#((AND I LIKE EATING SPIDERS THEY HAVE A UNIQUE CRUNCH))

[savemeafruitjuice]

lee bebop ler rocksteady 2012 if ur comfortable :)?

Tickletober Day 10- Spidering

This is a 2012 fic! Also, there are spoilers for season 3, so be aware in case you haven't gotten that far!

Lee: Bebop

Ler: Rocksteady

TW!: None!

Trying my best with the dialogue here, because man they talk in a unique way.

Shredder's lair wasn't a fun place to be in. Any, and all of his henchmen were forced to work for him with immense loyalty, as punishment was always severe if one lacked those traits.

Although they managed to scrape by without getting their heads cut off, Bebop and Rocksteady were the most frequent ones to face the wrath of their master.

There had been a meeting called for that exact reason, Tiger Claw giving everyone yet another informative speech about professionality, and how failure will always have unpleasant repercussions. As he droned on about the seriousness of pleasing Master Shredder, Steranko had lost interest, glancing around the room. Eventually, his gaze had been drawn to his comrade, and the small insect crawling across his back.

Though they were no longer in his warehouse, and had more available food, the habit of eating any living thing they could find had stuck. The rhino mutant slowly moved his hand as to not draw the attention of the insect, and swiped at the other's torso. There was a surprised noise, and the whip of the warthog's head to face the larger.

Zeck clenched his jaw, voice high pitched from surprise, though he tried his best to stay as quiet as possible. "Ivan. This is one of those important meeting-thingies. Do. Not. Touch me." Rocksteady gave him a mildly disconcerted look, and tried to follow the roach that had jumped away from his hand.

He found it to be much more difficult to do simple things, such as grabbing small objects, when he had hands twice the size of his previous ones. The mutant continued to grab and prod at different spots along the smaller's body, undisturbed by the hushed shriek emanating from the tech-savvy.

Zeck slapped at the hands that seemed to be attacking him without provocation, stomping his foot as laughter piled up inside his throat. "'Steady, quihihit! SNRT-"

Some of the others that were close-by were giving the pair weird looks, and Tigerclaw cast them a beyond-annoyed glare, but continued with his meeting. Bebop was most definitely aware of the fact that he was being forced to steal everyone's attention, but he also knew he had no hope of stopping a likely seven-foot rhinoceros.

Said mutant was trailing the roach with his remaining eye, trying and failing to grab the arthropod with incredibly low accuracy. He tried catching it again, hand latching onto the other's side. When the warthog practically jumped away from him, he held onto his shoulder, preventing the smaller from wiggling away, and went right back to trying to catch the bug.

At this point, Zeck had a hand slapped over his mouth, pushing desperately at his friend's hands, as he stomped on the ground. As soon as the hand latched onto his hip, he screeched, flailing away. Tigerclaw had stopped speaking, crossing his arms over his chest as the rest looked on awkwardly.

Steranko had finally caught the roach, either unaware, or indifferent to all of the concerned glanced he was receiving, and popped the roach into his mouth. Some cringed at the wet crunch that followed the silence of the room, and Bebop wrapped his arms around himself at his release, putting his head down and trying to quiet himself before he got into even more trouble.

"Anton Zeck. The behavior you and the rest of these imbeciles demonstrate is the exact reason why we are here in the first place, wasting time that could be used to complete orders."

The pig groaned, clearly entirely uninterested in being scolded like a child, and shot Rocksteady a glare. "It's not me you should be talking to, pussy cat.."

-----

Uhhh I had no idea how to end this one, and am in a bit of a time crunch. I hope you like it anyways, so yeah.

[theoddcatlady]

I'm Addicted to Eating Bugs

I suppose it started small, like all addictions do. I was in the first grade, having some corner time because I threw a crayon at Brandon's head. He totally deserved it but that's another story for another day.

Anyway, I was facing the brick wall, imagining horrible fates for this jerk of a classmate when I heard a quiet buzzing. I looked by my feet to see an old cobweb, spider long gone but the dusty threads still managing to capture a fly. It wiggling and squirmed and if I hadn't interfered it probably would have gotten loose and carried on with its life. But before I realized it I had plucked the fly free and placed it in my mouth.

It buzzed furiously and it took all my willpower not to giggle, it was really ticklish. If I laughed, I'd end up opening my mouth and away it would go. I prodded at it with my tongue, feeling its wings flap uselessly against my cheek before I ended its life between my molars.

I swallowed and felt a lot better about things. Who cared about stupid Brandon anyway?

To be fair, kids eat stupid shit all the time. Glue, crayons, paper, I used to know a kid who ate sand and thought he was really stupid. Then again, I was only in the sandbox to hunt down ladybugs, so maybe I didn't have room to judge. But all those kids left their weird eating habits behind. I didn't. Instead, my habit grew.

At recess I'd spend all my time hunting bugs. I'd bring along a lil bug box and my teacher would just assume I'd want to study the insect world and let me be.

The easiest to find were worms on a day it had just rained. Those lil buggers were everywhere on the paving stones. Unfortunately they also had the least amount of payout. Worms taste like dirt. I mean, who's surprised though? Caterpillars were a lot better, so squishy but still slow enough for me to catch. Crickets and grasshoppers were a real pain in the neck. I had to learn to be patient and wait for the right moment to strike. If I didn't wait for the right moment, I would end up clapping my hands down on nothing at all.

But oh man, were they worth the effort. I didn't like putting them in my mouth alive so much, they kicked too much, but they had so much flavor and crunch. If I managed to find a grasshopper while hunting, I would consider myself one lucky kiddo.

I was never officially caught eating bugs until a few years later. I knew I had to keep my secret quiet. But when I was in fourth grade my class got a pet lizard named Lizzy. I know, really creative on names here, but we were kids so give us a break. But Lizzy needed to eat crickets a few times a week. I felt almost validated watching her munch down on them. But I also felt jealous. She could eat crickets whenever she wanted. I wished I could do that.

One winter day I decided to steal some of Lizzy's crickets. During recess I'd gone back to the classroom to get something from my desk when I realized I was all alone. This was my only chance to indulge. I crept up to the lizard cage, where the small cricket container was placed beside it. I opened up the top, snaked a handful of crickets, and threw those little buggers right in my mouth.

I had just closed my eyes when I heard someone gasp. I turned and saw Gabrielle, her jaw dropped as she stared at me. I'm pretty sure a cricket leg was poking out of my mouth too.

And of course, Gabrielle being a teacher's pet, she ran off screaming ‘Keith is eating Lizzy's crickets!’

I swallowed, feeling a lump form in my chest. My secret was out.

I managed to play it off as a joke, a one time thing. I was just curious as to why Lizzy liked eating crickets so much. I think Mr. Martinez found it hilarious. He ended up bringing roasted crickets to class next week, taking this moment to teach us how other cultures enjoyed eating all kinds of bugs and prepping them in unique ways.

I never felt more sick in my life. Although being salted and cooked did bring out the flavor, I ended up barfing it up later. It just. Wasn't the same. They were barely even bugs anymore. It was just like eating potato chips or almonds. There was no thrill of the hunt. None of that excitement as they squirm in your mouth. The joy when you bite down, taking out a leg or maybe slicing them right down the abdomen.

I did try to stop after that. I really did. I didn't want to get picked on anymore and maybe it was a little weird that I kept eating bugs.

But here's the real problem. If I don't sate my appetite on bugs, I start craving… bigger things.

The whole glass was horrified to come in one morning to find Lizzy had disappeared, the lid tipped off the cage and our class pet nowhere to be seen. Much to my amusement, fingers were pointed at Gabrielle, as she was the one who fed Lizzy the day before. She swore up and down that she fastened the cage lid on tight, but it didn't matter. We tore that room apart and Lizzy was just gone.

I participated in the search, although I had no reason to. I knew exactly where Lizzy was. In my belly.

I didn't know why I had gone back to class that day, I just knew I needed to. I was alone, me and that lizard. I felt like I was on autopilot as I opened the cage and plucked Lizzy out by the tail. I dangled her over my mouth before I snapped her head clean off. Blood dripped in my mouth, a new feeling I had never gotten before with bugs. It felt so damn good.

When the high wore off though I felt so guilty I nearly threw her back up. I didn't, because that would really be a waste, I just got out of there. That night at dinner I didn't eat a damn thing, I claimed I had a tummy ache and that wasn't a lie. But I knew the cause wasn't that 24 hour flu bug going around.

So yeah. I realized quickly that maybe there are worse things than eating bugs. Winters were always the hardest, I had to make due with ants in the kitchen and daddy long legs in the basement. To my credit, I've only ‘snapped’ once since then, it was Christmas vacation at grandma's house and I just hadn't had the time to hunt. That poor cat. Everyone just assumed a wild animal had gotten to poor Fluffy, meanwhile I was trying to discreetly pick long white fur out from in between my teeth.

It's gotten simultaneously harder and easier as an adult. Harder as I need to eat a lot more bugs to keep the cravings at bay, easier as now I can just go to the pet store and clean out their supply of feeder crickets and mealworms. The cashier there thinks I'm cute and usually gives me a discount. She keeps asking to meet my geckos and I have to keep making excuses as to why she can't.

If the cravings get bad, I hit up another pet store and buy a few mice, maybe a hamster or a gerbil too if it sounds good. I eat those suckers while binge watching Netflix, sucking on the long tails and reducing their skulls to paste. It has worked for me so far. I don't have a girlfriend, but I have a decent social life. I think it's probably for the best I don't have a family. I don't want to snap one day around a small child, I’d never forgive myself.

But I'm a good uncle to my sister's kids. I send them gifts and always tell them cool bug facts, which they love to hear, especially the younger one, Ellie.

However… I think I caught Ellie with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar last week. The cookie jar in this case was a spider's web, and a fly wing poking out of her lips.

She said she was just curious as to why spiders ate flies, but I'm gonna be keeping an eye on her.

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 197: The Forest Again

The surrounding trees and clearing they next landed in was as opposite to where they'd just been as night and day. Literally. It was so dark now they all swallowed screams of fright for what their eyes hadn't yet adjusted to, and lighting their wand tips made the process painful and too sharp as it illuminated the glistening cobwebs everywhere, like looking through a ghost, the strands hung like a veil between one world and the next. A massive throne of raw webbing its origins, but the acromantula had died last year. The spider's den must have been a hierarchy of murder and betrayal in the colony ever since as Aragog's children fought for dominance and now ransacked their school in the distance.

Were they intelligent enough to be a danger to them if any came back? None had recalled seeing them in the actual carnage, but they'd all been a bit distracted and isolated to pretty strict parts of the castle what with nearly dying and all, so they couldn't be certain one wouldn't creep up on them now given the chance.

So the fact that they were all looking up and around made it a pretty fair accident they missed the body until James felt the crunch under his foot and looked down to see the glasses.

He tapped the bridge of his own nose in confusion to make sure he wasn't somehow missing something, there really was so much webbing dripping from every surface it was a horrific nightmare of a question if they would even get zapped out of this location or stuck in place but it would have been nice if that was just his eyes playing tricks on him. The body did not vanish no matter how long he stared and refused to understand.

His son lay only a dozen feet away. The wild black hair, the tatty clothes, and even closed, the shape of his mother's eyes. His face was lax, peaceful, he could have been sleeping in the cradle of ghostly silk bedding. His chest was not moving.

"No," the moan passed from his lips, the pain he'd died fearing witnessed before him. "Oh, Harry, no..."

Sirius grasped his shoulders, not pulling him away, just keeping him where he stood.

Lily folded herself beside his head, running her fingers over the lightning scar, little teardrops catching at the corner of her son's eyes as she loved and cried for him.

Alice took her hand while Frank placed his hand gently on her back. Remus knelt on his other side while Sirius held his brother's weight. Peter and Regulus exchanged a look before doing what needed to be done as Wormtail kept watch and Regulus respectfully picked the book up off of Harry's chest and began.

Their friends, a family he'd never known would not let Harry be alone even at the end of the world.

Their boy was only a few years shy of his own parent's age of death, he'd done exactly what was asked of him and the price paid still felt like too much as his home and its shelter beyond this forest would now hold.

Dumbledore had set him on this path, but they had drawn him this way. The Resurrection Stone felt like a lie, how could they ever want this for their child? To join the Order had been their choice, to stand there and die for their son was no choice at all, and a repeat they'd do a thousand times for their only child, so that this would never be his fate.

HPHPHPHP

I had a long internal debate with myself if any of the spiders should have been spotted.

Aragog could hold a conversation and had memory, logic, reason, emotion, the understanding of what was happening to his friend. Human, in intelligence. His spider-children understood enough to follow orders and not eat Harry and Ron, but was Aragog unique by likely being the only one in existence raised by someone? Do they gain intelligence by being the alpha of their colony and that's why they eat their dead, or is it a natural state to do so like normal spiders?

Peeves was excluded for similar reasons, his argument with Filch during first year made him a being that they could not interact with, same with the house-elves. Magical creatures are horribly misclassified in this world, Remus is absolutely human but for one night of the month where he's as mentally capable as wolves, highly intelligent animals that have their own problem solving capabilities along with the capacity to love, protect. Should he not have vanished then, each full moon his werewolf came out, rather than sticking around snapping at all of them? It was the human part of him that kept him trapped in this void along with them, but how much does that really affect each individual werewolf when they change according to their different personalities? The various levels of intellect on each of these scales in comparison deeply fascinates me.

You cannot comprehend how much I'm freaking out I'm almost done.

[livesbeneath]

six feet between.

pairing: noah x female mc (harley blanco)

summary: to be caught trespassing in a cemetery is bad enough without a preceding criminal record. he knows visiting westchester is risky, and that being out in the open isn’t the smartest idea, but he finds it somewhat therapeutic, maybe in a sickening way, to occasionally come full circle after his stops at the ruins. 

word count: 1.9k.

author’s note: after around a two(?) month hiatus of sorts?? i have written something i don’t actually HATE???  i had this idea last night at three am after playing a chapter of ilitw, and wrote a large portion of it then, so i apologize if it’s a little hard to follow!  i’m proud of how it turned out, especially when considering the way the noah / mc relationship ends as in ilb. all forms of feedback are appreciated! please try to leave a comment if you can!

disclaimer: i do not own these characters (except harley). creative liberty has been taken to make this story unique, and i do not intend to use it for profit in any way.

The oldest headstone in the Westchester Peace Cemetery dates back to the 1700s, specifically 1768. It honors a woman named Eliza Rosemund, who was thirty eight at the time of her death. The quote etched on her tomb is worn, but reads something like: “beloved mother and daughter, go gently.”. There is a noticeably large chunk missing from the top of the grave.

Noah Marshall has been by this plot so many times that he can rattle all this information with ease. A run of the mill bystander would think it was Ms. Rosemund he was visiting so often, but anyone who knows him would know that this isn’t the case.

That is, if they had mind that he was there at all.

As he makes his way over the fence, something he’s mastered by now, Noah takes note of the way fog seems confined only to the burial grounds. He shakes his head and plants his feet firm on the dirt below, then crouching down behind a headstone. Precautions are always taken to make sure he’s alone at times like this. Carefully, he turns back to inspect the way he came, relieved to see only the woods that normally guard him from the public eye staring back. To be caught trespassing in a cemetery is bad enough without a preceding criminal record. He knows visiting Westchester is risky, and that being out in the open isn’t the smartest idea, but he finds it somewhat therapeutic, maybe in a sickening way, to occasionally come full circle after his stops at the ruins.

Beyond Eliza Rosemund’s grave, still along the same path, but in the more modern part of the cemetery - sits the headstone of Harley Blanco.

Once he’s sure he’s alone, Noah hoists himself up, allowing himself to drift into the fog. Maybe at a young age, he would be afraid of trudging through a sea of tombs in the middle of the night. While the thought of countless dead, dusty, decomposed or decomposing bodies below his feet is still slightly unnerving, he is aware that he is currently the most terrible thing on the premises. Guilt is the reason he’s here at all. Guilt, and longing, one could say.

With Harley’s very being split in two, her body in one place, her soul in another - he thinks it only fair to honor all of her instead of a mere part of her. He knows nothing will ever make up for missing her funeral, but he figures he’s carried anguish similar to those who attended. If not similar, the fact that what he’s done eats him alive and spits him back out every night is enough to warrant a visit.

“Shoot!” he whispers briskly as he nearly trips over a twig, grip on the homemade present he’s brought nearly slipping out of his grasp.

While in the woods earlier, he stalled leaving the spiritual Harley behind by peeling moss patches off of logs. Now, along with a bundle of dandelions he picked from outside the gate, he’s used them to make a makeshift bouquet. The fact that they’re just weeds makes the weight of the offering even heavier in his fist. He knows she deserves something nicer, especially from him. There’s no doubt in her mind that her grave is pre-decorated, though. He’s deduced that her parents must visit often, because there’s always a replenished gaggle of gifts waiting at the base of the headstone whenever he arrives.

Her parents, he thinks. God, they must fucking hate him.

His footfalls grow slower, heavier as he approaches some of the newer plots. The more recent dates that decorate the slabs crowded around the area remind him that it hasn’t been that long since that fateful night in the grotto. Being on the run makes each day blur together, which means by the time he’s stepped back to give himself a reality check, months have passed. It’s been a year and a half, but Noah swears she’s been gone for an eternity.

He’s no stranger to this feeling, of course, as he’s been professionally trained in mind-numbing grief since Jane’s demise a decade or so prior. Still, he realizes now that there was some hope back then. Compared to how things are now, his sitting alone every day at school seems overwhelmingly trivial. Still, being acquainted with grief does not make the moment he sits down before her grave any easier. Each time he does so, the slap in the face that is the fact that she’s actually dead leaves a searing mark. He isn’t an openly affectionate person, but not having her strong arm to lean on, both physically and metaphorically, is something he’ll never get used to.

Harley Blanco’s headstone in the Westchester Peace Cemetery commemorates her death back in 2017, specifically October of that year. She was eighteen at the time of her death. The quote etched on her tomb is intricately done, and clearly reads: “beloved daughter and friend, we are together always, even in death.”. His offering of a bundle of dandelions pales in comparison to the fresh roses left by her parents.

As much as he wants a cigarette in that moment, Noah knows lighting one is a surefire way to be caught. The air around him has grown colder since planting himself six feet above Harley’s coffin. The feeling that he’s being watched from somewhere, by someone, gnaws at his stomach, and he peers around his peripheral vision, careful not to move his head. With the newly plunged temperature, everything around him seems to freeze. All until-

“Noah…?”

He jumps, whirling around so fast he almost cracks an elbow on the headstone near him. Noah doesn’t know what he expects to see, exactly. Maybe it’s his mother, and she’s known of his escapades back and forth to Westchester for some time now. Maybe it’s Stacy Green, and she’s finally tracked him down, hell-bent on making him pay. While his mind could create hypotheticals until sunrise, what he actually sees surprises him much more.

There, flanked by ornate gravestones, half fog and half shadow, is a pair of glowing blue eyes.

“Harley?” he breathes, splayed out like a spider before her. “Wh-What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

As if playing a game, Harley moves with the mist hanging heavy in the air, curling around him and cheering “Found you! I win!”

Noah sits in her visceral grasp for a moment, glancing in disbelief between what’s left of Harley, and the slab of stone that marks her supposed final resting place. The feeling that she’s been beside him all along, traveling in his shadow to this spot, sinks in. Finally, he sighs.

“Harley, you can’t do this anymore. I’m gonna take you back to the ruins, okay?”

“Nooooooo…” she drawls, a tinge of orange in her eyes. “Stay with Noah!”

Slight dread pools in his stomach as he finds himself unable to stand, her lock on him too tight. The hardest part of every visit with Harley is leaving her at the end of the night. Noah is all too familiar with the fiery pain that sits in the embers of what are now her eyes. She’s gotten articulate enough over their course of their lessons to voice that she’s afraid that when he leaves, he won’t come back for her. While he’s thrilled she’s learning to feel again, he wishes he hadn’t taught her such distress.

He narrows his eyes, frowning. “Let me stand, Harley. You win.”

“I win!” the spectre cheers, twirling into the air, tail of shadow whipping past his face. Noah stands. As he dusts himself off, he takes a deep breath, attempting to look through the thick fog for unwelcome guests.

“Ssssshhh!” he hisses, finger to his lips. “You can’t be loud here!”

“Ssssshhh!” she parrots, mimicking his movements until they’re eye to eye. He notices hers are burning blue again.

A sigh. “That’s right, Harles. Nice and quiet. It’s time to get you home.”

The monster lowers her clawed hand, eyes wide, boring into his. For a moment, his blood runs cold. Noah watches as she slowly gazes away from him, off into the distance. Gradually, she floats away from him, higher than he can reach, staring out towards the exit of the cemetery. Not towards the woods, but towards town.

“Home…” she whispers. Wind carries her words to him, but the trees don’t move.

“Harley…” he realizes his mistake.

She turns to him again, eyes orange, wide as saucers. “Go home.” she states.

“No, not - not there. I meant back to the ruins. That’s your home now.”

“Nooooooo… not home! Not home! Not home!”

The wind begins to pick up, but it seems to touch him and nothing else. His jacket isn’t enough to shield him from the way the temperature drops. Harley’s eyes blaze as she grows more frantic, zipping from tombstone to tombstone, moaning the same two words over and over again. Noah holds a hand out to her, but finds himself using it to steady himself when the vortex she’s created amidst her panic threatens to knock him to the ground.

He watches in horror as the frantic ghoul grabs a headstone and pulls it from the ground, tossing it like a softball to the side. It hits the stone walkway with a sickening crunch. She makes her way to the next slab in line, repeating the process with ease.

“Harley! Harley, stop!” he shouts, holding his beanie to his head.

“Home!” she cries in return. “Want to go home!”

“We have to get out of here! Stop that! Stop it!”

Noah hits the ground as she prepares to swing again, scrambling up against the headstone dedicated to her. Harley rounds on him, desperate, but stops short when she sees his hand held out. He presses himself up against the headstone, breathing heavily. She stares, seemingly past him, back in the same trance from before.

“You’re okay, girl.” he assures her. “You’re okay.”

When she doesn’t respond, he moves to the side slightly, and she glides closer to the headstone. Noah lets out a deep breath, watching her eyes move as she scans the inscriptions on the stone. Carefully, as if touching it will burn her, Harley holds out a clawed hand to the marker.

“Harley…” she breathes.

Noah stays silent, head hung in remorse.

The monster coils back slightly, the hand that touched the stone now held over where her heart should be.

“I… Harley.” she looks to Noah and cocks her head to the side. “I Harley?”

“Yeah.” he mutters in response. “You are.”

Silence hangs between them. For a moment, he lets his reservations about being caught fade away. Harley sinks to the floor, sitting beside him as if she has legs to cross. The fact that her two forms, corporeal and spiritual, are only six feet between each other is not lost on him. It makes him nauseous to see. They were so close.

She mirrors him once again, this time looking desperately sad as she gazes from him, to the headstone. Noah watches as she reaches out to the flowers littering the base of the grave, and expects her to pick up the roses.

In a clawed hand, she presents him the dandelions.

“For me?”

He stares. The weeds look so small in her monstrous hand.

“Yeah.”

Harley looks down at the offering once more. Her eyes burn a subtle blue.

“For my cave.” she tells him.

Noah looks up at her, confused. “What?”

“For my cave.” she replies. Her free hand reaches out to him and hovers over his chest. “To… feel like home.”

He presses her claw to where his heart is.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

[eottoghe]

Little Boxes - Fourteen

A Jeonghceol Domestic AU where they live in suburbia with their six year old son Chan. Jeonghan is an active member of the PTA, a soccer dad and chauffeur, and a supportive parent all around. His loving husband cares deeply for his passions and will follow him to the end of the world if it keeps him and his family happy. Follow their journey as they get caught up in fun and zany adventures when they fall outside of the guide lines of your average neighbor. Don’t really know where I’m going with this, but I want to see how many different domestic prompts I can get out of this AU before I run out of steam.

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: For hiroi! WIll be posted on archive later.

It’s summer break! Chan’s favorite! The peanut butter to his jelly. The cheese to his crackers. There is absolutely nothing he loves more than his summer breaks.

Well… Okay. Okay. There are many times a year that rival summer in the Choi household, but Chan can truly say summers are his favorite. Really!

Right after Halloween…

And Christmas…

And his birthday….

Yes, okay. A lot of favorites.

But summer is an extra special favorite. It feels like school lets out for a whole year. He just wants to absorb every second of freedom like a sea sponge bobbing atop the ocean waves. Don’t get him wrong though, he loves school. Loves his patient teachers and his animated friends and the new class pet that kind of just sits there all day and computer lab where they get to play pizza parlor games and science projects with the fourth graders…

Where was he? Oh.

But he also loves spending long summer days with his dads. He loves traveling to far out places that he doesn’t get to visit often. Roadtrips where they listen to Smooth Criminal and Shinee and Suju. He loves getting to eat ice cream because ‘its just too hot’ and staying up past his bedtime to snuggle in between his dads while they watch his favorite movies. And one of the things he looks forward to most is going to the beach.

FINALLY it’s warm enough for it. Chan remembers squishing his toes in the sand and watching it bubble up beneath his feet. He remembers running right to the edge of the water as the ocean waves retreated and scurrying back as the water charges toward him. He remembers collecting seashells with unique swirls and ridges. And sandcastles. He remembers building a sandcastle only fit for kings. Chan has been told many times before that he has amazing patience. Patience is what makes his sandcastles the awesomest most bestest sandcastles on this entire side of Korea.

Chan is leaning on his dad’s shoulder, knees bent under him, bouncing on the couch like an energetic puppy. Jeonghan has on his reading glasses—the ones that make him look far older than he really is—as he looks over some paper with a long list of words scribbled down the middle. He pushes his glasses up and goes to write when a jolt creates a dark slash of pen markings on his paper. He sighs.

“Chan, baby. I need you to be still so I can make sure we have everything for the trip.”

And Chan stops immediately, frozen like a marbled statue. Patience. He’s just so excited, he wants to shake and shimmy and scream and play. Oh god, does he want to play. But Jeonghan-appa says he has to be still so they will have everything they need to go to the beach. So he challenges himself to be still.

Seungcheol walks down the stairs with a family sized beach bag slung over his shoulder. When Chan sees him, he flings himself off the couch. In a second, he’s clinging onto his leg, resuming his energetic bounce. The “stillness” didn’t last long. Not at all in this household.

Challenge: Failed.

“I can help! Lemme help!” Chan shouts. If he can pack quickly, they can leave even sooner. He’s determined.

Seungcheol puts his large hand on Chan’s head, smoothing the unruly hair from his face. He chuckles lightly, the skin around his eyes wrinkling up. His son is quick to grab his hand and pull him over to the couch where all of the supplies are sprawled out on the living room floor in front of it. Chan sits by them, pulling his dad down with him. Seungcheol has to squat slowly to get his knees to cooperate and damn, it’s slowly donning on him that he’s getting old.

“What have we got here?” Seungcheol scrunches up his nose at a pack of fabric, shower cap like accessories. He picks it up with two skeptical fingers while looking at his husband. Jeonghan shrugs.

“They’re shoe covers so we don’t track sand into the car. It stays in there forever and I don’t want to have to do a deep cleaning so close to the last one.”

Seungcheol laughs boisterously, catching Jeonghan and Chan off guard. It’s quite loud in the calm quiet morning. “Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?”

“Ummm…” Jeonghan dramatically shifts his face into one of mock confusion. He even goes as far as to cupping his chin with his thumb and index finger. Seungcheol knows he’s made a mistake then.  Jeonghan continues, “Last time I checked, you weren’t the one who cleaned the car.” Jeonghan jabs a pointed finger at Seungcheol on the you and Seungcheol’s smile remains even as he’s being lightly scolded. His husband sits on the couch like it’s his thrown, one leg crossed over the other. He peers down at him through the reading glasses perched on his nose. From their position, Seungcheol stares up at him like he owns the world and his heart to go with it. The I love you plays behind his lips, but he knows Jeonghan already feels him thinking it with the way he unconsciously leans toward him and lets his smile grow exponentially.

Chan in his own world just now remembers some seashells he hid in the cup holder in the back back of the car from last time. He wonders if his dad has thrown them out since he cleaned the car. He hopes not so he can find more today and start a real collection.

“Alright!” Jeonghan claps his hands together. He begins rattling off supplies. Towels, bottles of water, flip flops. Seungcheol shouts a “got it” or some other acknowledgement after each one, packing them strategically in his beach bag. Seungcheol wants Chan to think he’s helping, but in all actuality Jeonghan is going so fast, his son’s tiny limbs can’t keep up. Before Chan can even process the word, Seungcheol is reaching for the corresponding item and guiding his son’s hands like he is the one to pack them. Eventually Chan falls into a fit of giggles at his dad’s frantic searching through the pile for an umbrella hat? He isn’t even sure what that is and swears it must be a joke. But he realizes it isn’t once Jeonghan concedes, “They were on sale.” As soon as Seungcheol grabs an item and places it into the bag, his husband is yelling out the next, leaving little room for air. They’re already in such a good mood and the day has barely started.

On their way out, Jeonghan grabs a cooler with snacks and packed lunches. Sandwiches and fruits and all the simple foods their hearts desired. And once the car is loaded, the drive to the beach begins!

~~

When Chan wakes up, he notices the car has stopped moving. In his disoriented haze, he rubs at his eyes. His body hasn’t fully booted up, but its easy to see the moment in which it does. There are blue skies. The bluest he’s ever seen. Blue like the crayon he uses to color his perfect sunny day. Blue like the popsicle that stains his tongue. And a long stretch of sand fading into the ocean makes him excitedly squeal.

“Seems like someone finally woke up.” Seungcheol teases. “We thought we’d have to go have all the fun by ourselves.”

“I’m up! I’m up!” Chan shouts, untangling himself from his seat belt.

They file out the car, Chan squinting from the bright sun. He’s ready to take off but forgets his floaties, pail and shovel. He runs to Seungcheol’s side and pulls on his hand. “Trunk?”

Seungcheol gets the hint and presses the small button on his key. The back door of their minivan begins rising. “Hold on, Chan!” He knows his kid. And his selective vision will have him pulling out his own accessories without realizing everything on top of it. He doesn’t want this beach day to end early because Chan buried himself under all the beach gear. Seungcheol runs to the back before anything gets tugged out of place. “Let me help you there, bud.”

Jeonghan joins them, grabbing the totes while Seungcheol carries the cooler. Chan has his accessories in a mesh bag and before they can set up a game plan, their seven-year-old is padding down the walkway, sand crunching under his flip flops.

“That nap in the car only fueled him. What have we done?” Seungcheol laughs beside his husband as they trail after the kid.

“No, the gummies you snuck him for breakfast fueled him. What have you done?” He accuses instead, but a warm smile shows his contentment. The sand sunk under their footsteps, temporary imprints leaving their mark. The sounds of the waves crashing upon shore lull them into a serenity the suburbs could never offer. Sea foam bubbles up at the edge before getting replaced by a new wave. Everchanging.

Chan seems to have found a spot. Although he could have chosen any with the relatively empty beach front, one certain spot calls to him and his parents allow him to guide them there. And the spot was perfect. The perfect distance from the water to protect his unbuilt sandcastle from the tide.

But first, a dip in the ocean!

Chan sits his things down and makes to dash toward the water, but lithe arms swoop him up. Chan yelps before releasing high pitched laughter. He has his back against his dad’s chest and wiggles his dangling feet.

“The ultimate Spider-Chan is trying to escape!” Jeonghan launches into a roleplay, wrapping his arms tighter around his son. “Quick! Stop him with the top-secret goop!”

Seungcheol makes a big display of shuffling through the tote bag to pull out the sunscreen. A diabolical laugh secures his spot in the roleplay as well.

“I have the top-secret goop! What shall I do with it?” Seungcheol approaches the pair. How silly Jeonghan looks with his nose scrunched up in mischief. A silly, beautiful display of candid bliss. His curved fingers tickle at his son’s sides and the boy dissolves into laughter, all but shrieking in delight. Seungvheol uncaps the lid, squirting a pea sized dot onto his finger and boops his son on the nose.

“Alright.” Jeonghan squats down until he’s sat with Chan in between his legs. He sticks out his palm and on instinct, Seungcheol is squirting the lotion into his hand. He takes some into his own and like the perfect team they are, they cover their son in no time. Seungcheol rubs at his round cheeks and rubs down his arms. Jeonghan rubs at his back and down his neck. And God, why does absolutely everything tickle this child? He won’t be stop moving, but they’re determined to go home without a sunburn today.

Chan escapes as soon as Seungcheol moves from in front of him. His beach toys went ignored for too long so he goes to keep them company. Seungcheol takes his place.

“Don’t forget your face this time, Cheol.”

“Got it.”

Hands massage his shoulder blades and rub down his back in a circular motion. Seungcheol has to fight the urge to lean back into his husband. Times like these, even the simplest of gestures makes him incredibly grateful for Jeonghan. He wouldn’t have anyone to rub sunscreen into the places he can’t reach. No one to remember to even pack it. No one to help him play with his son at the beach—no one to help raise him. No one to cherish this close to his heart. Why is he getting emotional over sunscreen? Because Jeonghan. That’s why.

Seungcheol returns the favor making Jeonghan sigh in satisfaction. He is melting in the palm of his hand. He watches as his husband tilts his chin up, closing his eyes. The sun kisses his skin and now Seungcheol has the urge to do the same. He leans forward and leaves a small lingering kiss on Jeonghan’s neck, ignoring the strong scent of the sunscreen. He wraps his arms around the other’s stomach and rests his head on the shoulder in front of him. They sit there for a few solitary seconds just breathing. Breathing in each other’s space and acknowledging each other’s presence.

“I’d go to the beach everyday if it meant getting a free massage.” Jeonghan jokes. Seungcheol can feel the vibrations of Jeonghan speaking, a light buzz of energy between them.

He grins then leans forward. His lips are close to the shell of Jeonghan’s ear. “All you have to do is ask.”

“Can we go in the water now?” Chan plopped himself into Jeonghan’s lap eliciting a startled “oof” from his husband.

Mood effectively killed.

“Of course we can!” Chan jumps back up at Jeonghan’s words.

Chan holds out his hands so he can help Jeonghan up. And Jeonghan doesn’t want to embarrass his baby so he pretends that he isn’t using his own strength (and Seungcheol’s hand on his backside) to stand. “Great job! You’re getting so strong!” Seungcheol beams at Chan and sends a sly wink toward his husband.

 The water is cool on the soles of their feet. With Chan in the middle, both hands grasped tightly by his parents, the family inch closer to the water. The waves come to greet them, drifting up to their ankles and back out into the ocean. A tiny school of fish swirl around their feet, traveling across the edge of the water. Chan gasps in wonder. Something so tiny working together to find their place in this world, Chan thinks it’s something to celebrate.

The further in they get, Jeonghan decides to hold Chan. He’s been practicing his swimming, but Jeonghan feels a lot more secure with Chan in his arms like this. Seungcheol does too with Jeonghan in his own. His hands guide his waist to give him that extra support. And each time a new wave rolls in, they welcome it with a hop.

Like this, Chan really thinks summer is his favorite. It’s fought its way back to the top. It proved its worth in the way both of his dads dote on him as they splash and swim in the ocean. As Seungcheol reaches out to rub mustard off his cheek from their mid-noon lunch. As Jeonghan falls asleep and they conspire to build angel wings out of sand around him, holding in their giggles long enough to not wake their sleeping angel. As Chan builds an even bigger, even better sandcastle (with help of course). And as Chan collects seashells in his little pail while the sun begins to set.

He knows he’ll go on many more adventures this summer. And no matter what, he’ll have the most fun when he’s with his parents. But for today, he’ll officially deem it the best one yet.

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

NEXT CHAPTER

[lucaswolcott-blog]

Task #1: The Survey

« ° B A S I C S ;

name ? Lucas Andres Wolcott 

nickname ? Luke (only at home)

when’s your birthday ?  27 December 1995

birth place ? Ft Lauderdale, FL (And then moved immediately to Tampa)

age ? Twenty-two

sexuality ? Demisexual panromantic

preferred pronouns ? He/him

which grade are you in ? Junior/Third Year

is your current hair colour your natural hair color ? if not, what is your natural hair colour ? It is my natural hair color.

eye colour ? Brown

height ? 5 ft. 10 in.

what are you complimented on most ( physically & persona-wise ) ? I’m most complimented on my hair and chill personality.

do you have any tattoos or piercings ? none.

if not, would you like one/some ? I want a few tattoos, but I would like to draw them out myself. Haven’t decided what yet.

what do you do for fun ? Mostly sleep or draw. I also binge watch whatever show catches my attention or listen to music.

what’s your preferred clothing style ? Comfortable. I prefer shorts and t-shirts, but as it gets colder, I’ll switch to jeans and layers.

left handed or right handed ? Left handed

when free, people will most likely find you … ( place ) In my room napping.

« ° P E R S O N A ;

how would you describe yourself in five words ? Relaxed, creative, handsome, friendly, and just a little bit lazy.

are you a flirtatious person ? I mean, not really, no.

do consider yourself unique ? Not many people can fall asleep anywhere at anytime, so I think that’s pretty unique.

are you talkative or rather shy ? Neither. I talk when talked to.

biggest dream ? I would love to be able to make a living off of selling my work, but for now, I’m dreaming about being an illustrator for children’s books. That’d be fun and a good way to get my name out.

are you good at keeping secrets ? I’d like to think so. I mean, I usually forget secrets told to me after, like, a few weeks. However, I’ve not told.

are you happy ? I think so, yeah.

do you consider yourself book-smart or street-smart ? Street smart.

main character trait ? People usually comment first on something about how calm I am. I don’t know, it’s weird to talk about myself.

worst habit ? Oh, messing with my hair. It takes awhile to tame the bedhead, but then while I’m working on my art, I just mess it up again.

biggest pet peeve ? Loud crunching in quiet rooms or during lectures.

if your life would have a title song, what would it be ? “Tender” by Blur is pretty chill. 

who do your friends compare you to ? Sleepy! From Snow White. Oh! Or the Dormouse from Alice in Wonderland. Lots of Disney.

life motto ?  “Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.” - Oscar Wilde. I had a huge Wilde phase when we read his work, so I kind of scoured the web for stuff he said.

« ° L O V E ;

are you in love ? Not really, no. Love my friends. Love my family. Absolutely love my cat. Don’t have a romantic love for anyone though.

do you have a crush ? Not at the moment.

celebrity crush ? Is it bad the first person that came to mind was Ewan Mc/Gregor? Loved him as Obi Wan. Emma Wat/son is very beautiful too.

do you believe in love at first sight ? I believe it can happen for some people. Not something I think would happen to me.

thoughts about marriage ? Right now? Nah, I’m not ready. I think it could be in my future but it has to be someone special.

what does your ideal partner look like ( inside and out ) ? I want someone who is my best friend first and foremost. They have to be able to take things slow and be understanding. I’ve not really thought much about my ideal partner’s appearance though.

would you consider yourself a flirt ? I’ve accidentally done it a few times, but I wouldn’t say I would ever do it on purpose.

cuddling or making out ? Cuddling is very underappreciated.

when i was … 15 i had my first kiss and it was … Awkward.

make out song ? I suppose something very... Energetic? Or something that’s like trippy. No in between on that one.

turn ons/offs ? Listen, I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m a virgin. This is like... The secrets that have yet to be unlocked. I can tell you nail biting is a turn off already though just because of the sound. 

best love song ever ? Totally “Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley. I’ll just say “Tender” again

dumper or the dumped one ? I’ve only dated twice and both times I was the dumper.

ever experienced heartbreak ? Yeah, but it’s more personal than I’d like to share.

« ° T H I S OR T H A T ;

tea or coffee ? Tea. There’s some relaxing tea out there.

frozen yoghurt or ice cream ? Ice cream

chocolat or vanilla ? Chocolate

shower or bath ? Shower

movies or books ? Movies

comedy or adventure movie ? Comedy

day or night ? Night

black&white or color ? Color.

chinese or italian ? Ooh, tough. Chinese.

hugs or kisses ? Hugs

spring or fall ? Fall

tattoos or piercings ? Tattoos

money or fame ? Money for the financial security. Or, fame to be known and share with the world what you love. Also, you can be famous for good deeds. I’ll take fame

romantic cuddles or hot sex ? Romantic cuddles. Again, cuddles are underappreciated.

fair or theme park ? Theme park.

love or lust ? Love

« ° F A V O R I T E S ;

song lyrics ? “When the days they seem to fall through you, well, just let them go.”

song ? “Under the Bridge”

quote ? I’m just going to point to that Oscar Wilde quote again. Or, the one where he was, like, challenging the wallpaper to a fight to the death.

actor ? Tom Hanks

actress ? Julie Andrews

movie ? Scott Pilgrim vs The World is pretty great.

book ? Can’t go wrong with The Lord of the Rings.

memory ? Definitely when my parents took my brother and I to Chicago one Christmas, and we got to see snow for, like, the first time ever. 

joke ? We all know six is afraid of seven because seven ate nine. But why did seven eat nine? Because you need three squared meals a day! Ever since I was told the rest of the joke, it just became my favorite.

guilty pleasure ? There’s this makeup show called FaceOff, and I love watching it for the cool designs. 

« ° A  F E W  S I T U A T I O N S ;

how would your character react if…

if they walk into the shower and see a huge spider sitting right in the middle of it ? He’d talk to the spider. Then, he’d try to ease the spider out of the shower because “Don’t want you to drown, little guy.” And, once the spider was clear, he’d take his shower.

they found out they won the lottery ? First thing he’s doing is pinching himself to make sure he’s not dreaming and that he didn’t fall asleep again. Second thing, he’s calling his parents. Then, he’d tell a select few friends.

if they find a someone’s wallet on the floor which holds lots of cash ? He’d check the ID and then if he doesn’t see the person, he’d turn it in to the nearest store or place that can take it. If he’s high at all, he’s taking some of the cash or even possibly setting it right back on the ground.

they hear a knock on their door and when they say “enter” their ex walks in ? Depends on which ex, but it’d be safe to assume he’d hug her and try to carry on a normal and calm conversation, even if with one of them, he’d be wondering how she found him.

if their house was on fire and they had 60 seconds to leave ? what 5 things would they take with them ? If it’s the frat house, his phone, wallet, sketchbook, picture of his family, and laptop. If it’s his home-home, his cat, sketchbook, phone, wallet, and then he’d grab whichever family member he passed by the arm.

« ° O V E R - A L L ;

when was the last time you tried something new ? Well, I tried working with a new medium in class recently. I don’t think I like carving much.

would you ever give up on your life if you could save someone else’s with it ? I mean, not to be selfish, but it depends on the person. For a kid, absolutely. For family, positively. Strangers... Not so much.

are you happy with yourself ? If I’m honest, no.

what chances do you wish you had taken ? I wish I had applied to bigger art schools. Don’t get me wrong, I love where I am, but I wish I’d seen if I could have gotten in.

what’s the first thing you think when you see yourself in the mirror ? “Holy shit that awful bedhead” or “God I’m still tired.”

[titleknown]

Abomination Foundry: Making Mine Marvel. Mine I Say! MINE!

EXCELSIOR TRUE BELIEVERS!

I’m stuck here in the middle of Earth-404 by the horrible nightmare of Marvel’s existential collapse, and I’ve decided to make gross moldy lemons to make bitter unpleasant lemonade by remaking the ALL NEW, ALL STUPID MARVEL UNIVERSE, copyright-law be damned! Though the names will be changed because copyright law deserves to be damned.

This will be done in Heromachine, the dollmaker-bane of Open Source Character Design but good for aesthetic shitposting!

Alright, let’s go, past the jump!

So, what is the first being in the Marvel Universe? Galactus of course!

Yes look it up if you don’t believe me, they were the first, made from a being from the previous universe who jumped into the Big Crunch and was told “Sorry, your universe is ending, but hey to make up for it here’s some cool Cosmic Vore powers!”

And, as a being from the end of the last universe, I figured any not-Galactus should be an advanced being! And what is more advanced than the deadly King Cobra? NOTHING! NOTHING I SAY! And since she’s a being that A) Mainly travels through space and B) Eats everything, I figured all she needs is head, arms to bring food towards head, and lots and lots of rockets!

I call her King Kirby, because lord knows Jack Kirby deserves more credit in our ALL NEW; ALL DIFFERENT MARVEL UNIVERSE! And yes, our not-Galactus is a girl now. They’re all girls now. EAT ME!

It’s said that the two main American artforms are rock-n-roll and comics, and since we’re already working on the latter, I think an updated Captain American deserves the former!

Meet Captain Rock-N-Roll, given AWESOME JUICE created by the only scientist awesome enough to create a soldier with the power of rock-n-roll several decades before rock-n-roll was invented to beat the living FUCK out of some nazis!

Then suddenly some asshole comic book writer whose name rimes with Sick Nencer came through time to try and change things so the Nazis won. The scientist was so busy punching him super hard in the dick that he didn’t notice his lab was on fire, and thusly only one copy of the AWESOME JUICE survived. It was given to a black woman because it was the only one it’d work on and also because it’d be really stupid and terrible if a white dude was the first rock-n-roll powered hero.

She was frozen post-World-War-II via being too cool for this world, but punched her way out out of sheer rage when post-Grunge was invented because FUCK POST-GRUNGE! She not only has all the peak-human abilities of classic-Cap, but also a shield with speakers that turn her HOT LICKS into defending/deadly soundwaves. And an also a guitar-gun because ROCK-N-ROLL MOTHERFUCKERS!

Okay, so Iron Man AKA Captain Privelege is a rich dude, and I think we can all agree FUCK RICH DUDES!

So our newest Iron Man would be poor as shit; a homeless lady sleeping in a junkyard that collapsed into the earth in an earthquake and saying FUCK THIS and building herself a robot-suit out of the crap she was trapped under.

Since she made it IN A CAVE-IN, WITH A BOX OF SCRAPS, I thought it should look like it; like junk that can punch you.

Hence her name, Junk Puncher. I see no alternate meanings to this that are comical or clever.

And boo hoo, Tony Stark has a heart problem, FUCK THAT! She lost her FUCKING LEGS in that cave in and replaced them with FUCKING SWEET ROBOT-LEGS! Which is also why she doesn’t have a secret-identity because YOU CAN’T HAVE A SECRET IDENTITY WITH FUCKIN SWEET ROBO-LEGS!

Okay, much like the Marvel Cinematic Universe I had almost no idea what the fuck to do with Hulk here, until I thought, The Hulk is based on id run rampant? So what’s a primally indulgent aesthetic filled with id run rampant? Furries!

Thusly, Yiff Hulk was born! Or Yiff for copyright-dodging short. She’s purple because the Hulk became green instead of grey due to printing grey in old comics being a massive pain in the dick; so I chose what is currently the most obnoxious color to print. Because RESPECT!

Her origin’s pretty much the same as regular-Hulk complete with traumatic childhood abuse by a shitty father except she was a huge furry beforehand. And also that her adventures are also very, very not safe for the Comics Code Authority. For obvious reasons.

For Hawkeye, the shitty Avenger nobody likes, I decided; you know what would make them more interesting? Being an actual hawk. And fuck that useless “arrows” bullshit, this is the 21st century, give her some big fuckin guns already! Call ‘em fuckin Gunbird!

This is likely even less faithful to the original character than everything else I’ve done, but the best part of it is, nobody gives enough of a shit about Hawkeye to care! Fuck that guy!

Oh. I had intended to make a Black Widow revamp, but this is just a Perfectly Normal Secret Agent Lady, who is definitely not thens of thousands of spiders in a trenchcoat lead by a singular “queen,” because the Russians did all sorts of wacky bullshit during the cold war. I don’t know what happened, but she turned out thoroughly unremarkable, so MOVING ALONG!

You know, in revamping Spider-Man, folks almost always go Cronenberg-style body-horror because spider or robots because Japan, but NOBODY’S DONE BOTH BEFORE, HAVE THEY?!

So, Petit Parnell-Ko was bitten by a radioactive robot spider, and through the power of NANOMACHINES SON she became an arthropod/robot abomination. All those guns shoot webbing, both in the “biologically-accurate” and the “not-gross” positions, and after her Aunt Benni died due to a  deranged pro-wrestler she let pass, she realized “With great screaming body-horror powers comes great; horrifying responsibility” And thusly; Nightmareborg Hellspider was born!

You fuckin’ thought High School was bad? Well, it is, but it’s even worse when you’re a BIOMECHANICAL SPIDER NIGHTMARE, NO BULLSHIT SECRET IDENTITIES WE DEAL WITH PROBLEMS LIKE PROPER SCIENCE-ABOMINATIONS!

And yes she does get a robot, which by sheer coincidence is from space. Which I need to make in a later one of these.

And; finally, re-inventing Thor or Loki is kinda needless given they’re already public domain, albeit Thor would have to be more red-haired and muscular-Brian-Blessed-y. But you know who isn’t? Beta-Ray Bill.

If you don’t know who that is; it’s basically a fucked-up atheist space-horse-alien who yoinked Thor’s hammer to save his world, being one of the very few beings pure of heart enough to carry it, and who did such a good job that Odin made him his own hammer. Because comics are fucking awesome sometimes.

So, I made Gamma-Ray Guen, who is pretty similar in terms of backstory except I added more horse. And more cyborg. And instead of a hammer she gets the magical staff Spacebreaker/Brestaginnung because ODIN HAS A SENSE OF HUMOR ABOUT THESE THINGS, OKAY!

So, that’s all I did today, but I will make some villains, eventually! Or the X-Men or Fantastic Four I couldn’t be arsed to do. But first, I must go to do other things! Like working on the novella I am terrible about writing! Or probably something else!

And remember, while the exact images are the property of the Dollmaker-makers, the designs and concepts are free to use under a CC-BY license; with me Thomas F. Johnson credited as creator and the pics declared as a decent starting point!

Feel free to redesign/redraw them as done by an actual unique stylist not working with pre-made assets! Until then EXCELSIOR!

[cecilspeaks]

Episode 103 - Ash Beach

We make money the old-fashioned way. We chemically convert lead into gold.

Welcome to Night Vale.

The Night Vale Tourism Board announced that after 12 years of super-fond site cleanup, Ash Beach reopened today to the public. The Tourism Board’s new brochure shows a young happy family having a picnic lunch and wearing respirator masks, building ash castles and flying kites against the blackened sky. We’re landlocked here in the desert with no body of water in sight, so back in the 1950’s, the city decided to create a public beach made entirely out of municipally burned books that were deemed too dangerous or too boring to reach.

Carlos and I are so excited about the reopening of the beach. We are already planning a trip in the next few weeks with the family. According to the Tourism Board, there will be a refurbished boardwalk there with food trucks and carnival games. Beachgoers can stroll down the pier and watch the surfers lie on their boards, as we all wait for the oceans to rise dramatically enough that Night Vale finally has a waterfront.

This Friday Night, Dark Owl Records will be hosting an album release party for Stevie Ray Vaughan’s new album called “Beyoncé”. Which is a collection of instrumental covers of Leonard Cohen’s greatest hits. Vaughan’s unique approach to music has always been to askew instruments altogether and simply read the name of each chord aloud. Vaughan will be at the store taking selfies with fans and asking everyone how he got here, and why he cannot hold tangible objects.

Sunday at the Rec Center is the annual gun show sponsored by the Night Vale chapter of the NRA. All patrons receive a free trucker hat that reads “Guns don’t kill people, unless you shoot those people with said gun and then they die. But other than that one specific situation, we’ve never known a gun to kill anybody.” Gun dealers from all over the United States will be at the show, selling handguns and hunting rifles and telling fantastical stories about a mythical government that would try, even in the slightest, to regulate gun ownership. The first 500 ticket buyers will have their government-implanted tracking chips surgically removed for free.

We’re getting reports that the grand re-opening of Ash Beach is going.. well, oh, not well as in good I mean well as in.. I’m not sure what to say next. So the beach, which is completely black and not at all connected to any body of water, is apparently really hot. And beachgoers are having a difficult time getting the dark ash stains off their burning skin. Also, there are reports of hazy humanoid figures emerging from the ash. They have long thin arms, gaping mouths with hundreds of tiny square teeth, round glowing eyes, and they shimmer in and out of visibility. Some witnesses reported hearing faint clicks and crunches, like someone rapidly chewing egg shells.

Amber Akinyi and Wilson Levy are celebrating their first wedding anniversary at Ash Beach today. They clam to have seen these ephemeral beings and moments later, experienced a flood of memories that never happened to them. Wilson remembered his wedding six years ago to his high school girlfriend Tanya. The memory was so clear, Tanya in her strapless white gown with ivory piping.. Ew. His best man Aiden accidentally dropping the ring and comically chasing it as it rolled into the third row. The string trio playing Pachelbel’s “Hey Ya” as ushers escorted guests into seats and pushed the safety bars down firmly over their shoulders. But Wilson claimed he never knew anyone named Tanya and was never married to anyone before Amber. Telling this story, he had tears in his eyes. The fond memory of the wedding he never had still fresh in his mind.

Amber remembered a vacation resort a few miles from Mount Kilimanjaro. She was only eight years old, she was standing outside the resort near her mother’s Toyota pickup truck. Her mother was speaking in Luau to an elderly couple. The couple said they wanted to ride to a camp checkpoint at the base of the mountain. Her mother offered them a ride as she was going to the same place. Amber, her mother, and the couple shared the cramped bench seat, as they rode toward the cloud-shrouded peak. The couple smelled like coffee and brand new sleeping bags. They offered Amber some kashata and told her about different types of birds.

Amber said that she had never been to Tanzania and that her mother passed away when Amber was only three. Nor does Amber believe in mountains, nor does she know what kashata is, and she doesn’t know a single word of Luau, so the memory could not be real. But she could understand the Luau in her memory, and could taste the soft coconut crunch of the kashata.

Wilson brushed Amber’s cheek and she kissed his wrist. They both cried quietly as they laid out some small shovels and buckets, rubbed UV protective lotion on their arms, unfolded beach chairs and elected a large umbrella.

More on this story as it develops.

Good news, listeners. Five-headed dragon Hadassah McDaniels and her legion of dragon lawyers, from whatever dragon world they’re from, have stopped crushing local businesses. And eating pets. And setting fire to public parks. The bad news is that we’re not certain what the dragons are doing right now. No one has seen them in over a week. It’s like when you see a spider and then you turn your head, and when you look back, that spider is gone. And that is the true definition of horror, because you don’t know where that spider is, and you miss it so much. It was a really cute spider!

The dragons were last seen visiting the Terrible Court of the Distant Prince. It was difficult to say for certain that it was the Distant Prince, because those who saw this visitation said it happened quite a long way away. Witnesses reported that they definitely saw the dragons talking with what looked like a young man wearing a crown, his form blurred as though moving quickly, even though he was standing still. But he was partially hidden by harbingers, as well as court shriekers and mangled servants. The witnesses did not mention seeing any hollow-eyed weepers, so it may not have been the Distant Prince at all. Maybe a Distant Viscount. At best, a Distant Earl. A Distant Countess, even?

Listeners. Old Woman Josie’s daughter Alondra wanted me to thank everyone for all of the good wishes and gifts to her and her dying mother. She asked that people please stop sending flowers though. She has nowhere to put them. And plus, flowers are sort of gross. “You realize that flowers are just water and manure and seeds and dirt,” Alondra Ortiz said. “They look and smell nice but just remember what the smell is made of. Gross! Stop it,” she said. Then she added, “I mean if you already sent flowers, they’re beautiful, thank you.” And then she rolled her eyes.

Carlos and I visited Josie last Saturday. We brought her and Alondra a framed photo of Josie breaking ground at the New Old Night Vale Opera House. For a picture that’s only a couple years old, Josie looks so young. It’s her smile, I think. Her smile never aged. In the photo, she’s wearing a hardhat, orange construction vest, tanned jodhpurs, and five-toed running shoes. She’s holding a shovel filled with dirt in front of a sign that says “Opera House: coming soon!” She was so proud of Night Vale that day. I showed the picture to Josie who was lying in her bed, eyes open. She didn’t respond. I wish I had visited sooner, but I was glad to have seen her again before she leaves us. Carlos patted her hand and I kissed her forehead. I said, “Josie, Carlos and I love you. As does Alondra. As do all of the angels.” And at this point, I heard the citywide “angels acknowledged” sirens go off, but I didn’t care. There were angels all over her house! There have been for years, and I’m sort of tired of pretending they’re not there. “The angels love you and will take care of you, Josie,” I said loudly over the sound of the blaring sirens, and I think I saw that young smile gently touch the corners of her dry pursed mouth.

In lieu of flowers, might I recommend donations to the Opera House in Josie’s name? Or any place that supports the arts. Nothing would make her happier.

We’re getting more updates from Ash Beach. Everyone at the beach today is covered in dark ashes, their skin burning, the sun muted by a cloud of char. They have all seen the waggling, hazy figures that fade in and out of sight. The figures open their long mouths and point their spindly arms at people, and those people in turn experience vibrant memories that never happened. Frances Donaldson, manager of the Antiques Mall, said she remembered winning a silver medal for figure skating in the Olympic games, but she’s never even seen ice in real life. Green Market Co-opt Board president, Tristan Cortez, said when the figures on the beach pointed at him, he remembered being lost in the wilderness with a Golden Retriever friend of his. They were soon joined by a Himalayan cat. They were all homeward bound, sharing an incredible journey together. But that never happened! Tristan said it was actually a Bullterrier and a Siamese cat, and that this new memory is false. 

John Peters, you know, the farmer, said he had a striking memory of his brother, Jim. The memory was from only two days ago. Jim was cleaning out the tractor shed with John. John said it was unusually warm for late winter and they were both getting tired. It was almost noon, and John wanted to break for lunch but Jim said, “Hey Johnnie, look at what I found!” John said Jim held up an old football. “It’s from when we was kids, Johnnie!” Jim said of a memory instigated by a physical object inside John’s memory from today of something that didn’t happen earlier this week. John and Jim went out into their untilled fields of imaginary corn and tossed the ball around for nearly an hour. John said he wished this memory was real. His brother’s been off serving in the blood space war for nearly 40 years now. “He probably ain’t even arrived at whatever planet he’s supposed to fight yet. What with the, destructive limitations on matter as it approaches the speed of light,” John said, sadly reminiscing about his long-lost sibling. “I bet they gotta be in a kinda frozen space sleep or something like in that documentary, ‘Aliens’,” he added.

Listeners, if you’re at Ash Beach, try not to look at the thin beings coming up from the ashes. Hide from their pointing hands, and above all, do not trust the memories they fill your mind with. They are untrue, they are fever dreams. They. Are. Lies.

Wait, in fact I’m just now getting word from witnesses that large waves are crashing down on Ash Beach. There’s no indication where the water is coming from as Night Vale, again, is in a desert. Some beachgoers began tearing hoods off cars and using them as surf boards. Someone has spelled out “HELP LOST” in seaweed, but the crashing waves washed it all away. Many people are being dragged out into a nonexistent sea by a dangerous undertow. Where is this water coming from? Until we know for certain, stay away from ash beach.

More soon, but now the weather.

[“Faded” by P.O.S. feat Lady Midnight, doomtree.net/pos]

The tide has ebbed, the beach is clear. The ashes are gone, washed out to.. well. Oh, not well as in I don’t know what to say in next, I meant well as in an old well, that appeared in the same spot it had stood two summers ago, draining the water into it in a direct reversal of a well’s usual role and then vanishing again, as old well’s often do.

Well. Ash Beach is neither ash nor beach anymore. Simply a great expanse of sand and less and dry. Those who saw the shimmering apparitions said the memories they were given are as real as ever. They were not merely daydreams, nor vivid hallucinations, they are actual events that never happened.

Simone Rigideau, the transient who lives in the Earth Sciences Building of the Night Vale Community College and who recently began teaching courses there, much to the chagrin of the college administration, said she was at Ash Beach today and she saw the figures. She saw their pointing, wriggling translucent appendages, she saw their numerous flat teeth in their long gray mouths, she saw their bulbous white eyes, she heard the sound of crunching like chewing egg shells, and she had a memory. She remembered the college campus. She remembered it was 1983. She remembered students with boomboxes, Trans-Am muscle cars. She remembered the news anchors that day, Tim and Trin, with their feathered-hair double-Windsor neckties, shoulder pads, and deep maroon nail polish. She remembered the news of missiles already launched, apologies for a miscommunication, a mistake in a training drill. Apologies not accepted. Missiles launched to retaliate. She remembered the news anchors Tim and Trin trying not to cry, trying to report the news. She remembered students and faculty gathered around the television, trying not to cry, trying to receive the news. She remembered… the world ending. Not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with silence. The absence of thought and feeling. Everyone went missing all at once together – time, body, memory… gone.

 Simone then said she remembered something else, from the new memory she received today. A woman with a deer mask had appeared on the television screen, her face flickering through the loud static and obscuring the faces of Tim and Trin. She spoke in a language unknown to Simone but… she recognized the name of the woman. Huntokar. 

[cheerfully] “Oh, I know Huntokar,” I said. “She did this, Cecil,” Simone said. “Huntokar is super weird,” I said, “makes sense that she would be behind this whole ‘Ash Beach’ thing.” “I’m not talking about the beach,” Simone said. “Then what are you talking about?” I said. “She is the destroyer!” Simone said, shaking her head. Simone said she remembered the world ending, it was so clear, so vivid. But it did not end. She touched my arm and said that we are here. How are we here? I told Simone, “You always say the world ended in 1983, I don’t see how this is so special for you.” She said, “I knew it ended. I just couldn’t remember it ending. Now I do. The world ended, Cecil, I saw it on the news!” “Oh then it must be true,” I said. “Are you being sarcastic?” she asked. “Why would I do that?” I replied. “I still can’t tell if you are or not,” she said, eyeing me suspiciously. I don’t understand what she was getting at.

Whatever our truth, Night Vale, you can feel your body. Hear my voice. See the sunlight through dissipating ash clouds. I do not know if we are real. But we are alive. We are tangible, feeling, and whole.

Stay tuned next for the sound of something trying to dig its way out of your chest.

Good night, Night Vale, good night.

Today’s proverb: if you’re not wearing a denim vest, then this conversation is over.

[thebibliomancer]

100 Days of Comics! 035/100: Fantastic Four #584 (2010)

Today’s rummage into the box of 100 comics brings me another issue in Hickman’s Fantastic Four “Three” storyline! But also its the succeeding issue from the one I already read!

Cool beans.

Hopefully it will feel more like a story this time.

It’s also got a pretty cool cover. Really evocative. It both draws the reader in and also represents something that actually happens.

So, remember how last time, the Fantastic Four were fighting cavemen in the Forgotten or Forever or whatever City? Ben Grimm, the Thing, got exposed to evolution radiation (???) and grew a butt on his head.

We start off with that butthead still being on that butthead. But it finally wears off an hour later than Reed’s estimates and Ben wryly stares at himself in the mirror and says “And there’s the handsome mug I love so much. Much better.”

He comes out to the living room sort of area where the Future Foundation kids are eating a rousing breakfast of a bowl of composite dye, sugar and fructose. Ben has Johnny come help him with something since Reed and Sue and Franklin and Valeria are busy. So literally his last choice.

There are time stamps on every scene. And the flow of time is kind of odd. Ben asks Johnny to come help him at 9:15 AM and the next scene with him is at 10:35 AM so it took Ben over an hour to find a little vial of science juice.

Anyway, the science is something the Future Foundation kids made for him. It will turn him back into a regular person for one week a year every year. Johnny is unsure if Ben should take some random science juice made by kids.

Johnny: “I mean... do you know what I was doing when I was their age?”

Ben: “Roughly the same things you’re doin’ now?”

Johnny: “Eh... fair point. Hope it doesn’t kill you.”

Ben: “Shaddup.”

And like the cover (except less cool) Ben sheds his rocky exterior to be a flesh body. Johnny has to mess with him though, reacting n mock horror and making Ben think something has gone wrong.

Except Johnny isn’t just going to be a jerk today. In fact, he’s going to treat Ben to the best day he’s had in a very long time. He’s going to make some calls and then he’s going to take Ben out to do all the things Ben hasn’t really been able to do for a really long time.

Man. Sometimes Johnny is alright.

So best day ever: walking downtown and nobody looks twice, giants versus eagles football game and beer and hot dogs, early dinner with old friends (which I���m 90% sure is Stan Lee and Jack Kirby), the floating superhero poker game at the Thunder dojo, and y’know what just for old times sake lets rumble with the Yancy Street Gang.

... The Yancy Street Gang has changed. Apparently the recession was hard on the blue collar criminal class so... “Now the gang is made up of failed dot-com-ers. Ex-Wall Street traders and failed hedge fund managers. These guys’re much nastier.”

So Ben punches one out and shouts that he wants his 401k back. Hah.

But after the rumble, Johnny actually does have one last thing slated for Ben. He also asks him if he thinks one week a year is going to be enough or if he’ll just get used to it and it will become worse than no time at all.

“I’ve missed out on a lot of things, Johnny. I think all one week a year means is I won’t ever take it for granted... And I’ll ‘preciate everything I get.”

And that’s possibly relevant to the last stop because Johnny has taken Ben to see Alicia Masters. And she feels his face and realizes what has happened. And Johnny watches them possibly kiss from outside by the car and smirks “Good for you, Ben.”

And that was a very sweet story. Of course, there are some ongoing plot threads that need to be incremented forward a little.

Invisible Sue has gone to Utopia (aforementioned X-Men island nation) to broker a peace between Old and New Atlantis. And Namor is there, of course. Still being Namor. “While Namor the Sub-Mariner tarries for so very few... for you, Susan, I would wait forever.”

And in another plot thread, Reed gets a visitor while he’s observing the cosmic anomaly the Crunch (its a weird space thing, I dunno. In Annihilation, it was the bridge Annihilus used to transfer his massive Annihilation Wave fleet from the Negative Zone to the positive universe so he could destroy everything).

The Silver Surfer has shown up and he is angry re: that Galactus corpse he found. The unique radiation signature of the Fantastic Four was all over the site. As was tachyon decay, indicating that the dead Galactus was from the future but died in the present.

Reed promises that he can TOTALLY explain all of this but Silver Surer clarifies its present Galactus that wants answers to difficult questions and he wants them now.

Reed you done goofed.

Still though. Really liked that Ben and Johnny story. That is my shit. There’s no supervillains. Just Ben being human again for the first time in a long time and Johnny treating him to a great time.

I think that was my problem with the previous issue. It was so much plot plot plot plot plot plot plot that there was barely any room for characters. I don’t doubt that this Ben and Johnny stuff is going to tie into Hickman’s long game somehow but it was all character. While Sue and Reed did plot stuff in subplots.

The photorealistic art still isn’t my favorite but at least there’s no uncanny child grins, as if contemplating eating kidneys, this time.

Its actually interesting seeing all the death flags being raised in this and the previous issue. Because I know via the Spider-Man book who gets countdowned to casualty to make “Three.” But if you were reading along at the time, it does seem like it could go mostly any way. Although Ben is a squishy human for a week...