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Egg the Crow in this ongoing story by @levi-venn has kinda stolen my heart, but that's okay.
Egg is a very good crow in a very good story; please go give it a read!
Something quick I doodled while I've still got a stable connection, pardon the photo quality.
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flame-shadow · 2 months ago
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A breakdown of my quirrel!nosk comic from last year (original post here) since I like doing breakdowns and talking about my process, and I know at least some people like reading those things. :)
First of all, a little background. I made that comic in an evening with just a pencil, a black marker, two grey markers, and a yellow-orange marker. (All markers had a thick tip and a thin tip, and all were water-based markers, so they don't blend like alcohol markers, but they can still be layered to affect the values) I had a text post from @g0at0ad saved in my drafts that said "gotta say. massive missed opportunity to not have nosk mimic quirrel to lure the knight into its lair." and finally, I had an idea for how to illustrate the reveal and felt I had a decent idea for the nosk's design.
I wanted to follow the same encounter order as the game provides, and by happy coincidence, I realized that the route from first sighting to nosk den includes the hot spring, so it made perfect sense for that location and the real Quirrel to appear in the comic.
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Ghost spots a Quirrel-like figure in the darkness in the first panel, and then as the path continues and drops into the hot spring, there's (real) Quirrel, so clearly that's who Ghost saw a minute ago. Yay, friend! And since Quirrel explores around, it's not strange that Ghost would spot him again in an area not so far away, though it's odd how he got ahead of them. Perhaps a different tunnel? And it seems like Quirrel wants to lead the way to something, so Ghost follows, until- That's not Quirrel.
In addition to the potential of a reader already knowing the game's locations and recognizing the path to the nosk's den, there are other visual clues that subtly communicate that something might not be right. I made it so every panel but the hot spring one has black silhouettes encroaching on the space within.
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The third panel is the mildest one being encroached upon because Ghost doesn't yet feel like something is off (still reassured from seeing Quirrel in the safe hot spring) but the trap is coming together. The existence of the spider web in the corner is a nod to the trap because it's a common visual symbol for being trapped.
Also note how both the first and third panels have some safety via straight panel edges. Contrasted with the fourth and fifth panels which have no straight edges as Ghost cannot escape and there is no safety.
Another subtle reinforcement of danger vs safety is how the use of black is very limited in the hot spring panel. It's a brighter room mechanically, yes, but it's also a Safe Room. The only black is Ghost's void parts and a thin outline around Quirrel (and also a bit of shading on his arm that I did out of habit before remembering that I wasn't going to use black to shade him here, oops!)
And, note that in the only panel with Real Quirrel, he isn't framed against a darker shape in the background.
Okay, and finally, I will share a bit about the nosk reveal panel and its design...
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This pose and angle are dramatic and all, but they're The Worst for showcasing the actual design of the nosk! Just a complete mistake on my part that I did my best to roll with, since I didn't realize until too late how I'd messed myself up.
Which happens! I don't always get it right, and especially when I'm working traditionally, there's a point where I can't go back, so I just have to make do with what I gave myself. :) I don't hate what I have here, but I have been dissatisfied with it ever since I drew the lineart.
A thought I have had since then was that maybe I should've drawn it larger, to be more threatening? Maybe a different pose to show off the side-body frills? I explored a couple ideas below, but honestly, I think the whole panel would have to be reworked to get it right.
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Making sure that the background frames the nosk effectively would be one of the main things I'd redo, but I'm getting tired and don't feel like drawing more, so I'll just leave it at the nosk replacement sketches.
And since I don't think I did a good job with displaying the nosk's design effectively, I quickly sketched some of the features to maybe show them off a bit better.
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I like the gimmick of the nosk turning its head, so I pretty much always maintain that with my nosk designs. This one is no exception. Quirrel's head and face become the cranium and upper jaw while Monomon's mask becomes the lower jaw - the extra length causes an underbite. I've always been a fan of when people add a veil hanging from Monomon's mask while Quirrel is wearing it, so that's where the frills come from. ("Why didn't you include the veil in your Quirrel drawings, then?" I hear you ask. And honestly..... I don't know! That could've been an oversight or it could've been deliberate and I just don't remember my justification. That happens sometimes XD)
Anyway uhhh yeah! I think that's it. I like making comics. I like thinking about nosk. Tadaa~
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n0wornever · 4 years ago
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Meet Cute (pt. 2) - Luke Patterson x Reader
Read Part 1 here
So....I got a little carried away with this. If you don’t like it, pls don’t ever tell me lolol (also, yes, the lyrics included are Miss Taylor Swift’s)
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Y/N placed her bag down at her usual table. She took a look around the room, trying to draw as little attention as she could as she looked around the room for those hazel eyes. Unsatisfied with her assessment, she sits down at the table and opens her book. 
Within a second, a soft voice tickled her ear. “Looking for someone in particular?” She felt her ears burn as he giggled softly close to her face. 
She turned to be met by the smiling barista, coffee splattered all over his apron and flour attached to the sides of his arms. She tried her best not to smile too quickly back at him, tucking a piece of her falling hair behind her ear. 
“Nope.” She stated, scrunching her nose up at him. He rolled his eyes, leaning on the table in front of her. 
“Well are you going to order something or do you plan on freeloading all afternoon?” She popped her jaw as his eyes bulged, raising his eyebrows at her. 
She set down her book and placed her hand on her chest, mouth ajar in his direction “Not with this kind of customer service.”
His smile grew even wider as he shooed her gaze off of him with the towel in his hand. He slid the open chair toward her, sitting down and leaning his elbow on the granite below. 
Can I at least get a chai ready for you, miss comedian?” 
She brought her finger up to her face, tapping her cheek a few times before nodding. She moved to grab her wallet out of her bag, but by the time she did, he was out of sight. 
She leaned over to look at the bar, where she saw him running quickly to the machine, booting his coworker off of it with a push of his hip. She smiled dreamily as he worked quickly, steaming milk, and then flipping over to the other side to start steeping the tea. He eventually poured something into an orange mug with a smile on his face. She watched him carefully sprinkle cinnamon on top of it, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he did. As his eyes moved away from the cup, she leaned back over to face forward at the table and lifted her book to her face again. 
It took a few seconds for him to walk over to her table. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the words in front of her until the glass actually hit the table. She lifted her eyes to meet it with a small smile. She looked up to see him beaming down at it with his hands out.
“Ba daaaa…” He said with jazz hands shaking at his creation.
“Thank you,” She said simply, picking her card up from the table next to her “How much do I owe you?”
He shook his head “I get a free drink a day, this one is yours.” 
She frowned at him, pushing the debit out toward him. “No, Luke come on…” He rose his hands, refusing to take the card from her once again. She moved her feet, preparing to get out of her chair but Luke took off on foot back toward the bar. 
She looked down at the ground, shaking her head before rotating back to her book. She leaned over to her bag, pulling out her pencil and tucking it behind her hair. She had created a habit of spinning her shoulder-length hair around writing utensils to make a makeshift ponytail. She pressed down on the middle of her bun to make sure it was secured before bringing her hands back down to the table. She chewed on the middle of her lip as she finally dove into her first poem of the evening. 
A moment passes before her phone buzzes against the table. She finishes the line she’s on before picking it up. She looks at the message from an unknown number with furrowed brows. She swipes it open, eyes falling on the word “purple.” 
Unknown: “Hey purple, it’s your favorite barista.”
She smirks down at the device, quickly typing her response. “Shouldn’t my favorite barista be working and not texting customers?”
Unknown: “Yeah well...we’re dead and I want to talk to you without being whipped by my boss again.”
She giggled, her mind falling back to the sound of the towel slapping back and forth on the barista’s back. “You are making it quite difficult for me to focus on my reading….” 
Unknown: “So studious. I guess we can talk later. :(“ 
She rolled her eyes, not responding to his pouting. She placed her phone face down on the table and gripped the book in her hands once again. 
Y/N eventually finished the book in one sitting, with extra time she planned to spare. She pulled out her notebook from her bag and flipped to a fresh page. She leaned over to rummage through her bag for another pencil. She felt her hair collapse around her face and sat up straight, she turned to see Luke holding up the purple mechanical pencil in his hand as he hovered over her.
“Need this?” He winked in her direction, his eyes drawing over her features. “I think I like your hair better down anyway,” 
She pulled her curls behind her ears and shook her head up at him as she reached for the writing utensil.  
“Unbelievable,” She muttered.
A smirk reappeared on his face as he held out the pencil, shaking it between his fingers. She reached over and he caught her wrist with his free hand. She tried and failed to hold back the audible gasp that came with his sudden touch. He flipped her hand over, place the pencil in it before closing her hand around the small object. He placed his hand on top of hers for a moment before letting her go.
She turned back to face forward, hoping the growing redness on her face and ears weren’t as apparent as it felt. He slid into the chair in front of her, catching her eyes again. He set his elbows on the table and leaned his chin in his palms. 
“So you’re actually writing tonight?”
“Are you on break?” She rose an eyebrow at him. 
He shrugged “Kind of?” 
She narrowed her eyes at him. He was unbelievably determined. She watched as his eyes fell to her open notebook and back to her eyes. 
“What are you writing.” 
She sighed, tapping her pencil on the table. “That’s the problem, I’m not sure yet.”
He nodded, propping his hand under his chin as he looked over in the distance. Almost as if a lightbulb turned on in his brain, his expression changed to one of excitement. “How about I help you?”
She shook her head “You’re going to get yourself fired if you just sit here and try to help me brainstorm…” 
He laughed again, digging into his pocket “I’m not going to just sit here….I have…” He pulled out a square piece of paper and pushed it over toward her. She stared at it for a moment before looking up at Luke in confusion. He lifted the paper into his hands and unraveled it, pressing the open paper to the table before pushing it over to her once more. She read through the chicken scratched lines as he spoke to her.
“These are lyrics I started writing last night. Maybe you could respond to them?”
She rose an eyebrow “I don’t write music.” 
Luke scoffed, rolling his eyes at her “I meant write-in in your medium of choice. Write a poem or just a few statements in the way that someone may respond to what’s being sung.” 
She moved the paper back toward him “Luke I can’t just take your work like that.” His hand moved to cover hers as his smile grew.
“I want you to take it, use it if you can. I’ll be waiting…” He stood up from the table, running over to his very unenthusiastic coworker. 
She held the paper in both hands as she started to read the lyrics. She felt her heart pick up even staring at the writing, feeling like she was reading directly into someone’s diary. 
“And you stood there in front of me just, Close enough to touch, close enough to hope you couldn't see what I was thinking of. Drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain 'Cause I see, sparks fly, whenever you smile.”
There was a large space between paragraphs. He must have pieces missing still, she thought. She let her eyes fall to the next line, a small smile forming on her lips. 
“I run my fingers through your hair and watch the lights go wild. Just keep on keeping your eyes on me, its just wrong enough to make it feel right. And lead me up the staircase, won't you whisper soft and slow? And I'm captivated by you baby, like a fireworks show.”
Y/N sat there in awe as she read through the short lines over and over. Whoever Luke was talking to, he was really in deep. His cool demeanor didn’t give away this kind, vulnerable sound that came through his lyrics. She tapped her pencil as she began to think thoroughly about these short lines. 
Luke has to be extremely infatuated with this love interest he’s writing to, she decided. So she decided to write from the perspective of the girl, who is hesitant to be as confident about the possibility of a relationship budding between them. Her hand wrote frantically across the page as her mind ran wild. 
“The way you move is like a full-on rainstorm, and I'm a house of cards. You're the kind of reckless that should send me running, but I know that I won't get far.” 
She thought these lines might sound a little corny, but she loved it already. She sat and gazed over at Luke at the counter. He was already leaning over the ice cream area, smiling in her direction. She shot him a quick smile, looking into his brown-green eyes before looking back at the table and putting the pen to paper again. 
“Get me with those green eyes, baby as the lights go down, give something that'll haunt me whenever you're not around, 'cause I see, sparks fly, when you smile.” 
She wanted to go a bit deeper than the fluff, so she concentrated on the next part being the girl’s nerves. She’d never felt like writing had ever come this simply to her, practically overflowing in her mind before she’s able to capture it in words. 
“My mind forgets to remind me, you’re a bad idea, You touch me once and it's really something, you find I'm even better than you, imagined I would be. I'm on my guard for the rest of the world, but with you, I know its no good. And I could wait patiently, but I really wish you would.”
She decided to end it with a call and response to Luke’s initial lyrics, rewriting “Drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk take away the pain 'Cause I see, sparks fly, whenever you smile.” 
Y/N put down her pencil and read it back a couple of times and she couldn’t help but beam at the paper below her. 
“Is it going well?” A voice boomed over her shoulder, causing her to jump up in her seat, hearing a familiar laugh behind her. 
She turned to him with wide eyes “Do you ever like to enter a room quietly?” He shook his head at her, the two laughing together as Luke took a seat at the table. He put his hand out toward her notebook. 
“Let me see what ya got, Y/N.” 
She hesitated, playing with the red ribbon that sat in the middle of the page. Luke’s face softened as he noticed her anxious tick. “I promise I won’t judge, and if I do...you have every right to never speak to me again.” She sighed, meeting his eyes, Luke’s teeth atop of his bottom lip. “Y/N, I understand how vulnerable creative work can be, I promise you...it’s between you and me.” his finger pointing back and forth between the two.
Y/N gave in, sliding the notebook his way and bringing her eyes to the ceiling. She didn’t want to see his reactions quite yet to her quick writing. She’d had only an hour to start scribbling, so she wasn’t convinced that it would drop jaws. Her internal monologue was stopped by her eyes when they looked over and saw Luke’s wide smile as he ran his eyes down the paper. She let them linger there for a while, taking in his animated expression. He looked up at her for a moment, the smile staying put before he darted back down to her words. He pointed to a specific spot on the page and brought his gaze back up to her again. 
“I'm on my guard for the rest of the world, But with you, I know its no good.” He sang quietly, his eyes fixated on her face. He spun around in his chair before he opened his mouth again.
“Y/N, this is so good. This...is music. At least to me. I can hear this.” 
She knew her face was a perfect shade of pink by now, but she tried to ignore her elevated heart rate as she asked him a question. “You, you mean that?” 
He nodded “You have to sing this with me.” 
She shook her head profusely “Luke, oh no, absolutely not.” 
He giggled, touching her hand again. “Come on Y/N. My house isn’t far from here and I’m off in 10 minutes. It could be as private as you need it to be.” 
She thought about her former voice lessons, her years of choir and her short time in the drama department. She wasn’t a terrible singer. For some reason, the mixture of her finally being able to put something on paper and the way Luke was looking at her right now made her want to say yes, so she did. 
She finally nodded his way, whispering a quick “....okay.”
Luke’s smile grew as he stood from the table, “Wait for me here, I’ll be done in a few.” 
She spent the last 10 minutes painstakingly over-analyzing every single possible situation that may come from this encounter. She was about to be alone, with a boy she’s met all of two times, giving one of the most vulnerable parts of her to him. What if he hated it and never wanted to see her again. Did she want to see him again?
What was happening to her? She tried to focus on the lyrics/poem or whatever she’d written. She started to hum along to a line to calm herself down as she waited for Luke to finish. As soon as she’d hit her second stanza, a hand touched her shoulder. 
“Let’s get out of here.” He said, pulling on his coat. 
She got up out of her seat, placing her notebook in her bag and throwing her coat over her body. She followed him out the door into the cold autumnal air. He turned to her, pointing to the left side of the lot. 
“Ride with me? I’ll bring you back to your car later.” She nodded at him, following him across the street. 
As she got into the passenger side seat, the smell that wrapped around her felt familiar. It smelled like him, like dark woods and coffee mixed together. She took a silent breath in, exhaling as he got in next to her. 
“You okay?” He asked, putting on his seatbelt.
“Just preparing for my 9 p.m. news abduction story.” She said, grabbing onto the handle near her chair. 
He pursed his lips together, obviously holding in laughter as he put the car in drive. He pulled out of the lot and onto the road quickly. As they moved past homes and office buildings, Y/N brought her attention out toward the window. She listened to Luke’s light humming as she took in what passed them by. 
He turned onto a street lined in trees that were shedding their summer green. She almost wanted to take a shot of the leaves, but she didn’t want to feel invasive. Instead, she mentally took note of their beauty, something she’d hope to at least get to write about later. 
Luke hopped out of the car quickly, lightly jogging her side to open the door. “Ma lady,” he slightly bowed at her and she rolled her eyes, stepping out of the car. 
He walked next to her toward the wooden door with a large wreath hanging upon it. Shades of yellow and orange and green sprinkled around it. He put the key in the door and guided her inside. The place was quiet. Table set, rooms clean but no sight of anyone around the first floor. 
“Where’s your family?” She asked.
He held his hand out to take her coat. “Dunno, probably at one of our relative’s houses. It’s poker night.” She shrugged off her jacket, placing it in his palm. 
He pointed at the stairs “Let’s go to my room.” She followed his lead up the winding stairs. He moved toward the door straight in front of them and spun the handle open. He gestured her in first, and her eyes met walls of musical artists and ticket stubs. She turned in a circle, taking all of it in. 
“Pretty sweet, huh?”
She smiled at him “Quite a collection you’ve got.” He held her gaze for a moment before walking over to his guitar stand. 
“Here’s my baby, let’s get to singing!” He ran his fingers down the strings once before sitting back on his bed, tapping the spot next to him for her. 
She moved slowly, sliding next to him and leaning back on the wall. She handed him her notebook and he strummed away as he looked at their combined words. Y/N watched him in awe as he combined words and melody in front of her. Her eyes fixed on his closed expression, shaking his head enthusiastically to the notes he played.
He smiled back at her, laying out some poorly drawn notes on paper in front of them. “Okay, so I already had something in mind for this piece. Let me know if you need any help as we go through this.”
He started to play the opening notes, leading up to the first verse she came up with. He hummed his thoughts on the first stanza, and then looked at her, nodded her along. She tried to avoid looking at her shaking hands as she quietly repeated that first line. His warm grin boosted her confidence, next coming in stronger and the following even brighter than before. 
As they hit the chorus he counted down from three for her and then they sang together. “ Drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk take away the pain 'Cause I see, sparks fly, whenever you smile.” His velvet voice eased her worries as they continued down the page, eye contact staying consistent.
By the time they got to the end, Y/N and Luke were simply looking at each other as his playing faded out into the background. His gaze always made her a bit on edge, but the way he looked at her right now, with that dreamlike trance, was enough to make her feel like the room was spinning. She finally diverted her gaze from his to look out his window and she heard him exhale.
“You okay?” 
“Yeah.” She said lazily, letting her eyes slowly migrate back to the bedframe he laid against. He set his guitar to the side and moved over to the edge of the bed near her. She watched as he slid his hand closer to her, inching it toward her own. When he finally closed in, his grip was soft and gentle, bringing his fingers between hers. She looked up to meet his eyes, trying to dissect what he was doing. 
She watched as his body leaned in toward hers. She felt her breath hitch at the proximity. Finally letting her gaze meet his. She watched as his gaze moved from her lips to her eyes a few times before he closed the distance, hand reaching for her neck. She shut her eyes, leaning into him as their lips moved together. As they pulled away, his dark eyes glistened at her.
“Like music.” He repeated, touching her cheek gently.
.
.
.
.
Tag list: @xplrreylo​ @lovesanimals​, @anythingandeverythingfandom​, @crybabyddl​, @oswin05​, @themaddies-obx​, @lukeys-giggle​, @bumbleberry-pie​ @kiss-themoongoodbye​  @marinettepotterandplagg​, @lolychu​, @bathtimejish​, @dasexydevitt13​ @musicconversedance​, @txrii​  @bestdressedandstressed​ @daisiesforlacey​  @epikskool​  @bookfrog247​ @carleywhittaker​ @princessvader15​ @rudysbay​ @spooky-season-bitch​ @kcd15​ @whatever-happens-imma-stand-tall​
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causalgelato1993445 · 4 years ago
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Drunken Snaps and Unrequited Love (Pt.1)
A sub!Felix fic
Highschool AU
warnings: foul language, drinking
Genre: fluff for now 
(i wrote this in a giant hoodie that smells like my boyfriend and i feel so 😍🤧)
“And then he had the audacity to ask me for head. I really should have known, I mean he went out with her and she slept with god knows how many people so he obviously has no standards in the first place. I just don’t understand why after all I've done for him this is how he repays me. it’s almost like he doesn’t even care, but obviously he does or he wouldn’t have-”
“Yeah, that’s totally weird.” I agree mindlessly. Truth be told, I'd zoned out on Marissa’s mindless chatter a long while ago. 
Beside me on the sofa are three jocks passing a bottle of jack daniels, laughing loudly. In the kitchen, lights dim, the resident potheads surround themselves in a cloud of skunk-like smoke. This is not where I belong, but here I am. Here, because he’s here. 
Christopher, with his toned arms and curly blonde hair. His crooked, dimpled smile and friendly accent. I’d loved him since freshman year, September first when he sat next to me in algebra 1 and asked to borrow a pencil. Come to think of it, he seldom had a pencil on hand and always managed to break the lead in my expensive mechanical ones into tiny pieces. Had it been anyone else, I would've been angry, but he was different. He captured my attention from the very start.
Thankfully, I catch myself staring before he whips his head around. My throat feels suddenly dry, and I rise from the sofa to brave the strong smell of pot in the kitchen. My mind must have been far away, because before I had time to look up, I’ve collided with a shorter, blonder boy. I’d recognize the fluffy platinum mullet anywhere. Felix. 
Right away he tenses, inhales sharply and stumbles back, mouth agape. His face is red, but he himself hasn’t noticed it yet. I notice his white knuckle grip on the solo cup in his hand. 
“Oh, sorry lix, you ok?”
“Y-yes, I’m great! I’m...good.” he clears his throat looking directly at me, and then quickly to the side. Anywhere but my eyes. He always seems so nervous. I nod, dumbfounded, and turn to the counter to grab a drink. I opt for water.
Carrying the cup, I head out the back door toward the pool. That’s where I see Marisa and Han chattering by the water. He’s leaning towards her, smiling affectionately. I feel bad, because he so clearly likes her, but he’s far from her type. When she sees me, she makes a face and I laugh. For a second, I consider saving her from the situation, but Han is a nice guy and I decide to give him his chance. When I turn around to head back inside, my heart nearly stops. Chris is standing behind me in the doorway. I break out into a smile and reach up to absentmindedly smooth my hair. 
“Oh hey uh..you. I was just on my way to talk to someone. Mind scooting for a sec?” he chirps in his friendly accent, i follow his gaze to a pretty girl with a flower in her hair standing by the pool. Chris is holding two drinks. My smile falls. He doesn’t remember my name. He doesn’t even know who I am. I feel tears begin to surface, and I push past him. 
“Oh, sorry.” I mutter. I drop the plastic cup onto the carpeted living room floor and stomp into the kitchen. Marisa follows quickly behind me, and grabs my shoulder before I even realize she was there.
“Let’s get you a drink.” she whispers to me.
*****
I groan at the brightness of the sun filtering through my curtains. The first thing i notice is the sharp ache in my head, my dry mouth and a sick feeling in my stomach. Ahh the beauty of a hangover. Truthfully, I don't even recall getting drunk, getting home, or even passing out sideways in my bed, fully clothed. I stand, rubbing my eyes and rummage through my nightstand for some naproxen. 
I pop the pills into my mouth and chase them down with the rest of a half empty water bottle on my dresser. That’s when i hear my phone buzz. I reluctantly pick it up. 
Marisa😎: What did he say? I’ve been waiting to hear from you all morning!
I furrow my brows, attempting to remember what she’s talking about. Pressing the call button, I listen to the dial tone before she picks up on the second ring. 
“So?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” i mutter, voice rough from sleep.
“What do you mean!? You finally did it and you don’t even remember?” and suddenly the sick feeling is as strong as ever. I hesitate.
“Marisa, what did i do?”
“You snapped Chris last night. You told him everything. The alcohol really gave you some confidence, i never expected you to-”
Call ended
I suddenly feel like I'm going to throw up as the night suddenly comes back to me. My finger hovers over the little white ghost icon, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I press down on it. One new notification. Confusion hits me like a ton of bricks when it’s not Chris who has snapped me back. No, It’s Felix.
The snap is a picture of the blonde boy in an orange hoodie, hood up and sleeved hand covering his face. It reads:
“Wait really? I’m so happy, I've been like...in love with you since I met you.”
“When’s our date?”
shit...
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air temples
Written for Day 5 of @aangweek! Read here on AO3.
~*~
5. air temples - i finally realized, all of this time / it was in me / all along, it was in me
Faded. That was the word. Everything about the Northern Air Temple was… faded.
The murals had grown softer, paint peeling and splintered with jagged cracks. The walls were crumbling in many rooms, the insertion of metal pipes drastically changing the infrastructure. Spaces that had once been full of people, full of life, were abandoned. Desolate. Empty.
Aang’s memories were so - so vibrant in his mind. And now, the present simply… paled in comparison.
Faded. Everything had faded.
His chest was tight.
“Aang? Can I come in?”
Aang blinked upon hearing his name, turning around to see that Teo had wheeled up behind him. His new friend had come to a stop beneath a fractured wooden doorframe. “Uh… sure?” he finally answered. “I don’t think you need my permission, though.”
Teo shrugged as he rolled inside. “You seemed lost in thought. I didn’t want to startle you.”
Aang flushed. He’d definitely been caught up in the past. Or maybe he’d been agonizing over the present. Was there a difference? “Oh.”
Teo laughed. “Nothing wrong with being easy to read. My father tells me I’m the same.”
Aang smiled. “I guess it’s not too bad, then. Having anything in common with you is a plus.”
It was Teo’s turn for his face to redden. “Wow. Me, having something in common with the Avatar?” He shook his head, feigning awe. “That’s incredible. I’ve never felt so cool.”
Aang rolled his eyes, grinning. “As if you didn’t almost out-glide me all of a few hours ago.”
“‘Almost’?” Teo repeated, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I seem to recall that I did out-glide you, Avatar.”
Aang laughed, tilting his head to the side. “Then I guess we’ll just have to organize an official rematch, won’t we?”
“I’ll pencil it into my schedule. Hope you’re ready to lose again.”
“Ooh, fighting words.” Aang winked at him. “Don’t count your pickens before they hatch.” A beat passed, and he shook his head, realizing Teo had probably not tracked him down for small talk. “Sorry. I kind of took us on a tangent there. Was there a specific reason you were looking for me?”
Teo blinked. “Yes. Right.” He jutted his thumb behind them. “There’s something I want to show you in my room. I think it might… mean something to you.”
Aang frowned. “Should we get Katara and Sokka?”
Teo shook his head. “No. It won’t matter to them.” He hesitated, amending, “I mean, we can get them if you want, of course. It’s just -” Teo huffed. “Sorry. I didn’t think…” He met Aang’s eyes, and his next words made Aang’s entire body tense. “I found something from your people. The airbenders. I thought you might want to see it… in private.”
Aang swallowed hard, blinking back tears he both did and didn’t understand. “Thank you,” he whispered after a pause. He cleared his throat. “I really appreciate that.” He gestured to the door. “Lead the way?”
Teo nodded, and when he steered himself out the room, Aang followed.
“I found it recently,” Teo explained as he directed Aang through the temple. “Completely on accident, too. I had to get up super early one morning to help my dad with some work, so I wasn’t even half-awake when I got into my chair. I was pulling my hair up, but apparently I’d forgotten to lock the brakes, because gravity rolled me backwards with a little extra force into the corner of my room.”
Aang’s eyes widened. “Wait, are you -”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Teo reassured him with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I took way harder hits than that when I was first learning how to land with my glider.”
Aang laughed. “Yeah, landing is a lot easier when you can use airbending as a cushion.”
Teo sighed dramatically. “If only! I have to rely on favorable air currents and precise mathematical angles.”
Aang winked at him. “Which goes to show how brilliant you are, since you now land so effortlessly.”
Teo snorted. “Trial and error, Aang. Trial and error.” He gave him a crooked smile. “And all the math, too.” He paused, rolling to a stop. “Okay. We’re here.”
The room wasn’t too different from how Aang remembered the sleeping quarters of the Northern Air Temple to be. Minimalistic, yet comforting. Aang noticed there were a few mechanical gadgets scattered about the place that hadn’t been there a century ago, as well as a wooden desk with smudged blueprints resting atop it.
Teo must have realized what he was looking at, as his face went scarlet and he immediately flipped the sketches over. “Sorry. They’re nowhere near as good as my dad’s yet.”
Aang wanted to protest that Teo’s designs were fine and he didn’t want to compare them to his father’s anyway, but his voice vanished as Teo pointed to an open corner of his bedroom. A small space to the left of his friend’s sleeping arrangements.
“My chair knocked a brick loose that morning,” Teo explained, continuing the story he’d started in the hall. “At first, I thought it was just because the temple is old.” He wheeled over to the corner, running his hand over a stone slightly lighter than the rest. Indiscernible to someone not looking for it. “But when I tried to fix it…” Teo slid the brick out of the wall. In the space left open behind it were…
Scrolls?
“I found these,” Teo finished, pulling out three sheets of rolled-up parchment with his other hand and offering them to Aang. “I think they were made by the airbenders who used to live here.” He paused. “Your people, I mean.”
Aang accepted the scrolls with shaking hands. The edges of the papers had yellowed with time, age making them thin and fragile, but overall the pages were well-preserved.
Aang carefully unrolled each sheet, smoothing them out flat atop Teo’s desk. They were… Pictures.
Art.
Two were drawn by young boys, Aang presumed, based on the inexperience and bright hues of the art style. One was of a grinning sky bison, and the other was a color-coded collage of the symbols for the four elements. Both images radiated childlike glee.
The third was much neater, painted by the hand of someone gifted with a brush. It depicted the Air Nomads’ tattooing ceremony, Aang realized, where an unidentified airbender was being given their arrows and granted the title of an airbending master. Everything about the picture was - was vibrant, from the sky blue arrows to the warm tones of the monks’ orange robes, each detail bursting with memories of a peaceful time long since passed.
Aang hadn’t realized he was crying until Teo began to frantically ask if he was okay.
“I’m fine,” Aang reassured his friend, voice steadier than he expected it to be. He wiped his eyes, but tears continued to silently fall. “I just…” He glanced down at the three artworks a second time before turning around to crush Teo in a hug. The young mechanic seemed shocked, but soon returned the embrace.
“Thank you,” Aang whispered, his face nestled in Teo’s shoulder. “For keeping them alive.”
Teo squeezed Aang tighter. “I owe them everything. We wouldn’t have survived without this temple.”
The Northern Air Temple. Full of secrets and surprises. A painful past, a painful present, yet nonetheless possessing a hopeful future.
Faded, Aang had called it.
No. No, it wasn’t faded. He’d been wrong. The temple was vibrant. Bursting with colors contained behind gray stone walls. The temple was scarred, maybe. Aang couldn’t deny that. Bruised, even. Beaten and broken and blistered.
But not faded.
Vibrant.
~*~
no i don't have a teoaang agenda why do you ask?? i hope to see you tomorrow for day 6 - grief. (also can y'all believe aang week is almost finished?? i need a whole aang year smh.) thank you for reading!
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vicunaburger · 4 years ago
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Admittedly, I’m Hard to See
Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical Chapters: 17/? Pairing: Beetlejuice x OC (Holidae) The Players: Beetlejuice, Lydia Deetz, Holidae Bell Word Count: 1,924 Warnings: M for Mature Content
Notes: TW: Mentions of Hospitals, Not-Quite Self Harm, Injury
Chapter 17: In Which We Lie by Omission
Toast was a tricky food to master.
Not only did one have to factor in the age and setting of each, individual toaster available, but the thickness of the bread was vital to the equation. There was thin line between “just right” and “burnt offerings”, usually moving from one end of the spectrum to the other in the literal blink of an eye.
Lydia squinted her eyes, peering into the orange glow of the toasting mechanisms, trying to determine the level of toast her bread had achieved. Behind her at the kitchen table, Beetlejuice sat quietly, deep in concentration as he mulled over the newspaper spread out before him. Normally, he could solve the weekly bridge puzzle within a few minutes, but his mind was somewhere else, and the answer was eluding him.
With a soft growl, he erased the notes he had been making in the margins of the puzzle, smacking the bits of eraser off the table with more force than what was needed. The soft scritching of graphite against newsprint started up again, only to be interrupted -again- with muttered curses and furious erasing.
His bestest best friend was town between asking him why he was so irritable that morning, or continuing to monitor her toast situation. Both options were precarious paths to navigate, and both of them could end in misery if she wasn’t being extra careful.
“So… hard hand dealt out this week?” Lydia made the first cautious move, still focused on her breakfast. “It’s always the diamonds that get me. You get week after week without them, and then the whole hand is littered with them. Do you think actual bridge is easier to play? I mean, after you scour the world for two other people that not only know but can play it.”
There was no response from the spectre; not even a sound of half-assed acknowledgement.
Concern overtook caution, and Lydia turned to face the dead silent man at the table. Beej was just staring at the paper now, the pencil being thoroughly chewed to bits within the maw of teeth he sported, the end dangling like a cigarette out of the corner of his mouth. Reaching over the table, she snapped her fingers close to his face, trying to get his attention.
“What did I tell you about eating pencils? Quit- quit doing that! You’re gonna drool all over the table.” The petite woman snatched the pencil away from him, raising her voice a little. “Earth to BJ? You in there today?”
He snapped upright with a frown, licking his teeth free of graphite and wooden splinters like an animal, “Did my little Holly-Jolly have a cat?”
Blinking, she took in his navy blue appearance, the space around him seeming to shift like it was an out of focus photo, “A what- oh god, my toast!”
Lydia plucked the now charred pieces of bread out of the toaster, setting them on a plate as smoke gently wafted into the air. Grumbling, she sat down that the table across from him, grabbing a butter knife and attempting to scrape away the burnt coating.
“A cat? Nah, Holli’s allergic to most animals.” She replied, glancing back at the empty bread box on the counter, “Ugggh, out of bread. Knew I should have sent her to the store…”
“Holidae lied to me.” Beetlejuice’s reply was flat, spoken from low in his chest. “Why would she lie to me, Lyds?”
The crunching of the knife against crispy bread stopped immediately at his use of Holidae’s proper name. Lydia’s brain started clocking a thousand impulses a minute, going through several ways to continue the conversation without endangering herself or the house.
“Okay… okay… we need to back this conversation up really fast because you jumped the tracks on me, buddy.” She continued to work on her breakfast, trying to keep the atmosphere light. “What did she supposedly lie about?”
“The cat,” one clawed finger started picking at a small hole in the tablecloth.
She waited to see if he would elaborate before trying again, “She told you she had a cat? Alright, that’s not a huge offense yet, so what was the context? I can’t answer the question without all the facts, Beej.”
Beetlejuice was tearing the tablecloth now, “We were takin’ a shower-”
Lydia grimaced, “I want you to keep any sleazy, porno-riffic details to yourself, or I won’t help you.”
“Nothin’ happened in the shower.” There was a flash of his usual humor peeking through the distress, but only for a moment. “She’s got these big scar things on her arms so I asked her and she said it was a cat. But if she never had a cat, then she lied right to my face. I lie to other people, sure, but nobody lies to me. Not anymore. No offense.”
“None taken,” she shook her head, sighing heavily. “Unfortunately, this is not an adventure I can lead you on, my friend. I am not in charge of Holli’s personal… things. Don’t ask her about it, don’t mention it again. Forget you saw anything and move along.”
She waved her hand in a Jedi-like fashion, earning her a deeper frown from the ghoul. Exhaling a long breath of air, Lydia stuck an unburnt bit of toast into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. If she just spilled all of Holli’s dirty laundry to BJ, there was a very good chance Holidae would drag her to the third floor and toss her out an open window. If she kept quiet like a church mouse, Beej could very well do the same thing; and truth be told she was not ready to spend an entire afterlife being annoyed by the ghostly guide.
Better the devil you know?
“I will tell you once and only once: you are not allowed followup questions, nor are you allowed to interrupt me for any reason. Capice?” Lydia stuck out her hand for him to shake, knowing tempting him a deal would get him to behave for the time being.
The force at which he smacked his palm against hers, coupled with the grip he took hold of her hand, made her wince in discomfort. She could hear the faint popping sound between her knuckles as he squeezed extra hard, pulling his hand away with an unwavering stare. Lydia rubbed her hand gingerly, pouting as she tried to think of where to even start. Certain tidbits of information could be dangerous if let slip to him by accident; the ghost tended to err on the side of literal meanings of certain idioms or phrasing, which wasn’t helpful when trying to explain a serious topic in a less-serious way.
“Yes, they were self-inflicted. No, they weren’t intentional.” Lydia began, gauging his reaction carefully. “You ever notice that when she gets nervous, she starts to scratch at her skin? Like she’s suddenly itchy?”
The spectre nodded, but kept quiet to honor his ‘no interruptions’ caveat.
“Holli has these… instances where she gets too much into her own head. Not literally. She just starts thinking about different things too much and starts to forget to pay attention to where she is or what she’s doing in the moment. There was something… someone upset her-” She stopped herself, fumbling over the words as she spoke them.
“Someone?” He couldn’t help himself, digging his claws into the table.
“Irrelevant.” She snapped, “The point is, when Holli forgets things, she tends to forget important things like eating or sleeping… breather functions. It used to be really bad in college, before she started managing it better.
Lydia watched him carefully as he listened intently, taking note of his solemn mood, “Well, I went on that trip with dad and Delia a few summers ago, remember? And I didn’t… hadn’t paid attention to the fact Holli was having an episode. She always told me not to fret about her, since she was an adult and… well…”
She paused, taking another bite of toast. Even though Holidae never once put the responsibility of her mental health upon her, deep down, Lydia regretted not catching the early warning signs of Holidae’s episode. Lydia was still dealing with her own internalized issues, and Holli always told her to take care of herself more than anyone else.
Beej tilted his head sharply, knowing his friend was thinking hard about something, but he wasn’t sure exactly what it could be. Lydia only thought that hard when she was trying to concoct a lie, or spare him some tedious details that wouldn’t have made sense to a demon like him. Breather details. Things he never had to experience, or things he never needed to consider.
Swallowing her toast, she continued softly, “When I got back, Holli had been admitted into the hospital. They said she hadn’t slept in days, which made her vividly hallucinate random things in the middle of classes; it’s why her arms are torn up. From what the doctors could understand, she claimed she needed to ‘remove the layers’ because there was something wrong? Or she said it was burnt somehow? She doesn’t remember anything… not even me being gone! The first thing she asked me when I saw her in the hospital was if I had missed my flight. It had been a week since I told her goodbye.”
Lydia let out a humorless laugh; memories of her friend hooked up to machines like Frankenstein’s monster with wires all over flooded her mind. Holli looking like death warmed over, sitting confused in the hospital bed and picking idly at a cup of jell-o.
Holidae had been more concerned about her. Her vacation. Not even comprehending her situation until a few days later.
Wisely, the young lady did not disclose the gruesome details of Holidae’s recovery to her demonic pal. Something deep in her gut told her that he wouldn’t have been thrilled to learn about the agonizing healing process; long nights unable to find relief as the skin stitched back together. Pain killers only did so much.
“Just… don’t bring up the scars again, okay?” Lydia sighed, a bit relieved to get that weight off of her shoulders.
Sometimes, it was good to talk things out with a third party; human status notwithstanding. Before Beetlejuice could give any sort of response, the front door opened, the sound of keys clattering into a ceramic dish filling the silence.
“Lyddy, they were out of that weird cereal you like, so I got you the off brand in the industrial sized bag. Should last a few decades.” Holidae’s voice carried into the kitchen, causing both Lydia and Beej to turn toward the entryway to the hall.
In a flash, the demon vanished from his seat at the table, reappearing in the foyer much to Holidae’s shock. With a snap of his fingers, the bags she was balancing in her arms were neatly placed on the kitchen counter, and Holidae herself was wrapped tightly within his grasp.
“Whoa… hey, Juice, are you okay? I was only gone for like an hour.” Holidae was muffled against his coat, half her face pressed into his shoulder.
“Exactly! A whole hour! What if something cool had happened and you weren’t around to see it? Or you might have been kidnapped by angry lawn gnomes! Which means I would have to heroically charge in and save you from their clutches, and of course you would reward me with a night of hot, passionate- oh. You know what? That sounds super special awesome.” He was babbling, pressing sloppy kisses all over her forehead. “Go back out and make yourself attractive to lawn gnomes. Go GO GO!”
Quietly, Lydia listened from the kitchen, surprised that Beej actually listened to her warnings about keeping Holidae unaware of what she had told him.
Then again, there was no guarantee he would keep that promise for long.
Writing Tags: @hoodoo12 @mr-geuse @paxenera @leiasolo77 @go-commander-kim @a-subconscious-manifestation @asriells @missihart23 @heknowshisherbs @mrgeuse @amywright @beetlebitchywitch
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soyforramen · 4 years ago
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My Pet Platypus
Jughead stared at the strange creature in the tank.  It stared back at him through beady black eyes as it floated on the surface of the water.  He couldn’t be sure, but Jughead had a strange feeling that this hybrid creature knew more than it was letting on.  In the dark room it was lit up by heat lamps that threw off an eerie orange glow that made the water around it look like fire.  Any creature that survived looking like the bastard child of a duck and a beaver could not be trusted.
Behind him, Betty and Dr. Curdle wrapped up their strange sort of pleasantries - she offering insight on new theories and experiments in magic, he calmly explaining his own newly learned techniques when it came to interring the undead.  It seemed a strange sort of relationship, on that Jughead was inherently suspicious of despite Betty’s assurances that Dr. Curdle was indeed a friend of the family.  Her assurances, as pleasant sounding as they may be, did nothing to allay his suspicions though.  
After all, it was hard not to be suspicious of a man whose being gave off none of the usual markers of humanity or the undead.  No scent.  No heartbeat.  No breath.  If the doctor hadn’t been standing in front of him, Jughead would have believed he didn’t exist.  
It wasn’t as if he were dangerous so much as something different.  Not of this world, perhaps.  The word eldritch scratched around the corners of Jughead’s mind, but he dismissed those as he stared at the creature in the tank.  A rare creature evolved to thrive in one of the harshest lands on earth, perhaps Dr. Curdle was just the same.  Something whose existence would be dismissed out of hand, too fantastical to be real.
Much like vampires and witches and werewolves, he supposed.
“Ah, I see you’ve met my colleague Gary,” Dr. Curdle said in his strangely accented voice.
Jughead straightened.  “Gary?”
“Yes.”
Dr. Curdle smiled pleasantly enough, and Jughead wondered whether it would be prudent to ask for clarification.  Was the platypus named after a former colleague or was the platypus his former colleague.  The doctor blinked with two distinct sets of eyelids and the shock of it banished all questions from his mind.
Betty stepped in quickly to direct the conversation back to the matter at hand.
“Dr. Curdle, would you mind repeating what you told me on the phone?  I just want to make sure our notes are correct.”
He turned to Betty and smiled, his cheeks stretched just enough past normal to make Jughead’s skin crawl.
“Of course.  Several of our peers have been brought in with missing pieces.”
As they waited for him to continue, the water filter burbled behind them.  Jughead couldn’t help but wonder if they’d stepped into a black hole that stretched time into infinite.
“Such as …” Betty trailed off, the smile on her face encouraging.
“One of our werewolf friends -“
The words gave Jughead a mild panic attack, and Betty laid a hand on his arm.  She shook her head and muttered a name he’d never heard of.
“-was brought to me a few days ago, curiously without his right lung, liver, and pancreas.  Would you like to see?”
In a strange sort of eagerness, Betty nodded.   Dr. Curdle nodded, his every movement clinical and detached and stilted, and lead them through a door to a mortuary room.  
“Please forgive the mess, I’ve had quite a few visitors in the last few days.”
Try as he might, Jughead couldn’t see more than a set of tweezers slightly out of place.  True, he’d never been in a morgue before, but everything was kept in clinical precision.  He glanced at Betty only to find her fully focused on the wall of morgue lockers in front of them.  With a sharp, practiced pull, Dr. Curdle pulled open the shelf and slid the body out.  
It was covered modestly with a plain white sheet, only the grey shoulders and pallid head above it visible.  The blood had been drained from its body leaving behind an ashen shell.  There was something to the unnatural, antiseptic environment that made Jughead uneasy.  He’d had seen plenty of dead bodies before, dead by his own hands and by others’, but seeing one under the harsh, florescent lights, the smell of formaldehyde around them, felt invasive and impolite.  
“This is a most interesting one, of the faery folk I’m told,” Dr. Curdle said as he walked around the body.  
In death the fae’s vanity charms had evaporated, leaving behind the natural split wood skin that stretched too tight around its skull.  Charming in life, it was terrifying in death.  It was no wonder people spoke of demons and goblins.
Undisturbed by the sight, Dr. Curdle lifted the sheet to reveal the rest of the body.  It’s torso had been split into three sections, each neatly held open by a pair of metal clamps.  From where he stood, Jughead could make out the ribs, a strange yellow blob, and just at the edge the still slowly pulsing heart.  He spun away from the sight, the little blood still in him from last night threatening to come back up.  Betty, though, held no such qualms and stood next to the good doctor to peer closer into the cavity.
“Despite the still beating heart, I can assure you she is most certainly dead.  Quite fascinating how the heart persists even after. While they aren’t human, per se - who in this room is,” Dr Curdle paused to chuckle at his own joke, “they do share much of the same anatomy as humans.  At least where the internal organs are concerned.  Quite expected when one takes into account the medieval ages and the dalliances of -”
Jughead slouched towards the wall and fought to keep upright as Dr. Curdle prattled on about the fae’s predilection for human company.  With more than a hint of black humor, Jughead couldn’t help but chuckle.  The witch who made healing potions and light spells had no trouble taking detailed notes while staring into the body of a corpse.  Meanwhile the vampire, a creature who lives off the life of others, is unable to stand the sight of a still beating heart.
“Do you see it?” Dr. Curdle asked excitedly.
His tone caught Jughead’s attention and he knew better than to look.  
“I’m afraid that might have been a trick question,” he said.  With a snap of latex he slipped on a pair of gloves and reached into the cavity.  Something squelched and Jughead squeezed his eyes shut.  
“Under here is normally where they keep the appendix -“
“The source of their magic?” Betty asked.
Dr. Curdle nodded and let out a small grunt.  Another wet sound came and Jughead slouched further down the wall.  
“Precisely, but as you can see -“
Betty gasped and Jughead cracked his eyes open to look at her.  Shock was written across her slightly open mouth and wide eyes, and he was tempted to look for himself until his stomach gave another gurgle.  
“Nothing.”
“Even stranger is that the liver, normally here, is also missing.  The tissue around both show signs of natural healing-”
“Indicating that it was done long before their death,” Betty said.
She hummed and continued her inspection of the cadaver, intent on getting as much information as possible.  Jughead knew he should be doing the same - often their notes improved when they went back through the day - but on this he trusted Betty’s instinct more than his own gag reflex.  
“Can you think of any reason why they might be missing?”
Dr. Curdle stared at the fluorescent lights overhead a moment.  “Liver, kidneys, lungs, and other various organs have been known to be missing from certain… suspect corpses that have come through here.  Common among those humans less fortunate who decide to ‘donate’ body organs when bills come due.”
“But have you seen this in the underground?” Jughead asked.  
It was one thing for humans to resort to carving themselves up and another altogether for the others to do so.  Though they might have their many problems, there was always good paying work of some sort in the underground, plenty enough to retire on.  You just had to have the stomach for it.
“Not until very recently.”
“When was the first?” Betty asked, her pencil raised and ready.
“Last month, as a matter of fact.”  
Now finished with his macabre show and tell, Dr. Curdle replaced the white sheet as carefully as if he were tucking in a small child.  With a low rattle the metal tray slid neatly back into the wall.
“Are you the only mortician who works on… us?”  
Jughead suspected that her hesitation was less from a witch’s natural self-importance than it was from the strange creature that stood before them.  He’d been in Dr. Crudle’s presence for over an hour and Jughead had yet to discern what exactly he was.   It was clear what he wasn’t though, and that alone was enough to make him afraid.
“As far as I know, yes.”
Now with the body gone, and along with it the overwhelming smell of formaldehyde, Jughead was able to stand.  He opened up his own notebook and flipped through the pages.
“Do you have any idea why those organs might be missing?” Betty asked, beating him to it.
“For the same reason as the humans,” Dr. Curdle said with a shrug.  His shoulders extended a hair too far to be normal.  
“Money?”
“Yes.”
Betty chewed her lip.  
“What about the appendix?  It’s useless in humans, can the fae transfer -“
“Transplant,” Dr. Curdle corrected.
“-transplant those?”
“Not as far as I’m aware.”
“What about using it in spells?” Jughead asked.
Betty stared at him, her lips thin.  She’d already shown how sore the subject of false rumors were about witches, but thankfully she held her tongue.
“It’s possible.  The appendix produces quite a bit of magic while the faery is alive; however I’m unsure of its efficacy after removed from the body.  From my understanding, magic is more personal then general.  A welder using such a magic, especially one stolen from a body, might themselves be on the receiving end of a very nasty defensive mechanism.”
“Like the barbs of a platypus,” Jughead said.  
“Exactly.”
“What about if its given freely?” Betty asked.  The line of her jaw was still tense, but thankfully she was no longer shooting daggers at Jughead.
“I suppose,” Dr. Curdle trailed off.  
The clock on the wall ticked by and Jughead found himself once more in the syrupy molasses of a black hole.  Dr. Curdle, meanwhile, stood completely still.  Even with his sharp eyes, Jughead could find no difference between that of Dr. Curdle and the body he’d since put away.  Ghouls were uncommon, and even so Dr. Curdle’s movements were far smoother and more coordinated than those unwilling victims who roamed the streets in the name of their masters.  
“Magic given freely, perhaps even magic sold, would, I suspect, respond just the same as the magic you sell.”
Betty’s nose crinkled and she shook her head. “I don’t sell magic.”
“You sell those marbles,” Jughead reminded her.  
She pursed her lips but said nothing more.  He wondered if he’d struck a nerve, and if he had had he done so purposefully?  To push her away before he was pulled in?  
“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Jughead asked, more to get his mind off his own introspection and what it might mean.
“Not that I can think of,” Dr. Curdle said.  
Betty pulled a card out and scribbled a number on it.  She handed it to Dr. Curdle who slipped it into his apron.
“If something else comes up, please -“
“You’ll be the first one I call.  Now, if you’ll excuse me I have another appointment.”  
Jughead and Betty made their way back onto the street, the light dim compared to the surgical lights of the mortuary.  Around them the streets were filled with people, underground and human, who had no idea the disturbing implications of what they’d just seen.  It was the first Jughead had ever thought of what happened to a fae body after death.  But the more troubling aspect of it was more of what had been done to the body before death.
A fae willingly giving up their magic was just as improbably as a fish learning to fly.  And yet -
Betty’s stomach growled and she blushed.  
“I guess breakfast didn’t last as long as I thought.”
Jughead’s own stomach, still sore from the morgue, twisted in on itself to hide away from even the thought of food.  A rare occurrence considering his normally voracious appetite.  But when Betty mentioned a cafe down the street, he agreed readily.  And if the omelette and French toast she’d ordered made even a vampire green, Jughead didn’t mention it.
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zzzzzbored · 5 years ago
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Dad?
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Reblog from Takeover Tales
I spent the weekend with my dad’s who had grown a lot since I last saw him. Isn’t he the one who is supposed to tell me that? His body mass was much larger and now he looked like he could kick my ass while sitting. It didn’t bother me, I kind of liked it. You see, my parents got a divorce after my dad started acting a little strange and that was about three years go. I hadn’t seen him since. It’s almost as if he appeared out of nowhere after disappearing out of my life.
My mother dropped me off outside, failing to build up enough courage from the drive to come in and at least say hello. I didn’t blame her, she had been through a lot and I wasn’t going to give her any more shit than she deserved. That was very little. I stood outside with my bag hung over my shoulder and my book bag leaning against my leg. I pulled the strap over my body and walked right up to the door. Without hesitation, the door opened and I was greeted by a bear of a man. This was my father.
“Dad?” I asked, he looked nothing like he used to but I could still see it in his face. I think it was the nose because it was the same as mine.
“Yeah. I would hope so. Look at you! Man do we have some catching up.” He grabbed my bags and then placed them on the sofa. Beyond the foyer we passed an office with an executives desk placed in the center and an apple computer’s apple light glowing in the dark. I could make out various office items such as books leaning against each other underneath a lamp and a cup filled with mechanical pencils, each one with a brand new eraser. To the right there was the door that lead to the garage. As we moved along we reached a hallways leading to the guest bedroom which belonged to me for the weekend and the guest bathroom at the end which was beach themed with bowls of shells on shelves and sand dollar soaps. We reached the kitchen and living room combo after the hallway and the roof grew immensely, a giant fan centering the ceiling. The marble counter tops reflected the light from the center of the fan and there were pots and pans filled with the meal for the evening. In the living are, two sofas faced each other with a table in the center, a vase with orange flowers was a nice addition. On the wall was an abstract orange painting with streaks of paint thrown across the canvas. The dining room matched the dark wood of the kitchen cabinets and down the center was a fabric accent with orange stripes and on top of it was a bowl or oranges. Behind the table was the view of the backyard with its green grass and carefully placed lawn chairs. The master bedroom wasn’t for my eyes.
“It smells great!” I let the aroma of the spinach and cheese pasta fill my nose as he pulled it off. The Asiago cheese was gooey as he set the table and the sound of water pouring into my glass made me smile.
“So, how have you been. I know that the last time I saw you we weren’t really on good terms.” He took a sip of water before placing a piece of ravioli in his mouth, a single strand of cheese stretching from plate to lips.
“Well, you weren’t on good terms with mom but I’ve been busy. I got into Yale and I will be going this fall.” I sipped to the accomplishments.
“Yale? Wow. When I was al…well, I’m proud of you.” He smiled. It was still odd seeing his face work since it was a bit rounder. His skin moved differently.
“I’m also gay.” I tried to avoid eye contact as I put a ravioli in my mouth. If he yelled at me it would give me something to do while I listened. In fact, I would have just chewed it and ignored his torment.
“Interesting.” He smiled.
“Yeah.” I gulped down the cheese and looked at him. He wasn’t going to yell or maybe I had spoken too soon?
“You aren’t going to be treated differently.” He said. I found out that weekend was that what he really meant was: “I’m not going to beat you or scream like other dads but that doesn’t mean I won’t do other things.”
I was in bed when I heard the whispers. We had just finished watching a movie together and as the credits rolled past I yawned, cuing us to sleep. I followed the whispers past the kitchen with its spacious cooking area and the dining room with its orange accents and to the crack in the master bedroom door. There was a perfect view of the bed which had my father sprawled out on top of it. His cock was erect and flowing out from it was a white cloud, coming together just above his body. My dad’s back was arched as this white mist flew out of him and then he fell back onto the comforter as it started to turn into what looked like a human being. Then the guess was confirmed, floating above my father was the ghostly form of a burly man.
“Man, I can’t wait to screw your son. I Just have to figure out how to let him let me.” He was talking to himself as he floated around the room. My father snored on the bed and rolled to get comfortable. “Oh no you don’t.” He shoved himself back into my father’s erect cock, causing him to arch his back once more. His hands wrapped themselves up in the blankets as he grabbed them, moaning and writhing as this spirit took his body. He took control quickly, I could tell from the way he looked at his hands. “Man, you’re one hot fucking catch. Three years of shaping you to be the perfect host and now you fit like a glove.” He patted his stomach and then rolled over. I waited quietly trying to listen to him and then I heard his snoring and took that as a reason to leave.
The following morning I received a text in my phone, the vibrations on the wood causing me to wake up. I groggily looked at the photo and it was my father. He was only wearing underwear and had his arm above his head. He was posing for me. For a second I almost passed off the previous night as a dream but the moment I saw the picture I knew that he wasn’t my dad. He quickly came into my room to apologize for that and made up this story about how it was supposed to go to someone he had been dating or whatever but I saw right through that bullshit.
“You can stop acting. I know it’s not you in there.”
“What?”
“I know you’re a ghost or something.” I could see his cock pressing against the inside of his pajama pants and then I felt my own beginning to grow.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You can pretend all you want but I saw you last night. Not you my dad but the you that can float in and out of his body. ‘Like a glove’ is what you said, I think.” I was desperately trying to hide my boner from him.
“Aha. You sneaky bastard. I knew I liked you the moment I saw you.” He sat down on the bed and I moved over to make room.
“So, what do you want?” I asked.
“I’ve gotten everything I wanted. I’m living again and your dad is the perfect body. You think so too.” He reached over and touched the tenting blanket. I tried to pull away but he grabbed it and I cringed. It felt good.
“Stop.”
“You like it. If you didn’t you wouldn’t have popped one the moment you saw me.”
“I don’t think that’s how that works.”
“C’mon, son. You want it.” He had started crawling over me, his heavy body causing the bed to have an even bigger indention. I could feel the heat of his own cock and he pushed himself against me, his bulge rubbing against my own. He repeated this and then lowered his face to mine, kissing me passionately. I didn’t refuse and instead of pushing him away I reached up and pulled him in. He ripped off the blanket and pulled off everything that I was wearing, almost ripping it because of his strength. It was easy for my to push off his bottoms with my leg and I felt his massive meat land just above my own. I chuckled as he smiled and then he forcibly flipped me over. I used the pillow to muffle my screams as he plowed me with his rod, slamming me into the headboard as he penetrated my hole. He rhythimcally fucked me in the guest bedroom and he grabbed my hair like he was riding me like an animal. I grabbed at the pillow pressing it harder and harder, biting into the cotton to keep me from screaming. It felt amazing as he rammed me with his cock and out of the combination of happiness and pain, a tear dropped onto the pillow case.
“Oh fuck YES!” I screamed finally. I couldn’t hold it any longer.
“Your hole is so tight it feels fucking amazing.” He grunted and I tightened just to milk it out of him. I moaned as I started to push myself away from the headboard to keep myself from hitting it and I could feel his pulsating cock being to blow. He filled me up with his sweet fluid and let out a roar as he came. The thrusts slowed down and eventually he pulled out. I rolled over and curled up into him, his hairy body laid out before me. I circled his nipple with my finger and he used his arm to bring me in for a kiss. We laid there blissfully and I almost wanted to smoke a cigarette like most people do in the movies but instead, I kissed him this time.
“You can keep my dad. I wasn’t a big fan of him before anyways. I was too scared to come out of the closet and he were in control he probably would have kicked my ass.”
“If it makes you feel any better he would have. I could feel it.” He tapped his forehead.
“It does make me feel better.” I curled back up into him and I didn’t want this weekend to end.
Well, it did. Yale was coming up and I wasn’t going to be seeing my dad as often so I was going to have to fill up the rest of the summer with him. My mom didn’t mind and my dad definitely didn’t mind.
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thestationerylife · 4 years ago
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For just $2.99 ***YOU ARE PURCHASING ONE ITEM UNLESS OTHERWISE SPECIFIED IN THE DROPDOWN MENU AT TIME OF PURCHASE*** Equipped with a color lead! "Color Eno" that can write vividly even with light pressure! ! Easy-grip and a skeleton body with 8 color variations. A newly developed plastic tip that is kind to the lead is used for the tip that holds the lead. The pencil comes in a total of 8 colors that match the color of the lead. The strength of the lead has been improved, it is hard to break and it can be used for various purposes such as memo writing and underlining. Eliminates the traditional sticky writing feel, and because it does not use wax as in its raw material, it can be easily erased with an eraser. ________________________________ Specifications Sleeve Type: Sliding Tip Material: Metal Tip Replaceable: No Tip Retractable: Yes Weight Whole Pencil (with Lead) 0.34 oz / 10 grams ________________________________ PLEASE NOTE: Due to monitor color calibration, the image might appear a slightly different color than it actually is. By purchasing this item, you agree to abide by Etsy's terms and conditions as well as my shop policies, which can be located here: https://www.etsy.com/shop/TheStationeryLife?ref=hdr_shop_menu#policies Thank you! Come visit my website here: https://thestationery.life/ Please review our business policies in the FAQ: http://go.thestationery.life/faq
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ickaimp · 7 years ago
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[Darkwing Duck] How we Roll
Apparently we needed 2,330 words of Darkwing Duck family feels fluff involving sushi today.
“Launchpad!” Drake grinned at his partner in delight. “I didn’t know you could use chopsticks!” 
“Oh yeah.” Launchpad deftly dropped a piece of crab sushi into his mouth with his chopsticks, taking a quick second to chew and swallow before speaking again. “Went around the world with Mr. McD and the kids, picked up a few things along the way. Kind of had to, Mr. McD is a stickler for table manners, especially when it comes to meal time negotiations.” He went to grab another pieces and it slipped, falling out of his chopsticks. The chopsticks quickly followed, one falling off the table and rolling on to the floor. “Course, I tend to crash them too.” Launchpad chuckled ruefully, then picked up a piece of salmon nigiri. “To be honest, I’m better at eating sushi with my fingers.” If that was the only thing Launchpad crashed tonight, Drake would count it as getting off lightly.
“Using fingers to eat sushi is still culturally acceptable.” Drake grinned, picking up piece of nigiri and daintily eating it. Yellow tail. One of his favourites. “How are you doing, Honey?” He asked, turning to his daughter, who seemed to be sulking a bit. “I’m still not so sure about this.” Gosalyn poked her california roll suspiciously, holding the chopsticks like daggers. She hadn’t been entirely thrilled with Drake’s suggestion for dinner, his attempt to branch out their diets a little bit more. “Raw fish?” “Only some of it is raw, and none of the sashimi is for kids.” Drake grinned, giving Launchpad a quick wink. “You’re not ready for the raw fish.”
“What?!” Gosalyn straightened, her face twisting in outrage. “What do you mean ‘I’m not ready’-?!” “You haven’t tried any of the boring cooked stuff, and you can’t even hold your chopsticks properly.” Drake stole the california roll Gosalyn had been poking from her plate and quickly ate it. “Hey!” Gosalyn glowered at him. “Where did you learn to use chopsticks anyway?” She grumbled. “Studying with Goose Lee. How do you think I ate in Kung Pow City?” Drake shrugged, going after a nice looking piece of mackerel nigiri. Although the Chinese food in Kung Pow City was certainly different from Japanese sushi. But still, chopstick mechanics were similar, even if the shapes were slightly different. “When travelling, do as the locals do.” “Here, here!” Launchpad cheerfully agreed, and then paused. “Well. Unless they’re hurting people. In that case, you stop them.” “Yes, that.” Drake agreed. That was the principal thing that being a superhero was about. Gosalyn gave them both suspicious looks, then carefully picked up a piece of her california roll with her fingers and hesitantly ate it. She chewed for another moment, then swallowed, quickly reaching over and grabbing another piece to shove in her mouth. “It’s alright.” She muttered. “Glad to hear it.” Drake fought a smirk. “Although you’re still not getting any of the good stuff until you can master chopsticks.” “I can do that.” Gosalyn scoffed, picking up the chopsticks and arranging them in her hands. The top one slipped between her fingers. Drake said nothing as she attempted to figure it out, occasionally squinting at his hand as he picked things up to eat, as if trying to figure out if he was using some sort of magic trick. Launchpad gave him an amused look, dipping a piece of tiger roll into the soy sauce for a moment before sticking the dripping piece in his mouth and eating it with great delight. Drake wrinkled his bill at him, he’d overpower the delicate flavours of the fish with that much sauce, the heathen.
“Okay.” Gosalyn spoke up, sounding annoyed. “How do you do it?” “Like this.” Drake set his chopsticks down and reached over to help her, folding her fingers correctly. “Bottom one rests on your thumb, top one you hold like a pencil.” He helped move the sticks in the proper way.
“And then you use the chopsticks to chomp like an alligator!” Gosalyn squeaked in delight, clacking the tips of the chopsticks together. “Ah… Yes. Precisely.” He agreed with some amusement, releasing her hands. “Like an alligator.”
“Keen Gear!” She exclaimed, reaching to grab one of the california rolls still on her plate. It exploded between her chopsticks, falling to pieces. Gosalyn’s face fell for a second, then she got a determined look on her face, tongue sticking out of the side of her bill as she tried picking up the pieces of the dismantled california roll. He certainly had to give her points for determination. Drake turned his attention back to the sushi platter, debating what to eat next. Not the octopus, he’d leave that for Launchpad, too chewy and he didn’t like the feeling of the suckers between his teeth. Something moved in the corner of his eye and he reacted without thinking, catching it with the tips of his chopsticks before it could strike him. “Neat-o!” Gosalyn cheered, staring at thim in wonder. “You just *BLAM!* caught that! Snatched it right out of the air!”
“Yep, yep, yep.” He set the piece of what looked like cucumber down on her plate, feeling extremely proud of himself. If it had been mostly a fluke, well, they didn’t need to know that. “Can you catch a fly out of midair too?!” Gosalyn demanded. “Usually.” He shrugged it off. Drake Mallard was a humble person. “But it’s not really worth it. You have to clean the chopsticks off after. Bug guts.” “EW!” Gosalyn’s face scrunched up, her tongue sticking out in disgust. “I wanna learn how to do that.” She decided, a fierce expression on her face. “And then I’ll make Tank eat the fly.”
He probably should say something against that. Probably. Drake glanced over at Launchpad, who seemed to be pointedly ignoring the comment and decided that his partner had the right idea of it.
“Here.” He flipped his chopsticks around and used the thicker back end to grab a slice of caterpillar roll and putting it on Gosalyn’s plate. “Try that. It’s like the california roll.”
Gosalyn’s eyes lit up, before narrowing as she focused on grabbing the caterpillar roll with her chopsticks, fumbling it a few times.
“Why’d you flip the chopsticks around?” Launchpad pointed at Drake’s hand, looking confused. “I ate off the other end.” Drake shrugged, turning his chopsticks back around. “Isn’t that how you serve if you’re sharing food?” That way you weren’t sharing germs and saliva. “Never thought of it.” Launchpad wiggled his fingers at Drake. Right. “Usually just pass it over and put it on their plate.”
Gosalyn made a confused noise as she finally got the piece of sushi into her mouth and ate it. “It’s warm-?” She said, confused and slightly disturbed. “Has cooked eel in it instead of crab.” Drake said mildly. Avocado, cucumber, and eel. “EEL?!” Gosalyn’s eyes went wide. “Gross!” “But tasty!” Launchpad pointed out, grabbing a piece of caterpillar roll as well and eating it. “You should try some of the roe.” “Roe?” “Here.” Drake scooped some small orange looking dots off a pieces with the back end of his chopsticks and putting it on her plate. “Try a small sample first.” Gosalyn gave him a suspicious look, but dipped the tips of her chopsticks into the bright orange dots and putting it in her mouth. Her eyes lit up. “They pop!” “Well, yeah.” Launchpad grinned. “They’re fish eggs! Little tiny tiny ones!” “Groooooosssss.” Gosalyn breathed, excited. “Can I have more?” “Sure.” Drake motioned to the  platters in the middle of the table. They had a lot of different kinds. “Anything you can grab with your chopsticks. And no raw sushi.” He smirked to himself as her jaw tensed up, a determined look on her face as she gripped the chopsticks tightly in her hand. Launchpad gave him a confused face and Drake gave a small shake of his head. Gosalyn stood up in her chair, one hand braced on the table as she looked over the platters of sushi. One of the joys of all-you-can-eat sushi was that it gave the opportunity to try a lot of different kinds. And between the active lives the three of them lead, they could certainly pack the food away.
She leaned forward to snatch at the closest sushi to her and shoving it in her mouth. Her expression turned puzzled. “I don’t think that was fish.” She complained once her mouth wasn’t full anymore. “Tamago is an omlette with normal eggs and Mirin, a type of sweet rice wine.” Drake explained. Honestly, he was just grateful she wasn’t talking with her mouth full. “That’s why it was sweet.” Gosalyn nodded as if that made sense. She reached for a piece with cooked shrimp, and at the last second, twisted her chopsticks to make a grab at a piece of raw tuna. Drake caught her chopsticks in his own. “Nice try, missy.” He declared as she growled in annoyance. He released her chopsticks and grabbed the tuna, quickly eating it. “Mmmm. Delicious.”
Gosalyn muttered to herself as she readjusted the chopsticks and grabbed a kappa roll, filled with cucumber. Drake smirked to himself. That was one way to get her to eat her vegetables. Launchpad glanced between them, looking suspicious as he went for a piece of octopus. Good. Drake watched his daughter try a couple more pieces before going for a beautiful slice of salmon, intercepting her. She muttered in annoyance, attempting to wrestle with the chopsticks. Drake smiled, foiling her plans. Gosalyn growled, and then it suddenly turned into an all out chopstick war, trying to grab and eat everything in reach. Launchpad yelped, then dove in with his hands as well, grabbing more than one piece at a time and shoving them into his bill before they could get to them.
It was rude, it was messy, it was so perfectly them that Drake had to smile to himself as he fended off the dwindling pieces of raw sushi from Gosalyn.It helped that she had far from mastered it, and kept fumbling the pieces that he would quickly grab. And then suddenly there was nothing left but wasabi and pickled ginger. Drake leaned back in his seat, feeling both full and satisfied as Launchpad started to pick at the ginger before offering it to Gosalyn. At least no one had accidently inhaled wasabi this time around. His first introduction to the green horseradish paste hadn’t been pleasant at all, although he didn’t mind a little bit of it. “I’ll get it next time.” Gosalyn muttered, trying to grab the slices of pickled ginger. “We’ll see, honey.” Drake said, pulling out his wallet as the waitress walked up with the check. With the mess they’d sort of just made, he didn’t blame them for not asking if there was anything else they could get.
It was a not uncommon occurance going out to eat with Gosalyn. Thankfully there had been no livestock involved this time around. He left a hefty tip, then escorted Gosalyn out of the building, Launchpad automatically following, guarding their backs. Gosalyn kept the cheap bamboo chopsticks with her, holding them like a stake, muttering about the utensils behind handy in case of rogue vampire attacks. A couple walking by them picked up the pace a little as they overheard what she was saying and he ignored them. It might have seemed odd to anyone else, but it made Drake happy to see Gosalyn growing up to be happy, healthy, and most of all, herself. Not trying to fit any pre existing molds that didn’t fit her. No matter how unlady-like her behaviour seemed to be, or terrified Birdie. He’d grown up to forge his own path, Launchpad too to some extent. And his daughter was already an amazing tiny person. Although she still had some growing up to do. Years.
“You know, we have several sets of chopsticks at home.” Drake casually mentioned, trying not to sound amused and failing.
“We do?!” Gosalyn exclaimed in excitement, then turned suspicious. “Really? How come I’ve never seen them?” “Oh! That one I can answer!” Launchpad volunteered. “That’s cause you never help with put the dishes away.” “I help occasionally.” Gosalyn retorted, torn between pride and defiance. Drake barely kept from snorting in amusement. The silverware was the only thing that was safe from Gosalyn, and even then it sometimes ended up being embedded in the wall. “And just you wait, Dad! I’ll master chopsticks in no time at all!” Gosalyn waved her stolen chopsticks in Drake’s face, looking stern. “And then we’ll see who gets the ‘good stuff’.” “Uh-huh.” He nodded, a skeptical look on his face. She snorted in annoyance and stomped forward, fingers moving to automatically try to hold them properly. He’d be willing to bet that she’d probably eat everything with them for the next three weeks, until she felt she’d sufficiently mastered them. He stretched, then rubbed his full belly, feeling happy and content, surrounded by two of his favourite people. It’d been a good dinner. Tasty food, no massive disasters, no villainous attacks, and he hadn’t had to pay for any dishes or property damage. “I don’t get it.” Launchpad whispered quietly at him. “Why don’t you want her trying the raw fish? It’s good.”
“It is.” Drake gave his partner a slow, smug smirk. “But this way, she’ll want to try it.” Launchpad looked puzzled a moment longer, before his expression slowly cleared as he realised that Drake had essentially tricked Gosalyn into learning how to use chopsticks and try raw fish, something she wouldn’t have even contemplated when they first walked in.
“Hot. Dog.” Launchpad whispered in awe, glancing between the still fuming Gosalyn and the smug Drake. “Good one.”
“Yeah well.” Drake shrugged, bumping Launchpad’s arm with his own in solidarity. “Let me know if you think of anything that’ll trick her to cleaning her room.” -fin-
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stgeorgesmovielover-blog · 8 years ago
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John Wick: Chapter 2
For those of you that may have missed John Wick when it released back in April 2015 (nearly 7 months after the US release!), the film signalled the return to true action hero form for Keanu Reeves- and what a surprisingly brilliant film it was! Nearly 2 years on, Reeves is back in John Wick's 'tactical' suit to wreak more havoc on the seedy world of mafia dons, hitmen and gangsters. So, to catch us all up, John Wick: an ex-hitman who had recently lost his wife to a terminal illness, was forced out of retirement to track down the gangsters that killed the puppy she had left him in her memory and who had stolen his precious Mustang. The callous disrespect cannot go unpunished and Wick soon learns these thugs are closely linked to Mob Boss, Viggo Tarasov (Michael Nyqvist). As the film progresses it quickly becomes clear that Wick is a man you do not want to mess with; he is also a man that does not want to get back into the business of being a Hitman, but he must make them pay for what they have done, as he is a grieving man, with nothing left to lose. In this instalment, Wick finally gets his beloved Mustang back and, still reeling from the death of his wife, Helen, is truly ready to fade back into some sense of normalcy. But this state is, of course, shortly lived, when Wick is paid a visit by a former associate, Santino D'Antonio, with nefarious intentions to seize control over a large part of the international assassins' guild. D'Antonio (played by Riccardo Scamarcio), forces Wick's hand by reminding him of the blood oath that he holds over him, the price of which is to assassinate whomever he is instructed to, no questions asked. Little does Wick know, however, that once the oath is honoured and the debt is paid, he is to be targeted by every international assassin in the market for his bounty. But how does John Wick: Chapter 2 fare in comparison to Wick's first cinematic outing? Well, as far as entertainment goes, this one definitely hits the mark in much the same way as the fist! Hugely audacious and certifiably more violent than its predecessor, Chapter 2 takes a much bolder step into the action genre. What is plainly evident, is that John Wick is not great at retiring at all and perhaps, as others have commented along the way, he is addicted to bloody path of vengeance- but really, what else does he have to live for? And what could be more dangerous than a man with nothing left to hold him back? After its opening, the film wastes no time at all plunging us deeper into the particular diegesis of Wick's world, its mythologies, arcane rules and boundaries. This labyrinthine world of assassins is far more rigidly structured, regimented and orderly than we might otherwise think and it's a treat to explore the various layers and inner-workings in such a way. One of the best examples of these appetising details is the introduction of an old-fashioned administrative steno pool of tattooed ladies that handle and process the release of 'hits' and other nasty things that need to get done. There are also several moments of pleasure to be had watching Wick prepare for his various showdowns. Here is a man with incredibly refined flawless tastes and he knows what he wants. The conversation with the weapons Sommelier (Peter Serafinowicz) that is carried out as one, perfectly formed, metaphor for fine dining, is absolutely brilliant! Another highlight is when Wick responds to the question of 'what style?' by his Italian suit tailor, with the one-word response: 'tactical'. Yes, even gorgeous, precisely tailored dinner suits can serve a higher purpose in Wick's world- one of bullet-proof armour! It could be argued that some of the focus of the first film is lost here, with such attention paid to the smaller details of the criminal world, but these details are charming and help to add so much more class to the film, whilst also enabling a natural precursor for moments of humour. All of this lending the story the chance to venture down some fun avenues. Obviously, cinema was created so that we could all marvel at Keanu Reeves' ability to look about two decades younger than his actual age, in the slickest suits and simultaneously slice through people with the same grace as Fred Astaire! Yes, I am clearly a fan of Mr. Reeves, but joking aside, for all its charming craft and flawless style, John Wick: Chapter 2 is undoubtedly, like its predecessor, a showcase for Keanu Reeves: a great actor that has made great films for decades and a man, more importantly, with a sincere love for and skill in the action genre. I don't believe, as great as this series is, that it would be anywhere near as good without Reeves in the titular role. The action truly is second to none and it is obvious that Reeves knows what he's doing when it comes to the martial arts. Over the length of his career, Reeves has trained in such arts as Jiu Jitsu, Wushu, Boxing, Krav Maga, Judo, Karate and many more, so there is no chance of questioning the authenticity of the action in this one. Keanu Reeves was born for action, he was born to play the hero and yes, some have criticised his acting over the years as wooden or stilted, but I find- at least as John Wick, that he plays the grieving, reluctant hitman brilliantly. Having said all of that, Reeves is not the only star that shines brightly in this one. There is the returning cast of Ian McShane as Winston, the Owner of New York City's Continental Hotel, Lance Reddick as the Manager, and the ever-amazing John Leguizamo as Aurelio the mechanic. However the new faces also bring plenty to the table with the likes of Orange is the New Black's, Ruby Rose, as Ares, who manages to be a commanding presence in every scene despite no dialogue whatsoever, the brilliantly talented, Common, as Cassian, who completely nails the silent but deadly assassin mode with such panache that his and Reeves' scenes together light up the film! Finally, there is the superb addition of Laurence Fishburne, as the Bowery King. Indeed, there is no doubt that these two actors have a wonderful rapport between them, I mean, how could they not after their shared history in The Matrix franchise? But Fishburne is powerful in the role with a hint of eccentricity, for good measure, even though his role is a fairly small one, he manages to make quite the impact and I certainly felt those Neo/Morpheus chills! How could I not? It's Neo and Morpheus, people! The only real negative, for me, was how rapid the Ares and Wick fight was. As a Ruby Rose fan, I was anticipating a grander showdown but what I got was one that, sadly, did not last as long as I'd have liked it to, but she definitely has a place in the cinematic action world, no doubt about it! However, I must applaud Director, Chad Stahelski for the superbly choreographed art gallery sequence as that is a sheer work of art in itself! The visual feast that Stahelski and Cinematographer, Dan Laustsen have created is truly sumptuous. Every frame takes advantage of the refined styles of Wick's world, forming a colour palette unique to the action film landscape that gives John Wick: Chapter 2 an artistic quality. These two also know how handsome and physically expressive their leading man is. Often Reeves is the only thing on-screen, his face and body cast in shades of turquoise, jade, and neon pink and the angles of his frame beautifully highlighted in a gorgeous, stylish, yet masculine way. The fight scenes are also quite artful, they are never over-edited and the continuous use of wide shots only serve to further highlight just how much Reeves trained for the physicality of the role. It's safe to say that the violence is never one-dimensional, either, instead frequently oscillating between darkly humorous and even poetic. This chapter is definitely more brutal than the first- but we do get to see Wick's pencil trick- which is a testament to how deadly he really is. Reeves' dialogue may be spare, but his body tells a story of its own, even in the subdued moments and often, he manages to communicate more of a history than some actors do in entire monologues. Indeed, where Ares may be frenetic and Cassian brutal, Wick is elegant and poetic in his violence. Quite frequently it feels like Reeves is creating dance crafted by his skill with the action and violence and I'm hard pressed to think of any other modern action star who manages to be so brutal yet utterly beautiful in equal measure. But, it must be said that Keanu Reeves' talent goes beyond just his undeniable flair as a physical performer in action scenes. John Wick: Chapter 2 highlights the theme that has snaked its way throughout his entire career: loneliness. There is no doubt that Reeves has always been at his best when he has played men that are isolated due to choice and pathology. Wick's struggle to find peace in this dangerous, chaotic and volatile world is actually moving and you desperately want him to succeed in finding it. Here is a man without any real home in the world- emotional or tangible. Yes this is a slick, adrenaline-pumping action flick that will be sure to keep the masses entertained, but John Wick: Chapter 2 is also a moving depiction of how loneliness and grief can warp the best of us. A sharp, ferocious and stylish piece of cinema, John Wick: Chapter 2 is every bit as cool and bloodthirsty as the first. The film oozes sophistication and class and the franchise is probably one of the most artistic and technical we have seen within the Hollywood action genre in recent years- in fact the only other double-hitter that springs to mind is the Indonesian: The Raid (both parts 1 and 2), but John Wick definitely is bridging the gap between the Eastern giants in Martial Arts and the Hollywood mainstream! The door has been left open for a potential Chapter 3, and I know (if it goes ahead), I will definitely be first in line to see it. If it turns out to be anywhere near as good as the first two, then it's bound to be excellent! 4.5/5
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listentome-ok · 6 years ago
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God is a Woman
‘Space stuff is cool, right?’ asked Ms. Moder, and then she crossed the length of the whiteboard to get to the other side. 
‘No,’ said Tim, without a beat, ‘space stuff isn’t cool, computer stuff is cool.’ His confusion was painted across his face - in acrylic - and his pencil was held in stillness only a centimetre from his paper.
 ‘I like space stuff nonetheless.’ Ms. Moder replied. Tim looked at her despairingly. He had just had the sudden realisation that, once again, they would not be doing any computer stuff today. 
‘Actually,’ piped in Sandra from the other side of the classroom, ‘space stuff is very cool. Technically. Isn’t it?’ 
 ‘And in here,’ added Eddie, ‘can we turn up the heating, Miss, please?’ 
 ‘Eddie, I’m afraid we still can’t jig the heating problem in this room, but you’re welcome to keep your coat on if it makes you more comfortable. Now,’ announced Ms. Moder, rubbing her almost purple hands together, ‘let’s take a trip to outer space. For the next few weeks of our classes together, you will be working on your projects for the upcoming science fair. This is an exciting opportunity to explore any part of space that you make be interested in. I am giving you all complete reigns today, but you must stick to the theme of outer space, using and expanding on the things we have been learning in our previous classes.’ 
 As Ms. Moder flicked through a powerpoint of examples of previous science fair success stories, an idea began to germinate in Susan’s mind. ‘Miss!’ She stretched her arm up as far as it could reach, so that it would be the most noticeable. She felt as though she could almost touch the ceiling, and her bottom lifted slightly off her seat in the effort. ‘Miss?’ 
 ‘Yes, Susan.’
 ‘Can we make a diorama?’
 ‘Dioramas are a fantastic idea, Susan.’ Ms. Moder replied, ‘They’re a creative and interactive way to explore an aspect of space you may be interested in.’ 
‘Can we make a diorama of an ideal planet, and the conditions it would need to host life?’ 
‘Ooh!’ said Ethan, ‘I want to make up a planet too!’ 
‘Me too!’ added Tim. 
‘You can’t make up a planet! That’s not in space - it’s inside your own head, dumdums’ said Sandra, scowling out at the rest of the classroom from her front row perch. 
‘Actually, I think a diorama of a model planet could work very well. It could be a great opportunity to showcase some scientific research. Of course, you would need to use the scientific method, as all good scientists do, you would need to find out the right conditions for a habitable planet, and then be able explain clearly how you found them.’ Susan nodded her head vigorously, then noticed Sandra doing the same, and abruptly stopped.
-
Susan’s brain prickled with activity on the walk home, so much that it was hard to contain, and seemed to be spilling out of her physically and making her restless. She was anxious to get home and get out her notebook - all the sooner so that she could write everything down. Her homework for the weekend was to ‘begin preparing and working on the project’ - she knew that her lofty ambitions required her to start right away. She knew that she needed to make sure she was remembering everything clearly; she knew, after all, that she had a habit of forgetfulness. She also knew already that she was going to need a very big jar to be successful in what she was going to undertake.
All of the thoughts swimming in her head were making her anxious of forgetting them, and she broke into a jog, her bag bouncing on her lower back, its straps smacking at the back of her knees. Once home, she desperately unlocked the door, desperately picked up the mail from the floor where it had fallen, desperately ran to the kitchen and put it on the table - while there desperately pouring herself a glass of orange juice from the fridge - and finally, desperately, she pulled and pushed clumsily at the zips and pockets of her bag until she had a blank page and a notebook in front of her. Then, finally relieving herself, it all poured out of her, everything she could remember and then some, page after page after page, so much that she continued to ache for many minutes after she had finished her task.
Then, Susan grabbed herself a bag of crisps from the cupboard and turned on Spongebob - because it was 3:30 - and sat down to wait for her mother to get home from work so that she could talk to her about it. But, with all the mechanisms having so recently been alive in her head, she found that she simply couldn’t focus on the TV, so she took her notebook over to her perch on the sofa and began to re-read what she had just put to paper. Soon, she found herself ripping out pages and writing them more coherently. She made one list of things she had to do and one list of materials she had to acquire in order to build her experiment, and then quickly added another list of things she would need to properly read up on in order to ensure it all ran smoothly. She slowly turned over and admired all of the pages she had written, and the neat lists. 

Then, more out of a want to continue working on her project than anything else, she wrote out a timeline of events for the course of the experiment, and then the goals of the experiment. For now, her work was done, but she was not finished with it. So she opened up her pencil case and pulled out her special glitter pens, and then she went upstairs and found the box of craft paper that she had used for her car boot sale that summer, and wrote on it in large bubble letters, ‘Susan’s Year Eight Science Project’. Immediately, she regretted not waiting to think of a more original name. There it was now. She knew she was burning past her wick at this point. Maybe she would be able to spare another piece of craft paper. But she would save that for another day. She turned to the bookshelf in the living room, pulled down the King James Bible and the Encyclopaedia, and began to conduct her research.  
By the time that her mum arrived home, Susan had become so immersed in her design that she felt she couldn’t simply let anyone see it, at least not at these rudimentary stages. What if she told her it couldn’t work? Or spilled on her notebook and ruined her research? Susan had an innate fear of sabotage - she felt everyone must - and so, just to be careful, she sneaked to her room when she heard her mother unlock the door, carrying her papers, her pens, her Bible, and her juice.
-
At school on Monday, Ms. Moder appeared perplexed by Susan’s efforts. She had almost ripped the seams of her book-bag when bringing in all her pages of research and plans, and she had even already bought the jar using three weeks of pocket money savings, which she read was the correct amount of money to spend on a large jar. So, though Ms. Moder was concerned by such an ambitious feat, her admiration of Susan’s hard work and dedication shone through it. She felt as though she could sense in Susan’s eyes a rare glint of astounding potential: she felt as though this glint in her eyes was Susan’s soul reaching out to Ms. Moder’s soul with this promise, and this plead to just trust in her young body. She felt a strange sense of deja vu, or possibly veja du, at their position, at being thrust into such blind faith in her own student. 
‘This is absolutely remarkable, Susan. What an inspiring commitment to detail. I am sure the project will exceed all of our expectations.’ She placed a sticky gold star right in the top corner of Susan’s front page, and then, for measure, handed Susan herself another, larger sticker, saying ‘Good Job!’ with a cartoon boy with large, outstretched hands. Susan beamed with joy at this. Ms. Moder sighed with relief at having made the right move in this gamble.
In the following days, Susan toiled incessantly at her project. In her few years, she had never felt as sure about anything. In her English class, they were reading Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, and now, though she was only 12, she understood the terror, toil and unimaginable sweat that flowed from Victor throughout the book - or up to the part she had read - and yet his duty to continue his work despite it. She amassed glue-sticks and batteries in her room, she read all of the books on the matter she could find in the house, and then went to the library for some more. She used dinner to grill her mother about the principles of gravity and of red paint. She was working hard, and she trusted it would lead to good things. After her long slog, encountering splinters, sleepless nights, glitter in places it shouldn’t be, and hands clumped together by glue, she finally had it. After seven days and nights, she stepped back to admire her completed diorama. She had not only built a planet, she had built an entire solar system for it to fit into. All of her calculations appeared to have paid off: she had needed to enclose her experiment in both bigger and smaller planets, protecting it from its life-giving ‘star’. She had spent a whole afternoon meticulously calculating the distance from the sun that would be required to allow days, nights, and water. She had used the bottles under her kitchen sink to create a unique reaction that made the gases of the sun, and she had even painstakingly crafted moons for each planet out of tin foil.
Indeed, after all of the work put into the solar system as a whole, which seemed to take centuries, the planet itself looked like a small blip: it reminded her of a snow globe. Indeed, other planets were grander. One was a beautiful blue, one was mighty and massive, and one she had even given rings on a whim, and she felt that in the sun she had achieved a brilliant brightness and size. Yet, this little planet of the middle of it was her raison d’être. This little planet was very special.
For a start, it had water. Therefore it could conduct carbon life. And this potential for carbon life, though simple, did have the possibility of growth. This wouldn’t just be single-cell organisms, oh no, this world, like her own, would be able to create many different types of cells, cells that could - hopefully - work together to conduct developed life. Maybe, like her world, there would be multiple different species working in harmony together. Maybe there would be development and evolution. As she peered down into her terrain, in the early morning moments after she had finally completed her work and before she headed off to her day at school, she watched as the first amoeba in the first ocean began, slowly, to multiply, and she felt it was the start of something very exciting.
-
By the time that she returned home, loaded with the dramatics of Sandra’s new jumper and Kevin’s sacrilege in bringing a smelly sandwich, she found that everything she had hoped of her little planet and more had already begun. Now, there weren’t just amoebas, plants and small amphibians had developed as well. There was algae and kelp, and she watched with her own eyes the burgeoning passage of photosynthesis that she had learned about the year before. She saw plants turning, in harmony with the rotation of the earth and the rotation of the moon and the rotation of the sun, and the orbit of the earth and the orbit of the moon and the orbit of the sun, turn to greet the light and bloom and blossom. She watched surprising animals with scaly, leathery green skin slither out onto the sand banks to bask in the warmth of the sun, with tails so long they reached the tip of their noses. She was excited to see that the mass itself was beginning to change shape: to it was beginning to grow hills and mountains, in a funny, lethargic way, like slowly stretching into its new skin. Unfortunately, she discovered while we watched earthly life growing and wilting, it did have a surprising, funny little feature that she just couldn’t quite jig, possibly a consequence of her test-tube creation, and it was that time was very linear, and therefore, mortality was a given.
Susan was surprised by how quickly growth was taking place. There seemed to be continuous motion and energy on her little planet. She was worried that it would burn out. Well, this was her first crack at it - perhaps if she ever tried it again she would be able to make this all happen a little bit slower. Perhaps it was because it was so small. It always seemed that small things grew and died a lot more quickly. That would be no good for her purposes though: the science fair was the next day, and she needed to make sure it would last so that she would be able to showcase it.
She took a quick inventory of the other planets to make sure that everything was running at the same speed with them as well. It seemed that, although they too were stretch in and changing shape, none of them showed this change quite so alarmingly, because none of them conducted life in the same way. She enjoyed watching the ice storms and the volcano eruptions and valleys and mountains forming and gases shifting and clouding over. She found it very calming, and carefully looked at them all, in turn, for a long time. By the time she turned back to her earth, however, it had already grown even more! There were, she could see in one corner, multiple species of animals, interacting with each other and with their surroundings. Some were as tall as the trees - some even seemed as tall as mountains, some had wings and could fly, others had great teeth and seemed to fight and even eat the others. Susan couldn’t believe her eyes. She had not anticipated this at all in her plans. How could this have come about? Why was this happening? This was so not what she had planned for! She looked over at Venus, beautiful Venus with its moonless sky and its cool, effortless glow. She wished earth could be more like that. She looked at Mars, fierce and red and  completely devoid of life, and she wished that earth could be more like that too.
She felt frustrated. These amoebas had betrayed her. She gruffed,but she couldn’t turn her eyes away. She watched the animals fighting and killing, and her temper rose and rose. Did they not have plants for their food? Couldn’t they just learn to photosynthesise like her plants? Why did they have to be so violent and dramatic about everything?! They were destroying each other, and it was ruining her diorama. She couldn’t take this mess into school tomorrow! What would Ms. Moder say? What would Sandra say?! She had to act quickly. She decided to scrap the issue of animal life. She would leave it at plants, if that was possible. If not, she would simply leave it as an inhospitable planet, like Venus and Mars. She sensed the urgency, she saw that the little planet was beginning to advance its rock formations. With these cave-like structures, she would have no way to prevent these animals from rising up and still maintain her beautiful order.
Susan ran down the stairs and out of the front door, passing her confused mother on the way. Before she could answer her questions, she grabbed a handful of gravel from the little square of it outside her house, and then turned and ran with equal energy back up the stairs, perplexing her mother even more on the way.
Back in her room, with careful aim, she skimmed the pieces of gravel one by one into her gravitational force, praying that her hand-eye coordination was enough that they would just land on earth. Sure, some ended up shattering off of Venus and one even hit the moon, but the intention was met: the gravel rained through the cool atmosphere of the planet, crashing to the surface of the earth, and destroying the fighting and killing of the strange, scary, aliens. Susan stepped back and commended herself on her quick problem-solving abilities. She had a feeling that now everything else was going to work out as planned.
-
Susan woke up with the light of the morning. Today was the day she had been dreaming of for the last three weeks! She had waited for this day with more anticipation than she had ever waited for anything before. In the bright light, she could see her poster, her portfolio, and her page of notes all ready and waiting for her on her desk. She knew her speech off by heart. She had answers for any questions she might be asked. She felt good. Somewhere, on the other side of the town, on the other side of the universe, Kyle was desperately trying to meld a biro to a shoelace with a hairdryer and hoping he could make something out of it.
Before anything, Susan took extra care in putting on her special science fair outfit - she didn’t have a lab coat, but had managed to find everything else typical of a scientist in the long forgotten nooks and crannies of the house: slacks, mismatched socks, a jumper that smelled like wet wool, and a half melted Twix that she tucked into her back pocket. Then, she walked over to her experiment. She sat down at her desk, and peered into the solar system. What she saw did not please her. Not at all. What she saw, what she imagine had developed over the course of the evening, was little creatures, like ants or morphins, walking around on their back two feet and frequently bumping into each other. She saw materials she could not recognise, materials she imagined these creatures themselves had developed. And she felt… overwhelmed. She felt emotions that she was unfamiliar with, on scales she was unfamiliar with. She felt confusion, panic, dread, and joy. She felt the emotions of these small animals, and they were very complex! What she was looking at here was, she concluded, more dangerous than the beasts she had thrown rocks at. What she felt was ambition, envy, greed and passion. And what she felt, removed from the feelings of these animals, was a foreboding sense of regret. She didn’t know how these beings had emerged, but it seemed far too late to worry now. So, facing the world she had created, she did the only thing she felt was possible, she called her mum.
When her mum peered down at the diorama she couldn’t feel anything but impressed. She clapped Susan on the back. ‘This is brilliant, darling!’ she exclaimed, ‘who could have imagined this?! I am so, so amazed. You must be so happy!’ 
‘Mum!’ Susan glared, ‘get with the picture! Look closer!’ 
‘At the little morphins? I love that touch.’ 
‘They’re not morphins, mum. They’re something else and they’re very complex beings! I don’t like them! I don’t want them! Mum, what am I going to do? I only want flowers.’ ‘Well, when life gives you lemons, dear.’
‘But these aren’t lemons, mum!’ 
‘How can you not enjoy these little things?! Look at that one over there: it seems to be drawing on the walls. Painting something, maybe. Oh, look, it’s a little stick man. Isn’t that sweet?’ 
‘Mum, these things are far from sweet. I know what they’re thinking.’ 
‘Well, Susan, you must be so impressed with yourself! Look at this whole world you’ve created - now it’s gotten up and started walking on its own feet! I am so proud of you! Don’t worry too much about these little beings. Remember who’s boss! Ms. Moder is going to absolutely love this, I promise you.’ ‘She won’t,’ Susan stropped and crossed her arms across her chest. ‘She’ll call me a Prometheus’ 
‘She won’t call you a Prometheus! Don’t be silly!’ 
‘Or Sandra will!’
‘Sandra will be blown away by this. Come on, you’re worrying too much - and this is a good thing! I like this little creatures. They’re attractive and endearing, and look, they’re so capable, they don’t need any help from you at all! Easy! This is the perfect result of your experiment, don’t you think?! Now, let’s get this downstairs before we’re late!’ 

With that, she picked up the diorama and whisked it out of her daughter’s reach before she could hear any other doubts. In the haste of this, she accidentally knocked the outermost planet off of its field of rotation, and into a different field entirely. ‘Oh dear Susan, clumsy me, I’m so sorry, I hope I didn’t spoil anything by doing that - let me put it better when we get downstairs.’ 
Susan was shocked. For the first time in her short life, she was speechless. But then, somewhere in her body she heard rather than felt herself talking, and the words we spoke were ‘don’t worry, mum, that one doesn’t really matter too much - it’s more for decoration. But please be careful for the rest of the way down!’ Susan’s mother couldn’t reply to that because she was sticking out her tongue and letting it curl up over her top lip in concentration as she descended the stairs, one by one by one by one.
By the time that they had got to the school and unloaded the solar system diorama onto Susan’s table spot, it seemed that things on earth had already developed quite a bit. Indeed, it seemed that the creatures were doing different things on the different patches of land, separated by large spans of water. And, looking in, Susan discovered something quite amazing: a boat taking the creatures from one part of the planet to another. Multiple boats, in fact, in multiple different designs and sizes. She was impressed with her little people, impressed by their independent development. She would have never been able to figure out how to make a boat! To her, that seemed incredible and they appeared to have complete power over their little world.
She looked closer. She saw wagons and wheels, and she was pleased. She saw clocks and timekeeping, and she was astounded. She saw actors in play, lovers in rapture, scientists in the midst of discovery and geographers on the edge of the world. She saw tropical palm trees and dry oak trees, bubbling streams and gushing rivers, salmon and hedgehogs and bush babies and stilettos. She was awed by the beauty of it all. She felt proud. She felt as if she knew this planet inside out. She had never worked on anything so hard, or for so long, or had such amazing results. Once, she had made a fruit bowl out of paper mache, but when she placed a bunch of freshly washed grapes into it, the bowl became soggy and covered all of its contents with glue. This time, things were different. Things were moving. She could hear the thoughts and feel the emotions of these beings and - wait a minute, she could hear the thoughts and feel the emotions of these beings! And she felt frightened, scared, hungry and alone! She took a closer look. She saw daggers and guns, racism, classism, sexism and homophobia. She heard speakers lying, babies crying, people hungry and people dying. She saw volcanoes that could hurt the beings, and beings that could hurt volcanoes, and tsunamis and warfare and cruelty and uncertainty. She was disgusted by the horror of it all. She felt ashamed. She felt as if she did not know this planet at all. This was all she had worked on for the last weeks, this, she felt, was her magnum opus. This was not appropriate for a preteen!
Susan kept a brave face as Ms. Moder came over. ‘Wow, Susan, this is beautiful work.’ Ms. Moder was almost speechless for the fifth time that day, ‘this must have taken you hours. I am so impressed!’ She knelt down to have a closer look, ‘Oh, uh, Ms. Moder?’ Susan asked, panicked. ‘Do you mind if I ask you a question?’ Ms. Moder’s attention was diverted back to her. She didn’t want her to see the mess she had made of everything. She didn’t want to fail this project after putting so much work into it, after all. ‘I was wondering if you could tell me where the bathroom was?’ Susan knew this was a risk, but based on all the panicked and dilly-dallying voices in her head and all of the sweat that she could intrinsically feel waving off of her beings, she also knew that it was going to pay off. 
‘Oh, err, don’t you know where the bathroom is, Susan?’
‘I don’t know the way from here. I have never before been to P.E. class because I’ve always found a way around the linear nature of time and timetables too. This is the first time I’ve set foot in this gym.’ 
‘Oh, pet, well it’s just through that door and to the right, you’ll see the sign when you go out.’ 
Susan had absolute faith as she was walking out of the gymnasium with her back to her science teacher that Ms. Moder would not stay at her station without her, feeling awkward and intrusive, and would instead go and have a look at Kyle’s shoelace. She was absolutely right.
-
That was a close call, thought Susan as she splashed her face with cold water. It didn’t help. It only made her wet. She rolled all her eyes at herself in the mirror. Then she twisted up the nose of the hand dryer and pushed the big silver button, letting the calm, warm air blow across her face and flatten those tendrils of her she had gotten wet against her forehead. Now, what was she going to do about this whole earth situation? Holy hell on high water! What was she going to do about this whole earth situation?! Ok, she took one pacing lap around the space between the bathroom sinks and the bathroom cubicles. Then she turned and took another lap, this one counter-clockwise. Ok, she needed to go back out there. She felt an urgent need to hide her diorama from her teachers and her peers. At least as well as she could at a science fair where she was showcasing it. She needed to destroy her creation. Did she need to destroy her creation? Ok. You know what, she flapped her hands out to her sides, it’s going to be fine. She watched herself do this in the mirror, and she looked directly into her eyes. Her confidence faltered. She caught it immediately. She straightened her back. It’s just a science project, Susan. It doesn’t even matter. They’re not going to smite you for messing up a science project. She cocked her chin up in the mirror. Everything’s going to be sorted out before dinnertime and mum said we can have pizza tonight. Yes. She turned a full 90 degrees to face the door from whence she came. Yes. And she walked back out to where she had come from.
Susan took long strides as she walked back to the gym. She was feeling more and more human by the second. She enjoyed the feelings and thoughts that her beings were charging her with. She felt strong, alive - more alive than she had ever felt before. She felt nervous, but, more than anything, optimistic. No, faithful. She had complete confidence that everything would turn out fine. And she knew how stupid that was. Nonetheless, she could win this science fair. Eat your heart out, Kyle. The next hours passed in a nervous slowness, though, in fact, they were rather underwhelming. Susan resumed position at her table. She spoke about her diorama and undermined how long it had taken to build it, especially when Sandra came over. She accepted the inevitability of people seeing her beings and what they were doing, but in fact, everyone passed over her diorama with such a glazed eye that it seemed nobody noticed them. She made sure her jumper was still damp and her Twix still half-melted, then she took some time to walk around and looked at everyone else’s projects. She learned some facts about clouds, and she enjoyed looking at photographs of nebulas. She loosened her gait and she found that, despite her worries, she was able to enjoy much of the rest of the day.
It was on this day that Susan learned something she would frequently use. Sometimes, if you can get through a long, hard afternoon, it means you can get through anything. The strength of her faith in this, and knowing that the fair would soon end, helped her to get through it all the more. It was one of those funny deja vu moments that she felt in her shoulders whenever she thought about time and timetables. At the end of the day, driving home with her mother, her ice cream, and her blue ribbon, Susan felt on top of the world.
-
By the time they got home, however, her attitude had changed. ’Everything OK, Susan?’ asked her mother once they had got back home and laid the diorama on the kitchen table, ‘You’ve seemed a little quiet since the end of the fair. Are you worried about something?’ ‘Mum, I think we have to destroy the planet.’ Susan replied, ‘before it destroys itself.’ 
‘Oh, darling, don’t say that. What’s got you into such a fizzle? Is it those little morphins?’ 
‘Yes mum, those things are ruining my diorama!’ 
‘I think they’re nice.’
‘They’re evil, I think.’
‘They mean well, Susan! I think it’s quite hard down there! They keep slipping on glitter and - look at this, love, look how steep these cliffs are! You couldn’t file them down, could you?’ 
‘I don’t think I can let these morphins see me in their atmosphere. They’ll freak out. Their fingers are these weird brown shades - I don’t think they like purple very much.’ 
‘Oh, darling, don’t go worrying about your skin now.’ 
‘Mum, no, I’m serious. I think the best thing for us to do would be to destroy it. Many people want it anyway, I can feel it.’ 
‘Darling, now how would that ever be the best thing to do?’ 
‘Well, the morphins are hurting each other!’ ‘They’re helping each other too! And look how far they’ve come in just one day!�� 
‘No, mum, I can’t condone this suffering.’ ‘Darling, you have to be aware that you would also be destroying the good. This isn’t your fault, love. It happened, and nobody expected it to. It happened by its own design. These morphins have been taking care of themselves all day, and they didn't even get you into any trouble! Come on, let’s leave them be for a little longer. They’re not your responsibility anymore - you can have nothing more to do with them, if you’d like! But aren’t you excited to see what they ‘ll have done by tomorrow?!’ 
‘If I’m not allowed to throw it away, then can we at least put it somewhere out of sight?!’ 
‘Oh, Susan,’ her mother put an empathetic hand on her shoulder, ‘don’t feel guilty or embarrassed by these little things. You know what, why don’t we store it is the garage until later. I’m sure you’ll get this old thing out years from now and be amazed at how brilliant you were!’
Together, they carefully placed the diorama into a box in the garage that held a few of Susan’s other snippets of school life: early drawings, a diary of her summer, a hat she knitted, and a project on rain forests. they closed the lid on it and slowly ploughed up the stairs together to order a pizza and finally and deservedly rest their tired knees.  
-
When Susan uncovered the box, many years later, in a particularly zealous burst of spring cleaning, she found that it had independently come to its own end. The sun, which she remembered to be so bright and massive, now only let out a faint glow, and the planets seemed dulled and shrunken, like rotten oranges. She couldn’t tell if this was the strange and unfortunate passage of time, or simply her romantic memory. But it didn’t bother her too much because by that time she had moved on from her science projects and gold stars. Now, she was working on a prototype much more advanced.
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Tangerine-Girl - Rachel de Queiroz
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Original Language: Portuguese "Tangerine-Girl" translation by Geocities ws
Right from the start the name of the aircraft had intrigued her: not "zeppelin" or dirigible, or any other obsolete thing: the great fuse of shiny metal was modernly named 
blimp
. Tiny like a toy, independent, friendly. The aerial base of the American soldiers and the zeppelin station were walking distance from her house. And every so often the soldiers would leave the post and ride around, like tame birds that abandon the roost during a flight rehearsal. It was in this way that, from the very start, the blimp existed as something in and of itself to the girl's eyes - like an animal with a life of its own, it fascinated her like the prodigal mechanic that it was and she found it particularly pretty, all silver, just like a jewel, floating majestically a little below the clouds. It embodied the characteristics of an idol, reminding her a little of Aladdin's slave genie. She had never thought of going into it; she had never even thought that anyone could ride inside of it. No one thinks of riding an eagle, or swimming on a dolphin's back; and yet, the fascinated gaze lingers as long as the eagle and the dolphin keep at it, in a liberated admiration - because it appears to truly be beauty's virtue that it imposes this self-renunciation on our part in exchange for its pure and simple contemplation.
The girl's eyes, therefore, were glued to the blimp without any particular desire, without the shadow of a claim. She did, indeed, see some little heads spying from inside, but they were so miniscule that they didn't seem to be real - they were part of a picture, a decorative element, as compulsory as the big black letters 
U.S. Navy
 engraved on the silver bulge. Or maybe they were more like the paper cutout profiles that represent the chauffeurs in toy cars.
Her first contact with the dirigible's crew began in a purely coincidental manner. Breakfast was over; the girl had cleared the table and went to the door that led to the orange grove so she could shake the breadcrumbs off of the towel. Above, a crewmember noticed the white rag tremble between the scattered trees and the sand, and his solitary heart was touched. He lived in that base like a friar in a convent - alone among soldiers and patriotic exhortations. And there she was, next to the wall of the house with a red-tiled roof, shaking a rag between a green patch of orange trees - a red-haired young woman. The pilot was moved by that goodbye. He had flown over her house many times, seeing the people below entering and leaving, and he had thought of how distant men are from each other, how indifferent they are when they pass one another by, each one trapped in his own life. He had been flying over people, watching them, spying on them, and if a few of them turned their eyes his way, not a single one thought about the pilot inside; they only wanted to see the silver beauty circulating through the sky.
But now that girl had thought about him. She shook a rag in the air, like a flag. Undoubtedly she was pretty - the sun glistened on her fiery hair, and a slender silhouette stuck out clearly against the green-and-sand colored background. His heart jumped out for the girl in a grateful impulse; he stuck himself out of the window, flailed his arms about, and screamed: "Amigo! Amigo!" - knowing all the while that the wind, distance, and sound of the motor would make it impossible for him to be heard. He was unsure if the girl had seen his gestures and wanted to reach out to her in a more tangible way. He would like to drop her a flower, a gift. But what could there be inside of a Navy dirigible that would serve as a gift to the young lady? The daintiest object that he found was a big white porcelain mug, heavy like a cannon ball, in which they would soon serve him his coffee. And it was that mug that the pilot flung out- well, not flung out - let fall at a cautious distance from the illuminated figure down below. He let it fall in a delicate gesture, trying to soften the force of gravity so that the object wouldn't shoot out like a projectile but descend smoothly, like an offering.
The girl who shook the towel raised her eyes after hearing the blimp's motor. She saw the young man's arms move up above. She then saw the white object split the air and fall to the sand. It frightened her; she thought it was a bad joke - a boorish prank that American soldiers play. But when she saw the white mug lodged in the ground, in tact, she had a confused perception of the impulse sent to her; she picked it up and saw that engraved on the bottom were the same letters that were on the dirigible's body: 
U.S. Navy
. Meanwhile, the blimp, instead of going far away, made one more slow turn around the house and the orchard. Then the girl raised her eyes again and, deliberately this time, waved the towel, smiling and shaking her head. The blimp made two more turns and slowly moved away - and the girl got the impression that he already missed her. Above, the crewmember thought as well - not about missing anyone, but about something both painful and sweet.
That was how the morning ritual started. Every day the blimp would pass by and every day the girl would wait for it. She no longer took the white towel with her, and sometimes she wouldn't even shake her arms; she would stand still, a clear spot on the sun-bathed earth. It was a relationship of the hawk-gazelle kind: he, a fierce soldier cutting through the air; she, small, fearful, down below, watching him pass with fascinated eyes. Only now the presents, brought purposely from the base, were no longer the crude improvised mug; issues of Life and Time fell from the sky, along with a soldier's cap, and, one day, the crew member threw down the silk, synthetically violet scented handkerchief from his pocket. The handkerchief opened itself up in the air and came flying down like a paper kite. It ended up stuck in the branches of a cashew tree and it took quite a bit of effort on the girl's part to get it down (with the help of a stick used to pick cashews), and even then she scratched it a little, right down the center.
But out of all the presents, the one she liked the most was the first: the heavy, stone-colored mug. She had put it in her room, on top of her desk. At first she used it at the table, at meals, but later gave into her brothers' ridicule. She wound up keeping pens and pencils in it. One day she had a better idea and the porcelain mug was converted into a flower vase. A manac branch, a gardenia, petunias, and a bogari, because in a northeast Brazilian country house's garden there aren't any important roses or expensive flowers.
She began to study her English conversation book with more tenacity. When she went to the movies she paid very much attention to the dialogues, with the intention of picking up not only the meanings of the words but the pronunciation as well. She lent her pilot the faces of all the leading men she had seen on the big screen, and he was successively Clark Gable, Robert Taylor, and Cary Grant. Or he was the blonde young man who died in a naval battle in the Pacific whose name did not appear in the credits. At times he was even smiling and making faces like Red Skelton. Given that she was a little shortsighted, she couldn't get a good look at him from the ground. She saw an outline of a head, some arms waving about, and, from the impression given by the sunbeams, he appeared to be either blonde or brunette.
It didn't occur to her that perhaps it wasn't always the same pilot. And, in actuality, the crew members took turns daily: some took the day off and went for a walk in the city with the girls that made a living around there; others left once and for all for Africa, for Italy. They had created the tradition of the orange grove girl at the station. The pilots gave her a nickname, "Tangerine-Girl". Maybe because of the Dorothy Lamour film, seeing how, for all the American armed forces, Dorothy Lamour is the model of what brunette women from South America and the Pacific Isles should be. Or maybe it was because she always waited for them among the orange trees. Or perhaps because the girl's red hair, when it shimmered in the morning light, had a copper shine much like that of a ripe tangerine. One after another they shared the courtship with the Tangerine girl, as if it were for the greater good. The aircraft pilot made turns, obedient, flying as low as the regulations would permit, while the other, at the window, would look and wave goodbye.
I don't know why it took so long for the young men to think of tossing down a note. Maybe they thought that she wouldn't understand it. They had been flying above her house for over a month when the first message finally fell; it had been etched over the rosy face of a provocative looking woman on the cover of a magazine. Written laboriously, in print letters, with the rudiments of Portuguese that they had learned from the mouths of the girls in the city: "Dear Tangerine-Girl. Please vocêvemhoje (today) base X. Dancing, show. Oitohoras P.M." And on the other side of the magazine, in huge letters, "Amigo", the password between Americans and Brazilians.
The girl didn't understand the meaning behind "Tangerine-Girl". Could it be her? Yes, of course... and she took the nickname as a compliment. She then thought that the two letters at the end, "P.M.", were a signature. Peter, Paul, or Patsy, like Nick Carter's helper? But then she remembered something from her studies: she consulted the last few pages of the dictionary, the ones that list abbreviations, and she verified, slightly disappointed, that the letters meant "between noon and midnight".
She wasn't able to signal an answer because she saw the note when she opened the magazine, after the blimp had turned back around. And she was glad it had happened that way: she felt tremendously scared and timid in the face of the first encounter with her pilot. Today she would see if he was tall and handsome, blond or brunette. She thought about hiding behind the columns of the gate to watch him arrive - and say nothing to him. Or maybe she would gather up the courage to give him her hand; together they would walk to the base, then they would dance the foxtrot and he would whisper sweet nothings into her ear in English, resting his sunburned face in her hair. She didn't think about whether or not her family would let her accept the invite. Everything was happening like a dream - and just like in a dream, everything would be resolved without fights or difficulties.
Long before sunset she was already combed and dressed. Her heart beat and beat insecurely, her head hurt a little, her face was in flames. She decided not to show the invitation to anyone. She wouldn't go to the show, she wouldn't dance; she would talk to him a little at the gate. She rehearsed phrases in English and prepared her ears for the melodious words in the strange language. At seven she turned on the radio and listened languidly to the swing program. One of her brothers passed by, taunted her about the pretty dress, and she didn't even hear him. At seven thirty she was already on the porch, with her eye on the gate and the road. At ten 'til eight, dark for quite some time now, she turned on the small lamp that lighted the gate and left for the garden. And at eight on the dot she heard laughter and an uproar of steps up the road, getting closer.
With a frightened pull back she saw that not one enamored pilot had come, but a rambunctious horde of them. She watched them approach her, trembling. They spotted her, surrounded the gate - one could say it resembled a military maneuver -, took off their caps and began introducing themselves in a jovial clamor.
And, suddenly, after badly hearing their names, running her eyes through their drunken faces, through the young and sporty smile of the men, staring at them one by one, searching for her dream prince among them - she realized. Her enamored pilot did not exist; he had never been anything more than an illusion of her heart. There had never been a unique one; "he" had never existed. Perhaps even the blimp had never existed...
How embarrassing, my God! She had waved goodbye to so many people, betrayed by a deceiving image. Every day she had sent the sweetest, most heartfelt messages to so many different men, and in their smile, in the cordial words that they directed to their collective girlfriend, the little Tangerine-Girl, who was already an icon at the base - saw only mockery, insolent familiarity... Surely they must have thought that she too was one of those girls that go out with traveling sailors and soldiers, whomever they may be... surely they must have thought... oh my God!
Because of the slight darkness, or due to the fact that they don't pay much attention to psychological nuances, the young men did not notice the expression of sadness and fright that tormented the small round face of their little "amigo". And when one of them, bending over, offered her his arm, he was surprised to find her back away, timidly babbling:
"Excuse me... there's been a mistake... a mistake"
And the men understood even less when they saw her run away, slowly at first, then in a hurried rush. Nor did they anticipate that she had run away to lock herself in her room and, biting her pillow, cried the hottest and most bitter tears that she had in her eyes.
Never again did they see her in the orange grove. And although they continued to toss down presents, they saw that they stayed on the ground, forgotten - or at times they were picked up by the mischievous littl ޔ���w)
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