#In this world its cheese or be Gooped! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lifewithparanormal · 6 months

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Chapter 3: Hidden heritage

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Back at Navarro and Harold's scene, the two recoiled from two steps, looking at the creature.

''So, two puny mortals discovered me.'' Matzarathulu insulted, under a voice with echo.

''Wh..what is that thing?!'' Harold exclaimed!

''I don't know but I'm not gonna sit around waiting to find out!'' Felix answered, rising his soul collector.

But before he had a chance to press on the button, the demon used his extensions and holes on the tips to throw orange stuff on both PIs. The leader didn't react in time and got his weapon covered in goop, but Harold got the time to avoid it by jumping left.

''Tsk tsk, my orange melted cheese will stop you from any benevolance!'' the cheese-like demon boasted.

''Gragh, the stuff is covering the visor!'' Navarro complained, trying to press the button of his soul collector anyway, without effect.

But he kept it on himself anyway. Matzarathulu kept throwing cheese goop out of his peculiar members hoping to immobilize them, but they both avoided in time, jumping each in different directions: Felix on the left, Hal on the right!

While Navarro tried to get the cement out of his weapon, Harold teleported himself a few centimeters close to Matza's ''face'' . Kneeling himself immediately, he took some dirt from the ground and threw it in its eye.

While the effect was successful and made the orange demon close its eyes, it didn't take him long to do an alternate attack and pushing Harold a little far with a ''tentacle'' blow. Using its sense of hearing, he then used one of its other tentacles to throw orange cheese at Navarro. The brunt of the blow was so strong it made Navarro recoil while dropping the soul collector and he fell on the ground, arms and thighs immobilized under the mixture.

''Felix!'' Harold shouted, he then prepared to teleport into the action, but Navarro gazed intensely at him.

''No, do like we said!'' his friend ordered.

Right, what they said…..on one side he didn't want to leave Navarro alone, but on the other hand, they both knew it wasn't their first rodeo. Hal instead directed his teleportation in the direction of the fraternity house and out of the forest, going away.

Meanwhile, Navarro moved like a snake to sit himself carefully, watching Matzarathulu closing the special vacuum's power with its extended members.

''So, before I met my demise, can I at least know what I'm up against.'' Felix asked, trying to keep a brave face. ''Oh you will have a demise, but not in the way you think! …..You speak to Matzarathulu, spirit of humiliation, and you're getting in my way!''

Clenching his teeth, Navarro upped his tone.

''Lo sabia! You're the one responsible for the detective's disappearance into your portal!''

The monster laughed for a few seconds, but something among Navarro's lines got to it, it interrupted itself.

''Wait, sure, I did create a nethergate to get into your humiliating world, but I didn't prisonner any humans, I don't see the point of your bluff!'' Matza revealed.

''Don't fool me! You threw that cement cheese at the victim while the nethergate was activated and he went into it!

''Oh please, I'm over one simple mortal, on the contrary, I have one entire fraternity at my source of power!''

The more this conversation went out, the more Navarro was confused. The way he interpreted it: this creature knows and seems deeply interested about the fraternity yet it doesn't hurt anyone when it would have several occasions to do so? That didn't seem logical to him.

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Meanwhile, in the main alley of Omega Alpha Pi's fraternity house. Mary walked, still trying to use her telepathic powers, but to no avail. Hands still behind his back, Willard only watched her while following.

''Ergh, if I knew that was going to happen, I would've brought the psychic amplifier.'' Mary complained in low voice. ''If we had that: good luck being subtle with that fashion failure thing on your head then.'' Willard nonchanlently whispered.

Mary was going to answer but suddenly, Harold appeared by teleportation behind them. Mary was the first to turn in a jumpy way.

''WOH! Don't startle us like that Hal!'' she jumped.

Willard then turned away, unshaken by the glassy PI's sudden appearance. Both looked at Harold, he seemed deep in his thoughts because he looked at his friends, eyes wide open and took some time before saying anything, like he was out of it.

''Take your time mate.'' Will mocked.

''Sorry sorry.'' Hal shook his head. ''Quick, let's grab some things in the car, Navarro's in danger!''

''A monster?'' his female friend just said.

The young adult with glasses quickly nodded, then handed both his hands to his friends.

''Grab my hands, it's gonna be quicker.''

Both complied, then Hal used his powers to teleport the three of them away……some OAP crew saw the spectacle and there was a long silence.

"Yo did that nerd just-''

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Back to Navarro, the named continued to try to know more, to buy some time.

''I…I'm not sure I'm believing you, demons like you are not honest.'' he argued.

''On the contrary, why would we lie? Nothing screams more humiliation than someone impotent in front of a masterplan discourse! And any form of this gives me more and more power.'' Matzarathulu boasted.

Getting closer and closer, it then threatened under Navarro trying to keep a brave face.

''Give it a few more days of witnessing all this fraternity's humiliation, and then soon, I'll be unstoppable and you'll spend all eternity bowing in shame in front of me!''

Then, without warning, from behind, its only eye got covered by a fabric which seem to came from behind. This was coming from Mary, wearing a belt hiding a weird pistol and a strange small container, who had her foot pressed on the back of the demon and spirit of humiliation. It was quite big, but the girl had enough space to do her pulling move with Frederik's Omega jacket, pulling the sleeves with her hands.

''M-Mary?!'' the tied leader exclaimed.

''Gnh…snake you way out of here, quick!'' Mary struggled.

Meanwhile, Harold, with a backpack, appeared by teleportation behind Felix and retreated him farther from the creature by pulling his back with one hand.

''You came back fast, but wait the soul collector!'' the young Navarro shouted.

''I think the more pressing matters is freeing you from this small prison!'' Hal objected, ransacking his backpack.

And indeed he had the right gadget out of the bag for that: a cyan gadget in the form of a hair dryer he then pressed on. The heat wave was so extreme that the cement orange cheese around Navarro started melting slowly.

Meanwhile, Mary continued to struggle with the monster, pulling the sleeves of the sweater. To test something, she tried using her telepathy, and...to her great surprise...

''What's this…I…I can read minds again? ….What this monster can tell us?'' her voice echoed through her head.

She did try to get small bits of info, but Matzarathulu started to get the upper hand in the struggle despites being blinded by the OAP jacket. Shaking its ''body'' violently, it made Mary jump a few steps behind and almost tripped, but thanks to her quick reflexes, she repositionned herself, one hand on the ground. Her telepathy still working, she anticipated Matzarathulu rushing at her and giving a swing of one its extensions on her.

With quick reflexes, the mindreader PI blocked the hit with her arm, struggling to get the upper hand.

Her other hand free, Mary Beyer was about to reach for the pistol on her belt, but her telepathy made her notice another tentacle pointing at her. Quickly deducing what it meant, the woman rolled herself on the ground, avoiding a goop shot and grabbing her weapon on her belt during the rolling.

Putting herself in a kneeled position, she then grabbed the small bottle full of pepper seeds attached on her belt and emptied some of it in a vertical compartment of her pistol.

Once she pulled the trigger towards her opponent's big eye, brown powder came out of it, making Matzarathulu squinting and backing up under complaints.

''Euuuuwgh! Why is it always on the eye?!'' he shouted.

While Hal finally finished to melt the cheese both on the soul collector and Navarro, Willard was rushing into the scene directly towards Matza without gadgets and taking his sunglasses off, not even paying attention to his team. The monster took some time before noticing him because he was going to immobilise the three other PIs by throwing more orange ''goop'' at them.

''It's OVER!''

Navarro was ready to press the button of his collector before he got covered once more, but something strange made him stop……all the goop Matzarathulu threw at him, his two other friends….was completly staying in the air, not moving at all, and surrounded by a purple aura.

''…..Willard!'' Navarro instantly turned at him, he could recognise that color of power between hundreds.

''Hey, pizza face!'' Will adressed to the demon of humiliation, hands lifted up, surrounded by the same aura. ''Next time you want to inflate your ego, count the number of opponents you have!''

Then, all by himself, the power reflector reflected the goop towards Matzarathulu. Unfortunately for the team, he avoided it in time.

''Y….You! How can a human control my own powers?'' the humiliation monster stared at Willard with full of contempt!

''I guess you'll never know the answer! Say cheese!'' Navarro proceeded, lifting up the soul collector.

Unfortunately, something unexpected interrupted everyone. Big flashs of colorful red and blue lights dragged close to everyone's feet, they turned around and looked towards any tree's opening.

''The cops!'' Navarro exclaimed.

''Thanks for the precision I thought I would never guess!'' Willard taunted.

Then, a demonic laugh was heard from Matzarathulu, the only one who didn't bother to move with the Phantom Investigators. Everyone looked at it retreating.

''Poor fools, humiliated when they least expect it!'' it insulted.

Holding a groan, Navarro pushed the button of the soul collector to catch its prey, but the yellow-orange rey missed the fast target. Soon, Matzarathulu was out of their line of sight deeper into the small forest. Everyone looked at Navarro, not even moving.

''You don't want to catch it?'' Harold seeked.

''….Not right now, I'm not falling for a potential trap.'' Felix explained. ''And thanks to some new infos, it's clear what we must do now: our top priority is getting Fred's father safe and sound!''

Everyone lifted their eyebrows, even Willard was a little taken aback by that new planning.

''Wait, so for once you agree with me? In what grounds?!'' the latter exclaimed.

''Can't explain here! Everyone, gather the gadgets, we'll retreat temporarily to prepare supplies for our netherrealm hunt!'' the PI chief ordered.

That's what everyone did, and once all was gathered. Three of the PIs got very close to Harold, once again using teleportation to make everyone, himself included, disappear.

''Wait, hold the backstory!''

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That voice was coming from Kira. Back in the present, everyone was quite attentive to Navarro's story and quite skeptical about one aspect.

''Matzarathulu was one of your cases?'' Kira asked.

''Not directly, but as I started to think in that time: this demon had some colleration with our initial case. …….You know that ''raisin-ator'' I passed you once?! Well……'' he interrupted himself as he saw Casey and Daemona snapping their fingers as a found idea. ''Well…it seems you figured out the rest.'' he added, smiling.

Daemona moved forward, scratching her head.

''But there's something I quite don't catch, Navarro. Clearly you're more involved than we thought in one of our past cases, so we know it probably didn't end well on your side….so….what is the point you're trying to make? How does that fit our quarrel?'' the leader of the current PIs questionned.

''Yeah, I mean there's a 100% statistic that Matzarathulu was-''

Casey's remark was immediately interrupted by Jericho bumping him with his elbow.

''Shhht, spoilers.'' the latter shushed.

''Don't you ''shhht, spoilers'' me , we were HERE! What do you think this is? A TV series?'' Casey argued.

Not directly paying attention to that little exchange, Navarro started to resonate, the more he moved forward in his small rant, the more serious he got.

''Look kids, I know there's some chance you think that story is long. But everything happens for a reason, some things you don't know yet happened in that case! The known and the unknown that had consequences and that back then it was not the appropriate time to give all the details. If you want to see my point, you need to get el panorama, and it's only when I'll give you all the pieces of this puzzle that it will fit….you're all very shrewd in case-solving so I think you'll get it along the way.''

Approving while smiling slyly, Daemona patted Navarro's shoulder.

''Alright, I'm believing you. To be honest, I quite like hearing stories about how my grandparents and you kicked butt.'' she boasted.

''I don't doubt it.'' Navarro answered, with a complicit smile.

While Daemona went back to her friends, all attentive, Navarro cleared his throat and pursued his story.

''So, my team and I did a temporary retreat. But not to your grandmother's house, Daemona. After all, we all had small hideouts for our gadgets or reunions, thanks to our horror novel fanclub front. Places like…..this very one where you're listening to me right now.''

Everyone gasped.

''Wait, your shop existed in the 50s?'' Kira promptly asked.

''Come on: Navarros repairs, you think I was the only one with Navarro as a last name?'' the named jaded, crossing his arms.

''...Wait....oooooh ''Navarros repairs'' I thought it was Navarro's repairs like YOUR repair, an apostrophe!'' Jericho revealed, like he had an epiphany.

''But wait...that means...'' Daemona started, hesitating.

The mentor stood up to look out in the same closet he was cleaning long moments ago, he took some time, but he took a picture frame, came back to his place, and showed it to the four kids in the room…

….On the center of the frame was Navarro himself…way younger, at 9 years old, wearing striped white shirt. Right to him was a middle-aged man looking a lot like him in face, but with a mustache and similar hairstyle, only it was more black and no lavender; only some grey at the sides of his hair, wearing a chic suit.

Left to the child in the photo was a woman with a middy hairstyle who seemed at the end of her thirties: made up with a lipstick and earrings; wearing a short-sleeved dress with a loop on her collar

It was hard to tell the colors since the frame was completly black and white, however, what lacked in emotion on that side was mirrored by how happy the two adults were holding the dear kid close to them, faces close to each other, looking straight at the camera….

…And though everywhere understood the elephant in the room, it took some time before someone answered.

''Y-Y-You had parents?!'' Jericho just said out of nowhere.

''……Like every newborn human in existence had at one point you mean?'' Navarro asked.

''You know what I meant by that.'' the ginger kid awkwardly answered, blushing a little.

''I know I know, I'm just kidding.'' the adult laughed, scratching his soul patch.

Holding the picture at the palm of his hands and moving his arms across the room, he continued talking.

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Back to the 50s, in ''Navarro repairs'' , Felix was the first to enter there with his dirty leather jacket in one hand and an horror book on the other, he was followed by his friends who also had one book in hand.

Though the repairs first were established by Papa Rigo, his son, Ulises Navarro, already inherited the shop at that time. He was my father.

Ulises was rightly standing behind the counter, classifying the tools in compartments while peeking small gazes at the small television standing on another counter. Navarro's mother was also there, wearing a squared yellow-orange dress, just putting a plate of snacks right towards the main counter. Adjusting her brown middy hair, she was the first to see her dear son entering.

''Hola, Felixito!'' She waved full of joy. ''Hola, mamà!''

My mother, Tatiana, was mostly a stay-at-home woman but she would occasionally help or give food in the shop, and that day where me and my friends had our retreat meeting there….it was no exception!'

Uli in turn noticed all the greetings and put an hold on what he was doing.

''Oh, hola mijo. Perdón por no haberte visto, la tele me tiene distraído'' the dad excused, pointing at the television.

(Original drawing by @beatleswings)

Yeah...when we were speaking between us, it was in our native language, even with our friends in front.

The dad looked at his three companions with a polite smile.

''……Veo que trajiste a tus amiguitos.'' Ulises Navarro remarked, looking at Willard in last.

''Sí…. ¿Está bien si leemos nuestros libros allí?'' Navarro asked, showing his horror book.

Looking at his mother, he then got rid of his leather jacket, who was still stained by all the goop despites being melted and taken off.

''Oh, mamá, ¿puedes lavar mi chaqueta, por favor?'' Felix kindly demanded, handling his jacket to his mom.

''Claro que puedo, cariño.'' Tatiana approved, she took the jacket but looked at the mess with a concerned look. ''Pero…..¡Dios mío! ¿Qué tipo de juego estabas jugando para ensuciarlo así?"

''Bueno, el mundo está lleno de sorpresas.” Felixito awkwardly excused, scratching his head.

Meanwhile, the mustachioed dad took a long gaze at the television, the news were talking about a man called ''Brandon Kenneth'' , a detective who disappeared near Omega Alpha Pi.

....Seeing some of the fraternity members acting all sympathetic while being interviewed, Ulises wasn't fooled: he was aware of the fraternity's reputation, and the thought of its contents made him grimaced.

"Ergh, y pensar que hay gente que no tienen decencia ni dignidad'' Navarro's father groaned at his source of disgust.

But he then looked proudly at his son.

''¡Pero no eres como ellos! ….Felix, prométeme que cuando tengas la edad de ir a la universidad, en dos semanas, que no sigues el mismo camino y piensas en lo que te enseñamos.'' the mustachioed dad said, hand on Felix's shoulder. “Oh papá, ¡no te preocupes!” his son happily said.

Me? Getting into clubs like that when I'll go to university? My dad didn't even need to worry about that, he taught me good values.

Looking proudly at his three friends, Tatiana Navarro grew a smile, though she hesitated looking at Willard a little.

''Hablando de que, you three are really something else. Mi Felixito is the youngest of yours and you're kindly waiting for him to be your age so you can go to universidad all together. No dos like yours!'' the mom complimented.

Yes, Though my parents were used to speak in their first language when alone or only with me, they always managed some english when my friends were here, even if it was not perfect.

''Oh, it's nothing madam, after all, we have the same interests, we intend to stay together a good amount of time!'' Harold warranted, moving his glasses downwards as a sign of polite salute.

''Yeah, plus your son is really mature and kind-hearted. He'll go far.'' Mary added, hands on Felix's shoulder.

''Mature, but still a child de corazón, that's all that matters.'' Ulises said, patting his dear son's hair.

Willard, the only one who hasn't said anything so far, cleared his throat.

''I'm sure you've got a lot of things to say, but if it's OK we would like to borrow Peter Pan here for a second, after all we have books to read.'' Will Plowright rudely said.

Tatiana wasn't the only one awkward to that question, Harold too. Nobody saw it, but he side-eyed Willard with contempt...was it something he said?

Holding a smile but eyes gazing at Willard with a lot of inner thoughts that probably wouldn't be pretty for Mary to read, Tatiana nodded.

''Sure, avanzar. But I can't say I'm a fan of these types of libros. I'd prefer for you to read them en esa mesa over here" she said, pointing at a table far away from customers.

And they complied, a little far away from the counter, they all sat together on the table and opened their book while Navarro's parents continued to work in the shop. Some customers were entering but didn't really pay attention to the fanclub of four young adults.

….But in fact, the horror novels were not horror novels, but books of documentation about kinds of sprites, ghosts, demons, elementals, kinds of portals: in a nutshell, the kind of things the 50s PI could face on a regular basis and that most of the time they noted themselves. They cleverly attached normal paranormal novels covers on it so they could read it anywhere.

There was complete silence from all four of them a long time, but Felix finally opened with a sentence.

''OK guys, the samples we analysed at Mary's attic matches with Matzarathulu, I guess that nothing about that demon is already noted.'' the leader briefed.

''Unless it's in one of Mustapha's strange books from Lugosi Junior High, highly improbable.'' Harold thought.

Willard raised his index while lowering his book.

''How about we call that whiny little flying potato demon we already met….what was his name again…..Jinxie?! I think he has a chart that can help us!'' Will suggested nonchalently.

''¿Estás loco? Not in this public place! Everyone will see it!'' Felix loudly whispered, tapping his finger on his temple gazing straight at his teammate.

Not paying attention to Willard's sigh, Navarro went to a blank page and started noting things, while drawing a quick sketch of Matzarathulu.

"Besides, when I was alone with this demon, I bought some time by acquiring some infos about him.'' he said, showing the page he filled so far.

The three other PIs looked at the quick sketch, of course it was unfinished, but they found it was quite ressembling so far. Navarro the leader then went back to writing notes by turning his book around.

''Matzarathulu, the spirit of humiliation in a form of a demon of….cheese? Like the name said: humiliation is the source of energy that powers him up. And what better source of infinite energy than a fraternity that pulls disturbing initiation stunts like Omega Alpha Pi. With enough energy, he could be unstoppable.'' the PI chief described.

Putting her own book on the table, Mary joined her fingers, looking directly at her friend Felix Navarro.

''So, let's resume what happened in a nutshell: One week ago, Matzarathulu created a nethergate connected with our world to find energy nourishement; then one week later this very day he comes out of his temporary hideout somewhere in the forest, leaving some dirty trail; he sees the argue with Frederik and his father with an energy so negative that his nethergate opens.'' the girl briefed.

''Then, the demon tries to get rid of the witnesses that saw the portal in question opening and grasp something to not be sucked in it. Matzarathulu throws his melted cheese, AKA goop, at Fred's father, but misses the latter.'' Harold pursued with his friend's line of thought.

Deep in thoughts, Felix pointed at Harold as a signification to his last line of thought.

''No realmente, I don't think that last part happened in the way we think.'' Felix then revealed.

''What?'' the rest of the PIs said.

''I tempted a bluff to make him spill the beans, but Matzarathulu was categorical: he was not aware someone was dragged in his nethergate. I think what really happened is that with the force of a suction, one of his young trails got attracted towards the portal and it hit the unlucky detective.'' the latino-american leader concluded.

Harold was tempted to believe his friend, but he had his own doubts. Head negating, he gazed at Felix.

''And you would believe that reasoning? From the bad guy itself?'' Hal argued.

''For once, I'm tempted to agree with Navarro, Hal.'' Willard added. ''Think about it: even if witnessing humiliation gives probably less energy than causing it yourself, why would he focus on only one person? There's like a really good amount of people and humiliation in the fraternity he worships so much!''

Even if Harold was attentive to what Willard said, he seemed to look at him with some grief, the same look he was side-eyeing earlier.

''I wish you had that energy way sooner than this case you know.'' Hal complained.

''So what, you're going to blame me for being cooperative now?'' Willard supplemented, with a tone of arrogance.

''Don't push your luck with that tone!'' Hal suddendly stood up rudely. ''Just because I sympathised with your past in Omega Alpha Pi doesn't give you the right to be rude.''

''You're the one who started it!'' Willard got up in turn

''Basta, you two!''

That last sentence, Felix said it as quiet as possible to avoid getting any of his parents or customers's attention, but he still got loud enough to get both members's attention. Still sat on his chair, the leader of the gang took a small breath before getting back to the briefing.

''Look, me too I first thought that demon was lying, but it's obvious that right now, he's only focused on that fraternity without directly interacting with it.'' the chief justified.

''Yeah, besides, me and Will did say during our trip to this repair that no OAP member was abducted or went missing during all that one-week period.'' Mary put her grain of salt.

Nodding, Navarro's eyes pupils then moved to Harold. Stern but without raising his voice, he continued to speak.

''So, Harold, as crazy as it might sound to you: Willard was right since the very beginning! I just had to take precautions as anyone would've done. Right now, Matzarathulu is not our priority! I promise we'll neutralise him, however, that detective Kenneth has been in the netherrealm long enough and who knows what he must feel right now!'' Navarro concluded, with empathy.

Hesitant due to his problem with Willard, but still respecting his best friend's choices, Harold stood up.

''All right all right…of course we'll help the poor guy first. After all, it's probably why you've brought us all to your father's repairs in the first place, right?'' the bespectabled young adult brought up with a complicit smile.

''Exactly….been hiding some inventions in the garage nearby, we must be prepared for that small hunt through the netherrealm. Follow me!'' Navarro ordered, standing up.

Everyone followed him going away from the place, though Willard was more close to the leader than his other friends. On the way, said leader waved goodbye to his parents, who were now without customers. His father waved back looking at him, but his mother Tatiana seemed to devert her gaze towards someone else, a gaze that her son followed.

With his usual pouty and frowned look, Willard looked at Navarro's parents for some time, but he ended up smiling, though still keeping his frown, almost never fully-opened eyes, waving at Ulises and Tatiana. With a satisfied look, Navarro put his arm around Willard, going away.

Even if my parents tried hard to hide it, I always knew they had some kind of apprehension towards Willard……..in a way I could say I understand, after all, he wasn't the kind to smile often. I remember me, Mary and Harold being quite intimidated by his look when we first saw him…..Willard Plowright, a new student in Lugosi Junior High since 1955.....

Then, almost to voluntarily connect with Navarro's narration. Ulises and Tatiana started talking between them, in their native language, with worried looks.

"A veces no entiendo a este Willard…no sé qué ve mi Felixito en él" Tatiana began.

"Yo tampoco…pero después de todo…siempre hay una buena razón, confío en el criterio de nuestro hijo". Ulises resonated

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In the repairs's basement, Mary was guarding the stairs, using her telepathy in that zone to see if anybody went nearby, meanwhile, Navarro ransacked stocked shelves under Harold and Willard's curious looks.

''Hmmm…I think I put them in a big box if I remember well.'' the ransacker mumbled to himself.

Then, on the bottom shelf, pulling a big box way behind other boxes, he finally got what he was looking for. Harold and Willard moved towards the box while Mary followed them, still in telepath mode.

Into the box were three gadgets: a second soul collector; a strange vacuum; and what seemed to be a brown squared container with a red button on the backside, a lightbulb on top, a pulley on the right side, an antenna and a cannon on the front.

''Hey, I thought we lost that thing!'' Harold said, pointing at the third gadget.

''The morph box? We didn't, I just allowed myself to put some modifications on it.'' Felix informed.

Stopping her telepathy for some time, Mary pointed at the second object: the vacuum in its vibrant colors.

''And what's this? Did you just built it?'' Mary asked.

With a surprising force, Felix Navarro took the vacuum with his two hands, showing it to his friends.

''The VacuumOrmal, damas y caballeros!'' the little inventor introduced. ''A really light vacuum specifically made for capturing ghosts or monsters. You adjust the power according to the type of monster and WOOSH, you contain him in.'' he explained, showing the buttons.

Hand on his chin, with a deceptive tone, Willard cleared his throat.

''And there's no braces to wear it on our back?'' he commented.

''………No.'' Navarro just said avoiding Will's gaze, feeling a little shameful. ''However it's very mobile, watch!''

Showing the wheels and putting it on the ground. A big push from Navarro's foot made the VacuumOrmal move very fast towards the other side of the room.

Crossing his arm, Willard did not seem convinced.

''You take that handy side from your father, admirable! However sometimes I don't get how your mind works….the morph box, seriously?'' Will reviewed.

''Never question my science.'' Felix said, waving his finger, keeping his smile.

Harold moved on the back to take the vacuum by the handle, rolling it with him towards the gang.

''I'll take that vacuum, if I can teleport with it, it'll be very useful!'' Hal proposed.

''Dibs on the morph box!'' Mary said, running to pick the said gadget, excited like a child.

Navarro then took the second soul collector and threw it to Willard, who catched it without hesitation.

''I could manage myself with only my powers you know….but all right, I'll take it!'' Willard scoffed.

''Good, that means we each have one self-defense equipement, I hope you're all ready for the rescue mission, it risks to not be a piece of cake!'' Felix warned, getting serious and putting a light topaz detective coat.

No words were needed for reassuring, everyone nodded.

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Once again, all the 50s PI team parked their car very far away from the fraternity so it could not be associated by the perimeter of cops that started investigating on their side.

Hiding behind bushes, the team were all here. Navarro and Willard each had their soul collector, Mary was holding the morph box and Hal had the vacuum. They all had a backpack on them, for what seemed to be parachutes. Also, Mary wore a green coat superimposed on her dress to have more ease hiding things on herself.

Felix Navarro got a map out of his coat, everyone gathered close to each other, looking at it.

''Alright, if Frederik noted it well…..this is where the nethergate appeared.'' Felix Navarro pointed at an x on the left of the map where a fence and a crossroad were drawn. An arrow pointing right on the right on the sheet was written ''Omega Alpha Pi house''.

''People must have been very dimwitted to not see that nethergate appear in that open space.'' Will insulted.

''Tell me how many times you used negativity right at this precise space then we'll talk about it.'' Mary jested, looking at her jaded friend.

Keeping a long distance from the fraternity where all the cops were present, everyone clinged on Harold so he could teleport himself, his teammates and the gadgets to safe hiding spaces, avoiding any trouble with authorities.

This particular parkour continued until they teleported into a small soccer field, not so far away from behind the fence where the nethergate appeared according to Frederik's hand-drawn map. The Phantom Investigators gazed around the area…..two polices car were parked right in front of the messy area, with two cops in their uniforms of that time looking at it, a man and a woman.

''Rats, why are they here?!'' Will complained quietly.

''Probably investigating the mess the nethergate has caused while it opened.'' Harold deducted.

''Anyhow….if we must open it again, it will not help to have more causalties.'' Mary commented.

''Indeed….we have to find a way to make them go away from here…sugerencias?'' Felix then proposed.

Willard stared at the single circular red beacon that each police car had that was flashing.

''I think I have an idea.'' Will then said.

Leaving his soul collector behind, the lone wolf PI got closer to the area of police cars, but not close enough so the two cops would see him. He used his power reflecting to absorb the light of both beacons and rendered them off. Then, he quickly got away while the two cops noticed the problem.

''Wait, our signal doesn't work!'' said the female cop.

''Weird….I'm gonna check the inside.'' the male cop proposed, getting in his own car.

Checking the whole scene with his friends, Harold was a little doubtful.

''I doubt that trick will make them go away.'' the aforementionned confusingly said.

''No wait….there must be a radio transceiver inside this car…..Mary?!'' Felix looked at her.

''I already see what you mean!'' Mary said, approaching in turn.

Closing her eyes, fingertips on her temples, Mary focused strongly to project her telepathy right into one of the transmitters, the very one that was in front of the cop who was checking the inside of her car. Then, after a few short statics, her voice was heard through the transceiver, it spoke to the policeman.

''Code red, code red, all cops must go to Omega Alpha Pi immediately, important clues found.'' Mary's voice alerted.

Without any questions, the cop then started his car, his comrade went to see him.

''Wait, what are you doing?''

''We all must go to that darned fraternity, I think it has something to do with Inspector Kenneth's disappearance!'' the driver cop alerted.

''But what about that mess here?!'' his coworker argued, showing the small traces of goop and small objects scattered around.

''Probably a prank from some troubled lads, now follow me!'' the cop nonchalently ordered.

While the two members of the force went away in their own cars, the four PIs hurried themselves towards the messy area, gadgets in hand, Harold looked at Mary with admiration while running.

''You're cute when you break the law.'' Daemona's future grandfather complimented at her, with a complicit tone.

''Don't think for one second that will become an habit.'' Mary sassed back with flirty eyes and a smile forming, gazing at Harold.

''Alright, we don't have much time before they come back, so we must open this nethergate qui-''

Navarro didn't even have the time to finish his sentence, everyone noticed that the nethergate slowly opened as they got closer, and the wind got stronger, they then stopped their sprint, speechless.

''But….wait….we didn't even do anything yet!'' Hal dreadfully said.

"Th-th-…the negative energy is THAT strong?!'' Mary questionned, shivering with fear in her voice.

As the wind attraction intensified towards the portal, everyone hold clutch to their weapons.

''Whatever opened that thing, BRACE YOURSELVES!'' Navarro shouted.

While Willard was ready to jump with the action with open arms, the rest of the PIs screamed while being vacuumed into the nethergate……oh sure, they were aware of its contents and witnessed a lot of things in their past cases….

….but it was always another story being directly involved in what was told in the books.

To be continued

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

Bonus

Translation of the spanish dialogues

''Oh, hi son. Sorry I didn't see you yet, the television was capting my attention'' The dad excused, pointing at the television.

He then looked at his three companions with a polite smile.

''……I see that you brought your friends.'' Ulisses Navarro remarked, looking at Willard in last.

''Yeah….I was wondering if we could read our books there if you don't mind?'' Navarro asked, showing his horror book.

Looking at his mother, he then got rid of his leather jacket, who was still stained by all the goop despites being melted and taken off.

''Also, mama, could you bring my jacket to clean?'' Felix kindly demanded, handling his jacket to his mom.

''Sure I can.'' Tatiana approved, she took the jacket but looked at the mess with a concerned look. ''But...my words! What kind of game did you play to get it dirty like that?"

''Well, the world is full of surprises.'' Felixito awkwardly excused, scratching his head.

-...-

(...) Ulises wasn't fooled: he was aware of the fraternity's reputation, and the thought of its contents made him grimaced.

"Ergh, to think some people don't have any limit of dignity or decency.'' Navarro's father groaned at his source of disgust.

But he then looked proudly at his son.

''But you're not like them! ….Felix, promise me that when you'll be of age of going to university in two weeks, that you won't go down that same path and think about what we taught you.'' the mustachioed dad said, hand on Felix's shoulder. “Oh dad, don't worry!” his son happily said.

-...-

''Sometimes I can't read this Willard....I truly wonder what my Felixito sees in him.'' Tatiana began

''Me too.....but after all, there's always a good reason, I trust our son's judgement.'' Ulises resonated.

#phantom investigators #fanfiction #fanart #handdrawing #fanfic #butterfly effect #chapter 3 #Daemona Prune #Jericho #Kira Williams #Casey #Felix Navarro #Harold Prune #Mary Beyer #Mary Prune #Willard Plowright

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ers210d · 2 years

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hi!!

i'm cass, i'm 20+, and use it/its pronouns.

this is my new AIBO/robot centric blog. i've been in and out of the aibo community for a few years now, but my love for robots and aibos has never died :)

my aibo pack, furbies, other robots + more under the cut!

my pack:

PETUNIA - ers-111 ASTRONOMICAL - ers-210 SULFUR-FULFUR - ers-210 DIAL-UP - ers-220 BEETLE - ers-312 WINRY - ers-7 LAN - ers-1000

other bots:

GOOP - ortomi g4 (TBN) - aibi BAUBEE - 1998 furby MARLEYWAD - 1998 furby MIMIC - 1998 "furby" TALALAY - long furby baby ~20+ other furbies! they will be added here when i post about them in specific

misc:

CHEESE, BERRYBUG, MOLD, & REESE - ers-1000 mini figures SHIT-LORD - fur babies world OH, WORM? - furby buddy

#.txt #botblr #aibo #robots #furby #furby fandom

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lemonslicegutz · 4 years

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Rating Desperate Acts of Capitalism episodes but the only criteria is how much i like them. (of course its just my opinion)

@desperate-acts-of-capitalism

1. episode 13, will.i.am this episode is hilarious and so chaotic to me. sometimes catch myself quoting it.

2. Episode 24, Samsung Galaxy note 7. Exploding phones. even after listening to it on repeat for what might be days by now. its still hilarious.

3. Episode 23 Arnell. The pepsi document is only a small part of this, i have no real way to explain it but. The orange joke at the end of it made me laugh so hard, i ended up in a coughing fit. (i think CT should be allowed a racecar bed, as a treat.)

4. episode 9, JCPenny The Ron johnson song is stuck in my head and the stupidity of this episode makes me love it.

5. episode 15, Fyre Festival, this is third cause while its still hilarious to me, its just beat out by the other 2.

6. episode 8, Wework (part 2) its wework what can i say (its ranked higher than part 1, because i heard this part first-)

7. Episode 7, Wework (part 1) The chaos. The sheer chaos of this company, despite never looking at it myself, its so chaotic. Crawlers bit killed me. Low down however as im scared they might bring Nutrient vape into the world

8. Episode 20, Theranos. i end up listening to this one on repeat for hours as background noise, so as entertaining as it is while listening to it, i still do not remember a singular thing of it apart from "broken glass blood smoothie".

9. Episode 12, Dr. Dolittle. my sides always hurt after listening to this episode. The movie was a mess, but its hilarious to listen to.

10. Episode 14, Goop. Hilarious, however sometimes i just forget it exists and do not remember it until i see it.

11. Episode 4, Rainforest cafe/RadioShack. Very good to listen to while playing minecraft. the babboon bit always gets me.

12. Episode 11, Fear factor. Hilarious, if you can get over some of the grosser stuff. wouldnt recommend if you have a weak stomach or get upset or animals getting hurt.

13. Episode 5 Juicero/Toys R US. The juicero bit is hilarious and thats the most i remember because listening to the Toys R US bit makes me sad from nostalgia.

14. Episode 2 Moviepass/McDonald's

The Moviepass part is hilarious and just, so, so stupid. would reccomend a listen to this episode specifcally.

15. Episode 1 Sears/Imagemovers Digital. Sears part is hilarious. its number 15 because it reminded me that 'Mars needs moms' exists and now i cant forget about it.

16. Episode 17, Cats. I dont know how to describe this one, best you just listen to it.

17. Episode 29 Google Glass (part 1) is funny, and just weird, not much else i can say

18. Episode 30 Google glass (part 2) same as above.

19. Episode 21 Leadership Dynamics. From what i remember its funny, i really only remember "this here is the dicksmasher, ill let you guess what it does" but to be fair i dont have the best memory-

20. Episode 28 Failed Warby parker clones its funny, for some reason thought it was about mlm's at first? anyway, learned some stuff about advertising so thats fun!

21. episode 22, Disney's america i lost it at the ww section part, whole idea of it is a shitshow. Also made me wonder what just flavoured corn syrup would taste like.

22. Episode 16 Beenz.com i remember laughing to it, so its funny atleast- but i cannot remember it for some reason?

23. Episode 31, John McAfee My god its hilarious but also like beenz.com, do not remember it??

24. Episode 10, the google barge Laughed about the cube, dont remember it though. Most likely what google wants.

25. episode 3 Cheesecake factory/blockbuster video. Adapt or die i guess? its funny- would recommend if you want to just start off.

26. episode 6 The Oogieloves\Crystal Pepsi & New coke. the first part is funny! but i guess kinda forgetable?

27 & 28. Episode 18/19 Tulipomania. Funny, but a lot of info (for me personally- but again these are just my opinions)

29. Episode 27 Spider-man: Turn off the dark cursed and hilarious, but i dont like spiderman- and dont remember much of it-

30 & 31: episode 25 & 26 Nolan Bushnell Funny! but im putting it low on the list because they might have cursed Chuck E Cheese and i feel like that just contributed to the hell of 2020 overall podcast is 100/10 will continue to recommend to my family and friends

#desperate acts of capitalism #podcast #rating #i cant remember half of these #cause i listen to their show when im gonna #fall asleep #or havent slept in a day #love the podcast tho

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ladymaigrey · 4 years

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NYC Midnight 1000-word flashfic comp - Round 2

So - here’s my entry for the 2nd round of the comp:

Genre: Suspense Location: a playground Must contain object: a night light Rated: T Warnings: a bit of horror imagery and the protagonist is a 9 year old girl. Credits: to the Little Monster (that’s my daughter), who gave me an inspirational idea. Make of it what you will. :D

The Trail Back Home

“Here, sweetie, have some more. It’s your favourite. Just how you like it, more cheese than macaroni.” The girl’s mother dipped the stringy goop onto the plate without waiting for an answer, the ladle trembling against the china.

“Sit down, Lorna.” Her dad reproached yet again. “Eat something.”

The movement of his own fork remained sporadic, his eyes fixed on his daughter hunched over in her chair across the table. She looked smaller than she did a week ago, fitting ill into the outline of the carefree child that dwelled in his mind.

“Doc Woodsman gave me a call again today,” he said. “Wanted to know if you remembered anything, sunshine?”

“No, dad. I was just lost. All I remember is lotsa trees, and being real cold and tired.”

She looked cold and tired still, wane and flaxen, as if her natural golden light remained lost in the damned woods, which began just on the other side of the road, beyond the playground.

“Don’t push her, Jeff,” his wife interrupted his fretting. Then she turned back to their little girl. “What would you like for breakfast, honey?”

“I don’t mind.” She shrugged over the still-full plate. “Just not porridge, OK?” Her brown eyes stared into her parents’ drawn faces. “May I be excused?”

----------

She couldn’t stomach her favourite food any more than she could stomach lying to her mum and dad. But in her nine short years on earth (and would she even reach the longed-for double digits?) she grew an instinct on what she could and couldn’t tell her parents. Telling them of that clearing, with its hunter’s shack, in the depths of the forest, was firmly in the “couldn’t” category. She felt it, in their careful voices and their clinging hands, that her disappearance from the playground had shaken the safety of their world. The knowledge of what she saw in that cosy shack - of what she ran from, with sleep in her eyes and feet tangling in the undergrowth – was beyond anything her parents could accommodate without sending her to doctors and shrinks. And, maybe, to the padded shadow-less cells, and jackets with straps.

She wasn’t going to end up there, no matter how many nights she spent staring at the pool of star-speckled blue cast by her night-light, wishing that the intensity of her stare would counteract the paranoid straining of her ears. Yet, they mercilessly picked up the creaks of the chain of the swing in the playground, the scratches against the metal slide, the rhythmic clack and grind of the tiny merry-go-round. It could’ve been the wind playing like a toddler, tossing handfuls of nature’s flotsam, but she knew that, if she could listen just a little bit harder, she would catch the bellow of her stalkers’ nostrils, as they sought the tell-tale signs of her presence.

She had loved that playground. It was the base camp from which all her adventures began. Starting with the treks to the sandpit and the seesaw, then the conquests of the tallest mountains: the monkeybars, the spiderweb. Later still, towards the edge of the woods to explore the wispy paths left by beings unseen and, heretofore, unthreatening.

Mindful of her parents’ admonitions, she had never ventured farther than the reach of voices. Until last week. Until that foolish second, or third, or twentieth turn she took in pursuit of some quarry that she could, now, barely recall. And then she was lost.

And then she was found by a grizzly snout and five curved razors.

The night was here again. She could no longer avoid the rituals of soap and toothpaste and pyjamas, no matter how much she whined to remain in the living room. Her parents were adamant in their hope that a good night’s sleep would restore their joyful golden girl. So, she was back in her bed, with her eyes burning in the night-light’s glow, and dread mixing with the macaroni-and-cheese in her stomach, waiting for the sounds of shuffling and grunting and scratching to return.

When they did, she was empty. The terror had eaten out her insides surer than the monsters would have. There was nothing left now, except hollow determination: her trespass had created the trail back to her, and it was up to her to erase it.

She left the swirl of the calming light behind, as she slipped out the window to drop onto the dirt beneath the starry void. The playground across the road was stark in the absence of movement or sound. It was here though. One of them. A dark mass curled by the slide, its bulk swallowing the forlorn rays that still streaked from the window of her room, begging for her to return.

She approached on tiptoes, legs barely moving. Her voice was even more reluctant to comply, croaking instead of calling.

“Why did you follow me? What do you want?”

The shape stirred and rumbled.

“Look, I am sorry I came into your home. I was lost and tired and hungry. I am sorry I ate your food and broke your chair and slept on your bed. I promise, I’ll never ever bother you again! So, would you please leave me alone now?”

The thing rolled out with a stunning speed and unfurled in front of her, standing on its hind paws, its snout barely level with her chest. Its yellow gleaming eyes looked up at her. The black pebble of its nose twitched and snuffled down her arm to her hand. Then the bear cub sat back on its haunches and mewled like an overgrown cat in need of food and scritches.

“What are you doing here?” Goldilocks said, horror evaporating into lightheadedness. “Are you lost?”

The little bear mewled again, this time in agreement.

Goldilocks smiled and reached down to touch its paw.

“Well, lets first find you some food and, then, the way home.”

#nyc midnight #writing competition #suspense #horror #original fiction #mypost

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ngame989 · 5 years

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“Soul” - TGG SVTFOE Fanfic Collection Ch. 9

Writing: @ngame989

Art: @toxicpsychox

Editing: @ubercelloczar, @toxicpsychox, @seddm

Alternate fic links - FFnet, AO3

Summary: It's that time of the year for another Soulrise, and Tom throws Marco the birthday bash of a lifetime to celebrate, but Marco realizes that underneath all the joy and celebration Tom has a storm of emotions brewing inside. When Star gets dragged into some mysterious mission on the surface, it's up to Marco to realize just what's been bothering his demon friend.

Comic Page

Masterpost

And we're back with another chapter! Things are ramping up a bit, and we have plans for probably the next dozen chapters in the works already with a few special events in the mix. Thanks for sticking around, and stay tuned for more. Hope you enjoy!

“A little to the left.” Tom hovered above the door and moved a massive cloud of dark blue balloons slightly over in the wrong direction, glancing up at her to check. “My left, honey.” He nodded and shifted them back. A little more, a little more, and… “There. Nice work, Tommypoo,” Wrathmelior affectionately growled in her native tongue while reaching down to rustle her smiling son’s hair. When Tom suggested throwing a party for a friend she hadn’t met yet, the same boy who had been the subject of quite a few mother-son heart-to-hearts in years past, some old concerns had bubbled up in the back of her mind. But she couldn’t bear saying no for long, and it wasn’t long until she was more than happy to volunteer the Lucitor lake house for the occasion.

Tom’s enigmatic friend Janna popped her head out the front door with a sly grin that would put many of the devils Wrathmelior personally knew to shame. “Yo Tommypoo, can I get a hand at the snack table?”

All three of his eyes popped open and cast intense glares back and forth between Janna and Wrathmelior. “You even taught her that?” he groaned incredulously at the latter.

Wrathmelior smiled apologetically. “Sorry, sweetie. She’s quite persuasive.” Janna had been spending enough time in the Underworld that Wrathmelior had given her a few crash courses in conversational demonic, enough to get by on her own when she tagged along with whatever Tom was doing in the kingdom. Though she was still difficult to figure out, they got along swimmingly. So many humans seemed either too scared or concerningly excited about the lava, wings, and horns they might encounter down below, and Janna’s cool enthusiasm was refreshingly welcome.

“Guilty as charged.” Janna pointed finger guns at Tom as he walked through the door and they disappeared into the house.

Wrathmelior went into the more appropriately sized entrance into the kitchen, where by the time she arrived Tom and Janna were putting out plates and napkins. Her husband was there as well and had apparently been receiving a cooking lesson from Star for some time now, judging by the lecture she was giving him. “-can’t do this too early or the chips will get totally mushy and gross. Crunchy chips, molten cheese, crisp pico - all required elements for any Marco-approved nachos.” Star instructed before bending down to grab a tray full of chips out of the oven, setting it down on the counter next to the other supplies. “If you pour juuuuuust right, the cheese will get all in between the chips so you get a little with every bite.” Dave solemnly followed her work as the jumbo bowl was filled with a quantity of triangle chips, yellow goop, and vegetables that gave even the full-sized demon pause. “Voilà! Star’s Super Spectacular Nachos!” Everyone grabbed a sample chip, and just as she said, a little bit of everything seemed to work its way through the dish.

“Mmmmph,” Dave grunted. “These are good. Star, can you teach the castle staff how to make this marvelous thing?”

“Honestly, I’m not that good at it, Marco and I have just been cooking a ton lately. Campus food is both really expensive and really crummy.” Star stuck her tongue out in disgust. While the others, Wrathmelior included, tried and failed to stop eating, Star wandered through the living room and looked around at all the decorations and party games that had been set up, her grin only growing wider as she did.

Tom leaned against the stairs with his hands in the pockets of his teal shorts, smirked as he coolly observed the room. “We are preeeeetty good party planners, aren’t we?”

“Aww yeah we are!” Star skipped over and bumped shoulders with Tom. “But honestly this was mostly you. Marco’s gonna love it.”

“You think?” Tom’s cocky demeanor fell away to the earnestness underneath. “Ah, it was nothing. I mean, sure, we’ve got a private beachfront property, the most state of the art ping-pong tables in the world, a live Love Sentence cover band… I mean, who wouldn’t do this for their friend’s 17th birthday?”

Janna slurped the stretchy cheese off her last chip before chiming in from the kitchen. “You’ve been spending, like, every waking moment on it, dude. Feels like we haven’t even hung out in weeks, buuuut it is pretty cool. Remind me to call you when I’m in the mood to throw a grave rave.” He flashed a casual toothy smirk, but there was an extra glint in his eyes that caught Wrathmelior’s attention. Janna sauntered into the living room to join the others. “So what’s the special occasion, Tom?”

Whatever that look had meant, it was quickly replaced with sheer confusion. “Uh, Marco’s birthday? Did you get bit by a Hippocampotamus or something? Those things are nasty.”

The Earth girl rolled her eyes. “I mean why all the fuss? This is basically the one human teenage birthday that isn’t extra special.”

“Whatever. Just wanted to throw an ultra awesome party for one of my best friends because he’s a super cool guy.” He quickly averted his gaze, eyes drifting around the room until they stopped on the elegant family grandfather clock. “Probably about that time, ready for me to send you back?” he asked, glancing sideways at Star.

“Oooooone sec.” Star ruffled her hands through her hair, brushed sand out of her light blue blouse, and stuffed her sunhat and sunglasses into her purse. “Sand would blow my cover.” Pillars of fire erupted in the wide open area of the living room as Tom’s eyes glowed, and the familiar carriage he’d built himself once upon a time quickly spawned from the ground. “See you in a few!” Star climbed into the seat; one sizzling rush of air later and she was gone. The irony of Star using the vehicle Tom had delicately crafted once upon a time in the service of wooing her to pick up her human boyfriend wasn’t lost on Wrathmelior, but there was no point to harboring any negativity if Tom was happy with it.

Out of the corner of her eye, Wrathmelior saw a smug Janna sneaking up behind Tom. He lightly shrieked when she slapped him on the back. “Good job, Lucitor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go set up the traditional Diaz prank. I’m pulling out all the stops this year.” When she opened her jacket, his eyes widened at the various weapons, gadgets, skulls, and animals hiding within. One of them stuck its furry head out. “I became the alpha possum just a few weeks ago. Scooter here can smell red hoodies through walls, isn’t that right?” She scratched the creature’s head before closing the olive jacket back up. “So, you want in?”

“Nah,” he scoffed, waving his hands dismissively. “You go ahead, do your thing. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of the master.”

“You flatter me. Suit yourself, see ya,” Janna shrugged and slinked off elsewhere in the cabin, leaving just the Lucitor family behind. Tom milled about the cabin making minute adjustments to the decorations and furniture, seemingly to kill time more than anything. What had him so worked up? There was no time for Wrathmelior to ponder this question, though, as a loud swoosh from the outside signalled the arrival of the carriage before she could even collect her thoughts.

Tom perked up and bolted out the door while Wrathmelior took the larger exit out the side. Just as the carriage doors opened, Tom snapped his fingers and summoned a black cloth, blinding the boy within whom she presumed to be Marco. “What the heck, man?” Marco curiously started the famous sword-hand dance, but Tom floated over and past him to peek into the chassis.

“Wait, where’s Star?”

“Moon needed her for a little bit, she said she’d be ready pretty soon but said I should go ahead. Can you get this thing off me?”

“Right, right, sorry,” he stuttered while fumbling with the knot until it came undone. “Anyway, welcome to the Lucitor family lake house!”

“Surprise!” The Lucitors spoke in unison, although Wrathmelior knew she wouldn’t be understood. “Happy birthday!”

His eyes widened in wonder at the massive quantity of balloons and the big sign that greeted him. “Wooooah, you guys, you didn’t have to!”

Tom put his arm around Marco’s shoulder and began walking him towards the door. “Don’t worry about it. Oh, Marco, meet my mom and dad, Queen and King Lucitor of the Underworld.”

“My pleasure, young man,” Dave warmly stated as he stepped forward to shake Marco’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Wrathmelior growled out with Dave translating.

Marco waved up at her, possessing the same unflinching assuredness that she’d noticed in Janna. “Tom’s told me a lot about you, thanks for having me. Just one question. Is there-”

“Ping-pong?” They said in unison, both their faces breaking into wide smiles before they’d even finished the word.

“If the brand-new Dropshot 720 DX model with real-time trajectory tracking and RGB paddles counts, sure.”

Marco excitedly grabbed Tom by the shoulders, shaking him back and forth. “With optional holographic crowd simulator?”

“Duh. Marco, please, I’m not an amateur.”

“What are we waiting for? The ping ain’t gonna pong itself.”

“We’ve got snacks and music and all sorts of other things, too. Ha, now I feel kinda silly, putting all this together and being the only one here when you show up. I totally understand if you want to go with Star instead, I’d never try to get in the way of, you know, the whole thing you two have.”

The human boy crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow in response. “Tom, you’re one of my best friends and you’re throwing me a ping-pong birthday party. If you think I don’t want to kick your butt until we’ve broken every last ping-pong ball in the kingdom, you’ve got another thing coming, buddy.” Both glanced down when his stomach loudly rumbled. “...but maybe, um, we start with the snacks.”

Wrathmelior cooed at the exchange as Tom wrapped an arm around Marco’s shoulder and led him into the house. So much had changed in the past few years, both above and below ground. Even if her own home and kingdom had been affected to the same degree as those of the surface-dwellers though, none of it would compare in Wrathmelior’s eyes to what she’d seen out of her son. With the ample time she’d had to reflect since the state of the world settled down, she might even say that he’d been the more mature one between them. The last time she’d played doting demon mom over her son’s relationships had gone… regrettably, to say the least, and it had hurt like heaven when he broke the news of what had happened. Could anyone blame her for wanting things to work out with the girl he’d spent years chasing? Most shocking of all was that he hadn’t even talked to her about it beforehand. Before she could even realize it, he’d grown into a capable young Prince of the Underworld solving his problems all on his own.

“Surprise, Diaz!” The moment of solemn reflection was interrupted by Janna’s voice from inside the house followed by a series of crashes and girlish shrieks. “Go, Scooter, go!” As the chaos unfolded, she could hear Tom simultaneously laughing to the point of breathlessness and blasting fire to defend Marco.

While she still couldn’t help but worry that something seemed off with Tom today - a feeling compounded by how little experience she had not being the first one to know what might be going wrong in his life - it was surprisingly easy to push aside. With the friendships he had, she felt at ease knowing he could handle it.

***

“Lava snakes up above you, Tom!” Marco launched up into the sky with a flurry of sword strikes to stun the enemies while Tom floated over to cover. Tom’s mage dropped icicles from the ceiling to pin the first of the bosses to the ground for Marco to execute. “Thanks.”

Meanwhile, Janna’s character dropped a smokebomb and used the cover to sneak up and eliminate the ranged attackers with his shotgun. “These stupid alien crabs won’t stop spawning,” she growled.

“It’s fine, keep on them. Obsidian lizard to your right, Marco!”

One of Tom’s gifts to Marco had been Threat of Wet 2, the hit sequel to the original action game Threat of Wet. He initially hadn’t been sure if it would be his sort of game but it only took a few minutes of endless heart-pumping mob-slaughtering multiplayer action to be hooked. Even if he was having fun, he wasn’t great at it, judging by the amount of nervous sweat he had to wipe off his brow in a rare free moment between dodging deadly lasers and spikeballs. He used an uppercut to alley-oop the lizard into Tom’s laser blast before dashing and slashing through it for the kill.

“Little help?!?” Janna shouted, tossing a stun grenade at the ravenous pack of creepy jesters clawing at her and rolling under a fallen pillar to regroup with the team. The horde got distracted and chased after one of their mini fighter drones, giving the group a moment of respite.

“Last ones, I think,” Marco said with a grimace. “Not sure what the best move is here, they’ll obliterate me.”

Janna snapped a finger and pointed at Tom. “You think we can pull off Tamalebolge here?” Marco had no clue what she was talking about, but Tom’s mouth slowly widened into an eager grin as he apparently understood what she was trying to say. They nodded with conviction and turned back to the game.

“Set the smokescreens, I’ll get in position. Marco, just follow me.” He went along with it and hunkered his swordsman down between two clouds of smoke blocking their vision while Janna laid out more in a straight line with gaps in between. Janna maneuvered her character towards the spooky clowns and shot a single pellet at them to get their attention. Once they began charging over, Tom started unloading every spell he had while moving backwards in and out of smoke patches.

The clowns kept moving forward, but seemed to be stuttering in a way that prevented them from ever successfully landing a hit. In a moment of confusion while Marco tried to process it, he got bodyslammed into the ground and instantly killed. “You’re dead… that was embarrassing,” the game’s message on his corner of the massive screen in Tom’s media room taunted. What the heck were they up to, and why was it working?

“Almost… almost… no!” Tom’s thumb slipped on the controller and Marco could literally see the fire in his eyes at the mistake. At the last second Janna rolled under the legs of their enemies and stunned them just as they were about to slam, finishing them off and displaying a message to proceed to the next level. Their characters sauntered over to the exit and halted for a moment while Tom and Janna proudly hi-fived in celebration… and in the half-second they’d looked away, a thin blip of flame from a single floating wraith pierced through both, killing them instantly. “OH, COME ON!” Yep, this game certainly was unforgiving.

Janna busted out laughing and patted Tom on the shoulder. “Dude, take it easy, that was sick. You were right, this was pretty fun.”

“Told you.”

“I’m afraid to ask, but what the heck is Tamalebolge?”

“There’s this place called Tamalebolge on the outskirts of the Underworld, we stopped there for lunch one day after Mom sent me to give a big box of eyeballs to the mayor there. Dunno why a town needed 10000 preserved eyeballs, but whatever.”

On the other side of the couch, Janna scoffed resentfully. “Lucky town.”

“Anyway, they had this tamale that was a bunch of layers that got spicier as you bit in, and it hurts because each time you hit one layer you let your guard down for the next so you get that burning feeling a bunch of times in a row. In one of our trips to the Librarinth we got cornered by some Decimatals and had the idea to put up a bunch of walls of fire, since they could-”

“Could never adapt to the fire because it wasn’t steady,” Marco finished with a hint of awe as the pieces clicked into place. “Dang, that’s really smart.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Janna exclaimed in a monotone, not even looking up from her phone. “Alright, Marco, what did Star say she was doing exactly? She hasn’t even asked for any pictures yet.”

Marco raised an eyebrow. “Well, Moon said she needed to borrow Star for a bit, but that was a few hours ago so…” Suddenly the weirdness of Janna’s last statement - well, compared to the baseline he expected from her - struck him. “Wait, pictures?”

“Yeah, dude,” she coolly responded, leaning over Tom and showing him an album with… how many pictures of him was that exactly? 500? 1000? He looked away before any more could load to just stare in complete indignant shock at his friend. “Anytime we hang out without her, Star asks me to, like, take pictures of you and send them to her. You haven’t noticed by now? Damn, I’m just that good.” She smirked and twirled her phone around, blowing on it like a smoking gun before holstering it in her pocket.

Tom folded his arms and leaned forward to stare Janna down. “Really? Star asks you to do this?”

“Yes. Well, I started it first. And sent a new shot every few minutes for weeks. And now she’s so used to it that me not doing it makes her think we all got eaten by weresharks, so whenever I stop she always asks what’s wrong. So yeah, basically she asks for them.”

From Marco’s position reclined into one end of the sofa, Tom had to twist himself around to shoot Marco an incredulous look and nudge his attention towards Janna as if to beam “Are you really gonna just let that slide?“ directly into his brain. “Whatever, I’m used to it. The most surprising thing is that you actually, y’know, send them to Star."

Janna finally devoted her undivided attention on Marco for a few seconds, assessing him with her cold and enigmatic expression before sighing. “I already had them and Star’s madly in love with you for some reason so why not? What, Diaz, I’m not allowed to do nice things for my friends now?” Leave it to Janna to make being kind of normal and thoughtful still creepy and weird.

“You know what, I’m just gonna message her,” Marco said, walking out of the room to clear his head and pulling out his phone to check in on Star. She could certainly handle herself, especially with Moon there, but he was still curious what could be making her miss a lot of the celebration that she herself had helped set up. After he’d sent the first, he hastily added on a second asking if she needed him for anything. OK, so maybe a little worried. It surprisingly only took a second before his phone dinged with a response.

“Mina’s back. Long story, not what you think, we’re fine here 👍. Kinda crazy tho. 😵 Will tell you later. 😈 acting a bit strange, stay and try to see why? 🤔 Also have fun, it’s your party!!!!🎊🥳🎉🎈 Hopefully will be done soon, would never miss 👻rise with you 💕💞💏 Love you 😘🥰😻”

Mina? Every bone in his body wanted to leap into action, but Star knew her better than probably anyone; if she said there wasn’t a problem, he’d trust that. The fact that something was up with Tom, on the other hand, demanded attention. Was there something strange going on? It hadn’t occurred to him, but now that the idea had been planted in his head, Tom wasn’t the first person he’d have expected to go through all this trouble. He was a great and thoughtful guy, sure, but weeks of detail-oriented planning seemed... a bit out of place for him. Like Star said, though, he should still just enjoy the day and there’d be plenty of time to try and sleuth out whatever Star thought was going on.

“Hey, man,” Tom said as he poked his head around the corner. “We’re going surfing, wanna come with?”

“Sure Tom, just one tiny problem: the water here is lava-”

Tom only smiled wider in response. “Come on, you’ll see.” The two headed outside where Wrathmelior and Dave were sunba- uh, stalactitebathing, he supposed? Marco wasn’t sure what the point was underground but, hey, maybe it was a demon thing. Janna, too, had already made her way outside and stripped down to an outfit more suitable for a lava beach. She appeared to be rubbing some sort of neon red goop all over herself, which stupefied him so much that he barely noticed she was wearing a pair of hot pink shorts. What kind of bizarro world had he entered?

When she finally noticed him, he quickly averted his gaze to avoid any suspicion. “Yo, Diaz, liking the view?” Too late. She put a cap on the bottle of goo and nodded in the direction of the lake. What was she up to? As Marco warily followed, he saw Tom swimming around in the lava unfettered. All of a sudden, Janna started running with intent towards the lake.

“JANNA, NO!” Marco surged forward to try and stop her but she had a headstart and was surprisingly fast on her feet. When she kicked off the sand to hurl herself into the lava, Marco’s eyes instinctively squeezed shut and let out a whimper despite knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that she had to have some sort of plan.

When Marco opened his eyes, Janna was completely unharmed and lazily treading lava. She ducked under to sneak up on the lazily backstroking Tom, rising up to grab him by the horns and dunk him. He flailed for a minute before bobbing back up and taking a big gulp of air.

“Janna, what the here?!? Not cool...” he paddled to shore and shook the excess molten rock from his ears before standing with Marco, careful to keep his distance since he still had some residual slag on him. “Can you believe that?”

There was no other way Marco saw fit to respond to that than look of pure incredulity. “Yes? Always? So, anyway, how is she not dead right now?”

“Full cocktail of fire and heat resistance. Mostly Earth sunscreen with some demon incantations courtesy of my parents. Seeps in and affects your hair and innards and even any tight clothing for perfect safety. There’s enough for you too, if you want.”

As if today couldn’t get any crazier, disbelief morphed into fight or flight instinct as he tried to keep himself calm. “...so I’m just supposed to rub something Janna is giving me all over my body… and- and then jump into lava? Are you insane? What if it makes my tongue sentient, turns my legs into pudding, o-o-or worse? Oh my gosh, i-it’s gonna kill me-” Well, so much for calm, the sole bit of his mind hanging on to rationality offered.

“Woah, man, easy. Deep breaths. Just offering.” Tom gently patted his back until his breath steadied. He sighed and looked away. “For the record, Janna is a pretty good friend, you know. I’ve actually liked doing all the princely political crap when she’s here, and- and she does help. A lot, actually. I get that she likes messing with you, and honestly dude, it is pretty funny sometimes. If you don’t want to risk it, I totally respect that, but…” Marco followed his gaze out towards the lake where Janna was trying to befriend a wandering hellbat. “She really does care, in her own way.” There was an emotional conviction there that impacted Marco on a level he wasn’t prepared for, and even after a lifetime of wariness around Janna he found himself trusting more in Tom’s vote of confidence in the here and now… plus lava surfing did sound pretty awesome. Was this what Star had meant about his behavior today? He made a mental note before turning his focus back to the present dilemma. In all his time as an interdimensional adventurer he’d piloted dragoncycles, trained in combat with the sharpest swords he’d ever seen, and flipped a horse made of pure magic while floating on the back of one of his best friends. Why not go for this?

“Alright, let’s do this,” Marco said, marching over to the towel that had been laid out on the sand and cautiously picking up the bottle at arm’s length as though it was a radiation hazard, which he couldn’t even be sure it wasn’t.

The bottle floated up out of his hands on a puff of smoke guided by Tom’s magic. “Heads up, though, the souls of the damned mixed in there can bleach pretty badly, so maybe don’t wear anything you care about. Janna ruined my perfectly good ‘cold as ice’ shirt testing it,” Tom pouted. Marco stripped off his hoodie and goblin dog t-shirt, finding them far too valuable to damage.

I didn’t care about these swim trunks that much anyway, he internally grumbled while he snatched the bottle from Tom and gingerly applied it to his skin. After giving the first gentle dab on his arm a minute to verify he didn’t turn into a pig-goat, he reluctantly spread it around the rest of his body. He was surprised to find that it soaked in even easier than regular sunscreen despite its incredibly visible color. The even more daunting step was trusting it to protect his skin from literal lava. Tom held up a small flame in his hand. Marco instinctively recoiled but allowed Tom to bring it closer as a test, and sure enough even once it came in direct contact with his skin he felt nothing beyond a weird air current and a gentle warmth with no damage left behind. The only step left was taking the plunge. Now or never, Diaz, he chanted as he walked towards the edge of the sand.

“Aww, does Marco need floaties?” Janna goaded, having moved back into wading level to witness Marco’s entry. One toe went forward, very delicately. Almost, almooooooost… and it was in! It probably took about 10 minutes for Marco to fully immerse himself in the boiling liquid, mostly by choice, although its viscosity made the prospect of freely swimming around seem tiring regardless of magical protection.

Tom’s parents had approached the shore during that time and applauded Marco’s efforts. Wrathmelior made some deep rumbling sounds that caused Tom and Janna to both snicker. Tom noticed Marco’s frown and waved reassuringly. “She just said you’re moving slower than the lava itself, but don’t worry dude, you’re only the second human who’s even tried this. You’re doing great!” Tom motioned towards his parents before taking a running leap into the lake and paddling over to Marco, patting his back and inviting Marco to hop on. “Remember that move we practiced? The Screeching Bat?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Think we can use it here?” he asked, pointing to the beginnings of a massive wave forming in the distance.

Despite all his reservations about every step thus far, one thing he knew he could always trust was his and Tom’s teamwork. They’d had each others’ backs even when their friendship should have been shattered to pieces by guilt and heartache, and it had only improved from there. Deep breath, Diaz. “Let’s do this,” he confidently declared, climbing onto Tom’s lower back and bracing his legs under Tom’s arms while he assumed his usual four-limbed propulsion flight position. “Wait, where’s Janna?”

As the rippling sea started to form a recognizable wave, the pair saw a creature emerge to ride the peak with Janna on its back. “I’m QUEEEEN OF THE UNDERWORLD!” she screamed as the three-headed sea-turtle-esque animal carried her along.

Wrathmelior waved her giant camera in the air and made another comment that instantly left Tom with face a few shades redder than normal as he turned away. Being new to the whole “dipping skin in lava” experience, Marco’s focus was too scattered to trust his own judgment on whether or not Tom’s reaction was just a trick of the heat. He didn’t have time to dwell on it further before Tom jostled under him. “Whatever. C’mon, Marco, let’s just do this thing. Keep steady and don’t push down too hard, the heat doesn’t bother me but it’s still not fun having my face skid on molten rock at highway speeds.” Marco nodded and Tom lifted them off of the surface before flying over to the waves, picking up speed as they went.

They lost track of time as they did loop-de-loops and pushed their moves to the limits, swimming over and under and through the most insane ocean waves Marco had ever seen. At one point, as Janna rode closer to the ground, Tom followed the curve of a wave until he was upside-down under the crest of the wave as it crashed down behind them. Marco let go of Tom’s neck and felt his heart pounding as he straightened out, letting his body dip down in their signature trick that earned this flight pattern its name. Come to think of it, this was the first time they’d even made use of any of the awesome combat patterns they’d spent weeks naming and practicing in the last year, but they’d had enough fun goofing off in the sky that it was its own reward. When the largest wave yet approached, Tom veered straight for it and carved a hole in it with a fire blast at the last second. Marco tucked himself closely onto Tom’s back as they blasted through, and he was so high on adrenaline that he couldn’t help but sit straight up and holler in victory right afterwards.

As it approached an hour since they’d set out onto the lake, they all headed back at Tom’s suggestion that the potion’s effect wouldn’t last. They were greeted with another assortment of snacks and drinks from Tom’s parents, giving their swim trunks some time to… whatever the lava equivalent of “dry” was... in the comfort of the living room. Janna grabbed a glowing green glass bottle and took a huge swig. Marco’s wary gaze on its contents must have lasted a bit long because Janna took notice. “Chill, this is just Underworld cow’s milk. Tastes the same as ours.” If anything, that freaked him out more, but he’d had enough of these moments throughout the day that he could just put up with it at this point. As Tom approached with some sort of large bug shells on a plate - thank heavens the Underworld imported Earth snacks now - Janna silently looked him up and down a few times. “So, Lucitor, I didn’t know you had those moves. If I knew you could float upside-down so easily…” she trailed off with implications Marco didn’t feel like trying to unpack. Tom could only babble incoherently in response until he sprinted off deeper into the house. “Ooooor not,” Janna grumbled before sinking into the couch and taking a swig.

“Is everything OK with Tom?” Marco hesitantly asked.

“Beats me. Lately we’re just on mission after mission with no time to stop and catch our breath or even get a bite to eat in-between. Can’t believe one lousy year has already made him such a workaholic. Even Star only got like this when she thought, like, the entire kingdom would collapse or something.” She grabbed her phone as it buzzed, frowning at the screen. Suddenly, she took a photo of Marco and tapped her screen a bunch of times, standing up as she shoved it back in the back pocket of her shorts.

“What was that?”

“That was Star, she apparently needs me to bring a few of my more… let’s just say noxious potion blends, in case of some kind of emergency. But first she wanted to make sure the lava surfing didn’t damage your abs.” She faked a gag response and rolled her eyes. “And she also said, and I quote, ‘Tell Marco he doesn’t need to come because he should reeeeeally take care of the thing, and that I’m suuuuuper sorry for skipping out on you, and that we’re aaaaaalmooooost done here, and then we can cuddle up for the Soulrise.’ Normally I’d pry about ‘the thing’ but I’m too nauseous right now. Also, an ‘I love you’ filled with hearts until the character limit, so that settles it: me reading that is the next five years of birthday presents, minimum, for both of you. You’re welcome.” She punctuated with a snap of her fingers and a rumble grew louder until a chasm opened up in the ground and Tom’s carriage rolled up the side.

“Since when could you-”

Janna winked and hopped in the carriage door as it vanished in a column of flame, leaving only Marco behind. He had hundreds of questions and concerns about Star’s situation, but between her continued insistence on staying behind and what Janna had just said, his certainty was growing that something fishy was afoot with Tom. Where might his friend go if something was troubling him? This could take an hour, no, all day to crack the case, but Marco was ready to sleuth harder than ever to solve this mystery.

One guess and thirty seconds later, Marco found Tom sitting on the couch in another one of the lounge spaces in the lake house, manipulating two paddles to play ping-pong against each other. Leaning against the wall, Marco observed as the simulated crowd went wild in stark opposition to Tom’s joyless expression that alternated between the match and his own lap, never once noticing his friend to his side. After a few more minutes of this, the announcer enthusiastically cheered for the victor of the round.

When the system rebooted, Marco made his move. “Playing without me?”

Tom glanced up from the table. “Wuh? Oh, hey.”

“Wanna play?”

“Well, obviously I would, but, um, I just… gotta…”

“What’s wrong, Tom?”

“Wrong? Me? Nothing’s wrong, Marco! Why would anything be wrong?” A puff of smoke shot out of his nostrils and clearly forced grin on the last word.

“C’mon, man. We both know something’s up. You’ve been acting all strange today.”

He threw his hands up with a defeated scowl creasing his eyes and face. “OK, fine, you got me. I stubbed my toe on the beach earlier and it really stings-”

“Tom.” Neither budged as they stared each other down. So it’s gonna be like that, huh? If he cloaked himself in bravado, then Marco just needed to find a way to open up that shell and draw the inner turmoil out. “You, me, first one to 6. If I win, you talk.”

Tom crossed his arms suspiciously. “Dude, you’ve literally never beaten me.”

“Yeah, well, then it should be easy for you. Whaddya say?”

“What do I get when I win?”

Marco gestured at the table humility. “I will officially give up any hopes of ever beating you and you’ll forever be known as King Pong.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll play. You’re going down.”

“Game on.”

"Let's see, ‘enter nickname’... Tom the Bomb? Seriously, man? I-"

Marco was interrupted by the fake stadium’s booming audio as the commentators began. "Welcome everyone to the championship bout where we will determine who is the true king of the ping."

“Hey, that’s my joke,” Marco whined pointlessly, drowned out by a second female announcing voice that continued without pause.

“On the away team, we have the human, the underdog to win it all this year, Marco Diaaaaaaaz! He’s got wicked topspin sure to send heads spinning and he’s hungry for the title. Never count out the man in red! Now on the home team, you know him, you love him, it’s the man with a plan to slice and dice you to pieces, it’s Prince of the Underworld Tom Lucitoooooooooor!”

Marco pointed incredulously at… well, everything happening around them. “Seriously, dude, are you sure this is even a computer?” Tom shrugged nonchalantly in response.

“We have a lot we could say up here about this long-awaited grudge match, isn’t that right, Janet?”

“That we could, Derek, but I’m sure all the lovely AI fans here don’t want all this AI blabber. They want some good old-fashioned ping-pong. Now let’s watch while Tom readies up the serve…” Tom deeply inhaled and exhaled a few times, then got into position on his end of the table. He crouched over slightly with the ball in one hand and paddle in the other, then tossed it up into the air and smashed it with the paddle. Marco jumped backwards to avoid the searing speed of the projectile that was aimed at him with a disdain reminiscent of the first time they’d ever played the game. If he’s gonna amp up his game with demon powers, I’ll just need to be better.

“Wow, what a scorcher right down the diagonal! I sure wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that, it’d fry my processor to a crisp!” Marco didn’t find a chance to start a volley on the second point, nor did his possession of the serve change the outcome in the slightest. When Tom got the ball back, he didn’t even use his paddle as his powers drove the ball directly sideways after the initial impact in Marco’s court. Marco called a timeout and turned away from the table in thought, stumped for solutions. This game was his idea, after all... The AI announcers irritated Marco with their constant humiliation of his skills, but one sarcastic jab struck an unexpected chord: “If he wants to beat Tom, maybe he shouldn’t be playing ping-pong.” He’d gotten nowhere trying to break through with blunt questioning and was doing a worse job trying to get past his confidence at the sport. But if there was a deep insecurity underneath that facade of confidence, maybe he needed to work on building that up instead.

Turning back to the table, he placed his paddle flat on the table for a moment. “Look, Tom, I get it. I can’t beat you at this game. I-I just didn’t want my best friend acting so bummed at a party he threw, OK? If winning here would cheer you up a bit, it’s match point. I won’t stop you. And- and maybe I’m not even the one to deal with this, since I know you usually talk to your mom about this sort of thing, but-”

“Marco, I-” He paused, started again, stopped, and stuttered his way through another half-dozen attempts at a sentence before falling silent and gazing at the floor. “Look, I’m not upset, everything’s fine,” he angrily said through gritted teeth. Tom grabbed the paddle and gracelessly swatted at the ball. Marco flinched and shut his eyes, ready to hear the announcers celebrate the clean sweep… but nothing. “Huh?” he wondered aloud before seeing a ball way off to his left. Had Tom just flubbed the serve? Tom tried once more, much less methodical in his swing. Marco swatted it back over the net and in Tom’s haste to return he spiked it directly onto his own court.

“...and in a shocking turn of events, it’s now 5-1, Lucitor! Now is Marco’s chance to turn it around!”

The three eyes in front of him glowed at the edges in anger, but the expression within wasn’t one Marco feared was directed at him. Marco centered himself and performed a straightforward serve to the edge of Tom’s court, and Tom managed to return it for the first genuine volley of the match, but a steep drop shot gave Marco his second point of the match. Tom grunted in frustration as Marco set up for the next serve, and he immediately lashed out with demon telekinesis but put too much power into it and sent the ball flying with an animalistic growl that betrayed more pain than fury, as if he was squaring off against himself and not Marco.

Tom flopped four serves in a row, leaving the game tied at 5-5. “Whatever it is, Tom, we can talk about it. You’re worrying me a bit, dude.” Tom didn’t even bother to return Marco’s next serve, putting the game at match point, win by 2.

“Just off my game. I told you, nothing’s wrong, there’s not anything I need to talk about right now,” his voice trembled. “I can do this.” Marco raised an eyebrow in a challenge to Tom, then served the ball in the exact opposite direction of the table. Bluff called. Tom hesitated a split second before sending his paddle soaring through the air around Marco’s head to make contact with the ball and fruitlessly swat it to the ground, giving Marco the point as the crowd went wild with cheers and boos at the performance. But Tom ignored all of that to toss himself onto the couch and buried his head in his hands, and Marco immediately dropped next to him.

“Dude, just talk to me,” Marco offered sympathetically.

“I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this.”

“With what?”

With his face buried in a pillow, Marco didn’t catch anything more than “a-a” in response.

“What was that?”

“Janna,” he forced out as though the word caused physical grief.

He had been a bit weird around her specifically, but somehow Marco hadn’t come into this conversation quite expecting it. “Um, OK. Well, I get that… she gets on my nerves too, and since you’re spending so much time with her I totally get- oh.”

Tom sighed.

“Ooooooooh.” It was all Marco could say as his mind raced to process the new developments.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t think you-”

“Neither did I, but here we are.” Marco placed an arm around Tom’s shoulders to try and comfort him, and Tom merely returned a lopsided smile, opting to sit in silence while Marco wracked his brain for an idea of how best to respond. “When I…” Tom hesitantly spoke up but immediately faltered, taking a moment to regroup mentally. “My whole thing with Star went for, like, two years, and looking back I kind of feel like I was an idiot every second of it. Every time I got caught up in that dumb crush it just messed things up more. Like, remember that big monster party she threw? I was too hung up on dancing to even worry about what my friends needed.”

“Look, Tom, we all did lots of dumb stuff back then-”

The half-demon sunk into the couch, shrugging Marco’s arm off of him and staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, sure, but at least you and Star were only completely clueless about how much you guys love each other, and even that was at least a little bit my bad too! A year after Star and I broke up the first time, she came back to Mewni as this confident and charismatic person, and I didn’t even know how to do anything besides flounder around doing nothing when she wasn’t around. Ever since I put all that stuff behind me, it’s- things have been going great!” Tom paused for a second after his voice cracked sharply. “Janna’s clever, she’s actually really thoughtful sometimes, she’s the funniest person I know, and she helped me realize I actually kind of like doing all the stuff that a prince is probably supposed to be doing. And here I am, the buffoon with a crush yet again.”

Marco had a few differences of opinion on the details, to put it lightly, but the sentiment struck a chord. “It’s- it’s never easy. I mean, there was a part of me that felt like I couldn’t even be regular friends with Star anymore for a while ‘cause it just kinda sucked to keep getting reminded of those feelings.”

“Really? Never would have thought.”

“Yeah, well, me too. But that did get better after, well, the booth…”

“So I just have to find a photo goblin and kiss her then, got it.”

“Not my point, Tom,” he retorted with a light punch in the arm, both of them smirking; it was still a sensitive topic, but this seemed to be helping Tom shake off the worst of his anxieties at the very least. “You’re being too hard on yourself, man. Literal hours after we met, you tried to kill me for dancing with a girl you weren’t even dating, then you saved me from a rampaging monster who then proceeded to get turned into a baby.”

“Has that ever stopped being kinda messed up?” Tom quickly interjected.

“Not really, no. But even if all that stuff you said is true, which it isn’t, anyone would still be lucky to have a friend like you. If you think you’re not a good enough friend for Janna or whatever, you’re wrong, and if you think you might screw something up, maybe you will but that doesn’t mean you should just give up those feelings. Take that from me.”

With a giant huff of air, Tom ran a hand through his hair, body language still displaying loads of tension even if he was being more open about his problems. “I’m not- I don’t want to just walk away entirely, but… When I went on that trip by myself right before Earth and Mewni merged, when I was just chilling on a hill in some dimension out there looking up at a thousand stars disappearing behind the horizon, I finally realized that what I wanted most was to find someone I could share that sort of moment with, even if it’s not romantic. Someone I could just sit next to without saying a word and still feel like we were doing something special.”

“Yeah…” Even though Marco had a great respect for his friend, it never ceased to amaze him how potently reflective and sensitive he could be, especially for someone who’d once been every human’s worst stereotype of a rage-filled demon monster. The words made him think of Star, who he could spend every single day with doing absolutely nothing and never get bored. Who was always there to lift him out of his lowest times, celebrate his best, and everything in between. Who would always be his very best friend, so long as they both shall live. Tom deserved every bit of happiness that Marco had discovered came with that kind of relationship, and if he could find it with Janna then Marco would be behind him all the way. “These things can take time, it did for me and Star.”

“No offense dude, but did it? You were best friends, like, seventeen hours tops after you met, and I bet even when things were at their worst you knew it, too. I like Janna, a lot, but I don’t know if that’s the sort of thing we have in the first place. And if I’m not sure of that, then I might be risking a friendship for something I’m not even sure would be good for me.” All three of Tom’s eyes sparkled their plea as he finally turned to fully face Marco, who returned the favor. “What do I do?”

“...really, Tom, I’m not sure.” Jackie, and Kelly, and the Curse… he’d had a lot of doubt in what he wanted most, for sure, but Tom was right about one thing: even if he hadn’t realized it, that unshakeable certainty in Star’s friendship somewhere in the core of his being had gotten him through whatever life threw at him. Without that, he shuddered at the thought of what might have been. “If you think saying something is a bad idea right now, then don’t. Just promise me one thing, OK?”

“Mhmm?”

“If and when you do feel confident that saying something to her is what you want to do, don’t wait, OK? If she really is your best friend, don’t hide it from her. That’ll only hurt you both, and that is 100% Marco Diaz first hand advice.”

Tom pulled Marco into a tight hug, clapping him on the back a few times for emphasis. “Thanks.”

When they broke apart, Marco kept a hand extended to Tom’s shoulder. “You can always join me and Star for sunset-watching, too, if you want. They might not be the same as one thousand at once, but Earthni’s are pretty amazing.”

“Might take you up on that. Feeling a lot better already, to be honest. Don’t feel like I need to avoid being around Janna anymore.”

“I’m glad.” Marco felt his phone buzz and check

“Awwww, isn’t that heartwarming, folks? It just warms my neural net. With that healthy of an approach to love, I don’t think there’s a wrong play Tom could make here. He’s got a good spin on the ball to angle that shot exactly where he needs it to go. What do you think, Janet?”

“Right you are, Derek, this is a truly remarkable sight seeing these two guys talk about their feelings. Usually we see young players put all their focus into fast smashes without buckling down on the fundamentals and getting a good, clean drive. If he can just find someone to lob, I think he’ll be alright. What do you say, all you people watching out there?”

“JANTOM! STARCO! JANTOM! STARCO!” The crowd chanted in unison, some even holding up signs. Were those doodles of their faces?

Notice of the loud noise startled the boys. Had they been watching the whole time? “What the-” they both exclaimed in utter shock as they jumped up and struck defensive poses.

One spectator ran up to the edge of the holographic projection with a pair of fake horns. “I LOVE YOU TOM PLEASE MARRY MEeeeeeeeeeuuuuu...” Marco yelped as the control console exploded from one of Tom’s fire blasts, causing the shrieking voice to trail off into a deep robotic crackle. Both breathed heavily as their eyes, wide with fear, flickered all around the ping pong setup in search of any other hidden dangers. When his heart had stopped racing enough for him to feel any external sensations again, Marco felt a vibration in his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Oh, hey, Star’s ready for the Soulrise, which is in… forty minutes? Holy crap.”

“Sorry you spent so much of today dealing with my stuff.”

“Hey, anytime. I’ve always got your back.”

“C’mon, at least let me feel bad about this.” The pair each put an arm around the other’s shoulders and grinned at the warmth of friendship. Well, and the warmth of the flaming wreckage in front of them.

“I’ll get the carriage for them, but first, um, can you help me with one more thing?”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That we should throw this thing into the lava ocean?”

“You read my mind.”

***

How long had it been since she’d last seen a Soulrise? Despite her lifespan as a demon, she had never understood the fuss. Last year Relicor had discovered that the merging of dimensions had shifted the surface geography enough to make the Soulrise visible from their lake house, and it was only the sheer convenience that kept her here. As the winged skeletons danced above the lake, Wrathmelior could certainly admit it was a charming display, but was it really that different than anything else one could find in the Underworld if they only looked around them? Still, it was nice to spend an evening on the sands of their own private beach with her husband and a pretty display of spirits. But where was Tom?

“Hey, Lady and Lord Lucitor, thanks for everything today.” She looked down at the sound of Marco’s voice and saw him escorting a half-asleep Star with mud caked onto her skirt.

“Why yes, Roy, I- zzzzzz - would like all fifty flavors of goblin dog, thankszzzzz,” Star mumbled as she drifted in and out of sleep. Her eyes slowly blinked open and stared at the boy’s face. “Oh hi, Mr. Pillowzzzzzz…” She was visibly drooling into Marco’s hoodie as she clutched his torso tightly.

Dave stood up and went around Wrathmelior’s legs to see what was going on. “What happened to her?”

“Had a really long day dealing with an old enemy, I think. Didn’t get too many details before she fell asleep on me. Can you send us home, if it’s not too much trouble?”

“No, you’re adorablezzzz… wait, home?” Blonde hair whipped around her face as she jolted awake with a mortified expression. “Ugh, Marco, nooooo, it’s your birthday and I said I’d be heeeere and I can totally stay…” She trailed off into a massive yawn and firmly pinched her cheeks. “...awake.” She hung her head shamefully, turning away from him but leaving his arm hooked around her waist that was keeping her upright.

Marco smiled and spun her around to face him. “Hey, don’t worry about it. You should rest, don’t force yourself to do this.”

“Nighty tightyzzzzzz...” Star hooked her arms around his neck and drifted off to a deeper sleep.

“I can summon the carriage, but I’m afraid I don’t know where you live,” Wrathmelior grumbled with her husband translating. Now that she had a glimpse, she could understand a bit better what Tom had meant when he said those two had something special.

“Oh, right, duh. Um, the Monster Temple then? We can stay there tonight.” He put an arm behind Star’s knees and lifted her up, using her unconscious grip on his neck for leverage.

Wrathmelior nodded and began to tap into her well of demon magic to yank Tom’s carriage from its usual den deep in their home when Dave spoke up, catching her attention. “Did you want to say goodbye to Tom, too? I don’t know where he ran off to.”

Something above her caught Marco’s eye, causing him to beam at the sight. “Nah, it’s fine, I’ll just call him tomorrow.” Wrathmelior craned her head to look behind her; Tom and Janna were sitting together on the roof, not saying a word. Even from a bit of a distance, it was plain to see that Janna was completely enraptured by the whirling vortex of shrieking ghouls while Tom was spending just as much time taking in her reaction as he was the event itself. If neither had noticed the commotion on the ground now, nothing in all the dimensions would do the trick.

“It’s just a Soulrise,” Wrath muttered, communicating through Dave.

After entering the carriage, Marco cast one long look at his friends. “Yeah, but they’ve earned this one.”

#starco #jantom #svtfoe #star vs the forces of evil #tgg svtfoe #wonder if we'll see how star's day went? ;)#fanfic

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elizapbrooke · 4 years

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A discovery of pancakes

This is my newsletter from Friday, May 22. You can sign up here.

I am disappointed to announce that the bird call I thought belonged to an owl comes, in fact, from a mourning dove. “One of the most abundant and widespread of all North American birds,” Wikipedia says. It’s an embarrassing but maybe understandable mistake. I figured this owl was out during the day because it was a creature of New York like the rest of us, its circadian rhythm all fucked up by early morning garbage trucks and the blue glow of the Chase Bank across the street. The mourning dove’s coo is low and melancholy, a distinctive series of five notes. I’d certainly forgive you for thinking it’s a hoot. As I was listening to mourning dove calls on my computer and having this horrible realization, one landed on the fire escape and startled me with the loudest, most intimate rendition of their song I’d ever heard. It may as well have pressed its beak up against the glass. (I assume it thought there was a dove in the apartment.) I crept over to the window to confirm with my eyeballs what AllAboutBirds.org had already told me, and, yep, there it was. It felt so special to have a mystery owl in the neighborhood, but I guess doves are lovely birds too, with their plushy throats and elegantly tapered tail feathers. Anyway, my friend Sid tells me he’s heard owls in Gowanus, so I’m keeping my hopes up. This week I published a story for Curbed detailing the history and recent evolution of the home office. As I was fact checking it, I realized I’d accidentally talked to ten hundred sources, so please do enjoy the fruits of my labor. I’m not here to talk about home offices, though. A few weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night and discovered I’d been brainstorming pitches in my sleep. I was thrilled. On account of pandemic depression and seeing very little of the outside world, I’ve really been struggling to come up with story concepts, which is problematic because that’s my job. Most of my dream pitches evaporated upon waking, but I managed to hold onto one, and in my sleepy haze I thought it was possibly the greatest idea I’d ever had. It was: PANCAKES ARE HAVING A MOMENT IN QUARANTINE. I decided I’d email the New York Times first thing in the morning. In the light of day, I realized that there wasn’t really a story there. When you’re writing a trend piece, you want to be able to point to, I don’t know, at least four really solid examples from the public sphere. My evidence was:

Alex and I had made pancakes recently

We were planning to make them again

I’d recently discussed pancakes with Molly and Vivian

I’d heard you can make pancakes from sourdough starter discard (which actually does speak to the zeitgeist)

But here’s the thing. Pancakes are a great topic for a newsletter. So here is my pancake article.

***

I’ve always liked the look of a big stack of pancakes, but I never really got why people were so into eating them. I like a breakfast that is hyper-functional and maximally filling. Because I’m an aging hippie, my preferred breakfast is a double-sized bowl of Ezekiel cereal, which tastes like delicious cardboard and fulfills 42% of your daily fiber needs. Pancakes, like pastries, always struck me as glamorous but pointless. I was even somewhat distrustful of my mom’s pancakes, which are dense and nutty, not sweet at all. Her recipe came from a “chiropractor/health nut in San Diego about 31 years ago” and involves grinding your own flour from winter wheat berries, groats, rye, brown rice, and millet. I love them, but a family pancake breakfast still makes me feel very out of control. This all changed a few weeks ago when Alex and I decided to make pancakes for dinner. All I can say is that quarantine has a way of melting away the rigid little fucks you used to give. For once, the chaos I associate with pancakes sounded fun and freeing. Also we’ve been watching a ton of Parks & Rec, and I was feeling inspired by Leslie’s diet of waffles and whipped cream. We made buttermilk pancakes, extra fluffy ones that require you to whip the egg whites on their own for several minutes before folding them into the batter. Two with banana chunks, two with bits of frozen peaches, two blueberry, one bonus plain for me. I had mine without anything on top, enjoying the choking feeling of eating so much cakey carb. It felt like a hug. When I saw my friend Todd post a gorgeous stack of pancakes on Instagram, I asked him if he had any theories about why they’re such a good quarantine food. At first he thought I was trolling him, but when I told him I was dead serious, here’s what he said: “What I love about pancakes right now is that they feel both ordinary and radical at the same time. Ordinary because they are nostalgic, all-American, homey, comfortable, and approachable. Anyone can make them. But there’s also something really subversive about a stack of pancakes right now—the gluten, the non-plant-based butter and eggs, eating breakfast when Goop tells us we should be intermittent fasting, so forth. Eating pancakes in the time of coronavirus brings into focus how overwhelming wellness culture has become in recent years—celery juice and collagen smoothies will never, ever, ever beat a big, buttery, syrupy stack of flapjacks.” I would agree. Given my dedication to breakfast foods that involve sprouted beans—which predates our wellness moment but was certainly bolstered by it—I definitely find pancakes subversive. They make me feel nostalgic, too, but not for anything I’ve personally experienced. For weekends in high school that I spent ensconced in the television world of Gilmore Girls, maybe, where breakfast at Luke’s Diner is a comfortable routine. As I continued my journey into pancake reportage, I sought out the perspective of Sarah Jampel, an editor at Bon Appetit. While pancakes made from sourdough discard have their fans, Sarah is not particularly one of them. She’s also team waffle. I don’t really have a horse in the pancake/waffle debate, but Sarah makes a compelling case. “I have thought a lot about pancakes,” she emailed back when I asked if she had anything to say about the topic. “And yes, I have made them since isolation started—mostly because I'm ‘every woman’ and my fridge is overflowing with sourdough discard. ‘Put it in pancakes,’ I thought. The issue is that I need to add more flour (as well as butter or oil and leaveners) to sourdough discard to turn it into pancakes, so I ultimately end up using more ingredients for the sole purpose of not throwing some stuff into the trash or compost (but really, the trash). And even though pancakes sound nice in theory—why not start the day with a hot breakfast instead of the usual routine, eating a Clif bar with one hand while the other clings bare to the subway pole (huge sigh of nostalgia)?—in actuality they're inferior waffles. Unless you take care with your pancakes—loading them with lots of butter and separating the egg yolks and whites (this recipe's my fave)—they're too mono-textured.” Never fear: Alex and I loaded ours with an alarming amount of butter. I suppose it is to be expected that when you go out hunting for pancake insights, you come back with waffle testimonials. When I asked Alex’s high school friends to weigh in on the appeal of pancakes during a global shutdown, Nico said, “Waffles are the superior carb. They provide greater textural variety and are a better delivery vessel for condiments.” (Dylan has been eating toast all quarantine, and Dan “didn’t understand the question” because the only god he acknowledges is the Joy of Cooking’s pancake recipe.) My friend Molly has been eating a lot of savory pancakes under quarantine, for breakfast or lunch. She sautées a bunch of garlic and kale in olive oil, adding scallions at the last minute, and then sets the vegetables aside in a bowl. In goes the Bisquick, and she adds the kale mix on top of the pancakes as they cook; after a minute, she tops the pancake with shredded white cheddar so that when she flips it, the cheese turns crispy. She’ll eat that with a runny egg or garlic yogurt. I can’t wait to see her again so she can make one for me. Pancakes are one of the few foods that Molly has consistently been able to stomach during this period of immense anxiety. They have a strong positive association for her: in pre-corona times, she would make savory pancakes after playing soccer on Saturday mornings. Those games are one of the things she misses most right now. We talked on the phone while she made her daily trip outside to juggle a soccer ball. Molly likes to chat with friends during these breaks because bouncing a ball on your feet benefits from loose attention. “Cooking a pancake is similar,” she said. “It requires some focus but it’s not that hard. You don’t really need to cut anything. You just watch it.” Alex always says that cooking is meditative for him. I would respectfully disagree—to me, it feels more like hurtling down a mogul course—but I can see it with pancakes. You’re just systematically waiting and flipping, waiting and flipping. After making buttermilk pancakes, we progressed to Sqirl’s buckwheat pancakes for lunch on a Sunday. I can’t find the recipe online, but here’s a photo. For those who are lucky enough to have dodged my Sqirl talk thus far, it’s a phenomenal, semi-healthy breakfast and lunch spot in Silver Lake. Every time I’m in LA, I badger my companions into going right when it opens at 8 a.m. so we’re sure to get a table. When I was there to write about Dax Shepard in November, I high-tailed it to Sqirl right after our interview and embarrassed myself in front of the staff by inhaling bits of a particularly seedy cookie and having a loud coughing fit, after which I went around the corner to die in private. Alex and I thought we had all the requisite ingredients for Sqirl’s buckwheat pancakes, other than cactus flour, but the recipe calls for corn flour and it turns out cornmeal isn’t the same thing. We subbed in whole wheat, so they weren’t really Sqirlcakes, but they were still tasty in a restrained, earthy way. Alex convinced me to try one with raspberry jam, which I reluctantly admit was a great pairing. A week or two later, we made them again. I wasn’t really hungry because it was 2 p.m. and I’d already eaten lunch—Alex had just gotten up—but I pledged to eat my portion cold out of the fridge. Alex thought this was insane, but he sometimes forgets that I like my food a little squidgy. We went grocery shopping the next morning, which was as much of a bitch as it always is right now. Even though we’ve gotten the process down to a science, it still takes three hours from start to finish, with significant angst on my part about the cleanliness of the inbound goods. Finally everything was put away, and Alex headed off to take a shower. I was agitated and crazy hungry. I scrubbed my hands one more time, pulled the pancakes out of the fridge, and promptly dropped one on the floor while trying to get it into my mouth. I ate the rest in big, angry bites, one after another, standing in the middle of the kitchen. I didn’t want to sit down in my outdoor clothes. The pancakes were perfect, though. A shot of sweet, comforting carb straight to the heart.

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partyinthemysterymachine · 4 years

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🌻

i used to love Nickelodeon Gak. they came out with an orange magnetic Gak. or maybe it was black. either way, Gak smelled fucking horrible but it was the greatest thing to play with, and it made only the creme de la creme of fart noises.

the magnetic Gak came with a little uhhh words tool?? it had a magnet at the end of a stick and it was basically a leash, because i have zero capacity to find the right words at the moment so you’re just gonna have to deal with my replacements

so you could just guide this stupid goop around and be amazed that you’re a wizard of sticky slop that smells really funky and it was a very distinct smell like seriously i can still remember it and i’m smellin it right now cuz brains are just that fucked up

this is both un- and entirely necessary to lead up wtih for the true attraction of what i want to say, which is my most prominent memory of magnetic Gak (other than sitting at my little white and peeling desk as a wee one and honestly ahead of its time bc shabby chic would come out a decade later or somethin and i was just like, toying with it, but again brains are weird and i just stored that memory and it’s taking up valuable space but sure w/e) is when i was at a friend’s house

i can still remember the house sorta, it was one of those probably mid-century-remodeled-in-the-70s kind of houses, very open air and had steps where you didn’t really need them to get to different levels in the same room, wood paneling, carpet that you will never not smell even if you renovated it, etc, idk i was outside with this girl and we were playing with the Gak

on a side note i just went to look up when Gak was released and it was in 1994 so by flexing my incredible mathematical skills thanks to my phone’s calculator bc the only on the spot math i can do is calculate a tip (preferably if i know the tax but i can still get by) i was 6 years old at the time

also holy shit Floam was the best thing since the last best thing that was the best thing

anyway what i’m getting at is that i was hanging out with this girl outside her house like in the front which didn’t really have a lawn but a circular driveway and a bunch of planters with ornamental shrubbery or bonzai or whatever but her mom calls us in for lunch and she asks if i like taquitos and me being uncultured and not knowing what that was i looked at the box and i realized i’ve never had taquitos so i said sure and she put them into the oven or microwave listen this memory is stupid specific and totally useless and my brain filtered the more useless information because some things have to be curated i guess

x time later she gives me a paper plate with taquitos and i’m like hm and my friend’s already in her own taquito wonder world and i’ve got these two taquitos on a paper plate and so i pick it up to try my first mass produced rolled corn tortilla that would have a vast array of likely outcomes depending on the two factors of whether or not it was microwaved or ovenated and filled with meat no one should really give too much thought about and a mockery of white cheese bc idk do they put mozzarella in that without jerking off about it on the box? bc it always seems like a product has to inform the consumer if they’re using mozzarella as though this is the first company to do so and your TIME is RUNNING OUT there’s a MOZZARELLA(lalalala) SHORTAGE we might just SEE it GO EXTINCT IN FRONT OF OUR EYES

and so i bit into it and my tortilla meat and cheese straw was not only cold second bite in but still kinda frozen and wet

i remember being confused and disappointed and unsure how to break it to this grown woman that she might need to reevaluate her taquito preparation tactics

and i lost that Gak magnet rod there

Gak was never the same again, huge wet rippers or not

the end

#ches writes #and that's only a pulled hangnail's worth of my tragic backstory #deadpanwalking

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ff-imagines · 5 years

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Hi! I love your blog, i get rlly excited when i see u posted something. Could you do some Pizza hcs? If you wanna, i mean-

*slamming both fists on the table* baby boy content! baby boy content! baby boy content! baby boy content! baby boy content!

General headcanons: pizza

• sweet boy made of sugar and sunlight......

• he’s honestly the person who wakes up at 5 am and shakes you till you wake up

• then he rambles about how pretty the rising sun is all the while you’re just dying inside

• h u m a n p u p p y

• ..... food puppy?

• regardless, where you go he goes.

• gets mopey when you’re not around

• cassata gets concerned when he sees pizza bumming around

• then he remembers you set off on a delivery a few hours ago and is like “oh he’s just clingy we’re good”

• cheese teases the h e l l out of this poor boy

• this is the only thing he genuinely can’t be bothered about

• “hahaha you’re like obsessed with them!”

• he just turns with a small smile like “yeah I am lmao you got me”

• honestly as much as he loves you, cheese and cassata are major parts of his life so they’re kinda a package deal

• y’all on a date? They’re gonna be behind you like this the whole time

• but that also means you’ve got a constant support squad at all times

• a Karen was mean to you at the supermarket? Don’t worry, pizza and cassata are tracking the gps location of her soccer van this very moment :)

• But those two also know that contantly hanging around can get annoying so they do give you guys space if you request it lmao

• pizza himself is very very touch starved

• hug him, hold his hand, mess with his hair, cuddle him

• all of the above makes him melt into an actual puddle of goop

• he’s also very nervous about over stepping a boundary so in all honestly he’s making himself touch starved lmao

• “want hug.... but what if they don’t want hug....... no hug for me...... I’ll just hug a pillow....”

• so he’ll appreciate it if you make the first moves with physical affection

• he has no trouble saying he loves you at all, compliments come easy

• that’s why he feels nervous to touch you, words are easy to say but body language and reactions to his touch are hard to fake

• so he’s scared of negative reactions from you cause if he ever made you feel uncomfortable he’d crawl into a ball and sob

• also he cries a lot

• toaster taking to long? Cri

• your significant other compliments your hat? Cri

• the rice is really good today? Cri

• awesome tv show ended? Cri

• you saw a really adorable bunny? Cri

• you get the point

• the positive/negitive things in life just overwhelm him, so he cries out of joy or frustration

• a good gift to get him would be some scented tissues

• when you hand them to him he cries laughs and suggests you not spend to much on him

• and he’s serious on that, spending a lot of money on gifts makes him feel uneasy

• “I should be spoiling you not the other around hecc”

• he appreciates all you give him, but prefers the small things and handmade gifts.

• he also gifts you with those kind of things

• almost every week he makes something out of flowers

• flower crowns, necklaces, bracelets, wreaths, and even pressed flowers.

• he really really likes flowers

• he also likes you

• you + flowers = g o o d

• would really like to start a garden with you

• he has a pretty solid green thumb, so even if you’re not that great of a gardener, he can swoop in and save the poor plants

• what matters is you’re trying! And he’s encouraging you all the way!!!

• his favorite flowers are lavender, daisies, hollyhock, hyacinths, and birds of paradise.

• once went to a supermarket, saw an employee watering a desert rose to the point of flooding, internally screeched and bought the tiny plant so he could nurse it back to heath after the water assault

• he did, a little too well

• now you guys have this incredibly big and impressive desert rose that’s like a short oak tree at this point

• calls it his pink son

• is very proud of his son

• pizza is also very very into classic dancing

• his favorite is just slow waltzing with you

• even if you trip over your feet and end up stomping on his own, he’s laughing all the way

• he doesn’t really have nicknames for you, just kinda says your name, or shortened version of your name in varied excited tones

• is not afraid to be feminine and would let you do his makeup and nails

• prefers you do clear nail polish cause he likes the glossy look

• does not want you to paint his nails in neon colors cause they hurt his eyes

• he also cuddles a lot.

• even if he falls asleep before you enter the room, as soon as you lay your head on the pillow you feel his snuggling into you

• he’s not even conscious and he’s still trying to snug

• his body isn’t too warm or too cold, it’s about average.

• his neck tends to warm up though as he likes to pile blankets on his upper body and tucks them around his neck and torso

• and yours if you’ll let him lmao

• this baby can find the positive to everything

• always looking for the silver lining in every situation and every person

• the only exception is if that person or situation hurts someone he cares about

• you, cheese, and cassata are his main focus, and his support system

• is someone messes with his support system, he’s gonna do what he can to give them that support back.

• really really loves music boxes

• has a YouTube playlist called ” sleepy time” and it has a bunch of music box covers

• has a music box cover of everything stays in the show adventure time added multiple times in the playlist

• really really likes adventure time and the amazing world of gumball

• cried for days when adventure time ended

• his favorite episode is the finale of adventure time

• in the amazing world of gumball, he found the spoon super funny, but really loved the changes for its message.

• actually he just really loves cartoons

• very firm believer that while modern spongebob isn’t terrible, classic spongebob will always be miles ahead

• he will and has fought over this opinion

• really hates confrontation with you, if you butt heads he’ll just calmly state his side and pray you don’t try to bicker further

• he hates fighting with someone he loves

• it takes away from the fun times!

• has very little musical talent but does hum a lot when idling

• sometimes he’ll randomly hum, sometimes it’s a song he heard earlier

• if you hum along with him he’ll have a big dopey grin

• ends up clacking teeth with you a lot when kissing cause he’s smiling to much

• whatever it is you do, you can guarantee you’re gonna have him supporting and loving you the entire way.

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eottoghe · 5 years

Text

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

#jeongcheol #coupshan #seunghan #seungcheol #jeonghan #lee chan #dino #seventeen #summer!#beach day

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ausp-ice · 5 years

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Apparitions, Scene 6: Nightmare Characters: Raffle/Wenzel ( @the-valiant-valkyrie ), Incisura/Wren (me) Words: 1763 Archive | 1 2 3 4 5 6

That’s what happens when you’re exposed to nightmare fuel!

Wren was sitting at their couch, staring blankly at the wall. Their phone was held loosely in their hand, hanging off the edge of the couch. The screen darkened at another tap. They felt... detached. Tired. The shadows seemed to dance at one moment, and be perfectly normal at another. They should just... sleep....

“Wren??” Wenzel was only semi-confident in the fact that he actually had the right address (despite literally having a map in front of him on his phone, he was never good with direction), but he certainly pounded on the door as though he were the most confident man in the world,

“Wren you better be alive in there! Don’t make me find a half open window!”

Something pressed at the corner of Wren’s awareness, but... The phone slipped out of their hand, clattering to the floor as they slumped to the side.

“WREN! C’MON OPEN UP! DON’T MAKE ME CALL THE COPS I DON’T LIKE THEM TOO MUCH-!” He sighed. This was going to be more difficult than he’d like it to be...

Just as he threatened, he began looking for anything to help him ‘break in’ (it’s not breaking in if it’s a medical emergency) ⥎

Whispers.

.̴͓̇.̷̢͋.̶͇̈́

It was dark. Endless.

̷̢̛-̶̪̊n̷̛͔.̶̳̆.̵̱̄.̷̟͌.̷̹͠

But... not empty.

̴̠͠W̸̤̽r̸͇̆ḙ̷̇ṉ̶̀.̵̗̅.̵̮̆.̶̟͗ ̷͍̉W̶̊͜r̸̥̈́a̴̛͇ị̷͝t̴̗̏h̷̻͝.̴̤̑.̷̨̽.̷͛ͅ

They jerked in their sleep.

̸̱͌T̸͎̊h̵̘̕e̵̯̎ ̵̞͘s̵̪̓h̶̯̚a̸͖̍d̷͍͒ő̶̠w̴̒ͅs̶̫̀ ̶̜͋i̸͙͘ń̵̯v̶̼́i̵̟̽t̸̥̀ẽ̷͜ ̸͙̄ỳ̷̳o̴͝u.

...Dance for us.

⥎

Wenzel waltzed around the house a moment, looking for any way to get... In. It wasn’t as though he was skilled in breaking and entering- that was more up a villain’s alley, and he... Could barely be considered some sort of a hero.

He rapped on the windows, pulling on each one in an attempt to find one that was loose or unlocked.

One was, indeed - it just so happened to be one in view of the living room. Wren was lying on their side, splayed on the couch. Their hair hid their face, but their fingers seemed to be twitching.

“I even said- I even said, ‘Wren you idiot don’t go to sleep’. I take ten minutes to go over there and what else are they doing-” He fumbled with the window for a little bit, slipping his body in little by little and just hoping no one was around to call any sort of security

They rolled over a bit, hair slipping away from their face. Their eyes were scrunched up, as if they were in pain - but they made no sound.

"Wren-!" Wenzel fumbled a little as he hit the floor (though if anyone were to ask he's simply explain with confidence he took a skilled roll), but pulled himself back onto his feet with no delay, clapping a few times in the poor fool's ear,

"Wren, c'mon. Wake up." Every syllable punctuated with yet another clap.

One moment, Wren was prone. The next, they had Wenzel's wrists gripped tightly in their hands, wide eyes locked onto his face.

"Woah jeez-!" He flinched almost automatically, trying to wriggle his hands free from their grip,

"C'mon, Wren, it's just me-! I told you not to sleep didn't I? Look at you- you're a mess!"

Their grip loosened slightly, and they blinked. The tension bled from their shoulders slowly, awareness coming back to them piece by piece.

"Wenzel...? I..." Their eyes flicked to their hands and they jerked back, letting go immediately. "Ack! I'm- sorry-"

"Yes, its Wenzel." He finally wormed his wrist away, rubbing it for a second or so,

"And what did I tell you, huh? I said not to fall asleep, aaand you did. You did fall asleep. You could have gotten possessed or something-! Or turned into sludge!"

Wren grimaced. "It was strange, alright? I might even argue that I was under the influence of whatever that stuff was. I couldn't seem to stop myself." They rubbed absently at their chest. "And I feel like... I feel like I saw something. Heard something. Just now. When I was asleep."

"Yeah..." Wenzel looked them up and down suspiciously, as though he'd find anything of notice of concern on his person,

"Yeah you need to go to the doc or something on that."

Wren pouted petulantly. "I am a doctor! Who would I even go to? Do you know someone that might know about this?"

"You can't doctor yourself, that's not how doctors work." He pressed a hand to his forehead in exasperation,

"I mean... I might know a guy who knows a guy?"

"Hmmrrgghhhhh...." They put a hand on their head. "I guess I'm not really in much of a place to argue."

They sighed. "Alright, fine. Who's this person who you know knows?" Wenzel gestured to the couch again, pushing Wren back a little,

"At least make yourself a little comfortable; I could get you some water or something. 'V got half a sandwich on me. If we're gonna chat you might as well stay stable- you've got aspirin?"

They sunk into the cushions of the couch. "Ah... yes. I'm not very hungry, don't worry about that. I've got water in that filter and aspirin in the cabinet- I can go grab it-"

Wenzel could be heard from the other room, fumbling around with glasses and such while he tried to make himself at least somewhat useful,

"So, uh, you know that neat little electronic repair place? Cool little joint not too far away from the bus station, ever took a peek in it before?"

Wren had already taken a bite out of the sandwich. "Mmm. Prh'ps?" They hummed thoughtfully, swallowing before they continued. "I tend to use modern technology. But I think I've passed by a few times. Is the person you know there?"

"Yeah. He's a real friendly sort once you get passed all the sorta gruffness he sprinkles about just a little. Doesn't really get a lot of business, so I don't really know what he does half the time, but I've reason to believe he's got maybe a couple of connections. You know how those non talkative folk are; they know all sorts of things."

Wren snorted. "Sprinkles. And connections, huh? I suppose it's worth a shot. Do you trust him?" They peered at Wenzel, one eyebrow raised as they took another large bite of the sandwich.

"I don't talk to folks I don't trust." He shrugged, leaning over to steal a piece of cheese hanging a little off the edge of the bread. After all, it was originally his sandwich,

"Once you really get to know him, you sorta can't help but trust him. Not that he looks trustworthy- he's just not not a good liar, and he knows it."

Wren's eyes followed the piece of cheese, expression revealing nothing, before they gave a soft laugh. "Heh. Sounds like an interesting guy." They started to get up, "Shall we go now, or-"

"Are you in any condition to go now? I mean look at yourself." He gestured vaguely at Wren's entire person, "You freaked out when I tried to wake you up. Not to mention you were twitching all over the place like some poor piece of roadkill-"

They sat back down. "Ngh." They looked like the admission pained them. Their eyes flicked to Wenzel, "and you're sure you haven't felt anything?"

"No, because I'm not the one who eats blood and sticks their whole nose in suspicious black goop."

"Ughhhhhh." They flopped an arm over their eyes. "I've never seen anything like it! And Winter! She should have been dead! I wanted to know what was going on with all that gunk."

"We don't even know what the stuff is yet, and not to mention how that freaky lady just melted into it all of a sudden... And those bad sensations it was giving off was just terrible." He could have shuddered, but refrained,

"Whatever it is, it's bad news. With a capital B and an N."

Wren was silent for a moment. "When... when I was asleep. The voices I heard. I... it's not clear, and it evades the conscious grasp of my mind." They lifted their arm. "But it felt like... They were calling to me." They looked towards Wenzel. "Perhaps... not unrelated."

"Calling to you..." his brows furrowed, and he tugged nervously on his bottom lip with his teeth,

"I... I'd say that's not good... But most assuredly not unrelated... Otherwise you'd seriously need to see a doctor."

They laughed nervously. "Ah, goodness! It's like this gunk is made to drive you insane!"

"I certainly hope not..." He swallowed, dryly, "Imagine how... Dangerous that sorta thing could be for the city."

"... That's true." Their eyes narrowed. "I must... investigate... later..." They muttered under their breath.

"Yeah, you... You're really not looking so hot..." He suddenly stood up, picking at one of his nails,

"Lets, uh... Tell you what, huh? As much as I'd love to chill here and make sure you don't kill yourself, I've gotta go to work in like..." He checked his phone (which was dying again, he noted), "Thirty? Forty minutes? So here's what we'll do, huh? Since you don't look to be in any condition to do anything whatsoever, you can just chill here and nap. But set like, an alarm on your phone for every hour. That way, if something happens, you won't be sitting around dying or hearing any more whispers, or whatever fever dream stuff happens then-"

Wren gave another snort. "Alright, alright, you mother hen. I can take care of myself, don't worry. I'll do as you say." They set their alarm on their phone to every hour. "Now, go do your thing. Don't let me keep you." They waved a hand at him.

He shoved his phone in his pocket, taking one look back at his accident prone friend,

"Don't die. If you start to, call like, the police or something? Or me? Even though I'll be at work I probably won't be able to come- but then at least I can call the police-"

"I will, I will! Go do your work. Be a responsible citizen. I will be resting. Oh, and tell me whenever you want me to meet that electronics guy."

"I'll text you-!" He called back, hopping carefully through the window again (it was easier than unlocking the door- and besides, Wren'd have to get up to lock it again). He'd never think, of all his friends, he'd be one of the most responsible.

Wren watched him go, before flopping back on the sofa. Well. Into darkness, then.

#don't starve #super au #story #writing #rp #rp log #my art #wenzel #raffle #wren curtis #incisura #apparitions

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millenniumfae · 6 years

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Dishonored Cooking: Rosewater Jelly

‘Razina Rosewater Jelly’ - for the distinguished gourmand looking to satisfy a sweet tooth. This food item doesn’t actually exist in-game. It’s one of the few that were conceptualized, but didn’t make it in Dishonored 2. It’s a shame, because it looks very pretty, and would be a sight for sore eyes after all those dirty cans of jellied eels and whale meat.

Dishonored has a surprisingly large amount of food lore. Which I’m very happy about. The player character can heal by vacuuming up the many foods left lying in the dirty streets, Amongst these foods include; loose fruit, canned seafood, roast rats, and bottles of various alcohols. Characters talk about regional cuisine, and express their feelings about various dishes.

But for my ‘video game cooking’ series, it’s this jarred jelly that caught my eye. Other items seemed pretty self-explanatory, like plain flatbreads and brined fish. Not only that, but all named foods are packaged in setting-appropriate cans and tins and bottles, which implores me to replicate the packaging as well as the food. Finding a plague-tinted can for jellied eels is harder than a simple mason jar for this rosewater jelly.

Thing is - the name ‘rosewater jelly’ is also self-explanatory. For those familiar with jelly recipes, all you need is gelatin and flavoring to make a jiggly desert. Rosewater is simply water seeped with rose petals in a particular process, creating a solution with an aromatic taste. Rosewater has a huge food presence throughout West Asian history. The current western world has only recently caught onto the rosewater trend.

So if I was particularly blasé, I’d tell you to get flavorless gelatin powder, a bottle of rosewater, and mix it all together with water and sugar and pink food coloring. Boom - rosewater jelly.

But we’re here to have fun, and that means making a complicated jelly desert within a vintage-packaged mason jar! So for flavoring, we’re getting our grocery store rosewater and flavorless gelatin. We’re also going to add special ingredients inspired by Dishonored’s setting.

Dunwall’s an obvious British Isles/Germany dupe, with its Gothic/Victorian/Art Nouveau clothing and architecture, and the name; “dun” being Old English. Serkonos (a neighboring country and the setting of Dishonored 2), on the other hand, is some weird amalgamate of south Europe (Italy, Greece, Portugal) and middle America (Cuba, the Caribbean).

(In Dishonored 1, the mission ‘Lady Boyle’s Last Party’ features a large dinner table, piled high with food. There’s a huge fish, a boar, and various cheeses, fruits, tarts, and giant jellies.)

Some foods within the games are specifically exported from select countries. There’s the Serkonan Blood Sausage, the Tyvian Potted Whale Meat, Morley Jellied Ox Tongue, and the Pratchett branded Jellies Eels that come from Gristol’s Dunwall itself. Characters talk about how Serkonan food is too spicy, Gristol’s food being gross, and Tyvian cuisine being ornate. We can get a general idea of what each foods are supposed to emulate.

It’s not said where Razina Rosewater Jelly originated. We have four regions to chose from (Gristol, Serkonos, Tyvia, and Morley), so we gotta narrow down the possibilities. Who would export rosewater-flavored jelly deserts in pretty jars?

I think Gristol is out. Their favorite foods include fish, meat pies, and beer, which screams United Kingdom and there’s no precedent for rosewater anything throughout Great Britain history. Tyvia gets closer, being a Russian approximate and boasting fancy wines. Morley has almost no in-game lore aside from being cold and full of tall blonde people, and Serkonos probably sits too far West for our Persian-based rosewater ingredient.

The name ‘Razina’ also doesn’t provide a solid answer. Googling results in sources from Lithuania, Croatia, and a girl’s name from the Urdu dialect of Hindi - Urdu being a dialect with strong Persian influences. Well, we knew that from the rosewater thing.

(Since the jar doesn’t come with a spoon, it might not be like a pudding cup that you, like, can eat on the go. Instead, its a food you buy then serve later - like fruit jam.)

So if no in-game region emulates a West Asian influence, then Tyvia is the closest we get for implied influence - Tyvia (probably) takes its inspiration from real-life Russia, so we can extend its reach down to Kazakhstan, Georgia, Turkey, and perhaps even Iran. All we know is; Tyvia’s art is ornate, they’re known for good food, and it’s a cold country. It fits.

Therefore, our grocery list is gonna be including ingredients from these real-life cultures, to make our Razina Rosewater Jelly.

Quick gelatin history; the squishy, translucent foodstuff can originate from many sources, such as kelp, meat, and bones. It’s hard to isolate the connective goop into any substantial amount of gelatin to craft into a dish, making it an ingredient mostly upon the tables of the privileged. Dishonored can be said to take place during an industrial revolution, sharing the real-life production history of Jell-O’s inception by using pressure cooking as a glue manufacturing byproduct. So we can claim that our Razina Rosewater Jelly is being mass-produced as a more affordable luxury.

Me being an overachieving geek, I first considered buying beef bones and boiling it down to gelatin myself, to really make this recipe authentic. But after some research, I decided it would be way too difficult - not only does it take several days of complicated pre-pressure-cooker pressure cooking, but it will taste meaty and gross and salty. Powdered gelatin it is.

For our other ingredients, we’re going to get; red food coloring, saffron, egg whites, vanilla, and vodka. Because we’re not just gonna make jelly in a jar, that’s boring. We’re making jelly mousse in a jar. That’s more fancy and exciting, and fitting of its decadence.

Our ingredients are; 1 cup of rosewater, 2 tablespoons powder gelatin, 2 tablespoons sugar, 1 egg white, a splash of vodka, and red food coloring. Along with some spices to emulate its fancy ~imported~ taste, such as saffron, vanilla, and perhaps agave nectar or mahlab.

To begin, you’ll mix together the rosewater and sugar with a small drop of red food coloring to make a pink, sugary solution. And this is also where I added a sprinkling of the spices and a drop of the vanilla. You can add more flavors to this base, such as blended fruit. The little hit of vodka is our fancy ‘Tyvian’ influence. I guess?

Then, to the watery mix you’ll add your gelatin and mix thoroughly.

Setting that aside, we’ll separate an egg to get our egg white. Taking a whisk, you’ll whip the egg whites until its completely frothy with stiff peaks. It’s not as hard as it sounds, and it’ll take you perhaps three minutes at most.

Finally, you’re going to add the watery mix to your frothy egg whites, mixing until the mixture becomes a soft mousse texture. It’s not gonna be a true mousse, its too watery for that. But the formula will have some thickness to it.

Pouring it into your jar, you’ll place that into the fridge to become a mousse jelly within one-three hours (depending on your serving sizes).

And that’s it! Once the jelly is set, you can pull out your jar and marvel at your Dishonored 2 desert. So delicious and sweet, it was too pure for the actual game.

#video game cooking #dishonored #dishonored 2

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weirdfetishes123 · 3 years

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The buttercream balloon - deviantart

"What a stupid place."

Little prick. Keep it up.

"The hell are we anyway?" Derek grunted, smacking his gum.

"Language, son."

Derek's father looked at him sternly, but the hierarchy was clear: the simpering businessman had no real authority over his boy. The Italian hunk was his daddy's pride and joy, spoiled rotten from birth. Now muscular, hairy and handsome... Derek could do no wrong. Indeed, Mr. Calhoun idolized his pushy little track star. Pampered him. Supported every fancy and whim. Mr. Calhoun saw every reason to. He's gifted. A scholar. An athlete. All the girls love him. And most of the boys, too. And it was Derek's gamely spirit that landed them a chance at a lifetime supply of chocolate. They would turn a record profit. All they needed to do was outlast the competition.. "I agree, Wonka," Calhoun asserted, "where the hell are we going?"Rooms whizzed past, throwing flashes of colorful light across the cohort of fathers and sons as they careened down a current of chocolate. Fudge Farm. Watermelon Mountain. The Rat Room. What a bunch of storybook nonsense. All Derek wanted was the prize. He didn't want to eat it. Fuck no. Lose his perfect physique? More like, make millions off this little twat of a candy buffoon. But they had been at it all day, one stupid room after the next. No one was folding. That fat little fuck almost fell in the chocolate river, but his daddy saved him at the last minute. It was like they all knew it was a game. Who would be the first to get disqualified? Wonka had them sign such a comprehensive contract, the merest burp might be rude enough.Wonka's eyes twinkled with excitement as a room flashed before him. These little twerps weren't falling off the vine as ripely as he expected, so he'd bring the vines to them. They've thwarted every downfall, he grimaced. But I can get that smelly swine in the track suit to break the rules.The Oompah Loompahs were placing bets, as always, and Wonka knew the control rooms were giddy (and sploogy) with erotic excitement and frustration. His heart sighed. It worked out so well, letting his horny little satyrs run wild with imaginative ways to null contracts. "Quite right! Stop the boat!" With expert skill, the Oompah Loompahs ejected the ferry from the current and steered it in flamboyant circles to rest beside a shadowy dock. Derek rolled his eyes. Just dock the fucking boat. "You're going to love this one," Wonka breathed, winking at Derek. "My boy is first," Mr. Calhoun demanded, shoving Derek to the front of the group and guiding him onto the dock. Wonka watched the boy move under his father's command, cocky and masculine. Such supple and tight muscles under that track suit. Looks like good stitching, too, for a spandex mix. Yellow is a bit gosh, but then... his buttocks do look ever so plump. "Gather round gentlemen," Wonka grinned. "Come in closer, everyone. Good, good..." As the men jostled about him, Derek studied the bright sign over the giant factory doors. His lazy chewing slowed, his mind attempting to unravel the mystery. What the fuck... BUTTERCREAM BALLOONS "My dear friends... this is one of my favorite new rooms. It's simply packed full of flavors--" "Isn't buttercream only one flavor," Derek snapped. "That's quite right," Mr. Calhoun followed with pride. "Good catch, son." "Buttercream is but a base of butter, my boy," Wonka replied, "a delicious, gooey base. But this isn't any old buttercream. This is special. It comes from a wonderful place--" "Oh get on with it!" "Patience kiddo," the candy man soothed. "Let's not lose our heads. I can't have that happen, not again... I will admit you boys on two conditions: absolutely no touching and definitely no tasting. Our recipe isn't quite right. There could be disastrous consequences... Eyes only..." With a slight bow, Wonka stepped aside. Derek pushed his way into the room. He gasped and shivered, squinting in the light. A cold and sterile processing room... Refrigerated. Brightly lit. High ceiling. Nothing like the ridiculous candy entrance Wonka made with the chocolate waterfall and all that idiocy. Nothing here but white walls and shiny metal machines.

But the smell... Butter. Caramel. Sugar. Cream. It lured Derek in. Sent a bolt of electric pleasure coursing through his prick. The group filed around the edge of a guardrail that allowed them a birds-eye view of whole operation. Down in the center of the circular room stood a wide, slightly elevated platform, wet with a few puddles of yellow goop. Around the edge of the room, large cylindrical vats boiled and bubbled while Oompah Loompahs in white suits moved busily between them, carting ingredients and consulting over control panels. Wonka smiled down at his little dairy men in their darling dairy hats and sighed. "Imagine!" he cried out. "Imagine a world in which you could harvest buttercream straight from a tap so divine, so perfectly designed that it never stopped blessing you with more..." "You'd be rich," one man snorted, "but there's no such tap." "Ingredients have to come from somewhere," another chimed. "That's what I thought, too," Wonka nodded. "Until just last week when one of my very own brave little men returned from his terrifying homeland bearing a strange gift..." Wonka motioned to the center of the room as two Oompah Loompahs rolled a large, white, perfectly spherical ball onto the platform. Their gloved hands pressed with expert care at the glossy globe. Rubbery and mesmerizing. Derek gasped softly at the sight, ogling with every other boy the cue ball of fat like it was a fantastic diamond... "You making soccer balls for giants in here Wonka?" "All I need to provide is a vessel. Something elastic. This extraordinarily rubbery ball of cream, for example. Each of these expandable pearls," Wonka elated with a proud gesture, "is worth more than twice my chocolate fountain for its utility. You'll never guess where I get them." Wonka winked at a plump businessman and raised his eyebrows. "Nobody?" he chuckled. "Well, I suppose the Egg Room is a bit wild for today. But it's a wonderful show. And as you can see, the eggs those boys--geese--produce is beautiful." "What is that thing?" Derek chewed. "Why, it's the most amazingly larded fatty buttercream you've never tasted, my boy!" Wonka exclaimed. "Its taut exterior masks a rich, creamy blend of white and gold buttercreams. Well, they're not quite buttercreams yet, you see, we still have to introduce the magic of..." As Wonka marveled about the properties of this strange white ball, Mr. Calhoun discreetly cupped his boy's luscious rump and stepped him to the side of the group. "It's now or never," Calhoun whispered. "Take it." "But Daddy--" "If we wait," the man snapped in agitation, "we'll never see that prize. You're smarter than they are. See those double doors? They lead to the central corridor." "It's too risky--" "It's all we've got, son. Everything is riding on this score. You know that. Now be a big boy and steal that priceless ball of blubber. I showed you where the corridors converge; you'll be back in that ridiculous candy entrance with the chocolate waterfall in five minutes flat. It's a breeze from there to the front gates." "It looks awful dense!" "Denser than you," the man seethed, his middle finger exploring the valley between Derek's firm cheeks. "No video games for a month. No TV for a year. You'll be cleaning toilets at the rec center this summer." He pushed his finger up between and whispered. "Son..." "Fine! I'll do it!" "Good sport," Mr. Calhoun said with a playful peck on his boy's cheek. "...and once they've blown it up to tremendous proportions, and I mean staggering, we roll it through those doors to the Prep Room." "What happens in there?" "Why, our fabulously fatty cream balloon is positively pampered. Weighed and measured, polished, topped off, decorated, packaged. Signed, sealed and delivered! Quite the involved operation, but my little men are quite fond of their work. They do love to make things grow..." "Bank accounts?" Mr. Calhoun suggested with playful, patronizing animation.

"Oh but my process is priceless. Who could duplicate any one of my remarkable efficiencies? But to your point, sir, many balloons will ripen in the Prep Room for months. Even years. We pride ourselves on quality, gents. I have a buttercream balloon so rich that it's reached 4,000 percent fattiness!" "Dad, look!" one of the boys exclaimed. "He's going to take it!" Mr. Calhoun gasped with the rest of the tour and then sighed rather proudly, slapping the candy man on the shoulder. "Alpha boys, right?" Derek was shaking with adrenaline. Fuck this stupidity. No touching? No tasting? This was a tour of a candy factory, for fuck sake. Derek toppled little orange dairy men left and right, upsetting tubs of cream and knocking over tables to reach the buttercream ball. And it smelled incredible. He pressed his hands against it, but before he could roll it, it gave slightly, like a ripe melon, breaking gently at the pressure of his fingertips and yielding a thick, rich cream. Derek looked up at the exit doors--strangely so much larger from this perspective. Five times his size easy. How did they get so big? Why... "I wouldn't touch that if I were you." Wonka's warning brought Derek back to the ball. He knew he was supposed to grab it and run. He knew, yet the rich cream oozing down its tight surface... The aroma... Sweet and ripe, like a rich sugary cheese... Yes. Just one taste. One and then I'm going for the exit... "Daddy he's touching and tasting!" "I'd say that's a breach of contract," a man growled. "How's that buttercream, my boy!" Mr. Calhoun nervously deflected, shouting down to his son, who brought a second handful of goop to his mouth with extra flair for his audience. "Mmmmmm! Worth every calorie!" Derek shouted back. The muscular boy whipped around, licking his fingers theatrically for all to see. "It's okay Wonka," he shrugged. "But it's missing something. Like I said: one flavor. I mean it's good, don't get me wrong, but if I were you, I'd tell your little freak this present sucks." Wonka smirked. Right where I want you, handsome little prick. "Stupid boy. You haven't listened to a word I've said since we entered this room." "Since we entered this factory, dumbass. Everything you say is nonsense!" The group gasped; Mr. Calhoun blushed. But Derek's blatant nastiness delighted the candy man. It gave him a tingle. Finally! Some contempt for the rules. Selfishness. It was finally happening. He felt the heated arousal of the Oompah Loompahs, giddy as always with lust. "Don't take my word for it," the arrogant boy continued, flexing a little. "I don't eat sweets. Today's a holiday from the usual regimen. Gotta keep this body hard and tight to compete." "Hard and tight, you say?" Wonka repeated, his eyes glancing up to the ceiling, which was quietly drawing open. "Kids a shoo-in for state champ," beamed Calhoun, quietly shaking from the turn of fate the scene had taken. "He's smart as a whip, too. H-he could be running your factory someday." "Dad what's that!" someone gasped. A large tentacle descended toward Derek, weaving through the air like a snake: green and slick, alive and pulsing, yet dappled with beautiful purple and yellow flowers, and a head like the most luscious erection Mr. Calhoun or any of the men around him had ever seen. The Oompah Loompahs hovered at the edges of the room in hushed anticipation, sneers rippling through the lot. A mess of lesser vines followed the larger vine down, dancing mischievously around it as they moved closer and closer to the naive boy on the platform... "Whatever, Wonka," Derek gibed. "This shit is lame, but we're taking it now and there's nothing you can do to stop us--" Before the stud could finish his retort, the clever vines ensnared him: they wrapped his wrists and ankles, wrestling his legs and arms away from his body. "Huh!?"

"It needs a vessel to unload its buttercream," Wonka sighed, patting Derek's shocked father on the belly. "My rubbery cheese balls work very well. Their incredible elasticity makes them perfect for collecting hundreds of pounds of buttercream daily. But it appears the vines of the Fattius Maximus Embarricus have an altogether different balloon to blow up this time." "B-balloon!" Mr. Calhoun stuttered, eyes widening. "Mr. Wonka, I am a teacher of biology," announced a professorial type. "There's simply no such plant!" "Embarricus is a rare find, to be sure," Wonka engaged, turning away from the scene on the platform with a snobbish lack of interest. "But as you can see, he does exist. He was quite small when he first arrived, but as I fed him, he grew amazingly large. He has his own room above this one and can supply multiple rooms below with a variety of confectionery delights. It's magical, the bond we developed as I nurtured him. He gives so much back to me now..." "Get away from me! Get off of me! Dad! Mr. Wonka!" the spoiled brat yelled, swatting at the curious vines as they secured his squirming body, holding his limbs in a taut X. "They're searching him, as they always do," Wonka continued. He watched the vines feel the boy up, carelessly violating his dignity. "Palpating. For a hole." "A hole!?" Calhoun gasped. "Wonka you gotta do something! Close your mouth, son!" "And if they can't find a hole," Wonka added, checking his fingernails nonchalantly, "they'll make one. I've learned that the hard way. But at the rate your son blabbers, Derek will have his mouth full in no time." "Daddy helpppmmpphh!" Derek cried as the large vine's cock head pushed between his lips, pacifying him. His eyes grew huge and wet with tears as sweet cream immediately released from the phallic gag. His powerful muscles flexed in frustrated attempts to pull himself free as the thick cream filled his mouth and expanded his cheeks. The plant had its vessel. Derek felt the flow increasing, pumping globs of butter down his throat and filling his stomach. It was delicious... he moaned... gulping... the strain against his abs was nearly painful. "Daddy, there's another one!" Derek twisted uselessly in his trap as a second flowery vine descended. It was even larger than the first, its engorged cock head dripping with blorts of cream. Derek tried to scream, but his mouth was packed with the most delicious buttercream he'd ever tasted. It stretched his stomach and his track suit bulged. He was getting impossibly full! Please... no..."A second vine, why how marvelous!" Wonka clapped. "A real treat!" The smaller vines explored Derek's firm, muscular ass, seeming to admire the expansive curves. They rotated him forcefully to bring his growing butt into full view of the audience. Plump and juicy. Fathers cleared their throats with embarrassed modesty; boys gasped in fascination. Derek wiggled his fists and feet at the indignity of being handled like this, in front of all these handsome gentlemen. He whined and whimpered. "They're sensing something," Wonka whispered, eyes glued to the helpless boy. The smaller vines palpating Derek's plump ass seemed to communicate with the largest vine, drawing its attention to the ripe rump. The boy blushed as he recognized their intentions. "They've found another hole!" a man gasped. Derek screamed as the second large vine pushed between his cheeks, ripping right through the seams of his track suit and burrowing slimy and warm into his moist crack. "No TV for a year," Wonka sighed wistfully, gently teasing Mr. Calhoun's erection. The candy man loved the confusion on the man's face as he watched his precious boy being handled by the plant. "I hear all in this factory. I would say this is a breach of contract, wouldn't you? Conspiring to larceny? I confess, I had high hopes for you two. I really did. But you're just as much a sham as the rest of these pretenders. You put on airs, but the stitching isn't quality." "Hold on, son!" Mr. Calhoun shouted, but two limber Oompah Loompahs held him back.

"You don't want to go down there," Wonka warned. "Unless you want to join him..." The businessman turned apple red. Tears filled his eyes. "We gotta let the air outa him quick!" "There's no air in there..." Wonka corrected. "Look at his pants!" a kid laughed. Mr. Calhoun's face heated with humiliation. "He likes it!" another father shouted. Derek screamed uselessly at the man's insinuation, but his erection was now obvious. He had tented huge and wet through his track suit, dribbling uncontrollably with precum. Why was he boned? He looked from face to face through fathers and sons, gulping like a maniac. Why was no one helping him? They were shocked. And amused. Aroused... Frustration gripped him at the thought and he writhed against his juicy captor. But the huge vine up his inflating bum was too engorged with cream, pumping and pulsing it into him, massaging his prostate and sending waves of pleasure and anger through his body as it literally fucked him fatter. Derek cursed the candy maker as cream plopped down all over him, decadent and excessive in its oozy abundance. Yet even as the boy gulped and chewed, a secret part of him, a part deep down between his legs, deeper still in his hole--the only part his Daddy knew how to control--was a barnyard hog desperate to be let out to wallow. The vines knew it. They're doing this on purpose, he whined, flapping helplessly and struggling in his trap. "He's blowing up!" "It's his arrogance that's done it!" Blowing up?! The insane pressure in his stomach had strangely relaxed... Derek panicked, struggling to look down at himself. He was inflating like a balloon! His belly was the size of a large pumpkin, pressing against his suit as his pecs swelled into melons of cream. His hips widened and his ass blimped... everything was expanding at an alarmingly cartoonish rate. And all he could do was wiggle his fingers and toes helplessly. Mmmmppphhh! "Poor kid, how much will he grow?" "There's no science to it yet," Wonka replied. "He'll get as much as the vines give him." "How much can he handle?" "I find muscular young men like Derek to be quite elastic. He's in such fine shape, I'm sure he'll come out on top. And look at that little dinkie! You can't say he doesn't like it..." Derek whimpered as the Oompah Loompahs moved toward the platform, quietly circling to watch the rude brat get his just deserts. The blubbering boy winced and wiggled as his suit ripped and patches of creamy skin appeared through the frays. Every pound, every swallow was heaven. He was bubbling up, blimping out, gurgling, the rhythm of the lustful vine between his huge hairy buttcheeks loudly and humiliatingly fucking him like a stuck pig. The smaller vines made gentle circles on the head of his fat, creamy cock as it pulsed under his straining spandex pants. Dribbling wet. Oozing cream. Desperate and flooded with hormones. His package seemed to be growing, too, but at a slower rate than his thighs, which were now globular balloons of fat, swallowing his dick and melting into the expansive shape of his thighs and ass. His calves swelled like ripening cherries; his shoulders and arms blimped into giant balls of lard, impossibly huge, rubbery and cheesy... His belly inflated the fastest, pushing outward in all directions... anger strained his face... SNAP! POP! Mmmmppphhh! Derek screamed in relief as his pants ripped away and his shirt shredded into bits. The hoggish boy was now fully exposed. Ballooning under the bright lights for all to see! Creamy tears filled his eyes and ran down his massive cheeks. How big was he going to get? His legs pushed apart as fat swallowed his thighs. Wider, farther... until he balanced on tip toes, buttercream filling the space between his legs and locking them apart from the inside. The head of his cock, now the size of basketball, finally became overwhelmed with blubber and sank into his gut pad as it ballooned with rich fattiness. His shoulders and arms were Michelin tires of fat, globular blimps swallowing his grasping little hands... "He's ripening like a fruit..."

"Like cheese," Wonka replied flatly. "If we aren't careful, the boy's liable to ripen irreversibly. It's quite a delicious conundrum!" "There goes the championship!" "I'm sure Guinness has a place for him, if there's any of him left..." Derek gurgled expletives at the laughing men through his gag, cream blobbing down over his cheeks and chest. The vines teased his swelling tits, arousing them to hard, huge points; they dribbled and spurted yellow goop as they ripened so large that they pushed the boy's triple chins into a depression; Derek's head was now sinking in his circular frame, along with his feet and hands. He was getting tighter and growing yellower by the second. He wobbled in the grip of the vines, gelatinous and horrible... "The pressure looks tremendous!" "Is that music?" Wonka suggested. Lights dimmed and the buttercream balloon was suddenly center-stage, spotlighted in his embarrassing predicament. A rhythm had indeed started. Oompah Loompahs pounded against tables and drummed utensils on the vats, louder as the minutes melted away. Tubas bwomped in time with the beat, their deep farts sending waves of lustful pleasure through Derek's trapped, gloopy dick. Babydick! Derek strained to see the dairy man who whispered the humiliating word. Others chimed in, but Derek could merely flap and fuck the vine harder in response. Fat fuck! Loser! Diapers forever, stud! With a violent POP! the large vine pulled away from Derek's mouth, revealing the reddened face of the little brat, cheeks enormous with cream. Stuffed beyond recognition. The vine ascended, the force of its removal leaving the blimp unstable. He wobbled precariously for a moment like a terrific bowl of jelly, but the large vine pumping his heinie expanded suddenly, steadying him. He tried to move, but he could barely waddle left or right. He stood naked in the center of the room, flapping his wrists and looking from one little dairy man to the next in desperate abandon. It was his time to listen. And listen he did, as the vine pumped away... Now that we've got your attention, dear boy . It is time to explain your demise! You were rude, you were loud, You were selfish and proud, Now you're swelling with cream from the vines! Silly daddy did pamper and spoil you rotten, Never stopping to spank you; all manners forgotten! But we'll teach you to see, And we think you'll agree, It's his fault for this fattening lesson you're caught in! Mr. Calhoun blushed at the accusation. Wonka smirked as the two men stood nearly nose-to-nose, Derek screaming in the background. "Like what you see?" Wonka whispered. The two men looked down at Calhoun's erection, now visibly soaking his fine pants. Tsk tsk, Wonka chided patronizingly as an Oompah Loompah unzipped Calhoun's pants and pulled his throbbing boner into the light. "Did you want him to get caught, Daddy?" With tears in his eyes, the businessman nodded. "Yes, Mr. Wonka." "Do you like watching him get fat?" Calhoun gasped in rapture. "Yes... so very fat Mr. Wonka..." "Compliments of the house," Wonka announced. Calhoun felt a rushed of sensation as the Oompah Loompah blorted out a thick, cheesy cream over his cock and began pumping it with both white-gloved hands. He looked over at the other men, worried his lust was exposed, but they were equally attended. Little dairy men had the entire party by their swollen members. "I hate to spoil the fun, gents, but you might as well all lose your heads." Businessmen gasped and grunted, handsome and lustful, as little hands pampered their penises to the sight of the sobbing, blubbering balloon on the platform. Derek moaned pitifully as Oompah Loompahs thumped against his marvelously round belly and ass, the rhythm of their beat complimenting the thrusts of the pump squirting cream mindlessly between his legs. His feet were disappearing into fat, rising off the platform. He was filling out in all directions. Sinking. Ballooning. Becoming a sphere of fatty cream. Please... help me...

Trumpets drowned his moans and jazzy tubas farted a beat as a silly light show began to flash around him, Oompah Loompahs dancing on catwalks above. They jeered at the wet-eyed boy peering up at them, losing the battle to total inflation snuff. Oompah Loompah! Doopity doo! We've got a wet, sticky puzzle for you Oompah Loompah! Doopity dee! If you're a butter blob, listen to me! They made piggy faces in mocking delight. In response, the boy burped out a massive blob of cream that blubbered apart over his enormous tits and glazed the expanse of his gloriously gigantic belly: he was the spitting image of the very cream ball he hoped to steal. What do you get when your kid is a prick? Blimp him so fat that cream cums out his dick! Derek--if we can still call the swelling globe of fat a boy at all--moaned uselessly in the noise, his arms and legs impossibly far apart. Now he knew why those doors had to be so large. He was beyond fat. He was pure fat. A sphere of golden fat. His body was a thick rubbery texture and he was filling fast to the brim with the fattiest cream imaginable. Feet horizontal, a world of fat between his legs. Little fists sinking in tightening cheese. Please... help me... What happens now that he's swollen and tight? Force him to cum for us day and night! "He's sinking!" Mr. Calhoun shouted, edged to utter madness. "He'll explode!" "Nonsense," Wonka replied, lowering himself to the little dairy man wrenching Calhoun's cock. "Help this sorry, spoiled man get his little boy to the Prep Room at once." "What for?" gasped the fat businessman in the grip of near-orgasm, unable to tear his eyes from the spectacle. "My! That boy's getting quite FAT! He's so marvelously FAT Wonka, I daresay he's FAT FAT FAT!" And he nodded stupidly to the Oompah Loompa pumping his crank. "But just HOW fat Wonka?" another man added with an air of business-like interest, gasping on edge. "Can you measure him? Weigh him? How FAT will he get?""Can you measure his richness?" another man boomed with pleasure. "Ripeness?" "He's tight as a drum!" a boy breathed, fascinated by the yellowing cream blimp. "No, I won't hold you responsible if it's too late," Wonka whispered to the Oompah Loompah working over Calhoun. "Well please try. We can't have him bursting in here like the last one, it will take weeks to clean up." With another loud POP! the vine pulled itself from Derek's butthole and retracted. The men and boys gasped in surprise. The whimpering balloon was still tightening. Rounding into a perfect sphere. Wiggling. It knew it deserved every word. Every pound. But it didn't want to go like this. Not like this... The platform began to rotate, displaying the balloon's perfection for the groaning tour. Pulled by his penis, a sniffling red-faced father descended the nearby stairwell and moved through the dancing crowd of dairy men toward what was left of his boy: a giant, gurgling, tightening, towering ball of dairy cream. Mr. Calhoun glanced from face to singing face in humiliation as they pulled him along, lecturing the whole way... What happens to blubberboys? Where do they go? Are they measured and weighed? Are they polished for show? Are they babied and diapered, Or lathered in cream? Are they sold at an auction? Do they burst at the seams? Calhoun looked up. The balloon was enormous! Two stories of glistening fat. Toes and fingers were no longer visible. Just a few desperate whimpers and deep farts reverberating through the music proved a boy once existed in there. "My precious son..." They get no more choices, No freedom, no fun-- Except cumming, of course, And that job's never done! The cream balloon felt his fathers hands pressing. Palpating. Feeling what had become of the mouthy brat. Mr. Calhoun nervously ran his hands over the balloon's expanse. "D-Derek, are you i-in there son? A-are you alive?"

But... how hot this balloon felt! Like a giant rubbery fucktoy... Mr Calhoun moaned and rubbed in huge circles. Lustfully. He slapped both hands against what was left of his boy's huge ass. Cream oozed gently down all sides of the balloon. A rich, decadent end... Now come, Daddy, please, Give this cheese ball a push! Help us roll it away To milk cream from its tush! We must package it quick, While there's still time to pump! Buttercream from its dick, Provolone from its rump! The huge factory doors opened and Calhoun strained, shoving the massive balloon forward. Its muffled screams drowned in the silly tubas, whistles and clapping, the celebration of FAT going on around them. It picked up momentum and rolled like a perfect product down the platform ramp and out of sight, screaming all the way, cream splurting from its wet little peepee hole and deliciously huge butthole. Oompah Loompah, doopity dah! If you're not spoiled then you will go far! You will live in fattiness too, "Farewell, Mr. Calhoun," Wonka waved smugly. "You get the prize after all. Cream for life." The businessman whined in frustration, pulled yet again by his juicy erection, this time through the doors to the Prep Room. Oompah Loompah's sang to him and he nodded back, understanding now. This was the right thing to do. Give up. Give in... Likely, Oompah Loompah, bloompah doopity DOO! *tuba bwomp*

*factory doors sealing shut*

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thetakenpokemon · 7 years

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Cassiopeia@Vedika: "I spy with my masked smiling eye, a fellow magical seer such as I~?" The spritely magician girl greets Vedika with a playful smile and raising of her tophat, complete with pink and purple sparkles and glitters. "If I may be so bold to ask of you, I've heard you dabble into magic too? But from what my senses can tell, you are versed in the more arcane class of spell... Oh how curious, oh my heart be still! What sort of magicks do you weave with your will~?"

[PoV: Vedika]

Out of all the delicacies within this pathetic planet, ‘Hawaiian’ Pizza is one of the few that I tolerate more than others. With a slice in my hand I bite into it, uncaring of the pain as it burns my tongue.

My eyes shift around the eatery with disgust, particularly disliking the fact that this place is enclosed without any sort of patio. Nevertheless I’ve secluded myself from the others of my ‘team’, choosing to sit in a corner to actually get some peace to myself after that annoying bus trip.

Yet apparently said peace gets crushed into powder as some fool invades my privacy to speak to me. The sheer energy and excitement in their tone disgusts me, but when I realize that their words are rhyming…that’s when I shift my glaring eyes to them.

The one speaking in rhyme turns out to be some sort of Gothitelle, a pure-breed. Her behavior and attire gives her the impression of some show-woman, the playful manner of speech as well as the glitter makes her very bright and cheery.

I hate her already.

Even though I am listening to whatever drivel she’s spewing from her obnoxious mouth, I’ve long since turned my gaze back to what’s truly deserving of my attention…which is the slice of pizza in my hand.

I raise it to my mouth to take another bite, however it stops at the last moment after my gaze flicks back to the pathetic excuse of a ‘mage’ when she ends her obnoxious speech with a question.

I entertain the thought of casting one of my newly devised spells so I can watch her writhe in agony for my viewing pleasure, just imagining what her expression would be makes me smirk…but I ultimately I decide against it due to the troubles it would bring me.

I let my pizza fall onto the table as my smile morphs into a sneer. “You desire to know of my magic?” I hiss, digging the nails of my other hand into the wooden table. “I doubt that your feeble mind would ever comprehend the power that I manipulate, especially when you are not even deserving of the title ‘mage’.” My eyes narrow. “To compare me to you is laughable, you are no ‘seer’, only a fool who uses flashing lights and claims it to be spellcraft.”

I stand up and raise one of my hands, tapping into the dark pools within me I call upon a black energy that starts snaking around my fingers. “Gothitelles use their power to call upon the energy of the stars, to read their flows of energy to predict future happenings.” I clench my teeth together, my face forming a vicious smile. “It is a pathetic power compared to what I seek to master.”

The black energy in my fingers continue to swirl, acting as if they have life of their own. “Between these stars is a void, an emptiness that contains infinite potential. The schism of these stars possess knowledge that transcends mortal worlds, found within only those who search deep enough.”

“Black Magic is what some call it, however something as grand as it deserves no feeble title.” I couldn’t help but snicker. “Combining my psychic power with its darkness grants me the ability to alter the world around me, to do things that no mortal could hope to achieve on their own.” My expression widens further as a dark shadow passes over my eyes. “It can do many things, I however…study its effects on the living.”

“The possibilities with it are endless. I could tap into your pain receptors and awaken them all, to fill you with complete agony the likes you’ve never experienced.” I pick up the fallen slice of pizza off the table, the fall having made it lose several of its toppings. “Or perhaps I could reach into your ovaries and make every single egg rot, to crush your hopes of ever having offspring.” I slowly proceed to crush the article of food in my hands, causing sauce and cheese to ooze out between each of my fingers. “I could melt the retinas in your eyes to eternally blind you, weaken your bones so that they crumble underneath your weight, warp your tongue so that you could never speak. The possibilities are endless~”

I let the goop of what used to be a pizza slice in my hand to fall to the table and splatter, my wicked expression quickly returns to that of a brooding indifference as I set back down. “That is what my magic is, although currently I have yet to achieve many that I’ve listed.” Raising my filthy hand I proceed to lick each finger, moving very slowly as I clean the sauce off the appendages while my eyes never leave the other Gothitelle. “I study the dark arts in hopes of achieving this, to become one of the strongest mages this world has ever seen.”

With the sauce and cheese gone I smack my lips loudly. “What of you? Do you seek power that is far beyond the likes of this world? Do you study how it can alter land and body, to shape it into how you see fit?” My sneer quickly returns. “Or are you but a mere entertainer who only adopted the word ‘mage’ to make others thing that you’re something more, but in reality all you can do is hypnotize a crowd with only a few flashing lights and an exaggerated speech.”

I clasp my hands together, my eyes narrowing again. “Which one am I correct on, magician?”

#vedikagothitelle #thevaloroushearts #praxicblades #ask

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

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Reclaiming Indian Food from the White Gaze

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The same food I was teased for as a kid has become gentrified and endorsed by Goop. Now, I’m using my cookbook to change the narrative.

This is Eater Voices, where chefs, restaurateurs, writers, and industry insiders share their perspectives about the food world, tackling a range of topics through the lens of personal experience. First-time writer? Don’t worry, we’ll pair you with an editor to make sure your piece hits the mark. If you want to write an Eater Voices essay, please send us a couple paragraphs explaining what you want to write about and why you are the person to write it to [email protected].

Once we’d been at home for three months, I finally gave in — not to sourdough, but to starting a quarantine cookbook. At first, it seemed like a fun and lighthearted activity, a way to connect with friends over what we were making. But it turned out to be more emotional than I expected. As an Indian woman working to love my culture in a world that has stolen it from me, food gets very personal.

I was never taught how to cook as a child. My parents don’t cook very often; their specialty is chili cheese toast, and I don’t know any passed-down family recipes. Instead, I learned the basics from Chitra Agrawal’s Vibrant India when I was 21. But even though I was brought up on Indian food, I learned about it through the white gaze.

For many people of color, food can be a source of pride and shame. Growing up, I was mocked for how Indian food affected white people’s digestion. Whenever I went to a British friend’s house for playdates, her mom proudly told me when they ordered Indian food (always curry) and how she was so relieved that this particular restaurant didn’t give her stomach problems. She wanted a pat on the back for bravely ordering ethnic food, but by othering my culture and expecting my validation, she made me uncomfortable.

Slowly, I started absorbing the stigma that others attached to my culture. In fifth grade, my mom submitted a chicken tikka masala recipe to our class cookbook even though we are vegetarians, because it’s always been easier to give the people what they want than to try to educate them. In 10th grade, eating bhindi stained my braces green. In college, my favorite snack was papad, but when my friends started to sniff the air after I made it, I learned to be self-conscious about its smell. As an adult, even my own home could make me feel judged: Whenever I made tadka in my Brooklyn kitchen, the mustard seeds tempering in ghee set off the smoke detector.

But the same recipes I was teased for eventually became chic, gentrified, and endorsed by Goop. Their popularity in the hands of white tastemakers made me realize that people didn’t want to see a brown face behind brown food. I met people who were hesitant to try my homemade nimbu pani, but would happily pay $6 for South Indian filter coffee made by a white woman at Smorgasburg. It’s never been an equal playing field: Brown chefs are expected to cook their own food, but white chefs can cook whatever they want.

I’ve also seen the effects of colonialism in how people explain my own culture back to me, with no awareness of the power dynamics. This happens a lot at restaurants. At Manhattan’s Bombay Bread Bar, a white server felt compelled to explain kulcha to me; farther downtown at Janam Tea, my Pakistani friend and I received a lecture from a white woman who proudly told us how she was bringing Indian tea to the West, without any humility around claiming expertise of a culture that is not her own.

For years, I’ve been working to address culinary imperialism and reclaim my love of Indian food from the white gaze. But while I have been enjoying teaching myself traditional recipes, I often get stuck when none of the options online are written by brown people. It’s become so trendy to remove Indian food from its cultural context — the New York Times’ masoor dal recipe includes sweet potatoes, which would alarm any auntie — that it’s hard to know what’s authentic as someone who’s still learning.

It doesn’t help that in the West, people view Indian food through the lens of takeout, which shortchanges the craft behind it. Many recipes are extremely intricate, with over 10 ingredients and hours of prep and stove time. Even a simple meal requires a quick sequence of actions, serious focus, and lots of multitasking (cue the smoke detector). And yet that effort is often erased by what is familiar: My roommates are cautious about tasting new recipes that I make, and instead keep ordering their usual garlic naan and vindaloo. For all of the parts of my culture that people love, it’s sad to see how much fear still exists.

It’s also jarring to see how the language around Indian food has changed over time, with new recipes branded as ayurvedic, vegan, and cleansing in order to seem more approachable. Ghee, which I grew up thinking was an indulgence, is now a superfood. Khichdi, one of my childhood comfort foods, has been co-opted as kitchari, the latest detox cleanse.

This kind of language belongs to modern wellness culture, which has also made me distance myself from Indian traditions. I would love to learn yoga or meditation, but don’t feel like I have access to them anymore: It’s too painful to learn about my culture from people who can’t pronounce “namaste” (nuh-mus-teh) or “mantra” (mun-tra). “Namaste” is a word that no longer even belongs to us: I cringe when I hear it used in all sorts of inappropriate situations, like as a catchphrase to “namastay in bed.” Its loss echoes the one I felt my first year in New York, when I attended a Diwali puja (prayer service) only to feel sick to my stomach when I realized that I was the only brown person in the room. It’s traumatic to see your culture taken from you.

The same recipes I was teased for eventually became chic, gentrified, and endorsed by Goop. Their popularity in the hands of white tastemakers made me realize that people didn’t want to see a brown face behind brown food.

Still, I’m working to not let my baggage stop me. Three years ago, I went to Patel Brothers, the iconic store in Jackson Heights, to start my spice collection and happily buy katoris that remind me of home. As I learned to cook, I sent my parents photos of pongal, puchka, and pakoras on WhatsApp, hoping that one day I could cook for them. I joined a dinner club, which became my testing ground for new recipes (I was the only person of color), and shared leftovers with my South Asian coworkers for the real verdict. Over Thanksgiving, I observed my aunt’s chai-making process to figure out why my chai tasted like a mouthful of ginger (crushing instead of grating was the trick). I even started improvising with spices, adding chaat masala to popcorn, cucumber, and scrambled eggs.

After going through this journey to reclaim my culture, every decision for my quarantine cookbook feels critical: Each is a chance to change the narrative, even if it’s just for myself. For weeks, I’ve been compiling global recipes from my community, finding ways to bring out personal stories and enjoying the opportunity to learn more about my friends. All of them submitted one or two recipes, mostly ones that are meaningful to them and have been passed down in their families. As the cookbook’s curator, I knew that my recipe would say something about me, and felt a familiar existential crisis coming. If I chose Indian food, I would feel a responsibility to dispel myths, provide regional nuances, and compensate for whitewashed food descriptions (I refuse to call a dosa a sourdough crepe). But if I chose a recipe from a different culture, I would feel like a sellout.

This dilemma reflected a larger one: Representing my culture always feels somewhat performative. In many ways, I’m happy to educate. It’s incredibly important to learn about food from people who come from its culture. But the pantomime required to cheerfully explain the basics and provide emotional reassurance so that other people can get over their fears and assumptions is exhausting.

For this reason, I’ve never felt fully comfortable going to Indian restaurants with non-South Asians. I know that, in some way, I will be responsible for translating the menu, affirming people’s choices, advising on spice levels, teaching them how to eat with their hands, and commenting on whether the food is authentic — a temporary tour guide. But it feels strange to be considered an authority when I don’t always recognize what’s on the menu. There are dozens of regional cuisines within India, but in the U.S., only a handful of North Indian dishes are mainstream, and many of us didn’t grow up eating them. People are always shocked when I tell them that I don’t eat curry, but they don’t understand that there’s so much more to Indian food that I’ve never felt like I was missing out.

This emotional labor is why, without realizing it, I left writing my own cookbook recipe to the last minute. I was delaying the carefully calculated decisions of how to translate ingredients, whether to pick a familiar or niche recipe, and how much to educate. Ultimately I picked chana masala, partly because it’s one of my favorite easy dishes and partly because I wanted it to serve as a wake-up call for people who don’t know the cultural roots of The Stew.

For the introduction, I wrote about how my dad calls me luchi, the Bengali word for puri, a puffy round flatbread that is served with chana masala to make one of my favorite dishes, chole bhature. I explained how, when I was young, I would get excited to order it at restaurants and poke the puri so it would deflate. Now, it’s really special to realize that I can make the chana myself. In writing about this, I found a way to speak about Indian food in a way that felt genuine to me.

Now I’m back in India, and it feels like a dream to not have to carry around the armor. I finally feel like I can learn without judgment, and have already warned various aunties that I’m coming over to cook after quarantine ends. I’m working to sink my feet into the spaces my ancestors created, to unconditionally love where I come from and give myself permission to explore it. It’s always going to be a process, but I want to decolonize my mind and take my power back.

Nayantara Dutta is a writer, strategist, and third culture kid. You can find her @nayantaradutta.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3gpntXd https://ift.tt/2Zn7Ok5

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The same food I was teased for as a kid has become gentrified and endorsed by Goop. Now, I’m using my cookbook to change the narrative.

Nayantara Dutta is a writer, strategist, and third culture kid. You can find her @nayantaradutta.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3gpntXd via Blogger https://ift.tt/31vIbQT

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

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