#loons the fight for fame | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lokidiabolus · 4 years ago

Text

The Deal - Chapter 2

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (web series)

Pairing: Alastor / Angel Dust

Warnings: human!Angel Dust (Anthony), Deal with a devil AU

Summary: Sometimes you had nobody to spend the Christmas with. Sometimes you didn’t want to. Sometimes you took a chalk and drew a pentagram on the floor fully ready to deal with anything that would come out as an alternative to self-pity occurring otherwise.

The time when Anthony thought if he can’t get anybody to love him properly, he can just make a deal with a devil and find out what affection feels like. Alastor thinks this mortal is pitiful beyond belief and concede. Cuddles happen.

Can be found on Ao3.

Notes: I think Cajun Alastor is wonderful but for the love of god I can't write that shit, so I apologize in advance. Please pretend it's readable.

Unbetad!

2020, January 16th

“Mamaaa, just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he’s dead~.”

Alastor raised his head from a book he snatched from Anthony’s poor excuse of a collection and narrowed his eyes. Anthony could see him in the corner of his eye, even though the demon excused himself to the living room because Anthony insisted on playing his music and not Alastor’s radio, and he couldn’t help it was Nicki Minaj for the first three songs. He even put it on shuffle too!

I’ve already died once, don’t need to repeat the experience, Alastor rudely scoffed at Anthony’s phone and left the room, even though he was bragging just night before he’d totally help with cooking. He didn’t even touch the knife before storming out rather than listen to anything modern.

“Mama, life had just begun, but now I've gone and thrown it all away. Mama, ooh, didn't mean to make you cry~,” Anthony singsonged with the melody while grating cheese and could literally feel Alastor’s eyes stabbing the back of his head. Probably not a fan of Queen either.

“If I'm not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters~,” he twirled around the counter to get plates out of cupboard, “Too late, my time has come, sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time. Goodbye everybody, I've got to go, gotta leave you all behind and face the truth~.”

He made a pirouette and his voice skipped an octave when he almost crashed into Alastor suddenly standing in front of him, right in Anthony’s personal bubble, just looming (which was strange he could, since he was half a head shorter than Anthony, yet it couldn’t be described otherwise). He didn’t say anything, just watched Anthony handle the plates clumsily until the human finally managed to put them on the counter without incident.

“See something you like?” Anthony batted his eyelashes while making a pose with pursed lips and Alastor looked him up and down and smirked:

“Not really.”

“Ouch.”

“What is this song about?” the demon ignored him and nodded towards the phone in the middle of Bohemian Rhapsody, surprisingly sounding curious instead of displeased like before (but alright, it was fair of him to be put off when Anaconda was the first thing he heard, Anthony didn’t blame him).

“Don’t have Freddie in hell?” Anthony chuckled and returned back to filling the plates with Carbonara. It wasn’t like he wanted to fall into an Italian household stereotype but Alastor seemed to like Italian cuisine and it was something Anthony was confident in anyway. Also the praise was always a pretty nice bonus and Anthony might have been fishing for it a little bit.

“Not that I know of,” Alastor hummed. “So what is it about? Murder?”

“I mean… I guess? Sorta?” Anthony shrugged and pushed a plate of steaming food into Alastor’s hands, then gestured towards the table. “Should be about a man who accidentally killed somebody and then sold his soul to the devil.”

“How intriguing!” Of course Alastor would like that topic, grinning like a loon. “You knew the lyrics by heart.”

“It’s a famous song,” Anthony stuck out his tongue. “Everybody knows the lyrics. It’s like an anthem, ya know. Great song.”

“Likeable,” the demon admitted and sat at the table while Anthony handed him a fork and a spoon. “Thank you, dear. Looks splendid as always.”

“I try,” Anthony beamed while sitting down as well. “Oh. Actually, what if I killed somebody too, like, in the future-,”

“Now that would be an adventure, would it not?” Alastor interrupted him with even a wider smile, while the invisible audience cheered, like the idea of murder appealed to him. Why wouldn’t it, as a demon of course he wouldn’t go ew, don’t.

“I’m too pretty for jail, ya know,” Anthony gave him an unamused glare. Alastor hummed in agreement and started eating, his eyes lighting up happily. For a hell person he sure was such a foodie.

“Aww, so you think I’m pretty?” Anthony cooed at him and Alastor glared. It was a thing with this guy – he handled flirtations very badly. Either he got angry or super frustrated, and the latter was honestly so adorable Anthony risked the wrath too often for his own good. “So, what do you like about me?”

“When you don’t talk.” Came a curt reply and Anthony snorted and let him get off the hook.

“What I meant was – what if I killed somebody but didn’t want to go to jail. And wanted to make a deal with you about keeping me safe from them? Would it work?”

“Why wouldn’t it work?” Alastor glanced at him from the food. “Safety is nothing difficult to achieve.”

“I mean,” Anthony leaned against his palm. “We already made a deal. Can you make two deals with the same person?”

“I can make as many deals as I want with the same person,” Alastor answered while twirling his fork in spaghetti. “Why would you think I could not?”

“Not that ya couldn’t but… more like it’s not worth it for ya anymore, right?” Anthony suggested and it seemed like he made an interesting point, since Alastor stopped eating to fully concentrate on the problem. “As in, ya already have my soul-,”

“Heart.”

“And undying love, of course,” Anthony winked at him, earning an eyeroll. Fair. “But another deal would not give ya anything else. Ya already have what ya wanted.”

“Oh, indeed,” the demon nodded thoughtfully. “Obviously true. It depends on the individual. Some demons can take years off the remaining life of the mortal, or actually only state the remaining years for their service, then come collect the life once the time is up.”

“Like they give ya an amazing painting skill, but you have… ten years to live and enjoy the fame?” Anthony prompted and Alastor nodded in agreement. “That sounds… pretty rough. Why would anybody take that?”

“Why would anybody do anything? Mortals are greedy. They want to be acknowledged. Or they fight sheer, absolute boredom and want to elevate it by any means necessary,” the demon tapped his claws against the table in quick staccato. “You think it is not worth it?”

“I mean maybe when I’m fifty, sure, ten years sounds fine,” Anthony shrugged. “But ten years from now? I guess I’d be bummed.”

“Maybe you are not thinking big enough,” Alastor gave him a wide smile. “Not all demons take remaining life force though. Everybody has different methods if necessary. Though the heart is usually a priority.”

“Not for everybody though?”

“Some don’t want underlings,” the demon opposed. “Some only work for Hell itself and don’t take anything, only assure the soul will belong to Hell once the mortal die. Some actually feed on the life force of humans. Hell is having all kind of horrors you can think of, you see.”

“At least yer a daydream,” Anthony winked and Alastor’s smile twitched. Easy. “Building your own harem down there, ya kinky bastard.”

“And here I thought we’re having a meaningful conversation,” the demon sighed and returned to the food, which made Anthony snicker.

“I mean… what do I know, it could be,” he teased him. “What else would ya need some poor bastard’s hearts to do your bidding?”

“To tell them when they need to close their pretty mouths shut if they want to keep them,” Alastor smiled at him sweetly, his crimson eyes shining, and alright, okay, threats on Thursday evening were a thing now. Anthony imitated a zipper on his mouth and quieted down, but still, it was kind of hilarious. Maybe a week ago he’d still be afraid of Alastor pouncing at over the table and slashing his throat but now it was more like no talk, I’m angy sort of meme.

The silence didn’t last very long when Alastor set the fork down and looked at Anthony with curiosity.

“You are full of vigour today,” he observed. “Something good happened? You seem to be in jolly mood.”

“Just glad ya could make it,” Anthony grinned. Alastor became very reliable when it came to the dinner dates and weekend plans after the New Year’s fiasco, never missed one when he promised to come. They found a certain rhythm in the cohabitation and Anthony got used to his presence maybe a little too fast. The man was an enigma with the way he behaved – they slept huddled together no problem, Alastor could be super clingy when he wanted to (rarely though, usually more like only when somehow too tired), but once they were out of the bedroom, any contact was met with stiffness or a five foot rule. The latter became a thing about a week after New Year’s thanks to Anthony’s inability to keep his hands to himself when it came to Alastor’s fluffiness. The hair, the ears and the tail that wagged when he liked something enough, which obviously couldn’t leave Anthony calm, right? A damn cute fluffy wagging tail just… there, for touching.

Well, Alastor wasn’t amused, not by a long shot. The moment Anthony gathered enough courage and touched the thing, the edge of Alastor’s microphone was pushing against his chest to keep him away, and he would have sworn there were creepy symbols flying all around the demon’s head like he was ready to let Anthony get swallowed by some Eldritch monster. Therefore five foot rule became a thing unless it was Alastor who initiated the touch – which was another weird thing about the man. He had no respect for personal space whatsoever, like at all, when he wanted to point out something, make a statement or just felt like it, but once somebody else breached his personal bubble, he bristled like a cat with murderous intent. So Anthony kept his hands to himself but started flirting. Honestly kind of expected a five words rule to happen at some point, but until then he just wanted to have his fun.

“I see,” Alastor watched him carefully and then picked the fork again. “And here I thought you won a lottery or maybe fell in love.”

“Yer the only love of my life, don’t ya worry,” Anthony winked because he could and Alastor let out a sigh that honestly didn’t even sound that fed up, more like just out of habit. “But like. It’s kinda convenient. If somebody confessed to me, that is.”

“Oh?” Alastor’s eyes were sharp.

“My heart belongs to another!” Anthony stated dramatically and then let out a small laugh. “Not even lying? Like. My heart is taken, literally, by the deal we made, it would be like an ultimate move.”

The demon seemed to ponder it, then said nothing. Probably didn’t want to rain on Anthony’s parade on shutting him down needlessly. Naturally, Anthony didn’t think any romance was possible, or even vaguely interesting for the demon, so all his jabs were good-natured but without seriousness.

Or almost all of them. He would be lying if he didn’t admit at least to himself he liked Alastor as a person, not only as a convenient body pillow with Bambi tail he didn’t even let him touch. But such thoughts were private, and he kept them hidden and locked inside of his mind. He learned well enough not to hope to protect himself, and the only relationship there could be was a master and an underling – eventually. Once Anthony die.

Though… who knew when he was going to die. Was Alastor willing to do this his whole life? What if he was going to live to 80? Was he going to cuddle with him and eat dinners every three days in a week for 49 years?

But then again… what is time for a demon? He didn’t even know how old Alastor was. By appearance he’d say maybe around Anthony’s age, but then again, he was never half deer so… could be different. Did deer age count the same as dogs?

“If you ever needed an excuse for that kind of thing,” Alastor suddenly spoke, his voice staticky as always, a weirdly comforting noise lately. “I would recommend saying your husband has a wide collection of knives. It usually scares people away.”

“Pfff.” Husband. “Would need a ring for that, ya know.”

“Mhm,” the demon hummed, not adding anything else. Seriously. He just kept leaving so many openings, there was no way Anthony would not use those when he had a chance.

“So how many knives you have, husband?” he sent him a bright smile and Alastor carefully twirled carbonara on his fork before putting it to his mouth primly, chewed and then gulped down, as a show of how not amusing the jab was, Anthony thought.

Then, after another moment: “About twelve.”

Anthony made a croaking noise and completely missed a smile Alastor hid with another bite of food.

***

“Anthony.”

“Mmmm?”

The clock showed 1 in the morning and Anthony couldn’t fall asleep, no matter how hard he cuddled Alastor under the blanket. He tossed and turned and Alastor had to pull him back to him about ten times, but sleep eluded them both, even with the white noise of Alastor’s static floating around that usually lulled Anthony well enough.

“Can you play the murder song again,” Alastor requested from under Anthony’s weight, sprawled around the middle of the bed.

“Hah, sure,” the human reached for his phone resting on the nightstand and almost blinded himself when the display lit up. He clicked few times until Bohemian Rhapsody broke the silence of the otherwise quiet flat before returning back to lie on top of his demon.

“Sing with it too?” another request and Anthony prompted his chin on Alastor’s chest.

“Can’t sleep either?”

“You keep tossing and turning,” Alastor said simply. “Not me. Sing?”

Anthony raised an eyebrow, but there was no reasoning for the request, so he just softly sang along with the music, looking at Alastor with half lidded eyes until he couldn’t hold them open anymore. The song eventually ended, and Anthony finally felt sleep tugging on his consciousness like he just performed a lullaby that worked a bit too well.

“You asked about more deals for one person before,” he distantly felt a hand going through his hair and only hummed. “For you, my dear, I would close more deals if you ever asked me.”

“Aww,” he chuckled sleepily, his arms circling Alastor’s torso with possessiveness.

“The happier you are,” he heard, “the better your psyche becomes. The stronger the demon you’d be down there.”

“Boo, how cold,” Anthony pouted. “And here I thought ya actually liked me, at least a little.”

“You are… tolerable.” Anthony missed the small smile playing on Alastor’s lips, his face buried in the man’s red shirt. “But I am a professional, you see.”

“A professional dealmaker,” he yawned.

“Quite so.”

“Ya have that in your resume too?” Anthony couldn’t stop the tease. “Ya know, next to professional cuddler?”

“Probably as much as you have an immense tease in yours,” the demon uttered and his voice was thundering in his chest, which was weird, because it sounded like a completely different person without the static echo. Anthony liked it though.

“Sure, but also a good cook,” the human chuckled, “and a quality wife, ya see.”

A hum, then silence. Anthony considered the conversation closed, until Alastor spoke again softly: “There are always ways to get something in return for another deal, beside the servitude or life force.”

“Mmmlikewhat.”

“Why don’t you find out yourself?”

And with that Anthony fell asleep before any kind of dirty joke could come out.

***

2020, January 17th

It stayed in his head the whole next day. He kept thinking about it at home when getting ready to go out, then at work when taking orders and wondered, if a favourite dish made for dinner would be a possible kind of payment for the deal in Alastor’s book. What a demon like him could possibly want beside the heart he already got? He knew Alastor enjoyed good food, but was that actually something that could be exchanged for a supernatural request?

Or was it something kinky, like that in hell the only title Anthony would be able to use when talking to him would be Master? Or My Lord? Anthony could see himself do that, sure, though only in a joke to rile him up a little.

Funny how any fear of the guy went down the drain after the Bambi revelation, no matter how scary Alastor tried to be sometimes.

“Love, this is the third time you messed up an order, are you okay?” his colleague patted his shoulder and he blinked at her in confusion.

“Oh shit, did I?” he realized, after a long loading screen in his brain completed, what she just said and snapped back to reality where the demon in red didn’t bat his eyelashes at him. Not that he ever did. But he could dream. “I’m so sorry, my mind is in a gutter.”

“Yeah, can see that,” the girl patted his arm this time. He wasn’t sure why she was so touchy-feely all of sudden, but didn’t comment on it. “Something on your mind?”

“Weekend plans,” he shrugged and well, he wasn’t even lying, really. This was their weekend together and since Alastor didn’t mention any kind of obstacle in attending, it was Anthony’s turn to think of something to do. The forecast looked glum though, so going outside was probably not the best choice of outing, unless it would be short, so indoors activity sounded a little more satisfying. Maybe they could order some good food home, rather than cook this time. Or drink. Oooh, they could actually drink! He wondered if Alastor even liked alcohol.

“Man, Tony, are you in love or something?” the girl sighed, snapping her fingers in front of him. ��You keep spacing out!”

“Well,” he glanced at her with a grin. “My heart has definitely been taken-,”

“In which gangbang this time?” another colleague cut in, smiling at him with fake sweetness while putting empty glasses in the sink with a loud thud. He didn’t even see her coming. “Did they pay you enough to buy you completely? Or just a quickie outside like always?”

Ouch.

“Don’t be salty just because nobody would fuck you even for free,” he cocked his hips. “Heard duster is good for cobwebs though.”

“Whatever you say, slut,” she made a face at him. “I’m not being the one spreading STD.”

“Good at spreading bullshit though,” he shot back, making her give him an uptight smile and a smack of her ponytail when she dramatically turned away and left for the kitchen. He decided not to comment on that and was kind of glad the other girl kept her mouth shut too.

Obviously, everybody at work knew about the New Year’s and his fall from grace – though that would indicate there was grace to begin with, which honestly was not. Maybe he should start looking for another job with how bleak things looked in this pub. The whole week after New Year’s random guys kept making pass at him even in his regular waiter clothes, like somebody just decided to advertise the pub as fuck-to-go eatery and it made his skin itch, especially when some of them were more handsy than others and didn’t understand no sent their way. A slap on his butt there, a grope here, hey cutie called from another table, and the girls he worked with either glared at him or had nasty remarks he should have already been able to deflect, but sometimes he just could not. He wasn’t made of sugar, some bad words and pointed fingers didn’t make him cry, but they didn’t add to good mood either.

He was always relieved if that evening Al showed up and took his worries away with the well-known staticky voice and invisible audience cheering at some of his bad dad jokes. Honestly, he had lots of bad dad jokes it was almost unreal, and the saddest thing was he unironically liked them while Anthony groaned every time he told some. He was just glad so far Alastor didn’t use those cringe worthy abominations against the flirting, because that would definitely shut Anthony down fast.

There were still four hours to his shift and for the first time since he knew Alastor he regretted the demon didn’t have a phone, so he could hear his voice while he locked himself in the bathroom stall with knees under his chin and quivering lip.

***

Anthony still didn’t know what to do over the weekend. It felt like he should have a plan, like there should be a diary or something, with post-it notes and differently coloured entries, but all he could do when he got back home was to sag down in the living room like a bag of potatoes on the couch and open a bottle of tequila. No limes, no salt, just the bottle and big gulps of it. He chugged it several times until the annoying tightness in his chest slowly eased off, until he could breathe normally and the bitter words he heard every time he turned his back towards the bar dissolved in burning taste of alcohol.

Who cared. People were mean and greedy, and he was broken and rotten to the core. Those things usually never combined well together, and he was a living proof. When was the last time he even had a friend? When did somebody expressed concern for him? Damn, when even was the last time somebody held his hair when he threw up?

Self-centred bitch. Show-off. Attention seeker. Dirty slut. A whore.

All fun and smiles and oh, I will do your make up, sweetie, oh, let me do your hair, honey, oh, this costume looks so cute on you, and oh, was it just a quickie outside or you fucked the whole train station? Did he just give you a ride home or you sucked his dick for it? Oh, new shoes? Which sugar daddy’s money was it today?

“Nobody’s fuckin’ money!” he yelled at nothing, swinging the almost empty bottle of tequila around. “None of yer fuckin’ business!”

Maybe we should do next costume event BDSM themed, our little darling angel Tony would love to lick somebody’s boots again.

“Fuck off!” A loud shattering noise when the bottle hit the wall felt like his sanity was breaking to pieces. “Just leave me the fuck alone…”

His brain was so hazed he barely registered arms circling around him, pulling him into a hug. He was swayed from side to side with a soft, crooning noise above him, and thought damn, how bad is it I even hallucinate? Up until he finally focused enough to realize he was engulfed with blackness without any real warmth, just suddenly there, holding him.

“Oh…” he chuckled pathetically. “It’s you.”

The Shadow nuzzled his face but didn’t say anything, just continued to hold him. Frankly, Anthony had no idea what day it was, even what time or where exactly he ended up, if he moved at all, if Alastor was supposed to come but couldn’t make it, so he sent Junior instead, or if this was some kind of weird, alcohol induced vision of much needed comfort.

“Whacha do’n her’, big boy?” The words were slurring together, the alcohol was doing its magic. “Al’s busy busy busy?”

Another nuzzle. Was that a touch therapy? Nobody touched him so readily before. Not even Al who cuddled him at night, but usually touched him only in two prime locations – his waist and around neck and head for pats, but otherwise kept his hands to himself. The Shadow on the other hand just pawed at him pretty much like a big dog wanting to rub all over and Anthony blearily wondered how a man and his shadow could be so different.

“Th’re, t’re,” he patted the Shadow’s head, a strange ghost-like tingling going through his hand. “Ar’ ya sad too?”

The hold remained and the dark tendrils from the shade were covering half of the couch like an expensive Persian rug. That mental image made Anthony bark out a drunken laugh. Could somebody’s shadow be sad? It was clinging to him like a lifeline and Anthony felt the tequila churning in his belly as if it were trying to burn its way through.

“Ah,” he finally realized what the shadow was doing. “Yer tryin’ t’ comf’rt me.”

A hum, clearly agreeing. It made Anthony relax into the hold, feeling a little like floating and not sitting on his tequila-stained couch, and yeah, it was relaxing, it was nice, it was… different.

“Wond’r how Al’s hugs ar’,” he sighed then giggled stupidly. “Prob’ly warm an’ nice. D’es he ev’n hug pe’ple?”

Maybe he did hug people. Just different people. Not Anthony, at least. Touching only when necessary. Maybe he could make a deal about hugging, Al said more deals are possible. Maybe he could ask for one hug a week or something, like one full body hug and then wait for seven days for Al to get his barriers back… or whatever he had. Human contact aversion, probably. He just wasn’t sure what to give in return. Being a personal cook? Not flirting at any point ever again?

Would Al even want shit like that? Or would he want some of his life force? Years off his back? He would give them… for Alastor. If he wanted his life force, Anthony wouldn’t mind if it was him. His life was not worth much anyway.

Would Alastor want something as rotten as his life energy though? Sure, he wanted his heart at least, but it just meant to have a servant later on, nothing he would feed himself with.

Unless he ate his servants. That would kinda suck.

“I k’nda like ‘im, y’kno,” he confessed quietly, slowly slipping lower in the hold. The anger he felt was already gone, now the tequila tried to pull at melancholy, and he didn’t like it. Didn’t need to be sad over the fact the only person at least vaguely resembling affectionate concern was a demon from hell that got paid with his soul and heart for acting out of his character three times a week. “Path’tic me, huh.”

Nuzzling ensued. He liked Al’s shadow. He was like a big animal soaking up bad vibes and making Anthony calmer.

“Wish I c’n talk to ‘im when I feel sad,” he mumbled to himself and barely registered the shadow pulled them both down to the cushions. “’s he French? He sounded French ‘nce…”

“Cajun,” rang through the room and Anthony attempted to focus, but his vision kept on blurring. Maybe he drank too much after all. “Louisiana.”

“Bayou boy?” he giggled anyway. “That’s cute.”

“You drank too much, cher,” rang through the room again and then another sigh came, and radio static buzzed to life. “And you. I was wondering where you slithered to.”

There was a rumble from under Anthony and he felt the force supporting him up to now disappearing until he only felt the couch around him and nothing else. He blinked in confusion before his vision cleared enough to realize all the darkness around him was gone, but legs clothed in red were standing next to him instead. They definitely weren’t there prior to his meltdown, he remembered as much.

He rubbed his eyes and attempted to look up before it finally dawned on him that this was Alastor standing here, flesh and bone and he didn’t even need to get all the way up to his face.

“Look at you,” the voice sounded a little exasperated and human. There was no static whatsoever. “Dat’s da second time you did somethin’ like dis.”

“Hi, Al,” Anthony tried sheepishly, and a clawed hand pushed him back into the cushions when he tried to sit down. Maybe for the best, the floor seemed to wobble more than usual.

“Hi yo’self,” the human voice was so warm. Or maybe he was drunk enough to imagine it that way. “How’s dat you make my shadow to just go and disappear from ‘ell just fo’ you?”

“I guess he likes me,” Anthony slid down the armrest and finally took in the whole Alastor’s height, gazing at his face he couldn’t read even if he tried to. He watched the demon look around until he stopped at the corner where the bottle landed and fell apart and his eyebrows knitted together.

“Hey Al,” Anthony raised a hand and tried to grab at something of the mans’ but missed. He tried few more times but couldn’t decide which of the three Alastors were the right one, so he just fumbled around until Alastor took a pity on him and grabbed his hand in his, stilling him. Also, warm. So, so warm. “Do you ever hug people?”

“No,” the demon answered back simply. “Do you?”

Anthony took a breath with sure answer, then stopped and thought about it.

“…I guess not,” he conceded momentarily. “Nobody t’ hug, really.”

“D’you wanna hug?” came a question and Anthony looked at their joined hands and let out a long, tired sigh.

“Ya,” he croaked out. “I wanna hug. I dun even rememb’r who or when I hugged someb’dy last.”

“I think I hugged ma mum last,” Alastor slowly lowered himself on the couch, sitting at Anthony’s feet, his hand still gripping his prey tightly. “Long time ago.”

“Was she nice?” the human whispered softly.

“Very nice.”

“Do ya miss her?”

“Ev’ry day,” Alastor had the softest expression Anthony ever saw on him. It was almost painful to see and yet somehow beautiful it would be a waste not to look. He wondered if Alastor was ever in love with somebody other than his mum.

“She in heaven?” he asked gently and only got a nod as a response. He felt his head clearing a little and hoped he would remember this tomorrow as clearly as he saw it now. He tried to scramble up, though it probably was the least dignified climb he ever did and then shuffled close to the demon, sitting down with his knees almost touching Alastor’s thigh. Almost.

“Tell me ‘bout her,” he nudged him gently.

The demon tilted his head, the buzz of the static coming to life all of sudden it almost startled him. Probably not the best topic to breach, he realized and looked down at the clawed hand that was still holding his with surprising gentleness.

“Your shadow is pretty independent, huh,” he changed the topic for peace of mind of both of them, and the buzzing intensified. Fuck, not that either.

“My shadow has no filter,” the static voice rang out, the tenseness of Alastor’s smile indicating the situation bothered him more than he let on at first. “He does what feels right.”

So, it felt right for it to come here and comfort Anthony when he felt like shit and wanted to drink himself into stupor?

“It’s nice sometimes,” Anthony tried carefully. “To do what feels right instead of worryin’ ‘bout consequences.”

The static picked up in obvious disagreement and Alastor was glaring at him, his eyes redder than ever.

“Like you do all your miserable life?” the demon uttered venomously, and Anthony felt his heart drop into his stomach and dissolve. When Alastor let go of his hand and abruptly stood up, it felt so far away it could have been considered out of body experience for how cold it suddenly became.

“Well,” his mouth moved by some miracle, though he felt his lower lip quiver. “Some days are hard and lonely. And then I get called a slut at work and groped by random guys because they think they’re allowed, and I feel like I need a hug and safety, but nobody can give me what I want, so I cling to somethin’ that feels right at least a little, even though it’s not good… or healthy… or… “

Sincere and not a lie.

“Or I just wanna forget all that shit by doin’ more dumb shit, because… why not. At least it makes me free for a while, other than just… surviving,” he tried to take a breath but it came in wet and hiccup-y and he realized he was already crying like a pathetic fool thinking a demon could give a shit about anything more than the end of the deal and one more chess piece on his black and white board.

Fucking, stupid idiot, like always. Even though he knew. He knew.

The static was so loud now it made Anthony cover his ears and shut his eyes and he felt sick in the stomach and the fucking tequila wanted to fuck him up now, because why not now, at this exact moment, when everything else was falling apart.

Just go away, go the fuck away, leave me alone.

Then everything stopped. When Anthony opened his eyes, he was alone.

***

2020, January 18th

Anthony woke up on the couch with a crick in his neck and stomach unstable like nitro-glycerine ready to explode. The room smelled of tequila shots and vomit and heartbreak and his whole body was in weird, gut wrenching spasm.

He stared into the ceiling with a splitting headache and wished he’d draw a blank about last night, because nothing about this situation gave a merciful vibe, only bad, bad consequences.

Like Alastor leaving, angry and staticky and cruel.

“FUUUUCK!” he yelled into silence and then grabbed a pillow so he could shout in it again as loud as he could. Regret immediately followed, but he probably deserved to suffer a bit more than usual after a vicious hangover and a dealmaker break up.

Obviously Alastor thought Anthony’s life was miserable. Even Anthony knew it was miserable, he was living it, and he got it. He even made a deal with a devil to make himself less miserable which only added to the pathetic part of the diagnose, so in the end there was nothing much left of him but a huge, pitiful mess.

And Alastor got dragged right into it – a failure after failure, just picking him up with all those fake smiles to keep the deal going because at the end the reward was guaranteed, but it was pretty apparent the equation was not adding up and the result could never be good enough for the demon’s standards.

He just wondered if there was a way to break the deal anyhow, from the demon’s side. There was no way Alastor was coming back after all that, and if he was by some miracle, then only to deliver a killing blow, collecting the soul at least and then leaving him to get eradicated in hell like any other lesser shade.

He managed to drag himself to the bathroom and sat on the toilet lid for 27 minutes before deciding to make himself throw up rather than wait if it would come by itself. It didn’t make him feel any better, sadly, so he just took a shower to get rid of all the sweat and guilt (sadly didn’t work for that one) under streams of water and remained there with head pressed against tiles in hope he would melt through the drain.

Would be honestly quite helpful.

“Anthony?”

He blinked. Did he just hear his name or…?

“Anthony, my good fellow, are you still alive?” Again.

That was Alastor‘s voice. Anthony stared at the door of the shower stand, afraid to even make a sound until he heard his name called once more and that couldn’t be his imagination anymore, right?

“…yeah?” he made himself talk but refused to step out.

“Good! You are still here,” Alastor’s voice was closer now, probably in the hallway. “I am taking your kitchen for now, but please do join me at your convenience!”

Happy, loud voice. The fake cheeriness he heard few times and learned how to recognize – he usually acted like that when he was mad at Anthony for needless flirting but refused to show it.

It made no sense. Why was he here?

The water started to run cold and Anthony gritted his teeth and turned it off, just to carefully step out, bundle up in a towel and added a fluffy bathrobe before cautiously leaving the bathroom. Jazz was playing through the radio in the kitchen and Alastor was humming along while the sound of cutting and simmering added to the ambience.

Was he cooking?

The human stopped near the entrance to the living room and took a deep breath. He wasn’t ready to face him just yet, he still felt like a raw bundle of nerves on two wobbly feet. It was ridiculous – Alastor didn’t exactly do anything wrong. He just stated how things were, Anthony hadn’t been told for the first or last time in his life for sure. He had no right to be mad about the truth.

It was just… such a bad timing. After having a bad day, after going through a depressive episode where the self-loathing starred in the main role, then get this thrown in his face like a hot potato just hurt. Rightfully. But still hurt.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” the staticky voice interrupted his thoughts and the tone was much less cheery now. It made his stomach drop and he unconsciously took a step back. There was a clink sound of a knife being put down and then steps leading towards him, which immediately made him panic and he shut the door to the living room with a loud slam.

The steps halted.

“Should I leave?” Came a question from the other side of the door, loud and clear and scary.

“I don’t know,” Anthony answered back, his hands shaking. It sucked. He should not be this way; he didn’t make a deal for feeling worse than on his normal bad days. He made a deal to be lied to, to be coddled, and then to die and suffer for being a coward, and that was it.

“I will if you want me to,” Alastor said quietly. “I am not here to torture you. Or make you feel bad.”

Too late, bucko.

“I crossed a line yesterday.” It sounded suspiciously like an apology, Anthony thought. “I apologize for saying what I said.”

“What, the truth?” Anthony snorted and leaned against the closed door, eyebrows knitted together unhappily. “Ya don’t need to worry about that one.”

“It upset you.”

“That’s what the truth does.”

“Yes, agreed,” there was a hint of guilt in Alastor’s voice, no matter how he tried to hide it with his radio nonsense. “I was upset too. But still… I should not have lashed out like that.”

Upset?

Anthony turned his head, partly facing the door. What was even Alastor upset about? He just suddenly got all staticky in there, just because Anthony asked… about his mum?

“Because I asked about your mum?” he tried and Alastor on the other side sighed.

“I am going to open the door now,” he stated instead, and Anthony immediately caught the handle in refusal with an immediate no. “Anthony.”

“I don’t get ya,” the human groaned, holding the door closed like it was a lifeline. “I just don’t get ya, why are ya even here? Why were ye so mad yesterday? For a while ya were the nicest person in the whole fuckin’ world and then ya kicked me when I was already on the fuckin’ ground, so why now? Why pretend yer a nice guy when ye don’t care?”

Silence.

“Just because I asked ‘bout her? Ya think it’s somethin’ I can hold against ya in hell or what?” He had no idea if Alastor was still even there. It was deadly silent on the other side, he probably just poofed out of thin air again rather than listen to this.

“No,” sounded behind him all of sudden and it made him curse loudly when he suddenly faced Alastor in his red shirt, with coat nowhere to be seen, his sleeves rolled up and his face not smiling at all. If anything, he actually looked quite hurt.

Fucking filthy lying bastard, that one. Actor worthy of a Golden Globe.

“That’s cheatin’,” Anthony scoffed but Alastor didn’t seem to mind it. He wasn’t immediately in his personal bubble, but he wasn’t far either and it made Anthony unable to collect his thoughts properly. All he wanted was to shout and maybe smack him a bit too. But the demon could bite his arms off, so he refrained from doing anything but glare.

“You seem to like my shadow much better,” Alastor said evenly.

Anthony didn’t get how that was relevant to anything.

“He likes to hug,” he said lamely.

“You like him because he hugs you?” Alastor’s expression morphed into a surprise and Anthony really didn’t get why was he asking about his shadow now of all times.

“Wha… who cares?” he stared at the demon, hating he felt cornered like an animal. “How’s yer shadow even relevant to this conversation?”

“I thought you were asking why I was upset,” Alastor looked away for a while, a strangely nervous gesture. “Therefore, I’m telling you.”

“Because I seem to like yer shadow better?” Anthony almost lost his jaw for how low it dropped and holy fucking shit, was Alastor fidgeting? Was he for real? Was it some refined plan for Anthony to drop his defences again? To act cute as fuck?

His fucking ears were droopy too, Anthony realized, his eyes glued to the top of the demon’s head. No. no no no. This couldn’t be real.

“Are you fuckin’ with me?”

“Since I made a deal with you,” Alastor ignored the question, but still avoided his eyes. “I felt like I lack complete control for some reason. It makes me uneasy when things do not work the way they are supposed to. The way I want them to.”

At that moment it finally hit him.

“You didn’t order yer shadow to come here even once,” Anthony stated, and the static crackled again until Alastor shook his head to get rid of it. Oh. He really didn’t like when things were out of his reach. And his shadow just fucking off to visit the human must have been one of them, especially yesterday.

“But… but you can’t blame me for that?” the human insisted, his eyes wide. “It’s not like I called him here or…”

“Of course not,” Alastor let out a sigh. “He just acts on his feelings.”

“Your shadow likes me?”

“You keep referring to him like he is a completely different person,” the demon crossed his arms on his chest. His forearms were scarred and for some reason showing that bit of skin now seemed like a big step for the man, though Anthony wouldn’t really call him vulnerable. Still scary as fuck.

Silence. Alastor tilted his head to the side, then pursed his lips and looked away again.

“He is not,” he added for good measure. “We are the same being.”

Anthony gaped.

“He has no filter,” he repeated, the conversation yesterday so clear even despite his drunken state, and the more he was staring at Alastor in front of him, the more the demon in red seemed to fluster.

“I, for one,” the demon finally spoke, “have tons of filters. We seem to disagree when it comes to you. On how to… handle you.”

Full body hug versus five foot rule is a pretty wide gap, Anthony mused, still gaping.

“I was unfair yesterday,” Alastor cleared his throat. “You are not… well, of course you are pretty miserable, honestly,” he looked him over, and yeah, okay, fair. He must have looked like complete shit with the hangover, now bundled up in fluffiness of the bathrobe. “There’s no denying it, and you are at least aware of it. But that was not supposed to make you feel bad. It is why we are going to fix this. Eventually.”

“Fix…?” Anthony repeated, not being able to get his expression under control.

“Yes. And then you will die and that would be it, but that is not important right now,” Alastor shook his head again, his voice softer. “Now… you are alive. And you need me.”

“Cocky, aren’t ya,” Anthony sniffed a little. “Mr. Control Freak.”

“At least I don drink tequila like a savage,” Alastor scoffed, the static dropping from his voice like a curtain. “No class at all, cher.”

“Bite me,” Anthony flipped him off and finally opened the door to the living room. Somehow it felt like a gateway where his insecurity had no way to pass and when he walked through, his chest was not so tight anymore.

Then he realized there was a dead deer in the living room, and he hurled out the rest of his stomach contents.

“Tu as fait un gâchis,” Alastor said and went back to the kitchen.

No. No nice things. Alastor was a fucking freak.

#hazbin hotel #radiodust #alastor x angel dust #au #the deal series #human!Angel Dust

16 notes · View notes

hellman55 · 1 month ago

Text

youtube

Loons: The Fight for Fame All Mini-Games (XBOX)

#Loons the fight for fame #Youtube

0 notes

z2z-gaming-and-random-art-ai · 9 months ago

Video

youtube

Console Fighting Games of 2002 - Loons The Fight for Fame

Another Power Stone like fighting game this time using the Looney Tunes licence with the game featuring Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Sylvester the Cat and the Tazmanian Devil. The games fights being a parody of the movie industry and take place on various movie sets with Yosemite Sam acting as director.

Developed by Warthog and published by Infogrames, Loons The Fight for Fame was an Xbox exclusive release, first releasing in the US in March of 2002, a European release of the game would follow in in early 2003.

1. Intro 00:00

2. Games Intro 00:15

3. Gameplay 00:47

4. Outro 07:42

Twitter (Gaming & AI Art)

https://twitter.com/zero2zedGaming

Instagram (AI Art)

https://www.instagram.com/random_art_ai/

For more fighting game videos check out the playlists below

Console Fighting Games of 1993

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFJOZYl1h1CFcKSo9Eglrv2NFDHAqNDRi

Console Fighting Games of 1994

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFJOZYl1h1CF-R5w4NujQcYo8cCcOMHYv

Console Fighting Games of 1995

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFJOZYl1h1CEUiZn8FlwHoMcwoOzUqchX

Console Fighting Games of 1996

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFJOZYl1h1CF0j9K_v7UqS3dxjwh6XIIM

Console Fighting Games of 1997

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFJOZYl1h1CFm1r27Q5PvbO_4CjYYsj4-

Console Fighting Games of 1998

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFJOZYl1h1CHG7kROLoO-HAXmmzib8cd4

Console Fighting Games of 1999

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFJOZYl1h1CH1CPUcsBRyu5VpFnhqj4Kv

Console Fighting Games of 2000

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFJOZYl1h1CFeqy-o99iichpNC_2TAs2w

Console Fighting Games of 2001

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFJOZYl1h1CEZIx8SjucuQMt0zBP_wzwS

Console Fighting Games of 2002

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLFJOZYl1h1CH1zIfh7MMdVHyj51B2gaVa

#youtube #2000s gaming #2000s games #loons the fight for fame #looney tunes #fighting games #xbox #video games #warthog #infogrames

0 notes

waterkirby--64 · 2 months ago

Text

Original Xbox Appreciation

Loons: The Fight for Fame

#xbox #og xbox #original xbox #loons: the fight for fame

3 notes · View notes

r3b3lgrrrrrrrl · 5 years ago

Text

A LunaTic and her Gunn (Part 66)

"Freak Outs on a Sunday"

@creatureofthen1ght-v3

@lovemythsworld

@crystalbaby12

@southsidequeenie

✳NOTE✳ I changed the tone of the argument in Chapter 63 over the picture. It carries into this one.

✳ALSO✳ The end of this chapter is in the comments bc Tumblr is acting like an ASSHOLE.

"Mooom-Mom!! You know where my board is!?" Luna shouts from her bedroom in Patti's home.

She's looking for her skateboard. She wants to take it on tour with her. Plus, Casie's shown a real interest and Luna wants to harbor it. She looks under her bed, in her closet, behind her door and in the spare room where a bunch of her shit is. She can't find it.

"What the fuuuuckk..." She says to herself, irritated.

Still looking, her mind is also spiraling out from the last few days.

"I can't find fucking ANYTHING.... UGH... My stuff is everrywhere.... I just want my stuff.... I can't fucking deal with this shit..... WHAT THE FUUUUCKKK!!" Luna starts to cry as she runs her hands through her hair in frustration.

She screams "MOM-MOOOOOOM!!!!!"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

In the kitchen with Patti, Casie and Joni, Colson hears Luna.

"Uhm, I think Luna's calling you, Pat." Colson says.

Patti looks up from the puzzle she's putting together with Casie amd her bestfriend. It's of one of Luna's favorite photographs by her grandfather. Patti having it custom made. Puzzles are a hobby she loves and shares with her granddaughter.

It's over 4K peices. Patti's been working on it for 6mnths. Luna helping along the way.

"Is she?" She asks before going back to the puzzle.

"This one's REALLY hard. There's no colors." Casie complains.

"Oh! That's the best part! You really to focus on finding the matching partners." Patti tells the little girl in a poetic way.

"MOM-MOOOOOOOM!!!!!"

Colson stands up immediately hearing Luna. Patti looks at Casie and Colson, waving off their concern.

"I've got her." She tells them as she stands up from the table.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Luna's ripping through her closet again when Patti enters her bedroom.

"LUNA! What the hell are you doing!?" Patti asks, shutting the door.

As Luna comes out of her closet and Patti sees her face she softens.

"LunaBuug... What's going on, Honey?" She asks her granddaughter concerned.

Luna's shaking with tears streaming down her face. She running her hands through her hair again as she speaks frantically to her grandmother.

"My fucking stuff, Mom-mom. You know how I feel about my stuff. I can't find my fucking skateboard because my shit's everywhere. All through here. In the fucking shortage locker. At Ashley. Colson's. Shit, Mom-mom, I even have stuff in fucking CLEVELAND!"

Luna throws her hands up in frustration. Stopping and just looking at her grandmother. Tears still dropping. Patti takes her hand. Leading her to the bed, she sits down with her and sparks a joint. Smoking it with her granddaughter, Patti asks Luna What's Really Going On?

Luna sighs, taking the joint from her grandmom. Rubbing her forehead, she thinks of how to explain her current life as they pass the joint back and forth. Patti simply listening as the flood gates open.

"I just... I just feel like I'm really exposed and all over the place right now. Everything's changing so fast. I feel like everyone is up my ass. Radio stations are calling my phone for surprise interviews... I'm all over The fucking Internet because I'm in some weird song fight with a girl I don't even know.... The fucking Paps have been on me since I hit town..... And I don't need anyone looking at me.... And MY STUUUUUFFFFF. I can't find my stuff because I don't have a fucking home Mom-Mom." She's crying again.

Luna's curled up on the bed, head laid in Patti's lap. Patti strokes Luna's hair, she takes a moment before responding to her granddaughter.

"You always have a home here LunaBug." She begins to comfort her.

"I know Mom-Mom, but it's not the same. I think I'm gonna buy something in The City. I'm waiting to talk to Monica." Luna hits the joint again before passing it to her grandmom.

"Well, there you go. You're on the right track. You're like a bird Luna, you can go anywhere but you need a nest to fly back to.... But tell me about this, what did you say? Song fight? What is that?" She looks down at her granddaughter's face in her lap.

Luna sighs and rolls her eyes. She tries to explain how this one girl doesn't like her. That she's not sure if it's because Colson or herself at this point.

Letting her in on the sneak Breakfast Club interview. How Luna tried to play it cool even with the Instagram post and Snaps. But the song BeBe put out had finally been enough.

She tells her grandmother that she retaliated with her own song. Dropping it in a more public manner then ever before. Ripping open the tiny slit Bad Things and Nightmare had made into her private life.

Patti immediately wants to hear both songs. Luna plays them back to back. BeBe's first. Patti's shocked at the content..

"That poor, little girl. She comes off very desperate and jealous." Patti says, having the same sad reaction for Bleta as Luna did initially. "You're quite the bitch too there, Loons." She chuckles at her granddaughter's mean response to the girl. "That's a different sound for you. If you didn't tell me, I don't know if I would've known that was something of yours.

For some reason this irritates Luna.

"Really? See, fucking changes...." She says, shaking her head.

They burn through the joint. Sitting up, Luna sparks another one before she lays back on the bed. Patti lays on her side next to her. They continue to talk and get high together.

"Good or Bad changes?" She asks her.

"I don't know. Good and bad. Colson's good. Casie's good. But honestly, it's a little weird. I love her but you know kids freak me out. She's a whole, tiny person. Watching, wanting me to teach her stuff. It's pretty intimidating."

Luna looks over as her grandmother laughs at her. She passes her the joint before continuing.

"I like being on The West Coast and close to Ash... I just... I don't like to be looked at Mom-Mom, you know this. And I feel like a LOT of people are looking at me who don't need to know about the stuff I do. Like, they're everywhere. They caught me coming out of a bar and I didn't even know! What would I have done if they'd have been around the night I helped Marissa? I'd have been fucked."

Patti knows Luna's right. She tells her she doesn't know how to advise her, never having to deal with photographers in this despicable way in her day. IF you can even call them photographers. Turning to her, she asks her granddaughter bluntly if she's seeing her therapist.

"No." Luna says sheepishly.

"Why not?" Patti wants to know.

"Comes I'm not ho...."

"That's no excuse, Luna. You could be doing phone sessions."

"I never know where I'm gonna be at what time." Luna tries to protest.

"Not an excuse. You need to speak to Kylie. You're right, a lot of things have changed and they're going to keep changing. You need to get ahead of it. Fame is at your door, Luna. You're gonna need Kylie to help you navigate it. I want you start weekly phone sessions with her again. Carve out 45mins and take care of yourself. You know what happens when you don't." Patti tries to guide the young woman.

Luna sighs. She knows her grandmother's right. Rolling towards her, she hugs her mom-mom. She really doesn't feel any better though.

Hugging Luna back and looking over her shoulder, Patti spies the skateboard. It's leaning against the armoire, hidden by a tossed tapestry.

"Look." She says, pointing as Luna rolls over. "There it is. Sometimes we need to slow down and take a moment to find things. Isn't that how you met Colson? You took your time and found what was right for you, yeah? Patti says.

Rolling over, a weird relief washes over Luna when she sees her board. Patti's words sitting in her mind but with everything moving so fast all the time, she doesn't know how to slow anything down.

"It's just a lot Mom-Mom.... And I don't know how to stop it." Luna admits.

"I know, Kiddo." Patti strokes Luna hair again.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Concerned about Luna. Colson tells Casie he'll be right back. She still trying to figure out the puzzle with Joni.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Colson knocks on the door before he heads in.

"You okay?" He asks with a worried look on his face.

Patti and Luna are still laying across the bed together. Both of them sitting up, Patti pats Luna on the knee before kissing her forehead.

"I'm gonna give you guys a minute. I love you, Kiddo. Call Kylie." She says.

Patti pats Colson on the shoulder as she passes him before walking out of the room. She heads back to the kitchen with Casie and Joni. She's worried about Luna.

"Who's Kylie?" Colson asks sitting on the bed next to Luna.

"My therapist." She tells him in a monotone voice.

"So, everything's not okay?" He asks taking her hand.

"No. It's not. I know you feel some type of way about that picture with Tommy but I did too. For different reasons." She sighs, lacing her fingers inside Colson's.

Luna goes on to explain how she's worried about people digging too deep into her life. Especially with the Dark Web and ICE. She goes on to say that there's other things she still needs to take care of too that can't be exposed. Shaking her head No, she tells him she'll explain that another time when he asks what she's referring to. Luna then tells Colson she's thinking about buying another place in NY.

"Why?" He asks, immediately concerned for their relationship.

"Because I need a place for my stuff. It's everywhere." She answers.

"Put it at my place." Colson replies.

"I have stuff at you place, but I need the space. I have furniture and shit. I can't move another house into your house." She tells him.

"So, are you staying in NY then?" He asks confused with his eyebrows furrowed.

"What the fuck is happening... Is she breaking up with me???" Colson's heart pounds as his mind panics.

"No. We're just always in The City though... And it's my home. My grandma's here. My friends are here. It's like you having places in LA and Clevland. It'll be big enough for all of us to stay in. And Ash can even use it too." It makes perfect sense to Luna.

Understanding what Luna's saying now, Colson nods his head. Letting go of her hand to rub the small of her back, he apologizes for only being focused on the Tommy part and not the bigger picture. He tells that they'll figure out this Paparazzi thing together. He knows Luna doesn't like to be controlled and to her this is a form of control.

"It'll be okay." Colson tries to reassure.

Luna sighs looking at him. She's not so sure.

"Come on." He says, pulling her off the bed. "We're gonna be late for brunch."

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

Everyone is standing outside waiting for a table for brunch at Santina. Colson, Slim and Rook are talking about the tour.

"I'm telling you, if we do it right, it'll be epic." Rook debates on the stage prop he has an idea for.

"How are we gonna move, Dawg?" Slim asks him.

Colson looks over to Slim. He doesn't think it's too bad of an idea. Before he can speak, Benny calls out Yo. Their table is ready.

They're loud at brunch. There's a lot of them. It's Luna and Colson with Casie, her grandmother and Joni. Ashley, Dom, Pete and Kate. Ashleigh, Slim, Rook, Benny and Baze.

They order mimosas with their food.

Laughing and talking about last night. They enjoy their food and company.

Ashleigh asks Casie how her sleep over was. Casie giggles with Patti and Joni as they talk about the dance party they had. How delicious their cookies were and the funny photos Patti had shown off of Luna as a kid.

"Loons?"

Luna turns at the sound of one of her many names. The sun's bright and she can't see who it is.

It's Jason and Olivia. They were just about to leave.

"HEY!!" She exclaims jumping up.

She hugs them both. Asking how they are and about Daisy. They catch her up lightly before she introduces them to the table. Colson standing up to shake Jason's hand.

"Nice to meet you, Man." Colson says.

"Likewise." Jason replies.

They pull over two chairs and sit down with them. Olivia congratulating Ashley and Luna on their perforce last night. They watch SNL every week religiously.

"You were funny as hell too!" Jason agrees complimenting Ashley.

She blushes while thanking them. Ashley's a huge fan of both of them.

Olivia and Jason stick around for the rest of brunch, catching up with Luna. Talking with the rest of the group.

Rook speaks to Patti and Joni about what it was like in NY in the 70s. Baze joining in on the conversation at one end of the table while the other end is ridiculous with jokes between Colson, Pete and Jason.

Finishing up, they pay their bill and hit the pavement. Still laughing they all hug and say Goodbye before going their seperate ways.

Patti hugging Luna extra tight, reminding her to call Kylie.

Olivia and Jason walk down the street headed home. Kate and Pete hop a cab, their going to catch an afternoon movie. Patti and Joni take a seperate cab to Annie's. While Luna, Colson, Casie, Benny, Slim, Rook, Baze and Ashleigh take three other cabs to the the brownstone to grab their luggage before going to the airport. Ashley and Dom are meeting them there after stopping off at their hotel to grab their things also.

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

They fly out of LaGuardia.

Ashley, Dom, Rook and Benny heading to LA. They rest of them returning to Cleveland.

Both flights are uneventful. Each group sitting and chattering with each other.

They all land safely at their destinations.

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

Back at Colson's, Casie jumps onto him.

"Pleeeeease Dad..." Casie gives him a pouty face.

"Yeah, please Dad." Luna laughs.

It's early in the evening and they wanna go to the skate park. Shaking his head and laughing he agrees.

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

Later, after Casie's in bed. Luna and Colson are chilling on his bed together. Opening Netflix on the laptop while she messes around on her phone, he grabs her plump ass cheek. Gripping it tight.

13 notes · View notes

obsidianarchives · 5 years ago

Text

The Mane Thing About Nova

A puddle was beginning to amass under Nova’s right side as she pulled out the map Angelina shared with her. It was two hours before dinner in the Great Hall, so the corridor of the seventh floor was empty as everyone unwound from classes and prepared for the meal. As she tried to remember the instructions Angelina had given her, she could still hear Pansy Parkinson’s taunts during Quidditch practice.

“Oi! Sweettrickle! Next time maybe don’t land in the lake! What an absolute loon! You look like a wet poodle! Here girl! Here!” Pansy made kissy noises at Nova as the other Slytherins laughed while she pulled herself out of the lake. The kind of noises you would use to call a dog to your side.

“Do you want a treat, girl?” Pansy and the Slytherins roared with laughter as she held out her hand with an imaginary treat.

Clearly, Nova had not meant to land in the lake, but she was so focused on chasing the Snitch that she hadn’t seen the tentacle of the giant squid as it emerged from the water. The collision bothered the squid very little, but knocked poor Nova clear off her broom and into the lake.

“Looks like a bit of water has done that nest on your head some good, Sweettrickle!” Pansy teased.

If she could have, Nova would have cursed Pansy bald, right then and there. But she didn’t know how, so punching the little snob in her throat would have to do until she could learn. Nova balled up her fist and made a beeline for Pansy who was too busy laughing to see what was about to happen. Before she could pull back to hit her, a tall girl with skin the color of deep sepia, a head full of tiny black braids, and Gryffindor Quidditch robes stepped in between them.

“You’re one to talk about hair Parkinson, with that stringy mess you’ve got!”

“No one was talking to you, Johnson!” Pansy hissed.

“Well I’m talking to you, Parkinson!”

Another girl stood next to Angelina, hair slicked back in a sleek and sexy ponytail, also in red and gold robes with S-P-I-N-N-E-T on the back.

“Ok so her hair is a little wet because she fell in the lake, Pansy! But you always walking around looking like Snape with titties, so what’s your excuse!?”

Two other girls — clearly twins, in robes of yellow and black, with caramel colored skin, freckles that actually sparkled (that had to be an enchantment, right?), and hundreds of bright red curls held up on opposing sides by Hufflepuff bows — laughed.

“Yeah Pansy,” the twin with the left bow said, “all this magic...”

“And you STILL look tragic!” the other finished.

The group of girls laughed. Pansy turned red as a howler. She was clearly outwitted and outnumbered, so she went for the jugular.

“Right. Like I even care what you people think!”

She hissed the insult, hard and fast, careful to make eye contact with each girl so they could feel the weight of her words. The pitch went quiet like the moment just before a Dementor’s Kiss. The joyous laughter left Angelina’s face as she stepped up into Pansy’s personal space. The girls followed her lead and flanked her sides, making even more of a wall between Pansy and Nova. Pansy looked to the group of Slytherins on the side of the field. No one was coming to her aid. She had gone too far. They knew it and so did she. She was on her own.

“Probably a good idea if you headed into the castle to get ready for dinner, Parkinson.” Angelina’s voice was steady and low, but the threat it carried was loud and clear.

“I...I...I don’t take orders from you, Johnson!”

A sly, half smile slid across Spinnet’s face.

“No, Ang. Let the trick stay. Hermione just taught us that new spell and I would LOVE to use Pansy as my guinea pig!” She lunged forward, but the twins held her back.

Pansy jumped back in surprise and rushed to compose herself.

“Whatever! I have more important things to do!” and she stomped off in the direction of the castle.

Nova stood there, still wet, a bit in a daze. Pansy had been making fun of Nova for the last month. Enchanting paper airplanes to fly into Nova’s hair. Constantly bumping into her and then commenting in a poorly acted stage whisper how she “found” a “gross curly hair” on her robes. She had really been the absolute worst. Everything in Nova wanted to strangle her, but every time she tried, she remembered her Aunt Quinta.

She had taken her in when her parents disappeared. Nova was eight years old then and Aunt Quinta raised her and loved her like she was her own. When Nova turned eleven and got her Ilvermony letter, she was so proud of Nova, even though she hadn’t done a thing to earn it. When her Hogwarts Student Exchange Letter came a year letter, Aunt Quinta smiled for days. This all made her aunt so happy, so she promised that she would behave and do well. But Pansy never let up no matter how nice she was. In fact, being nice almost made it worse.

Then today, this group of girls who she didn’t really know came to her rescue. They stood up to Parkinson. Most of the kids in her classes just pretended they didn’t see, not wanting to earn Pansy’s attention. But these girls didn’t give one lick about her. They were amazing!

“You ok? Uh…”

Nova hadn’t realized anyone was talking to her.

“Huh? Oh! Me? I’m...I’m Nova. Nova Sweettrickle. Ravenclaw, second year,” she answered Angelina.

“Oh wow! Oh cool!” Right Twin said.

“We’re also in the second year of school!” Left Twin finished.

“Do they always do that?” Nova asked Angelina.

“What? Rhyme? Or finish each other’s sentences?”

“Both?”

Spinnet laughed. “Finish each other's sentences? Yeah most of the time. The rhyming thing…well SOMEONE thought they could cheat their way to rap fame.” She playfully eyed the twins.

“Thank goodness this is only temporary!”

“If we stayed like this, it would be so scary!” They nodded in unison.

Angelina smiled and shook her head.

“Left bow is Charli. Right bow is Cyn. I’m Angelina and this is Alicia.” Alicia, the girl with SPINNET on the back of her robes, who had lunged at Pansy, quietly nodded as she pulled her long ponytail over her shoulder. “I don’t remember seeing you last year.”

“Oh, well, I’m an exchange student for Professor Dumbledore's Magic Abroad program. I did my first year at Ilvermorny. My grandfather was actually a Hogwarts alum.” Nova shivered as she answered.

“Damn Ang! You see the girl is shivering. Maybe less third degree and more drying off?” Alicia said.

“Oh yeah, sorry! Of course!” Angelina apologized.

“Uh… let’s see…” she pointed her wand toward the lake soaked girl…

“Aer calidus totalus!” and a gust of hot hair wrapped itself around Nova.

Suddenly her socks were dry. No…wait... just her left sock was dry. Also the left half of her skirt, her undies, her top, her robes. Everything was suddenly dry on one side! Even her hair. HER HAIR!? Oh no! All that water, then just a hurricane of hot hair. She could only imagine what a poofy frizzy mess she must be. The girls' faces really said it all. Quick as she could, she flipped the hood of her robes up. If Pansy saw this…Merlin’s beard! It would never end! Hard as she tried not to, the tears started to well up.

“Oh, hey girl, please don’t cry!” Alicia begged, “Sometimes Ang is a bit more powerful than she realizes.” Angelina nodded and shrugged.

Alicia looked back at Angelina, “Ang, how the hell did you dry one side of her!?”

Nova was really having trouble controlling the tears and each tear seemed to panic Alicia more.

“Hey, it's ok, really. It’s not that bad, right girls?” The twins whistled and looked everywhere but at Nova. “It’s nothing a smoothing spell won't fix. Do you know any good smoothing spells?”

“No.” A huge tear fell and Angelina began to look a bit sheepish.

“I know it might not sound like fun,” Cyn started.

“But what about a spell for a ballerina bun?” Charli finished.

Nova just shook her head this time. Her face was getting hot. Every suggestion upset her more and more.

“My Aunt Quinta says my curls are too much...so she uses this straightening potion. It’s supposed to last for 3 months and then she re-applies when she visits. But I don’t know how to make it. And I’m not…I’m not...I’m not…” Nova was fighting back the tears as hard as she could but it seemed to be a losing battle. Angelina finished her thought.

“Not supposed to get it wet? Yeah. We all been there.” All the girls looked at each other with embarrassed expressions and nodded. “Hey Nova...would you give us a second?”

Angelina’s question caught Nova off guard.

“Uh...yeah,” she sniffled. “Sure.”

The girls walked away, just out of ear shot. They huddled and immediately began whispering fervorously. After about a minute, Cyn giggled and Charli whooped, Alicia shushed them both, and Angelina stood up straight, crossed her arms and nodded, as if a very important decision had been made. They walked back to Nova, surrounding her in a little half circle. As always, Angelina spoke first.

“Alright, Sweettrickle! Executive decisions have been made!”

“Believe it or not,” Charli started, “cause it true...”

“You’ve got spunk,” Cyn finished, “so we like you!”

Alicia spoke next.

“You were ready to knock Parkinson on her ass and anyone who wants to punch Pansy in her fat, racist little nose is a friend of ours. Plus…we gotta stick together.”

Nova understood what the “we” meant. It had not escaped her attention that Hogwarts had far fewer wizards of color than Ilvermorny. She thought she was prepared for how few there would be, but she was so shocked by the reality. It hadn't really bothered her too much until Pansy started in on her and she felt more isolated than before.

“You should sit with us at dinner, Sweettrickle. But first, we gotta handle that hair.” Angelina pulled what looked to be a folded piece of parchment from inside her robes. "Being friends with 'The Chosen One' has its advantages…"

And that was how Nova had found herself pacing the seventh floor corridor, just opposite an odd tapestry that looked like trolls doing…ballet? She looked at the map again. Hundreds of tiny footprints moved across the map of the school, including the girls, whom she could see where near the Quidditch pitch with a few other kids she didn’t know. In a bathroom on the third floor, she saw two sets of footprints squished into a small wash closet. She didn’t know who “Dean Thomas” was, but his foot prints were awfully close to whoever “Hermione Granger” was. She regained her focus and tried to remember what Angelina had told her. She just had to think of those words while she paced this corridor three times.

"I need Aso’s help," she thought to herself. She could already see the evil smirk on Pansy's face at dinner if this didn't work. Two first year Hufflepuffs scurried by her with wide eyes.

"I need Aso’s help.” Her thoughts became more frantic. This was stupid. They hadn’t even told her what was supposed to happen. They were probably having a laugh at her, just thinking about how gullible she was. The dumb American…but they seemed so nice…and they rescued her from Pansy…stood up for her. They were the only ones who had helped her in all this time.

She took a breath and tried to steady her nerves. Without realizing what she was even doing, she wished the girls were right and honest and wanted to be her friend. She wished it with every fiber of her being. Then she paced the corridor one last time.

“I need Aso’s help. Please,” the final words actually spilling from her lips in a whisper of desperation.

She opened her eyes and waited for several beats before the disappointment set in. For the second time today, tears began to well in her eyes. There was nothing. No one. She was still there, alone, hair still dripping wet but also a giant frizz, in partially soggy robes in the same corridor as before. Same dumb statues at the other end. Same dumb tapestry of the same dumb dancing trolls in their dumb tutus. Same dumb door.

Wait. Door? Was that door there before? Nova was pretty sure it hadn’t been. But now here it was. Was this why the girls had sent her here? Was this what would help her?

She cautiously reached for the door, turned the knob and opened it. As soon as she stepped in, her jaw dropped.

“Whattha, whattha...”

The scene laid out before her was strange and yet familiar to Nova all that the same time.

To her left, three young witches of various shades of brown, magazines in hand, sat with their heads under floating bubbles that looked like sparkling plastic. Inside the bubbles, though not touching the girls, little orange and red fire salamanders ran round and round, chasing each other, creating an orange cloud of heat that was drying the hair of each girl.

To the right were three small waterfalls that looked like they were pulled directly from nature (how was the water flowing directly from the wall!?). They spilled into small whirlpools but there was no water on the ground. It was like the whirlpools were just…there. Nova could see the soap bubbles disappearing into the water but where they went Nova couldn’t say, since there were no drains that she could see. Two young ladies sat back, an empty station between them, hair in the whirlpools beneath the waterfalls, while two ladies, bare foot with dresses of finely woven kelp and faces that more resembled seals than humans, washed their hair.

In the back of the room, atop a large wet rock (where was the water coming from?) sat a chubby girl with a head full of big, brown curls, a round face, and a joyous smile, flute in her lap. She sang a song Nova had never heard before but already liked.

“I do my hair toss, check my nails! Baby how you feeling!?” The lyrics seem to speak to Nova. She was almost drawn to the girl beyond her will. But the sight, center stage, had distracted her.

In the middle of everything sat the largest spider Nova had ever seen! Atop the head of the large, black creature was a beautiful yellow head wrap covered in bright blue peacock feathers. At the end of each of its eight large legs were three fingers (Nova didn’t know what else to call them) and each finger had a little claw that was painted hot pink. Two ladies sat in front of it, one on each side, floating mirrors directly in front of them. The first two arms on it’s right ran a hot comb through one client’s hair. The first two arms on it’s left were parting the other woman’s thick, fluffy hair, preparing it for large braids. Around the spider’s mid section, two arms worked quickly, almost faster than Nova could see, creating a beautiful silk magenta bonnet with dragonflies. As soon as a dragonfly was knit, it would shake, as if coming to life, and turned from magenta to a sparkling gold, before settling back into the weave of the bonnet. The last two arms (or were they legs?) took the silk coming from it’s iridescent backside and quickly worked it into the thread the middle two arms used to knit the bonnets. A second spool of silk from its backside hung in a mass from the ceiling, keeping the creature floating and able to reach freely around the room, which it did from time to time, checking in on the other shop patrons, and grabbing tools and supplies from around the shop. This was NOT like any salon they had back home.

“What cha here for, girl?” An accent she couldn’t quite place spoke to her. “Girl,” the spider said, “what cha here for? Braids? Curls? Press? Weave? I’m a busy lady, Sakuri.” Nova suddenly realized all eyes, including the spider’s eight, were on her.

“Oh, uh, just a press please.”

“A press, eh? And who sent you, chile?”

“Um. Angelina Johnson.”

“Aye. I should have known. That girl…” Nova missed the last words she said. The girl on the rock had begun singing again and for a reason Nova could not quite place, she was mesmerized.

“Boss up and change yo life...” If Nova could just touch her, maybe she would be her friend. Maybe they could hang out all the time…forever. Forever? What a weird thought. Was it weird though? What was so wrong about her being the girl’s friend?

“Let me simplifyyyyyyy…” Gosh she was so amazing. Nova was just thinking about how she could listen to this song and nothing else for the rest of her life when the music suddenly stopped. A voice cut in...

“Melissa, sweetie,” the spider said, “The song is coming along nicely, but how ‘bout we take a break, eh?” The girl shrugged, picked up her flute from her lap, placed it to her full lips and played a quick melody, before saying “BYE BITCH” and poof, disappeared! As soon as the girl was gone, it was like Nova had released a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. She could think again. Everyone laughed.

“Sorry, chile. Melissa is half-siren and sometimes has trouble controlling her powers around newcomers. I’m Aso.”

“Huh…oh uh…yes. It’s nice to meet you…uh...ma’am. I’m Nova.” Without thinking, Nova curtsied. Everyone laughed again.

“No need to bow to me, chile.”

Nova felt stupid. Of course she didn’t need to bow, but in all honesty, she had never seen anyone like Aso, so she wasn’t really sure what to do. Not that she should have been surprised. Since learning she was a witch, her life had gotten so freaking weird that a giant, hair-styling spider really should have been expected.

“I suppose you’ve never seen anyone like me?” Aso asked. While the spider removed her cape, the lady on the right was admiring how smooth her hair was.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but no.” God, did she really need to broadcast how out of place she felt even when she wasn’t speaking!? Aso laughed. She had a nice laugh, one that calmed some of the nerves in Nova’s stomach.

“Well, no worries, girl. I don’t plan on eatin’ ya. I enjoy making money too much. You have money, don’t cha?”

Nova pulled a purple, velvet bag from beneath her robes.

“Yes, ma’am, I do. My aunt gave it to me for school stuff and a little extra for emergencies…”

“Well your head is definitely an emergency, if I do say so, myself. But I’ll get you fixed up, no worries, Sakuri. Go see Rian.”

One of the girls beside the small waterfalls waved to her with sharp nails atop webbed hands. Nova nodded and headed toward the girl. She wasn’t sure what “Sakuri” meant, but hearing Aso call her that, it reminded her of her Aunt Quinta and made her feel safe somehow. Almost like she was at home.

As Rian washed her hair, Nova tried to settle into the atmosphere. Rian’s little claws felt amazing on her scalp and the shampoo smelled of fresh rain and pineapples. Nova’s hair tingled right down to the root. Suddenly, she could feel every strand on her head and they were thrilled to be caressed so delicately.

Rian washed and scrubbed and rinsed Nova’s hair as she gossiped the other girl, whose name Nova learned was Siobhan, talking in a way Nova barely understood. It wasn’t exactly English. More like Spanglish, except instead of Spanish, the two girls spoke a language made up of growls, barks, and grunts mixed with heavy Irish English. Most of what Nova understood was from Aso’s responses. What Nova understood, she laughed along with. What she didn’t, she waited for Aso’s response and responded in kind.

Once her hair was washed, Rian took her over to the fire salamander dryers. Only one girl was there now. The girl who had been getting large braids was done and gone now and two new girls sat in front of Aso. One was getting what looked to be a neon green bob, and the other, a finger wave. Rian, took out the two small salamanders that had been in the dryer when Nova had arrived. She gently placed them in a small tank. Inside, a small rock glowed red with heat and they both ran to lay on it, falling asleep coiled around one another. Two new salamanders were placed inside the dryer as it was placed atop Nova’s head. Nova looked up to see them through the bubble. As soon as they saw each other the chase began and the heat built up.

Nova watched, mesmerized as Aso worked quickly. Aso, Rian, and Siobhan worked in sync, fluid like dancers who changed partners often. Aso had already finished the girl with the finger wave. With skin like obsidian, she admired her hair in the floating mirror. The silver color really suited the girl, but Nova noticed what was truly unique about the girl’s hair. Along her hairline, her baby hairs had been slicked down in beautiful intricate designs, like lace and every few minutes, the design of the “lace” changed. One moment it was soft waves around her face, the next it was a quilted pattern with tiny crystals that sparkled at the intersections. Nova had never seen hair like this.

As she took a last look in the mirror, the girl next to her was running her fingers through the fresh, neon green bob.

“Ok, Monae,” Aso said, “Now shake it.” Monae gave Aso a look like she didn’t quite understand. “Oh for heaven’s sake, girl. Will ya trust me and shake ya head!”

Monae shook her head as she was told. Slowly, from the tips up to the roots, her hair went from green to bright blue. Both Nova and Monae’s eyes grew in surprise. Aso laughed. She had a rich laugh that felt like all the ancestors, past and present, laughed with her.

“Again!” Aso commanded. Again, Monae obeyed. This time, her hair went from blue to hot pink.

She turned to Aso and smiled. Now understanding, she shook her head once more and her hair was back to neon green. Monae was overjoyed.

“Oi! Aso! This is brilliant, mate! I’ll be the talk of the common room for days!” Monae handed several gold coins to Aso. Aso handed her and the other girl a bonnet each. The girls thanked her, put on their yellow and black robes, and headed for the door.

“Ok missy...your turn!”

Nova stood up and sat in one of Aso’s chairs.

“So, Little Miss Nova, tell me how you got to be such a mess in the first place.”

As Aso parted and combed her hair, Nova told her about wanting to be on the Quidditch team like her grandfather, who had been a Hufflepuff Seeker before he opened his sweet shop and moved to the States… about the squid and Pansy… about how she always struggled to get her hair right, so Aunt Quinta had relaxed it and how that almost made it harder. So many rules to keep it “tame.” Before she knew it, she was crying a bit and telling Aso everything.

“Oh now chile,” Aso wiped a tear with one massive spider hand, “no need to cry. Aso has just the thing for you.” Before she could see herself in the mirror, Angelina, Alicia, Charli, and Cyn popped in.

“Hey Miss Aso! Over there looking like an eight legged goddess!” Alicia playfully bowed.

“Hush yo mouth, girl!” Aso dismissed Alicia’s silliness with a half smile that showed her top fangs. “Angelina, you send this girl to me!?”

“Sure did, Miss Aso. She needed your magic hands and I see you did your thing.” Angelina’s compliment made Aso blush.

“Oh hush girl.”

“Wowie, wow!” Charli said. “Lookie here girls…”

“Our Little Miss Nova has a head full of curls!” Cyn concluded.

Nova had almost forgotten to look at herself. Charli and Cyn were right! She suddenly had curls. Hundreds of them, honey brown with red highlights that brought out her brown eyes. They framed her face like a fiery, golden halo. She almost didn’t recognize herself.

“Now I know you wanted a press Miss Nova,” Aso said, “but it would be a shame to hide such beauty. This is special, just for you. Rian!”

Before Nova could ask what she meant, Rian splashed a small stream of water directly at her! Instinctively, Nova put up her hands, trying to protect her hair, but the water never even made contact. Siobhan tossed a small pebble from the base of the waterfall.

“Hey now!” Nova said, but like the water it never made contact with Nova or her hair. Four inches before it reached her, it just lost momentum and fell to the ground. Nova was amazed.

“Whattha, whattha…”

“It will take a lot more than that girl to mess up your hair now.” The way she spat the word “girl,” Nova knew Aso meant Pansy. “You just trust Miss Aso, now, ya hear?”

“It's so beautiful, Miss Aso! Thank you so much! Honestly I’ve never seen it like this before. Aunt Quinta is gonna flip.”

“You tell Quinta I said hello, ya hear.” Before Nova could ask what she meant, Alicia read Nova’s look.

“Girl, our Spider Goddess knows everyone! Ain’t that right, Queen!?”

“I done told ya to hush now, girl!” Aso playfully batted at Alicia.

Angelina gently elbowed Nova.

“Give her 1 Galleon and 10 sickles. Give 3 sickles to Rian and Siobhan as well.”

Nova did as Angelina said, leaving Aso’s payment last.

“Miss Aso,” Nova said, “thank you so much!” And before Aso could respond, Nova gave her a hug where she could reach around her exoskeleton.

“Of course, girl.” The giant spider patted her head, hair bouncing right back into place.

“Don’t forget your bonnet, Miss Nova,” Aso said as Nova pulled back to see Aso had placed a beautiful, peridot green bonnet, with gold dragonflies in Nova’s hands.

“Oh! Miss Aso! This is my favorite color! How did you know!?”

“You heard the big mouth, girl! Miss Aso knows everything, chile!” Alicia feigned a hurt look.

“Come on, Sweettrickle. Can’t wait to see Parkinson’s stupid little face when you walk in looking like that!” Angelina and the girls made their way to the door.

“Yeah yeah it’s time for dinner!” Cyn said.

“When Pansy loses, you’re the real winner!” Charli finished.

“Thank you again, Miss Aso.” Nova said.

“Of course, chile.”

As they stepped through the door, back onto the seventh floor corridor, Aso’s Salon disappeared. The girls started down the hall, and Nova took one last look at where the door had been.

“Come on you guys!” Angelina lead the pack, “Let's go show off Sweettrickle!”

Alicia teased and mocked Nova, “Oh Miss Aso!” She laughed as she mimicked Nova with a comically high pitched voice. “You’re such a goodie goodie, Nova!”

“Shut up, big mouth,” Nova said playfully.

The girls all froze and turned to Nova. Had Nova gone too far!? The girls looked at Nova and a look passed between them. Suddenly, they burst into laughter. Relieved, Nova laughed, too.

“She got you, Alicia! You took her for a dummy!”

“But it turns out Nova is really quite funny!” The twins laughed.

And as they walked down the corridor to the Great Hall, smiling and laughing, five carefree Black witches, Angelina looked to Nova and shared a smile.

“I think you’re gonna fit in just fine, Sweettrickle. Just fine.”

#Hogwarts #Angelina Johnson #Room of Requirement

1 note · View note

thecomicsnexus · 6 years ago

Text

Heroes for Hope

HEROES FOR HOPE DECEMBER 1985 BY CHRIS CLAREMONT, ANN NOCENTI, JIM STARLIN, JIM SHOOTER, STAN LEE, ED BRYANT, LOUISE SIMONSON, STEPHEN KING, BILL MANTLO, ALAN MOORE, HARLAN ELLISON, JO DUFFY, MIKE BARON, DENNY O’NEIL, GEORGE R. R. MARTIN, BRUCE JONES, STEVE ENGLEHART, MIKE GRELL, ARCHIE GOODWIN, BERNIE WRIGHTSON...

JOHN ROMITA JR, JOHN BUSCEMA, BRENT ANDERSON, JOHN BYRNE, CHARLES VESS, RICHARD CORBEN, MIKE KALUTA, FRANK MILLER, BRIAN BOLLAND, JOHN BOLTON, STEVE RUDE, BRET BLEVINS, HERB TRIMPE, GRAY MORROW, PAUL GULACY, ALAN WEISS, JACKSON GUICE, HOWARD CHAYKIN...

AL GORDON, KLAUS JANSON, JOE SINNOTT, TERRY AUSTIN, DAN GREEN, JEFF JONES, JON J MUTH, TOM PALMER, AL MILGROM, BILL SIENKIEWICZ, P. CRAIG RUSSELL, CARL POTTS, AL WILLIAMSON, SAL BUSCEMA, BOB LAYTON, JOE RUBINSTEIN, STEVE LEIALOHA, WALT SIMONSON...

DAINA GRAZIUNAS, MARIE SEVERIN, BOB SHAREN, PETRA SCOTESE, CHRISTIE SCHEELE, MICHELLE WRIGHTSON, GLYNIS OLIVER, GEORGE ROUSSOS, LESLIE ZAHLER AND JANET JACKSON (NOT THAT JANET JACKSON)

SYNOPSIS

The X-men are attacked by a strange entity that makes them feel despair and end up going to Ethiopia to help people against the famine (and fighting this entity after a while).

OFFICIAL CONTEXT

CONTEXT BY CHRISTOPHER PRIEST

The most heated racial episode in my career occurred during Marvel's production of their charity book for Ethiopian famine victims. Promoted as work from "the top writers and artists in the industry-- the very best of the very best," profits from this effort were going to be donated to help the poor starving Africans. It was a truly noble effort, one the entire industry rallied behind (at least until DC decided to do their own book, thus dividing the talent pool along company lines). Denys Cowan dropped by and mentioned, amused, that he'd seen the list of talent working on the famine relief project. There wasn't a single African American creator invited to participate. This actually amused me tremendously, and I went over the list myself to make sure, but, yup, no blacks had been thought of as, "the very best of the very best," and none were invited to work on this book.

Tickled, I picked up the phone and called Larry Hama, telling him no blacks were on the list. Larry was hugely amused, and suggested we do our own charity relief book for the poor white trash of Appalachia. He and I howled with laughter, and then shook off the dumbness of it all and got on with our lives.

Only, a white staffer had overheard part of the conversation (I assume the notion of my "recruiting" Hama to do my "own alternate charity book"), and some warped interpretation of my conversation with Hama got reported down the hall to the X-MEN office (where the book was being developed). The editors became incensed and loudly demanded my head on a plate for, essentially, inciting the black talent to stop working for Marvel. I mean, this thing got blown to huge proportions, so much so that, by the end of the day, it was largely accepted as fact that I was organizing a walkout of black talent, and the EIC kind of put me and the X-Men editor in a room to negotiate a deal.

I just couldn't stop laughing. I mean, it was all so stupid. These were stupid people. It was extremely stupid to do an African relief charity project and not invite any damned Africans to work on it. It was even sillier for these stupid people to invent some massive protest out of a silly joke in a 30-second phone call with Larry Hama.

The X-Men Ed was not amused, and refused to believe me when I said I had no intention of bad-mouthing the project. I was invited to participate, but I just chuckled and said, "No affirmative action, please." And this just set the Ed off into a screaming match that could be heard everywhere in the office, "What is WRONG with you? Why do you have to make a RACIAL ISSUE OUT OF EVERYTHING?!?!?!"

It just got out of control, and the episode (along with my paying my assistant to stay home on MLK's birthday once it was ratified as a national holiday but Marvel refused to recognize it, other than the numbingly patronizing "We got us our own holiday" speech by Luke Cage in the VISION & SCARLET WITCH Miniseries) fairly cemented my pariah status at Marvel. Without saying a word and without actually doing anything, I was routinely assumed to be some radical activist who saw everything as a race issue.

I felt trapped in a world of loons. It was totally no-win, and I tended to simply withdraw from the office more and more, from people who, in my view, had now invented a justification to do what they'd been doing all along: fencing themselves off from me.

CONTEXT BY JIM SHOOTER

Pam had arranged for Oxfam America to receive our donation. Their reaction to our offer, at first, was what one might expect from people who had never seen a comic book up close: “Comic book? There’s nothing funny about famine!” Sigh.

For some reason Pam was determined that we should donate the money to them, though, and we convinced them that comics weren’t always comic. They still demanded to review the finished book before they would commit to accept our donation.

When the book was ready to go to press, we sent a mock-up to Oxfam America to review.

Their response was that they wanted nothing to do with it. Flat rejection.

Furthermore, they said that the book was unbelievably offensive and that we, the people of Marvel Comics, were racist, sexist and reprehensible.

When this was told to me by Pam and Marvel President Jim Galton I felt as if I were being called on the carpet. I was flabbergasted. I showed them the mock-up.

They didn’t see anything wrong with it.

Galton called the exec at Oxfam America we’d been dealing with to ask what their specific objections were.

Their response was that, while under no circumstances would they have anything to do with our project or with us, they would send an executive to meet with us and explain the many horrific, repugnant, disgusting elements that made our “comic book” anathema.

So they did. Oxfam America’s representative came to meet with Galton and me. The meeting took place in Galton’s office.

I do not remember the man’s name.

He was a nice-looking, thirty-something man. He had on a suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Designer shoes. He had on more gold and diamond jewelry than I’d ever seen on a human being. Jeweled watch. Cufflinks. Stickpin. Bracelets. A neck chain that would make a rapper blush. Doubt me, go ahead. Discount by two-thirds what I’m telling you and you should still have an image of a guy wearing clothes and jewelry that at market price would feed a thousand starving people for a month.

After the greetings and handshaking, Galton, making conversation, said that he imagined that Oxfam America and other charitable organizations had, at least, gotten a lot of people to focus on the ongoing tragedy in Africa, and had inspired many efforts such as ours from musicians and performers and artists.

This Oxfam America fellow, let’s call him Midas, just plain gushed about how good for business the East African famine was, how donations were rolling in at record levels. He talked about the millions dying as if it were a great marketing opportunity.

Galton and I were stupefied. We couldn’t believe how thrilled Midas was that his business was booming.

Midas explained that the purpose of his visit wasn’t here to request changes or negotiate. He had come to save us from our own folly. He made it clear that Oxfam America had nothing but contempt for us and our work. He came as a favor, to urge us not to publish the abomination that we had created. He assured us that it would destroy Marvel Comics.

Right. Well, naturally, I wondered why.

Midas flipped through the mock-up. Again and again he pointed out black characters that he said “looked like Michael Jackson.” We were obviously trying to capitalize on Michael Jackson’s image and fame.

Michael Jackson in particular and the Jackson family in general were huge supporters of Oxfam America, by the way. Every drawing of a woman, he said, was sexist and exploitative. He was particularly offended by depictions of Storm, which he thought were more than sexist, a denigration of women of color.

I mentioned that the men were heroic and glamorous, too. Just like in the movies, stars tend to be good looking.

He pointed out a panel in which Chris had a carnival barker saying: “Yowza….” That, he said, was racist in the extreme. I don’t have the book handy, as explained above, but wasn’t that character Caucasian?

Moore and Corben’s pages? Yikes.

I cannot begin to tell you all the racism, sexism and hate that he (and Oxfam America) read into the words and pictures.

Wow.

The punch line is this: Midas accused Marvel of “stealing Janet Jackson’s logo.” He believed that the Heroes for Hope logo, credited to Janet Jackson, was ripped off.

I offered to introduce him to the designer on our staff who had created the logo, one Miss Janet Claire Jackson. He dismissed my obvious attempt at a cover-up.

No, really, we have a designer named…. Oh, never mind.

No wonder Janet Claire Jackson eventually started going by the name “Blog Elf.”

Finally, the lunatic left. Galton and I shared a moment of “what a jerk.”

Pam was instructed to find some other organization to which to donate the money. She came up with the American Friends Service Committee.

Heroes for Hope was a huge success. Thanks to our sales department, we got donations from downstream—distributors, retailers, even fans.

Can’t find the press release and the picture of me and Galton giving the AFSC honchos the PR “Big Check” created by our production department to symbolize the real check. I think the initial donation was $500,000. Much more came later.

It was a great thing. Jim Starlin, Bernie Wrightson, Ann Nocenti and Chris Claremont are great heroes in my book. Heroes for hope. There are people alive today who wouldn’t be without their efforts.

AND ABOUT THOSE STEPHEN KING PAGES

The non-comics writers who participated needed some help in most cases, which Ann and Chris provided. The biggest challenge was Stephen King’s contribution. I may be exaggerating here, but not by much—he gave us something like 5,000 words for three pages. Almost overnight, by the way. Chris, Ann and I somehow cut that down to what would fit on three comics pages. 500 words? I forget. Has anyone else ever had to cut out 90% of Stephen King’s brilliant words?

REVIEW

This was bound to not be a nice comic-book to review. The famine in Ethiopia at the moment had political origins that people decided to look over in favor of Live Aid and We Are The World.

Let’s just say that sending super-heroes there to help doesn’t guarantee a success (although they could have done something more against politicians, but let’s not go there).

The story is a bit abstract and the characters pretty much end up making sense of it without ever checking their facts (like the entity being a mutant and why it exists). The sequences about each X-man being tortured psychologically was too repetitive. By the time they end up in Africa (something that happens on a wild guess), the book is almost over.

The art doesn’t have a nice unifying feel. Something that could have been possible with breakdowns and less inkers and colorists.

But you know what? I understand why it had to be like that. This book was made ad honorem, and people did a great effort to just put the damn thing on the stands.

My other concern is that the X-men weren’t the right fit for a story like this. I understand they were popular back then, but these comics should attract non-readers as well (it’s for a good cause after all). And to be frank, things like Rachel Summers, Storm not having powers, Magneto being the leader... those are things of that time. Very hard to relate to. The Avengers would have been a better choice, or even Spider-man and the Fantastic Four (even if Spidey was looking a bit different at the time).

I like the message of not losing hope, and hope being the one thing keeping people alive in such tragedies... but then they kind of go back home. Leaving hope?

I don’t think the ideas in the book were brought down on something concrete or to keep thinking on. It is just confusing.

I give the book a score of 5

#heroes for hope #famine #marvel comics #x-men #1985 #comics #review #modern age #live aid #arthur adams

1 note · View note