#(though obviously the pages themselves will be static)

[gaydryad]

making slow progress toward a (vaguely) dynamic pokémon custom team template that mimics the Bulbapedia team flyout and after ... a ... While ... of essentially redesigning the element hierarchy from scratch with the help of a friend who is MUCH better at programming than me, it is beginning to Look

(the Absol screenshot was just one I had on hand for a stand-in, my final one will probably look a little different since I want to also add Mega / Partner Pokemon indicators if possible, and to also just tweak the info hierarchy a bit)

[rayquazing]

Prompt: Tess and Joel make a sex tape (could be either set in Jackson or the QZ) then they watch it and get turned on

*rubs my hands together*

NS*W, obviously.

He finds it as he sorts through a box of old belongings. An old tape, label-less, dusty. He blows the grit off of it, dusts it with his hand, holding it carefully, so as not to disturb the precious tape inside.

Finding a videocassette to tape over hadn't been difficult in the town of Jackson. So many basements to plunder for goods. Who would notice one little copy of Sleepless in Seattle gone missing? That had been three years previous, when they were first settling in. When they were first beginning to explore themselves in ways the QZ simply had not allowed for.

Joel had surprised Tess with the tape and an old, bulky camcorder, and a matching tripod to prop it up on.

He'd meant it for their children. To record a birthday, or perhaps a Christmas, but Tess, as always, had brighter, better, hotter ideas.

So they'd made a sex tape. Put on a good show for the camera. Gotten off to it a few times and then got bored of it, forgot it, left to waste untouched in a box of miscellaneous items. Hopefully never to be found by some innocent, unknowing stranger.

Joel can't even remember what's on the damn thing. He knows they fucked, but the details are entirely lost on him. And perhaps that is a good thing, because if he doesn't recall, neither will his wife. He smiles to himself, coy. This could be fun.

It's late when he comes to her with the innocuous videocassette. He sits on the bed beside her where she is leafing through a book by the light of a scented candle.

He has already locked the door, though she didn't look up to notice.

Joel places a hand on her thigh and clears his throat, drawing her attention from the page to his face.

"Hmm?" She quirks a curious brow at him, noting the tape in his big hands.

"Found this," he says.

"What is it?" She sits up slightly, body outlined nicely by the thin shift she wears to bed every night.

Joel gives a small, pleased smile, "'Member that video we made a few years back?"

It takes a moment, but recognition sparks behind her eyes, followed by a wicked smile, "Oh."

"'Fraid I don't remember much o' what's on here," he continues, spinning the cassette around in his hands. "Thought we could watch it, refresh our memories."

Biting her lower lip, Tess nods, "My memory could use some refreshing."

They have a television in their room; an ancient dinosaur of a thing. A great big black screen with a box hanging off the back. Below the screen is an attached VCR, rarely used. Joel blows in it to clear out any collected dust before he inserts the tape.

It feeds nicely into the slot with a click. And the TV turns from static to an image of a bed. Their bed, three years previous.

He grins, turning to face Tess where she remains leaning on their pillows. Joel strips down to his boxers, already half-hard, and joins her on the mattress.

His wife cups him through the thin fabric of his boxers, giving his thick shaft a squeeze as she kisses the corner of his mouth. Then she tucks her small body into his, turning her full attention to the movement on the television screen.

Joel tucks her head under his chin, rumbling pleasantly as two bodies work their way onto the screen. It's them, of course, Tess dragging Joel into frame by the collar of his shirt, standing on her toes, kissing him fiercely. They stand at the foot of their bed. He has his big hands on her waist, playing with the hem of her shirt as he kisses her back with hunger.

Wedding bands flash in the low light of the video, newly adorned in the early days of the marriage. This memory fills Joel with a decidedly unsexy sort of warmth, but it quickly dissipates as the couple on screen begins to peel away clothing.

He feels like a voyeur of his own sex life, watching himself undress his wife. Watching her peel away his clothing in turn. It's hot. His cock twitches in his boxers.

First Joel's shirt, then Tess's, followed by her bra, the loss of which has his hands on her full chest in an instant. Cupping her breasts, tweaking her dusky nipples lightly in a way that makes her purr in appreciation.

Next she drops to her knees, the top of her head just in frame as she peels Joel's jeans down his thighs. The man on screen huffs, then groans. The man in bed, watching the scene unfold, realizes, as Tess's pretty head begins to bob, that she's sucking him off just out of frame.

The lack of visual is frustrating, but then present Tess curls tighter into his body, humming softly and dipping a small, delicate hand into his boxers. She strokes him in time with the bobbing of TV Tess's head.

Joel's eyelids flutter as he swells to full size in her palm. He turns his head to kiss her hair lightly, and cups her left breast over the thin material of her shift.

There is a wet sound, followed by a light gag, and Joel on the television groans, reaching down to card fingers through Tess's hair.

"Get up," he says, voice thick with reluctance. "Tessa, baby, get on the bed."

Slowly, she ambles back to her feet, chin shiny with spit. She wipes her face on the back of her hand and gives her husband a wicked grin.

On the bed, presently, Tess gives Joel's cock a squeeze, then pulls her hand back. She tucks her thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and begins to drag them down his legs as the couple on the TV position themselves nicely on the bed.

Joel grunts, enjoying the pleasant view of Tess's naked body from a 3/4th's view. Past Joel stands over her for a moment, stroking his thick cock and, also, enjoying the view of her; lithe, strong, but still supple and soft; Tess. His wife.

After pulling his boxers down past his toes, Tess pauses for a moment beside his hips. Giving the length of him a few reverent strokes before smacking the thick head lightly against her closed lips.

Joel sighs pleasurably, eyes darting between the screen and his present wife. TV Tess is laid out on her back, both hands thrust between her legs as she fucks herself on her fingers for Joel's enjoyment.

Wet sounds fill up the room. Joel's cock twitches as Tess drops it and climbs back up his body.

"We're hot," she laughs, and she kisses him thoroughly.

Joel grunts in agreement, hands sliding up her sides, gripping her waist.

When they part she mumbles against his mouth, "Want you to fuck me while we watch ourselves fuck, okay, big guy?"

And who is he to deny his beautiful wife her wants?

"Alright."

They position themselves on the bed just as TV Joel is climbing over Tess's body. Her legs are parted in a way that the wet slide of her cunt is just visible to the camera. And the sight of it makes present Joel's mouth go dry.

Tess positions herself at the foot of the bed, on her hands and knees. Still wearing that damnable shift, but Joel figures he'll rip it off of her while he fucks her. She wiggles her ass at him invitingly, and when, on his knees, he sidles up behind her and lifts the hem of the garment. He finds that she is wearing nothing underneath.

On the television Joel is slapping his cock teasingly against her cunt. But in the present moment Joel has little patience for such foreplay. He slides a few thick fingers through his wife's waiting folds, gathering up her wetness before sliding those digits between his lips, tasting her.

Watching over her shoulder, Tess groans.

But the a loud moan from the television has both of their attentions. Joel, angled so the camera has visual on his long, veiny shaft, has pressed the thick tip of himself into Tess's pussy. Her hips wriggle on the sheets and she groans, panting.

"Easy, baby," TV Joel coos, taking her waist in hand, then, with a single pump of his powerful hips, he sinks in to the hilt, hips clapping loudly against his wife's.

Present Tess giggles, fingers working the sheets like a cats claws, "C'mon, Texas."

Joel puffs, not wanting to be outdone by his past self, and presses the fat head of his dick against Tess's tight opening. She mewls as he presses in, taking his time piling in inch-by-thick-inch. She's so hot, tight and wet around him. Every time feels like the first time with his Tessa.

On the screen Joel begins to fuck Tess hard, giving her little time to adjust to his size and heft. He grunts like an animal, grips her hips and pounds sharp little sounds past her lips.

Present Joel pauses for a moment, both sets of eyes entranced by the rough sex unfolding on the screen before them. Tess wets her lips, glancing back at her husband. He feels her walls tighten and flutter around him divinely.

"Fuck, Joel. Keep up," she goads.

And that is all the encouragement he needs to turn his attention away from the television and focus entirely on the woman he's currently inside of.

He begins to work his hips in tight, fast pulls, clapping against her ass in sharp fast sounds that fill up the room along with Tess's panting and his occasional grunt of pleasure. The sounds from the television speakers double the erotic symphony that clouds the space.

TV Joel loses any sense of performance for the camera. He lays his body over Tess, cloaking her, hiding her away in a way that is singularly possessive, but also deeply erotic in its own right. He laces their fingers together, kisses her hard on the mouth as his hips continue to clap into hers.

"Look," Joel exhales, and he leans over Tess's body, grabs her face, forces her to watch as they fuck on screen. "Look how much I love you."

Tess whimpers, pressing her ass back onto his dick harder. Her walls tightening up ever so slightly.

"Keep watchin'," Joel commands. "Watch while I fuck you."

Tess heaves a half-sob of pleasure and he reaches down her front, hiking her shift up around her hips and finding her clit with practiced ease.

Television Joel pulls back, lifting his chest off of Tess and leaning back on his haunches. He has her hips lifted a few inches off the bed, and he seems to become aware of the camera again because he angles their bodies so the lens has a clear view of his dick plundering her. Wetness shining along his shaft with each rough thrust.

"Look at that," Joel swallows thickly, eyes locked on the screen, cock beginning to twitch, balls going tight against his body. "Look at how we fit together, Tessa."

Tess nods frantically in agreement, "Fuck, Joel, feels so good."

His fingers move with frantic rhythm against her clit, and he feels her body stiffening up beneath him.

TV Joel lets out a staggered groan, hips beginning to falter in their rhythm, "Fuck, baby, I'm gonna come."

Tess replies, voice frantic, body writhing on the sheets with her own impending orgasm, "Inside, do it inside."

With a huff, present Joel leans back, shoulders rolling as their hips clap, losing all rhythm, "Whaddaya say, Tessa... you want it inside?"

Tess nods frantically, pushing back against him, fingers curled like talons into the sheets. Her eyes on entranced on the screen as her past self arches and comes with a long, protracted groan. Past Joel's balls slap lewdly against her rear as he shouts and follows suit. Rivulets of pearly white cum string along his shaft as he fucks her through it.

"Yes," she pleads. "Give it to me, Joel."

Since the main event on the screen has concluded, and the couple there is now resorted to gentle kisses and soft, cooing words. Joel leans forward over Tess's body as his hips slam into hers. He wraps his big hand in her hair and forces her cheek down into the sheets, bringing her body to an angle that allows him to fuck deeper.

Tess wails, eyelids fluttering as white hot pleasure wells and overflows inside of her, wetness gathering around his imposing shaft as he delivers a few penultimate thrusts then seats himself and comes with a low groan.

The screen flickers to blackness.

"Holy fuck," Tess exhales, rubbing her sweaty face into the sheets. "Holy fucking shit, Joel."

He has a hand planted on the small of her back, and gives a few more lazy thrusts before his dick is too sensitive and soft to fuck any longer.

"Still got that camcorder," he murmurs softly as he pulls out of her in a rush of white. "'could make another-

Tess pops up and tackles him playfully back onto the sheets, she kisses him long and slow, then mutters against his mouth, eyes hooded with desire, "Yeah, yeah I think that's a fine idea."

Joel laughs and kisses her cheek.

[gyubby99]

@disneyanddisneyships fiiiiiiiiiine. I still feel high after writing poetic sentences for schoolwork so yeaaaaa-

It had been a few minutes when Aponi had dozed off to sleep, leaving Alastor to get to have a full view of her face, for approximately soon-to-be nine hours or so.

The radio demon grabbed the blanket and covered Aponi, causing her to stir, but never she had woken up.

He looked at her eyes.. that was the first thing he did. How it'd shine like millions of constellations there is in the seven rings of hell as soon as she opened them. Strangely enough, he even noticed her little habits with them. How they told a million stories, an open book simply from one look.. and everytime he got to stare at them was like turning pages.. getting to know the lines written in them as he got deeper into it.

He never slept. That was a first. Usually he just got up and left to roam the streets, probably visit the cannibal colony once in a while for some fresh venison. The women absolutely adored him in there, always greeting him with a battle hero's welcome. But nonetheless he always viewed them as nothing more than acquaintances. A lane he thought Aponi would stay. Atleast, he thought.

He never expected her to become more than a pitiful sinner who deserved to be where they are, but he'd also heard that the heavens were overpopulated at the moment, and some had to be put down. When he'd known about her past lover when she was alive, and he changed his mind about one thing.

Aponi was just a pitiful soul.

He couldn't care less about some fallen soul, but he did. Involuntarily, as much as he previously hated the thought of engaging in romantic activities with her, he wanted to.

He loved invading her personal space just to annoy her. He didn't know these gave her mixed signals that lead to being a blushing mess whenver he did it.

That was obviously just his way of reaching out.

But he found himself starting to like touching her, albeit he disliked being touched. And when she touched him, he resisted the urge to have a radio static error right then and there.

He mistook it for irritance, though.

But then again he'd never felt that way in ages.

Alastor never got up and left, pretty much to his pleasure he laid there on his side facing his dearest.

And he stayed there.

The spots on her hair, the wings on her shoulderblades, the two other extra arms on her back, he always wondered how fascinating it was. Sure, there was Angel who had retractable arms, but there was something about hers that drew him in more.

Her neck. It was the first thing he noticed about her physical features. That was when he got the impression that she had hung herself after unspeakable events had occured.

A mark on her neck. For the rope she tied around it.

She was a butterfly demon. How an innocent mortal soul had been in hell in the form of something as beautiful as the insect that flies around the meadows.

How could anyone, such as her own self ever talk bad about such exquisite beauty? She was beautiful, every part of her was. But she always denied it.

If she could see herself the way he sees her now, she would die and kill for it.

Either way, what bliss?

He never understood miserable people, and how they lacked love for themselves. Maybe it was his apathy to other people's suffering, maybe it's his rare empathy for them. How they could be beautiful but sometimes wished they'd trade their beauty in exchange of other's.

He pitied them, but never felt for them.

Not until now.

For the first time in his afterlife, a person's misery was not amusing.

He sighed dreamily, his voice slowly fading from static to normal.

If I ever had such a thought, I wish my head were cut off for her to keep.

The radio demon himself. Willing to be a devoted slave for his dearest Lilly. He'd die and kill for her, and he knows she'd kill with him.

He would say 'til death to us part', but they're already past that phase.

[lotusik]

How I became passionate about folk magic. (July 23, 2020)

I hadn’t had very much interest in folk magic previously. I was always more interested in theurgy, everything to do with uniting with the divine, and I suppose I thought I didn’t need any other sort of magic. Or perhaps that as long as I was working hard on a spiritual path, nothing more was necessary. I admit that attitude is an awfully good example of the privilege experienced by a white woman born in Canada. Many others that came to North America, particularly those with brown skin have had a much different story to tell. How I did finally develop an interest in folk magic was actually through genealogy. My family lines come from various places in Europe, and one day doing research I discovered that one of those lines landed smack in the middle of the Pennsylvania Deutch (Dutch) community. Until then I hadn’t even known of any ancestors in America, I thought they had all come from Europe straight to Canada. Luckily for me that lineage was already well researched in books and the like due to the historical import of that community so I had much to delve into. At some point an 1820 book by Johnn Georg Hohman (John George), a member of that Pennsylvania Dutch community, came into my awareness. It was titled in the original German; Der Lange Verborgene Freund, oder, Getreuer und Christlicher Unterricht fur Jedermann, Enthaltend: Wunderbare und Probmassige Mittel und Kunste, Sowohl fur die Menschen als Das Vieh (The Long Hidden Friend, or, True and Christian Instructions for Everyone. Comprising Wonderful and Well Tested Remedies and Arts, for Men as well as for Livestock.) Later titles would incorporate the term pow-wow and the practice often was called pow-wowing (or powwowing), though it has nothing to do with the Indigenous peoples of America. The name was appropriated from the Algonquian languages and given negative connotations by the Puritan missionaries, becoming a sort of general term for magical workings. The book is often now published as ‘The Long Lost Friend’ or as ‘Pow-wows or The Long Lost Friend’.

This book contained spells, charms and all sorts of herbal and home remedies. Some of the spells in the book came from a German spell-book called das Romanus-Büchlein, (The Little Book of the Gypsies), along with some contributions from Albertus Magnus, or more accurately, pseudo-Albertus Magnus (works attributed to Albertus but more likely written by disciples). Other items in the book were quite unique to the oral tradition of the Pennsylvanian Dutch community itself. The healers that use those practices are called Braucherei, a female practitioner is called a Braucherin and a male a Braucher. They may also be known as a powwow doctor or a powwower. And yes, they absolutely still practice today! I’ve seen hexmeister used as well, or hex-doctor and that seems to be synonymous in some places with powwow but as far as I can see that was not very popular as it more specified working against illnesses caused by grudges and malicious intent. I’ve also seen the term used more often in relation to the painters of hex signs on barns and I am not entirely clear if that is part of Braucherei or something somewhat separate. There are some excellent books on hex signs but I’ve not been able to get copies sadly. All of this really got me thinking a lot about how perhaps my own ancestors may have practiced this form of folk magic and healing. Further, I started thinking how folk magic may well have been part of my own family’s traditions through my other ancestry lines also; Slavic, Celtic & Scandinavian. And thus, a real interest in these practices became sparked. Unfortunately due to the way Christianity swept across the world absorbing what it chose to and wiping out the rest, I have found it very difficult to find very much about original beliefs and practices in Slavic countries. Sometimes I find more in neighbouring countries rather than the ones I am most interested in due to my own ancestry. Though looking at the big picture, there is so much influence in individual countries from elsewhere anyways, for example the influence of the Celts is absolutely huge in many parts of the world. Borders in so many places have often moved many times, countries have been ruled by various different rulers and migration often imports new beliefs and systems into established cultures as well. The more I’ve looked at all these lines of history, the more convoluted it becomes to me. Researching about Hohman’s book I learned a lot of interesting history about it as well as about the influence it had on inhabitants of the Appalachians and on Hoodoo as well. The book was originally published for the Pennsylvania Dutch themselves, but later English editions ended up being marketed through Jewish mail order catalogues. For African-Americans in need of supplies for their magic, they had to be resourceful and make do with what they could access. Jewish suppliers soon found out selling Jewish religious items and hoodoo supplies to African-Americans was great for business. This led Hoodoo to be influenced by a variety of sources and practices. And one of those sources was Hohman’s Long Lost Friend. Learning about the influence of ‘The Long Lost Friend’ on Hoodoo led me to, obviously, learning as much as I could about hoodoo! There is a lot of incorrect information out there, but there is a lot of accurate stuff as well that can be found digging around on the internet thanks to some amazing practitioner-teachers. Just before Covid-19 started spreading across the world, I decided to take a chance on something called a “Steady Money Service” offered by The Hoodoo Queen in Mobile, Alabama. [The website is linked below.] All I had to do was send my $10 and I was in! I can’t say I was super expectant of results, though I was hopeful. I had watched many of Queen Co.’s videos and the information shared in them really rung true as authentic to me. Besides, it was only $10 and I figured it it well worth it as a first foray into hoodoo. But alas, Covid struck, and so I really thought there wasn’t any hope at all this ‘steady money’ service had even the slightest chance of working. In fact I thought the exact opposite was going to occur. So I felt pretty discouraged. Still, I did exactly what was detailed out to do on my end after the service when I received my ‘dirt’ in the mail (including laying dirt at the threshold of my house and burying an American dollar bill in my back yard after fastening it down with nails) and sure enough, I have had nothing but steady money since that time! While I am an open minded person, I have always been someone that wants some ‘proof’ as well. Even if that proof is only my own intuition or ‘knowing’, I need there to be something. And this to me, was my proof. I am very sure this service from Queen Co. helped open a pathway for money for me. Since that time, I have been studying everything I can of various folk magic practices from all over the world, and I have found they have so much in common. Yet in so many other ways they are marvelously unique. Tied to the cultures they come from but connected through all by the need we all have to get by on this planet the best way we can. I enjoy so much the creativity in these practices, and the amazing resilience of the people they came from.                                                                  ----------------- For Queen Co. The Hoodoo Queen, go here! https://conjuresouth.com/ For a lot more information on the Pennsylvania Dutch and powwowing please check out this link which has an astounding amount of research by Patrick. J. Donmoyer and also contains some really amazing images of artifacts as well. It’s where much of what I shared here came from as he has the best research I’ve seen. : https://static1.squarespace.com/static/56829c58a2bab87f93ee4d6a/t/58c178ef3e00be4c00782168/1489074429798/Reduced+Size+File+-+Exhibition+booklet+-+Powwowing+in+Pennsylvania.pdf Further I’d recommend the works of Don Yoder as well as the book The Red Church by C.R. Bilardi. For a more extensive history on Hoodoo and the contribution The Long Lost Friend had to those practices, please check out cat yronwode’s website luckymojo.com, its well worth your time!These two pages specifically: https://www.luckymojo.com/powwows.html https://www.luckymojo.com/hoodoohistory.html#admixtures

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Reading Area #1 (1/18/2021)

Click here if you’re like “What the heck is this about?”

Valera @autokrates joins Kyxs @usedhearts while reading in the library and pulls out some tea. They hang out and chat about, among other things, Kyxs's death, magic, weird inhuman reproduction, and alien/infernal politics.

Kyxs

Books always attracted him, like a fly to honey, and so it's no wonder that he finally ends up in the library. Most of the volumes on the shelves, he couldn't even read the titles of, but he'd found a nice sci-fi novel in a shelf and sat down with that, just casually flipping through it and skimming.

Valera

Hope Kyxs didn't think he'd get alone time, even in an estate big enough to get lost in. Here comes Valera, a leather bound alien text shoved under one arm, the other holding an oversized mug of tea. To their credit, they offer a little murbling trill in greeting before taking a seat across the way from him in a piled up coil of tail and armchair cushions hidden under a throw blanket. Ohoho, this fish is ready to get COZY.

Kyxs

He looked up with a blink when she entered, but smiled her way. He slowly shut his book and held it in his lap.

"Hey, Val, haven't had a chance to see you yet, nor a chance to thank you for inviting me along. This--" He gestured around them. "Is way better than being in a bunker waiting things out. I'm having a blast."

Valera

"So I can imagine!" They grin, then cock their head to the side and rearrange themselves so they can lean in to get a closer look at their guest.

"Extermination day is your..." Ahem. "*Death Day,* right?" They sound it out carefully, a clear division between two words that didn't belong together in their mind. "Happy Death Day, Kyxs. I hope you've been able to enjoy this one more than the last."

Kyxs

He chuckled, giving a nod. "It is, and thanks. Yeah, usually I have a drink of whiskey with Alastor and listen to the radio waves through the extermination and that's all. Having mixed drinks with my boyfriend and hanging out on a beach side island mansion? Maaaajor upgrade."

Kyxs laughed a little more. "So, still weird to know that we're all dead humans, huh?"

Valera

"Very." They snort, turning to put their tea on the end table next to their chair. "I've seen plenty of humans die, but not as many start walking and talking in new form right afterwards."

They tap the edge of their book, humming as they watch him. "I'm glad I could provide a change of pace for you and yours. I almost didn't offer! I thought it might be too forward with how little we actually know each other, and I'm a TERRIBLE judge on how humans or ex-humans will respond to... Anything, honestly."

Kyxs

"Well, I'm glad you did." He shrugged a bit, leaning his elbow on the arm of his chair.

"Y'know what the worst part of arriving in Hell is? The drop. One minute, you're dying peacefully, and then next--" They lift a hand, making a motion with a finger like something falling. A cartoon sound effect of falling and then a comedic smacking sound play on the air. It's as smooch as any Alastor's effects, but it's clear he's been practicing with the noises.

"You're falling and splatting on the ground. I had the unlucky fortune to do that a few scant minutes before the Extermination kicked off for that year, and as jarring as it is to just fall in, falling in on Extermination day is worse."

Valera

A frown. "I'm surprised you survived. Well, I mean.."  A dip of the head. "You *didn't*, obviously. But you didn't *double* die. How did

freshly fallen sinner not immediately get exterminated? You'd have been a walking target!"

Kyxs

"Simple: Alastor. He was waiting for me when I dropped in, immediately got me up and rushed me to a bunker. Didn't even ask anything of me until after the Extermination." He shrugged a bit.

"Without him, I'd have been double dead for sure."

Valera

"Ah. Must have been a fan of your work." They're just going to take a sip of their tea, don't mind them. They know you, sad radio boy.

Kyxs

His mouth snapped shut, but his expression is a familiar static smile. Kyxs takes a moment to blink and then take a breath, relaxing. He just had to remind himself that they were an alien, maybe they wouldn't judge him like other humans would?

"....Yeah. He was. He followed me, listening in via the radios around me, watching what I was doing. Said he liked my style, but that I could have more flair, more power. Offered to teach me, if I worked for him in exchange. I took the deal." He tries his best to act casual, but his next shrug is a little too stiff.

Valera

They watch him stiffen up, and roll their eyes at his carefully manufactured casual mannerisms. "Here's a little tip from your local theater major, kid. Alastor can get away with the stiffly smiling puppet man act because that's how he *always* is. If you flip the switch on suddenly, everyone is going to notice and be on edge."

Ssssip. Mm, good tea. "Anyway. Making a Deal with Alastor was stupid, obviously, but I'm glad it's working out."

Kyxs

He sighed. "I know, I'm working on it. I only have high school theater to rely on." He laughed, crossing his legs.

"Eh, not as stupid as some people might think. Alastor's actually reasonable, mostly. If he respects you, which I was fortunate enough to earn by my actions in life. He'll give you good terms then, but if you're an idiot and act like one around him, well..." He trailed off and shrugged.

Valera

"Earning his respect doesn't seem that hard... Unless you also want him to fear you just a bit." They grin, all teeth.

"Not that I'd know. I have *no* idea if any Alastors out there respect me. But I do have things they want, and that's good enough. The only ones I make deals with are the ones I know have a vested interest in my survival."

Kyxs

"I don't know about that, there's not much Alastor fears." He took a breath, his hand playing with the pages of the shut book on his lap.

"Which ones are vested in your survival? Or are you not allowed to say?"

Valera

"I disagree MOST heartily, dear boy! There's plenty he fears. But if you haven't figured out what yet, I'm certainly not going to tell you and ruin his fun!" They crack their book open, setting it in their lap as they tug the throw up over their shoulders. Hoohoo cozy time.

"I could tell you specifics, but I wouldn't benefit from you knowing. Suffice to say, the ones that like going to Earth for visits or ingredients make an effort to keep in my good graces. Free rides are hard to come by."

Kyxs

He nodded. "True, I don't know much about what other Alastors fear, only the one I know. Who can say which ones of them have the same fears?"

He leaned over, tilting his head to try and get a peek at her book. "What're you reading?"

Valera

A few seconds of watching him crane his neck, and they obligingly turn the book sideways so he can see text he absolutely can't understand. It was reflex, don't question it too much.

"This? Nothing special, really. It's a book on chronomancy, time manipulation and the like. This one is about creating pockets of reality where time is dilated. Not terribly useful to me, but I like to study the basics of anything I can."

Kyxs

She was right, he could't read it, but he enjoyed being able to see the script, it looked nice. That explination flew over his head, though, and he blinked. "Soooo, time travel? What's.....time dilation?"

Valera

"Time dilation is.." They pull the book back, brows furrowing. "To simplify it to an absurd degree, time dilation is where time slows down. So this teaches you the theory behind creating pockets of space where time slows to a crawl relative to the world outside of it."

Kyxs

"Think I read a fantasy western where someone could do that. Had to burn a metal with Allomancy to do it, though." He chuckled. "But that's....neat? Is that something you can do?"

Valera

"Oh yeah, totally." They toss the book at Kyxs, watching as it freezes in midair, then seems to fall in slow motion.

"I already learned how to break this kind of magic at its zenith, but I did it with brute force. I'm studying the theory to learn how to pick it apart instead of just smashing it with a metaphorical hammer. Because eventually I wont be able to just" here they whip out the airquotes, voice turning exasperated "'orbital drop kick' my way to victory."

Kyxs

Kyxs blinked as the book froze and watched as it kept slowly moving towards him.

"Orbital drop kick, huh? So you got a lot of raw power but no finesse?"

Valera

"Oh, uh. Yeah." They roll their eyes, reaching out to pluck the book from the air before it went too far.

"I ruin a lot of things, losing control of spells. There's actually a spot in one of my off planet estates that infinitely spawns chickens because I overcharged one part of a time weave." A pause. "So if you're ever hungry, paradox chicken is cheap."

Kyxs

Kyxs blinked again, and then laughed, putting his face in his hand. "Paradox chicken?"

He lifted his head and, still giggling, continued. "So, is it just a planet of chickens now, or do they disappear after a while?"

Valera

They snort, waving a hand dismissively as they settle back into their coils. "I put a portal underneath the point that whisks them away to a processing facility. But it sure LOOKED like it was going to turn into a chicken planet for a while there. I didn't exactly have a response plan ready for *an endless flood of chickens*."

Kyxs

"Endless chickens. You could solve world hunger-- or actually, ALL worlds hunger." He laughed again.

"Okay, what else have you fucked up magically?" He looks legitimately excited by this.

Valera

They sniff. "Oh you want to hear about all my FAILURES huh? Not my dazzling successes? I broke an entire MOON out of a time freeze you know!"

A moment, and then they drop the act, grinning again. "Veci learn to channel our magic through boards carved with symbols. They're rigidly designed and have a bunch of redundancies to keep dumbass kids from hurting themselves. They do all sorts of things, and ONLY those things. So I, of course, wired a bunch of them together and powered them all at once."

A long sigh. "Long story short, the whole kit and kaboodle went flying off into low orbit and is probably still going."

Kyxs

Kyxs laughed, harder this time. "Oh my god! Just bam, zoom! Off it goes! That's incredible."

He sighed and wiped at his eye. "Reminds me of when Alastor started teaching me magic-- nearly broke every piece of radio equipment I touched."

Valera

His host watches him, fins twitching as they hold their mug of tea in cupped hands. "Aw, hatchling's growing pains. I assume you've gotten better control since then?"

Kyxs

"Oh yeah, a lot better. I still don't have the simple finesse and control that Alastor does, but I'm also not a full fledged radio demon yet." He shrugged.

"I still have to concentrate for stuff that comes naturally to Alastor." To prove his point, an audience gave sporadic clapping after he spoke and he sighed.

"Like that. Still need to whip my audience into shape."

Valera

"So I've heard! You don't inspire the same fear, but you also didn't exactly spring into Hell fully formed and blasting Overlords with unfathomable power. Or whatever. I wasn't there for it, I'm sure his manifestation was greatly exaggerated."

Kyxs

Kyxs rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged a bit. "I dunno, I've looked into it, quite a bit, and most reports are shockingly accurate from what I can tell. Alastor doesn't like to talk about the specifics a lot, though. But he did kill just...a whole fuckton of sinners."

Valera

They shrug. "Sinners die all the time. But we're focusing on you here. Do you MIND that people aren't as afraid of you?"

Kyxs

"Not really? Like everyone's _so_ afraid of Alastor that he can't do much of anything without people running in terror. I can go places and do things on his behalf and even then people won't just up and run because of my mere presence. Being feared to that extent's gotta be tiring." He shrugs back.

Valera

Sip-- Oh, they're out of tea. Ah well. "Speaking from experience? Exhausting. Especially for someone who was previous used to being well liked. You should feel bad for him, but only a little. He did choose to do all that murder after all."

Kyxs

His head tilted, looking curious. "People feared you? Like they do Alastor? But....you're so nice?" His bright green eyes squinted.

"Though considering you can make a chicken paradox, I guess getting on your bad side is a bad idea."

Valera

Well, if he's going to say his piece.. They carefully set the empty mug aside, face blandly neutral as they speak.

"I was thrust into power at twenty years of age, unprepared and terrified. When people attacked me, I responded in turn. When their families protested, I held public executions, to prove a point. A plot of treason? I strung their bodies up for everyone to see!"

A shrug. "Once people see you pull the trigger on an entire city in response to something they did, they realize what they're trying to fight against only gets worse every time they try to put it down."

Kyxs

"Oh geez." Their eyes widen with each word and they look away, elbows on their knees and hands covering their mouth.

After Valera was done, they were quiet a moment. "Yeah, that'd do it," They muttered.

Kyxs sat back up, leaning back in their chair, arms crossing over their stomach. "I killed my father and brother. They were both my first victims. And then I went off and killed a lot of other people. Not a whole city's worth, but for one person just on their own? I killed a lot."

They shrugged. "I keep that under wraps for most of Hell, on Alastor's advice. Thought since you shared...." They shrugged.

Valera

What a strange heart to heart this is. They'd hesitate to call Kyxs anything more than a maybe-friend, but.. He tries. They offer a smile, one side crooked higher than the other.

"Weird that he'd tell you to keep a few murders under wraps, considering the circumstances! But I'm sure he had his reasons. Maybe keeping your victims from deciding to settle the score personally."

A beat. "Oh. I haven't done a widespread cull since I hit thirty, so don't... worry? I guess? I made a deal; ten years of compassion after ten years of cruelty. Six in now, and people have gotten comfortable enough to insult me to my face."

Kyxs

"I think it's less about the murders themselves and more me being a serial killer and all the media coverage I had before I died. Some people in Hell go real hard for true crime shit and have no qualms about stalking you." He laughed softly.

Kyxs's head titled, curious. "What happens when the ten years are up? Will you go back to doing stuff like that or do you think your decade of compassion's changed you enough to not do it again?"

Valera

"Figures, even in Hell where killers are in spitting distance on any given street corner, the big names still get creepy fans. Ever had people ring into the station over you yet?"

The question catches their attention, eyes alight with mischief. "I'd started to find the devotion to compassion rather boring, but then it lead me to Pentious. I _like_ being attentive with him. Making him happy makes _me_ happy. It's pleasant! And weird!"

They magic up fresh tea, offering a duplicate mug to Kyxs. "In four years time, I'll likely have young children to worry about. Another thing I never expected. So.. The best answer I can give is.. I don't know! This year alone has upset my status quo immensely."

Kyxs

He laughed, shaking his head. "No, thankfully. It helps that Kyxs isn't the name I went by when I was up top. I _do_ get people calling in thirsty as fuck for Alastor, though. In a variety of ways."

Kyxs shuddered a bit, and then grinned.

"Oh yeah, love can do that. Having someone to share things with is just really nice. Whether it's a friend or a significant other, it's really nice just being around people you like and care about."

He blinked and tilted his head. "Kids? With....Pentious? I thought sinners were sterile?"

Valera

"You are." They go back to cupping their drink. Time for more explaining! "Veci can reproduce with anything that has a soul. Sinners like you and Pentious ARE souls, condemned to Hell for your sins in life."

A pleased hum.. And then they snort. "Before you ask, yes I'm sure it works, and I've got the embarrassing story about Alastor being my midwife to prove it."

Kyxs

He blinks again at that and finally takes a sip of the tea she'd given him.

"Ah, hm, I don't think I want to hear that story yet. I don't think I'm mentally prepared." He chuckled. "But that's really interesting. Is it cause your people are so much more magically inclined?"

Valera

"You will never be mentally prepared. And if you ever are, you'll have better luck asking Angel. He was there too." A dainty wrist to their forehead, and they sigh dramatically. "My BEAUTIFUL spusband, my knight in SHINING armor.."

But no, Kyxs was NOT ready to hear the story, and Valera was not about to share it. Instead they grin over their tea, mischief in their eyes. "To answer your question. Yes and no. We're very magically inclined, but we're also genetically all over the place, compared to humans. For example, I bet you had two genetic donors, both normal husband, and you came out looking like either of them. "

Kyxs

Another rapid set of blinks. This converstation really was getting a lot of those out of him. "Angel was there?" He grinned at her display. "Well, that explains everything, he's definitely a knight in shinning armor."

He nods, very seriously, yes absolutely, knight in shinning armor.

"Yeah, that's pretty much how humans do it. Two parents, both equal in indignity." He snorted into his tea as he took another sip.

Valera

Oh no, there they go back into their dramatic swoon. "Of course Angel was there! He was the one whisking me away once things started happening, the one right by my side through thick and thin!"

And cue another sigh, flowery as you please. Then they snap back to normal, chinhanding at Kyxs. "I've got seven parents. All genetically related to me. Though the indignity stands, anyone who thinks reproduction is beautiful is wrong, and worse, they're stupid."

Kyxs

More blinking! His eyelids are going to get tired at this rate. "Seven? If it's not too weird to ask, how?? I only know about human biology, so forgive the ignorance."

He was trying very hard to not giggle as he took yet another sip of tea.

Valera

Kyxs' eyelids were going to be so buff by the time this was over. "Well, in MY case the genes were harvested and then patched together in a controlled environment. Yes, that's right darling... I'm DESIGNER." Hairflip. Anyway.

"But it CAN happen naturally. The optimum mating period is fairly generous, as long as there's enough.. traits.. mixed in there by the time the shop closes, the results can be any mix of the parents... Or you just do it magically. We've got spells to avoid the sexual part of reproduction entirely. Options are out there, suffice to say."

Kyxs

He gives a BIG laugh at the hairflip. That was a good one, tickled his funnybone something good.

"I see. That's really cool. So like, anyone can have a kid if they want, I guess the opposite is true too? Like there's probably magical contraception and all that?"

Valera

Good, they live to entertain!

"Of course! I just use the standard non magical medical solutions. Keeps me from having weird magic interactions!"

Kyxs

Kyxs laughed again. "Oh God what kind of weird magical reactions can they cause?"

Valera

"I mean, I laid three eggs. So failure is a common one." They roll their eyes. "No, I know what you want. Sometimes you change colors if your contraceptive doesn't mesh well with your magic. Or you can turn sparkly."

Kyxs

"_Sparkly?_" Their eyes get real big for a moment there. "Man, I want weird magical reactions that turn people sparkly to exist in Hell that sounds funny as fuck."

They laughed and set their empty cup aside. "I take it yours meshes, though-- or are you normally blue?" Kyxs smirked.

Valera

"I hatched *red,* actually." They flutter their lashes... Then snort and shake their head. "That's true, but misleading. Veci change colors as they grow up fairly frequently, nothing to do with contraceptives. No, I use regular old injections, good for six months at a time. Though my old magical one would sometimes make my horns get blue speckles. As far as side effects, it was pretty harmless!"

Now it's their turn to lean in, eyebrow raising. "You've asked *me* a bunch of questions, but what about you? Any magical contraceptives on your side of things, Kyxs?"

Kyxs

Oh, the blinking time is back, that's good. He laughed after, shaking his head.

"Oh, no, not that I know of. Sinners being sterile and all there's no real need for injections? I don't know what's up with the Hellborns though, so maybe they got some." He shrugged.

Valera

"Oh, boo. Though the idea of Hellborns making minor contracts with...." They trail off, leaning back in their seat.

"Oh my gods. Do they make deals with Stolas? No, no... Unless they were trading for information on contraceptive *herbs*. No, they'd go to Gaap, probably? He's the prince who rules over that sort of thing, if my memory serves. I haven't brushed up on my knowledge of demons in *years*." Plus Gaap was the one that Alastor had called on for them.. They should send a gift basket.

Kyxs

"I've been lacking in my demon studies, honestly. I know about Prince Stolas, but Gaap's not familiar to me? Is he a Duke or...?" He trailed off, shifting to tuck his feet under him on the chair.

Valera

"He's a prince, same as Stolas. Though, that's assuming your Hell works the same as some of the others I've been to. I'd honestly suggest you do your own research when you get home, if possible. Though if you want, I could ask Stolas when I see him on our coffee date." They shuffle deeper into their blankets.

"Do you want a refill on the tea, or is that enough for you?"

Kyxs

"Oh! Yeah a refill would be nice." He picked up his empty cup to hand over.

"Yeah I should. I need to be in the know more when it comes to Hellborns rather than just sinner Overlords."

Valera

A twitch of their fin, and his tea is refilled. Who needs TEAPOTS when you've got MAGIC ~~and a teapot and tea cabinet in the kitchen you can draw boiling water and leaves from~~?

"Indeed! Though, really I should as well. If I'm going to marry a man aspiring to conquer, I need to learn everything I can to help support him in his efforts. His greatest enemies, possible allies, how to manage them.. You know. Political stuff."

Kyxs

He takes a sip of the new tea. Ah yes tasty.

"Yeah, I've been putting it off a lot because of the politics. But considering I'm bound to the Radio Demon, and he's working with the Princess, maybe it's a good idea to look more into things."

Valera

"Take it from a politician. Politics are the worst and I hate them. Death to politics as we know it can't come soon enough." A heaving sigh.

"It sounds like a good idea. If you're going to help your boss, you need to know what you're doing. If I'm going to help my husband, so do I. We're together in misery!"

Kyxs

"Yay!" Kyxs gave a little fake cheer and then laughed.

"Well, as they say, misery loves company." He gave a shrug. "But you said you were planning on having coffee with Prince Stolas? Swanky." He laughed a little.

Valera

They groan, nearly vanishing into their own coils as they slowly place their book over their face. Politicsssssss....

Oh, right. Stolas. They remain exactly as they are, voice muffled but much more cheery. "We're going to meet up and swap parenting tips over iced coffee! He seems lovely, so I'm looking forward to it."

Kyxs

"That sounds so wholesome for a chat with a Prince of Hell." Kyxs couldn't help another giggle.

"Then again, Hellborns are a lot different from sinners. Who's to say they can't be wholesome?"

Valera

They wave a hand, vague and airy. "Parents operate on a higher frequency. We make eye contact and a bond is established. In that moment, we are allies in exasperation and adoration for the weird tiny people we're stuck with."

The book is brought down far enough to peek their third eye over at Kyxs, surprise tinging their voice. "You've met Charlie, haven't you? She's a total sweetheart, and about as Hellborn as it gets."

Kyxs

"Oh yeah! I have, she's really nice. I think my brain just slots her into her own category cause she's Princess." He shrugged again.

"She's very _very_ enthusiastic about things, which is really adorable. I really kinda wanna meet her parents just to see how they could've raised someone as sweet and compassionate in Hell of all places."

Valera

"You know, fair. She's certainly not like any other Hellborn out there, with that parentage." The royal baby, the little Angel of Hell. Poor Charlie.

And then her parents. Ugh. "I've heard very little about Charlotte's parents." They begin, carefully. "But I've heard nothing _good_ about them. I think Charlie's personality is her own doing."

Kyxs

"That's a fair point. I've heard things about Lucifer and Lilith, and none of it wasn't someone doing some ass kissing, sooo..." He snorted and shrugged again.

"It'd make sense if Charlie was mostly a self made Princess."

Valera

"Quite so, Kyxs." The book is finally pulled away, set on the table between them so Valera can have both hands free.

"Apologies, I didn't mean to derail the conversation. Was there anything in particular you wanted to discuss?"

Kyxs

"Oh, not really. I kinda like derailed converstations, makes it easier to go with the flow." He tilted his head.

"Alastor hasn't been any trouble has he? I mean, the one that's my boss, of course."

Valera

They stare at him, blank faced as they process his question. Alastor... Trouble... His *boss* Alastor.... Had he? Had he been trouble? Quick, brain, go evaluate a specific Alastor even though they all looked almost identical. Which one was his boss? Not Stick, right? No of course not. So that meant...

A few seconds of silence, and... "Oh! Not at all. He's lovely. A model guest. Good shot, too." Nailed it.

Kyxs

"Good shot?" His eyebrow raised and he lifted his cup for another sip of tea.

"What was he shooting?"

Valera

"Fish! We went speargun fishing together on the pier. It was very fun, he's good company." Oho, a purr from the fish, good job Alastor, wherever you are.

"I almost feel bad for worrying, all the Alastors have been behaving very well. So far."

Kyxs

"Oh never feel bad about worrying about Alastors making trouble. They'd never be rude, but I will say if they weren't your guests, they would be making a loooot more chaos than they are." He shook his head and smirked.

"Sometimes it's funny, sometimes....not so much."

Valera

They open their mouth to respond, then hesitate, tension tightening their shoulders. "Yes. Sometimes not so much is right."

... Not going to elaborate on that, Valera? No? Alright. "Well, with him at least, we managed to get along well enough with weapons in our hands! Always a good sign. Hopefully even when he isn't bound by his manners we'll muddle through, but we'll see."

Kyxs

"Well, if he didn't take a shot at you with a weapon in his hands, I'd say you're at least good in that he won't immediately kill you." He laughed again.

"I mean, not that he could? I think you'd be able to take anyone in Hell, honestly. Maybe not Lucifer himself, but you never know."

Valera

They grimace, shaking their head at the idea. "I could take Alastor in a fight, but I don't know about any Hellborn. And even if I *could* take them on, I wouldn't want to. Fighting is *stressful*."

Kyxs

He nodded and shrugged. "Fair enough, I haven't actually fought anyone else in Hell, so I don't even know what a big demon magical fight would be like."

Valera

"Oh, you haven't? Do you even know what you're truly capable of?" Now they're interested again.

"If you want to get an idea, I could always spar with one of my friends while you watched. Sparring is one thing, that's just playing."

Kyxs

"Not like, fully capable? I've gone into uhhh, my 'true' demon form a couple times but never to really fight? Or at least not anyone who was even near my level in terms of power." He used airquotes around the true part, and then shrugged.

"But I wouldn't say no to seeing some sparring, sounds fun."

Valera

"Sure! Probably not this time, but we can absolutely arrange something when less people are around to get in the crossfire."

They've abandoned the idea of reading by now, just a bundle of fish in a blanket sitting pretty.

"So, Kyxs. What do you want in Hell? You're stuck there theoretically forever, have you got a goal?"

Kyxs

They pondered that question for a bit, one clawed hand scratching at the base of one of their horns.

"Not really sure? Beyond like, doing the radio thing, learning from Alastor, and playing music, I don't have big overarching goals? I'm.... kind of content with that? Which is weird when you think about it, being content in Hell of all places but hey." They shrugged. "I'll take it."

Valera

"That might be for the best, honestly. But yeah, there's a pretty big flaw in Hell's design."

They shrug. "Humans can adapt to just about anything. That's your claim to fame. Give them eternity and they'll build civilizations, like they did on Earth, and like they did in Hell. Mediocre food? You get used to it."

Kyxs

Kyxs laughed. "Don't let Alastor hear you calling Earth food mediocre, he'll take that as a challenge."

He leaned back, tilting his head to stair up at the ceiling. "Kinda makes you wonder how Hell's supposed to be a punishment when it seems like more of the same. Maybe that _is_ the punishment? You think it's gonna be a change, but it's not. I dunno, I can't claim to know what God was thinking when he came up with it."

Valera

"Alastor can take it as a challenge, I've rarely had food from Earth that actually tasted good. It's not made for a Veci tongue to enjoy. If he thinks he can do better than all the other attempts, let him!" A snort, and then they shrug.

"I can't say much for your God, but they never struck me as the creative sort. Or as all knowing as they act. It's kind of embarrassing, like a kid who made a mess and then tries to hide it." They pause, raising an eyebrow. "Though of course, I get to say that because I'm an alien with gods I can punch in the face. Yours seems a bit loftier."

Kyxs

"Yeah, loftier." He rolled his eyes. "He's an asshole. Thought so when I was alive and still think so now. His sons aren't much better, any of em. Though," He giggles, "It does make me laugh that the family who where the biggest bible thumpers are the ones in Hell with me, the heathen, now."

Valera

Well that earns him a quizzical look. "What does that mean? What family?"

Kyxs

Kyxs winced a little and glanced away. "_My_ family. My uh brother and father. Huge Christian bible thumpers and yet," He giggled again. "They're both in Hell now too. Looks like all their hypocrisy got the best of them."

Valera

They scrunch their face like they just sucked a lemon, sinking further into their blanket. "Gods, I forget that people having families is *normal*. Sounds like yours wasn't great though. I take it you were responsible for their surprise entrances to Hell?"

Kyxs

"Yeah. Said earlier that I killed em, but yeah. Knife to the neck for dear old dad and just a bunch of stabs to the chest for big brother." His face also scrunched. "Really had hoped that they'd been exterminated."

Valera

"Well sure, but I don't know how much family you have. Had. Have?" Squint. "Either way, good riddance. Next round, just throw them into the street yourself. You want a problem solved, do it yourself and all that!"

Kyxs

"Easier said than done, I don't know where they hole up for the exterminations, and I doubt they'd let me in so that I _could_ toss them out." He shrugged. "Just have to find some other way, I guess."

Valera

Valera scoffs, pointing a finger at Kyxs. "You have a lot to learn, kid. I hope Alastor teaches you how to properly track a target by next extermination. It's all about networking with people who want to be in your good graces."

A dismissive toss of the head, and the fish rises to their feet. "Speaking of family we hate, though, I should check on my *own* brother to make sure he hasn't said anything stupid to any of my guests. I'll see you later, Kyxs."

Kyxs

"I know how to track people, they just have some...powerful friends." He sighed. When Val got up, he nodded.

"Brothers are the worst. Alright, see ya later then, Val."

He gave a little wave as she left.

[giant-dekubowl-ship]

Hooky is a DAMM GOOD webtoon and you should all read it.

Every want to read a long-running epic? Do you like magic and witchcraft in your stories? Is the thought of a colorful cast (literally and figuratively) enough to catch your attention? Do you like stories that are all about love - familial,  romantic and platonic? Want all of what was mentioned above to be renditioned in beautifully drawn and flowing tapestries? 

If so then Hooky - a webtoon by Miriam Bonastre Tur is just for you.

Its a story deserving of a seat next to the ‘greats’ people quote when talking about storytelling on the level of Avatar: The Last Airbender and the like. This is not being said lightly. The pitfalls of any kind of story that goes on for longer than a few episodes or chapters or storytelling arcs is that they may lose their way. Lose track of what the initial chapters were trying to tell or lose focus and bloat up into messy storytelling. This can happen in any medium and webtoon is certainly not immune. 

There are many great stories in webtoon - but many, just like a certain shonen jump manga which continued and stretched until the publisher itself decided to give it the infamous ax - continue their stories until they are unrecognizable. Sometimes, ending the story at just the right time makes a story that much more precious to its readers.

On webtoon, there are certainly quite a few great stories both ongoing and complete that have this ephemeral air of just right. Those kinds of stories that read confidently with the attitude of an individual who has a goal and will and does complete it. 

I personally have many series I hold dear to my heart which are themselves webtoons. Today though I’m here to talk about Hooky. 

The Story 

Hooky, a series so good, that if it were a manga I’d want it turned into an anime and if it were a comic I’d want it turned into a cartoon. And even as a webtoon, I just want someone to bring this to the big screens. 

Its a story about many things. At its heart, it's about love and the lack thereof it (as cheesy as this sounds). Divides from distrust, lashings from hatred, misunderstandings from miscommunication all looked at different levels. From the interpersonal to the societal. Miriam weives a careful and interesting narrative on what can quickly become a complicated and controversial topic. 

Its a series that starts off quaint and oh so very sweet. Akin to Disney's retelling of all the classic fairy tales. 

Two twins, Dani and Dorian dash through a pastel rendition of a Spanish village, dressed in matching black robes as they run late for their school bus. Upon missing their only ticket to the hidden rendition of Hogwarts this world has they have a brilliant idea to hide this from their parents. And instead, find a mentor in magic as an alternative. 

From then on its a swirling adventure as these children navigate a world they’ve obviously never interacted with. It's a fairy tale - but not from Disney - that takes some interesting inspiration from the famous stories fables. Hansel and Gretel being an example which comes to mind. 

Going back to comparing Hooky with Avatar - it’s a story with its high and low moments for the characters. Just like Aang, the main duo of this story, don’t always get to play around with their equivalent of Elephant koi. It’s at times grim but not overly gritty. It doesn't revel in life’s tragedies any more than it indulges in fantasy���s escapism.  

Our main characters find themselves in a world they quickly realize they know very little about and it is quickly made obvious to both us the viewer and the twins, that not everything is exactly as simple as it seems to the inexperienced eyes of the child twins. 

In a way, they are almost perfect reflections to us readers. Ignorant and oblivious to the reality of this open and unexplored world. Almost except for the fact that unlike them, we have some grounding story elements of the initial fables interwoven into the narrative. 

Taking inspiration from a story does not mean copying it however and this is certainly true of Hooky, which is it's own grounded and fleshed out tale.

The world-building starts off in the form of little one-off lines and details which quickly snowball into a predominant feature of the story. Something that demands the attention of both you and the characters. The story and its contents evolve and mature just like the characters as they grow up both figuratively and literally. 

Scenes and events happening as early as chapter one will come back later. Twists, turns, self-fulfilling prophecies - all of which given this series a wonderful re-read value (in addition to the first read-through ride). 

There’s so much I could say about Hooky and it’s story and storytelling. However, much of it is walled off behind intricate layers of world-building and scenes - all of which are too spoil-ery for me to justify, well, spoiling it. 

Instead, I’ll move forward to another greatly quality of this story: Its characters. 

The Characters 

This story’s characters are much of its charm. If you can’t find yourself enjoying Dani and Dorian’s antics along with their friends - then much of this story will fall flat. 

They should not though, because, every character it a well and finely crafted piece of art. 

First, we have the main duo: the aforementioned twins. Both are polar opposites in character, as many twins tend to be written - but both come off as very genuine and their sibling love for each other comes across even more so. 

It’s the little things that make them work. The sibling bickering, the disagreements that put them at odds but eventually bring them back together. The fierce care and protectiveness they have despite this and hostility that will sprout against anyone that attacks one or the other. They won’t be finishing each other’s sentences but no one else in the world would understand their unsaid words better than they do with each other. 

Dorian, the brother is the ‘book smart’, the skill. He likes to think of himself as a well-read gentleman but isn't all that prideful over it (for the most part). He doesn’t handle the more rambunctious boys his age well despite his admiration of them and needs to socialize. 

If there is one thing he’s proud and or defensive over it’s his magic. His wizard heritage and family name - no matter what the outside world’s opinion of it is hell stubbornly hold on to it. A flip side to his genuine and endearing clumsiness when friends are in the picture is the fact that he is perhaps more cynical or anxious than his sister. He’s far from perfect, but again this is due to his youth and inexperience rather than any lingering personality flaw. Throughout the story, he does many things, both good and bad - but everything he does is consistent and grounded as the individual he’s been built up to be. 

Dani is the more outgoing of the two twins, she’s more so the ‘raw power’ of the duo. Despite being just as sheltered as her brother, she’s a step ahead of her brother when facing the uncertain, confident, adventurous but rash - despite how this gets her into trouble. 

She is, however just as sensitive as her brother. In fact, all the while being more outgoing it can seem like she is more easily pressured by the views of others on her than her bother at times, the more easily influenced by the world around her. 

There is also a vast supporting cast of characters in addition to our interesting twin due. Some of which I doubt hesitate to even call just “side” characters with the role they continuously play. 

There’s Nico, a rambunctious village boy - who just wants to properly get the chance to grow up as a wizard’s apprentice despite his ‘lack’ of ability with magic. He’s first introduced as one of those ‘rough around the edges’ individuals with a somewhat un-empathetic temperament. 

As the story’s scope grows and as our characters mature with their experiences, however, Nico is quickly one of the characters who take the lead in his development. Considering where he started, he ends up one of the most grounded and wise characters.

Our next character is Princess Monica. As per her moniker - she certainly starts off impersonating her title. Stuffy, self-aggrandising, very obtuse regarding the lives of everyday people - the list goes one. Her introduction is set with her decision to embark on a quest to find her prince charming. 

Just like our main character duo, she is very sheltered, however. And quickly she’ll discover that her wants and beliefs may clash with reality. This pompous air (which may annoy some readers) thankfully, does not last long. Monica quickly blooms to be one of the most empathetic and hardworking characters within the story. Her blooming relationship with Dorian is as agonisingly anxiety inducing as it is heartwarming to see. 

I could talk at length about the other characters, but if I did this post would go on and on. But certainly, Mark, Alex, Damien, Will, Master Pendragon, the King, the Wytte family - all are intriguing and compelling characters which will keep you around if you’re not hooked already. 

The Art 

The final thing to this post is me just briefly discussing the art. If you haven't noted already from the screenshots - it’s gorgeous and unique. Here the author/artist takes full advantage of the medium provided to her. Scenes will flow down for pages, something only possible in the webtoon. Characters will talk in coloured speech bubbles, something only possible in coloured and static media such as comics. 

The art in this series is nothing close to static, however. It's dynamic and inventive in its paneling in a way that brings so much charm to the series. 

Emotional moments are that much more impactful as you, the readers, are swept through both dream-like and nightmarish scenes alike. Scenes will flow just as much as they will pause between panels, letting words and emotions soak in. They build up awe as well as they do tension and dread. The artistry of the author develops along with the story is nothing short of beautiful especially as we reach the current ending arc’s climax and denouement. 

To Summarise 

Hooky is a well-crafted piece of writing that I hope more people learn about and get to read. It's currently going into its final arc (as of writing this post) and I can attest that it certainly is worth the read. While as a story it enjoyed taking after the grim origins of our favourite fairy tales, it never forgets what it once was - a story about two twins just missing their school bus - and it makes sure to show the readers it hasn’t forgotten with a fairy tale ending fit for a child’s bedtime story its so sweet. 

[meaningofmotorsport]

My opinion of the F1 teams and drivers so far this year!

As F1 is currently on its summer break, I thought it would be a good time to give my report on how each team is fairing so far in 2021!

With this year’s car being very similar to the previous year’s one, it was expected that it would be as easy this year for Mercedes as it was last year! However, with some new rules which were clearly aimed at slowing down Mercedes, it has become a much more difficult prospect for them! On the whole, they have handled it pretty well, I don’t think they have the fastest car, at least over the tracks we have seen so far, so to be leading both titles is a good job, even if it has happened through luck and certain circumstances! Mercedes cannot be totally happy though, as they have lost out on a bag of points through strategy errors, and the car just not working at some tracks. Hamilton has not been perfect this year, with some misjudgements creeping into his game, yet he has been pretty close to it, and will need to stay at that level to keep up with Max. His fitness is a real concern, due to long covid symptoms! As for Bottas, with no wins to his name, and some pretty diabolical weekends to add to that, it has been a sub-par year for him to say the least. Plus, now was when he least needed it, with a massive threat from Russell for his seat!

Despite it being their best start to a season for many years, Red Bull have been massively unlucky so far. If luck was on their side, they would have a big title lead in both standings, but that is not how it has worked out, and the team needs to pick themselves up and come back stronger! They have the fastest car, Perez is getting better by the weekend, and with Lewis showing signs of weakness, and Mercedes potentially signing Russell, it could cause drama at their team too! This season could well come down to the mental strength of Red Bull, which they showed none of after Silverstone, and their overreaction undoubtedly distracted them going into Hungary, where Mercedes beat them in qualifying! Much like Lewis, Max has been near perfect, only some slight errors earlier in the year, and perhaps he needs to tone down the aggression a bit! Otherwise, he has what it takes to bring down Mercedes! Perez would have hoped for more when the season began, whilst there have been highs, there have also been many performances, especially on a Saturday, which have been underwhelming! If he can just gain a few tenths, to put himself above McLaren and Ferrari, and start to upset Mercedes in the race, it would be perfect for Red Bull!

There were high expectations for McLaren going into this year, off the back of 2 growing years for the team, and with a new star driver coming in. In some ways they have matched that, if not bettered it, as Norris is currently sat in an incredible 3rd in the driver’s championship, after a superbly consistent year. Yet with Ricciardo, it has been rather lacklustre on the most part! Obviously coming to a new team won’t be easy, however, he has been the slowest to adapt by far, and even by now isn’t quite where he should be. I think he will get there eventually; it is just the little nuances of the car he is struggling to work around! This team may be the best as a unit so far in 2021, as we have rarely seen them miss a trick at all. Despite this, the fight with Ferrari will be a tough one, and will require both drivers to be up at the front!

The gains that Ferrari have been able to make in what has been a pretty static rule set from last year to this, is impressive to say the least! This has mostly been on the engine side, after the circumstances with their 2019 engine, that I am sure we are all aware of! Leclerc has once again been getting the most out of the Ferrari, including 2 pole positions, however, there have also been some big mistakes in there too, namely at Monaco, which could even have cost them a win! Sainz has adapted the best to his new surroundings of all the drivers who moved, as he was right with Charles from the first round of the year! A couple of podiums show that he has been pushing his teammate hard all year, much more than most people probably expected! That could be their biggest strength in the fight with McLaren, if they still aren’t able to get Ricciardo fully up to speed!

For the most part, it has been another year where Alpine (Renault) has not been able to fight where a manufacturer should be, and the positive trajectory from a couple of years ago has faded away really! That being said, another part of sport is making the most of the opportunities that are handed to you, which Alpine certainly did last time out at Hungary! It was clear that they were slower than the Aston Martin there, yet Ocon and the team got the job done, and I hope this will act as a bounce pad, not only for the rest of this year but also going forwards! Over the 11 races so far, Alonso has really been the better driver, especially given he has just returned from some time out of the sport. Ocon is a very talented driver, he just needs to show it more consistently, at least he has the security of a long term contract!

AlphaTauri looked ominous in pre-season testing, and the expectation was that they would at least be in the battle for 3rd in the constructors, if not winning it! The reality has been far from that though, partly due to strategy and driver errors, and also just a lack of race pace! In qualifying they have been probably 3rd or 4th best, with Gasly at least, but it isn’t often they finish there! Pierre has been one of the stars of the year so far, as whilst there have been some slip ups, he has been maximising the car he has mostly! Tsunoda arrived on the scene with so much hype around him, and in Bahrain he matched the hype, however it has been downhill for the majority of the time since then. Overdriving seems to be the main issue for him currently, as he just expects too much from himself at this stage in his career!

2020 was probably the best year ever for the Silverstone based team throughout all its previous guises. I didn’t see anything wrong with them copying the Mercedes, copying has always happened in our sport, so it was nothing new really. The problem with copying the best team on the grid, is that rule changes will be aimed at slowing you down, and as we have seen this year, it has really damaged Aston Martin in terms of car performance. Bearing that in mind, they have made the best of a bad situation, with some very promising results coming to them throughout the year! Vettel has been reinvigorated at the team, as he may not be a top level driver, but he has made a step forward from his final years at Ferrari. Stroll as you would expect has not been able to match him most of the time, but has not embarrassed himself either, as he gains experience during his time in F1.

When Williams said they had make a ‘peaky’ car for this campaign, it had the potential to work really well for them, as being consistently out of the points means nothing, as opposed to 1 point scoring race! The team was tremendously unlucky to not score points before Hungary, although they have now got what they deserved, with a huge 10 point haul for them! That may be enough to stay 8th, however, they may even be able to grow their lead further in the remaining 12 races! Russell for the most part has been outstanding in what is still a poor car. There have been a few blemishes, such as Imola, but everything else he does is the best advertisement possible to Mercedes, as to why he should be there next year! Latifi has mostly been hidden behind the limelight of George. On the odd occasion he will push him very hard, which is good to see, I am just not sure if it is enough to keep his seat!

Alfa Romeo came to join the Sauber team on such a high note back in 2018, as they grew the star of Leclerc, before he went to Ferrari! Since that point, points have been hard to come by for them, as they battled to stay above the bottom of the table. They should be able to do it again this year, however their position won’t be that satisfying! Their performance isn’t helped by 2 drivers who aren’t a match for the rest of the grid. Kimi in his prime was an excellent driver, but this year especially he hasn’t really shown much to write home about! Giovinazzi has had a few years now to grow in the sport, and although he is beating Kimi very often, he isn’t showing any signs of being a star of the future. I think a driver overhaul for next year would do them a world of good!

It has been a woeful year for Haas, as an underdeveloped car with 2 rookie drivers, is a painful combination. As they focus on 2022, the good thing is that their drivers seem to be improving as the year goes on, to prepare for what they hope will be an upturn in results! Schumacher has been a class above Mazepin, as we thought would happen. It was also nice to see him get his elbows out whilst battling with some of the top runners, even if it didn’t last long! Mick just needs to tune out the crashes we have seen from him this season, otherwise he could have a promising career ahead of him! Nikita has at least stopped his habit of crashing, which plagued him to start the season, now he just needs to get on terms with his teammate in both qualifying and the race.

If the second half of this year is as good as the first, we could have a monumental season on our hands! All I hope is that we have a title fight which goes right down to Abu Dhabi, for the first time since 2016, and maybe some drama along the way to keep it like that!

-M

Thank you very much for reading this article! To keep up to date with when they go out, and to see my reactions to races and other news, follow me on Twitter at: https://twitter.com/MeaningofMotor1

Also, if you want to support me, I have a Patreon Page at: https://www.patreon.com/meaningofmotorsport

[alindae-anne]

So, I'm a writer and could call myself an artist, but definitely not talented in the drawing form. This is why I rely on random key word searches in Google images to find ideas for what I'm envisioning as characters and settings in my novel. Above is what I liked best for a possible cover. Obviously not the literal cover but sort of what I had in mind, or what someone could base their own sketch off of.

Can you guess the genre?😏

I want to use this blog as a sort of collection for all my thoughts (overexaggerated angst) through my process of finishing this fucking beast of a novel. I've taken a novel writing and a novel revision course and have 50000 words but have sooo much more to write🤬 love it but hate it. Isn't that how it always goes, though?

Don't even know how to use Tumblr. There is probably a way I could stick this post to like a static page? Is swearing allowed? Guess I'll find out.

My Novel is called "Tomorrow," and it follows two specific timelines: one is 1st person pov of Siarra ([see-AR-AH] so you pronounce the 'r' like the word "ARE" and yes this distinction is necessary because everyone in my workshop group pronounced it wrong when they gave me verbal feedback in class) and the other is 3rd person limited omniscient of Dr. Darius Grey. I'll make another post with a synopsis later after I figure this shit out.

Mostly this blog is for myself because the scatterbrained thoughts in my head always seem to organize themselves better when I type or hand write them. Plus it will help me look back on my progression. So if you are still reading then this is where I give you permission to not care any more and leave the mess of the thing I call my mind. But if you want to stay and hangout then feel free🤪

Checkout my blog on wordpress!

You can also find me on:

Twitter -> @alindae_anne

Facebook -> @harpist96

Instagram -> @rosalindae96

TikTok -> @alindae_anne

Thx for putting up w me (:

Keep writing bitches!🤩

[blarfkey]

director’s cut, director’s choice of ⭐️Dear Fen’Harel⭐️? (Though generally speaking, I’m intensely curious as to how you develop characters because everyone you write is so brilliantly layered)

So um, this exploded. And I apologize. I am very much a character-driven writer versus a plot-driver writer. Also, how I develop characters is not a process I think about, it just happens, so this is also me finding out for myself how my own brain works, haha. If you want the full fucking three page essay this turned into, there’s more under the cut.

If not, and I don’t blame you, TLDR: I break a canon character down to their parts based on what I see in-game, I look at how their personal quest affects them, and I try to find a modern day equivalent to that. Each character has an issue they need to get past and I create situations to challenge those issues. And Ellana was created to be a foil for Solas and I dumped all my negative traits into her because neither she nor I can afford therapy so this is our best bet.

First of all, developing characters in fanfic is different than OC characters because I have a pre-set personality to work with rather than making someone from scratch. So for this, Ellana’s development is different from the rest of the cast.

For fanfic characters, obviously I look at the source material and see how they’ve reacted to certain situations and what they have canonically expressed about themselves in both deed and word. Honestly, I pay more attention to what they have DONE versus what they have SAID because a lot of characters tend to fool themselves into thinking they’re one way when they’re not (here’s looking at you, Solas).

Because DF is a modern AU, I take what I have seen in Canon (which is a lot because Bioware is very good at giving so much material to work with having all those different dialogue trees) and I apply it to the Modern Day. Some characters fit very easily – Dorian was made for Academia. Krem seems a more modern character anyway with how he constantly roasts Iron Bull. Josephine’s prowess in DA:I translates very easily to political science. Varric kind of has a modern writer’s career anyway.

Some are not easy – Solas is actually super hard for me to write in DF than he is in Thick as Thieves because so much of his characterization, his world views, his prejudices, are rooted in the fact that he is an ancient being out of time – which is impossible to have in this AU. I have crafted a sort of back story for him that might explain some things later, but it’s flimsy at best, haha.

So I’ve had to really look at what Solas is like in Inquisition when he’s pretending to be a “normal” hedge mage hermit from nowhere and how he behaves in his romance and extract from that. Solas is a nerd, he’s socially awkward from self-imposed isolation, he constantly struggles with what he wants and what is the morally correct thing to do and the temptation to be loved usually wins out over his convictions until the last second when he gets his common sense back and ruins everything.

It helps that in both DA and DF Solas is keeping a massive, massive secret from the Inquisitor about his identity that will shift the power balance between the two, so I’ve used that to guide me when I’m unsure. He still feels off to me, but it’s whatever at this point, lol. I did my best.

Once I’ve boiled a character down to their usual traits, I figure out how I’m going to have them grow throughout the fic and use their growth to help Ellana’s growth. I try to pull from their personal quests as much as I can, when I can get it to fit.

Some people, like Iron Bull, are static because they’ve already gone through their journey and have reached acceptance. I didn’t really know how to work his Leaving the Qun story line in the modern day, since it is tied so closely with war and potentially killing the Chargers, so by the time Ellana meets him, he has already left the Qun and made his peace with it. I use his static nature to help guide Ellana when she’s conflicted about her identity.

Some people, like Josephine, have personal quests that don’t fit with a modern era but I want to show them grow anyway, so I create something else for them. Right now, Josephine is mired in family drama and trying to figure out how to balance shouldering the weight of her responsibilities to her family with being her own person. That I drew from my own personal experience with being the only sane person in my family with their shit together, haha.

Or Cassandra, who is definitely NOT going to be Divine here, lol. So instead she gets to struggle with her art and how she can express herself in a way that leaves her vulnerable to scrutiny and yet can be so freeing.

Some people, like Krem, get a character arc that I think should have been explored but never was. Krem being trans is something that’s mentioned and talked about a little and never explored. I mean, he’s not a main character, so I get it. And I liked that Being Trans wasn’t his entire character. But there was no way to put him in the modern AU without his trans identity impacting some of his story and growth, even if he had already made his peace with it.

Now, I will say this upfront: I am not trans, and I haven’t had the opportunity to be close friends with a trans person, but I have done a lot of research on what trans people have said about their own experiences, and combined this with other research I’ve done over the years with other minorities and tried to put together what could be lingering insecurities for him and how he could overcome them.

I’m  definitely not saying that I’ve done this perfectly and I’m always open to any trans reader who would give me correction, but being trans was not an aspect of Krem’s character that I wanted to ignore just because I wasn’t familiar with it.

I will say that his romance with Josephine was Not Planned. It just kinda happened and I happily ran with it, haha.

Varric’s arc with Bianca is just wishful thinking because I hate her so so much and Bioware just dropped that bomb in Varric’s lap and then just lets him keep holding on to it and it’s bullshit.

The other character journeys are just ways to explore vulnerability in them that I didn’t think got enough attention in the game or I think they could realistically have even if it wasn’t in canon. Like Dorian dealing with his father. Now, in the game, Halward doesn’t have a disease and he dies unexpectedly. But I wanted Dorian to have a realistic reason why he would reach other to his estranged father in this AU and a ticking countdown to an inevitable death seemed right.

Now we get to see Dorian really struggle with this new-found connection with his father that he always wanted to have and now it’s temporary and heartbreak is inevitable and is it still worth it to him? I think Dorian has similar feelings in Trespasser when he found out his father was murdered because he still invested himself to rebuild a lost connection, only to lose it so soon after.

Zevran’s past with the Crows is also something that I really wanted to explore because in the game he is sad for a hot second and then moves on with the Warden and his newfound goal of destroying the entire Crow organization. So I wanted to see Zevran struggle with his inner worth, the fact that he can’t hide forever and his past puts his loved ones in danger, the fact that he can even HAVE loved ones and how it scares the shit out of him.  I wanted to have a character who puts on such a good front about not giving a shit about anything to hide how very deeply afraid he is. We are going to see more of this also before the story is over, lol.

Now, Ellana. Like all original characters, Ellana has a lot my personal experiences tied in her. But I originally created Ellana to fill a need for a type of character that I wanted to see with Solas and don’t really get to. I mean, I have not scourged the corners of the internet to find it so I’m sure there are other characters like her, but I haven’t found very many.

I see a lot of very beautiful, very delicate and feminine, very kind and gentle Disney Princess kind of Lavellans. I see a LOT of them. And I don’t hate that necessarily. I mean, Josephine is all of those things and more and I adore her and I sort of crack ship her with Solas anyway, in the secret recesses of my heart. And I love seeing a female character who is the epitome of a “weak” female use those “weak” traits to succeed.

But I am also not very beautiful, I am NOT delicate at all, I’m not gentle. I am not anywhere close to a Disney Princess or a Josephine. And it was disheartening to see Solas romance all these Ocs that were nothing like me after a while because it kind of gave me the message that someone like Solas, a character that I admire and def have a fictional crush on, would never want someone who looks like me or acts like me. That even with unlimited freedom in creating a romantic counterpart for him, I saw so much of what society already reinforces as an ideal that I will never match up to. It doesn’t help that Bioware’s body diversity for elves ranges is nonexistent.

So I made Ellana for me. Not because I want to hate on other Ocs or prove that mine is superior, but so that I would have something that I connected to. And I wanted to explore a dynamic with Solas that I didn’t get to see very often.

So when I first imagined Ellana, I wanted her to be strong and tall and muscular and powerful in a way that makes a lot of unenlightened men uncomfortable. I wanted somebody used to manual labor and dirt and the outdoors and solving problems with their fists and just totally unrefined because I wanted her to be the complete opposite of Solas. (So like Cassandra but in elf form, haha).

I did not want her to be soft or conventionally attractive at all. Ellana doesn’t shun femininity, because I don’t think femininity is inherently wrong, but she is uncomfortable with it and she doesn’t indulge in it.

(Just FYI I am NOT built like Ellana at all either, haha. This is the wish fulfillment part of the OC. I greatly resemble the dwarves, which is why I love them so much.)

But I also needed her to have a reason to leave home, and to have some points of commonality with Solas, so I made her a nerd. A jocky nerd who is insatiably curious and stubbornly independent. And then because I wanted Ellana to feel like a real person instead just a wish fulfillment fantasy, I needed her to grow. So I gave her all my complicated anger issues, my bluntness, my struggles with homesickness, the way I compartmentalize negative events in my life so I don’t have to deal with them just so they can bite me in the ass later, my experiences of going from a lifestyle where all my needs were met and I was oblivious to how great I had it to living with serious poverty for the first time.

And then I devised situations with her life and the other characters where Ellana has to confront these issues and learn to accept them and either move past them or learn to control them. Sometime she gains wisdom and imparts it to people like Sera or Dorian when their struggles come up. And her biggest challenge has yet to arrive, so she’s still cooking, so to speak. Ellana still has a long way to go before she really reaches maturity.

As far as her relationship with Solas goes, I wanted her to challenge him and give him a total upheaval everything he thought he knew about his own culture and his own self. And I wanted him to do the same for her. And then when all the pieces are done falling, they have grown into two people who can handle being together.

So that’s basically it. If there is any character in particular you want to know more about or why I made certain decisions, always feel free to ask!

[d0gdaze]

read on ao3

wc: 2120 warnings: mild crude language

__________________________________________________

Richie listens to Eddie ramble on about personal protective equipment, stringing his words together with such urgency that they're constantly clashing and stammering to the point of it being nearly nonsensical, and wonders boldly if he's ever going to get tired of hearing it.

It's mid afternoon and they're all down in the barrens, having escaped the worst of the day's heat by taking refuge playing board games at Richie's house, air-con blasting, – Maggie had made up frozen watermelon slices for them and they'd gorged themselves. Now, still all sticky from where the juice ran down their chins and their hands, they're making up for the lost hours by attentively scouring the thick brush near where the barrens border the city landfill, looking for anything remotely interesting. Most of it's just random junk, but occasionally they'll find new furniture for the clubhouse, or dead electronics that they can take apart, or broken televisions with intact fibreglass screens they can sling rocks at and shatter. Sometimes they'll hit a goldmine and find a tangled but otherwise functional yo-yo or cassette tapes that still work when they run back home to try them out. It's not really about the finds, though. It's just, plainly put, something to do.

Beverly's knee deep in shrubbery, kicking at a doorless microwave to see if she can dislodge something, and Mike and Bill are flipping through an old playboy magazine thats pages have gone wavy from water damage, and the cover is so sun-bleached that it's nearly completely white. Stan stayed back at the edge of the clearing when the rest of them moved further into the brush, concerned about bugs and poison ivy and blackberry bushes and content to do his searching in the shallow parts. Ben's the furthest in, and as far as Richie can tell he's not doing much other than looking out over the dump and probably dozing off on the fallen log he's sat upon. Richie himself is squatting down, using a long stick to poke through the contents of a garbage bag he's ripped open. It's just household trash, and it smells rather bad, but it's a way to keep his hands moving while he zones out. And Eddie's managed to get himself up onto a low fork in a tree, sitting with his back up against the trunk and legs hanging on either side of the thick branch, idly kicking at the air as he rants about why what they're doing is dangerous and the precautionary measures they should be taking, but without actually suggesting they stop doing it, or making any attempts to leave.

The air is filled with that kind of quiet, static warmth that leaves you pleasantly tired all the way through your body, – the kind that makes your shoulders slump and your gate slow, and the minutes seem to stretch on for hours for the seven of them. It's one of those days where nothing much happens, one that won't ever be memorable or out of the ordinary in any way, where they'll go home sleepy and satisfied, and when their parents ask what they did all day – those of them whose parents care enough to ask – they can say 'nothing' and mean it. And that's just fine by them. They'd all take an uneventful, boring day like this over some of the days they'd faced before – the ones that left scars and gaps and nightmares, the memories of which seem to fade with each passing week and it's all fuzzy and disjointed and – no, today is good. That's all that matters.

Richie feels something small bounce off the space between his shoulder blades and looks up, only for something else to hit him right in the middle of the forehead as Eddie looks down at him, very obviously trying not to grin so the corners of his mouth twitch, and when they lock eyes he bites his lip and throws another piece of tree bark. This one taps Richie's cheek and falls to the ground in front of him, and Eddie snickers like it's the funniest thing he's seen all day.

“You're gonna get splinters if you keep that up, dipshit,” he says, smirking as panic flashes across Eddie's face, though it quickly dissipates into a scowl, and he continues flicking pieces at him, more rapidly now.

“Asshole. Why the fuck would you say that?” he spits, and Richie has to hold his arms up to shield himself from the onslaught. “You're the one who's gonna get fucking splinters.”

Richie stands, picking up his stick and turning his back to the tree. He manages to hook the end of it on a particularly gross looking wad of paper towel from the pile of trash, and when he turns back around and makes a jabbing motion towards Eddie, the other boy screeches indignantly and falls off the branch. He lands with a thud on the ground and immediately scrambles to his feet. Richie lunges at him again, cackling, as Eddie starts spewing insults and hollering disgust. He picks up an empty tin can and throws it, landing somewhere a couple feet to Richie's left.

Something about it leaves Richie with a vague feeling of deja vu, but that happens so often these days that he doesn't think much of it.

Eddie backs his way out to the clearing, creating whatever distance he can by throwing whatever his hands come across, though he hardly lands any hits, and Richie taunts him the whole way up, never intending to do more than tease, never planning on causing actual harm.

(Eddie knows this, of course.)

Stan starts to lecture him too, though far more calmly, more comprehensible. Tells him not to be disgusting, tells them both to shut up and knock it off. He's smiling though, Richie can tell, even when he tries to hide it.

Here's to nothing ever changing, he thinks.

Later, when the sun isn't bearing down as heavily and a relieving breeze starts to flow in from the east, they find themselves traversing away from the shady greenery of the barrens towards the open bank along the Kenduskeag, where the water is fast-moving but shallow enough that Bill doesn't roll his jean shorts up even though they fall down a little past his knees. He's right out in the middle of the stream, eyes trained steadily downwards as he takes slow, calculated steps, looking out for crawfish tails peeking out from under the rocks. Eddie's next to him, mirroring his actions though seemingly less focused, as he keeps letting his gaze drift over to the others. Stan's about fifty feet upstream, talking to Mike and occasionally gesturing animatedly at the tree line. Mike laughs heartedly at something he says, and the sound floats drifts all the way across to where Richie is busy pulling out clumps of grass and flinging them into the water, and Ben is sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, his attention fixed on Beverly, whose found a flat-topped rock that's big enough for her to lay down on, albeit with her legs hanging off the edge. She's on her back, her hair splayed out over the stone, which fully exposes the fading bruise that starts in the outer corner of her eye and curves in patches down the side of her face.

He lets out a deep sigh and buries his face in his arms.

“Careful Benjamin,” Richie says, reaching over and sprinkling blades of grass onto his hair, “you're being obvious again.”

Ben blushes, slaps his hand away and tries to shake the grass off. The action gets rid of some of it, falling back onto the ground or his shoulders, but there's still bits of green sticking out here and there. Richie grins, and shuffles closer so his knee knocks against Ben's shin.

“I keep tellin' you to just go talk to her,” he continues,  “save us all from this will-they-won't-they crap.”

“I talk to her all the time,” Ben replies in a way that fails to acknowledge the point, and Richie repays it with another fistful of freshly pulled grass. He shakes it off again, sputtering as some of the pieces fall into his face.

“Ah, you know what I mean,” Richie wipes his hands off on his pants and leans back on his elbows,  looks back across to where Bill and Eddie seem to have recruited Stan and Mike, and Mike's got a stick that he's using to pry the rocks up so that Bill can look underneath. Stan and Eddie are talking over each other, and a little too far away that he can't quite make out what they're saying. Eddie starts laughing at something Stan says, and Richie laughs too, though under his breath and without really meaning to. Ben looks at Richie, then over to the others, and back again.

“I just think, Haystack,” Richie continues, hesitantly tearing his gaze away to meet his, “that if you really like someone, you should sack up and tell 'em. No point brooding over it forever.”

“I think you shouldn't say things like brooding and sack up in the same breath.”

“What can I say, I'm an intellectual.”

“You're a hypocrite is what you are,” Ben says, and Richie scoffs, “what, you're saying you ain't ever liked someone and just kept it to yourself?”

“I never liked anyone, period,” Richie says defensively, sitting up again and resting his chin in his hands, “'cept maybe Eddie's mom.”

Ben sighs softly. Richie instinctively looks towards Eddie again, but his attention is all Bill's at the moment, who's actually managed to find one of the mudbugs and is holding it tentatively just above the water as the other three crowd around him. Stan's talking in that quick, steady way that Richie knows to mean what he's saying is somewhat informational, and Mike appears to be petting the damn thing as it sits in Bill's hands.

“Bull,” Ben laughs, just a beat too late for it to flow properly with the rest of the conversation. Richie frowns at him.

“Whaddaya mean, bull? It's the truth,” Richie insists, but Ben just looks at him, exasperated. “Or, fine. Whatever. Maybe I like one person but,” he starts picking at the grass with one hand, continuing to hold up his head with the other, his elbow digging into his knee, “it's different.”

“How's it different?”

“I don't know,” he groans, “it just is.”

“Who-,” Ben starts, but is cut off by Eddie as he calls out to them from across the way.

“Richie!” he yells excitedly, “Ben, guys, come get a load o' this thing Bill found!”

Richie can hear Bill telling him to turn down the volume, sees Eddie poke his tongue out at him then continue waving over to them with a sense of urgency, as if anything could be so urgent these days.

Richie sticks his hand up in acknowledgement, flings one last bunch of grass into Ben's lap and heaves himself up onto his feet in one clumsy movement. He starts to jog over to the group, until they're all flinging their arms at him and telling him to slow down, to stop kicking up so much water, until Eddie's voice has gone up an octave as he begins another tangent and Richie brings his leg back as if he's going to send a tidal wave flying at the lot of them, but doesn't follow through with movement.

Ben watches, for a moment, the way Eddie gravitates to Richie even while scolding him, sees how Richie almost subconsciously reaches out to touch him, pulls him closer like he's practiced it a million times before.

(He has, of course.)

If Ben realises something, he won't say it. He's hit with the feeling that maybe Richie hasn't yet, not fully at least.

Beverly, roused by the calamity, leaves her perch and joins them, not before pulling Ben to his feet with a smile playing at her lips. Her hair, though slightly dishevelled, has fallen back to it's natural frame around her face, obscuring the bruise once again. There's a slight pink tinge left over from last week's sunburn, overshadowed by the freckles that are more vibrant than ever now. Even from the small, modest contact of her hands on his, he can feel the sun radiating off her skin, and already knows he would bask in it forever if she'd let him.

By the time they reach the rest of them, Bill's already let the crawfish back into the water. It scurries back under the rock where they found it.

It's doesn't matter too much, though. It's summer, and they're kids, and days like this are countless.

tag list:

@reddie-to-go​ @reddietofall​ @thecastlebyers​

[jinjojess]

DR Kirigiri Vol. 5 Summary Part VIII

Happy New Year everyone!

Let’s get back to that pesky Libra Academy case, shall we?

< LAST PART | NEXT PART >

Chapter 1 The Mania of Existence: Libra Girls’ Academy - Samidare Yui

For those of you reading these as I post them, here’s a quick reminder of the current stakes:

Kareobana Academy case: solved, Yadorigi last seen with Lico heading back to the others, current status unknown

Bar GOODBYE case: still unsolved, with Yaki dead

Museum of Medieval Western European Torture Devices case: Mizuiyama seems to have figured it out, but is alone after dark in the museum after having had a really eerie encounter with Lico

Twins Research Facility case: solved, though Kirigiri is currently unconscious and bound in the back of Tsutsumi’s car, ready to be used as a hostage to make Samidare let him go

Libra Girls’ Academy case: unsolved, though last time we left, Samidare had an epiphany about the trick involved

Obviously, when she announces this, Tsukiyo and Nazuna are pretty shocked and want to know what she means.

Samidare goes to the desk and starts to draw to show them, which is also helpfully supplied for the reader, since it’s kind of complicated to explain. I’ll just insert the diagram from the book, which is something I usually don’t do, but I think it’ll save us both a lot of headache. 

“Libra means ‘scales’, right? What I mean is that this entire building is one huge scale.”

Both Tsukiyo and Nazuna don’t really process that, so Samidare goes on to explain that the room they’re in right now is sitting on one side of the scale, while the other small room with the coffins is on the other side. The church is the fulcrum. The beam, rather than overhead, is actually under them.

Like so.

The way there can be two different rooms in seemingly one space is that one room is inside this “box” sitting on the scale dish, while the other room’s floor is the top of the “box”. Since each side of the scale has a long vertical tower wrapping around it, the casual observer wouldn’t see any difference in the box’s static walls vs the top of the box’s non-connected walls.

I told you it’s difficult to sort out verbally.

Anyway, this explains how the culprit was able to move around and confound them so easily: they used weight to change the rooms on either side of the scale to “disappear” and “remove” the body.

This chapter takes like a good ten pages going over the exact way this trick works, and other than a few pithy quips from Tsukiyo, you aren’t losing much, so here’s the tl;dr version:

Samidare and Black Cape start in the first room with Takezaki’s body. This room is on top of the box, because those three are heavier than Tsukiyo and Nazuna together, who are trapped in coffins on top of the opposite box.

Tsukiyo notes that of course this is the case.

The reason the two girls were confined to the coffins was to keep them within the little clearance gap at the top of the vertical shaft, and also to conceal the whole scales thing.

Samidare chases Black Cape across the beam of the scale.

Black Cape enters into the box on that side, meaning that now there’s three people’s weight to one dead body on the other side, so the culprit gets into an empty room to hide, that’s then pushed down the shaft and rendered inaccessible. 

The doors function like elevator doors and cannot be opened while the scale is in motion, so that’s why Samidare couldn’t get in right after Black Cape. 

When she entered into the room, it meant there were four people on one side of the scale and only a dead body on the other.

Ah, I know that you, eagle-eyed reader, are probably wondering how the scale didn’t even out while the three girls were searching the church. Shouldn’t the single culprit and the single dead body weigh about the same and reset the scale?

Well sure, it would, if the culprit hadn’t counted on that.

See, you need to remember that Tsukiyo and Nazuna were handcuffed at the hands and feet, and the key was around a statue of the Virgin Mary. A statue that Samidare refused to break to take the key and instead used a conveniently placed handtruck to carry it into the room with everyone else.

Yep. 

I’m impressed the culprit knew Samidare would be morally opposed to breaking a statue of the Virgin Mother--they really did their research.

So anyway, as you’d imagine, the Mary statue plus the culprit was enough to keep the box room with the corpse on top of it level with the hallway. Then the girls were tricked into trapping themselves by all going to see the body. (Which, again, was Naz’s suggestion.)

So yeah, here we are now.

The three girls are trapped, and the culprit is free.

That summed up everything that happened at Libra Girls’ Academy.

Was it possible to even make a building that worked like a scale? The Committee for the Salvation of Victims of Crime could probably do it. We were facing Shinsen Mikado and Ryuuzouji Gekka here. In fact, this is pretty much exactly what I’d expect from them.

“Wait, so the culprit gets to run away...and we’re just stuck here forever? That sucks! You solved the mystery and it didn’t get us anywhere!”

“Uh...right! Since we know there’s another room above us, couldn’t we break through the ceiling to escape?” I said, looking up at the ceiling.

It was over thirty meters high.

“It’s easy to say that, but how would we do it?”

“...Let’s try throwing a chair.”

((Ah yes, Samidare, take a page out of Nanamura’s book.))

I took the small chair beside the writing desk in my hands and tossed it above me. It clamored to the ground without even hitting the ceiling.

It would be really tough to throw something in the direct center of the ceiling. Besides, something as small as this chair probably would never reach it on its own.

“Looks like that won’t work.”

“Okay, how about this. Naz-chan, get on my shoulders.”

“Huh? Me?!”

“Yeah. Tsukiyo-chan’s got a lot of issues going on right now.”

“I appreciate your sympathy.”

I crouched down and Nazuna climbed up onto my shoulders. Careful to keep my balance and not drop her, I stood up.

“Woah, woah!” 

Nazuna seemed a little worried.

“Well?”

“I c-can’t reach it. Not at all.”

I wondered if maybe I could jump and reach that spot instead.

((YES! YES, PLOT-RELEVANT SAMIDARE JUMPS!!!))

I let Nazuna down, whose face looked like a little kid who’d just been lifted up for the first time. She mumbled “high, so high” to herself.

“Hey, what did you do to Naz? Her cheeks are on fire!”

“I don’t know. I didn’t do anything weird.”

“You’ve done nothing but weird stuff since you got here!”

“That’s not what we’re supposed to be worrying about now! Help me think of a way out.”

“I don’t think breaking through the ceiling is realistic,” Nazuna said, sitting flat on the floor. “It’s probably reinforced with concrete or thick beams. We’d need serious firepower if we wanted to break through it.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right…” I said, shoulders sagging.

“Ah, I just had a great idea,” Tsukiyo said, suddenly looking up. “What if all three of us jumped at the same time, and that made this side of the scale lighter so it would go up?”

“I mean sure, if we jumped it would be lighter while we were in the air, but I doubt the scale would move in the 0.1 seconds we were airborne.”

“Well we won’t know unless we try, right?”

“I mean I guess… Should we?”

“Nah, sounds like a pain,” Tsukiyo said, quickly abandoning her own plan and flopping onto the floor, going back to her withdrawn stage.

Nazuna sat beside her, her face twisted in thought about how to escape. It didn’t seem like she was having much luck.

I picked up the chair I’d thrown at the ceiling and sat in it.

I wanted to be out of here already.

I wanted to go home, to my dorm room.

I wanted to get back to my peaceful, normal life.

Normal, huh. 

I wondered if it would be possible to live a calm, normal life with Kirigiri without cases to solve. It was possible that even if we managed to establish some normalcy around us, she’d set off in search of her next case. 

Was there even anywhere for us to return home to?

“I’m hungry…” Tsukiyo said, starting once again to proclaim her desires to the room.

“I wonder what time it is…” Nazuna said, understandably losing steam herself.

“Don’t worry. My friends will definitely come save us. We all decided to check in by noon, so if they don’t hear from me, someone will come.”

“How many hours away is that?”

“Uh…”

“Don’t get my hopes up like this,” Tsukiyo said coldly, only her eyes pointed in my direction.

“Hey, by the way,” I said, hoping to change the topic. “Do you guys really not have any idea who the culprit could be? Even though we unraveled the trick, we still don’t know who the killer is. Do you guys know of anyone who might want Takezaki-san dead?”

“Obviously not! We were kidnapped by some weird pervert, weren’t we? It’s not like we’d hang out with anyone like that and not tell them to take a hike!” Tsukiyo said, starting to get upset.

“So you don’t know anything about Takezaki-san? No weird rumors or anything?”

“Weird rumors?”

“Ah,” Nazuna said. “Now that you mention it, I did hear something about her. That back in middle school, she drove one of her former friends to suicide…”

“The hell? I never heard that.”

“That’s because you don’t take any interest in our classmates, Tsukiyo-san…”

“Well duh, why would I? I only have eyes for you, Naz, hehe.”

“You really should expand your horizons, Tsukiyo-san.”

“What? You’re telling me that too, Naz? You sound just like my dad.”

“Hey, so, about Takezaki-san?”

“Well, I don’t have much interest in gossip myself, so I just passively listened, but apparently, Takezaki-san was being extorted for money by a classmate back in middle school. Then one day, the bully changed targets from her to some other girl, allegedly someone Takezaki-san was once close with. Rumor says that she paid 100,000 yen ($1000 roughly) for it. In reality, it was probably closer to the bully demanding 100,000 yen in order to focus on some other target, and she just complied. Eventually, the friend ended up killing herself.”

“That’s pretty tragic…”

“Seems like there was someone who wanted to make Takezaki-san out to be worse, so they exaggerated the rumor. Said things like Takezaki-san herself was the leader of the extortion group and such. There’s no way to tell what’s true and what isn’t.”

“Certainly seems sufficient as a motive,” I muttered to myself. “Perhaps it’s a school friend, or a relative… Can you think of anyone?”

“As I mentioned before, Takezaki-san and I weren’t exactly close…”

“Right… Oh wait, can you think of any Libras?”

“Libras? I don’t really remember other people’s zodiac signs.”

“Yeah, I guess not…”

“I know Naz’s zodiac sign. She’s a Leo! It’s the same sign as me. We match! Hehehe!”

It might have just been my imagination, but it seemed like Tsukiyo was starting to lose it. Maybe we’d been shut up in here for too long, and it was starting to take a mental toll.

That or she’s just threatened by your oblivious allure, Samidare.

This subplot is fantastic and I’m going to miss it when it’s over.

Soon after this conversation, everyone starts to feel weird, and the room begins to shake. They realize that the scale is moving, which is good in that it shows that they’re going to get out, but is bad, since the only one who knows how the scale works is the culprit. 

Samidare motions for Tsukiyo and Nazuna to move away from the door, and hoists the chair over her head to use as a weapon.

Then the door opens, and the person standing there is…

A man with the physique of a model, wearing an expensive suit and sunglasses.

“Ya-Yadorigi-san?” I said without thinking.

“Oh, Samidare-san,” he said back, as if we’d just bumped into each other on the street. “Good morning. Are you in the process of solving this case?”

“Huh? Uh, erm, I am, but…” What the heck was going on here? “What are you doing here, Yadorigi-san?”

“It’ll take a while to explain, so let’s chat over breakfast at a hotel or something. By the way, you aren’t hurt, are you? I know you must be exhausted.”

“I’m already tuckered out, for sure.”

“Those two behind you are connected to the case too?”

“Yeah.”

“Then have them join us for breakfast,” Yadorigi said with a smile.

Nazuna crept up behind me, whispering in my ear: “Is that man the Black Cape?”

“Huh, there’s no way…”

“You know each other?”

“We sure do, this is one of the other detectives in our group.”

“This is really strange, though. The only one who should know how to let us out is the culprit…”

“What? No!”

“Do you have something you need to discuss?” Yadorigi asked, offering an arm to escort us. “For now I think it’s best if we leave this room, no?”

“Oh right,” I said, then looked over my shoulder to whisper to the others. “We’ll be in trouble if we get trapped in here again, so let’s get out of here for now. Stay behind me.”

Nazuna and Tsukiyo nodded, and Yadorigi walked into the hallway.

The rest of us followed, finally taking a step off the dish of the scale. Despite that, I felt more confused than elated. Like there was something going on that was above my head.

((Hey, Samidare? I’m going to remind you that your Big Bad is a guy who can disguise himself real good.))

We followed down the hall, me carefully leaving thirty meters between us and Yadorigi. 

Finally, the hallway ended, and Yadorigi took a step into the church. He stopped and looked over his shoulder, waiting until we closed more of the distance between us before starting to walk again.

In the next moment, I saw a black shadow jump out from the left of my peripheral vision.

It was Black Cape.

I didn’t have time to yell out.

Black Cape brought the metal pipe down on Yadorigi’s head.

Fresh blood spurted everywhere.

I couldn’t even look away.

Yadorigi crumpled on the spot, falling to the ground as if dead.

I heard Tsukiyo and Nazuna scream behind me.

Black Cape’s hood was facing me.

I’ll never forgive you…

I’ll never forgive you!

Murderer!

“I’m Samidare Yui, the detective assigned to this case! You cannot hurt me!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “If you’re going to hurt someone, you’ll have to go through me. If you’re ready to face the consequences of breaking the rules, then come at me!”

I took a step toward Black Cape, who responded by taking a step back.

We faced off in the silent church, the smell of blood growing ever thicker. 

Black Cape held up the bloody pipe in a defensive stance and began to retreat.

“Running away?”

As soon as I said it, Black Cape stopped.

They seemed unsure, as if they hadn’t considered that this would happen.

“From here I can reach you in two steps,” I said, pointing to my feet. “If you turn to run, I’ll catch you immediately. If you want to fight, I’ll face you. Don’t you get it? You’ve already lost. Give up, and put down the pipe.”

Without noticing, we’d moved to the area closest to the entrance. So they were planning on running way. 

The door was on the left of where I was standing, the area where I saw Black Cape jump out to attack Yadorigi. I could see that the boards sealing up the door had already been removed. It was possible to leave.

I turned my attention there. That was likely where the culprit would try to flee.

On the other hand, the hallway leading to the coffin room was right behind them. It was equally possible that they might try to make a break for it and hide in that room like before.

“I’ve already figured out your trick. There’s nowhere to run,” I said. “All that’s left is to unmask you and make you confess.”

Black Cape’s identity…

I looked over the person before me again. Though the cape helped hide it, they were extremely small. They had to be a woman, or a child.

Who the hell?

((Samdiare…))

I couldn’t imagine a mystery where the culprit was someone who’d never been introduced before, but...I couldn’t think of anyone who it could be. Plus, the Libra Girls’ Academy case had just started, and it was possible that there were more murders planned.

Black Cape’s hood hid most of their face, but I could see their mouth.

It was smiling.

I felt as though I’d seen it somewhere before.

Mocking me, trying to taunt me.

((Samidare, come on...))

As soon as I thought that, Black Cape turned to make a break for the hallway.

“Ah!”

I was too slow!

I sprung from the floor.

I wouldn’t let them escape…

Just as I thought that, the culprit tripped and fell spectacularly. From inside the hood, a pair of glasses flew across the floor.

Glasses?

Whatever, now was my chance.

This entire time, I’d been chasing after the back of his black caped culprit, and now I was going to tackle them like I’d wanted to since the start.

As I lunged, Black Cape rolled first onto their side, then their back.

Shit!

A trap?

The hood back, our eyes met.

Black Cape grabbed my sleeve with their left hand and pulled, pressing the gun-like thing in their right hand against the left side of my chest.

“Gotcha,” she said.

It was a voice I’d heard before.

It was a face I’d seen before.

“Do you know what this is? It’s a nail gun. If I pull the trigger, it’ll stake you through the heart and turn you into a voodoo doll.”

“Why would you…”

It was one of the detectives in our group, Mizuiyama Sachi.

Ha! You thought it was Lico! But no!

The curse of Jess starting to like a seemingly unimportant character and them ending up evil strikes again!

Though still, Shinsen can disguise himself as anyone, so maybe check on Yadorigi to make sure he’s dead? Something?

But anyway hell yeah! This is the kind of shit I’m here for!

< LAST PART | NEXT PART >

[mobius-prime]

206. Sonic the Hedgehog #138

Return to Angel Island (Part 1): The Message

Writer: Karl Bollers Pencils: Jon Gray Colors: Jason Jensen

We're in for a big one, guys! This is another four-parter, and it's time to finally find out what's going on on Angel Island! But first, Sally and Sonic have to deal with the blowback from the king about their little Tommy mission. King Max chews them out for a while, with Sally tersely accepting the scolding, but Sonic actually attempts to cover for Sally by lying (badly) that she only came along because he kidnapped her. Of course, the king doesn't believe him, and after coldly calling into question Sally's ability to rule in his stead when they leave on their tour, he sends them off.

Yikes. Seems things are going to stay frosty between these two for a while. That afternoon, the king and queen, along with Uncle Chuck as their advisor and Antoine as their bodyguard, depart for their world tour. Shortly thereafter, everyone is hanging out in Chuck's diner, which is currently being manned by Jules and Bernie, while Sonic confides in Knuckles and Julie-Su about his troubles with Sally. Julie-Su points out that Sally's feelings are understandable to a degree, as she herself struggled for a long time after Knuckles' return from the grave with feeling comfortable about him going back into battle. The conversation is interrupted by a sudden crash at the door, and everyone is shocked to see a badly injured Charmy and Saffron enter the establishment and immediately collapse. They're immediately taken to receive medical attention, and after that Sally questions the two on what exactly happened. Charmy and Saffron relate, stricken by grief, how Eggman attacked their home at the Goldenhive Colony, and try as they might, they failed to save anyone - and they mean literally anyone. Their parents, all their friends, every single other member of the colony is dead now. I have to say, while this is certainly an… effective way of kicking to the curb Kenders' weird plans to shunt Charmy away from the spotlight, it's also an incredibly brutal way. I mean, how many others here have lost literally everyone they care about? Oh, wait, Knuckles is getting there! Fittingly, at that exact moment a transmission comes through on the Technolo-Tree, but the only thing that can be made out through the static is that Locke is apparently being held prisoner on Angel Island. And at that moment, Knuckles' patience, so carefully maintained just a couple issues ago, finally snaps.

Sally, you have to remember that it's been almost an entire year that he's been off his island, and he knows he still has friends and family stuck there, with Eggman doing who knows what to them. Can you blame him for wanting to rescue literally the only home he's ever known from Eggman's brutal occupation? Sonic sheepishly leaves with Knuckles, and together they, Julie-Su, the Chaotix (back together again! Also this time including Ray, who's been severely sidelined for quite some time now, and Saffron), and Bunnie all pile into the FFS and fly to Angel Island. Bunnie remains behind at Sonic's request, since he wants to make sure Sally still has a heavy hitter watching over Knothole while they're gone, and everyone else airdrops in, landing in the Marble Garden Zone. Sonic races away to do some split-second recon, and comes back with some pretty horrendous news - there's an honest-to-god prison camp not far from there location, sponsored by Eggman, run by dingoes, and filled with enslaved echidnas being worked half to death by their captors. So, naturally, the intrepid infiltrators race directly in and start causing some havoc.

Okay, this is something I've danced around for quite a while now, but… I really don’t like the portrayal of the dingoes as this weird military hive mind. Penders very obviously based them off of Nazi Germany in many ways (like… as we saw before in KtE#22, his hints toward this weren't subtle at all), and I believe he's even said that he deliberately only ever showed male dingoes, avoiding portraying women and children among their ranks, so they didn’t appear too sympathetic. Quite aside from the fact that that's a kind of ridiculous and sexist position to take especially given that one of the comic's current most threatening villains is in fact female, this just turns the dingoes into cardboard cutouts of villains instead of an interesting opposing faction in this world's political landscape. I mean, how much more interesting would they be if the story bothered to humanize them, make them relatable? But of course, that would mean that Penders would have to portray his precious echidna society as less than honorable for discriminating against them, and we can't have that, so instead they're all just military hardasses who love xenophobia and hate democracy. Hell, even the actual Nazis had more depth to their evil actions than the dingoes. And, to be fair, I know that this arc is written by Karl, not Penders, but he's just building on everything that Penders has established here, so I'm still putting the blame on Penders.

Anyway, the heroes make quick work of the dingoes stationed in the camp, though Knuckles takes a bad blow that Sonic has to save him from due to his lack of powers. Knuckles begins to protest at being helped, but he's suddenly drowned out by chanting… from the echidna slaves they've just freed. They're all bowing down to him and calling him the Avatar, hailing his return. A flabbergasted Knuckles spots Remington among the crowd and asks him what the hell is going on, and Remington explains that there's been a bit of a, eh, religious revival shall we say, among the echidnas on the island ever since he returned from the dead. Apparently, there's an old prophecy from the Ancient Walkers stating that someone will come back from the dead and deliver everyone on the island from their suffering, and, well, Knuckles fits the first part of that criteria. However, he'd barely come back from the dead before Eggman made his move on the island a year ago, preventing Knuckles from returning until now.

So things have kind of deteriorated to a severe degree in Knuckles' absence. Echidnaopolis is now Dingo City, and the dingoes are led not by General Stryker, who is conspicuously absent, but instead General Kage, a cyborg underling of Eggman's in charge of finding the Master Emerald somewhere on the island. Of course that's what Eggman is really after here, and they've captured Locke with the intention of getting the location from him one way or the other. He's been chained upside down in some dark room, and Kage has been torturing him nonstop for the past few days trying to get him to crack, to no avail. Eggman merely encourages Kage over video call to keep it up, while we transition to the Lava Reef Zone, which is where Knuckles has led all the rescued echidnas to, away from the prison camp. He's here because this is approximately where the message informing him of his father's capture originated from, but suddenly the group finds themselves surrounded by smoke, and out of the smoke steps an army of Dark Legion soldiers, surrounding them with weapons drawn…

Mobius 25 Years Later: My Dinner with Sonic

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Steven Butler Colors: Jason Jensen

…but who cares about all that interesting plot stuff when we can watch some forty-something moms chat next to a pool where their annoying kids and husbands are playing? Apparently, despite their husbands' rivalry, Julie-Su and Sally have actually become pretty good friends over the years, and lament that they barely get together anymore because of Knuckles and Sonic's hatred of one another. Sally is upset because of how distant Sonic has been acting lately - according to her, he barely talks to anyone he doesn't have to anymore, including Tails, whom he hasn’t spoken to in three whole years now! Excuse me, what?! Okay, Sonic and Knuckles at least have some precedent for their rivalry, however weak that precedent is, but I cannot even begin to imagine a world where Sonic just straight up ghosts his best friend for apparently no reason. Literally, no reason is given! He just doesn't like Tails anymore now! Also, in this timeline, Tails is married to Mina and he's moved to Downunda, because why the hell not? Who needs to make sense or give reasons for anything in their plot? Oh, but that's not all! If you thought that was the extent of Sonic's incredibly out-of-character writing, you thought wrong!

That's right - Sonic the forty-one-year-old father, war hero, and king of an entire nation is apparently so petty about not being able to hit a volleyball in the pool that he thinks it's acceptable to shove his own young son under the water so he can get to the ball instead. And this isn't just some case of me taking these panels out of context - on the very next page Manik rightfully calls him out on this, only for Sonic to irritably say that Manik has been "getting in his face all afternoon" and that this was the only way he could get to play with the ball. And then, just as if to rub this in our horrified faces, Knuckles also comes over and points out how terrible of an action this is, and when Manik speaks up SONIC FORCES HIM UNDER THE WATER AGAIN TO GET HIM TO STOP TALKING. I just… I cannot even begin to express how bad this is. This is literally the opposite of Sonic the Hedgehog. You cannot get further off the mark than Penders just has right here. Everything about Sonic's characterization in this arc is bad and inaccurate to who he really is, but this interaction right here is the cake topper, the prime example of just how much Penders does not understand the characters he is trying to write. I can pinpoint this as the exact moment I lost all remaining respect for Penders as a writer. I've defended him before, and I stand by my opinions that I do enjoy many of his earlier stories for the comic, but this is a goddamn travesty. Penders. Needs. To. Stop.

*sigh* We have to finish today's issue, so let's… let's just get to the end. Everyone goes inside for dinner, with Sonia and Manik heading out to play with Lara-Su while the adults have dinner together, because apparently they're so stuffy they don't even let their own kids eat with them. Knuckles and Sonic start arguing at the table, big shocker there, while Abby desperately tries to serve them dessert and their boring wives try to rein them in.

Are we gonna hear anything about what the "drone problem" or the "Overlander uprising" entailed? Those sound too interesting, so NOPE! Instead, the kids walk by and overhear the argument and promise each other they'll never fight like their parents do, while Manik tries to put the moves on Lara-Su, who is not having it. The argument ends when both Knuckles and Sonic belch simultaneously while their wives scold them disapprovingly - I think Penders is trying to go for a comedy movie sketch type thing here where classical music ramps up in hilarious intensity behind the bickering over the family dinner before everything ends on a few sharp notes from the string section, but it just comes off as utterly cringeworthy. Knuckles finally - finally! - manages to get to the point of this entire arc, which is to tell Sonic about how the world is ending. Yes, it took this long for him to tell the main character of this goddamn comic about the main conflict of this goddamn arc. Kill me. Someone please kill me.

…are you kidding me?! You mean all this time we could have been exploring the ramifications of a planetwide environmental disaster caused by dimensional travel, and the possibility of having to evacuate the planet's population into space, and instead we got to watch two boring husbands belch at each other over goddamn dinner?! I'm done. I'm so done. Everything about this sucks and I hate it. Ken Penders, if I ever see you in person, I will be throwing these hands.

[weenietowne]

October 2019 marks the 30th anniversary of the Quest for Glory video game series, so what better time to write a bunch of words about it?

It was a game that I played at just the right time in my life to embed itself into my psyche. I was already a lifelong devotee to the Sierra adventure games at the tender age of 12. I learned to type by guiding Rosella via text parser around the land of Tamir to save her father. I read the King’s Quest Companion until the covers fell off. I subscribed to Sierra On-Line magazine, and was briefly pen pals with Roberta Williams (and once received a phone call, to the surprise of my mother who did not know why an adult woman was calling her 10 year old daughter). It was in the Sierra On-Line magazine that I first noticed an ad for the Quest for Glory Collection. 

I saw the game one day at the mall with my dad, and casually asked him to get it for me. I wasn’t really expecting much, but hey, it might be fun. Previous references to the series had always looked too grown up to interest me, but now I was a pre-teen! I was ready for cool fantasy action!

I started up the first game in the Collection and was instantly hooked by a deeper fantasy world than anything I’d ever played in before. I could click on anything and get a funny description, I could get lost in the forests of Spielburg, and I could daydream about the bigger world that this little game alluded to. 

And the best part? That bigger world was right around the corner in the next game. My hero and I journeyed together from one land to the next, in each game reading about the other far away kingdoms that lay ahead of us in our adventures. We jumped from game to game together while getting stronger and wiser, and his friends and enemies went on our journey with us, living their lives in what felt like anything but a static game world.

Full disclosure: I found these particular pixels very handsome at 12 years old. 

They were the last games that I played with my childhood best friend before we drifted apart. We would huddle around my computer all night, walking my hero into traps and laughing at all the funny death messages (this is where I learned the word strychnine). We copied the games onto her computer so she could do the other character class paths- I always went for mages and paladins, while she was more of a rogue type. Since then, there has been a litany of people that I have tried to suggest them to, but a 30 year old adventure game series is a hard sell for a lot of people. My first boyfriend, a friend or two, and my husband make up the entire list of people who got through the first game at my behest and then never continued. They just can’t quite see what I see in these dated little games...but then again, they only played the first one. The first in a series is rarely the star of the show. I wonder if they saw the puns scattered liberally about, the fairly straightforward fantasy quest, and decided that was probably all that was there.

They never went through getting the Prophecy at the Temple of Sekhmet, a somewhat fourth-wall breaking event that felt like it wasn’t just judging the character in the game, but peeking out to the player and asking who they really wanted to be. Or being beguiled by Ad-Avis, an unsettling event playing on the dissonance between the hero’s happily altered perception and the player’s own knowledge of the terrible trap they are both being led into. They never even walked around the savannah for days without any rations in the inventory only to accidentally stumble upon the Awful Waffle Walker, saviour of hungry heroes across the land. 

If you know the flame dart spell you can toast him before eating him.

They certainly never saw my hero slowly fall in love with Erana as he finds sanctuary in her gardens, or found themselves befriending monstrous women like the Rusalka, and Baba Yaga - ladies who are as charming as they are absolutely willing to kill you. The women of the series are a standout- and not just for the time that the games were made in. They are varied and memorable and fun, sometimes allowed to be vulnerable in a very human way, and never there just to be a checkbox for the hero to rescue or win (ok, I guess there is one woman who is literally a tree that you can revive, but even Julanar is interesting). A friend of mine remarked several years ago that she never liked being a girl while growing up, because there were never any cool girls in tv shows or video games. It had not occurred to me until then that all of my favorite things as a kid were created by women, and I had never felt left out the way that my friend did. While Quest for Glory obviously had to cater to its most visible audience of young men, the hand of Lori Cole is strong at the helm beside her husband’s. 

...which isn’t to say there’s no romancing cute girls. Hey, who can’t enjoy that?

I said earlier that I played it at the precise age for it to imprint on my brain. When I was in eighth grade, and right after the release of the last entry to the series in 1998, I began drawing my first comic series. It starred my hero (who in my game was named Mir) and a companion, a gnome girl based on myself (also named Mir).

Yes, it was completely dreadful. 

I’m still working on it, though. 

The story that I’m writing now is unrecognizable from the goofy gag strips that were so funny to me and my friends, but there is still a character named Erana, and there is still a hero that looks essentially unchanged from the paladin that I traveled around Glorianna with. Anyone looking at it who knew of my love for the series would put the pieces together pretty easily. I finished the first version of it in 2003, at the end of my senior year of high school and immediately started drawing a new version. That one lasted 7 years of working on and off, and I drew 217 pages before I gave up, too frustrated with how the story had rambled on and couldn’t go where I wanted it to. The art got better, though.

I didn’t give up, though. I still loved the characters that I had been carrying around in my head since 1998, and I still wanted to tell the Mirs’ stories in the best way that I could. A few years after I stopped drawing it, I started writing again, determined that if I started drawing it again, I’d have the whole story planned out, at least roughly. That’s where I am now in 2019. I’m not someone who finishes projects quickly (I’m still working on an inktober drawing set from two Octobers ago). I’ve been picking away at this comic for twenty one years.

I won’t say that if it wasn’t for this game, I wouldn’t have made anything- I’m sure that something else would have planted seeds and taken root, eventually flowering into some other fandom passion project that I’d transform into my own. The company I work for was founded by friends who were all brought together by their shared love of Earthbound, and have created incredible things both directly and indirectly inspired by it. But for me, it was Quest for Glory. 

Thank you, Lori and Corey Cole, and all of the other people who worked hard to bring the series to life all those years ago.

[gatsbyjwilson]

The Highlight Reel (A Cautionary Tale)

“Uh huh. And you say you went to Parnidge University and studied film?”

“P-Partridge, Sir.”

“Huh.”

Two gleaming black eyes stared back across the cluttered, coffee-stained desk to examine the short, spindly, and overdressed specimen opposite them. 

“T- Technically I studied accounting with a minor in film- my Mom told me to do that in case ‘The whole Hollywood Thing doesn’t work out.’”

It was remarkable how the beady little man sitting nervously in front of the heavy-set producer was able to keep his armpits dry. It was the hottest day in June, and the sun had only just begun to creep towards the West over the hills. Donny had already removed his jacket and loosened his tie, and even with the rickety old fan spinning precariously over the desk, Don was sweating up a storm. The pencil-neck opposite him, on the other hand, seemed acclimated to the hotter-than normal weather. “Kid’s so thin, maybe they can’t wring no sweat outta him no more.”

The fat man allowed himself the shadow of a chuckle at the thought.

“So uh, why aren’t you applying to be an accountant?”

“That’s not what I want to be, Sir.”

“So why the hell’ve you majored in accounting?”

“I’ve been wondering that myself.”

Those beady, tight-knit eyes wandered across the room. Maybe they were searching for a way out, maybe they were just admiring the torn and faded posters on the wall of an ancient age forgotten long ago- the early eighties.

“So-”, The past-his-prime producer started, wiping his brow with a stained Roy Rogers napkin, “You wanna be a comedian.”

“Well, I’m already a comedian, I want to host my own late night show.” Cracking his first non-forced smile, the eager young man continued- “It’s been my dream since I was a little boy watching Letterman on my little rinky-dink TV.”

At this, Donny was now thoroughly amused.

“Heh. You wanna know what my dream was as a kid?” He said, as his fat lips curved into a long, unnerving grin, “A Janitor. Always had my eyes set on a spiffy blue uniform- cleaning up, lending a helping hand- then I realized how much of a shit job that is.” His coffee-stained teeth once again receded past his swollen jowls, resuming his exhausted, resting face. Dropping the paper clearly in the already resume-stuffed wastebasket, he once again drew his discouraging grin and spat- “I’ll think about it.”

***

Leaning back into the well-worn seats of his Camaro, the previously well-postured man dropped any hint of optimism and sank into the seat, loosening a cheap coffee labelled ‘BENJAMEN’ from its holder. The sun was well-set by now, and pounding rain had settled nicely into the area, draining remorselessly over the Hollywood Hills. A hole in the roof above the passenger seat had begun to drip into the car, but at this point Ben didn’t care. Wrenching himself into an upright posture, he drew a small notebook from his pinstriped breast-pocket. He crossed out Happy Times Studios from the list, marking the end of the page. Two straight months of interviews and cheerful schmoozing had left him with nothing. No money, no job, and no prospects. The drive from Ohio was a long one, but the beat-up, sickly orange 90’ Camero had made it, with some minor repairs. Ben was preparing to make the drive back in the morning. After 30 minutes of traffic and unconsciously turning to the empty slot where a radio should be, he pulled up to a tan apartment complex and turned the car off. He turned melancholically to the window. Still rain. 

***

He unlocked the door to his apartment, soaking wet. At least he was home, he thought, stepping into a strategically placed land mine of cat dung. A long, drawn-out sigh emanated from his gaunt visage. Not bothering to wipe them, he kicked his shoes off and went instinctively towards the TV remote. He slumped into the leather couch, resting his feet on the broken ottoman he had propped up on a stack of books. He flipped the TV on just in time to see Tom Hanks laugh uproariously at a witticism Conan O'Brien had uttered. Ben leaned over to a half-empty Coors gathering dust on the floor by the couch. He picked it up, sniffed it, and began to sip. His eyes began to glaze over, resting unfocused on the technicolor tube TV. His cat walked steadily over to sip from the pool forming on the floor from the Coors that had leaned out of his hand as he fell asleep, drifting off into peaceful, dark, unconsciousness. 

“ARE YOU A SKILLED WRITER, DIRECTOR, OR COMEDIAN???? DO YOU WANT TO BE RICH, SUCCESSFUL, AND FAMOUS???? THEN COME VISIT HIM AT 304-”

Ben shot up, knocking the ottoman off of its improvised leg. He breathed heavily, drenched in sweat. He looked around for the source of the blaring job offer. The TV played only static. He looked over at his clock radio. 3:00 AM. Silent as a mouse. Was it possible he dreamed it? More than likely, he supposed. His fatigue, momentarily lost, returned to him. “3 AM,” he thought. “I haven’t had dinner.” Ben moseyed on over to the refrigerator, drenched in the harsh fluorescent glow of his nearby lamp. He opened the door and leaned down into it, taking a pause and closing his eyes to enjoy the stream of cold air that trickled from the machine. Ben looked down into the crisper drawer, pulling out the bottom ra-

“AVENUE!!! HE’S WAITING TO SEE YOU!!! AND HE KNOWS HOW SKILLED YOU ARE, BEN!!!”

He shot back, slamming his head against the roof of the refrigerator. He fell backwards, landing hard on the linoleum floor of his kitchen. He heard it- that time he really heard it. And it said his name. His eyes darted back to the TV, which continued its inhuman lullaby of crackling sound. Nothing. Absolutely Nothing. Ben would have thought it was a friend playing a trick on him, if Ben had any friends to play tricks on him. He had left that all back in Ohio. No, this was something different. He looked to his cat, who, obviously startled by his fall, stared intently at him. He got up, ambled over to the couch once again, and lay down. He reached over and turned on the remote. The TV shut off with a fizzle of static electricity. 

After 10 minutes of trying, the same warmth of sleep eluded him. He lazily opened his eyes again, peering across the room to the short hallway that led to his real bedroom and the bathroom. The cat, seemingly curious, meandered into the darkened hall. He came back a few moments later and came close to Ben’s face, and licked his nose. At this point, he was too tired to care, and continued to sluggishly watch his companion walk back to the hall and stop at the mouth. The cat remained at the entrance of the hall and meowed. A beckoning, perhaps, to another cat that had gotten into the building somehow. Ben remained on the couch, until the cat turned back to him, meowed again, and turned back to the hall. It was a quick movement, like a deer turned to a hunter in the forest, piercing black eyes shooting back at the predator. 

The cat stared for what seemed like hours, unblinking. Then, in a moment of eerie stillness, the cat walked forward, being swallowed up by the darkness. With his only entertainment having left him, Ben turned to face the ceiling. “I think I’ve finally lost it,” Ben thought to himself. There was no real explanation for what he heard, besides maybe his mind thinking it heard certain words in a mix of wordless sound, the same way his eyes tricked him by making him see moving shapes in the darkness. He sat upright, gazing out at the city below. “Three in the morning and still buzzing,” he thought. The rain had ended, so Ben had put his shoes back on and donned an inconspicuous, faded, bomber jacket. Being an insomniac, he had gotten used to taking nighttime walks to clear his head and spur him into sleeping. He took his keys off the counter and walked out, prepared to take his last looks at the city he had dreamed about.

He resolved not to take the Camaro, lest he fall asleep at the wheel and never see the light of day. Instead, he began to walk into the heart of the city. The opioid epidemic had stuck this part of town hard, and it was hard to find a street corner without some junkie muttering to himself or dancing off to wonderland thanks to the needle in his arm. Tonight was different, though. Perhaps some good samaritan had opened up a new homeless shelter, for tonight, the streets were clean of addicts and alcoholics. He walked through streetlight after streetlight, closed storefront after closed storefront, the scenery so decrepit and frequent it seemed the walls were simply repeating themselves every block. Coming to a four-way intersection, Ben looked up at the street signs to get his bearings and begin to head home. The chill of the night breeze had finally set into his bones.

When he looked up, the street names were unknown to him, so he had the option to either double back on Ciacco Street or turn onto Sordello. He attempted to look for the shining lights of the Sunset Strip to give him some sense of direction, but the boarded up shops and apartments stooped far too high for Ben to get a sense of his location. He turned onto Sordello, and passed by a fenced-off psychiatric hospital. What was left of the sign read ‘ST. BERN  RD A  YLUM’. A small pink sheet on the front of the wrought-iron gates read ‘CONDEMNED’. Mildly unnerved by the rotting exterior of the place, Ben pulled his jacket tighter to him and continued on. The chill still clung to him, no matter how close he pulled it.

Rounding another corner past the asylum, he walked onto a long, dark, and eerily quiet street. He stepped out onto the road and looked down. Cobblestone paving. He was in a far older part of town. He looked back to the corner he had just rounded and saw only darkness at the cutoff. The last streetlight he had passed had gone out. The new street was oddly clean. The chill had left his bones, he remarked. He still had no idea where he was. He decided to find some 24 hour bodega and borrow their phone. None of the lights in the shop were on, except for a small decorated lantern that hung over a wooden sign.

Ben walked closer to the sign, peering up at the faded paint. ‘FOUST’S APOTHECARY’, it read, and he pushed open the wooden door with the same name written on it in gold lettering. There was the brief chime of the door’s petite silver bell.  It was a small shop with a counter and hardwood flooring, all neatly polished. He looked beyond the counter and saw a shelf with columns and rows of bottles marked with tiny labels that were impossible to read without a magnifying glass. He sat down in a leather bar seat and ran his hands over the wooden counter. Was it open? Would he have to-

“I wasn’t under the impression that we would receive customers tonight,” Remarked a thin old man dressed in scarlet from the corner of the shop. “Not many people show up here at all, so I’d hardly expect someone, especially at this hour.”

“Yeah, I’m really sorry about that- you see my car is at my apartment and I got lost while walking, and-” 

“Oh, slow down a bit, young man, I know exactly why you’re here.”

Ben’s brow furrowed slightly, and the man in the corner put down his dense manuscript and stood up to shake his hand.

“Well you need medicine! Why else would you have wandered into an apothecary at this time of night. You’re in your hour of need, and no one else will help you. Well, as it so happens I am just the man you seek. Doctor Johann Faust- at your service.”

He walked around the counter with long strides, removing some bottles from the shelf and placing them on the counter with a swiftness Ben hadn’t expected from such an old man. 

“That’s very kind of you Sir, but really I just need to borrow your pho-”

The scarlet man cut him off- “Yes, yes, just a minute, I’ll get to that. You happen to have some more pressing matters, I believe.”

At this point Ben was too tired to interject, and elected to simply lean on the counter and let the scarlet-clad doctor rattle off his sales pitch.

“Benjamin, I am a man who solves problems. And many times they aren’t simply illnesses of the mind or of the body. They’re illnesses of the soul. Have you ever felt like you were simply meant to do something, but you are impaired somehow? This is an illness of the soul, you see. You were always meant for the silver screen, but the cruel and ignorant men above you simply wish to stop you from rising to the top.”

At this, Ben sat up. He had never told this man his name, much less his plight of reaching his dream as a host. He wanted to get up and leave, but everything around him told him to not move and stay exactly where he was. He could leave, but the back of his mind kept him in his chair. The impending, screaming sensation that if he left now, he would lose out on a once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity. 

“H-How do you know that?” Ben sputtered out. “I never told you any of that.”

The old man stopped what he was doing and stood up straight. He turned around and peered into Ben’s eyes. It was only now that he realized that the Doctor was quite a bit taller than him. The velvety voice began again:

 “You didn’t need to. It was all written there on your face. You see, all throughout my life I have seen poor, innocent people suffer because of the actions of those above them. How is it that the people who should never lead become the mightiest of the mighty? It’s just so... unfair. So I make it my business to help those less fortunate people achieve their goals. All pro bono, of course.”

Ben looked back at the eyes of the frail man in front of him. He seemed so kind, so purely helpful, like an innocent child who simply wants to help another reclaim the swing set he was pushed from. But his eyes… They spoke of something deeper, something darker and more purely maleficent than anything Ben had seen before. The Doctor turned and returned to his task. The pillowy baritone of the pharmacist resumed:

“I can help you, Ben. You and I both simply want the same thing. To bring joy to everyone. To dethrone the ignorant simpletons who have made themselves the kings of kings.”

The man turned to face him once again, and placed a small vial of a dark, glittering liquid before him. “Fallacem Argentum- a very rare and specialty concoction. It has the rather helpful  effect of making anyone seem hilarious and confident- the two most important qualities of a show host, don’t you agree?” Ben instinctively reached for it, but his hands were guided away from the vial by the Doctor. “I’m afraid, Benjamin, that you need a prescription for this, and that’s something you simply don't have. However,” The Doctor started, holding the bottle up to the light, “I can write you one- in exchange for a small favor.” Ben was fixed on the vial. Everything was leading up to this. This is what he needed. This is who he was. Ben had already disturbed the pharmacist by intruding at this late hour, so if he could repay him with whatever favor he needed, it would be only fair.

“Anything.”

A thin smile crept up the sides of Foust’s face, contorting his features to reveal a deep eagerness at Ben’s agreement.

“There will come a time when I require your service. At a time least expected, I will be there to claim what is rightfully mine. That’s all there is- I’ve already collected the down payment before you left.”

With this, the Doctor placed the bottle in front of him once more, and Ben grabbed it unimpeded.

“How does it work?” He asked, eyes still locked intently on the bottle. 

“Simply take one drop for confidence and humor, two drops for fame and fortune, and three drops…” The Doctor’s face fell a bit. He looked from the bottle to Ben’s eyes, which had momentarily broken their gaze from the bottle. 

“Three drops for what?”

“Three drops, my boy, will lead you down a path you may never want to walk. Three drops and your fame and fortune will be… eternal. But all who have tried have regretted it. They were simply too weak-willed for it, I suppose. They just didn’t have the Passion. Best to just stick with two, then.”

The pharmacist produced a small red-leather ledger and placed it in front of Ben.

“Simply sign here, a good hearty handshake, and then you’re off.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

The eager smile returned to the Doctor’s gaunt face. Ben suddenly found himself holding an ornate fountain pen. The handle was made of what seemed to be polished obsidian, and the deeper Ben peered into the side of it, the more he wondered if he would lose his mind in the endless, spiraling darkness. Ben was so tired. If he just signed, he could go back to sleep and be left alone. All he needed to do was-

A short, clear tap on the ledger indicating where he was to write his name brought him back to reality. He paused, reading over the names. So many people… Who was this guy? Wait a second- what was he doing here? He needed to get home, to feed his cat, to-

Before he knew it, Ben had signed the paper quickly, and the pen, suddenly wielding an immense weight, dropped from his hand. The scarlet man closed the book and placed both it and the pen in his breast pocket. He offered a bony hand.

Ben shook it.

The face of the pharmacist was whipped into utter delight. He let loose a deep, hearty chuckle. All previous refinement lost, he said-

“You can go.”

***

Ben started up in his bed. It was dawn, and the rays of the California sun had finally broken through the blinds to wake him. Everything that had happened the night before seemed fuzzy. Ethereal. Unreal. He walked over to the large bag of cat food and filled a bowl marked ‘EMBERS’. He looked around for the cat, who usually came running at the slightest hint of food. The soft pitter-patter of his feet never came.

Ben didn’t think much of it. After all, cats were lazier than most humans. He rose from the food bowl and suddenly stopped. His eyes were locked with an inky black vial on the counter.

He paused for a while, the memories of the previous night flooding back to him. The Asylum, the empty streets, the unnatural chill of the nocturnal air settling into his bones- it all came back. The eyes of the Doctor. Even now, he felt the endless abyss behind them boring holes into the most secluded parts of his being.

He put one hand on the bottle, and sloshed the liquid inside around. It was dense, like mercury. He debated simply tossing it out and considering the events of the past night a ‘stress-induced psychotic break’. “I would, but I paid for this-” He paused for a moment to briefly recall the events of the previous night once more. How much did he pay for this? Faust had said he wrote the prescription as a favor, but he had no memory of what he had given him in return.

He momentarily shook himself back to reality and looked around for Embers. He walked toward the hall where he had watched the cat slowly enter the previous night, but stopped at the entrance. 

“I’ve already collected the down payment.”

The Doctor’s words echoed back to him now. He stared into the hall, which even now in pure daylight was held in a subtle darkness, with the door to the bathroom being closed and the windows in the bedroom covered by the curtains, which had been drawn shut. He lingered for a moment, and turned to face the bottle once again. 

It felt like days, staring into the inky liquid in the bottle. Considering what he would do with it now that he had it. “How bad could it be? Two drops of anything can’t kill me,” He thought to himself. He went to the cupboard above the counter and removed a small coffee cup, placing it down next to the bottle. He put it under the faucet and filled it. Then, carefully unscrewing the lid of the bottle, he drew some of the liquid into the dropper and held it for a moment, careful not to release any of the pressure from his fingertips.

He kept the dropper suspended above the water.

“One drop for confidence and humor, two drops for fame and fortune, and three drops-”

Two drops of the onyx liquid fell into the cup. Ben’s hand held still over the cup for a moment, as if to tempt fate for another drop to fall from it. None did. He downed the cup. The liquid was bitter at first, but his tongue quickly acclimated to the taste. He recognised it from somewhere, but couldn’t put his finger on it. It was like a childhood dish with a main element removed- enough to offer the memory, but merely a shadow of what it truly was.

He stepped out into the air, which had changed rapidly from a blazing heat yesterday to a room-temperature atmosphere. Perhaps it was a few degrees too cold. The sudden focus on the sensation of the air on his skin reminded him of how fervently his sneakers chafed. It seemed completely normal, and yet, a creeping uneasiness stayed with Ben no matter where he went.

He began to walk toward his favorite cafe, a small, unambitious little shop owned by an immigrant family from Japan. Nice folk, yet the mother had the unappealing tendency to stare with intense scrutiny at anyone who entered. As a consequence, it was always empty. This was a bonus to Ben. 

He walked in, and offered a slight wave to the mother’s 10-year-old boy, who sat in the back corner of the sun-bleached shop playing something on his GameBoy. The wave, to Ben’s dismay, went unnoticed. The mother, Pauline, emerged from the backroom and gave a warm smile, which was quickly snuffed at the sight of Ben’s wrinkled flannel. 

“The usual?”

Actually, I was thinking a rum and coke this morning.

“Actually, I was thinking a rum and coke this morning.”

A brief, yet hearty chuckle emanated from Pauline. Where had that come from? He didn’t know, but he was proud of it. “A nice way to start my last day here.” Ben thought to himself.

“If you find one, get one for me too.” 

Pauline began making a double-shot espresso, Ben’s favorite, and he left the cash on the counter and sat down. He looked out the large glass windows to gaze lazily across the street. The sun was in the first third of the sky, and the smell of the coffee had brightened his mood. Today was going to be a good day.

He went up to the counter and took the espresso. He resumed sitting, and took a long sigh. In that moment, Ben seemed to be held in a peculiar stillness, as if his entire life had been slightly blurred, and only now came into focus. He noticed every little thing. The pallid creak of the plastic chair he was sitting in that accompanied every slight movement. The furious, yet practiced clicking of the GameBoy. The dull hiss of steam from the coffee makers. It all seemed so real, so present, and yet- so disconnected. Despite the lucidity in which he viewed his surroundings, Ben couldn’t find himself immersed in it. He felt held within his own interior stillness, quiet and unnoticed by the outside world.

He stepped out of the shop and began to walk back to his apartment. Just then, a neon-swept teenager on a skateboard shoved a flyer into his hands. The teen sped past and absentmindedly shouted “Come to open mike night at The Hooligan House!” Ben looked down at the dry pink paper in his hands. “Why not?” He postulated, “What the Hell?”

***

The atmosphere of the comedy club was tipsy and jovial, with silver-tongued crooners smooth-talking to well-dressed ladies scattered throughout the club. People of all sorts were here, and the only one who felt out of place was Ben. He slipped into one of the front-row booths and sat down. A waitress came up to him and he asked for a beer. He sipped the foamy liquid courage and turned towards the stage.

“Uh, welcome to open mike night here at California’s own HH.”

The dull announcement was met with thunderous applause and cheers from across the club. The obviously stoned, flannel-clad man continued.

“Basically the rules are you have a max of five minutes, no racist or sexist shit, y’all know the drill.”

A man dressed in a loose polo went up. He flashed a cheesy smile, grabbed the mike with familiar confidence, and began:

“You know, I recently had to put my mom in a nursing home.”

The audience met this with sympathetic sighs.

“Yeah, her house parties were loud as hell- I couldn’t get any sleep. This bitch had to go.”

Uproarious laughter showered the comedian. His routine consisted of the same type of jokes. He presented his eighty-year old mother as a virile teen going through the angst that puberty brings on. A couple other people went up, and something deep inside Ben said:

Get up there. Show em’ what you’ve got.

Ben scooted out of his seat and briskly walked up to the microphone. There were scattered claps throughout the establishment. In an effort to hide his shaky hands he gripped it with both hands and began. He peered into the black faceless mass that was the crowd. He paused for a moment, trying to remember his jokes. He cursed under his breath. He’d left his book at home. I suppose he’d have to improvise. His mind was blank- he frantically racked his brain for anything resembling a joke when he heard a voice, perhaps his own, begin to speak.

“So the other day I was walking home, and I saw this homeless guy sweeping the streets with a branch.”

Small chuckles came from the crowd. The voice continued, and Ben was in a trance- was the voice his own? He’d never know. All he knew was that he was talking and it was working.

“First of all- good for him for keeping his community clean.”

A hearty laugh came from the crowd. Ben relaxed his grip.

“It’s not every day you see someone like that. I was honestly so surprised I just kinda watched him do it. At least he’s trying, right? Just look at him go- sweeping in two directions so the dirt stays in the same place. By far the most responsible crackhead I’ve seen in a while. He compares only to good ol’ Stabby Power-washes-the-street. Both upstanding men in the community.”

Ben continued on, caught in a stupor of the limelight- The words flowed effortlessly out of him- he didn’t need to think and they were already there, sent out to the crowd for them to devour. He finished his set and sat down. The audience cheered. The stoned manager from before came out and wished everyone a good night. People got up to leave, and as Ben was putting on his coat, a hand gripped his shoulder. Ben spun around and was face to face with a well-dressed little man in his forties, who stood a good foot shorter than him.

“Rick Barnaby- Talent Agent.”

He flicked a sleek black business card out to him and thrust it into his hands.

“And you got talent, kid. Real talent. The way you had that crowd busting their guts? Beautiful. Listen, gimme a call if you’re interested in working as a writer or something. There are tons of small studios in the hills that would love a guy like you!”

The balding man clapped him on the shoulder and walked away. Ben couldn’t help a smile from flooding over his face. He turned to the bar and asked to settle his tab.

The cheeky comedian from earlier sat at the bar, staring at him.

“You know, you’ve got chops, I’ll give you that. Guys like Barnaby are small fry- He goes after every wide-eyed comedian who can get a chuckle out of these idiots.”

Any previous levity was gone from the comedian’s face. He emptied his glass and got up.

“You want my advice? Wait until the big names go for you- but for that you need a club a lot bigger than this one.” He turned to the barkeep and gestured to his empty glass. “That one’s on him.” The now-sullen comedian quickly departed.

Ben begrudgingly paid his tab, along the extra charge for the other comedian’s drink. He stepped out into the sweet Hollywood air. The city glistened across the darkness. It was like the whole place was stuck in a haze of limelight. Before, He was nothing. Now, the city was his. He stepped off into the darkness.

***

  Ben awoke yet again into a day he thought wouldn’t happen. He once again stared into the inky black liquid. He strode past the untouched food bowl, eyes locked in place with the vial. He outstretched his hand to it, but quickly withdrew it. He got another mug and placed it near the coffee maker.

All who have tried it have regretted it. They just didn’t have the Passion.

He picked the mug up again and filled it with water. He placed the mug on the counter next to the vial. What was he doing? The Doctor had said that all who have done it have regretted it.

Because they didn’t have the Passion.

Ben looked at the vial again.

“I have passion.”

Yes, Benjamin, you do. The people who regretted it didn’t have the same fire you possess.

“W-what if I don’t? What if it’s really not in me?”

There are always a million reasons not to do something. All this worry is so… negative. Let go of your inhibitions.

 Ben unscrewed the cap and dropped the third drop in. He downed the cup. The taste was the same alluding flavor- but he was more passive to the subtle bitterness now. He knew that this was truly him.

He stepped out into the daylight- ready to make his way in the world. He was gripped by the strong sensation that the world was his. He had the fire. He had fought for this. Now it was time. Time to become the man he always wanted to be.

He stepped onto the crosswalk, not noticing the flatbed truck hurtling out of his peripheral vision. Ben took his last step with profound purpose. And all the world was gone.

***

“AHAHA, HOLY SHIT!”

Ben was in a leather armchair, face to face with a slender, neatly dressed man sitting across a dark mahogany desk. He was cackling and slamming the desk with laughter. Every beat against the hard wood was deafening. The true sadistic nature of the laugh made Ben fall sick to his stomach.

The fireplace burned brightly behind the still-laughing man. The eager flares mimicked the chaotic swelling of the laughter. All around the office was dark wood. He wanted to turn around, but fear kept him in his place.

“Ohh, ohh, oh my goodness-”

The man’s face rose from his desk and he wiped a tear from his eye. His skin color was an aggressive crimson. A horrible realization dawned on Ben. The truck- wait- How did he survive? Unless… The realization shot into him brutally.

“That is, without a doubt- one of the best ones I’ve seen. I mean, you took the third drop and, like, immediately get hit by a truck. I mean, hot damn. Wow. Really, really, great stuff. Okay- let’s take a little look-see at your file here.”

A bright red folder produced itself in a quick burst of flame. The man opened it and began to read, mouthing most of the words. Wild expressions darted across his face with every new sentence, most of them being jovial surprise.

“Excuse me but what am I-”

The man made a ‘Shut-your-mouth’ gesture with his hands and Ben fell silent. Ben put a hand to his mouth and felt around it. He gagged- It was sewn shut. He traced his fingers over the stitches and let loose a muffled scream. The scream was met with not even an apathetic glance from the man. He kicked his feet up onto the desk and sank back into his leather chair. He tossed the folder into the fireplace behind him. 

“So, uh, normally Paul, the demon in charge of your case, would be the one doing this, but he’s uhh, kind of busy right now, so here I am. You know, I almost turned down this overtime shift. But this… oh this is definitely worth it. Now, unless you’re a full-blown brickhead, you’ve probably figured out where you are by now.”

The demon let loose an excessive, toothy grin.

“You can talk, genius.”

Ben took in a sharp breath and felt around his lips. No stitches, no scars.

“W-wasn’t I h-h-hit by the t-t-”

“Ehh, wuh-wuh-wuh, buh-buh-buh, Speak up, moron. Yeah, you’re in the ol’ H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks all right. In here for a doozy of a sin, too. Deal with the Big Guy, huh? How’d you manage a score with the head honcho ‘round here? Ya sleep with him?”

The demon once again launched into cackling laughter.

“Naw, naw, I’m just giving you a hard time. Don’t take it personally.  I do this to everybody, it’s sort of my job. You get it.”

Ben looked around for cameras. Perhaps this was some sort of practical joke? He thought if perhaps he just waited a bit, a man with a clipboard would come out and tell him he made tonight’s news, and that California 48 would be televising his reaction to the prank.

No such relief came.

The... Demon? Man? Hapless actor? It didn’t matter. The beet-red, snappily dressed thing that sat across from him was nothing short of delighted to be looking over his file. Ben gathered the courage to look around. A ludicrous amount of mahogany. Behind him, at the back of the room, was a large aquarium with a beefy coconut crab. 

“You know, that’s the crab that ate Amelia Earhart..”

“What?”

Ben turned back around to face the demon, who was leaning far across the desk, studying every aspect of Ben’s terrified expression. The demon sank back and looked at his watch. 

“Oh, shit. We gotta get you out to hair and makeup right now.”

“W-what?”

The demon immediately grew a short beard that didn’t cover his chin, and a puffy afro.

“SAY ‘WHAT’ AGAIN! I DARE YOU, I DOUBLE-DARE YOU!”

Ben fell backwards, out of his chair. His head hit the hardwood with a bang. An intense, sharp sting immediately pulsed from the back of his head. The demon once again launched into violent laughter, and then pulled him upright in his chair again. 

“Oh, my bad, guy. I can’t have you all fuzzy for what’s about to happen. I was just kidding about hair and makeup, by the way. You go out just as ugly as you are now.”

Hair and makeup? What the hell was he on about? There wasn’t any-

A neatly dressed, presumably female, demon with her hair in a tight bun quickly opened the door and leaned in. 

“You’re on in five, Cal.”

“Thanks, Toots.”

She looked at Ben and squealed excitedly.

“Is that the guy?”

Cal responded cheerily, “Yep. In the… well, I guess you wouldn’t say flesh.”

The assistant once again squealed excitedly, and then quickly left and shut the door.

Ben, collecting his bearings, sputtered out,

“Look, I think you have the wrong guy. I-I’m not a bad person, I j-just-”

Cal looked at his watch and smiled.

“Showtime!”

He snapped his fingers, and it felt for a brief moment that a fireball had covered Ben. Not enough to burn him, but enough to flash-heat him and startle him again. This time, he was behind a dark red curtain. The neatly-dressed demon from earlier was right next to him.

“I’m Prinne. I’m an Assistant Executive. I just wanted to say, on behalf of all of us, how much your sheer stupidity means to us. Really it's… inspiring. Oop- this is you. Bad luck!”

She scurried off somewhere, and the heavy curtains swept open before Ben, momentarily blinding him from the industrial lighting. He briefly heard,

“... Ben Harding!” 

A jazz orchestra flooded out an upbeat piece, as Cal walked over and moved him to a plush suede couch. He could barely hear anything of the swarm of cheers that washed over Ben. Cal sat down at a desk next to him.

“Isn’t he great, folks?! Look at that- two arms, two legs- the works!”

This was met with guffawing laughter. The crowd quieted down, and Ben’s focus turned towards Cal. Cal was beaming, and he took a sip from a cup that Ben was positive wasn’t coffee.

“So, Ben. I always start my guests with the same question-”

The crowd finished his sentence loudly.

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!”

Ben stuttered, his mind blank.

“A-a TV show?” was all he managed to get out.

Cal turned to the crowd inquisitively.  “What do you think, people, did he get it?”

There was a loud mix of ‘Boos’ and cheers. It was impossible to hear what the majority thought. Cal started again- “I’ll give you a hint, pal. I told you earlier.”

Ben somehow turned paler than he was before.

“Oh, God…”

“NOPE! NOT FOR YOU!”

Deafening laughter resumed. Ben knew what it was. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t bring himself to admit the reality he was facing.

Cal answered for him:

“You know what, guy? I’m a kind fella, so I’ll take that pale, mortal face o’ yours as the correct answer! You’re in…”

Once again the crowd responded.

“HELL!”

A red, flashing marquis sign lowered, illuminating the word. The crowd burst out with laughter once more. As Ben stared directly up at it, he began to weep uncontrollably. This was simply too much to handle. He wanted to go home! He wanted to hug his mother! He wanted to see his cat again!

“What’s that? Your cat? Why would you want to see him again? HE’S THE ONE THAT BROUGHT YOU TO OUR ATTENTION!”, Cal shouted with sheer glee.

Ben was confused beyond words, beyond thought. Cal continued.

“That’s right! He did! If you still want to say ‘Hi’ to your little buddy, then good news! He’s here in the audience tonight!”

A spotlight wheeled around to shine on Embers in the front row, sitting upright, like a human, waving a paw at the cameras and smiling to the extent that a cat could smile.

Cal began again-

“You see, I don’t know if you realized this, but cats just tend to walk between Hell and the mortal plane all the time! It’s just kinda a thing they do. I think the real tug-at-your-heartstrings of it all was the fact that even though you loved him, even though you fed him, even though you cleaned up his stanley steamers all his life, he still couldn’t give a rat’s ass about YOU!”

The crowd busted a gut at this statement. Ben was speechless, staring at the dark, shapeless crowd. The spotlight returned to Cal.

“Alright, folks, It’s time for one of my favorite segments. You know the one-”

The crowd returned-

“GIVE! HIM! MORE! EYES!”

Ben, still weeping, let loose a scream of complete and utter fear  for his existence. He tried to get up, but his legs simply wouldn’t allow him to do so. He beat on his legs with his fists, seemingly endlessly, hoping to get them to work, so they could speed him out of this waking nightmare.

“Aww, I think he wants to go.” Cal made a harlequinesque frown at this comment.

The crowd boomed back more laughter. Cal continued,

“Don’t worry, stupid. This next segment isn’t about you. We just want you to watch.”

Cal gestured to a platform where a man strapped to a board rose out of the ground. His mouth was sewn shut, as Ben’s had been earlier. Cal walked over to the pot-bellied, balding man and began, placard in hand.

“Our next contestant on G.H.M.E. comes to us from Snerling, Indiana. Gabriel Mortson, welcome to Give Him More Eyes!”

He screamed a suppressed wail of terror.

“Now Gabey-boy, you sexually assaulted over fifteen minors in your time on the mortal plane! How do you plead, asswipe?!”

Gabe once again wailed a muffled cry. Cal resumed,

“Sounds like ‘guilty’ to me, folks.” The crowd cheered in agreement with the verdict.

Cal bellowed another sadistic laugh and snapped his fingers. Immediately, a thousand cuts ripped across the man’s entire body. He tried his hardest to scream, but nothing came from his tightly-shut mouth. Blood oozed out of every cut, and one by one, human eyes that looked exactly like Gabriel’s own quickly festered from each cut. The muffled scream went on endlessly. Ben’s eyes were fixed, even through the tears. No desire had ever been as strong as Ben’s was for death then. What he believed was true death, an endless, peaceful sleep. Cal’s joyous expression reminded him that his belief was not the case. Gabriel, drenched in his own blood, receded down into the floor of the stage once more.

“Benny Hill! Back to you, buddy. You are an ‘especial’ case. For you, dear friend, we have a game we rarely get to play. This one is reserved specifically for people who make deals with the Big Fella!”

The crowd erupted in applause and cheered again. A small stream of urine trickled steadily down Ben’s pant leg. Cal continued.

“The rules are simple- walk down this hallway, don’t open any of the doors, and just leave!”

Ben was confused. There must be a catch. Ben was sure of it. Nothing Cal said would ever be trustworthy. Not after what he had seen.

“Alrighty then, Ben-to box! Best of luck!”

Ben saw Cal’s hand move to snap his fingers, but he was gone before he could have heard Cal’s snap. It was odd. He looked down an average hotel hallway. It looked exceedingly calm. The carpet was a stripe of red with beige on both sides. The walls were a neutral cream. Each of the doors had a small, excellently polished door knob on them. He took a step forward. There was no sound, no creak. Ben took another, and was startled by a loud crunching behind him. 

He swiftly turned around, and was put somewhat at ease at the realization that it was simply an ice machine. He resumed his path forward. That was when he heard the first voice.

“Benji?”

A soft, frail voice came from the first door on the left.

“M-mom?” 

Ben’s hand instinctively went towards the handle. He caught himself and whipped it back, holding both of his hands tightly in his armpits.

“Benji, please… please come in. I want to see you. Where did you go, Benji? Why did you leave me?”

Ben tried his hardest to shut out the voice by clamping his hands to his ears. It did nothing. The voice continued, as Benjamin picked up the pace moving forward. The voice grew louder and louder, coming from every door that he passed.

“Benji… Benji, please!... BENJI!... BENJI!”

The farther he got from the first door, the louder and more demonic the voice became, until it was an unholy shriek, cutting deeply into his ears, punishing him, until at once it stopped. Ben fell to his knees and assumed the fetal position, crying loudly and uncontrollably. He laid there, weeping, until he heard that voice in his head once more.

“Keep moving.”

He got up and wiped the tears out of his eyes. He turned around, and he had passed about a dozen doors by then. Only six remained before the slightly open door at the end of the hall. There was a soft golden light coming from the edge, but he couldn't see what was out there. He heard an old TV turn on inside one of the rooms.

“Now, It’s The Late Show- with Ben Harding!” 

Ben continued on, passing through the doors, each one playing a variation of a late-night talk show hosted by Ben. That was, until he came to the sixth door. It was the only door with a small brass door plate in the shape of a star with ‘Benjamin Harding’ inscribed on it. Behind it, he heard:

“Where is he? He needs to be on in two minutes! We can’t have this stupid show without this stupid host!” He then heard light, but stern footsteps pace around the room. Under the door, a shadow danced accordingly. The voice behind the sixth door was the softest. Still, Ben found it the most alluring. His hand slipped out of his armpit and gently onto the knob. The handle was nice and warm. Ben was cold. Perhaps someone has opened a window. There was the same chill in his bones as there was that night. That chill that inched him forward, towards the warm, convenient shop. He felt as he did when he held the drop of the liquid above his cup. 

No turning back now.

But there was. He turned to his left, and saw the final door. It’s light was warm, but not enough to warm him the way he felt the sixth door would. Ben took one final look at the sixth door, and slipped his hand off the knob. Somehow, he could feel the crowd’s disappointment, even without hearing them. That was his victory. For the first time all night, he cracked a smile. He had won. He would fix his mistake. He left the sixth door behind and exited through the final door at the hall. It was warm, just as he thought. He was standing in a field of wild wheat. He turned around and the door was gone. “Ohio.” He thought. He saw abandoned train tracks to the East, and started walking that way. It was a serene afternoon. Not humid, but breezy. A single cloud hung in the sky, moving across the horizon. He walked toward the tracks, and with a single, intense ‘thwack’, he was greeted with the loudest laughter that the crowd had let loose.

Searing, unbelievable pain shot through his leg. Ben dropped to his knee, and tried to pry off the bear trap he had stepped in. It wouldn’t budge. He looked up, and the kind, serene sun was gone. All there was was the harsh light and the crowd. Cal knelt down with him and put a hand on his shoulder. He was tearing up with laughter.

“YOU DON’T GET TO LEAVE, YOU IDIOT! I’M AFRAID THAT SHIP HAS SAILED!”

The crowd continued its tsunami of deafening laughter. Ben’s section of the stage was being lowered into the darkness, just as Gabriel had been. All Ben heard before the darkness was the crowd’s inhuman cackling, and Cal’s voice say:

“That one’s going on the Highlight Reel for sure!”

[darks-ink]

What A Nice Surprise CH.9

Since Tumblr still hates line breaks I’m gonna try something new with them today. If you see this post with (---) breaks it broke spectacularly and I edited them away without changing the author note. As you do.

First Chapter - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter AO3 - FFnet

Jazz stepped off of the stairs and into the lab, and Danny floated in right behind her. Their parents didn’t look up, laser-focused on… the Ghost Catcher? The invention laid on the table in front of them, partially dismantled. The netting, he noticed, had been removed entirely.

“Mom, dad?” Jazz asked, carefully.

They looked up simultaneously, startled, eyes opening wider when they saw him floating beside Jazz.

“Oh! We hadn’t heard you, either of you.” Maddie turned off her blowtorch and put it down. “I’m sorry, we were so busy we must’ve been zoning out.”

“It’s alright,” Danny assured them, ignoring Jazz’s annoyed nudge. Clearly she didn’t agree, and in most cases he would, too; his parent’s obsession with their work could be aggravating at times. But considering what they were working on, their new stance on ghosts, it made him think that they were trying to be nice. To change themselves, and change their inventions along the way.

Jack put down his tools as well, pulling off his goggled hood. “Jazzy-pants, did you want to talk to us as well, or were you just dropping Phantom off?”

“Oh, well, actually.” She shifted, uncertain, and now Danny was the one to nudge her, encouragingly. “I was thinking… could I invite some ghosts here?”

Their parents exchanged glances. A frown creased Maddie’s brow when she turned back to them. “Like Sidney, or Queen Dora? I suppose that that’s alright. I guess the inter-dimensional phones work, then, Phantom?”

“Yep.” He nodded. “With your Fenton Phones and some of the technology from the Far Frozen Technus managed it. He promised to stop causing trouble in Amity as well, and that he would let me know if he wanted to come visit normally, but I’m not entirely sure I trust him on that.”

“Best not,” his dad agreed with a grimace. “That ghost can cause such havoc, and with his control over technology he can be hard to stop.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Danny shook his head. Then he realized that they had derailed the conversation and bumped Jazz a little forward again. “But, to get back to the original topic, I don’t think that Jazz was talking about Sid and Dora. Not exclusively, at least, right Jazz?”

“Uh, yeah, no.” She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, a show of anxiety Danny rarely saw from her, similar to his own neck rubbing. “I was actually thinking… hoping… to invite other ghosts here as well? I know from Sidney and Dora that there are a lot of traumatized ghosts out there, and they can’t just go to any psychiatrist.”

She shrugged, gathering her confidence again now that she was in her element. “So I thought, why not me? I’m already helping Sidney, and I’m helping Dora, and I’ve got a phone that can connect with them while they’re in the Ghost Zone. Most wouldn’t even come by, I don’t think.”

“And if they do?” Maddie asked, frowning. “What if they’re dangerous?”

“I can stay close by, just in case,” Danny suggested. “Obviously it won’t be perfect, because I can’t be close enough for them to tell, but still. If something goes wrong, she just has to call and I’ll come. But I don’t think it’ll be necessary.”

Maddie clicked her tongue. “And why not?”

“Because most ghosts really could use someone like Jazz.” Danny’s shoulders sagged. “And even those who don’t will respect that. No one wants to see their fellow ghosts miserable. Even the most aggressive, the ones that hunker for a fight, prefer an opponent with a fresh mind and a healthy lust for life. Or, well, unlife. Ghost life? Uh, anyway. You get what I mean, right?”

She looked between him and Jazz, her stern expression softening. “Yes, I understand. Jazz, if you make sure you’re carrying equipment and let us know beforehand, I’m alright with it. Jack?”

“I agree. Let us check the gear beforehand, though, to make sure it all works.” He nodded, once, then smiled. “I’m happy to see you interested in ghosts as well, Jazzy-Pants, even if it’s in your own way!”

Smiling back, Jazz nudged Danny and said, “Yes, well, thank Phantom for making me think of it in the first place. And Sidney, I suppose, for mentioning that most ghosts are traumatized by their life and/or death.”

“Well, you’re welcome, I guess.” He laughed, floating closer to his parents. “Never knew that just acting like myself could’ve done such good, but I’ll gladly take it.”

She tsk’d and shook her head. “You’re an enigma, Phantom.” Then, turning to their parents, she said, “Well, I’ll let you three get working on ghost science then.”

“Good luck with Sidney and Dora,” Danny shouted back as she turned around. She waved a hand as she walked through the doorway, and he grinned.

“So, Phantom, any plans for today?” Jack asked when she was gone.

Shrugging, Danny turned to face them properly. “I was thinking of continuing the testing of my powers? I realized that we never got around to doing the last few, the less basic ones.”

Maddie frowned, thoughtful. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. That leaves mostly your offensive abilities, right? Ecto-rays, shields, telekinesis?”

“Those, and my ice powers, electric powers, and my Ghostly Wail. Not that I’ll show that last one, but still.” He scratched his cheek, mentally checking over his list. Ecto-ray, ecto shield, ghost stinger, ghostly wail, cryokinesis… and duplication, but he didn’t plan on showing that one. He mostly used it to protect his identity anyway. Splitting his strength across multiple bodies was rarely useful in a fight. “Yeah, that should be all of them.”

“Where do you want to start, kiddo?” Jack had bounced over to grab a notepad, which Danny guessed was the same one as earlier. Or maybe it wasn’t. Honestly, who knew with his parents. “Ecto-rays, maybe? We have equipment to measure the strength, and a shooting range for accuracy.”

“Sounds good.” Danny nodded, lifting a little higher in the air. “Where is this shooting range hidden, then?”

A beep and a grinding noise behind him, and Danny whirled around to see one of the walls opening up. His mom stood beside it, hand on a lever. “Right here.”

“Well, damn.” Danny whistled, impressed despite himself. He supposed it made sense that his parents had a shooting range in the lab, but he kind of wished he had known about it sooner. Could’ve helped a lot, back when he first started. “Is the strength-measuring-thing separately, or…?”

“No swearing,” his mom corrected with a tired but parental tone. “And no, as long as you hit the targets they can measure the strength of the blast as well. Their original purpose was to test our guns, after all.”

“Makes sense.” He floated over to the line on the ground, landing soundlessly. “Is this the place you’re supposed to stand, then?”

Jack wandered closer, flipping the notebook to a new page. “Yes, exactly. Can you hit the target with a couple of ‘normal’ strength blasts, first? And then after that we’ll test the range of your strength, the weakest and the strongest.”

“Sounds good to me.” He created a whirling ball of green ectoplasm around his hand, the light reflected on the dented steel walls around them. “Should I hit separate ones, or the same one multiple times?”

“Go for a wider range,” Maddie recommended from where she stood to the side. “It’ll give us a better idea of your aim, too. We’ve seen it in the field, but aim in the middle of battle and aim while standing still isn’t the same.”

Huffing out a laugh, Danny replied, “Yeah, no kidding. I thought I did a good job of teaching myself good aim until I had to fight other ghosts. No wonder people complained about the property damage.”

Lighting up his other hand as well, he stretched out the right in front of him. “I can start already, right?”

“Go for it,” both of his parents chorused, and Danny grinned. It felt good to release his energy without the threat of other ghosts for once.

After his years of practice hitting moving ghosts, the static targets were, well, easy targets. He made sure to modulate his strength, firing blasts and rays of moderate strength. The amount of power he would use against most of his enemies. The humans, he hit only with the weakest rays, and only ever to disarm, rather than direct hits.

“Good show,” his mom commented when he stopped. “Pretty powerful hits, though the exact strength varied a little. Stronger than most of our weaponry, though. And this wasn’t the top of your range, right?”

“Uh, no.” He watched as his dad copied over the notes from the computer. “This is what I usually use against enemy ghosts. I can go a bunch stronger, but usually that’s not really necessary, or it might be too dangerous if the ghost is harder to hit. If there’s a high risk of missing, I don’t want it to be at full power.”

“Good thinking,” his dad complimented, sticking up a thumb in his direction. “Now, have you ever tried out how little power you can put behind your rays?”

“Yeah, actually.” Danny shook out his hands demonstratively, a smirk crawling onto his face. “I only use the weakest of my blasts if I ever aim at human hunters. I never aim to hit them directly, either, only to disarm. And even then, as little power as possible.”

“Well, what d’you know.” Jack scratched his cheek, then shrugged. “Still, I would be interested in seeing the exact strength for that. Go ahead, Phantom.”

“Sure, alright.” He coiled up his power, then made a finger gun and released the tiniest amount of power as he could. The beam, thin and faltering, hit the target dead-on.

“Is the finger gun necessary?” his mom asked, tone somewhere between exasperated and curious. “Or is it just more fun, or more taunting?”

“A little of both,” Danny admitted with a shrug, shooting off another beam with his other hand. “At the weakest, my beams are only small, so its easier to expel them if I fire from a finger instead of the center of my hand. Plus it helps keep apart the different levels in strength – this way it’s easier to not accidentally fire off a full-power shot.”

“You’ve put so much thought into all of these things.” Maddie shook her head with a soft sigh. “But why?”

Danny snorted, turning to face her – and his dad – instead of the targets. “With my reputation I have to think of everything. Ghost hunters already vilify me for firing at them in the first place. Now imagine if I accidentally hit them strong enough to hurt? That would ruin me.”

Then he weaved his fingers together, cracking them loudly. “So, full power next?”

Both of his parents narrowed their eyes at the less-than-subtle topic change, but they let it slide. His dad quickly took note of the data, while his mom nodded at him. “Yes. The targets should be able to survive even your strongest, and the wall definitely will. So give it your all, Phantom.”

“Will do.” He grinned, widely, and grasped for as much power as he could. There was a hard limit to how much energy he could expel at once via his rays, of course. If he wanted to cross that, he had to dip into his Ghostly Wail – and risk transforming back because he expelled too much energy. That didn’t happen with his ecto-rays.

Not anymore, at least. Early on, everything cost way more power, and he had had way less stamina.

His aura brightened in response to the gathering energy, green ectoplasm wreathing his hands. Pushing them together and out in front of him, he fired a ray at his full strength.

The target groaned but, surprisingly, held on. It was, however, severely blackened.

Jack whistled lowly, impressed. “That was pretty impressive, Phantom.”

“Um, thanks.” Danny’s shoulders shot up, a green blush crawling onto his face. “I can, uh, fire a few more?”

“That would be nice.” Maddie looked over the targets with a grimace. “But maybe aim for a different one, just to be safe.”

“Will do.” He focused back onto his core, calling onto his internal ectoplasmic energy. Another shot was fired, and then a third. Finally he launched off a fourth.

“That’s all I can do for now, if we still want to test all my other powers,” he said, panting a little from the exertion. “In a regular battle I would try more, of course, but–”

“–But there’s no need for that now, no.” Maddie patted him on the shoulder. “It was pretty impressive, Phantom, especially those three in short succession. You did great, sweetie.”

The blush returned, and Danny stammered out a “Thanks.”

Jack finished writing, turning back to him and Maddie. “So what’s next? Another offensive power, or the ghost shield?”

“We can do my cryokinesis next.” Danny formed a snowball in his hand, throwing it up and down experimentally. “None of my other powers require the targets. Cryokinesis has a variety of forms, but I normally use it as a ray, similar to my ecto-ray.”

“Good, good.” She gestured over to the targets. “Go when you’re ready, then.”

He threw the snowball first, hitting the closest target dead-center, then followed it up with an ice ray. Ice crawled around the impact site, quickly covering the entire target. Danny let up his power, diverting the energy to form an ice spike instead. This, too, he threw, but at a different target. Another spike, and another hit as a metal target was pierced.

“How was that?” he asked when he turned back to his parents, grinning. But the smile fell when he noticed their frowns. “What? What’s wrong?”

The two of them exchanged glances. Then Maddie cleared her throat and said, carefully, “Are you aware that your… eyes change? When you do that?”

He blinked. Blinked again. Then pinched his nose. “Yeah,” he groaned, “Frostbite mentioned it, way back when I first got them. I kinda forgot. They turn blue, right?” Not the same blue as his human form, Frostbite had said, and the glow helped set them apart. But he really wished he had remembered before now. He could only hope that his parents would grow suspicious, wouldn’t link his human and ghost forms with this new information.

“So it’s normal?” his dad asked, sounding mildly relieved. “Strange though, isn’t it, for your eyes to change when you’re using this specific power?”

“Eh, not really.” Danny shrugged, hoping to play it off, so that everyone would forget it happened. “It’s pretty normal for really intrinsic powers, like my ice and Plasmius’ fire. His eyes get more pink and glowy when he uses that, to match his pink fire.”

Danny held out a hand, slowly building an ice sculpture in the open palm to demonstrate the change of eyes – and another application of his power. “It’s why some people think ghosts have elemental cores. All powers come from the same point in our bodies, the core, but the way it affects the rest of the body differs. It depends on the circumstances – the ghost, the power, and how it’s acquired. Cryokinesis for the Far Frozen yetis is normal, so it doesn’t change them when they use it, but I gained it later. Vice versa, if any of them developed, for example, ecto-electricity, I bet it would change something about their appearance, too.”

“That… makes sense.” His dad’s hand moved quickly as he scribbled all the new information down. “The implication that your powers aren’t set is very interesting, though. I wonder how they’re determined?”

“I dunno, to be honest.” His power petered off again, and he raised the statue to check its clarity. Crystal-clear – Frostbite would’ve been proud. “Some powers definitely seem to be pre-set. And to be honest, I seem to gain powers much more easily than many others. It’s adaptability, maybe? Because I fight so many diverse enemies, I develop a lot of diverse abilities?”

“That does sound logical,” his mom admitted. “It would certainly be interesting to research it further, perhaps speak with other ghosts about it. But for now, which power do you want to try next?”

He shrugged, the ice sculpture melting away again. “Ghost Stinger, I suppose. I assume you have a way to measure the charge, since that’s probably the part you’ll find most interesting?”

“Your… ‘Ghost Stinger’?” Maddie frowned, looking over at Jack and then back to Danny. “I don’t think we’ve heard that name yet.”

“Not?” Then he realized and groaned. “Right, of course, duh. My ecto-electicity, I meant. I call it my Ghost Stinger sometimes, since it’s shorter.”

“Not much shorter,” his dad muttered as he started digging through a box. “Ecto-electro sounds catchier, doesn’t it?”

Danny snorted. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I tend to shorten it to Stinger. Easier to remember. But not very scientific, I’ll admit. It’s an older power, and an older name.”

“Jack, I’ve found it already, honey.” Maddie stepped closer, a machine with two cords running from it in her hands. The ends of the cables, she handed to Danny. “Take one in each hand and send the power through those. It was made to handle our inventions, so it’ll survive you too, I’m sure.”

“Are you sure?” Danny asked with a smirk, taking the ends in each hand. “Maybe put down the thing, just to be sure.”

She did, placing the machine on a table. “Well, do your worst, Phantom.”

Smirk widening into a grin, he did. Crackling green electricity sparked from his core, visibly running down his arms and into the cables. As the charge ran over the cables, his dad whistled once more.

“What a light show!” he called, joyfully. “You can see the power running from his core, look at that, Maddie! It’s incredible!”

Danny released the power, the air loud with static. “Thanks,” he huffed between breaths. “Glad you enjoyed the show.”

Both of them stepped forward, Maddie checking the data while Jack clapped a hand on Danny’s shoulder, ignoring the sparks that still bounced over his jumpsuit. “It was very impressive, Phantom. A scientific wonder, for sure, but also a beautiful show of your power.”

“It was nothing compared to the Ghostly Wail, power-wise. There’s a reason why I never use that power – and why I refuse to show it to you.” Danny grinned tiredly. “But thanks. It’s… nice, to have someone impressed over my abilities outside of, y’know, combat.”

“And what power,” Maddie commented, showing Jack the readings. “It was quite amazing, Phantom.”

Cold flushed down his cheeks, glowing green blush finding its way back. “Thanks. Both of you, really, thanks. But, um. Next power?”

“Shield or telekinesis?” Jack asked, accepting the topic change. “Both would be pretty similar to test, I think.”

“Let’s start with the shield first.” Danny prodded his core, checking his energy levels, but he had plenty to spare. No need to worry about running out and shifting back. “Since it’s a much older power than telekinesis.”

“The shield stops physical objects and ectoplasmic attacks, right?” Maddie reached into the box she had just put the electric machine in, pulling out a tube with tennis balls. “So we can test it with these, first?”

“Uh, yeah.” Danny floated towards the shooting range, hovering in the air. “Those’ll do just fine. I’ll go over here so the bouncing balls won’t wreck your entire lab.”

“Good plan.” She pulled out several balls, handing a few over to Jack as well. “We’ll circle around, try to get you from any direction. Start with a circular shield, and we’ll pause before trying a flat one.”

A green bubble made out of ectoplasmic glass formed around him, and he stuck up a thumb. “Hit me with your worst!”

The first tennis ball hit right in front of his face, and Danny reflexively flinched back a step. “Good throw,” he complimented his mom.

Many more followed it, thudding off of his shield from several directions. Like Maddie had said, his parents were circling around the bubble from the ground, hitting him from various angles.

Then, suddenly, a sound closer to a shink than a thud came, and Danny whirled around inside the bubble. Protruding from the outside was a card, it’s corner buried into the ecto-glass shield.

“What was that?” he asked, turning himself back to his parents, rotating the bubble simultaneously. “I thought we were using tennis balls!”

“We were!” his dad called back, a sheepish expression on his face. “But I was gonna hand you that card, and then I went to throw a ball and I threw the card instead!”

Danny started at the man, incredulous. Then he sighed, collapsing the bubble. The card, now freed, fell to the floor of the lab. “Really.”

“Sorry.” His dad ducked down, grabbing the card from the floor. Then he presented it to Danny again. “Here you go, kiddo.”

He took the card from Jack’s hand, flipping it over the read the other side. It was… a birthday invitation?

“What’s…?”

“It’s an invitation!” Jack boomed, grinning wide but a little uncertain. “For my birthday! It’s a week or two out yet, but I was sending out the invitations and realized I had no way of getting one to you.”

“Thanks, but, um.” Danny paused, looking at the card in his hands instead of his dad. “It’s… I’m just a ghost, you know? Why would you…?”

His dad swung an arm around his shoulders, pulling Danny in close to his side. “Well, Phantom, you’re like a son to me! So of course you’re invited to come, too! Ghost or not!”

Flushing bright green, Danny hid his face in his hands. “But-”

“No buts,” the man insisted, reaching to ruffle Danny’s hair with his other hand. “If you really don’t want to come I won’t make you, Phantom, but you really are invited. I’m serious, kiddo.”

Danny peeked between his fingers, locking eyes with the bright blue of his dad. “…thanks. I’ll, uh. I’ll be there.”

Maneuvering through the crowded living room, Jack glanced at the clock. The party had been going on for a bit, but not everyone had shown up. Not yet. He hadn’t seen Vlad yet, but that man had said that he wasn’t sure he could make it.

More importantly, Jack hadn’t seen Phantom yet. The ghost had said he would come. Had something happened? Had he simply gotten cold feet? Had he realized that more of Jack’s ghost-hunting family members would be present?

Spotting a messy mob of black hair pass him by, he grabbed Danny’s shoulders and pulled him towards himself.

“Danny-boy! Have you seen Phantom?”

His son blinked large surprised eyes at him, then shook his head in the negative. “Nope, sorry. But there’s still time, right? It’s not that late yet.”

Jack sighed, releasing his son again. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry for bothering you, kiddo.”

“It’s fine.” Danny patted his hand. “I’m sure he’ll show up-”

The doorbell rang, and lamely, Danny finished, “-before you know it.”

Laughing, Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Looks like you were right. It’s either him or Vladdie, I think. Come, let’s greet him.”

“Um.” Before Danny could protest, however, Jack started dragging him along to the front door. How exciting! Danny hadn’t interacted with Phantom much yet, and Jack was eager to change that. The two were of similar age, he was sure, and they both looked like they could use more friends of their own age. Danny, especially, could use more close friends.

Sam and Tucker were nice, but they rarely came over anymore. And he didn’t know if his son had any friends besides those two. Didn’t think so, at least.

The door swung open, and Phantom flickered into visibility almost immediately. The ghost smiled up at Jack, and then glanced past him with a frown.

“Hey Phantom,” he greeted, ignoring this last bit and instead stepping aside to let him in. “Happy to see you made it.”

“Wouldn’t dare miss it,” the ghost replied, still staring at Danny instead of Jack. “After you went out of your way to invite me, of course I came.” Then finally he ripped his eyes off of Jack’s son to look at him. “I brought you a little present too. Do you want to unwrap it here, or later?”

“Oh, you didn’t have to.” But Jack grinned, wondering what the ghost could’ve gotten him. Were there ghostly birthday traditions? Did ghosts even celebrate birthdays at all, or did they celebrate something similar? A formation day? A death day? “Come, I’ll unwrap it in the living room. Can’t hide in the hallway the whole time.”

Phantom laughed, floating after him. “Yeah, right you are.”

Danny had fallen silent, trailing after them. Jack glanced over his shoulder to look at his son, but the boy was staring at the floor. Something strange was going on between him and Phantom, and suddenly Jack started to wonder if Danny’s excuse way before, that he “already saw Phantom so often”, had been true at all. Was something else going on between those two?

They entered the living room, and immediately everything quieted. It was as if everyone’s eye had been drawn to them. Not that this was entirely surprising; Phantom drew a lot of attention with his appearance.

The ghost, apparently made nervous by all the attention, drifted lower and further behind Jack. His son, rather than assist, strode forward and disappeared into the crowd. Jack would’ve tried stopping him, but for the moment Phantom was more important. He could figure out why Danny was upset with the ghost later.

Jack was about to ask Phantom for the present when he noticed his sister pushing her way closer. The woman burst through the crowd, face twisted in a scowl.

“Jack, what’s that doing here?” she yelled.

“He’s my guest.” He crossed his arms, staring her down. “Now, if you don’t mind, he brought me a present and I’d like to unwrap it.”

“Oh yeah?” She sniffed haughtily. “What happened to ‘all ghosts are dangerous’? To ‘never trust a ghost’? But hey, whatever. Your funeral.”

He rolled his eyes, making a shooing motion towards his sister. “Thank you, I must’ve forgotten all about our parents’ rants. If you can’t be nice, dear sister, please just leave my family alone.”

“Your family?” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at the ghost. But she stepped back, further into the mass of people, a sneer on her face. “Whatever.”

Phantom still hovered over Jack’s shoulder, nervously eyeing the crowd. Most weren’t as anti-ghost as his sister – gotta love that Fenton family ghost hatred – but several were out-of-towners who weren’t familiar with ghosts. Who hadn’t realized that they were real, apparently.

“It’s fine, Phantom,” he said, soft and soothing. “You’re my guest, kiddo. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

“If you say so,” the ghost muttered back, landing on the floor next to Jack. He reached into a pocket on his belt, revealing a small but well-wrapped present. Curiously, it glowed much like the ghost himself, the packing paper ecto-green.

“It’s, uh, from the Ghost Zone.” Phantom gestured at it with his empty hand. “As you can probably see.”

Jack took the present from Phantom’s hand, carefully. The wrapping paper was cold, with that barely-there hum of ectoplasm-infused material. “Is it some kind of traditional ghostly present? Or do ghosts not celebrate something similar to a birthday?”

“Eh.” Phantom shrugged. “Kind of depends on the ghost. Some remember their original birthdays and continue to celebrate those. Some celebrate their death days instead, the day they formed as a ghost. Some pick an arbitrary day, wanting the celebration but not knowing their birthday and not willing to celebrate their death. Most don’t celebrate anything similar, though.”

“Huh.” With this new information, Jack looked the present over once more. Then he carefully loosened the bow, opening the lid. And inside…

“Is that… fudge?”

“You like that, right?” Phantom sounded uncertain, a hesitant smile on his face. “It’s, um. From the Ghost Zone, but safe for human consumption. Wasn’t sure what else to get you.”

Jack carefully re-lidded the box, then wrapped his free arm around Phantom. “It’s very nice, Phantom. Thank you, kiddo.”

The ghost blushed, crumpling in on himself a little. “I’m glad,” he muttered.

“I’ll go put this somewhere safe.” He ruffled Phantom’s hair, then, side-eyeing the crowd, said, “You can go hang out with the other guests, if you want. If anyone gives you trouble, come to me or Maddie, okay?”

“I can take care of myself,” Phantom grumbled, but he nodded his understanding anyway.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should have to.” Jack stepped further into the room, Phantom walking after him. Keeping to the ground to seem more human, maybe? In the hopes of not alienating himself as much? It would be exactly the kind of thoughtfulness he would expect from the ghost. “You’re my guest, Phantom, and I want you to have a good time too.”

Phantom huffed out a laugh, nodded again. “I get it, I get it. If there’s trouble I’ll come, okay? Speaking of trouble, though, I think I’ll start with Jazz, if you don’t mind. See how the ghost-psychiatrist thing is going for her.”

“Ah, yes, that sounds good.” Jack glanced over to the people who were now very much pretending not to watch Phantom anymore. “And it might ease some people into your presence, seeing you talk with more people first.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Phantom nodded, then flapped his hands at Jack. “Now go put that fudge away. I can handle it, alright?”

Danny watched his dad finally leave, resisting the temptation to sigh. He had only just gotten here, and he already wanted to leave. Or, at least, dispel the duplicate that was still wandering around. He couldn’t risk having Danny Fenton disappear right before Phantom appeared, but being forced to interact with himself was… uncomfortable.

Keeping a careful eye on some of the other guests, he wandered over to where his duplicate had been trapped in a conversation by Jazz. He hadn’t really been all that interested in Jazz’s success as a ghost psychiatrist – he heard enough about it during dinner and such to know it was a success. That, and the other ghosts were quite enthusiastic about it.

But his duplicate wasn’t as capable at keeping up with conversations as the real him. So to free Danny Fenton, Phantom had to come over and give him an excuse to leave.

He approached the two siblings, pausing next to Jazz and watching as she chatted up a storm against the blanked-out duplicate. She didn’t seem to notice him, so he cleared his throat.

Jazz started, head whirling around in a flash of bright hair. “Oh, Phantom! Sorry, I hadn’t heard you coming.”

The duplicate shot Danny a grateful look, diving back into the uncaring crowd. He didn’t respond, smiling at Jazz instead.

“It’s alright. How have you been, Jazz? Things been going alright?”

“Yeah, actually!” She brightened, animatedly moving her hands along with her story. “There’s been a lot of interest, even though most seem to prefer to stay anonymous. But a couple have come over, besides Dora and Sidney, of course.”

“Oh yeah? I had heard of Ember, that she was willing to stop attacking Amity in return for being allowed to come receive help, but I didn’t know there were others.”

She nodded energetically. “Oh yeah! A couple have come by to try, but the only repeated guests – besides Ember, of course – have been Johnny and Kitty. Their relationship is, uh.” She made a face, wiggling her hand a little. “Well, it could use some help sometimes.”

“Oh, definitely,” Danny agreed with a laugh. “You wouldn’t believe how often Johnny came to me for relationship advice. Like, come on, I’m a teenager with virtually no relationship experience. What was he expecting?”

Also laughing, Jazz shook her head. “And the thing is, Johnny looks so human! He could’ve gone to a regular human relationship expert and that could’ve solved most of their problems already! No knowledge about ghosts necessary.”

“You’re… You’re right.” Danny groaned into his hand. “I can’t believe how much trouble that guy caused me when he could’ve just gone to literally anyone else.”

“At least he meant well?” Jazz suggested, feebly. “And at least he won’t do it anymore. Speaking of disarmed enemies, however, I might be working on getting another off of your back.”

Danny dropped his hand again, looking at her. “Really? Who?”

“Desiree, the, uh, wishing ghost?” She twirled a lock of her hair. “I’m still working on it, obviously, but I think she does what she does because of her trauma. She already reached out to talk via the phone, but I invited her to come if she won’t mess with anyone.”

“Huh.” He thought that over for a moment, frowning in thought. “I’m not sure if that would work, though. I don’t think she can control which wishes she fulfills and which she doesn’t. Not currently, at least.”

“We’ll give it a shot anyway.” Jazz shrugged, glancing past him and into the crowd. “On an unrelated note, while Dad meant well when he invited you, I think he might’ve forgotten how many people are uncomfortable around ghosts. Never mind his ghost-hating relatives.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Danny huffed out. “And I mean, I understand, especially for the ones who haven’t seen ghosts before but…”

“But it’s not very comfortable.” She nodded understandingly. “Actually, I have an idea. Come on, I think you’ve been around long enough to be able to excuse yourself.”

“Have I?” Danny asked, but she had already grabbed his wrist and dragged him off.

“They’ll understand, anyway.” The crowd parted around them, Danny floating after Jazz. He had, previously, stuck to the ground in the hopes of calming the other people down. If he was leaving anyway, he might as well float and make it easier for Jazz to drag him away.

What? It wasn’t like he could stop her anyway. Even if he did use his superhuman strength to hold himself back, why would he?

“Jazz, Phantom,” Maddie said, apparently surprised to see them both approaching. “What’s going on?”

“I suggested that Phantom could leave,” Jazz started explaining, cutting Danny off before he could even open his mouth. “Since the other guests don’t seem that thrilled to have him around, and it’s uncomfortable for everyone involved.”

Their dad looked a little sad, but nodded understandingly. “Of course, kiddo. Like I said, I want you to feel welcome. And if you can’t be comfortable around the others, not yet, then of course you can leave.”

“I’m… Thanks. I’ll just…” Danny gestured with his hands, vaguely. “I’ll just… go, then. Um. See you guys another time? And have fun with the party.”

Jack smiled, and Maddie shook her head with a fond smile on her face. “Yeah, of course! See you soon, Phantom, and thank you for the fudge!”

His lip quirked up into a small smile, and he shot them a quick salute. Then he faded out of visibility, ducking back into the room he had previously left. Now all he had to do was merge back with his duplicate and survive the rest of the party.

Easy.

[captainrogers-ass]

The Pizza Boy

Summary: Y/N is sick of studying and so decides to treat herself to a pizza. However the pizza boy that delivers it must have fallen from the heavens.

Word Count: 1530

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: So this is my first fan fic for this account. All criticism is welcomed. Hope you enjoy! xxx

Y/N had been staring at the same sentence for over an hour, the words refusing to budge from the page and implant themselves into her memory. The sun, now having retreated back under the horizon, meant that the only light illuminating her room was the harsh glow of her computer screen.

Rubbing her eyes with vigour, she let a sigh escape from her lips as she dragged herself away from her desk, her bones cracking in protest. A surprisingly loud growl escaped from her stomach, reminding Y/N that the only thing she had eaten that day was the coffee and bagel she had quickly stuffed down her throat as she ran, late to class for the third time that week.

Walking over to her light switch she quickly flicked it on, not remembering when the sun had gone down or when it had gotten so dark. The last time she had checked, the sun’s presence had been unmistakably present as its heat beat down relentlessly over the campus. The AC had been broken in her room for weeks now, even after complaining to the maintenance man many times. This, therefore led to Y/N sitting in her room in nothing but her extremely short pyjama bottoms and a torn old band t-shirt.

As another viscous growl emitted from her stomach, Y/N relented and decided to order a pizza, too lazy to go out and get anything. Her fingers quickly flicked over the pizza app on her phone, placing the order in only a matter of minutes.

As she waited for her pizza to arrive she grabbed her laptop from her desk and relocated to her bed, closing all her tabs that were study related and opening a new one to watch some Netflix. She browsed for a while, scrolling through the endless options that were before her. TV show or movie? Romance or Comedy? It was hard to decide. With too many options she decided to just rewatch an episode of Brooklyn-99 even though she had seen every episode about 400 times.

A knock came from her door notifying her that her pizza had finally arrived. With a burst of excitement she jumped from her bed and ran to the door, yanking the door open before inhaling the sweet aroma of the delicious meal before her. Her eyes locked with the pizza box as soon as she opened the door before slowing trailing up to the figure that was holding it. Her eyes halted at the very attractive figure in front of her; blue eyes, a chiselled face, blond hair, a charming smile. Her heart swooned in her chest.

“Hi, I have a pizza for Y/N,” he spoke, his voice sultry yet kind.

After a few more moments Y/N realised that she had probably been standing motionless at her doorway for slightly too long. Coming out of her trance she retreated back into her dorm as she searched for her purse.

“Yes, that’s me, sorry,” she stated, located her purse and pulling out the money she owed him.

Her eyes trailed to the name badge pinned to his chest that read STEVE in bold letters.

“Steve, that’s a nice name,” she blurted out, furrowing her eyebrows as she looked away from him.

“What the fuck was that?” she said to herself under her breath, silently cursing herself for being the most awkward person on the planet.

He chuckled at her remark, a deep and hearty laugh that had Y/N swooning all over again.

“Thanks, I guess, and it looks like you have pretty good taste in TV shows,” he replied, pointing to her open computer screen where Brooklyn-99 was paused.

“Oh, thanks,” Y/N replied, beaming back at him.

The conversation came to a halt as they both stood on their respective sides of the doorway, Y/N now holding her pizza and Steve awkwardly rubbing the back of his head.

“Well I should probably go.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” Y/N responded as he gave her one last smile. He lingered for a few extra seconds before finally turning to leave.

He got a few metres down the hallway before Y/N called after him, “I’m Y/N by the way!”

Steve turned back to her, the smile still lighting up his face, “That’s a nice name!”

“And you just let him leave?” Natasha asked, scolding her room mate as Y/N burrowed her head further into her pillow.

“What was I supposed to do, hold him down until he agreed to go out with me?” Y/N responded, her voice slightly muffled by the pillow she was speaking into.

“Well I mean,”

“I’m not pinning him down Nat!”

“I’m kidding!” Natasha quipped back, laughing slightly at her love stricken room mate. “Ok-ok-ok, so this guy who you say was probably crafted by Gods-“

“He was so attractive Nat, no joke I think he’s a fallen angel or something, like I think it’s illegal for someone to be that attractive.” “Ok so Mr Fallen Angel - let me finish - works at the pizza shop, correct?”

Y/N grunted back in agreement.

“Sooooo, in conclusion, just order another pizza tonight,” Natasha said, laying down on her own bed.

“No, cause I don’t want to seem needy,” Y/N said leaning up on her forearms to look at her roommate who was very obviously rolling her eyes.

“You’re impossible.”

The conversation came to a halt as Natasha left to go visit her boyfriend, Bruce, leaving Y/N alone to get back to her much needed studying. It was much later on in the night when Y/N was brought out of her studying reverie by a knock on the door.

“I swear to god Nat if you forget your key one more time I’m going to let you sleep outsi-” Y/N’s rambling came to a halt as she opened the door to find none other than Mr Fallen Angel holding two pizza boxes in his hand.

“Hi,” he said, a smile spreading across his face, “I have a pizza for Y/N.”

“I-I didn’t order a pizza,” Y/N responded confusion spreading across her face.

“Oh,” Steve said in reply, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “I was sure it was this address.”

The previous conversation Y/N had had with Natasha popped into her head, realisation spreading across her face.

“Oh wait…I think I know what happened here. Gimme one sec,” Y/N said, retreating back into her room to find her phone. She quickly dialled Nat’s number, waiting for her friend to answer. After a few rings, Natasha’s voice trailed out from the phone.

“Hello best friend who could never hate me,” she said, Y/N able to tell that a massive smile was spread across her face on the other side of the line.

“You bitch!” Y/N hissed, “You ordered the pizza!”

“It’s for your own good. You’ll also noticed I ordered two and I won’t be back in the dorm tonight so I guess you’ll just have to find someone else to share them with,” Natasha chuckled to herself.

“I’m never going to forgive you for this. And you can pay me back as well!”

“Sorry, the lines cutting out, I can’t hear you,” Natasha replied before a collection of fake static noises filled the phone before the line was cut.

“Bitch,” Y/N said, walking back to Steve who was awkwardly still standing at the door, unsure of what to do. At the sight of you returning his face lit back up into his gorgeous smile.

“I’m so sorry about that. It turns out my roommate ordered them.” The confusion that had been spread across Steve’s face now subsided before being replaced with an understanding nod.

“Oh ok, well if you don’t want them I can just take them back.”

“No-no, it’s ok, I’ll take them,” she said, handing the money to Steve before taking the pizzas from him.

Steve remained by the door, averting Y/N’s gaze as he rubbed the back of his head. His mouth opened several times, clearly wanting to say something.

“Are you ok Steve?” Y/N asked.

“Yeah-yeah, I’m fine.” A few more seconds of silence ensued, “I was just wondering if - and you don’t have to say yes, of course - but I was just wondering you’d be interested in getting dinner sometime?” His gaze was fixated on the floor, meaning that he missed the enormous grin that spread across Y/N’s cheeks.

“I would love to.” Steve’s gaze shot up from the floor to meet Y/N’s, his grin now matching hers.

“Perfect, I’ll-I’ll message you on FaceBook.” He remained awkwardly at the door, unsure of what to say.

With a deep breath, Y/N spoke up, “You wouldn’t - you wouldn’t want to help me finish these pizza’s? I can’t exactly eat two by myself. We could watch Brooklyn-99 if you want.”

Steve glanced down at his watch, “My shift ended five minutes ago so I would love to.”

Y/N invited him in, both of their smiles mirroring each others.