. “And he still managed to take Sunny.” she reminded him. “But the Quagmires are safe now. Sunny is, too.”

“ This isn’t safe!” Klaus cried.

Violet placed a gentle hand on Klaus’ cheek and knelt down slightly to do the same to Sunny’s. “Don’t worry…I’ll invent something,” she told them soothingly. The two younger orphans looked into their sister’s fearful eyes as she gave them a small smile before reaching into her pocket so she could use her last remaining ribbon to tie up her hair. Her siblings watched her trembling fingers tie up her hair loosely, they watched as her hair fell from the ribbon smacking her in the face. Her trembling fingers tried once more to tie her hair up, as Violet listened to the villainous laughter of Esme grow louder and colder, she felt a quiver in her stomach. She knew what she was doing was dangerous...but if it meant saving Klaus and Sunny. With sudden horror, the three siblings heard a creak! Right behind Violet.

“ Violet! Look out!” Klaus cried as he and Sunny ducked into the chute as low as they could as Violet turned around, gasped loudly, and jumped out of the way just in time to avoid the crash! As it hit the mail chute. Even proceeding to bounce a bit as it settled.

“ Vi! No!” Sunny shrieked.

“Violet?” Klaus cried desperately. The filing cabinet had hit the chute in such an angle that there was no way for him or Sunny to climb out of the chute even though they desperately wanted to.

Violet rushed to the mail chute, glancing down at her siblings. “I’m okay,” she told them as Klaus and Sunny tried to push the cabinet aside. But the combined strength of a thirteen-year-old boy and his toddler sister were no match against a metal case holding files on everything from the history of language to a large carnivorous feline found in sub-Saharan Africa and parts of India. “Are you guys okay?” Violet asked desperately.

“Physically? Yeah,” Klaus replied still trying to push the cabinet out of the way.

Violet stood there frozen in fear as Klaus and Sunny punched the filing cabinet angrily. Slowly, Violet sighed as she reached her hands into her pocket. She grabbed her father’s wallet and handed it to Klaus. Klaus looked at her confused.

“What…”

“You may need that,” Violet said holding back her tears. Her hands trailed up to her neck as she remembered how Olaf had taken her backpack from her. She felt the cold chain of her locket as she unclasped it from her neck. She opened the locket one last time as she stared at both of the pictures in them. All she knew is she couldn’t let Olaf take her locket. She knelt down to see Sunny eye to eye. “I need you to take care of something for me, Sunshine. Can you do that?” she asked sweetly as Sunny slowly nodded her head, beginning to cry. Violet clasped the locket around Sunny’s neck. Sunny was startled by the new, odd cold sensation that hit her chest, near her stomach since the chain was designed to be worn by teenagers rather than toddlers. Sunny put her hand on the heart-shaped locket and stared at Violet confused.

“No,” Sunny pleaded. “Yours,” Sunny wanted Violet to stop acting crazy and take her locket back and get into the mail chute with Klaus and Sunny. She didn’t want Violet to leave. Leaving is never good.

“Take care of that for me. I can’t let Olaf have it,” Violet explained, fully admitting to her siblings that she has thought of all the possibilities to this plan of hers and she accepts her decision entirely, no matter the consequence. Violet poked the heart-shaped locket. “My father gave me that so she was always with me... so she’d always be close to my heart. I always look in it when I feel like I need her,” Violet explained as she kissed both Sunny and Klaus on the forehead.

Klaus was beginning to cry alongside his siblings. “Violet...we can’t leave you,” he pleaded.

“Stand tall little soldier,” Violet replied, offering him a gentle, small smile. Klaus’ eyes widened and then his frown deepened when he realized that Violet had said a parallel of what she had said to him when they first met. When she first was trying to convince Klaus that it’d be better to let her help. ‘Stand down little soldier,’ she had said to him. Klaus looked into Violet’s frightened eyes and he knew exactly what she was doing and he now knew she had done it on purpose.

. “ I love you guys,” she cried. Klaus and Sunny watched as she wiped a few tears. “I will find another way out,” she swore. “You both protect each other while I’m gone,”

Klaus and Sunny look at her with broken eyes. “Violet…” Sunny whimpered.

“Just...help me move this filing cabinet,” Klaus cried to his older sister.

Violet merely shook her head. “Snickets take care of their own,” she said. She sighed and wiped her face once more. She looked at her siblings. “I’ll find you,”

“ There you are, Snicket brat!” Esme’s voice shrieked as Esme tried her best to run towards Violet with her stiletto shoes.

Violet reached into her pocket quickly. “Esme wants this! We can’t let her have it!” she said handing the Snicket file to Klaus right as Esme’s footsteps became even more rapid.

“ I knew you had it!” Esme shrieked as she reached where Violet once stood. Esme swiped her arm rapidly in hopes of hitting the young girl but Violet ducked to the floor quickly as she rolled away from the insane woman. Klaus took this opportunity to slide a bit further into the mail chute, holding Sunny close to him as he placed the Snicket file into his pocket. Esme pressed herself against the small hole that she unironically made. She reached in as far as her arms would allow her, barely able to touch Klaus’ hair. Esme whined and whimpered trying desperately to get an actual grasp on the boy’s hair. Her fingers fell through it before she could get a good grip. Klaus had half a mind to smack her hand back but he felt like that would give her something more concrete to grab onto so he just hoped that she wouldn’t be able to get him by the hair. “Gimme...gimme...it’s mine,” she whimpered terrifyingly.

Klaus backed up further into the chute, nearly falling down the chute. He glanced at Sunny who knocked off one of Klaus’ shoes, causing it to slide down the chute. The shoe made a swift sliding noise as it fell down the chute that to Esme it sounded like Klaus and Sunny had slid down the chute, no longer in her arms grasp. She sighed angrily as she punched the filing cabinet that created the obstacle for her. She turned harshly towards where Violet was heading. Violet was already trying to move the filing cabinets away from the door. Esme cackled as she smirked towards the young girl. The fourteen-year-old grunted and cried in frustration as she tried to push the filing cabinets out of her way. Esme waved to Violet as she pushed another row of filing cabinets towards her. Violet jumped out of the way just in the nick of time.

“I’m okay!” she called out for her siblings. She didn’t know if they had stayed at the entrance of the chute or if they had decided to start crawling now.

“ Not for long you’re not!” Esme screeched.

“Leave me here!” Violet insisted. “I’ll meet you back in our filthy, cold, inappropriate home!”

“ You’re all alone, Violet!” the woman began to cackle louder. “ How does it feel?”

Violet pressed her back against one, breathing heavily. Her hands were shaking too much, she was still unable to tie her hair up. “Come on,” she whispered as she listened to Esme’s footsteps. But then suddenly, to Violet’s horror, Esme’s footsteps disappeared. The only sound Violet could hear in the Library of Records was the sound of her terrified breathing. She closed her eyes, trying to slow her breathing down. “Do the scary thing first...get scared later,” she reminded herself.

She peered from the side of the filing cabinet. The coast was clear. She ran behind a new filing cabinet wondering why she was unable to hear Esme’s footsteps. Had the woman given up? Violet glanced around frantically until her eyes caught a door labeled ‘Exit’ that hadn’t been blocked by Esme’s terrifying game of Dominoes.

As Violet peered around the new filing cabinet, a loud swish! Came from behind her as Esme had taken off one of her stiletto shoes and threw it towards Violet.

“Shit!” Violet screamed, ducking quickly as the woman’s dagger heel flew passed Violet’s head entirely and had struck itself into one of the few upright filing cabinets. It stuck into the metal filing cabinet with a loud, metallic thud! That had Violet’s heart racing. She glanced at the shoe, imagining her head impaled and stuck to the side of filing cabinet as if Violet’s head were one of an animal that Esme and Olaf were going to hang on their wall once they were done with her. She shuddered as she ran desperately for the exit door.

Esme holding her second shoe, growled at Violet, as she began to, once again, push the filing cabinets down haphazardly. Violet continued to run as fast as she could, panting and desperately trying to reach the door. As filing cabinets she was merely passing by began to topple and fall all around her. The sound surrounding her was becoming all too much for Violet as she placed her hands over her ears as she ran.

Now the hardest part about life on the lam is that you have to keep moving, and Violet knew that all too well from her many years living with her father, who was on the run for a crime that he may or may not have actually committed. Violet knew that you would have to keep moving, often in a direction that seems wrong, dangerous, or an agonizing combination of both. Sometimes, as in this moment, in the life of Violet Snicket, there simply isn’t any other choice to make, even if you end up regretting your actions for the rest of your life...however short that may be.

Violet reached the door labeled ‘Exit’ with a thud! She grasped the doorknob and desperately began to turn it.

“ Give it to me!” Esme shrieked from behind Violet. Violet turned around to see Esme holding her remaining shoe up high over her head. “ And I’ll let you go, I promise!”

Esme reached the door that Violet had given up on as she stabbed her shoe deep into the door. Violet grabbed hold of the other door, right next to it. She struggled with the doorknob as Esme struggled to loosen her shoe from the door she had just stabbed. Finally, with a loud inhuman grunt, Esme pulled her stiletto from the door as Violet moved on to the third door.

“You’re a terrible actress, Esme!” Violet screamed.

Esme brandishing the stiletto shoe with the cruelest smile that Violet had ever seen on anyone including Olaf, stepped closer to the girl. “ Come to Mother!” she hissed as Violet struggled with the third door. Violet began to pound on the door.

“ Help! Someone help me!” she cried as the doorknob began to jiggle. Violet’s face lit up as the door opened, only to pale and lose all color the moment the door was open.

“ Hello, hello, hello,” Olaf hissed. One hand on the door, another in the air waving at Violet.

Violet’s eyes widened as she tried to close the door before she could even move the door a fraction of an inch, Olaf stepped forward, wrapping his arms around. Violet struggled in his grip, but he only tightened his arms.

“ No! Let go of me!” Violet squealed before one of Olaf’s spider-like hands crawled up her torso to her mouth, clapping down harshly around her mouth. Muffling any screams that Violet would produce. Esme smirked at Violet as she pushed one more row of filing cabinets down for fun.

“Isn’t it wonderful when we work together?” she asked Olaf as she placed her stiletto heel underneath Violet’s chin, the stiletto so close to the girl’s throat that she stopped struggling in Olaf’s grasp. Esme got in Violet’s face, offering the girl a cruel smile. “ One down...two to go,” Esme hissed as she patted Violet on the head.

Olaf and Esme began to cackle wickedly as they celebrated their win. Violet glanced back towards the mail chute, not able to entirely see in but she hoped that they were gone. She hoped that Klaus and Sunny listened to her. She didn’t want them to see her like this. Helpless and scared, with Esme’s knife still near her throat, she knew fighting would be stupid.

But unfortunately, for Violet Snicket is that her two younger siblings were huddled closely together at the entrance of the chute. Both shaking and trembling with fear. It would be useless for me to describe to you how desperate and terrified these two children felt as they watched Olaf wrap his arms around their sister and as they watched Esme poke at her with her stiletto shoe. There was no reason for me to describe how horrible it was to hear Violet’s frantic footsteps as she had crossed the Library of Records, or the odd, tottering ones of Esme as she had pursued the eldest orphan relentlessly. The sound of the filing cabinets creak- ing and crash- ing all around embedded into their psyches. It is unnecessary to describe the cramped and difficult journey Klaus and Sunny made up the chute, which was slanted so steeply that it felt to the two orphans like they were crawling up a large mountain covered in ice instead of a fairly short chute used for depositing information. It is ineffectual to describe how the two children felt as they watched Olaf and Esme force Violet out of the Library of Records after hissing several threats to her. It would be baseless for me to describe how the children felt when they had reached the end of the chute, which was another hole, carved into the outside wall of Heimlich Hospital, and found that Hal was right when he said it was going to be a particularly cold evening. And it is absolutely futile, a word which here means, ‘useless, unnecessary, and ineffectual, because there is no reason for it,’ to describe how Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire felt as they sat in the unfinished half of the hospital, with drop cloths wrapped tightly around them to keep them warm and flashlights lit around them to keep them company, and waited for Violet to show up because Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire were not even thinking about these things.

The two orphans sat huddled together, clutching Violet’s locket, her father’s wallet, and the infamous Snicket file, as the night grew later and later. And all hope of Violet escaping Olaf and Esme herself was growing fainter and fainter, the two younger siblings were not thinking about the noises they heard coming from the Library of Records, or about the journey up the chute, or even about the cruel, icy breeze as it blew through the plastic sheets and chilled the Baudelaires to the bone. Klaus and Sunny were thinking about what Violet had said when she saw the film that Klaus was now holding.

‘I never thought I’d live to see the day,’ Violet had said, and her two siblings knew that the phrase was just another way of saying, ‘i’m very surprised,’ or ‘this blows my mind beyond belief!’. But now, as the two Baudelaires waited more and more anxiously for their big sister, Klaus and Sunny began to fear that the phrase Violet used was more appropriate than she ever would have guessed. As the first pale rays of the morning sun began to shine on the unfinished half of the hospital, the two plucky Baudelaires grew more and more frightened that their sister would not live to see the day.

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doomedandstoned · 4 years

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Nicolas Perrault from Rage of Samedi Taps Deep Emotion in New Solo Effort

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By MelLie

NICOLAS "SCRIOS" PERRAULT -- some of you may have heard this name in the course of the German monster sludgers RAGE OF SAMEDI. German multi-instrumentalist, producer, live audio engineer, creative head in general, and bad-ass bassist of the aforementioned band. Often these artists are mostly referred to us in connection with the bands in which they play and we often know too little about their individual personalities and the solo projects they have to offer. Ashes on our heads!

After six years of walking the path of self-discovery and working on his authenticity as a solo artist, Nicolas has now announced the release of his first full-length album 'Shadows Cast At Dawn' (2020) on May 20th. That's why we should jump at this perfect opportunity to get a foretaste of the new album and take a closer look at Nick Perrault as "singer/songwriter" (a term that somehow doesn't entirely fit him).

With the song "Fires Within," Nick not only offers us a gloomy soul plough, but also a glance into his own soul. It is a gritty absolution punch, with abysmal soundscapes that deal with depression and anxiety. Emotional, melancholic, but in no way melodramatic -- a puristic and minimalistic-looking audio-active encounter with the emotionally frozen world and the breakout of those soul-damaging shackles. Like the Last Judgement runs Nick‘s throaty, heavy, powerful voice through the song and manifests itself like a memorial at the edge of the abyss into which the listener seems to look. This musical work is further underpinned by the impressive video-artwork, which was also created by Nick's own artistic hand.

I hope I have made you a little curious about the excursion into a border area of this heavy genre, which generally receives less attention here, and about the artistic work of Nicolas Perrault. Enjoy the ride through the abyss.

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'Fires Within' music video

An Interview with Nicolas Perrault

By MelLie (Doomed & Stoned & Sunday's Heavy Tunes)

First of all, a warm "welcome", on behalf of Doomed & Stoned and our audience, Nick. It's only been a few months since you answered my questions as part of the gang of Rage Of Samedi! But this time, you are in the spotlight with your solo project! It‘s nice to have you here again!

It's an absolute honor to get to do this twice in a single year, so thanks for having me!

Nick, of course I have created my own impression of you in the process of preparing for this interview - at the latest now you still have the chance to escape! (laughs) How would you describe yourself? Who is this guy Nicolas Perrault?

I'm a multi-instrumentalist, tattooer, live audio engineer and producer and slightly sociophobic. So pretty much your average vegan straightedge dude who refuses to get a real job.

What made you decide to sell your soul to the "Devil Of Music"? In other words, how and when did you realize that you were burning with heart and soul to dedicate your life to music?

I've always played instruments, starting with the recorder, then organ and piano, bass, drums, guitar, bagpipes, and everything else. Way back when I joined my first band (a grunge/punk three-piece) and first picked up a bass, I realized I had a lot to say and music quickly became my outlet of choice. So about 18 years ago, but I didn't think of it in terms of a career yet, that only happened roughly six years ago, so I dropped out of university and started to work on my solo project.

You have left some very manifold and genre crossing footsteps on the pilgrimage through your personal music history: PTAH (doom), MOONSAIL (depressive pop-blues), and THRENODIA (black-metal) in former times are on my mind, current side projects are WILLE ZUR MACHT (avangarde) and you are the bass-riffer of Germany's blackened sludge doom monster RAGE OF SAMEDI! To what extent were these different musical influences and band experiences important for your progress as solo-artist?

I've spent a decade and a half working in bands, which would usually split up after a while, when the band became more serious and the others decided they'd rather pursue "real" jobs. So after a couple of those, I grew tired of waiting on the right people and just started working on my own. But every now and then I'd want to experiment with different genres, so I'd start a new project. The reason I'm now releasing under my actual name is that I didn't want to be stuck in one genre. I don't regret any of it, as they shaped who I am and the music I play now.

At the mention of your solo project, I could see the glint in your eyes. May 20th is the day! Let's light a sparkler for a minute! After three released EPs and six years of working as a solo artist, 'Shadows Cast At Dawn' will sail into the world as your first full-length album, which you even produced under the name of your own label Yew & Holly, right? What thoughts shoot spontaneously through your head right now?

Yup. I'm just incredibly excited to finally release this thing! It's been nearly six years and about eight different entire recordings, several changes to the track listing, heck- there are two tracks on the album that I only wrote this year! It's been a long, tedious journey and I'm glad for everything that happened along the way, because it made the final version of the album so much better!

Nick, let's turn the spotlight on the background information for your new album now. How would you describe your it to someone who has never heard your music before and which instruments play a major role?

A genre defying journey through post-modern life in a capitalist reality, focussing on depression and anxiety. Almost all of the songs are two sets of drums, a minute string section of violin and cello plus baritone guitar and vocals, that together create soundscapes so vast you might mistake them for an assassin's creed map.

Listening a little deeper into your work, one does not miss your natural fondness for philosophical thinking -- correct me if I am wrong with my assumption. Where do you get your inspirations from? And is there a message you want to convey to the listeners?

Well, I did study philosophy way back when. I tend to use naval imagery to paint a lyrical picture of depression and bipolar disorder, as a means of sharing the way I experience the world. It's likely not the most accessible thing you will ever hear, but it's a sincere expression of myself and that's really all I can offer.

"Fires Within," btw. Also one of my personal favorites of your album - is the amuse-gueule for our listeners What is the meaning behind this song and what moved you, writing the lyrics for this song?

"Fires" is all about setting boundaries and tearing down unhealthy relationships. If you have people in your life that hold you back instead of supporting you, ditch their ass! They're not worth the time and will poison any creative endeavor. Everyone knows at least a handful of these negative feckers and so did I. I spent years trying to help them get through their shit, but whenever I needed them they'd be more interested in getting drunk.

It's an unburdening from dead weight we carry, a cleansing, if you will. The chorus says "look not towards time, it brings only decay and destruction " and I think this is key to ridding yourself from negativity. Focus on your ultimate goal, that transcends trends and mood swings, that lives beyond time, and let it guide you. Don't stray too much from the path, or these negative influences will be right there waiting to cut you down.

"Fires Within"

Call upon the wind To wipe the surface clean He brings the rain and with it Absolution To carry with it the dust And bittersweet memories lost

Look not towards time To save your soul from fires It brings only decay and with it Destruction The fires burn from within Feast on the sand and it's running thin

Turn away from everything you hold dear To keep yourself safe from despair Cause all they bring is but loss All that remains is darkness when they are all gone Darkness that stretches like shadows cast from a new dawn

I would like to make a short swerve to the album cover. It is the wonderful artwork of Maryland based illustrator Luke Martin (Suburban Avenger Studios) who counts some famous musicians among his clients (Foo Fighters, Queens of the Stone Age, Arctic Monkeys, Red Hot Chili Pepper and others). How does the artwork relate to "Shadows Cast To Dawn"?

I've been a huge fan of Luke's work for years and a while ago he posted this picture to his Instagram. I was looking for something very specific to use as an album cover at the time. I needed it to evoke claustrophobia and a feeling of being safe inside whilst at the same time showing an outside, detached from the rest, just out of reach.

So imagine my jaw dropping as I saw this picture for the first time. It just struck me. So I wrote Luke, if he'd sell it. He had never sold a photograph before (plenty of awesome illustrations, though) so needless to say, I was very happy he did. He basically captured exactly what I had conceptualized -- that it's an actual photograph just makes it even better, as the concept is very much abstract but now has an actual physical representation.

The title "Shadows Cast At Dawn" was something that I had floating around in my head for ever. So when I began to work on the album that became the working title. Since I've worked on it for so long, that title has- in a way- effected everything I wrote, so it seemed to fit perfectly by the end.

Is there a special favourite place where you prefer to let your ideas mature? - a kind of soul-flyer place? I know you live in a small, rather idyllic place and not in a vibrant artists' metropolis! Whereby this way of living has advantages as well as disadvantages for an artist, right?

I love forests, oceans and mountains, so I'm pretty much alright with any surroundings, as long as I can escape civilization from time to time. Living out in the countryside allows me to focus, as you pretty much know where to find people, if you're looking for company but at the same time, you know where you are less likely to be found.

Sure, I need to travel a lot more to get anywhere and there aren't as many connections to be made face to face, but digitalization has granted us loners access to that aspect of life from the comfort of our homes, so I'd say it really depends on what you need to stay sane.

With the release of this album, you could now realize one of your dreams. Do we have another sparkler to light? What else do you have in the works? Are there any future plans that float in space? Or do you still carry around another big dream in your head?

I've already started recording for the next album, so fingers crossed that this time it won't take as long. Apart from that, I really want to tour the world, but circumstances aren't exactly ideal for that, at the moment. Apart from the music, I also tattoo and paint and hope to be doing more of that alongside music in the future. So if y'all wanna get some ink, hit me up!

Thanks a lot Nick, for giving us a deeper insight into your solo project and the things that move you! It's been very entertaining having this conversation with you here. We all will keep our eyes upon Nicolas "Scrios" Perrault in anticipation of your success!

Thank you very much, Mel, it's been my pleasure!

Leave Me To The Waves by Nicolas Perrault

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bountyofbeads · 5 years

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‘Bleak’ U.N. Report Finds World Heading to Climate Catastrophes https://www.nytimes.com/2019/11/26/climate/greenhouse-gas-emissions-carbon.html

Bleak’ U.N. Report Finds World Heading to Climate Catastrophes

By Somini Sengupta | Published Nov. 26, 2019, 3:00 AM ET | New York Times | Posted November 26, 2019 |

Four years after countries struck a landmark deal in Paris to rein in greenhouse gas emissions in an effort to avert the worst effects of global warming, humanity is headed toward those very climate catastrophes, according to a United Nations report issued Tuesday, with China and the United States, the two biggest polluters, having expanded their carbon footprints last year.

“The summary findings are bleak,” the report said, because countries have failed to halt the rise of greenhouse gas emissions even after repeated warnings from scientists. The result, the authors added, is that “deeper and faster cuts are now required.”

The world’s 20 richest countries, responsible for more than three-fourths of emissions, must take the biggest, swiftest steps to move away from fossil fuels, the report emphasized. The richest country of all, the United States, however, has formally begun to pull out of the Paris accord altogether.

Global greenhouse gas emissions have grown by 1.5 percent every year over the last decade, according to the annual assessment, the Emissions Gap Report, which is produced by the United Nations Environment Program. The opposite must happen if the world is to avoid the worst effects of climate change, including more intense droughts, stronger storms and widespread food insecurity by midcentury. To stay within relatively safe limits, emissions must decline sharply, by 7.6 percent every year, between 2020 and 2030, the report warned.

Separately, the World Meteorological Organization reported on Monday that emissions of three major greenhouse gases — carbon dioxide, methane and nitrous oxide — have all swelled in the atmosphere since the mid-18th century.

Under the Paris Agreement, reached in November, 2015, every country has pledged to rein in emissions, with each setting its own targets and timetables. Even if every country fulfills its current pledges — and many, including the United States, Brazil and Australia, are currently not on track to do so — the Emissions Gap Report found average temperatures are on track to rise by 3.2 degrees Celsius from the baseline average temperature at the start of the industrial age.

For more climate news sign up for the Climate Fwd: newsletter or follow @NYTClimate on Twitter.

According to scientific models, that kind of temperature rise sharply increases the likelihood of extreme weather events, the accelerated melting of glaciers and swelling seas — all endangering the lives of billions of people.

The Paris Agreement resolved to hold the increase in global temperatures well below 2 degrees Celsius, or 3.6 degrees Fahrenheit; last year, a United Nations-backed panel of scientists said the safer limit was to keep it to 1.5 degrees Celsius.

There are many ways to reduce emissions: quitting the combustion of fossil fuels, especially coal, the world’s dirtiest fossil fuel; switching to renewable energy like solar and wind power; moving away from gas- and diesel-guzzling cars; and halting deforestation.

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India’s Ominous Future: Too Little Water, or Far Too Much

By Bryan Denton and Somini Sengupta | Published Nov. 25, 2019 | New York Times | Posted November 26, 2019 |

Decades of short-sighted government policies are leaving millions defenseless in the age of climate disruptions – especially the country’s poor.

THE MONSOON IS CENTRAL TO INDIAN LIFE AND LORE. It turns up in ancient Sanskrit poetry and in Bollywood films. It shapes the fortunes of millions of farmers who rely on the rains to nourish their fields. It governs what you eat. It even has its own music.

Climate change is now messing with the monsoon, making seasonal rains more intense and less predictable. Worse, decades of short-sighted government policies are leaving millions of Indians defenseless in the age of climate disruptions – especially the poor.

After years of drought, a struggling farmer named Fakir Mohammed stares at a field of corn ruined by pests and unseasonably late rains. Rajeshree Chavan, a seamstress in Mumbai, has to sweep the sludge out of her flooded ground floor apartment not once, but twice during this year’s exceptionally fierce monsoon. The lakes that once held the rains in the bursting city of Bangalore are clogged with plastic and sewage. Groundwater is drawn faster than nature can replenish it.

Water being water, people settle for what they can find. In a parched village on the eastern plains, they gather around a shallow, fetid stream because that’s all there is. In Delhi, they worship in a river they hold sacred, even when it’s covered in toxic foam from industrial runoff. In Chennai, where kitchen taps have been dry for months, women sprint downstairs with neon plastic pots under their arms when they hear a water truck screech to a halt on their block.

The rains are more erratic today. There’s no telling when they might start, nor how late they might stay. This year, India experienced its wettest September in a century; more than 1,600 people were killed by floods; and even by the time traditional harvest festivals rolled around in October, parts of the country remained inundated.

Even more troubling, extreme rainfall is more common and more extreme. Over the last century, the number of days with very heavy rains has increased, with longer dry spells stretching out in between. Less common are the sure and steady rains that can reliably penetrate the soil. This is ruinous for a country that gets the vast share of its water from the clouds.

The problem is especially acute across the largely poor central Indian belt that stretches from western Maharashtra State to the Bay of Bengal in the east: Over the last 70 years, extreme rainfall events have increased threefold in the region, according to a recent scientific paper, while total annual rainfall has measurably declined.

“Global warming has destroyed the concept of the monsoon,” said Raghu Murtugudde, an atmospheric scientist at the University of Maryland and an author of the paper. “We have to throw away the prose and poetry written over millennia and start writing new ones!”

India’s insurance policy against droughts, the Himalayas, is at risk, too. The majestic mountains are projected to lose a third of their ice by the end of the century if greenhouse gas emissions continue to rise at their current pace.

But, as scientists are quick to point out, climate change isn’t the only culprit to blame for India’s water woes. Decades of greed and mismanagement are far more culpable. The lush forests that help to hold the rains continue to be cleared. Developers are given the green light to pave over creeks and lakes. Government subsidies encourage the over-extraction of groundwater.

The future is ominous for India’s 1.3 billion people. By 2050, the World Bank estimates, erratic rainfall, combined with rising temperatures, stand to “depress the living standards of nearly half the country’s population.”

THE MARATHWADA REGION, stretching out across western India, is known for its cruel, hot summers. Hardly any rivers cut through it, which means that Marathwada’s people rely almost entirely on the monsoon to fill the wells and seep into the black cotton soil.

Marathwada is also an object lesson in how government decisions that have nothing to do with climate change can have profoundly painful consequences in the era of climate change.

In October, just weeks before the traditional harvest season, Fakir Mohammed led me through his family’s one-and-a-half-acre plot of land. A neem tree stood in the middle of the fields. Lie under it, Mr. Mohammed said with pride, and you’ll never get sick.

The same could not be said of his land.

The rains had been deficient for most of the last nine years. This year, they came late, and when they came, the thirsty ground drank everything.

Then, an infestation of fall armyworm attacked Mr. Mohammed’s corn. The millet was ravaged by a fly. The cotton had flowered, but Mr. Mohammed could tell it would be a paltry harvest. “We worked very hard,” he said. “But we’ll get nothing out of this.”

Worse, the rains this year did nothing to solve the community’s drinking water shortage. Even at the end of the monsoon, Mr. Mohammed’s well was dry. A dam nearby, built to supply drinking water to his village and nearly 20 others, had turned to scrubland, fit only for a few skinny cows to graze.

Water is so precious that the women of his family said they drank half a cup if they wanted a whole one. They went without a daily shower so their children could go to school clean and fresh. When their nerves were frayed, they smacked a child who spilled a cup by accident.

Every day, four government trucks came down the muddy lane to fill the village water tank, which met a fraction of what the village needs. Most people bought drinking water from far away.

Mr. Mohammed was grateful for whatever the clouds had to give this year, but he was also anxious. “There’s no water to drink, but at least it’s good for the fields,” he said. “I’m scared in my heart. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future.”

Mr. Mohammed, who says he is around 60, is not wrong to worry. Since 1950, annual rainfall has declined by 15 percent across Marathwada, according to an analysis by Roxy Mathew Koll, a monsoon specialist at the Indian Institute of Tropical Meteorology. In that same period, cloudbursts have shot up threefold.

But here’s what’s shocking. Also during that same period, Marathwada, along with the rest of India, has seen a boom in the production of one of thirstiest crops on earth: sugar cane.

Down the road from Mr. Mohammed’s village, on land that gets water from an upstream dam, farmers had planted acres and acres with sugar cane. Why? Because sugar mills had sprung up across the state, some owned by politicians and their friends. They were ready to pay handsomely for cane.

Bizarrely, the taxpayers of India, one of the most water-stressed countries in the world, have aided sugar producers handsomely. The government subsidizes electricity, encouraging farmers to pump groundwater for their sugarcane fields, as well as fertilizers, which are used in vast quantities for sugar. State-owned banks offer cheap loans, which are sometimes written off, especially when politicians are courting farmers’ votes. This year, the government has approved nearly $880 million in export subsidies for sugar mills.

With all those perks, sugar cane production has grown faster than any other crop since independence from British rule in 1947, making India the world’s biggest sugar producer, according to an analysis by Ramanan Laxminarayan, a researcher at the Princeton Environmental Institute. Three-fourths of irrigated sugar cane production takes place in areas under “extremely high water stress,” the World Resources Institute found.

In October, just before the Hindu festival to mark the harvest, another Marathwada farmer named Ashok Pawar sent me pictures of ruin: Freakish rains had washed away his soy and mung beans. No one in his village had seen anything like it so late in the season.

THE IMAGE of the pot-bellied Hindu god, Ganesha, that hangs above Savita Vilas Kasurde’s narrow doorway is intended to keep obstacles away from her family’s path.

The same cannot be said for the Mithi River, which flows a few steps from Ms. Kasurde’s door. Its path has been blocked every which way as it winds through this city of 13 million people.

Mumbai’s international airport straddles the Mithi; you can see the planes taking off from Ms. Kasurde’s street. Sewage and rubbish pour into the Mithi. A vast spread of high-rises have been built on land reclaimed from the Mithi, along with higgledy-piggledy working class enclaves like this one, perched precariously on its edge. They are the ones that flood first and flood worst after a heavy rain. The city’s other natural defense against floods, mangrove trees, have been pulled out to make room for concrete.

Ms. Kasurde is a seasoned veteran. When the water rises, she hauls her fridge on top of the highest table, unplugs the television, wraps her children’s school books in plastic. When the water is up to her knees, she takes it all upstairs to the second floor bedroom. The power goes out when it rains hard. Going to the shared neighborhood toilet means wading through fetid waters. “We just sit in the dark,” said Ms. Kasurde.

Mumbai got more rain this year than it had in 65 years, and several times this season, it came in exceptionally heavy downpours. The drains overflowed. The lanes filled with muck. Commuter trains were disrupted. Flights were diverted. Several times in Mrs. Kasurde’s neighborhood, schools turned to storm shelters. Those without an upstairs room sloshed through the water to get there.

After each flood, as the waters began to recede, they returned to cover their noses and sweep the water and sludge out of their homes. Mosquitoes can breed in the puddles of dirty water. A dengue outbreak was the last thing they needed.

This is what worried Rajeshree Chavan nearby when I saw her in the middle of the monsoon. She had managed to save her sewing machine, the source of her livelihood, twice this year when her ground floor room flooded. She had to throw away a sack of rice and her kids’ clothes.

It infuriated her that politicians came through only when they were trolling for votes. Even the state’s top politician was here earlier in the year, she said. He wanted the neighborhood’s support for the governing Bharatiya Janata Party, she recalled. He promised new houses for people on higher ground, in the northern suburbs of the city. He left after giving symbolic plastic keys to five families.

Bryan Denton, a photographer based in India, and Somini Sengupta, the Times’s global climate reporter, visited cities and villages around India to see how climate change and misguided policies are upending the country’s relationship to a precious resource.

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#climate crisis #climatechangeisreal #climateaction #climate change #climate justice #climate activism #climate protest #international news #world news #u.s. news #un report #us news #us politics #politics #politics and government

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supercasey · 6 years

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The Perfect Child

Description: Michael Peterson was raised to be the perfect child. Perfect grades, perfect manners, perfect actions... unfortunately, his little brother wasn't. When all you've ever known is perfection, how can you possibly handle average?

A/N: So this is my first “creepypasta”, although I’ve been writing for about six years now. I really love reading creepypastas, so I finally gathered the energy to write one of my own. It’s not as scary as it could be, so it’s more an allegory for my own insecurities. Constructive criticism is appreciated, but please refrain from being too harsh (I’m a huge wimp lmao). With that said, I hope you enjoy this piece!

Hello, my name is Michael. I am a seventeen year old boy, and I’m a perfect child. Please, allow me to explain:

I was born mid March, 2002, in Kansas. I was born on a hundred acre property, settled out of the public eye. When I was young, I saw nothing wrong with this. My life, as far as I could tell, was like any other child’s. From the moment I was able to walk, I was surrounded by other children, and for the most part, we were left to our own devices. The land we lived on held numerous barns, which were our room and board. We spent many a day running in the open fields, catching bugs, and playing small games together. We didn’t have names; we didn’t know what a name was. We didn’t talk either… no one had ever heard a word. No one screamed; those who screamed would be gone the next morning.

Three times a day, a siren would go off in all of the barns. Instinctively, we would all return to our beds (beds we had never once thought to move or not sleep in), and we’d find bowls of food waiting for us. It wasn’t sludge or nasty garbage either; we had steamed vegetables, baked chicken, eggs of all varieties, and much, much more. We didn’t know where it came from, it was always just there, waiting for us. No one had ever taught us to eat, but we ate in a dignified manner nonetheless, never spitting out our food or opening our mouths midway. After we ate, we would go right back outside to play in the sunshine.

It never rained. It never snowed. We had never seen a cloud in the sky before. The sun would rise and set indefinitely, and we never bothered keeping the time. We only played. Sometime when I was around four, my life changed. That day had been like any other; I slept, played, and ate. But that night… I went to bed, but I couldn’t fall asleep. This had never happened before. When I sat up and looked around, I saw a few other kids weren’t sleeping either. They were just as confused as me. Everyone else was out cold, unable to wake up, not that we tried to wake them. Suddenly, a group of adults filtered into the room, dressed in full body hazmat suits.

No one said a word- again, we had no concept of language- and we didn’t move either. We just let them approach us (an adult for each conscious child), pick us up, and carry us out of the barn. Once outside, they took us towards a building I had somehow never noticed before. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was easily three stories tall, and was painted white with a lovely blue trim. The adults took us inside, and in there, everything about my life was drastically changed. After being tucked into a brand new bed (though it looked no different from my old one) and falling asleep, my mind adapted.

When I awoke, I could speak. I spoke fluently, something no normal four year old could do. The other children could do the same. We could also read, write, and draw, things that were improved upon throughout the next year. For one year, the adults, who never once removed their hazmat suits, tutored and taught us within that house. We weren’t allowed outside anymore; that was for the little kids. I excelled at everything they told me to do. I washed the dishes best, was the most creative artist, spoke the most clearly, and was reading at a high school level by the time I was five.

The day before I turned five years old, I was pulled aside from the other children, and taken into the basement. I had never been in the basement before. It was nothing like any basement I had ever heard of, either. The walls were a beautiful redwood, and the carpeting wasn’t the least bit cold, even though I wasn’t wearing socks. Quickly, I was led into a small office, where I finally met an unmasked adult for the first time in my life. Behind the ivory desk sat a plump, mid aged woman with greying hair, dark brown eyes, and saggy skin. In front of the desk sat two women, both young and beautiful, decked out in their finest attire.

As soon as we walked in, one of the young women cooed at me- something I had never heard before, but I knew what it was from reading of it- and held her arms out to me. Without missing a beat, I smiled at her, and obediently walked up and hugged her. I had never given, or received, a hug before. Both women were ecstatic, and for the rest of the meeting, I was traded from lap to lap, both women taking turns cuddling me. The meeting was more of a business transaction than anything else; the lady behind the desk showed the two women a binder, filled to the brim with information on me. She listed my traits, my mannerisms, and health record. All perfect, just as ordered.

At the end of the meeting, the older woman- who I learned was called The Provider- seemed happy, and with a big smile, took a sheet of paper out of a drawer and laid it on the desk, presenting it to the young couple. It was an adoption form. The two ladies gladly filled it out, giving me my first and only name; Michael Damian Peterson. Afterwards, the employee who had brought me in scooped me up, took me out of the room, and got me ready. I was given a long bath, dressed in a red sweater with blue overalls, had my hair cut to be shaggy but short, and was fitted with a pair of white socks and black sneakers.

Once ready, I was returned to the young couple, who gasped and cooed at what I was wearing. Again, I was never set down, and they swiftly completed the transaction- handing The Provider a check for ten million dollars- and left. Internally, I wanted to run around the moment we stepped outside, as I hadn’t been outside in a year, but it was dark out and I was very tired, so I didn’t fuss. The couple took me to a sleek, brand new black minivan, complete with a hot rod flame design on the sides. When they opened the backseat, I was greeted with the sight of a large booster seat, and was strapped in immediately.

We left soon after, driving down a seemingly endless road. The windows were darkened, and with it being nighttime, I couldn't see a thing. It was then that the couple explained what was happening. Their names, to me, were Mama and Mommy, and I was to be their new son. They had always wanted a child, but due to their professions, they were unable to have or even adopt one through legal means. It was then that they were approached by a friend, who raved to them about the incredible work Perfect Children did. They then learned about a remote farm, out in the backend of Kansas, that specializing in producing ‘perfect’ children.

I was told, in no uncertain terms, that I was bred to be perfect, but they admitted that not every child bred by Perfect Children was that way. In fact, more than ninety percent of them weren’t even close to perfect. So… what happened to the ones who weren’t perfect? I was told that they were picked out early in the program- around five to six months of age- and placed into the Bad House. A little ways away from the main buildings, sat a large, decaying barn, that was overflowing with needy, loud children that simply weren’t good. Sometimes they got better, Mama admitted, but those were very rare.

Again, I was confused. What happened in the Bad House? Mommy filled me in. “Those children… who simply aren’t perfect,” She had actually sighed, clearly disappointed. At the time, I thought it was with the company. It was only when I got older did I learn that she was upset with the children themselves. “Those children are for slaughter.”

“There are people in this world- and especially in our profession- that also want children. But not for raising,” Mama had seemed… hesitant to tell me these things, but after getting a nod from Mommy, she swallowed, then continued. “Sometimes, people want to have an imperfect child for… leisure. Maybe when you’re a little older, I’ll tell you more, but for now,” She put on the warmest smile I had ever seen, and before I could react, a little screen emerged from the roof of the van. “How about some TV, sweetie?”

I don’t remember the rest of the car ride. In fact, most of my memories of the farm have faded. Most of what I know now was learned later in life, but I do, somehow, remember my fifth birthday. When we arrived at our destination, the sun was rising, and I could finally see out the windows. What I saw… was incredible. Just on the horizon, I could see a massive, luxurious mansion. Even from a distance, I could see the first bits of the garden, surrounding the mansion in a field of different flowers. Mama must’ve noticed my gawking, because as I was looking, she cheerfully told me that the mansion I saw was OUR house… my new home.

When we arrived, there were already people waiting. Mommy and Mama’s friends. None of them had children of their own, but they cheered as Mommy parked the car, and came running once Mama had me in her arms. The party was spectacular. Everyone brought me at least five presents each, and they all gushed over me, telling my mothers how precious I looked. My manners were impeccable, and I never once acted out. I allowed the adults to pass me around, and even when they weren’t hovering around me, I still kept up my manners. I even offered to clean the dishes, something my mothers assured I could do later.

That night, I was brought to my bedroom. The room was painted baby blue, and despite having unwrapped enough toys to last me a lifetime during the party, my room was already filled with plenty of toys for me. I was promptly tucked into bed, read a bedtime story, and given two goodnight kisses. I fell asleep immediately.

From then on, I was the perfect child. Once enrolled in school, I was the best of my class. I never once got anything lower than 100% on all my assignments and tests, I was friendly with everyone in my grade, and I volunteered to help my teachers at every occasion. My mothers always beamed at the praise my teachers gave, and when pressed for how I could possibly be so good, my mothers would exchange a knowing smile, and happily tell my teachers the same answer each and every time: “Love.”

When I was six, my mothers wanted another child. I was unable to feel any form of jealousy. A week after my birthday, I was left with a babysitter, and when my mothers returned home, they brought me a brother. He was five when he arrived, just like I was, but he was… different. Where I was well behaved and honest, my brother- named Kyle- was good… to a point. He was ecstatic the first few weeks, clearly happy to be living with me and my mothers, but he soon began to make mischief.

I remember his first big prank. It had been a few weeks after he arrived, and while we were playing quietly in the living room, he asked me for a cup of water. I did as told. As soon as I opened the fridge, a jug of Kool-Aid spilled on me. I didn't cry. I didn’t get angry. I cleaned up the mess, approached Mama, and told her what had happened. When she questioned Kyle about it, he burst out laughing at the sight of me, still drenched in Kool-Aid. Mama laughed too, at least a little, before sentencing him to a time out. He took it calmly, and afterwards, it was water under the bridge… or rather, Kool-Aid under the fridge. Mama never could get the stain out.

Not a week later, and another prank occurred, this time getting Mommy. Kyle had taken the liberty of collecting every grasshopper he could find and hiding them in Mommy’s purse. The scream she let out when it opened was incredibly loud, and instinctively, I fixed her up a mug of hot chocolate while she went about punishing Kyle. He got another time out, and was made to write an apology letter to Mommy. He did so, though his handwriting was sloppy, and the incident was again forgiven.

But his misdemeanors continued. It quickly occurred to me that Kyle was one for mischief, but wasn’t outright malicious. He just liked to frighten folks, and wanted to make us all laugh, though he didn’t understand why no one else found him funny. Things soon got worse. He too was enrolled in school, but he took it badly. While I continued to excel, he barely passed anything, and routinely got into fights and arguments with his classmates and teachers. I tried to help him; I took a few punches for trying to end fights, and even if I ended up getting on the other student’s good side, my brother would get right back into it the moment I stepped away.

While my mothers had taken Kyle’s pranks and misbehavior somewhat well beforehand, they didn’t care for his school troubles. They routinely lectured him as to why he needed to get better grades, treat others better, etcetera. But he refused to behave. By the time I was seven, my mothers had reached their limit.

It was June when Kyle was returned. I was woken up at three in the morning by a frazzled Mama, who I obeyed to the letter. I dressed myself in my clothes and followed her out the door, and into the waiting minivan. Kyle was already there, screaming and biting at his carseat’s buckle. Mommy was in the driver’s seat, panting and angry, but with determination in her eyes. Mama turned up the radio several times on the way there, but Kyle’s screeching was hard to drown out. I tried giving him kisses and hugs, but he only bit and hit at me. When we arrived at the farm… I felt an icy chill up my spine. I stood beside Mommy and Mama outside the car, the sound of Kyle’s sobbing almost deafening.

There were no children in sight, and The Provider was waiting outside the farmhouse for us. She greeted my mothers kindly, and asked what they were there for.

“A return.” Mommy had said, her voice chillingly calm.

“Oh?” The Provider had appeared confused at first. She turned to me, head tilted. “And here I thought this one was one of our best products… was there a malfunction?”

“Oh no, not with Michael. He’s just as perfect as we’d hoped,” Mama explained, all of her usual kindness and love on display. However, it seemed to slip away- like a mask- the moment she brought up my little brother. “No, the problem is with Kyle.”

They was an audible sigh from The Provider. “I should have known… yes, I hate to say ‘I told you so’, but I did warn you about that one. I must ask; what else did you expect from an imperfect child from the slaughterhouse? Yes, they’re plenty fine for some, but when you’ve only ever had perfection,” She smiled at me as she said that, patting me endearingly on the head. “It’s hard to deal with normal children after you’ve had a taste of perfect.”

“That’s why we’re here, ma’am. We’d like to make… a return,” There was hesitation in Mommy’s words, and even at seven years old, I could tell she was second guessing herself. “We won’t have to see it happen, will we?”

“Heavens no! No no no… we’ll take it from here,” Suddenly, a few men approached the car, opening the side door and pulling out Kyle. They weren’t the least bit gentle with him. “In fact, we have a customer coming today for a ‘leisure’ child… I’m sure he’ll adore this one.”

“MOMMY! PLEASE, DON’T GO!” Kyle’s screaming turned to begging, the terror on his face apparent. I’ll admit, some part of me was confused; life here had only ever been kind to me, if not a bit boring. What was he so scared of? “I PROMISE TO BE GOOD! I’LL BE PERFECT! PLEASE!”

“Please hurry with him; I can’t stand that racket anymore…” Mommy rubbed at her head, a clear headache coming on.

Immediately, I retrieved a bottle of water alongside some Advil for her from her purse, holding the items up to her. “Here you go, Mommy. I love you.” I said, not even aware I was doing so. I was rarely aware of my actions.

The Provider grinned at me, chuckling to herself. “You see how much easier a perfect child is? So attentive, always willing to fulfill your needs,” She suddenly came closer, leaning in as if she had some big secret only available for my mothers. “You know, we have a few new ones that are ready for adoption… if you’d like, I’ll give you a good bargain for a replacement for the inconvenience. Perhaps a daughter? We have some precious little girls that are raring to go.”

It seemed to do the trick, as Mommy and Mama brightened at the news. Kyle didn’t. “NO! PLEASE! MAMA, MOMMY, I LOVE YOU! I’LL BE PERFECT! I’LL BE PERFECT! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME HERE!”

“Can we see them?” Mama had entirely ignored Kyle, more interested in the little girls that were available. “A daughter sounds absolutely lovely.”

“Right this way then,” The Provider was quick to lead us inside, away from Kyle and the security guards holding him. “I have the most perfect little girls ready for you.”

I’ll be honest with you… my memory of Kyle is weak. Sometimes I think he was a dream. Other times, when I close my eyes, I can still see the smile he’d give me when he ate anything sweet, or played with me in the garden, or managed to get a laugh out of someone. That day, when we came back out to the car, a little girl in Mommy’s arms, Kyle was gone. I never saw him again. My mothers named my sister Scarlett, and just as promised, she was perfect. Together, we were perfect siblings. If one fell, the other helped them up. We played games together, but never roughly. We never once fought. We hugged and loved each other, all while strangers swooned over the ‘precious siblings’.

Scarlett also got perfect grades, was friendly with everyone in her class, and went out of her way to help her teachers. Again, my mothers were flooded with praise, and they grinned as though it was all their doing.

When Kyle’s old teachers asked about him, Mommy provided the news: “He passed away. Tragic, really.”

When I was fifteen, my life changed… again. Scarlett was thirteen. We had been at school, both at lunch together, when we were approached by two men in police uniforms. We cooperated entirely, and were led out of the school, into the parking lot, and into separate police cruisers. We didn’t cry. We didn’t ask questions. We obeyed. Once we arrived at the police station and sat down with the sheriff, we were given the news; Perfect Children had been discovered by the FBI, and promptly shut down. Inside the farmhouse, they had found all the records on every child that had been sold on the property. We weren’t allowed to see our mothers anymore.

Again, we didn’t cry. We didn’t ask questions. I held my sister’s hand under the table and we obeyed.

It’s been two years, and I’m only just beginning to become my own person. I’m still not sure exactly what Perfect Children did to make me the way I am… the FBI agent who lets me call her Mom says it was a lot of things; the food, the water, the subliminal messages that they played while I was sleeping, the chip on the back of my neck… but I’m getting better. We all are.

I’m living in a hospital for right now, living with all the other kids they could track down involved with the company… Mom told me it’s because we’re all too impressionable to be around regular people. We’re too inclined to obey, and now that people know what happened… they’re looking for us. They want perfection.

Scarlett handles things better than me. She can laugh on her own now, something she’s really proud of. She managed to prank me a few weeks ago. It wasn’t much, just switched my pillow for her’s, but it reminded me of Kyle. I told my therapist about him, and she says that I’m getting better, too. I can speak, sometimes, without being prompted. It’s not much, but it’s better than before. Yesterday, one of the boys yelled after someone stepped on his foot. We all got very quiet, but one of the supervisors started cheering, and pretty soon, other kids yelled, too. I can’t do that yet, but that’s okay. I’ll get better.

I don’t know where my mothers are… Mom says that they’re in prison, and not just because they bought me and Scarlett. I thought of asking what else they were in for- something that made me feel very, very wrong- but I didn’t. I’m not sure I want to know.

Someday, I’m going to get better. It’s hard to imagine not being perfect, but it’s also… nice. It’s freeing. I want to yell. I want to pull pranks. I want to laugh. Someday I’ll get there, and when I do, I’ll get out of this hospital and be a normal person. Scarlett wants to get an apartment with me, and I think I’d like that. It won’t be perfect- nothing ever will be again- but you know what? I’m excited. I’m happy. I’m getting better.

The kids they pulled out of the Bad House are doing better than any of us. Most of them are older- averaging in their mid twenties- so they act a lot like older siblings to all of us. They’re trying to help us yell, and think for ourselves, and take things. None of them are Kyle. I tried looking around, but I can’t find him. Deep down, where I’ve secretly always felt things, I knew I was never going to see him again, but… I had always hoped I could. One of the imperfect boys let’s me call him Kyle sometimes. He likes the name, and he reminds me of him, so we’re going with that for now. Scarlett won’t comment on it, but I hope she will someday. Any reaction is a good reaction around here.

For their hard work as tutors to us, some of the other perfect kids have tried to return the favor. We give them names, like how I named Kyle. They don’t always stick- Duncan didn’t like Lauren’s first suggestion of ‘Dragon Slayer’- but some do. We also help with handwriting, since almost none of them have ever written before, or read for that matter. Now when I go into the cafeteria, I can see a group of imperfects learning basic table manners, while a perfect girl tries to chew with her mouth open. Mom is proud of me- of all of us- and I think I am too. I’m not perfect anymore… maybe I never was. Oh well. I’m learning to not care.

Thanks for listening to my story… stay imperfect.

A/N: There! I hope you all at least liked it. If not, why not tell me why? BTW, the reason I gave the main character two moms wasn’t to try and be like “having two moms is bad”, I just want to normalize queer relationships, and if I can do it through my writing I like to do so. Have a great day!

#creepypasta #supercasey writes shit

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