#detective squall goode

[i-have-41-protons]

Masterpost of Everything

You may call me Rowan :3

✨✨🦇✨✨

Fandoms:

- Gravity Falls

- Hazbin Hotel

- Nevermoor

- Good Omens

- Dead Boy Detectives

- The Owl House

- How to Train Your Dragon

- Harry Potter (inactive but will gladly chat)

~~~

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DRAWING REQUESTS OPEN :3

You can request drawings for Gravity Falls from me.

✅ I will draw: NSFW, suggestive, general stuff, short comics, gore, angst, all that sort of stuff.

❌ I WON’T draw: explicit surgical needles, too much visual eye gore, teeth gore, and naked reproductive organs (penises and vaginas).

I’m doing this just coz and also as practice for commissions, also because I want INSPIRATION✨ Keep respectful! :3

***

~~~

Art tag: #my art I drew

My blog is in NO WAY organized tbh but I hope this will help navigate it. I will be adding on to and changing this post all the time.

Sideblogs:

@41protons is the blog specifically for the GravityFursAU!! Go on, check it out >:3

@nighvalecommunityradiounofficial is my nightvale radio blog

@young-independent-wizard is my wizardblr blog

Fanfiction :3

I am Iwritebananapoetry on ao3 :3

I Love (Hearing) You (Talk)

This is a Nevermoor fanfic on ao3. Here’s the link:

This is still a WIP, but it’s getting updated all the time!!

Tag: #I Love (Hearing) You (Talk)

AUs:

You can find all my au’s by the following tags

#Co-Dad AU (Nevermoor)

#gravityfursAU (Gravity Falls)

Cool info

Ezra Squall’s age

Mickey Mouse’s ears

…

So far that’s it! For now ;3

Here have a cool thing I made, I think it’s a very cute nutcracker:

|=|:3§><=;

[tropes-and-tales]

A Package Deal

December 6:  Mittens/Kid - Parent and child’s caretaker (Benny Magalon x F!reader)

(From the winter prompts found here)

CW:  Single dad Benny; convoluted plot; I dunno.

Word Count:  1538

AN:  Requested by anon!

Benny Magalon didn’t necessarily feel any sort of way towards children before.  He always assumed he’d have kids someday, after he met a woman and married her, but it was just an assumption about a hazy future when he, a detective with Major Crimes, necessarily lived in the present.

It all went out the window when his girlfriend got pregnant and decided to keep it.  He wasn’t sure they’d last as a couple, but he thought he’d at least have a partner to co-parent with.  Six months after the birth of their daughter, though, his girlfriend split without a word.

It was the worst six months of his life—sleepless nights, a yawning black hole of terror that he won’t be able to handle single parenthood.

Six months after that, she sent paperwork signing over any and all rights to their daughter, Ava, and Benny realized he had no choice but to handle his new life as a single dad and sole provider to his young daughter.

-----

He’s not completely alone.  

His parents help a lot.  His mother and sister are invaluable; they help him navigate the tricky world of infants with their sleep regression and unformed skulls and burgeoning immune systems sensitive to every germ.  He has cousins who pitch in, who show up with one-dish meals that require only a quick reheating, who quietly tackle the mountain of laundry that accumulates during the work week.

Hell, even the guys help out in a pinch once in a while.  It’s a sight, Connors sitting at Benny’s kitchen table with Ava and coloring in her My Little Pony coloring books.

His best help comes from next door.

Benny meets you when he’s at his absolute lowest point:  abandoned and left to care for an infant, he manages to find a little bungalow that he can actually afford the mortgage on.  He desperately wants to give Ava stability, and something about owning a house—albeit a small one—with a tiny backyard makes him feel like he isn’t failing completely as a father.

He meets you the day he moves in—his next door neighbor.  You’re an illustrator; you work from home.  Ava’s red-faced squalling pulls you from the tranquility of your home as he struggles to handle his daughter while directing the movers.

“Need help?” you ask that day, and in the five years since, you’ve been nothing but a blessing in both Benny’s and Ava’s lives.

-----

It’s hard to pinpoint when he falls for you.  Certainly, you’re a lifesaver almost immediately:  you step in when Benny’s called into work at all hours.  How many times, in that first year, do you sleep on his couch and watch over his sleeping daughter so that he can keep his job and health benefits?

And once he hits a rhythm, how many times do you bring dinner over for him and Ava under the flimsy guise of having too much for just yourself?

And who waves off his thanks, even when he’s so heartsore that the words crowd in his throat, that a woman who happens to live next door to him is more loving to his daughter than her own biological mother is?

Sure, the torch Benny Magalon carries for you is likely driven by the care you give to Ava, and to him too.  But he thinks in another universe it’d be just the same, a gradual revelation to the person you are—because you’re kind and selfless, but you’re also talented and funny.  He knows all your quirks and habits, how you hate to wear socks and live in sandals, how you bake things that taste delicious but look like dogshit.  How you drink your coffee, how you hate ice in your drinks, how you have a dainty little giggle but a hearty, wall-shaking sneeze.

You are friendly with the other people who help with Ava—namely his family.  His mother especially takes a shine to you, thinks you’re an absolute angel, and she gives Benny not-so-subtle hints that you’d be good for him too.

He never makes a move.  He lets that torch burn low and steady without ever letting on how he feels.  He thinks you must think him pathetic, the loser next door who needs your help, and he can’t imagine what you’d see in him even if he had the courage to ask you out.

-----

Somehow Ava turns five, and you’re as much her family as any actual Magalon.  You greet her when she gets off the bus from kindergarten, and you watch her until Benny gets home.  

It’s one of his favorite things, picking Ava up from your place.  By now, he has a key to your place (and you have one to his), and he loves to let himself into your house.  Loves rounding the corner to see his young daughter at your kitchen table eating a snack, and two of you drawing or coloring or paging through a picture book.

It’s better than any drug, the way the two of you both turn to greet him, both of you with smiles to see him.  When he’s having a rough week at work, he leans into the fantasy a little, pretends that he’s coming home.  That he lives there with you and Ava, and that he’s not just there to collect his daughter and take her home to their own house.

-----

It must be said, though:  if Benny loves you in secret, then Ava is unabashed in her love for you.

She’s at that age where she notices the family configurations of her fellow kindergartners.  Fathers, it seems, are optional—Ava rattles off the names of her classmates that have absentee dads with no compunction at all.  But she herself is one of only two classmates without mothers, and there comes a point when she draws the natural conclusion that her warm-hearted neighbor who watches her each afternoon should just go ahead and be her mother.

It’s one of the most difficult conversations of Benny’s life.  Ava is so damned earnest and there’s no convincing reason why you can’t be her mom.  How can he make a five year-old understand that he and Ava are a package deal?  And how you probably aren’t interested in signing up for anything more than you already do for them?

Ava seems to understand the gentle terms he uses to couch the situation, but he catches the stubborn pout of her lips when he turns away.  He knows the expression all too well:  his daughter isn’t defeated.  She’s only biding her time.

-----

Christmas is just around the corner, and Ava is old enough to help with gifts for friends and family.  He takes her to the Grove one weekend with a list of people to shop for.

Benny is not good at gift-giving.  He’s awful, in fact.  With family, he just slides a gift card across the table to them.  With the guys, it’s as simple as giving them a bottle of booze.  And Ava is easy enough—she gives him an exhaustive catalogue of things she wants from Santa.

Where he struggles is with you.

What can he even get a person like you?  You have an outsized place in his heart, but he can’t express that via a holiday gift.  He can’t get you jewelry or anything intimate, but anything else (candles, chocolates, whatever the fuck other things he can’t think of at the moment) is too impersonal for the woman who takes care of him and his daughter for no reason other than her own kind heart.

Ava has a better handle on you.  Kinda.  Maybe.  At least, she doesn’t hesitate to find what she thinks is the perfect gift for you.

“Here, daddy!” she says, and she lets go of his hand to run over to a display of gloves, mittens, scarves.  Of all things in California…

“I don’t think so, peqūena,” he replies with a chuckle.

She pulls a pair of bright purple mittens off of the display and turns to him with that pout.  “For when she’s in the snow.”

He smiles, holds out his hand, and she gives him the mittens after a beat.  “It doesn’t snow here very often,” he points out.  In fact, Ava only knows about snow as a concept from the holiday movies they’ve been watching…

When he goes to put the mittens back, her pouting lower lip starts to tremble, and Benny realizes that he’s about a minute away from tears.  It’s been a long day for a little girl, and the Grove is busy, and she is late for her nap…

“Okay,” he says, hasty to head off the impending meltdown.  “You think she’ll like purple?”

Ava sniffs dramatically and nods.  “It’s her favorite color.”

Benny takes the mittens and goes to pay, his daughter’s hand gripped in his own, and he doesn’t bother to correct her—purple is her favorite color, not yours.  

It’s fine.  He’ll let Ava give you the mittens as her gift, and maybe he can come up with something nicer, from him to you.  Something that will magically capture his feelings for you without being forward or creepy or too much.

[dnd4adults]

Rime of the Frostmaiden

Character Creation

Barandin Broadbeard Hill Dwarf Fighter (Smuggler)

Once, years ago, Barandin was a perfectly happy hill dwarf who made his way in the world by strength of arms, courage, and strong sense to doing what's right rather than profitable, convenient, or safe. This latter quality brought him to the Harpers, in whose company Barandin worked as a smuggler, either moving illicit goods into places they weren't supposed to be, or escorting endangered people to safety -- which is how he met Sir Julys Kaes. Barandin had no idea his contact would be an actual knight, let alone that man would be carrying the Alagondar Heir into hiding! He managed to get knight and child to Bryn Shander in Icewind Dale without being pursued, but thereafter received Harper orders to remain with the pair and keep them safe -- especially the girl, who must one day return to assume her proper place as heir. In the years that followed, Barandin convinced Sir Julys to open his newly acquired home as an academy for the training of warriors, thereby establishing a reputable "cover" to conceal his identity. Along the way, Barandin bcame increasingly fond of young Myranda Kaes, but truly devoted himself to Sir Juyls' son, Romyn.

Secret: Old Flame -- During his years in Icewind Dale, Barandin has engaged in an extended, on-again, off-again affair with a woman of the region. He's kept this relationship strictly secret (a part of the reason it's never blossomed into something more) but knows he's likely to encounter his lover again, someday.

Myranda Kaes, Mother Human Cleric (Life Domain)

Myranda came to Bryn Sander and Icewind Dale as an infant, believing her mother had died in childbirth, that Sir Julys Kaes was her father, and Barandin Broadbeard was his squire-servant. She had nurses and nannies while small, of course, but as Myranda neared womanhood Sir Julys married a woman of Bryn Shander and soon produced a son, whom he called Romyn. Ironically, Mistress Kaes did die while giving birth to the boy, and Myranda quickly stepped in to care for the baby herself. She even gave her squalling half-brother a pendant she'd always worn, never realizing it was a periapt of health. When that first winter came, Myranda suffered from a terrible fever but the baby in her care did not. That fever raged so hot it turned Myranda's hair silver-white, and rendered her incapable of conceiving children. She therefore dedicated herself to studying the art of healing, eventually committing herself in service to the Great Mother as a cleric. Indeed, Myranda has made herself rather well known in Bryn Shander, traveling throughout town with her healer's blue wagon and offering curatives to any who need them.

Secret: Alagondar Heir -- Myranda is the very infant whom Sir Julys Kaes carried away when rivals rose up to destroy the Alagondar line. While she initially believed Sir Julyn to be her father, and Romyn her half-brother, when she came of age the old knight explained the truth of her heritage and life. By that time, however, Myranda had already suffered the fever that took her womb, so heir or not she will never produce another Alagondar to continue the line. Even so, Myranda's no fool. She continues to wear an amulet of proof against detection at all times, assuring that Alagondar rivals don't track her down and harm the people she loves.

Romyn Kaes, Lieutenant Human Paladin (Soldier)

Romyn was born some fifteen years after Sir Julys Kaes came to Bryn Shander, his mother being a woman of that town who sadly died in childbirth. His elder half-sister Myranda took excellent care of young Romyn, however. When he grew old enough, that upbringing was wholly taken over by Father and Barandin. Of those two, however, Romyn developed the more paternal relationship with Barandin. Ever distant and disapproving, Sir Julys offered Romyn little but complaint and correction that only grew more severe as the boy grew older. Ultimately, the knight confessed he'd never loved Romyn's mother, simply tolerated her well enough to produce the son who'd succeed him in his mission. Thus, at sixteen Romyn learned his only reason for being born was to replace Sir Julys when the time came as knight-protector of the Alagondar Heir. Myranda, herself, insisted the notion absurd, considering she can't bear children, and encouraged Romyn to make a life of his own, so he ran away to Easthaven and there joined the Ten Town Guard.

Secret: None -- Romyn's dislike for his father is very well known to Barandin, Myranda, and Saffron, although he doesn't speak against the man otherwise. He would never have returned to Byrn Shander and Kaes Manor, but happened to be in Bryn Shander when Rime fell over the dale and found his service conscripted by that town. As matters continued to deteriorate over the first year, Romyn moved back into his childhood home mainly to assure his sister and the servants were safe.

Saffron Merriweather Lightfoot Halfling Sorcerer (Cook)

Saffron comes from a long line of women with special connections to the sun god, have been his priestesses over generations in a more verdant part of the world. In exchange for their generational devotion, or so the family tales insist, the sun blessed the bloodline of those women, assuring they'd produce a sorcerer with ever other generation. As luck would have it, Saffron's is one of those. Generally speaking, her grandmothers didn't pursue lives of adventure with their own arcane gifts but Saffron felt a different calling as hers began to express itself. Particularly gifted with summoning and controlling of fire, Saffron became steadily convinced she was intended to put her gift to good use in a place that could use it most. For this reason, as a young woman she ventured away from home into the chilly lands of Icewind Dale, and there found work in Bryn Shander as cook and housekeeper for an old knight called Julys Kaes. She has worked in that capacity for a number of years now, becoming close frinds with Myranda Kaes.

Secret: Sun Sense -- As part of the gift received from the divine, Saffron is psychically aware of the sun's presence throughout the day. Even if she cannot see the sky, she knows when dawn, noon, and dusk occur. Saffron also knows without having to count days when an equinox or solstice has arrived.

Yule of Termalaine Half-elf Warlock (Merchant: Alchemist)

Twenty years ago, a lone and very gravid elf woman staggered out of the wood near Termalaine, seeking help at the first structure she came to. As it happened, the place was called Spark o' Magic and served as the workshop, storefront, and residence for a gnomish alchemist and his sister. Po' and Pol took the poor woman in, of course, and assisted with the birth of her baby. Sadly, the poor elf expired following the delivery, leaving Po' and Pol with an infant half-elf to care for on their own. Insofar as he'd been born on the longest night of year, the gnomes named him Yule. In fact, Yule had a very happy childhood under the care of his doting gnomish guardians. He learned alchemy from Po' and business from Pol, and together the three of them lived quite comfortably. When he came of age Yule met Romyn Kaes, dispatched from Easthaven by the Ten Town Guard to acquire alchemist fire on a monthly basis. Together, the half-elf merchant and human soldier developed a strong if unexpected friendship that steadily grew into passion. Their liaisons continued for the better part f a year, until the Frostmaiden and her Rime ended their meetings for good.

Secret: Midwinter's Child -- Being born on the winter solstice, Yule receive the Frostmaiden's blessing at birth. He is entirely immune to the effects of extreme cold generally, and has resistance to cold and frost damage. Unlike Saffon, however, Yule has no idea where this curious gift came from, supposing it's simply a unique, probably latent arcane quirk resulting from his elvish-human heritage. He therefore hates the Frostmaiden and the misery she's spread over Icewind Dale, compacting with a celestial to defy her.

[o-rusted-heart]

"I thought you liked when I went above and beyond for the mood," Nick teased back. But he was back on his feet, stretched his arms over his head for a moment, and started off in the darkness.

He didn't bother buttoning his shirt back up, and that in itself was a sign of something good. The synth wasn't comfortable out of his clothes usually. But a lot had changed in enough time.

It was nearly too dark to see down in the office, but Nick had better night vision than most, even ghouls-- he found his box of candles and a lighter and slowly made his way back upstairs. He almost stopped himself from talking, but the detective had a bit of a habit of babbling in the afterglow-- it was just usually something more poetic. "Funny, can hardly remember last time the Diamond City grid had a fluke. Rain's barely even a squall too... think one of the mechanics had a little too much to drink or something?"

Anna had a few more pressing matters on her mind, so even if she saw the lights flickering off, it didn’t really register. If it had, she would have just thought it was Nick making her see stars again.

Her eyes were still a little crossed as he lit her cigarette. She let out a soft sigh and closed them, enjoying the feel of the afterglow and sound of rain pattering against the metal roof.

Reluctantly, she let him get up without pulling him back down to stay cuddled under the sheets for a while longer. She laughed at his comment and shook her head. “You didn’t have to cut the power to have a romantic candle lit evening, you know.”

[prisoncitystories]

Fiction: Just Another Day at the Office

The smoke from the cigarette wafted freely through the air like the sultry melody of the dingy saxophone on the radio. I, however, was tied to a chair.

“What shall we do with the pig, Ms. Morgana?” The thug in the dragon mask said to his partner. 

“Surely, we can have a little fun before we gut him, Mr. Pendragon,” Ms. Morgana replied. The pair are part of the Round Table Gang, the latest colorful characters to hit the city with their own particular brand of crime. Of course, they chose the boring task of robbing banks but really who’s keeping track, right?

“Fun, huh? What are we playing? Parcheesi?” I say, with a smirk. Pendragon rears up a fist and drives it right into my gut. I feel his knuckles press against the skin through my shirt. Thankfully, this isn’t my first rodeo.

“Quiet, pig!” Pendragon said. “How about a different game? Five finger fillet?” Pendragon pulled out a knife, waving it back and forth in front of my face.

“Maybe we could play chess, instead?” I said, edging him further. He threw his fist into my stomach again, this time a little harder. Thankfully, he didn’t notice my slight adjustment to put most of the pressure on the back of the wooden chair. A few more moves and the knight would take the bishop.

“Yeah, wrong supervillain, mate. Chess makes my head hurt. Now, Ms. Morgana, she’s the only one smart enough to handle that black and white board.” He said, turning to her and grazing her ornate horse mask granting him a devilish purple-lipped smile.

“Oh? I just assumed you were the same annoying, narcissistic, backwards-” I said,  interrupted by a slap across the face from Morgana.

“I’ve trained you so well.” Pendragon said, pulling Morgana into a kiss. Who says crime doesn’t pay?

“If you’d like me to come back, I’d be happy to go. Otherwise, let’s get this threesome underway.” Pendragon stopped and turned to me. Even underneath the red dragon mask, I could tell I was getting on his nerves. It’s all in the eyes. The little flicker that hides a deep, deep rage and right now, my voice and face are like a broken urn full of oil.

“If you speak one more time, I swear to the gods I will cut your tongue out. Do you understand?” I remain silent. “Do you understand or are you just as dumb as we thought you to be?” He repeated much angrier.

“You told me if I spoke that you’d cut my tongue out. Not an outcome I’m betting on if we’re being honest here.” His face turned to stunned surprise and he brandished his knife again. He raised his leg to boot me backwards and I made my move. As he sent his leg toward my chest, I titled the chair back with my feet that could still touch the floor even tied up, sending me back faster than his boot could catch. While his boot was catching nothing but air, the chair was breaking against the cold concrete. I was initially a little jarred as my hands were the meat in a wood-concrete sandwich (which really hurt), but I quickly scrambled to my feet as Ms. Morgana regained her composure from the sight.

“Why you little bastard!” She said, sparking up her electrified gloves. I have to stay away from those. She stepped forward but her form was so uneasy. Unfortunately for her, confidence isn’t everything. She swiped like a cat and I only narrowly avoided a swift jolt by deflecting her strike with my forearm. I did the same maneuver but this time added a leg sweep, surprising her and sending her to the floor. I heard the clatter of a knife behind me as Pendragon swiped his knife, gashing my thin black necktie in the process.

“Eh, I never really liked it anyway. Gift from a few exes ago,” I said as he continued swiping. Similar to Morgana, I had to subdue him by using his strikes against him. I batted his arm aside as he hacked and slashed and when the moment opened up, I used a classic disarm and sent the knife out of his hand and back to the floor. Suddenly, I felt way too many volts pass through my leg, bringing me to my knees. 

“What kind of detective are you? You fight like a drunkard. You can’t even disarm us both.” Pendragon said. He walked over to pick up his knife again as Morgana stood back up and placed one of her gloves on my shoulder. “Any last words, pig? You blew your chances on a last request.”

“Is it just you and Morgana or are Percival, Lancelot, and Galahad screwing around in your pants too?” I said, baiting him again. As he drove the knife forward, I ducked to the side making him lunge a little too far towards Morgana. I grabbed her arm at her forearm and hand and pushed them into Pendragon’s gut and activated the shock gloves. The electricity ran through him and sent him toppling. I shot up and brought a swift elbow to Morgana’s chin, flooring her as well. I finished her off with a blow to her face. I walked over to the table where that cigarette was still burning. I picked it up, began a drag, but quickly pulled the disgusting thing away.

“Menthols? Dear gods, you guys really are stupid,” I said, throwing the cigarette on the ground, stamping it out, and clicking off the jazz music at the radio. I look around the dingy, chip-titled torture room and find my coat hanging on a coat rack. “At least they aren’t savages.”

I made sure they didn’t steal anything. Pockets still have all my belongings. For bank robbers, they certainly aren’t great at petty theft. I throw the brown trench back on and move towards the door. I slowly turn the handle and open the door to the hallway where fortunately the other members of the gang are not waiting for me. I handled Pendragon  and Morgana easily but three more thugs would land me back in the chair. Not to mention if they’ve added more since their last hit. We’ve been chasing them around the city for about three months, and they’ve robbed four banks in that time. We still can’t peg why they would need that much cash or how they could possibly spend it. They certainly aren’t investing in a headquarters.

Suddenly, I hear a voice from around the corner. I slink behind an open door in the hallway, making sure just to stand in the doorway and not shut the door. I spied through the peephole and saw a blue wolf mask. Lancelot. I think our dossier said he was a sharpshooter. Seems like he’d be useless in a fist fight. He was radioing to someone on his walkie.

“Pendragon, you done with the cop yet? Pendragon, I said are you done with the cop yet?” He put his walkie-talkie back in its holster and pulled out his sidearm. Something street trash would use, not really the mark of a deadeye. “By the gods, do I have to do everything myself?” He said, scoffing and stomping down the hall. I moved into the open room and behind the wall as he walked by towards the torture room. He opened the door and before he could reach for his walkie, I sprang into action and put him in a headlock. He quickly pushed back and slammed me into the wall behind us, but I held firm. I knew if he even got one good aim with his pistol, I was toast. He stomped his feet wildly, trying to bash me anyway he could. He bashed me back again, this time against the door frame, loosening my grip. We both fell to the floor, me out of breath and him gasping for air. We both took a second to regain our bearings and then shared a brief cutting moment. He got up quicker than I could and kneed me in the face. I shook off the throbbing pain and used the wall behind me to brace myself. 

“Percival, Galahad, get-” He started to say into his walkie-talkie but I gave him a solid haymaker to the head.

“Now now, none of that.” I said, taunting him. I used his imbalance to disarm him of his gun, sending it to the floor. He grabbed my neck, but I kicked his legs out from under him. I used the momentum of the fall to bring my forearm down on his face, disorienting him again. He relinquished my neck and I dealt him a clean knockout blow to his smug face. I stood up and dusted myself off and down the hall were the last two members of the Round Table Gang, Mr. Percival and Mr. Galahad, staring at me. I was admittedly a little disoriented from the last two altercations but I can’t imagine I was getting out of here without at least one more.

“Well come on then. Let’s go.” I said, putting up my dukes once more. I examined the two of them briefly, really hoping that Percival came at me first. He was small, compact. Intel said he was the demolitions expert of the group. Can’t be that great of a fighter either, although Lancelot surprised me. He adjusted his gold hawk mask. Mr. Galahad was much larger and muscular than his counterpart. Comically, he had a green cat mask. I don’t know what these guys’ fascination with stupid masks is. Galahad came stomping towards me.

I delivered several quick blows to his abdomen which frankly hurt my knuckles quite a bit. He just chuckled.

“That ain’t going to work, little man.” Unfortunately, he was right. I had to use his weight against him. He reared up for a downward strike, but I only narrowly avoided piledriver fist to the top of my skull. He came down on my shoulder which sent pain through my arm. I used the other arm to swing a fist, tilting his head to the side. He cocked his head back at me and I could see the annoyed look in his eyes. He grabbed me by the shoulders and sent me swinging through one of the walls of the hallway and into the room I initially hid from Lancelot in. Same dingy tile as the other room hit the back of my head hard.

“You call that a throw? Better invest in some gym memberships, mate.” I said, as he stepped through the me-shaped hole he just created. “Although your budget might be taken up by renovations.” He didn’t care for the banter. He stomped up to me and raised his leg up to smash me, but I rolled to the right. The tile cracked underneath and I got an idea. While his foot was still depressed, I swung my body around and kicked his stomped leg with all the force I could muster. His leg jutted further into the floor as he fell and the angle caused him to slam down harder than just a simple fall would do. I clumsily stood up and went to the groaning bastard.

“Nighty night, kitty cat.” I said, stomping his face and breaking his mask in the progress. I briefly take a look at his face. Ugly bastard, really. Maybe it was better with the mask intact. “Alright, Percival. We both know you’re a cowardly bastard so let’s get this over with. If you come quietly, I won’t have to break your nose too.” I said, walking out into the hallway and Percival was kneeling on the ground and he had already cuffed himself.

“Please don’t hurt me! Just don’t tell the others I surrendered.” I chuckled at the weakling. Just another day at the office, I suppose.

[blazedrawsstuff]

Ariel FreeBreeze! Daughter of a Sylph (air elemental)!

Ariel Freebreeze

Daughter of a Sylph

Parent

A Sylph (Air Elemental)

Age

16

Killer Style

For my style, I consider myself "in tune" with my element, which means I love flowy outfits, outfits that make the breezy spring days feel even better!

Freaky Flaw

If you'll excuse the pun, I can be rather..."airheaded", monsters call me that more often than you think.

Pets

Gale and Squall! Uh, Gale is the humming bird (she's a girl), and Squall is the blue jay (he's a boy!), don't worry I sometimes confuse them as well...

Favorite Activity

I love to hang out at large open places where I can run around and be as free as a bird. From having spring picnics with friends to flying kites!

Pet Peeve

Don't mess up my flow, literally nothing is worse than someone blowing away your good mood for no good reason.

Favorite Subject

Fearleading and Dance! All those leaps and bounds through the air make me feel like so alive!

Least Favorite Subject

Drivers Dead. The best part about it is the feeling on the wind flowing by me as I drive...and the worst...well, that's what often distracts me from focusing on the road.

Also Drama, don't get me wrong, the arts are fantastic. But I'm all about freedom, no way am I going by a script.

Favorite Colors

White, Sky Blue, and Leaf Green

Favorite Food

I LOVE light and fluffy foods! My current top four are Cotton Candy, Popcorn, Angel Food Cake, and Souffle!

Friends

Twyla

Invisi Billy

Iris Clops

Sirena Von Boo

Abilities

Flight

Ariel can fly thanks to the wings on her back.

Invisibility

Ariel is able to make herself invisible to others around her. However, it does have limitations as she can be detected via other senses (smells, hearing, touch, etc) and she still leaves footprints behind

Aerokinesis

Naturally, as an air elemental, Ariel can create and manipulate air and wind.

Skillset

Dancing

Ariel is proficient in dancing, as it is one of her favorite classes.

Personality

Ariel is a cheerful and positive ghoul, and she's pretty good at getting along with others. She absolutely adores the feeling of freedom and cherishes every single moment of it. She's also pretty adaptable to change, and can get used to things rather quickly.

However, she does tend to be rather airheaded, naive, and scatterbrained. There are times where she gets distracted by the things around her (such as the feeling of air rushing by her by driving), as well as being pretty forgetful sometimes.

Ariel is quite sensitive, which is a double edged sword, on the positive side, it makes her very empathetic towards others and recognize their emotions. But on the other hand, the smallest things (such as negative comments) can make her lose her spirit for a while.

Trivia/Additional Information

Ariel's first name is both a pun and a reference, as Ariel is a pun on "Aerial" , and is a reference to Ariel from Shakespeare's "The Tempest", who is also a Sylph.

Her headcanon voice is Katie Griffin, specifically her voice as Alex during the third to sixth season of Totally Spies.

Ariel's birthday is June 18th. This is because June is the 6th month which is the atomic number of carbon, 1 is the atomic number of hydrogen, and 8 is the atomic number for oxygen. This makes her a Gemini, a zodiac which is associated with the element of air.

[ninjacat1515]

Tiny! vampires trying to solve the mystery of who killed their human friend. The man had been homeless for years and they would bring him food and soap and he'd offer them spaces in whatever shelter he had that night.

Their hearts hurt so bad but they keep searching for clues. They have a good detective on their side who wants to help, and they make breakthrough after breakthrough, finally nabbing the ones responsible- a couple on a spree.

In court the tinies scream at them, and while it just sounds like squalls, trills and squeaks, there's no mystery that many insults are being hurled. And the judge allows it. These little creatures had a strong bond with the slain man, and did their part to catch the killers, so he will respect that and let them rant.

After the sentences are given, the tinies get to meet the only family member their friend had- his brother, who lost contact with him years ago. He offers them a home, and they accept.

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Short Straw

Just a little follow on from this series. And of course big thanks to @detective-giggles​ x

Warnings: Bath Smut. Once again used google for the translations. 

WC: 1607

“So why do I need to go?” You shot back at Liv crossing your arms in front of yourself. Liv huffed at you pulling her glasses off looking up at you.

“Rollins and I have the kids and are more experienced, Fin as well. It will be good for you when Kat starts you can take her under your wing. It’s one day Y/N” You rolled your eyes back at her.

“Fine, guess I should have known I would draw the short straw” you huffed.

“I have booked your room. Go up Friday after your shift and come back Sunday morning. Saturday starts at 8 am sharp. It will do you some good to have some time away from Carisi, your both too loved up. The ring suits you though” Liv smiled at you with a wink.

The training day ended up running over by 2 hours. You had been in a horrible mood from the moment you got there that morning. Another detective bumped into you, making you spill your coffee down the front of your white button down and the top of your grey pants. During your lunch break you were walking down a set of stairs, slightly losing your balance and dropping your salad all over the floor. You walked into your room after the horrendous day pulling off your jacket throwing it near your bag on the floor. You opened your phone to camera taking a selfie of yourself with your stained white shirt pouting, opening messaging’s sending it to Sonny. You had just sat your phone down on the bed next to you when it vibrated back,

Sonny: Had a bad day babe?

Y/N: Yeah you could say that

Sonny: I wish I was there to help you make it better

Y/N: How would you do that Dominick?

Sonny: I would undo each button, one by one, kissing down neck, between your tits, down your to belly button to the waist of your pants.

Y/N: Then what?

Your arousal shot through you, you laid back on your back making quick work of undoing all your buttons on your top. You brushed your finger tips down your now almost naked front, to the waist of your pants picturing it was Sonny’s lips. You slid your hand into your pants, under your panties, running a finger over your centre, moaning at how wet you were just from that little bit of dirty talk. 

Slowly rubbing yourself you picked up your phone to see if there was a new message. You huffed frustrated, throwing your phone beside you seeing there was nothing. Slowly you stuck a finger into your core toying with Sonny in your mind. Continuing to pleasure yourself, your hips bucking up, soft moans leaving your mouth, about to add another finger when you were quickly pulled out of your self-care with a knock at the door. You pulled your hand out jumping up, rubbing your wet finger over the top of your pants, wrapping your undone shirt around yourself to cover up,

“Who is it?”

“Room service” You heard back

You swung the door open to see Sonny standing there with an overnight bag on his shoulder,

“Sonny” you squalled jumping on him wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Surprise Babe” Sonny lent down and kissed you lightly on the cheek.

You let go of Sonny and pulled him into the room, shutting and locking the door behind you. You pulled the bag off his shoulder and threw it across the room, then pushed him by his chest against the wall near the door, wrapping your hands around his wrists pinning him to the wall. Your lips landed on his for a fiery kiss, you up on your tippy toes. After what felt like eternity you pulled away to catch your breath looking up at Sonny, his pupils blown,

“What were you doing before I knocked?” his voice was husky. Sonny raised an eye brow at you, your cheeks went bright red.

“I- ah- I” you cleared your throat “I was touching myself and uh- thinking of you”

A smirk coming to Sonny’s face, the crinkles near his eyes,

“Are you going to let me go so I can finish what I started?” Sonny brushed his nose with yours.

You nodded at Sonny and let go of his wrists. Taking a slight step back. Sonny cupped your cheek and ran his thumb over it,

“Vai a fare un bagno (Go and run a bath)” Sonny kissed your lips “By the time I get there I want you naked sitting on the edge, capire (understand)?

You nodded biting your bottom lip, turning on your heels walking towards the bathroom. You walked into the bathroom that had a big corner spa bath, leaning over to fill the bath with warm water. You walked over to the sink to the small bottles lined up, picking the bottle marked Bubble bath, walking back over and tipping some of its contents into it. Quickly, you undressed, throwing your cloths into the corner of the room, pulling out your hair tie and making your way to sit on the small step in front of the bath.

“Siete pronti Babe?(You are ready?)” You heard Sonny

“Yes” you shouted back, standing quickly to turn off the taps before sitting back down.

Sonny walked in through the door still fully clothed. You looked up at him frowning not quite sure what he was playing at. Sonny walked over to you, reaching his hand out to yours pulling you up to him. Sonny wrapped his arms around you pulling you into his clothed body. He started to run his hands all over your naked back sending goose bumps all over you. You squeezed your legs together as you felt your wetness run down your leg. Sonny lent down slightly taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking on it, pulling off with a pop. Repeating the same on the other side. Soft moans coming from your mouth, his hands squeezing your ass cheeks yours resting on his chest. He ran a hand from your back down around to your core cupping it with his hand leaning close to you ear,

“So wet babe-per me? (for me) you nodded and bit your lip “Before I fuck you in there” he nodded towards the bath “I want you to do to me what you were fantasising about when you were touching yourself” Sonny stepped back from you looking at you with hooded eyes, whimpering from the loss of his touch. “Fammi vedere” (show me) Sonny said just above a whisper.

You stepped forward grabbing the hem of his t shirt pulling it up off him over his head throwing it on the floor. You reached down and undone his jeans button and zipper, pushing his jeans and boxers down in one go, falling to your knees as you pulled them down, his cock hard ready for your attention. Sonny stepped out of them kicking them to the side. Slowly starting at his left knee you kissed up his left inside thigh. As you got to the high part of his thigh, you paused pulling back looking up at him. Sonny brushed your cheek with the back of his hand smiling down at you. You gave him a quick smirk, leaning forward sucking on the inside of his thigh. Sonny gasped as pleasure ran through him from the sensation of you marking him throwing his head back closing his eyes.

“Ok babe” Sonny was almost breathless “Get in the bath” Sonny pulled you up by your elbows his lips landing on yours with an intense all tongues kiss.

He pulled away stepping around you to get into the bath. Sonny submerged into the water and bubbles, curling his pointer finger in a come here motion. You walked to the bath stepping up to get in, Sonny extending his hand to you to help you in. You sat facing him straddling his lap, you grinding down on his hard cock. Sonny threw his head back biting his bottom lip,

“Get on” Sonny looked back at you.

You rose up slighting reaching into the water to hold his length in place lining yourself to him. Slowly you slid down on him. The way he stretched you almost making your lose your breath. You sat fully down on him pausing just for a moment to get adjusted to his size. Sonny rested his hands on your hips under the water,

“I love you babe” Sonny lent forward kissing your neck.

You started to roll your hips at a medium pace. Knowing how worked up you both were, you knew it this wouldn’t take long and you wanted it to last as long as possible.

“Dominick I love you-you feel so good” you dropped your head forward resting your forehead with his, your jaw going slack, the need for your realise pulsing through you.

Sonny started to buck up into you. The sounds of splashing water and slightly loud moans and grunts filling the room. Sonny’s grip on your hips tighten,

“Y/N” he groaned his seed spurting into you. In the middle of his bliss he reached one hand around, rubbing circles over your clit,

“Sonny” you all but screamed, collapsing forward onto his wet chest, your orgasm almost too much to handle, your whole body shaking.

Sonny had a big smile on his face, the crinkles by his eyes, rubbing circles on the small of your back with his pointer finger. “Remind me when we book our honeymoon to make sure our room has a bath.”  

Tags: @detective-giggles @witches-unruly-heart @thatesqcrush @permanentlydizzy @averyhotchner @infiniteoddball @fandom-princess-forevermore @wanniiieeee @shittanyy @labellapeaky​ @beccabarba​

[calciumcryptid]

Hello, it is Galaxy here.

Today I am full of bitterness, so in order to properly get it out of my system I'm going to outline how I would rewrite My Hero Academia season one.

Real quick, I want to say that I'll be keeping any canon ships or romantic interests despite what I personally ship.

Here we go.

The Galactic Season One Rewrite

Episode Four: The Entrance Exam

This is where the changes start as I don't have any problems with the first three episodes. While the first change is minor I feel like it would be an improvement.

For awhile, Aoyama is featured prominently that I would understand if people thought he was going to be a prominent character. While this boils down to lack of foresight (in the beginning you don't really know who you should pay attention to), it will be a small change.

Instead of all those Aoyama scenes, we'll have Uraraka take them over. In these scenes Uraraka should be shown saving others. This is to give the audience a hint at her ambition to become a rescue hero and her selfless nature.

Episode Five: What I Can Do For Now

This is where the changes really begin.

There are no notable changes at first, Iida properly introduces himself to Midoriya and Uraraka shows up excited that Midoriya got in. We have our cute Izuchaco moment.

Aizawa gives his iconic introduction, and everyone is outside ready for the quirk apprehension exam.

Our next change comes to the fact that Aizawa is fully aware of All Might watching. I think this is canon, but I want Aizawa to dwell on why the top hero like All Might is interested in a simple quirk apprehension test.

The next change is minor, but the Aoyama scene here is replaced with an Asui scene. In canon she is partnered with Iida in the fifty meter dash. Asui clears the fifty meter with a single leap. Iida still beats her with his quirk, but he is rather impressed by her display of jumping power.

At the ball throw, Aizawa is surprised when Midoriya recognizes him as despite being well known in the underground he is still an underground hero with no publicity.

Then, I incorporate the trauma Midoriya 100% has from being isolated from his peers and being treated unfairly by his teachers.

Aizawa criticizes him, but this time Midoriya gets a flashback to a faceless teacher criticizing him for antagonizing a star student like Bakugou. Midoriya starts to tremble, and Aizawa instantly stops. He recognizes the signs of a panic attack, and All Might's stressed out body language.

Aizawa, as the experienced teacher he is, changes his tactics instantly. While still blunt, his tone is softer when he explains that Midoriya needs to learn quickly that destroying his body all the time is only going to make him a liability and end his hero career earlier than it should.

Midoriya, now able to refocus with a new hope that if he takes Aizawa's advice he will listen to him in the future regarding other problems. Midoriya does his one finger throw. Aizawa is impressed with the creativity and notes All Might's surprise as well.

Episode Six: Rage You Damn Nerd

Uraraka and Iida are thrilled that Midoriya has seems to have Aizawa's approval. Bakugou then rushes Midoriya like he does in canon. When Aizawa wraps his scarves around Bakugou, he remarks that Bakugou will get detention for unsanctioned quirk use.

Both Midoriya and Bakugou are surprised, which unnerves Aizawa as he pulls Bakugou back. Aizawa then reveals the ranking with Mineta in last place this time. He says Midoriya got ahead with points for creativity. He reveals the logical ruse he employed, then leaves with Yaoyorozu remarking she already knew.

As another minor changes I want the girls in Class 1-A to be amazed with Yaoyorozu's placement. I also want Bakugou to attack Yaoyorozu out of no where because he believes she is another bug he can simply crush. Yaoyorozu disproves this as she quickly makes a shield to protect herself.

Aizawa gives Bakugou another detention leaving Bakugou and Midoriya confused once again.

(Full Admission: I wanted a cool Yaoyorozu moment to cement her as the most powerful student in 1-A).

Aizawa writes Midoriya an absentee note so he can see Recovery Girl about his finger. As Aizawa leaves he is confronted by All Might who calls his bluff on having an expulsion record. Aizawa says that the quick thinking of Midoriya was what kept him in Aizawa's class. Aizawa then criticizes All Might for already having favorites as he noticed the number one hero's interest in Midoriya. All Might panics that Aizawa has figured out the connection already, but Aizawa just tells All Might that playing favorites causes bitterness among other students.

Everything is the same with Iida and Uraraka catching up with Midoriya and the three walking home together. 1-A then goes through the day until fundamental hero lessons. Everyone has their original costumes as the support course hasn't been introduced yet.

Everything goes like normal.

Episode Eight: Bakugou's Start Line

As soon as Midoriya, Uraraka, Iida, and Bakugou come out Aizawa's scarves come out to wrap around Bakugou. 1-A and All Might are surprised at Aizawa's sudden appearance. Aizawa says he is going to expell Bakugou on the grounds of assaulting another classmate with the intention of severely harming them. All Might stops this, admitting that he should have stopped the fight when Bakugou was gearing up his gauntlets.

Aizawa takes a deep breath, and says that Bakugou is able to stay in the hero class for another day but will be suspended, no longer having a seat near Midoriya, and will have his gauntlets revoked until Aizawa says differently. Aizawa drags Bakugou away to fill out the proper paperwork.

The other teams do the exercise as normal, and Yaoyorozu files a formal complaint regarding Mineta. At the end of the day, Midoriya does not tell Bakugou the secret of One for All. Instead, Midoriya watches Bakugou walk away for his first day of suspension surrounded by Iida and Uraraka chatting about the excercise. Midoriya does the ending internal monologue about how he learned the difference between friends and torments.

With these changes, I would rename the title of the episode to The Line Drawn. In a reference to the fact that UA and Aizawa will not put up with Bakugou's bs like his former schools.

Episode Nine: Yeah, Just Do Your Best Iida

Now it is time for our first rapid fire changes.

It is the first day without Bakugou in class, which means the USJ Arc will not include Bakugou at any point in the story.

Todoroki and Bakugou's seats have been switched, so it is time for some awkward conversations between TodoDeku.

Iida tells Uraraka and Midoriya that Aizawa and his brother were school friends so he tries his best to remain professional.

Yaoyorozu is class repersentative, while Midoriya is the class vice repersentative. After Iida calms the school down, Midoriya intends for Iida to take his position. Yaoyorozu is concerned she did not handle the situation as good as Iida, and Iida takes the class repersentative role with Yaoyorozu as his vice. This will start Yaoyorozu's confidence issues.

Since Bakugou is not on the bus, this scene is dedicated to Uraraka who is excited to have Thirteen teaching them. Uraraka says she is a huge fan of Thirteen, and hopes to get an autograph afterwards if she has the time. She also reveals her motivation to become a rescue hero.

Thirteen is agender.

Uraraka fangirls while Thirteen is talking.

Episode Ten: Encounter With the Unknown

Aizawa does not hesitate to leap into action when the villians show up, and shows off his amazing abilities as a pro hero. He shows off the abilities of the capture weapon.

Thirteen is ready to evacuate the students, but Kurogiri warps over like he does in canon, and this time it is Kirishima and Mina who attack him without hesitation. This is to cement Mina as the most muscular of the other girls, and her and Kirishima's role in each other's lives. The attack didn't do anything when Kurogiri warps the other students away from each other.

Everything continues as normal.

In Summary of the Student's Locations:

The Entrance: Uraraka & Sero & Iida & Sato

Ruins Zone: Kirishima & Mina

Flood Zone: Asui & Mineta & Midoriya

Mountain Zone: Kaminari & Jirou & Yaoyorozu

Fire Zone: Ojiro & Hagakure

Landslide Zone: Todoroki

Squall Zone: Tokoyami & Shoji & Koda

As Hagakure joins Ojiro in the Fire Zone, she uses the flames as a source of light to reflect. Once she blinds the villains, Ojiro takes them down.

As Mina joins Kirishima in the Ruins Zone, she uses her acid as a way to trip up villains and uses her reflexes and dance moves to annihilate the chameleon villian Bakugou originally did.

As Shoji joins Tokoyami and Koda in the Squall Zone, he uses his quirk to locate Koda so Tokoyami can protect him.

Everything continues as normal as all the teachers show up to finish off the League of Villains. All the teachers get their moment.

Episode Thirteen: In Each of Their Hearts

After our neighborhood detective reassures all the students and we get the cool still shots with the gold lighting it is time for what I was preparing this whole time for.

Aizawa calls All Might and Midoriya to his hospital room and lays down that he has figured out that the two are connected somehow by their quirks.

All Might and Midoriya are shocked, but considering they are backed into a corner they tell Aizawa about One for All. After Aizawa chews All Might out for not telling him that one of his students only recently got a quirk, he says he'll have to give Midoriya extra lessons so his body is strong enough to handle One for All. Aizawa also puts together that if Midoriya didn't have a quirk before than that means he was quirkless. Suddenly, everything makes sense to Aizawa about the BakuDeku relationship.

The final small change is the next day at lunch, Uraraka brings Asui over to Midoriya and Iida. She wants to thank Midoriya for his quick thinking, and says that she and Uraraka bonded over wanting to be Rescue Heroes.

Summary of the Changes

Bakugou realizes he isn't the best anymore, and starts to face consequences for his actions.

Aizawa knows about One for All, and Midoriya has two father figures in his corner now.

The Girls of 1-A get more screentime to show off their potential to be heroes.

The Background characters get some extra scenes to show off their potential to be heroes.

Uraraka gets prominent character moments.

A good chunk of the class is biracial.

Changes That Didn't Make It

Aizawa Backstory moment where Aizawa would erase Kurogiri's quirk only to be freaked out by a familiar bone structure taking form.

Jeez, that was brutal for my fingers, but that is how I would have wrote the first season of My Hero Academia. I plan on continuing, but I think I'll be splitting posts up into arcs now because doing a whole season was a bit too much at once.

Plus, there are a lot of changes I'll be making with the Sports Festival Arc.

[incorrectnevermoor]

Nevermoor characters playing Among Us.

Morrigan: Purple. Somehow always sus. Always gets accused.

“It’s purple!”

“I was on the other side of the map with blue! Why do you even think it’s me?!”

“Sus”

[Morrigan was not the impostor.]

She’s just trying to do her tasks, let her live. Doesn’t like being impostor, it makes her nervous, vents everywhere. Honestly kind of prefers being a ghost.

Hawthorne: Blue. Always moving. Hates long tasks. The maze task is the bane of his existence. Fairly quick at finishing his tasks, but prone to accusing everyone. Relies heavily on sabotage as impostor, will probably kill you in electrical.

Cadence: White. QUIET. Usually right about who the impostor is. People forget she’s playing sometimes. Will definitely follow people around looking sus as hell but she’s just trying to figure out who the impostor is. Gets even quieter as impostor, nobody suspects her because they genuinely don’t know she’s there. Once they realize she’s definitely the prime suspect tho.

Mahir: Orange. Likes playing with randoms. Probably has friends in the Philippines or something due to this. Will go along with whatever everyone’s saying, doesn’t like conflict. Sucks as impostor because he’ll only sabotage, if he kills anyone he’ll get caught immediately.

Thaddea: Red. Very argumentative. If she accuses you she won’t rest until you get voted out. Can get sus because of how many accusations she makes but she’s really just trying to win. Gets trigger happy as impostor, prone to getting caught red handed.

Archan: Dark green. Prefers being impostor, likes stealth kills. Will turn the lights off and by the time the crew gets them back on there’s like 3 people dead. He likes Polus because there’s a lot of open space. Doesn’t trust anyone but also doesn’t point fingers. Fairly neutral when voting.

Lambeth: Pink. Can guess who the impostor’s gonna be in the loading screen. Goes along with what the others are saying. Scared of going into electrical alone. Decent impostor, nobody suspects her until someone catches her venting or the other impostor throws her under the bus.

Anah: Cyan. Always goes to medbay first. “Alright follow me and watch me do the scan.” Usually survives. Generally kind of quiet. Somehow always finds the first body. Self reports as impostor, gets caught because they get their lies crossed.

Francis: Brown. Names himself chocolate or something, probably. Paranoid, runs away from other players or pairs up with the one person they trust most. Usually gets killed because it’s easy to catch him alone. Nervous impostor, probably gets caught while venting.

Jupiter: Yellow. This man goes full detective mode. Probably has notes or something because he remembers EVERYTHING anyone says. Quick with his tasks. Very good as crewmate. He’s in cams or admin as soon as his tasks are done. His impostor win ratio is 50/50, good at lying but takes too long waiting to catch people alone so the crew probably finish their tasks first and win that way. Fun to play with tho.

Jack: Lime. Ruthless. Will call anyone out. Can always tell if you’re lying. It’s as if he can see All. People don’t always believe him but when they do he’s right. Hates the maze task. If you call for an emergency meeting without a good reason he will get you voted out. Good impostor, strategic, prefers playing with only one imp instead of 2 or 3, because it feels more fun. Unless he’s crew, then he likes 2 imps.

Squall: Black. A bastard. Leaves the game if he’s not impostor. Will pit everyone against each other. Thrives when everyone’s paranoid. Will blame everyone. On the off chance that he’s crew, he’s probably the extra impostor, he just likes seeing crew lose. Leaves lobbies if someone chose black first. Doesn’t hesitate to throw other impostors under the bus.

[tact-and-impulse]

Basically, since I saw the novel translation that Akane meets with Kougami’s mom, my mind ran wild with speculation. Spoilers for up to First Inspector.

Stouthearted

Tomoyo is accustomed to living alone. Wake up, brush her teeth, have breakfast, check the news offered by her AI secretary.

The golden starfish cheerfully spins as it announces her Hue. “Mint green!”

“Thank you, Hoshiko.” She finishes her coffee, the bottom of the cup sweeter than the rest. She has a lengthy schedule for the weekend but just before she can bring it up, there’s a knock at her door, loud enough to scare Hoshiko into vanishing.

She fastens her bathrobe and runs a hand through her unruly hair. No one’s visited her in a long time. Uncertain and cautious, she only opens the door a crack, enough to see who this stranger is. “Hello?”

“Good morning!” Her visitor is a young woman, whose face is briefly obscured when she bows in greeting. Behind her, a storage drone patiently waits. “I’m sorry to disturb you. Inspector Tsunemori, from the Public Safety Bureau.” She holds up her ID in confirmation. “Are you Kougami Tomoyo-san?”

“Yes…please, come in.” Tomoyo pulls the door further. It’s best that whatever conversation will follow, it should happen inside.

“Ah, just a moment.” Tsunemori unlocks the drone and removes a box from the metal interior, almost too big for her to carry.

“Do you need help?”

“N-no, I’ve got it.” She sets it down and sighs with relief as Tomoyo closes the door.

“I know who you are.”

“Eh?”

“Well, a little.” She concedes. “Shinya called me now and then, and your name came up often. He said you were a good boss.”

It’s comforting to put a face to the name, and she does look young, but tragedy colors a person in a specific, indelible way. Tomoyo recognizes it as Tsunemori’s gaze clouds over. Her answer is strained. “Not as good as I would have liked to be.”

An awkward pause follows, before Tomoyo offers. “I was finishing breakfast. Would you like anything?” Even as she asks, she heads into the kitchen and grabs a cup.

“I don’t want to bother you-”

“No, not at all. It’s been a while since I’ve had a guest, so I apologize for the clutter. Tea? Coffee?”

Tsunemori gives a little smile. “Coffee, please. And I don’t mind, my apartment is far from organized. Oh.”

“What is it?”

“I just realized I might have made things worse for you. Um, the box has books and clothes. Personal items. Not the dishes though, the Bureau took them for reuse. Anyway, I thought, since you’re his mother, you would like his things.” The girl is very nervous, stumbling over her words, but she doesn’t break eye contact. It reassures Tomoyo.

“I would. Thank you very much.” She softly replies. “For now, unpacking can wait. Have a seat.”

They sit across from one another, Tomoyo having refilled her own cup halfway. She’s unsure of what to discuss; there must be protocol to adhere to, and she doesn’t want to make things more difficult for Tsunemori.

Thankfully, Tsunemori speaks first. “I’m sorry, if I interrupted any plans.”

“Nothing urgent. When you live alone for a long time, plans become flexible. I should be the one apologizing, if you’re on the clock.”

“No, it’s okay. I haven’t taken time off before, and this had to be done.”

Hm. She decides Tsunemori isn’t bad.

They sort through the box together. Tomoyo doesn’t recognize most of the books, the titles unfamiliar. The clothes also seem foreign, tinged with bitter cigarette smoke. She never did approve of that habit, and she frowns as she piles the different articles around her. And yet…underneath the acrid smell, it still smells like her boy.

One of the bulkier items is a fur-lined coat, something for the winter months. She sees the way the girl’s fingertips brush over the collar, how her eyes become weighted with melancholy.

“You can keep it.”

“Eh?” Tsunemori looks up at her, startled.

“I can’t keep everything in my place, and besides, you were his boss. Thank you for looking after my son.”

Tsunemori murmurs a half-hearted protest, but she folds the jacket in her lap. It goes with her when she leaves, and Tomoyo assumes that’s the end.

***

But it isn’t. Tsunemori continues to visit, every month or so. Each time is fairly short, enough to drink tea or coffee together. She’s a sweet young lady, unfailingly polite and conversational. They talk about nonconsequential things. The weather, novels, cooking tips. The latter proves to be a bountiful topic, since Tsunemori is inexperienced.

Once, Tomoyo asks about her work. She’s curious if anything’s changed since Shinya was an Inspector. It really hasn’t, and it doesn’t surprise Tomoyo, yet she can’t help but feel disappointed.

In turn, she describes a little of her job, that she analyzes data sent from the local hospital. The majority of her work is remote. She does not share why, though she’s certain Tsunemori can guess. Although the Sybil System can insist it only punishes criminals, family inevitably suffers too. They are carriers of some insidious factor or ticking bombs of the same defective nature but with longer fuses.

Tsunemori also doesn’t ask, though she receives an interrupting message. “Something just came up. I’ll see you later…Kougami-san.” It’s not the first time she’s hesitated addressing Tomoyo.

“Please, ‘Tomoyo-san’ is fine.”

She visibly relaxes. “Then, you can use my name too. It’s Akane.”

“Akane-chan it is.” And for the first time in a while, her smile feels natural.

***

On a rare night, she wakes up crying.

Hoshiko, dimmer in night mode, hovers over her. “Your Hue is Aquamarine. Would you like mental care?”

“This is my mental care. Tears are like stagnant water; sometimes, they need to flow out to feel better.” Satoru told her that once. She couldn’t remember where he read it from, but in moments like now, she could easily recall his voice. “And tears tire me out, I’ll go to sleep soon.” She forcibly shuts the AI down and dabs at her swollen eyes.

It takes an hour, but she does fall asleep again. In the morning, she dusts Shinya’s old room.

***

On her visits, Akane offers to help around the house, but she insists that the younger woman sit and relax.

“It’s enough that you keep an old lady like me company.”

“You’re not so old, Tomoyo-san.”

She gives Akane a flat stare. “But you must have friends your age, or a boyfriend or a girlfriend.”

“I do have friends, we meet up sometimes. As for a boyfriend, I’m too busy for one.” She pauses. “I hope your husband doesn’t mind me intruding.”

She’s perplexed for a moment before she remembers the steel band on her finger. “Oh, this isn’t a wedding ring.” Out of habit, she gives it a twist. “It’s an old gift from Shinya’s father, Satoru. We grew up on the same street, although he was ahead of me by two years. He helped me in my literature classes. Shinya has his father’s scholarliness. Always reading, always thinking inward.” She remembers glancing up from her essays, light pouring from her childhood bedroom window, to steal looks at Satoru’s thoughtful profile.

“It sounds like you still think highly of him.” Akane carefully says.

“I always will. When I was young, they had just introduced the compatibility matches. Satoru and I were a good match, but he had a better one with someone else. A rich girl, in the city across the lake. He left by boat to speak to the family in person, to explain that he couldn’t accept, but there was a bad storm. He drowned.”

There had been an investigation, a pair of detectives who had questioned her. In hindsight, they were very kind to her, but she was aggravated and terse and though she didn’t know it at the time, hormonal.

“You must have been very upset.” Akane softly says.

“My Psycho-Pass was…volatile. Crime Coefficients were not available then, and I’m not sure what mine would have been. But after I found out I was pregnant, I committed myself to living for the child.”

Her son was born in the dark, cold, early time before sunrise. Towards the end of her labor, she had been so exhausted, it took effort to breathe. Her eyelids felt weighted when the doctor urged her to see her baby. One look upon Shinya’s squalling little face, and she was no longer tired.

“My parents helped before they passed. Satoru’s family had pushed him to accept the other woman, so we weren’t close. But they sent money to Shinya, at least until he was an adult.” They cut off ties completely after his Hue clouded. “And now, he has no one, wherever he is.”

Tsunemori’s expression is troubled, but she doesn’t speak.

It’s been one year since her son vanished into the outside world. She wonders if he’s eating enough.

***

She dreams of traversing her high school’s corridors. She doesn’t know why she’s here. The faces of long-gone teachers and classmates blur around her. She has to leave, she can’t stay, though she doesn’t know why. She decides that it’s because Satoru isn’t here. The hallways seem so much longer, and the stairs widen at an exaggerated angle. Other students crowd around her, and it’s agonizing to finally reach the exit at the ground floor.

She opens the door, and runs headlong into the rehabilitation facility’s visiting area, almost colliding against the glass screen that separates her from her boy. Shinya’s in white robes, his face gaunt and unshaven. When he looks up at her, his eyes are shadowed from lack of sleep. His darkened Hue floats above his head, and she relives this memory, the dread of learning her son’s become a latent criminal.

He smiles at her in recognition, but it quickly turns bitter. “Sorry, Mama.”

***

“Your Hue is very clear. That’s quite surprising. Most parents in your situation fare worse.” Her therapist marvels.

“I do what I can. I get by.”

“Well, I think you can excel in group therapy.” A short explanation follows. “The advantages are well-documented. I believe you’d be a good addition. You can take your time to think it over.”

She’s given a pamphlet, which she pockets and leaves on her kitchen table. It stays there while she’s eating. This time last year, she would have thrown it away by now. She’s been self-sufficient for so long, it’s become her gut instinct to reject anything that disrupted her carefully crafted solitude. However…Akane’s presence has reminded her it could be pleasant to talk to other people. Healing.

She’ll go once, and then she can reevaluate if she needs to. After dinner, she has Hoshiko add group therapy to her schedule.

***

“You smell like cigarettes.” Tomoyo points out. “Have you picked up smoking?”

“Not exactly.” Akane looks embarrassed. “I just light them and leave them on an ashtray.”

“Secondhand smoke is still dangerous.”

“It isn’t too often. Only to help me think.” The connection to Shinya is blatantly obvious. Not for the first time, Tomoyo wonders what their relationship was. From what she recalled, Shinya had thought well of Akane; he had said she had an optimistic perspective and a detective’s instincts. Once, he mentioned she was kind. That was high praise from him. Tomoyo couldn’t forget it.

“I didn’t like it when Shinya started and I still don’t.” She bluntly says. “But as long as you’re careful, I won’t say any more.”

Akane nods. It’s not a promise to quit.

***

There’s a period of time when Akane doesn’t visit for three months. When she finally knocks on Tomoyo’s door, she’s welcomed with open arms.

“How are you doing, Akane-chan? I assumed your work was keeping you busy.”

“It was.” She stares blankly for a moment, before she crumples and begins to cry.

Immediately, Tomoyo helps her in and sits her down in the nearest chair. She grabs a tissue box and pushes it toward Akane, as she murmurs. “There, there. Take your time.”

Eventually, after a handful of wadded tissues, she’s able to speak. “…My grandmother passed away.”

“I’m sorry. You said you were close to her.”

She nods. “It was…very sudden.”

“Have you had mental care?”

“I have. My Hue’s alright. It still feels difficult though.” She looks so young, and Tomoyo remembers she’s only twenty-two.

“It might feel that way for a while, but it should pass. Your grandmother wouldn’t want you to suffer for her sake.” She reassures. She brings tea and water and crackers, while Akane recovers herself.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Any time.”

Before Akane leaves, she seems pensive, in the way a question is brewing in her mind. But she doesn’t, only reiterating her gratitude. Tomoyo suspects she was going to inquire about how she copes. In truth, she doesn’t have a definitive mechanism. Maybe, she’s just accustomed to carrying the pain, so tightly embedded in her Hue that not even Sybil can filter it out.

***

“Even artificial flowers brighten up the place, hm?” Tomoyo says out loud, as she arranges a vivid bouquet in a vase. There is no reply from the porch. Sae stares emptily into the distance, the wind ruffling her hair.

Now that Nobuchika-kun’s become an Enforcer, he reluctantly requested that should she happen to be near Okinawa, that Tomoyo visit his mother. “She always seems a little better after she’s had company.”

Tomoyo wasn’t confident, but she wasn’t in a position to judge and she trusts Nobuchika-kun. Her work had no issue with extending her trip by a day, since it was for mental care. Well, she never said who it was for, but as long as it was to help someone else, she had no qualms about bending the truth.

Satisfied with her work, she steps out into the fresh air. She adjusts the blanket over the woman’s lap, though it’s hard to tell if she’s comfortable. A set of beautifully crafted chimes sways and emits a haunting melody. Sae doesn’t react, and Tomoyo feels an irrational anger. They’re not alike at all. She could never imagine being in such a state, she’d rather be dead. But it wasn’t Sae’s fault either. The other woman never asked to be like this, not her or the other eustress victims.

Tomoyo sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m not a very good companion. But…we do have something in common. We’re among the countless women in history who were left behind by the men we love.” Akane’s face also pops into her mind.

Movement in her peripheral vision draws her attention. Sae’s lips purse, as if she’s about to speak. But her expression relaxes again into a blank slate.

Her hands itch with the need to do something useful, so Tomoyo takes hold of Sae’s wheelchair. “Let’s go for a stroll. The weather’s so nice, isn’t it?”

At the end of the day, she tucks Sae into bed. The woman falls asleep almost instantly, like a child. Tomoyo leaves her be, with the drones to care for her.

***

“I met him in Shamballa.”

Tomoyo’s throat goes dry, as emotion floods over her. “How is he?”

Akane smiles. “He’s well. He’s alive and intact, the last time I saw him. He’s on the move, helping people. I told him I visit you, and he said thank you. And that you never show any weakness.”

Shinya’s alive. Four long years, and finally, she has something to hold onto. “As long as he’s still breathing, that’s enough for me.”

“I thought you would say that.” Her good humor slips. “I wasn’t able to bring him back though.”

She reaches out, to reassuringly pat Akane’s back. “To be honest with you, that might be for the best. As much as I want to see him, his Psycho-Pass…”

“I know. I just wish there was a way. And now that I’ve met him again, I don’t think I can give up. I’ll keep trying, Tomoyo-san.”

A thank you pales in comparison to the intensity of her determination, so Tomoyo bows her head. “I believe you can. In the meantime, we’ll wait. We’ve already done plenty of that, haven’t we?”

“Yes.” Akane agrees. “But I hope not for too much longer.”

***

Her son is home.

He’s more solid now, but his face hasn’t really changed. Her nose wrinkles at the tobacco clinging to his clothes; she hugs him tightly anyway.

“Hi, Mama.” He says, and she fights back tears. She won’t cry in front of him, or Akane, or their friends looking on. And definitely not out in a driveway. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone.”

“I’m just glad you’re here.” She answers, ignoring her clogged sinuses. “And I haven’t been alone, not in a long time. Akane-chan’s been visiting me.”

“Akane-chan?” He repeats. His eyes dart to Akane, brows lifting. “That’s funny, I didn’t hear about that either.”

“Well, now you know.” She beams. “Come inside, Tomoyo-san.”

As he takes her jacket, Shinya mutters. “She calls you ‘Tomoyo-san’, Mama.”

“And?”

“I don’t get that same treatment.”

“If it upsets you, you should do something about it.” She dryly responds. Her son’s unamused expression makes her laugh, and she pats his cheek as she heads for Akane’s living room.

There’s a pair of women who she’s met today, sitting on the opposite couch. They’re friendly enough but she’s most familiar with Nobuchika-kun, who strikes up a conversation with her. His countenance lightens every time she sees him. He’s changed very much since his school days with Shinya, and she’s as proud of him as if he were her own.

She’s happy. Truly, unbelievably happy.

In the kitchen, Akane is making coffee for everyone, and Shinya’s stepped over to help her out. She’s never seen them together before, and now that she has, it’s like they’re tethered by a gravitational pull. It stirs the romantic in her to life after so long.

It is also the last time they meet for many months.

***

In the ensuing whirlwind of events, Tomoyo does her best to occupy herself. Group therapy has helped in that regard. She’s taken more of a mediating position as of late. It’s not long before an unfamiliar couple joins the monthly session. They introduce themselves with the name Tsunemori, and Tomoyo maintains a stoic expression. She treats them neutrally, trying to parse them out. They’re about what she expected: subdued and fearful of uncertainty, especially with regards to Akane.

Afterwards, she takes her time putting on her coat, watching everyone else walk out. When the Tsunemoris emerge, she strides a little ahead, so she can turn to them and speak.

“Your daughter’s strong. Have faith in her.” They blink at her in confusion, but she continues. “She’s helped me so much. If you have time, would you like to have tea?”

***

She calls him after washing her breakfast dishes. “Today’s the day, right?”

“Yeah, finally.”

She can hear the restrained impatience in Shinya’s voice and smiles. “Is your car clean?”

“Mama.”

“I don’t want Akane-chan to be driven out of that place in a dirty car.”

“Of course not. Don’t worry.” He grumbles.

“Well, I do. She’s like the daughter I don’t have.”

“…working on it.”

“What was that?” Of course, she knew what he said, but she wanted to hear him say it clearer.

“Nothing. We’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

She purses her lips. “We’ll talk more then. Have fun, be safe.”

He sighs, but his reply is fond. “Alright. See you later.” The call ends.

Hoshiko announces her Hue for the day. “Powder blue! Would you like me to pull up your shopping list?”

“In fifteen minutes. Thank you.” The starfish blinks out and she exhales. She’s alone, but not for long. She finishes her coffee with a smile.

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 7, Number 1

Phicus

Another year, another volume of Dust, which means we’ve been collecting these brief, pithy reviews for seven years now.  This time around, we sample the usual cornucopia of genres, from ambient death metal to Iranian punk to noisy skree to shoegaze-y lookalikes to polyglot global dj grooves, with the usual stops in free jazz and improvisatory environments. Contributors include Jonathan Shaw, Bill Meyer, Ian Mathers, Jennifer Kelly, Bryon Hayes and Andrew Forell.  

Aberration — S/T (Sentient Ruin Laboratories)

Aberration by Aberration

Not sure what “ambient dark death metal” is, but recently formed band Aberration claims to play it. The “ambient” bit may be a nod to the drone that sometimes resonates deep in the mix of the three songs on this 10” EP. Other than that, Aberration’s music sounds pretty typical of the death metal created by bands on the primitive, murky end of the genre’s sonic continuum. Some of the musicians are in other, more established projects: John Hancock plays guitar and provides vocals in the widely admired death doom outfit Void Rot, Dylan Haseltine plays bass and sings for the blackened death metal (mostly black metal, it seems to me) band the Suffering Hour. Those bands have much more specific musical identities, and their intense records express the players’ clarity of vision. Perhaps Aberration wants to live up to its name, presenting something unprecedented, an unpleasant mutation — and hence, perhaps, the decision to release the vinyl version of the EP on an unusual format. That’s sort of fun. The music is not. But that’s nothing new in death metal, and to be honest, these songs don’t warrant the announcement of a new sub-subgenre. They are just fine, if you like your death metal atavistic, cavernous and claustrophobic. But an aberration? Nope. Maybe a weeping pustule. In death metal, isn’t that enough?

Jonathan Shaw

 Steve Baczkowski / Bill Nace — Success (Notice)

Success by Steve Baczkowski/Bill Nace

Dallas is synonymous with a sort of excess that begs to be perceived as success. Old TV shows, memories of oil, nation-splitting politics, you name it; it’s bigger, badder and gaudier in Dallas. A tape of a free improv show that was recorded at a Dallas bookstore might not fit your preconceptions of longhorn accomplishment, but go ahead and tell that to Steve Baczkowski and Bill Nace. If they answer at all, they might let you gently know that it’s your problem, and then pop in the tape. This 42-minute-long recording will hook you by the belt, take off into the stratosphere, drag you through an asteroid belt, and deposit your cindered remains by the bar (yes, The Wild Detectives serves liquor as well as literature) before the tape reverses. That still leaves plenty of time savor the duo’s mastery of transition, from stout-sounded duel to fading filigree framing the sounds of the cash register opening and closing. Yeah, that’s the sound of Success.

Bill Meyer

 Aidan Baker — There/Not There (Consouling Sounds)

There / Not There by Aidan Baker

Unsurprisingly, 2020 doesn’t seem to have slowed Aidan Baker (Nadja, WERL, Caudal, Hypnodrone Ensemble, and many more) much at all. Of the many records released under his own name, the recent There/Not There stands out for being a surprisingly accessible entry to his personal metal/drone/ambient/shoegaze melting pot, even given the opening 20-minute title track. “There/Not There” marries some whispery shoegaze songwriting with a beautifully monomaniacal repeating drone. Over the course of the track, it does slowly transition until we get to a crescendo as intense as any Baker’s done, but even more so than normal the unwary might get lured in by the low key, blissful opening and the frog-boiling slowness with which the tension is ratcheted up. One of the other two tracks is really just a way to section off the real noise-squall coda of “There/Not There” but then “Paris (Lost)” offers a more concise, quieter storm version of the same framework. Like a lot of Baker’s work, it sneaks up on you, but when it hits it hits hard. 

Ian Mathers

Ballrogg — Rolling Ball (Clean Feed)

Rolling Ball by Ballrogg

The Scandinavian combo Ballrogg changes direction once again on Rolling Ball. Founders Klaus Ellerhusen Holm (clarinets) and Roger Arntzen (bass), who are both Norwegian, started out reinvestigating the folksy jazz vibe of Jimmy Giuffre, then sought out a new home on the range by adding slide guitarist Ivar Grydeland. Now, incoming Swedish guitarist David Stackenäs and his rack of pedals have redirected the trio into a technology-enhanced future. Not the sci-fi imaginings of Sun Ra, but a future more like 2019 might look if you stepped straight into it from 1959; in some ways quite familiar, but in others, different enough to be disorienting. The Giuffre-esque and country elements are still there, but when punctuated by minimalist-influenced compositional flourishes and illuminated by the diffuse, digital flicker of Stackenäs’ effects, it suddenly becomes clear that those Viking cowboys didn’t put a key in the ignition before they drove out towards the horizon.

Bill Meyer

 Bipolar — S-T (Slovenly)

BIPOLAR "Bipolar" EP by Bipolar

For a band named Bipolar, with a single called “Depression,” this EP sure is a lot of fun. Two of the band’s mainstays are apparently Iranian emigres, now seeking the more permissive environs of Brooklyn. (The only hint of that exotic origin is in “Sad Clown,” where there might be an imam exhorting the faithful, but who knows? I don’t speak Farsi.) One of them sometimes plays keyboard with the Spits, and in fact, the Spits are a pretty good reference point for these hard, fast, bratty songs. “Virus” pummels a relentless pogo beat, the one-two of the drums rocketing ever faster, the shouted all-hands chorus in tumbling sync. “Fist Fight” is even more exhilarating, with its blaring, roiling guitar blast and adrenaline-raising refrain, “It’s a fist fight. It’s a fist fight.” There’s nothing profound here, but it’s a good time.

Jennifer Kelly  

 Bosq — Y Su Descarga Internacional (Bacalao)

Y Su Descarga Internacional by bosq

Bosq, a globally omnivorous DJ formerly based in Boston (real name Benjamin Woods), recently moved to Colombia, perhaps to get closer to his source material. The Colombian influence is certainly strong on Y Su Descarga Internacional, which opens with a scorching “Rumbero,” featuring the Afro-Colombian star Nidia Góngora. Dorkas, another singer from Colombia, follows immediately with “Mi Arizal,” an intricately textured dance track which erupts with fiery bursts of Latin brass. Justo Valdez, whose Son Palenque did much to define the Cartagena sound in the 1960s and 1970s, drops by for two of the album’s best tracks: a rollicking “Mambue” and the hand-drummed, bass-thumping hand-clapping “Onombitamba.” And yet the album doesn’t just document the singers and artists of Bosq’s new home. Kaleta, a Benin-based Afro-beat artist who has worked with Fela Kuti and Eqypt 80, takes the lead on funk psych “Omo Iya” and the stirring, horn squalling “Wake Up.” Bosq knows how to pick collaborators, and there’s not a dud track on the disc, but wouldn’t almost anyone sound like a genius in company like this?

Jennifer Kelly

Deuce Avenue — Death of Natural Light (Crash Symbols)

Death of Natural Light by Deuce Avenue

If you are a lurker of the cassette underground, you may remember a West Virginian outfit called Social Junk appearing in the mid-aughts. This duo offered up crackling melodic scree, blown out murky fuzz and semi-coherent mouth sounds like an industrialized version of The Dead C or a new wave outfit newly recovered post-coma. Noah Anthony, the male half of Social Junk, has since moved on to releasing solo material under both the Profligate and Deuce Avenue monikers. The latter is the more recent project and is quite minimal compared to his other work. With Death of Natural Light, there are no cold wave rhythms and vocals à la Profligate. What’s left is a dank, steamy vapor. Contrails of filter-swept hiss slowly develop into a more enigmatic and darkened tonal palette. The ominousness continues to thread its way into the second half of the cassette, fittingly entitled “Blood Turns Black”. Loops of nocturnal jump scare fodder coalesce into rhythms that provide skeletal forms to foil the menace of the more oblique textures. Those who enjoy their horror in slow motion will latch onto these sounds like a facehugger to… …well, a person’s face.  

Bryon Hayes   

 Fleeting Joys — Despondent Transponder (Only Forever)

Despondent Transponder by Fleeting Joys

Let’s start with the obvious. Despondent Transponder sounds a lot like MBV’s Loveless, with wild sirening guitar tones, waves of noise-y feedback, thunderous drumming and sweet, fragile lyrics engulfed in the swirl. “Go and Come Back” has the same fluttering guitar melody as the great “To Here Knows When,” while “Satellite” blusters with the dopplering, dissonance-addled grandeur as “I Only Said.” Fleeting Joys — that was Rorika Loring singing and playing bass and John Loring on guitar and vox — never made any secret of their love of MBV. Despondent Transponder was an homage right from the start. The album was the debut for this Sacramento-based twosome, released originally in 2006, then as now on Loring’s own Only Forever label. And yet, while no one will ever top Loveless, from an ear-bleeding psych-noise daydream perspective, this one has its own particular beauties. “Magnificent Oblivion” surrounds a lullaby-pure melody with a reeling, caterwauling mesh of inchoate sound; guitar notes stream off in bending contrails as Rorika murmurs sweetly into the mic. “Patron Saint” lurches to motion on a Frankenstein bass riff, but softens the brutality with calming washes of vocal hypnotism. It’s all super beautiful and, anyway, even after the reunion, there aren’t nearly enough MBV albums. Plenty of room for a band that sounds so similar.

Jennifer Kelly

 Get Smart! �� Oh Yeah No (Capitol Punishment)

Push play: driving staccato guitars, rubbery bass lines, lockstep drums, declamatory vocals and it’s the mid-1980s all over again. Lawrence, Kansas trio Get Smart! — Marcus Koch (guitar, vocals) Lisa Wertman Crowe (bass, vocals) and Frank Loose (drums, vocals) — have that timeless mixture of English post-punk and American indie down. Then see that 33 years after it was recorded Oh Yeah No finally sees the light of day on the back of the band’s reformation. Time and the cycle of musical fashions are fickle beasts and in this case the wheels turn in Get Smart!’s favor. They sound both of their time and thoroughly in tune with the steady flow of recent guitar bands mining this lode of choppy, melodic indie. The Embarrassment, Big Dipper, Pylon and other regional heroes are being rediscovered and reassessed and, here’s the thing, Get Smart! are really good at what they do and this six-track EP is both a testament and, hopefully, a taste of what the future may hold.  

Andrew Forell  

 Rich Halley / Matthew Shipp / Michael Bisio / Newman Taylor Baker — The Shape Of Things (Pine Eagle Records)

The Shape of Things by Rich Halley

If the bolt strikes twice, it’s probably not lightning. The Shape Of Things is the second successful meeting between Rich Halley, a tenor saxophonist based in the Pacific Northwest, and the current members of the Matthew Shipp Trio. The album is, like its predecessor Terra Incognita, a congress of strengths. Shipp’s trio follows the pianist easily into one of his classic roles, that of supplying sonic foundation and harmonic framing for an extroverted saxophonist. Halley fights right into the spaces that they create, rippling easily over the trio’s turbulent surfaces. He works within the broader jazz tradition, sounding equally at home patiently sketching a lyrical line and blowing raw, acidic cries. This ensemble plays achieves a state of centered abandon which feels wilder than Halley’s recordings with West Coast musicians, but fits right into the spectrum that contains Shipp’s work with the David S. Ware Quartet and Ivo Perelman.

Bill Meyer

 A Hutchie — Potion Shop (Cosmic Resonance)

Potion Shop by A Hutchie

Hamilton, Ontario-based producer Aaron Hutchinson has his fingers in many pies. He nimbly dispenses free jazz, hip hop, outré pop and even more enigmatic forms of song. Potion Shop is his debut LP, although he is a long-time fixture in the Steeltown music scene. This immersion in a small, tight-knit domain has led to many fruitful collaborations. Hutchinson features many of his compatriots in these recordings, in which his music snakes alongside their vocal stylings. Mutant 21st century soul singlehandedly played by Hutchinson is a foil for the slam poetry of Benita Whyte and Ian Keteku, the latter of which the producer warps with a vocoder. Sarah Good’s vocals morph into those of a ghostly chanteuse among smeared strings, while the soulful Blankie swims beneath narcotic R&B beats. When imbibing these intoxicating concoctions, you will be immersed in a warmth of familiarity tempered with the unsettling yet exciting sense of the uncanny. Like absinthe, the disquiet is illusory while the intimacy is authentic.

Bryon Hayes  

 Imha Tarikat — Sternenberster (Prophecy Productions)

STERNENBERSTER by IMHA TARIKAT

Imha Tarikat’s principal member Ruhsuz Cellât (stage name of Kerem Yilmaz) breaks with black metal orthodoxy by musically engaging his family’s Muslim heritage. That’s a provocative move in an artform dominated by glib nihilism, rampant anti-religious sentiment and (somehow sometimes all at the same time) ardent claims of Satanist faith. And that distinction at the symbolic level likely doesn’t come near the intensities of being of Turkish descent, living and recording in Germany, in a scene that flirts (and at its extreme margins actively identifies) with fascism. Beyond those ideological and social dimensions is the music. Imha Tarikat demonstrates facility with tremolo riffs and song forms that twist and snake even as they hammer and pummel. But Cellât’s unusual vocal style cuts against convention’s grain, and it’s immediately apparent as album opener “Ekstase ohne Ende” commences. There’s a lot of grunting and hollering, but rather than contorting his voice, shrieking and croaking in mode of most black metal vocalists, Cellât goes for more straightforward intensity. He often shouts, and the lyrics frequently come in bunches, explosive and punctuated bursts of verbiage, but he makes no attempt to distort the lyrics or his voice. I wish my grasp of German were even halfway close to fluent, in order to report on the lyrics’ thematic content with some coherence — because Cellât clearly wants the words to be heard.

Jonathan Shaw

Jon Irabagon / Mike Pride / Mick Barr / Ava Mendoza — Don’t Hear Nothin’ But The Blues Vol 3 Anatomical Snuffbox (Irrabagast Records)

I Don't Hear Nothin' but the Blues Volume 3: Anatomical Snuffbox by Jon Irabagon

Never mind the blues; if you don’t exercise caution, when you’re done playing this loud-at-any-volume recording, you won’t hear nothin’. The latest installment in tenor saxophonist John Irabagon’s series of one-track, meta-blues recordings starts out with a spray of sound as bracing as Saharan sandstorm, but quickly solidifies into a veritable wall of sound. At the outset, Irabagon and drummer Mike Pride engage in a high-speed dance of charge and countercharge which, if heard without accompaniment, would sit comfortably on the same shelf as your Mars Williams and Mats Gustafsson records. But when you put guitarists Mick Barr and Ava Mendoza on the same stage and tell them both to start shredding, the effect is somewhat akin to putting the pyrotechnic specialists in charge of the circus. Subtlety, dynamics and even the oxygen you breath all disappear as everything catches fire. If any of the participants here have effectively bent your ear, you ought to listen all the way through once. By the time it’s done, you’ll know in your heart whether you ever need to hear it again.

Bill Meyer    

 John Kolodij — First Fire / At Dawn (Astral Editions)

First Fire • At Dawn by John Kolodij

Where there’s fire, there’s often smoke, and while this tape claims alignment with Hephaestus’ element, it’s more likely to evoke thick clouds. As the capstans turn, the murk of “At Fire” accumulates gradually, filling the room with an increasingly dense atmosphere. By the time you notice flashes of flame, it’s too late. “At Dawn” brings to mind a lesser conflagration — maybe the embers of the previous night’s campfire. John Kolodij (who has, until recently, recorded mainly under the name High Aura’d) pushes his heavily processed guitar sound into the background, where it lurks with a bit of birdsong, and leads with an unamplified banjo and acoustic guitar. Fiddler Anna RG (of Anna & Elizabeth) further bolsters the melody while some sparse percussion played by Sarah Hennies heightens the sense of moment. Once more, a mass of disembodied sound rises up as the piece progresses, but this time the effect is the opposite; instead of getting lost in sound, the listener finds a moment of peace and light.

Bill Meyer

 Lytton / Nies / Scott / Wissel — Do They Do Those In Red? (Sound Anatomy)

Do they do those in Red? by Paul Lytton, Joker Nies, Richard Scott, Georg Wissel

“Do they do those in red?” The title may speak to the particular peculiarities of this combo, which is formed from several pre-existing duos, Joker Nies is credited with “electrosapiens,” which seem to be self-constructed electronic instruments, and George Wissel applies various items to his saxophone to modify its sound. Georg Wissel’s synthesizers come with some assembly required, and it would appear that Paul Lytton, best known for playing drum kits and massive percussion assemblages, confines himself in this setting to the stuff he can fit on a tabletop. What, you think your saxophone is prettier because it doesn’t have anything red jammed into a valve?  

Moving on to the music, while the sound sources are heavily electronic, the interactive style is rooted in good old-fashioned free improvisation. Lytton’s barrage sounds remarkably similar to what he achieves playing with a full drum kit, and Wissel’s lines may be more fractured, but his alto sound has some of the tonal heft and agility that John Butcher exercises on the tenor. The electronicians’ bristling activity brings to mind a debate between opposite sides of the electrical components aisle at the hardware store, but it’s a lucid one, thoughtfully expressed on both sides.

Bill Meyer  

Ikue Mori Satoko Fujii + Natsuki Tamura — Prickly Pear Cactus (Libra)

Prickly Pear Cactus by Ikue Mori, Satoko Fujii, Natsuki Tamura

Pianist Satoko Fujii and trumpeter Natsuki Tamura spent February 2020 touring Europe with their combo Kaze, which they’d augmented with the electronic musician, Ikue Mori. As lockdown wore on, they kept the connection going via Zoom chats between their abodes in Kobe and New York. After Fujii shared her experiences of trying to mic and stream her piano online, Mori suggested that she send some recordings. Mori edited what showed up and added her sounds; Tamura contributed additional elements to nearly half the tracks. Some of them are balanced to sound like live recordings, with Mori’s neon squelches and high-res, bell-like tones gathering and dispelling like real-time reactions. Others feel more overtly constructed, with the piano situated within a maelstrom of sounds like a view of a TV set turned on in a room with a party going on.  

Bill Meyer

 Phicus — Solid (Astral Spirits)

Solid by Phicus

Phicus is the Barcelona-based assemblage of Ferran Fages (electric guitar), Àlex Reviriego (double bass) and Vasco Trilla (drums). The line-up looks like a power trio, and if you heard them two seconds at a time, you might think that they were. Reviriego and Trilla each play in ways that convey a sense of motion, and Fages’ bent notes and serrated harmonics are just the sort of sounds to cap off a display of guitar heroics. But if you note that each track is named for an element or chemical compound, and that the album is called Solid, you might get a clearer idea of their concerns. This music is all about essential relationships, and its makers are more interested in making things coexist in productive ways than they are in re-enacting rituals borrowed from jazz, fusion or free improvisation. That means that even the sharpest sounds don’t hook you, nor do the fleetest charges carry you away. Phicus isn’t interested in settling for the familiar. But if you’re ready to observe that thing that looks like a duck making sounds that ducks never make, you’ll find plenty to ponder on Solid.

Bill Meyer

 Quietus — Volume Five (Ever/Never)

Volume Five by Quietus

Quietus songs unfurl like cream in coffee, spiraling curlicues of light into dark liquid drones amid clanking blocks of percussion. The songs expand in organic ways, picking up purpose in the steady pound of rhythm, strutting even, in a loose-limbed rock-soul-psych way you might recognize from Brian Jonestown Massacre’s “Anemone” or Grinderman’s “I Don’t Need You to Set Me Free,” but quieter, much quieter, and seething with submerged ideas. The words are mumbled, croaked, submerged in surface hum, but when pushed up towards the surface, arresting. “This life can be sunlit hills turned all to their angry sides,” murmurs Quietus proprietor Geoffrey Bankowski in the relatively concise “Reflex of Purpose,” which sprawls anyway, notwithstanding its 2:36 minute duration. The music’s better, though, when it’s allowed to find its slow way forward, unconforming to any pre-existing ideas of how long a pop song should be. I like the closer “Posthemmorrhagic,” the best, as guitars both tortured and prayerful intertwine, and Bankowski breathes slow, moaning poetry into a close mic, and the song revolves in three-time like the last dancer on the floor, not just tonight but forever.

Jennifer Kelly

Ritual Extra — In Luthero (Dinzu Artefacts)

In Luthero by Ritual Extra

In Luthero was performed inside an empty water cistern, and the ensuing reverberations act as microscopic versions of the grander ebb and flow within which French-Finnish trio Ritual Extra operate.  Percussionist Julien Chamla’s cymbal scrapes and tom hits form a backdrop of bomb blasts and shrieking, missives from some war-torn locale long since vacated by the populace.  Steel structures seem to groan and collapse as they are rattled by percussive ordnance. This bleak setting is given a sense of color by Lauri Hyvärinen’s acoustic guitar.  A stew of string scrapes diverges into discrete plucks, which morph into strums.  The metronomic chords are enriched as they bounce around the walls of the cistern, folding in on themselves through echo, becoming a mechanical mantra.  Tuukka Haapakorpi’s voice rises from the ashes, soaring polysyllabically yet wordlessly.  As In Luthero begins to take shape, these vocalizations are almost inhuman: whispers and gurgles that come on in waves.  Later, more anthropoid utterances take shape, yet fall just shy of coalescing into a discernable language.  Across 24 minutes, Ritual Extra musically narrate the pre-history of humankind, the primordial essence from which everything good — and bad — about us originated. 

Bryon Hayes  

 Subjective Pitch Matching Band — Twenty-One Subjectivities in Six Parts (Remote Works)  

Twenty-One Subjectivities in Six Parts by Subjective Pitch Matching Band

Chris Brian Taylor has trod a serpentine path on the journey that culminated in the creation of his first large ensemble electroacoustic composition. His roots are in punk and rave — he still DJs house and techno — but he recently shifted his gaze toward improvised electronics. Rather than stifling his ambition, COVID-19 and the ensuing lockdown encouraged him to think big: he would cast a wide net and compose a piece of music for as many people as he could get to participate. He reached out to friends, relatives, and internet acquaintances to assemble his orchestra, and borrowed the melody and chords from Pet Shop Boys’ “Being Boring” to act as the foundation of the work. Twenty people responded from a variety of musical disciplines, and all agreed to participate remotely. The composer gave each player audio cues to work with and encouraged the performers to respond subjectively. They could either stay true to the pitches provided, harmonize against them, or play ornamentally. Taylor collected the resulting tracks and structured the resulting thirty-minute piece of music based on what the respondents provided. Dense yet graceful, the composition unfolds like a slow-motion blaze. Flames of sonority form a sinuous body from which sparks of discrete sound leap heavenward. There is nary a moment of silence, as Taylor weaves a plethora of long tones together to form an undulating core over which stabs of piano, guitar and percussion materialize momentarily. Naivete didn’t keep Chris Brian Taylor from aiming as high as he could with this piece, and we are the benefactors of this ambition, rewarded with a rich and complex sonic brew to enjoy.

Bryon Hayes  

 TV Priest — Uppers (Sub Pop)

Uppers by TV Priest

TV Priest works the same corrosive, hyper-verbal furrow as Idles or, in a looser sense, the Sleaford Mods, spatter chanting harsh, literate strings of gutter poetry over a clanking post-punk cadence. The vocalist Charlie Drinkwater snarls and sputters charismatically over the clatter, a brutalist commentator on life and pop culture. The band is sharp and minimalist, drums (Ed Kelland) to the front, guitar (Alex Sprogis) stabbing hard at stripped raw riffs , bass (Nic Bueth) rumbling like mute rage in the back of the bar. And yet, though anger is a primary flavor, these songs surge with triumph as in the wall-shaking cadences of “Press Gang,” the blistering sarcasm of “The Big Curve.” This is a relatively new band, their first and only tour cut short at one gig by the lockdown, but the songs are tight as hell on record and likely to pin you to the back wall live. “Bad news, like buses, comes in twos,” intones Drinkwater on theclearly autobiographical “Journal of a Plague Year” against an irregular post-everything clangor, loose and disdainful and hardly arsed to entertain us; it’s as fitting an anthem as any for our lost 2020. But when band gets moving, as on the chugging, corroscating “Decoration,” it’s unstoppable, a monstrous thing bursting “through to the next round.” Sure, I’ll have another.

Jennifer Kelly

Voice Imitator — Plaza (12XU)

Plaza by Voice Imitator

Voice Imitator, from Melbourne, Australia, rips a hard punk vortex through its songs, ratcheting up the drums to battering ram violence, blistering the guitar sound and scrawling wild metallic vocals over it all, with nods to noisy post-hardcore bands like the Jesus Lizard and McClusky. “A Small Cauliflower” takes things down to a seething, menacing whisper, Mark Groves, the singer, presiding over an uneasy mesh of tamped down dissonance and hustle. “Adult Performer” is faster and more limber, all clicking urgency and sudden bursts of detuned, surging squall. All four members—that’s Per Bystrom, Justin Fuller, Groves and Leon O’Regan—have been in a ton of other bands, and the sounds they make here have the rupturing precision of well-honed violence. If you like Protomartyr but wish it was lots louder and more corrosive, here you go.

Jennifer Kelly

 Sam Weinberg / Henry Fraser / Weasel Walter — Grist (Ugexplode)

Grist by Sam Weinberg / Henry Fraser / Weasel Walter

Ornette Coleman once called a record In All Languages; these guys ought call one Any And All Possibilities. Saxophonist Sam Weinberg, bassist Henry Fraser and drummer (this time, anyway) Weasel Walter are scrupulous student of improvisation in all its guises, and they’re ready and able to use what they know. You could call it free jazz, for they certainly know how that stuff works, but they’re under no obligation to swing; that’d be a limit, you see. This music bursts, darts, expands and contracts in a sequence of second by second negotiations of shape and velocity.

Bill Meyer  

 Chris Weisman — Closer Tuning (Self-Released)

Closer Tuning by Chris Weisman

Chris Weisman is a Brattleboro, VT songwriter, in the general orbit (not a member but seems to know a bunch of them) of the late, great Feathers and one-time member of Kyle Thomas’ other outfit, the fuzz pop band Happy Birthday. A shunner of all sorts of limelight, he is nonetheless very productive. Closer Tuning is one of five albums he home recorded and released in 2020. You might expect a certain lo-fi folksiness and there is, indeed, a dream-y, soft focus rusticity to the tangled acoustic guitar jangle, the blunt down home-i-ness lyrics. And yet, there’s a good deal more than that in Closer Tuning. The chords progress softly, gently but in unexpected ways, a reminder of Weisman’s jazz guitar training, and the sound is warm and enveloping and every so slightly off-kilter, as if filtered through someone else’s memory. Cuts like “Petit Revolution,” with its close shroud of harmonies, its eerie, antic guitar cadence, feel like Beach Boys psychedelia left out in the garden to sprout, or more to the point, like Wendy Eisenberg’s brainy, left-of-center pop puzzles. “My Talent” is hedged in with blooming bent notes and scrambling string scratches, but its center is radiant, weird, astral folk along the lines of Alexander Tucker. “Hey,” says Weisman, in its slow dreaming chorus, “I gave my talent away.” Lucky us.

 A.A. Williams — Forever Blue (Bella Union)

There’s a dim and shadowy corner where heavy music, orchestral music and post-rock all meet, and A.A. Williams’ music resides there as naturally as anyone else’s. That’s what you might expect when you get a professional cellist who fell hard for metal as a teenager and then started writing songs after finding a guitar on the street. After an EP her first LP is the kind of assured, consistently strong debut that balances calmly measured beauty with the kind of crushing peaks that give that sometimes hoary quiet/loud dynamic a good name. At its best, like the opening “All I Asked For (Was to End it All)” and “Dirt” (featuring vocals from Wild Beasts’ Tom Fleming), Forever Blue is as gothically ravishing as you could hope for, and by the time it ends with spectral lament “I’m Fine” it might tempt even those not traditionally inclined that way to don the ceremonial black eyeliner.  

Ian Mathers

[leeknow-bestboy]

If You Close One Eye - Chapter One

Ships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Yang Jeongin | I.N, If you really squint you can notice Lix is into Binnie, Hyunjin was into everyone once

Characters: All the kids, The ex kid isn't here I edited him out, Other Character Tags to Be Added

Trigger warnings: panic attack, ptsd, original character death, homophobia, original character cheating, descriptive imagery.

Word count: 5277

Chapter: 1/?

Next chapter 

Tags: Murder Mystery, amateur detective minho, Soulmates, not your typical soulmate AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Slow Burn, Slow Build, good things take time let it slowburn, minho is singlehandedly responsible for the slow burn so blame him, no soulmates in this universe only they are, criminology student minho, art student jisung, POV Third Person, chan deserves better and he does indeed get better don't worry, art references please look stuff up, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, best sibling bond ever.

"If you close one eye, you can see what your soulmate sees"

Born with one eye an unnatural golden color, Minho and Jisung have been forced to cover them up with colored lenses in order to blend into society.

The magic to their eyes? Even they still didn't know.

This is the story of how criminology major and dance minor Lee Minho found himself hopelessly in love with the serial killer, local artist Han.

[Alternatively, let's see how long I can make these two dumbasses pine without one of them snapping. Edit: they finally did]

[Also WARNING: a HUGE amount of Jeongchan ahead, it's not subtle at all! So much fluff--]

As per usual, the playground was packed; children of all ages ran wild, squalling and laughing like the little menaces they were- all of them avoiding a short kid who couldn't be older than five, seated at the very end of the sandbox and holding back tears of offense and loneliness.

It's not that he got bullied, he wasn't. His mom raised a tough kid who'd bite back when he's bit, but no one would play with him now. Not with how he looks, they'd rather scream and run.

Five year olds shouldn't worry about that.

Rubbing his left eye- the good one, he could see a woman's shoulder and hair. Her smile, bright and comforting, wording out a song with no sound.

"Jisung!" His mother's voice rang aloud, recognizable and warm in the hostile environment.

"Baby," She called again, finding him and wrapping her son in her arms. For the moment, there was no strange woman- only his own mother.

Jisung sniffled. "I hate people." -These words that shouldn't be said by a child flowed so easily from his lips, as if it was the only reasonable conclusion.

"We need to talk about something" his mother's voice, once excited and lively sounded utterly defeated. Little did he know, it was the last time. Years of telling him he's perfect just the way he is, special and unique in a good way, definitely- have ended up making no difference in the end.

That day, he learned to put on contact lenses.

.

"I know you're upset about the divorce, but you have to accept that it happened."

The woman's voice, high pitched and unpleasant, drove Minho ever so slightly closer to the edge. By now he knew no adult in the world would ever take him seriously, so what was the point in sitting here and listening to her talk?

The woman pursed her lips, plump and telling of the many times they went under the scalpel. Tapping her foot, she hazily reminded Minho of his own mother when scolding was due.

"If you don't talk to me, that's fine. Nothing's going to change. I get paid by the hour you know, I can do this all day."

That being said, she was probably stressed- no therapist had ever gotten Minho to talk, he's been changing doctors since his hallucinations began, which adds to a little over three years now.

"Minho, I can't help you like this. Tell your mother I give up."

A sense of dread spread over the eight years old. Again, another adult doesn't get it. Another one giving up on him, leaving, and suddenly he wanted her to stay. Pretty badly he did, at the time.

"I don't care that my parents broke up, I've been seeing monsters all day"

The woman blinked, stunned into silence. At the tinge of tears he rubbed his right eye- and there it was, certain as ever; drawn with a sharpie, people with horns. In a moment, a pair of hands that weren't his took the drawing away and pulled out a new one, drawing harshly a sad smiley face.

Although he was a big boy, he cried right then, scared out of his mind and very confused. He cried so hard it almost slipped off- the contact lens hiding his mother's disgrace.

Looking up, the woman made no effort to comfort or dissolve his fright. Rather, she was scribbling down the whole ordeal. Taking notes, furiously assessing and picking him apart, she finished her analysis smugly and said,

"It's time we get you a prescription, my dear"

And that was definitely not the last of it.

.

"Oppa"

Minho groaned lowly, alerting the speaker to the fact he's been woken from sleep.

"Minho oppa!" the voice persisted. Fully intent on hanging up, Minho side glanced at the caller id to make sure it wasn't important.

"Motherfucker!" the voice on the other end rose. From the corner of the bed Doongie meowed, alarmed.

"Freaking shrimp, what do you think you're calling your oppa?" He blurted. This isn't a call he should skip.

"Egg laying bastard! Answer me when I call you!" His sister's comforting voice trickled out.

"Gremlin twarp!"

"ballerina!"

"Whiny child!"

"Prune old man!"

"spoiled princess!"

"Mean hoe!"

"-!" Wheeze.

"I got you, you horrible gay bitch"

"We're both gay, Ryu" He threw back.

It's been a while since she last called.

"Well, you live alone, so I assume you're doing much gayer things than I can do at home."

Minho started, failing to hold back his horrified gasp. "Ryujin, you're eighteen!" He exclaimed. It seemed like yesterday she was still following him around, like some baby duckling.

"She's being mean Doongie, like you three don't count." He added, Ryujin electing to ignore his comment.

"How's dance going?" her tone changed, turning softer. For all their differences, dance for sure has always been something both loved and loved together. From copying idols on TV, to taking ballet and hiphop together, Jazz too.

"I'm not in college for dance and you know it" He groaned, immediately softening as well.

"I miss it a lot. I wish I could do more than minor in it.." On the other side of the call Ryujin hummed, understanding. She has always known his passion best.

"You're good at what you do too. You'd make a kickass detective." She claimed.

"I'm not taking criminology to be a detective." Why she had to be reminded was beyond him. If anything he aimed to be an officer, someone to tell kids off if they mess with the neighborhood cats.

"I'm just saying you could be!" She defended- which wasn't wrong, if he played job openings right. He did have a knack for picking apart mystery books too, but that was nothing out of the usual.

"How's grad life?" He asked with genuine interest. Nothing could ever matter to him more.

"I asked Chelle out, finally." She said, and Minho couldn't help but notice the edge evident in her voice.

"What happened? Did she let you down? Should I come over?" The questions left his lips before he could consider them, worry clouding over him.

"No, it's nothing like that. She said yes, but.. Yeah, oppa, I really wish you were here. I need to talk to you, face to face. Mom misses you too." She ended lamely. It was so unlike her, Minho couldn't find it in him to correct the fact that it was only Ryu's mom and not his.

"Tell her I'll be visiting tonight then, I'll go get ready." He said, fully intent on making the sudden drive over. It was only a two hour ride over to his father's, where Ryujin and his step mother lived too. If he headed out now, he could make it before dinner.

"Really? You don't have to, I know you hate it here-" Her attempts of taking it back wouldn't work once he set his mind to do something.

"Really really. I miss my stinky troll sister too," He insisted. No way was he leaving her be. The moment something felt off with her, he knew he had to go make sure she's fine; there aren't many things as precious in his life as she is.

"Dumbass," she relented, voice worryingly relieved. "I'll go tell mom."

He smiled, tapping his nail on the headboard, now sitting up at his bed. "Bye"

She huffed, pausing for a moment before giving her last reply. "Goodbye, oppa. I love you."

.

Minho sighed, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel.

For what little time he spent at his father's place, a surprising amount of bad memories were made. Up until his teen years he wouldn't even enter, and every time after that made for a rich history; first panic attack, first time breaking a leg falling down the stairs, coming out, taking Ryu to junior prom- door shut in his face that time, claiming she was grounded for beating up the neighbor's son. First time stung by a bee, and that weekend when his father's doberman puppy bit him in play, tore open his front lip and got sent to a dog pound despite his protest.

'Come on,' he thought. 'You can do this. Count to three-' and at three he did, opened his car door and walked up through the front gate.

"Minho! How lovely to see you." Smiled his step mom, a warm, if not a tad unnerving woman.

"Nice to so see you too. How have you been?" He asked, clean-cut manners kicking in. Dal and Byul had meanwhile made their way running over to the door, immediately rubbing against him with some level of desperation. He leaned down, rubbing Dal's small head.

"I've been well, your father too- that's right! Honey, come say hi to Minho." The short, lean woman called, still blocking the entrance to the oversized house and keeping Minho at the door. Whether this was on purpose shall forever remain a mystery- she did it every time.

"That brat has nothing to do in this house" His father's voice warmed over.

"Hi dad." He tried still, calling over the woman's shoulder. "Can I come in?"

Said obstacle smiled, moving aside at last. "Of course sweetie, Ryujin will be right over."

Taking that exchange for what it was, he made fast pace towards the kitchen. Avoiding his father has become a praised skill by now, a crucial one by all means.

"Dallie, Byulie, psps" he tried, pleased when both ran on over towards his outstretched hand. Two more allies at the ready.

Light steps cleared the remaining discomfort sullying his mood in short moments. "You!" A pair of arms tightened around his shoulders, prompting Minho to lift his little sister in a piggyback.

"You too!" He answered, relieved at feeling welcomed at last.

"I can't believe you actually came. Did you tell your mother you're over?" She asked, tactless as ever. He loves her a whole lot for that, too.

"She's not the boss of me, I'm twenty one" He announced, eyes closed in a content smile as his sister gently pet his hair like a cat.

"What about me? I'm almost nineteen, I wish I was free like you, Lino!" Exclaimed Ryujin, but really she didn't. There was a certain freedom gained from nobody caring about you that no one should be jealous of.

Letting her hop back onto the ground, Minho kept the smile on his face. She seemed fine, but he could tell better. Still, they couldn't talk before dinner- the pots and pans at the stovetop smelled just about ready, after all.

Instead he turned to face her, petting her head lovingly like she had his. "What's this? This tiny Ryuddaeng's nineteen? No way."

"Almost!" she growled. "Next month I'll be."

"Where have the times gone?" he questioned, shoving her playfully at the comments of "old man".

.

Dinner went as uncomfortably as expected, his father and he had behaved remarkably well- hadn't spoken a word to each other throughout. Minho ate neatly, made sure to compliment his step mother for every dish, and Ryujin helped by washing them after. All in all, it was successful unlike many dinners before.

Making way to the guest bedroom, Minho paused at the sight of his sister's door left slightly open. Right, yes- this would be a good time.

Knocking quietly, he waited for permission before entering and closing the door, waiting for Byul to enter alongside him. "Are you alright?"

Ryujin nodded, glancing up at him and back to the floor. He took that as a sign to take a seat down on her fancy dragon themed carpet.

"Are you really alright? Ryujin, I know we're not great communicators, but I'm still very worried. Is it dad?" At that his sister shook her head, taking a deep breath.

"Don't get mad, but I have a huge favor. You know Chelle, I swore I'll ask her out when I graduate and I did, but she…" Minho crossed and uncrossed his legs, chin finding its place resting on a knee. Byul purred, rubbing against it.

"She's missing. She's been missing for two weeks now, no one knows where she is." She explained, voice stern.

"I don't think she ran away, but her parents keep saying she did. She said nothing to me." She added, hoping he'd fill in the rest on his own.

"They're not filling in for missing person?" He asked, worry making his back stress and ace.

Ryujin nodded. "I know she's the bad girl type, but she wasn't into drugs and her friends seem fine. I keep trying to ask around but I can't, what if something serious happened?"

Minho nodded, realizing where he comes in. "You want me to investigate? See where that takes us?" He asked. For sure, that should be the police's job- but with her parents saying she ran away, would they even bother?

Ryujin kept quiet, eyes burning holes into Minho's. This was her crush, a big one- he's never liked Chelle, but now? If Ryujin cares that much… sure. It's not something he should be messing with legally, and a new project to be added atop his ever growing college work, but he'd do it for her. "Okay."

"Okay?" Ryujin asked back, relieved.

"Yes. I'll do it." He assured.

Ryujin's features softened farther, mouth breaking into a smile. "You're my new favorite person."

Minho smiled lightly, mind running full speed. "I need details. When and where she was last seen, and about her; exes, Instagram, friends and hangouts."

Ryujin's smile faded. Nonetheless she turned, pulling a notebook out of her bedside drawer.

Scribbling away the details he requested, she paused to ask a couple questions before turning back to her chore. "I know less than I thought." She admitted.

"That's fine, but I have a few more. How was her mental state, where did she study, was she on meds and did she mention any places?"

This kept on for a few hours, ending after they let an annoyed Byul out of the room - with Ryujin tiredly announcing that her brain is fried and he can ask the rest over chat when he's back in college. On his end, Minho learned one important thing:

This girl was not who she seemed to be.

.

Back at his apartment, Minho re-read all eleven papers of info they've gathered. On the way he's prepared a list of places to visit, only two of which stemmed from the info Ryujin herself had given him. Other than the school and family bistro down the street, it seemed the two have never gone out together, although Chelle was one to do so.

Good, he thought.

Scrolling through her Instagram, he noted which followers seemed to comment more, and who would show most often on highlights. Her latest post have been boring- it was landscape art of what he assumed to be a tall grass field on the outskirts of seoul. Around three months back he found a picture of some guy at the beach, shirt off and abs in clear view. Seeing as he looked nothing like Chelle, it would seem they weren't related.

Sorting through the packed comment section, someone's request to take it down stood out. Tapping on the person's icon, he realized that was probably the guy in the picture, although the account was made private. An ex? That would make a good trail.

Not having an account himself, by now Minho has used Ryujin's, but to follow guys it would seem he needs his own account.

Setting up all the necessities, he took a nice picture of Dori and made it his profile, sending the guy a follow request right away.

Now we wait.

.

"Oppa, if you have no photos or description and no followers, and he doesn't know you, did you really expect he'd approve your request?" Ryujin's laughter trickled through the speakers, as if it's been obvious. "You're going to have to find him." She pointed, before hesitantly adding, "Or I can-"

"No." Minho said, stern. "This guy could be Chelle's ex, he might be really dangerous! You don't get to follow his Instagram."

Ryujin sighed, and Minho got the sudden mental image of her rubbing the bridge of her nose as she did. "You have friends right? Ask one of them." She advised.

"I need to go, dad said I can't go out unless I finish these applications." She explained, hanging up after a round of goodbyes.

Right. He did! He has friends.

Picking his phone back up, Minho scrolled his contacts looking for either Felix or Hyunjin. The two weren't in his major, but they shared a dance class. Out of the student body, they were closest to his definition of friends.

A couple rings went by before the line picked up. "Hyung? Hello!" Felix's cheerful voice calmed the older's nerves ever so slightly.

"Felix, hi." He answered, trying to seem casual. "How are you?"

Felix took a moment before responding. "I'm great! I'm actually out with Chan hyung, is something up?"

"Who?" Minho asked, confused.

Felix took another moment. "Bang Chan. He's a fourth year in sociology, I don't think you'll know him."

Minho came close to a sob right then. "Can you pass him the phone?"

"Yeah sure." Felix agreed immediately, followed by ruttling sounds.

"Hello?" A voice sounded, accent similar to Felix's own.

"Hi! My name is Minho, I followed you on Instagram a couple days ago."

A short silence. "Oh my god." Chan exclaimed.

"No, never mind that, I need to talk to you." He rephrased.

"I have no idea who you are." Chan replied, confused.

"It's about Chelle." Minho added, hoping to learn anything from the other's reply.

"Oh." Was all he got. "Okay, I guess we should meet sometime then. How is she?"

The question caught Minho off guard.

"I, I'll tell you more when we meet. When are you free?" he asked, quickly seeking out a pen and scribbling the time and date on his wrist, phone squeezed between his ear and shoulder.

"Yeah, sounds great! See you then." He concluded, getting passed back to Felix and thanking him profoundly before hanging up.

"In my own college." He muttered after the phone found its place back on the table.

"Unbelievable."

.

Not many people occupied the café, despite its convenient location not far off the olympic park. For that reason Minho concluded, the coffee there probably sucked.

It wasn't his intention to show fifteen minutes early, but his nerves got the best of him, taking shape in miserable pacing until he deemed it late enough to leave his apartment already. Worst case scenarios running through his mind, he wasn't expecting it as someone took seat in the chair opposite of his.

"Hello. It's Minho, right?" Asked the stranger, dimples forming in an awkward smile.

"Ah." Minho voiced dumbly before quickly picking himself up adding,

"You're Chan?"

In the short time that passed between first learning of Chan's existence and actually seeing him, Minho's mind managed to fill with expectations and fears, all of which shattered right in that moment.

First of all, the guy in the picture had very defined abs and arm muscles, making it seem as if he'd be your average muscle-head, someone who could pull apart limbs off boys like Minho- a description that apparently had nothing in common with the hesitant and awkward person in front of him. Rather, he found that this Chan was a tad shorter than him, barely filling the light gray sweater he threw on.

Secondly, while the photo showed a man with straight dark brown hair, the man in front of him had soft blond curls that seemed so, so fluffy- invoking a primal urge to pet them in, Minho assumed, not only himself, but also every innocent bystander.

Lastly, by the amount of english in his Instagram description, one would expect an obvious accent, but that had been proven false on the phone call anyway. Regardless, Minho imagined a foreigner, so seeing his face up close had been a surprise on its own, especially considering the smile… he was, how would he put it? Cute.

"Yeah! Nice to meet you. I was worrying I'd be early, but it's good to see you are too." Minho could only half process the words, a glance at his phone telling him they both still had around ten minutes before the planned meetup time.

"Right! Right, I wanted to talk to you." Minho started, forcibly clearing his mind of any strange thoughts.

"You said it was about Chelle? I assume you're her new boyfriend?" Chan asked, voice a bit strained.

"No, It's not like that. I wanted to know if you've heard from her for the last couple weeks." Minho replied, quick to correct him so to not make things needlessly awkward. Right, he thought- Chan still might have had something to do with this girl's disappearance.

"Oh, well, I actually hadn't, I try not to do that anymore. We didn't end things on good terms." Chan confessed, picking Minho's interest.

"What happened?" He asked, worries picking back up.

Chan paused. "Are you her friend? This kind of thing is a little personal, I don't want it to affect your friendship."

Minho blinked, thinking up a smaller scale storm. "I live in her neighborhood. We're not very close, but some things happened that made me look for you."

Chan hesitated, saved by the waiter's interruption asking which drinks the two would have. Still suspicious, Minho only ordered a small iced americano, Chan matching with a small iced tea.

"You probably know we dated for around two months, it ended after I found she was cheating for a long time."

Minho's breath hitched, dangerously close to choking on his coffee. "She cheated on you?"

Chan's expression fluttered before he nodded, sheepish smile back on. "Kind of pathetic, isn't it? I couldn't hold her attention. At least, the others didn't know."

Minho gaped, unsure how to handle the new information. Chelle, the girl Ryujin asked him to look for. Was that her true nature? "What do you mean others?"

Chan's embarrassment grew, yet he didn't look away. "We were around.. five, I think.. that I know of. I followed her for a bit."

The awkwardness settled, leaving both speechless.

"Okay, I'm really sorry but I still need to ask you a couple more things." Minho was the first to break the silence.

"Go ahead." Chan smiled in relief.

"Were you mad? Wait, no- Can you think of anyone who could have held a grudge against her? More than, I guess, this."

Chan shook his head. "She's a really nice girl! She has some serious issues, but I liked her a lot at the time."

Minho bit his lip, ready to push on. "Chan, I'm going to be honest with you.. Chelle's been missing for over two weeks now."

If Chan was drinking at the moment, it would have been his turn to choke. "What?" he asked, voice steady.

"I got in touch with you because right now, nobody knows where she is. Or someone does know, but I don't" Minho explained, hoping his message went through alright.

"Are you sure she's not ghosting you? She might be." Chan offered. Minho stiffened. If Chelle was fine, if she was ghosting his sister- there will be hell to pay.

"I don't think so?" he continued anyway.

"I can't remember a specific person who would want to hurt her, but.. God, I'm worried. Chelle's gone? Like, kidnapped or.." Chan paused, taking deep breaths.

"If you have any information on where she could be, it would help a lot. I don't know her well, I'm not sure who else to ask either." Minho added.

"What do you want to know?" Chan asked, worry clouding his face in an unpleasant way. Minho almost felt, scratch that- he did feel really bad for the guy.

"Hangouts, friends, habits, names of other exes- mental state too, it's a little invasive but I can't find her otherwise." Chan stared, eye contact with Minho intensifying as neither averted their gaze.

"Okay." Chan replied after a while. "I don't really know you, but I guess it suits her. If anything happened, I wouldn't expect an officer anyway."

Slightly disturbed, Minho pulled his notes from his bag, offering Chan a big sheet of paper. Just like that, the two had begun- Just as Minho had with Ryujin before.

"I can't help with other Exes, I don't know any of their names. I do know where she hangs out usually." Chan supplied helpfully.

"Chelle, she's very into art. She thinks her art, only hers, is the best of the best. She considers herself an undiscovered gem, that kind of mentality. She'll do anything for exposure, and she likes compliments a lot." Chan bit his lip, pausing in his writing.

"She's not on good terms with her parents, and sometimes I remember, she said she wanted to run away. She has horrible mood swings, but when she's happy she can be the sweetest, most considerate person in the world. I think she had too much love in her, that's why…" Chan trailed off, sighing before shaking his head and writing down some more details.

"I'm not okay with that, you know? It's the worst kind of betrayal, but I'm still so worried. I never wanted anything to happen to her, I don't wish that for anyone." Minho hummed, recalling back on his previous suspicion, how ridiculous it seemed now to think that of this person.

So it went on, the two of them coming up with important details and question marks to jot down. Before they knew it the sky turned dark, an impatient barista politely asking them to leave.

"You have my number, right?" Chan asked.

"I don't." Minho replied, glad Chan remembered. The two exchanged phones, filling in their details with some hesitation.

"Call me if you need anything, or if you find her." Chan added, eyes glinting under the streetlights.

"You too, call me if you remember anything important." Minho replied, parting with a wave goodbye and heading towards the bus station.

It was only on his way back that he recalled their first exchange through the phone, and how stupid it had been to expect anything else from a friend of Felix's, of all people.

Groaning lowly, Minho moved his bag up, staring at the paper pile stuffed inside it neatly. Ahead was, he expected, a night full of reading- all 38 new pages of details about this girl, who he found himself liking less and less with every passing statement.

.

Over an extended time period Minho had found himself visiting many different places to no avail. He tried asking around, dropping Chelle's name here and there for good measures, but it seemed that the girl had vanished into thin air. Her only legacy had been the outrageous rumors surrounding her name, such as dating kids much younger than herself and having sex to get her way in the art world. Really, Minho should have stopped there- he wanted nothing to do with this girl anymore, was happy even; happy that she didn't get to lay her hands on his sister. Yet he couldn't stop thinking, this girl.. She was missing, it was real, and not one soul other than him have made a single attempt to locate her. How could he give up now?

It had been a long day- visiting a bar from the list in the morning before moving to a café nearby and finishing one of his assignments, Minho decided to follow up on Chelle's tracks. Twelve days have passed since his meeting with Chan, and although his anxiety kept getting worse, the list of things to check kept getting shorter with every lead he crossed out.

This one had honestly been a lame lead, but he wanted to make the most out of it- a short trip out of seoul, to a grass patch stretching a couple miles that was similar to the one he saw on her Instagram. If he couldn't find her with anyone's help, he thought- maybe he should try to think like her more. This girl, where would she go? Who would she meet? What would she do? And for that this practice was important, too.

The land stretched, tall grass for as far as the eye could see. He roamed around, looking at the tall buildings that made his home from afar. From here, definitely- he recognized the scenery as the one she drew that time. Stepping back through the grass, it didn't make much of a difference from how far he's already been, but the moment felt special somehow.

Minho breathed in, a strong breeze blowing from the front and carrying the dust and pollution of the city with it. Bad air, even this far back. At least it was silent, no cars, no birds either- it felt peaceful. Minho stepped back again, pulling out his phone, intending to take a photo. A couple more steps back, and he tripped- landing on his butt in the grass.

It was there that he found her.

.

Jisung stretched, back aching after sleeping in so late.

"Good morning, and good luck falling back asleep at a normal hour." Seungmin commented. True that, Jisung managed to mess his sleep schedule pretty badly. Good thing it was friday.

Standing up, he considered responding before giving up and making his way to the kitchen.

"Ji," Seungmin spoke up once more,

"At least brush your teeth. I'm your roommate, not your mom- I shouldn't have to tell you this!" His voice, although annoyed, remained calm. He did have a point.

"Okay mom." Jisung replied, deadpan. Without another word he turned, entering the bathroom and picking up his toothbrush to do as instructed.

Life as an art major was hard- he had so much work to do in little time, and the pressure made it feel a little like a job. Nowadays his minor in music made for the only stress reliever he could put time into without guilt, and he wondered if maybe he should have chosen it for major instead. Useless thinking about it now, anyway.

Jisung went on brushing, releasing a small whine at the thought of his next assignment. Whatever- he rolled his eyes, raising a hand to rub the remains of sleep away.

Tall grass, the clear view of seoul from afar- blurring, moving, fast as if he was struck by lightning.

The toothbrush clinked loudly against the sink as it dropped, leaving Jisung with the reflection of himself in the mirror, left hand raised. He made quick way, spitting the paste and powerwalking back to their room, brushing against Seungmin on his way there.

"Jisung? Jisung, you can't just leave this here." Seungmin bristled, pausing at the sight of Jisung pulling out his sketchbook with the craze of someone going through a revelation.

He sighed, recognizing the scene in front of him. "Inspiration struck?"

Jisung hummed, wiping his mouth and beginning to sketch. This happened every once in a while, it was one of the things that made Jisung… well, Jisung.

"I'll clean up. Should I order takeout?" Seungmin asked, affection sneaking into his voice. He's a bit weird, but sometimes he was cute too.

"Thank you, please." Jisung replied absentmindedly, focused on the paper.

"I will. Okay." Seungmin concluded, fishing his phone out to call his favorite fast food handler.

To them, after all, it was nothing more than an average friday night.

[onepartbrave]

"...It would seem I did not teleport to the Crystal Empire like I wanted to..." The lean yet large Alicorn remarks, standing in a place that seemed like some higher place. Then to the being that walked on two legs, oh-

"Oh dear me-" She finds herself in awe, standing before a creature of old equestia times? Another world inhabited? Humans??

Squall… is admittedly awestruck.

Of all the creatures mentioned in myths and fairy tales, that last thing he ever expected to see this morning is a unicorn. One with the ability to comprehend human speech and speak it. Why he’s so surprised he can’t say, considering his world is filled with magic and monsters. A simple unicorn isn’t worth so much surprise…

Except, it’s (she’s?) not just a unicorn – white wings can be detected folded up neatly against pristine fur when he looks closer.

“Uh…” he begins eloquently, expression purely dumbstruck. “You’re—lost? Teleported?”

Seemingly, he may need a second opinion if magic is involved. Good thing he has the local sorceress on speed-dial.

[alcxandros]

So I've talked a little about Rinoa starting a revolution of her own via the liberation of sorcersses and I've got some rough ideas to get out.

I've got headcanons regarding how heavily restricted Rinoa's existance is with the intention of it being created was that she would eventually break contract and Esthar would be able to scoop her back up. It's just a waiting game. It doesn't take long for Rinoa to begin breaking her contract, and she becomes very, very good at getting in and out of Garden with little to no detection, and the people that are aware she's gotten to cover for her. Her role as the stratigist in the OWLS comes in handy when finding new and creative ways to escape and return and to make sure she isn't discovered when she's out.

With practice, she becomes a bit of a master at it, despite Odine's technology increasing. She, thus far, has found another solution when one door closes. She knows the risks if she's caught by the wrong people. She does care - but she cares about her sanity more. All of this is done behind Squall's back, not wanting him to worry about her, stop her, or put him in a position of forcing him to choose been her and his home - something she already feels guilty for with him being her Knight alone.

Rinoa has attempted to make the absolute best of her new life, but her new life is bullshit. And if she expresses any anger or frustration or any 'negative' emotion, people even in Garden look at her as though she is a wild animal that should be put down before she hurts anyone. She forced herself to wear this mask of happiness and complacency to not make waves and to try to earn trust by showing she isn't a threat. Years have gone by and it hasn't worked and it won't work, and she isn't allowed to emotionally express herself least she is treated like a monster and instantly told to control herself - as if having emotions at all is a crime. She is angry and she is depressed and she is a human being that feels these things.

Rinoa is a rebel at her heart against oppression, and no one is fighting for her liberation. Her last straw being complacent is an attempt on her life when she is recognized and stalked when out on her own. She hasn't been in real combat for years - she isn't allowed to, though she has found a coven of sorceresses who have been helping her learn and control her powers and that is her saving grace. However, to save herself she is forced to kill her attackers, which leaves her unhinged and mortified - both at killing and the attempt on her life.

She isn't going to sit back and wait for someone to kill her. She also isn't going to rot away in Garden either. So Rinoa starts planning her own rebellion for her freedom.

Oppertunity is everything. Until oppertunity rises, Rinoa starts practicing her magic and sorceress powers alike, even the powers she swore she would never use such as compelling and bending others will and possession. Her plan is to go on a trip to Esthar as usual for technically to be tested on her and experiments to take place. She will wear a Bangle that does not work, giving the false impression her powers are nulled as is usual when she makes her trips there. Once she's in the research facility, she begins to compel people to leave the area, not wanting anyone, or as few people as possible, to get caught up in this and die. Once she is alone, Rinoa will release a massive Flare attack and keep unleashing magic - destroying as much technology and reserch as she can.

If she didn't stirke here first, everything here would be used against her, and there would be absoultely no way she could ever get inside Esthar's walls if not for this method.

Esthar's soldiers are going to be coming quick, so Rinoa must destroy as much as possible as fast as possible, and will use teleportation ( a skill that isn't perfected but she has no other options ) to escape the massive country.

There is no going back after this. She dies fighting for her freedom or she lives long enough to see it.

[vmheadquarters]

Welcome to… 

We're going to play a game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors will take turns telling this story. Each writer will craft a chapter (with no prior planning) and then "toss" the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected! Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Chapter One of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @susanmichelin​ (a/k/a CMackenzie). 

And stay tuned next week for Ch.2 from @nearfantastica​ - tag, you’re it! -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER ONE by CMackenzie

“Welcome aboard!” The captain of the luxury trawler, ominously named Irish Wake, greeted them on the dock with individual thermoses of hot cocoa, and dire predictions about the weather. “There’s a snow squall coming so we best be on our way– you’re my last two passengers for the night.”

Veronica managed to contain her eye roll- barely. This was going to be a very long weekend if all she had to look forward to were predictable ‘it was a dark and stormy night’ cliches. How Wallace had convinced her to make this trip North was still unclear. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Because I’m tired of watching you mope.” Wallace, following the captain’s orders, headed below deck to the saloon. It was paneled in teak and outfitted with leather banquettes and an actual, working fireplace. Wallace dropped onto the bench, leaving the seat closest to the fire for Veronica, and tugged off his gloves.

“I’ve only been home for THREE days,” Veronica said, reluctantly joining him on the sofa. She loosened her jacket and stared morosely through the windows at the gray water.

“Exactly. Three days of unwashed you walking around in a robe, wearing a sad face, and acting more pathetic than Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree. I will not spend the rest of winter break listening to you sing Unbreak My Heart.”

“As if.” She leveled Wallace with a hard look. “And for the record, my heart’s NOT broken.”

“Sure, V.” Unfazed, he pulled out the multi-page invitation for this party and started reading. “The island has its own pond for ice skating, and there are--”

“Hello? Grew up in Southern California, I don’t skate.”

“You don’t surf either, so what’s your point?” He waved the expensive vellum invite at her. “They have snowmobiles, a heated pool, an extensive library, a wine cellar--”

“What no conservatory and billiard room?”

“Plus,” he continued, undeterred. “There’s a murder mystery for you to solve. You can show off your detective prowess, while I play your devastatingly handsome side--”

“Devastatingly handsome?”

“The Watson to your Holmes.”

“This is more Christie than Doyle-- And Then There Were None ring any bells? Do you even know who owns this mansion?” Her best friend was being VERY cagey about this entire weekend. “And why were we invited?”

“WE weren’t invited, I was, and you’re my plus-one.”

“So why were YOU invited? Since when do you have rich friends who can throw Gatsby-like part—” Veronica’s eyes widened as realization dawned. “NO, absolutely not, I’m not going to be trapped on an island with HIM.”

“Totally over him, my ass,” Wallace muttered, shaking his head. “You know Logan Echolls isn’t the only rich guy in the world, right?”

Veronica humphed. She could count on one hand—on one FINGER—the amount of wealthy people Wallace knew well enough he’d consider traveling to this desolate place, and risk incurring Veronica’s wrath. 

There was NO WAY she was staying. She rebuttoned her jacket, and folded her arms across her chest. As soon as they docked, she’d make the captain return her to the mainland. If Logan…  Veronica frowned. “Let me see that invitation.”

“I thought you weren’t interested?”

“I’m not.” But her curiosity was getting the better of her. There was just no way Logan Echolls would throw a lame THEME party. 

She held out her hand, and Wallace hesitated, staring at the card like he was trying to come up with a good reason to say no; but when none materialized, he relented, and passed it to her. 

This time Veronica didn’t hold back the eye roll. The first line read: ‘Mistress X’ (Seriously? What is she, a porn star?) ‘cordially invites you to a mysterious good time.’ As far as Veronica could tell, the only ‘mystery’ was the identity of their hostess (and why she loved stale cliches). And maybe-- “Who else will be there?”

Wallace shrugged. “It’s a party, Veronica. Did you forget how those work? We eat, drink, and have fun- the only mystery for you to solve is a fake one.”

Sorry, BFF, but you’re wrong-- there was NO mystery solving in her future, fake or otherwise. Even if her curiosity was demanding to be satisfied, she would NOT be staying on this island, which is exactly what she told the captain after he docked the boat, and she scrambled topside.

“We need to go back to the mainland.”

The man continued to wind the dock line around a cleat in a tight, figure-eight pattern, ignoring her demand. Or maybe he just didn’t hear it? Frigid January air howled around them and buffeted the sides of the boat, making it thump against the wood pilings. Veronica tried again, a little louder. “You have to take me back to shore.”

“Sorry miss, no can do,” he said, shaking his head. “They’ve upgraded the storm to include white-out conditions and at least a foot of heavy snow.” He stopped adjusting the boat fenders long enough to squint uphill at the imposing limestone mansion. “I just hope you kids will be safe up there all alone.”

Veronica followed his gaze. Copper-trimmed windows glowed from inside, and several chimneys dotted the black slate roof, all of them puffing billows of gray smoke into the night sky. It was both inviting and foreboding. She shook off the ridiculous thought, stomping the cold from her feet and shoving gloved hands into her parka. “Aren’t you returning to Rollins?”

“‘fraid not; I’m gonna have to hunker down in the caretaker’s cottage till the storm passes. ”  The captain glanced at Wallace who was still standing on the boat, luggage at his feet. “Let me help you with those bags, son.”

“We good, V?”

“It’s not like I have a choice.” Too bad she hadn’t paid more attention to Duncan when he’d tried to teach her how to sail, then she could take the—skiff? Scow? Sloop?—berthed next to Irish Wake, and make her own way home. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Without waiting, she left him to carry both duffels, and marched toward the house. Wallace stopped her at the front door. “Uh, Veronica, before we go in, you should know there’s a story to follow.”

“Say what now? A story?”

“Yeah, for the mystery. It’s called Murder at the High School Reunion.” He dropped the bags, and withdrew a blood-red envelope from his coat pocket. “You’re supposed to be Enid Curtis,” he added, handing her the sealed letter.

Veronica groaned. As if this wasn’t bad enough, now she had to be called Enid AND attend a pretend reunion. She ripped open the character summary. 

Enid Curtis was the high school outcast. She couldn’t wait for senior year to be over so she could escape her hometown. Immediately after graduating, she fled to New York and became a successful lawyer, but she never got over her one true love, Mason. Enid is attending this weekend in the hopes of rekindling their relationship, but a dark secret—

“You are so going to owe me for doing this,” Veronica said, skimming the rest of the contents to confirm she wasn’t the killer. “I’m thinking YOU will be the one driving to Stanford every single weekend from now until the time I graduate.” 

“Haven’t I been doing that?” 

“Yes, but now you’ll do it without complaint.” She shoved the red card into her messenger bag. Depending on how many guests and bedrooms, she could have this solved in under an hour. All she needed was to search everyone’s things to read their dossiers. “So which high-school stereotype are you? Wait, let me guess-- class president? Teacher’s pet? No, no, I’ve got it, you’re the new transfer student!”

“You disappoint me,” Wallace said with a sad head shake. “Obviously, I’m the lovable jock- Brady Huddle.”

“Bad puns too? Could this weekend get any worse?” She entered the house and got her answer-- yes, it could. In fact, the party completely bypassed ‘worse’ and went straight to intolerable as she crossed the threshold into the living room. Dick Casablancas was behind the bar (natch), pouring a liberal amount of vodka in a collins glass. A probably-tipsy Gia, who was draped over Luke Haldeman, giggled at Dick, and Veronica’s eye twitched. Hell. I’m in hell.

She scanned the rest of the room, searching faces. Very familiar faces. 

Cole was lounging on a leather Chesterfield the color of old parchment, his arms spread across its back like he was trying to redeem the lost souls of Rio, and blathering on about the Ivy Club at Princeton. Listening to him with rapt attention was Kimmy, who looked eerily like a dead Meg. Obviously she was still going to Fantastic Sam’s with Meg’s picture (and maybe even a trip, or ten, to Dr. Griffith’s office).

Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far wall and in front of them stood Carrie Bishop, sipping a white frothy confection from a punch cup.  Her bored expression was reflected in the darkened panes as she absently nodded at Susan Knight.

“Who’s the girl about to be swallowed by the fireplace?” The carved-limestone monster was massive. Its mantle towered over the unknown brunette’s head and the firebox was tall enough for a man to stand inside.  

“That’s Alexis Link,” Wallace said, wearing the same moony expression from senior year when he pined after the perky cheerleader.  His sudden interest in this party now made sense. 

“Don’t even think about leav—” The warning was too late. Wallace was already on the move. She sighed. If the weather wasn’t clear by tomorrow morning, she was going to need a new escape plan.  

Someone playfully bumped her elbow, and a frisson of excitement shot down her spine. Please let it be, Logan. Her eyes flew to the window to see the person behind her, and she had to fight to control her disappointment when she identified Casey Gant.

“Welcome to Whispering Rock, Veronica.” He jutted his chin toward the non-existent view. “It’s not much to look at right now, but during the day it’s pretty impressive-- a pond, trees, mountains.”

“Is this your house?”

“God no, it’s way too rural for my parents. I think my mother might literally die if she was this far away from civilization… and a Starbucks.” He smiled. “I got here early and went skating with Susan.”

Veronica nodded, then schooled her features into a mask of disinterest. “So is this everybody?”

“You and…”—not remembering Wallace’s name, he skipped right over it—“...were the last to arrive.”

“Oh.” Any interest she may have had completely evaporated. What was the point without Logan? Could she swim back to shore? Throw herself into the freezing water and hope for the sweet escape of death by exposure? “Guess I’ll go find my room.”

“Do you want me to get one of the maids to bring your stuff up?” Casey glanced at the lone duffel at her feet. “Or did the butler already take your bags?”

“Veronica travels light.”

Logan. She whirled around to face him. It had been over seven months since she’d seen him last (seven months, nine days, and five hours, give or take) and she deserved a little ogling time. She drank in the visual. His hair was shorter, his shoulders a little broader, and his arms… woof. 

Her head tilted. “Hey.”

His smile was slow. “Hey.”

Her fingers itched to touch him. To reassure herself he was actually here. Missing him these past months at Stanford had been a physical thing. Before she did something foolish, she tore her eyes away, and leaned down to grab her bag. Straightening, she blurted, “Are you Mason?”

“Echolls. Logan Echolls.” He pulled a mock-sad face. “Have you forgotten me already?”

As if. She was never going to forget him. Or get over him. Or move past him. She knew this. Even if she’d never tell him. “I meant your character.”

“Shouldn’t you know? I mean I am your great love.” 

“True love.” She frowned. “And Mason is Enid’s true love.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to.... But I am surprised you had to ask. Haven’t you already searched everyone’s rooms, or were you going to do that next?”

She flushed at how quickly he’d guessed her strategy. Was there such a thing as knowing someone too well? “Says the original snoop.”

“Takes one to know one.” His hand closed over hers and he took hold of her bag. “I’ll show you to your room-- it’s right next to mine-- and I can tell you about the other players.”

Logan took a step toward the stairs and the lights went out. A scream pierced the sudden silence. Veronica identified the direction of the ear-splitting sound (near the windows) and her head swiveled in that direction. It was too dark to identify the person (her guess was Susan), but the cause of her fright was plain to see. 

With the darkness inside the house equal to the night sky, the view through the windows had changed. Moonlight and a battery-powered lantern illuminated the pond. A body lay in the center of the ice, still and unmoving.  

“The game is afoot,” Logan whispered near her ear.

“Who’s the dead dude?” Dick asked, as he passed in front of the dim-glow of the dying fire to move closer to the windows. “We’re all in here.”

“Maybe it’s one of the staff?” The suggestion came from the vicinity of the bar; Veronica guessed the speaker as Gia. 

“That’s lame.”

Veronica was forced to agree with Dick. It was lame. Why bother to set up all the backstories and character histories if you weren’t going to use them for the plot? She unsnapped the front pocket of her messenger bag and withdrew two LED flashlights. After clicking on hers, she passed the other to Logan.  “Guess we’d better go take a look.”

A smile flirted across his lips as he took the Maglite and tipped his head towards the door. “Lead the way.”

Wind whipped through the entrance, tearing the knob from Veronica’s grip and pushing the door wide. Logan caught it mid-swing before it hit the wall and held it for her. Obviously the captain’s weather report wasn’t just part of the story. Heavy snow was beginning to fall and a thin shroud of white already covered the ground. 

Veronica slowed her pace, taking tiny steps across the slick flagstone to the lawn. Icy flakes pelted her face, stinging her cheeks and making her eyes tear. A wide path was cut through the center of the grass leading directly to the water’s edge. 

They trudged along. Each slippery step treacherous as the snow continued to build. Veronica kept her eyes focused ahead. The body on the pond had yet to move. Its stillness rang warning bells in her brain. It was too cold out here for a partygoer, or even an actor, to remain that motionless. 

She stopped on the berm and glanced over her shoulder. Everyone had grabbed coats to follow her and Logan outside. All of them still believed this was a game. “I think you need to stay here,” she shouted over the wind. “And I’ll go—”

“Steal all the clues?” Cole scoffed. “We should all go examine the body.” He moved around her and took a step onto the ice.

Logan angled the light to see Veronica’s face and frowned. His gaze slid toward the body. “Let me go first,” he said, brandishing the flashlight in Cole’s direction. “No sense for us to be wandering around in the dark.” He enveloped Veronica’s hand in his. “Ready?”

Together they started across the frozen pond, inching closer to the body.  It was bathed in light from a camping lantern. The green lamp was on its side in a puddle of red. 

Blood. 

Veronica tightened her grip on Logan’s fingers when she saw the face of the corpse. A bloodied ice skate was near the top of his head, and a deep gash ran across his neck.

“Nice makeup job, dude.”

“I don’t think that’s makeup, Dick.” Logan played his flashlight over the scene. There wasn’t much to see. 

“Hey, that’s my stalker from senior year- Leo somebody,” Gia gushed. “Well, he wasn’t like, you know, an actual stalker, stalker, but he followed me around, and I definitely think I was his type.”

“Young?” Carrie said, without any trace of humor. 

Veronica didn’t have any doubt, but she needed to be sure. She let go of Logan’s hand and used her teeth to pull off her glove. Gingerly, she stepped closer to the body. Careful to avoid the blood, she bent down and felt Leo’s wrist for a pulse. “He’s dead.”