#lydia dona

[abstracteddistractions]

Lydia Dona, "Platinum Journeys," 2016,

Oil, acrylic, enamel, and iron oxide on canvas,

60 x 72 inches.

[whifferdills]

Lydia Dona (via Hyperallergic)

[brynnsx]

Por Glinda e sua varinha mágica !! Olha só se não é 𝐁𝐑𝐘𝐍𝐍 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐃 caminhando pelos corredores da 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐔𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐒. Por ser filha de 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐔𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐎 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐇𝐎, é previsto que ela deseje seguir caminhos parecidos com o da mãe. Ao menos, é o que se espera de alguém com 𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄 𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐒, mas primeiro ela precisará concluir o 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐎 𝐈𝐈, para depois se assemelhar como um conto de fadas.

FC: Kennedy McMann

Skeleton: Emboscada, como Masha, a sensata

Poder: Claritangência — obtém memórias ou sensações relativas aos objetos que toca. Ganha conhecimento desde os fabricantes, usuários, até aqueles que passaram a usar o objeto e o que foi feito com ele

Inspirações: Nancy Drew, Hermione Granger, Elizabeth Benneth, Sherlock Holmes, Beatrice, Emily Starr, Trixie Belden, Lyra Belacqua, Gwen Tennyson, Lydia Martin, Velma Dinkley, Miss Marple

Conexões & Pinterest & Playlist

જ⁀➴ Para conferir a biografia completa, e também saber mais sobre seu Daemon, clique AQUI.

Resumo: filha de um relacionamento proibido entre um lobisomem da alcateia do Lobo Mau e Chapeuzinho vermelho, Brynn viu sua vida mudar completamente quando por vingança o vilão do conto de sua mãe matou seu pai, também ordenando um companheiro de sua alcateia dizimar a vida de sua avó. Após as tragédias, sua mãe enlouqueceu, e com 6 anos ela se viu tendo que aprender a se virar sozinha. Com o tempo, adquiriu várias habilidades investigatórias, começando a trabalhar com isso. Quando os vilões tomaram conta de todos os contos, ela conseguiu esconder a si e a mãe em uma cabine abandonada por alguns anos, sobrevivendo com a ajuda de lobos (que não gostavam muito dela, pois não herdou o talento da família) e outros insumos da natureza.

Quando finalmente a encontraram, foi obrigada a deixar a mãe de lado e ingressar em Tremerra, cumprir seu papel e aceitar seu futuro conto. Dona de uma personalidade um pouco introvertida na frente dos outros, ela aceitou o destino, mas nunca deixou de se preparar para uma vingança. Usando de sua boa habilidade investigativa, está sempre a procura de casos para desvendar todos os mistérios de Tremerra (e também de sua vida pessoal). Para alguém que parece tão quietinha, ela gosta bastante de se meter onde não é chamada. Tem uma boa relação com sua dragão, Lustray, apesar de terem personalidades bem diferentes.

[mother-best-character-tourney]

Realized this hasn’t been done before that I know off so I decided to make one with every character that I could think of, these are the matches for round 1

Nichol VS Wess

Ollie VS Bud

Dona VS Porky’s mom

Claus VS Poo

Rope snake VS Ness’s dad

Richie VS Biff

Frank Fly VS Monotoli

Mapson VS Jonel

Abbot VS Minnie

Ana VS Phrygia

Hinawa VS Lloyd

Pippi VS Mimmie

Butch VS Porky

Ninten’s mom VS Boney

Venus VS Doria

B.H. Pirkle VS Tessie

Nan VS Talah Rama

Jackie VS George

Lucas VS Nana

Leder VS Salsa

Tony VS Mixolydia

Duster VS Lydia

Lighter VS Teddy

Bronson VS Picky

DCMC VS Flying Men

Runaway five VS Thomas

Lisa VS Caroline

Abbey VS Ionia

Jill VS Alle

Angie VS Bubble Monkey

Giygas VS Porky’s dad

Paula’s mom VS Jeff

Electra VS Master Belch

Tracy VS Kumatora

Dr. Andonuts VS Buzz buzz

Lou VS Samba

Ness VS Elmore

Ninten’s dad VS Scamp

Fuel VS Sebastian

Brick Road VS Brenda

Star master VS Paula’s dad

Alec VS Bateau

Paul VS Item guy

Maria VS Ness’s mom

Photo man VS Ninten

Nippolyte VS Isaac

Fassad VS Mr. Carpainter

Flint VS Betsy

Paula VS Lier X. Agerate

Aeollia VS King

Ed VS Maxwell Labs

Bob VS Matt

Apple Kid VS Orange kid

Everdred VS Pusher VS Linda

For context you can call me Emerald and my pronouns are They/Them or any Earthbound related pronouns

[blackorbs]

Ir atrás das pessoas que conhecia era o mais natural a se fazer, especialmente se tratando de Lydia, por quem havia adquirido respeito (e um leve temor) muito rápido, especialmente considerando a situação incomum por trás de sua aproximação. Facilmente impressionável, assim que encontrou a outra híbrida, um sorriso genuíno brotou em seus lábios ao observar a roupa que ficava tão bonita em seu corpo, de forma tão elegante. Na maior parte dos dias, Brandy não tinha problemas reais com sua aparência, embora de fato não se achasse tão bonita assim, sabia que era comum entre a maior parte das pessoas, entretanto, olhando para a mulher mais velha, era impossível não adquirir o sentimento de que queria ser ela. Infelizmente, o óbvio aconteceu. Afinal, quando se encara alguém como uma idiota por mais de meio segundo, certamente a pessoa vai perceber. “Ah, me desculpa, dona Lydia!” Acabou soltando um riso sem graça, procurando um garçom para pegar uma bebida apenas para se sentir menos estranha. “É que você está muito bonita, e eu fico bem distraída com tudo o que brilha.” Era verdade, especialmente se fosse valioso. “Posso te fazer companhia?”

open starter em uma galeria do baile das sombras

para o desgosto de lydia, os maiores compositores que já haviam pisado na terra e criado algo minimamente tragável não existiam mais--- vivaldi e liszt talvez fossem os únicos homens que lhe deixassem qualquer sentimento de saudade ecoar no peito, meio ao mar de mulheres favoritas. elegantemente aborrecida, bebia sua taça de vinho enquanto no conforto do assento elevado. céus, lydia jamais perderia o tempo andando por aí, correndo risco de alguém desimportante lhe fazer trocar meia dúzia de palavras que seriam esquecidas no momento seguinte. então observava, em silêncio, o vestido longo perfeitamente alinhado às curvas cintilando sob a luz de um enorme lustre de cristal... até que alguém entrou em sua linha de visão. o ar escapou dos lábios cheios e vermelhos. "com licença." apesar das palavras educadas, a voz era irritada. "não vê que está me atrapalhando?"

[thunderstruck9]

Lydia Dona (American b. 1955), Orbital Attitudes, 1984. Acrylic on paper, 50 x 38 in.

[murderchased]

            *      𝐀   𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘   𝐀𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐓   ,    a   soon   to   be   mystery   novel   by   margot  dumaurier  ,               aka          an   introduction   .

interior  ,   evening     ---    the  hall  of  the  gellhorn  manor  stood  silently  around  her,  in  all  of  its  majesty,  intimidating  to  the  look.  her  velvet  dress,  vintage  green  and  long,  spoke  for  itself  and  quite  loudly  against  the  murmuring  crowd.  they  all  had  something  to  bicker  on  and  on,  the  gentle  rain  outside  and  the  way  the  renovations  had  done  the  house  good,  as  well  as  the  hosts   (who  had  been  fighting  quite  a  lot  lately,  is  what  they’ve  heard,  unable  to  find  one  single  thing  to  agree  upon),   but  not  the  woman   --   never  her.   she  stands  around,   not  in  the  corner,  but  the  center  of  the  room,  surrounded  by  those  people  she  had  no  intention  of  talking  to.  takes  a  sip  of  her  champagne,  wishes  for  something  a  little  stronger,  tries  to  ignore  the  boredom  of  being  confined  to  such  space.  one  thing  they’re  right  about,   she  remarks  with  a  tilt  of  her  head,   the  renovations  truly  did  wonders.   and  then  returns  to  the  judgemental,  usual  mindset,  minding  the  way  she  could  see  the  vines  climbing  against  the  outer  part  of  the  windows,  the  way  the  hounds  could  be  heard  even  from  their  spot  near  the  back  of  the  house,  the  way  the  ceiling-

       lydia  gellhorn :    gogo  !    (  the  blonde  is  as  subtle  as  a  trainwreck,  yet  still  manages  to  catch  margot  off  guard.  she  has  a  big  hairdo  in  place,  a  painted  face  made  uncanny  by  how  often  and  passionately  she  smiles.  noticing  how  lonely  margot  seemed  to  be  in  the  crowd,  however,  her  smile  fades.  )    oh ,  you’re  doing  that  thing  you  do  again ,  aren’t  you ?

      margot :    god  ,  liddy  ,  can’t  a  woman  have  an  inner  monologue  in  peace  ?

      lydia :     really,  cakes,  it’s  not  an  inner  monologue  if  you’re  writing  a  whole  murder  mystery  in  your  mind.

      margot :     we’ll  see  how  you  feel  about  that  when  i  reveal  the  host  to  be  the  killer  in  my  next  one.

      lydia :     no  need  to  be  brutal  !    (  she  gives  her  friend  a  well  knowing  look,  )  this  is  not  what  i  brought  you  here  for.

      margot :     no ,  you  brought  me  here  to  drink  wonderful  chardonnay  and ...  bond  with  the  other  guests ?   (   an  eyebrow  pokes  through  her  forehead;  they  both  knew  gogo  better  than  that .   )  no ?

      lydia :     i  brought  you  here  because  i  missed  you  !    and  i’m  tired  of  having  to  travel  to  the  country  everytime  i  want  to  see  my  dearest  friend ...  and  her  goats  .    (  arm  around  her  friend’s,  liddy  guides  margot  out  of  the  hall,  far  from  the  people.  doesn’t  take  a  genius  to  know  that’s  precisely  where  she  belongs.  )

      margot :     shame  they  couldn’t  be  here  tonight  ;    (  allowing  herself  to  be  carried  through  the  crowd,  although  a  bit  discouraged  )    the  goats  .

interior  ,    night      ---        it’s  been  a  pleasant  couple  of  hours,  ones  the  host  had  dedicated  to  margot  alone,  each  sprawled  over  one  of  the  library’s  sofas,  the  writer’s  heels  thrown  off  on  the  ground  while  her  best  friend  kept  her  picture  perfect  outfit  untouched.  and  they  did  what  they  did  best    -    talked  and  talked,  good  things  about  themselves  only  and  shit  about  everyone  else  at  the  party.    even  thomas,  liddy’s  husband,  who  was  so  very  kind  and  lovable  but  as  blank  as  a  white  wall,  became  their  target  for  the  night.

      lydia :     he's  just  so  annoying  .    he  agrees  with  everything  .

  ��   margot :     mhmm  ,    (  she's  finally  standing  up  and  reaching  for  the  decorated  flask  in  her  purse  that  holds  a  few  sacred  cigarettes.  motions  towards  the  window,  opening  it  wide  and  letting  the  cold  night  breeze  take  away  the  smoke  of  her  first  puff.    )    it's  bad  when  they  have  an  opinion  about  everything  ,    but  if  you  wanted  easy  you  wouldn't  have  picked  to  marry  a  man  of  all  things  .

      lydia :     for  god's  sake  ,    cakes  ,    do  you  have  to  smoke  here  ?    it's  …    it's  my  spot  .    (    but  she  knows  it's  a  lost  fight,  and  ultimately  goes  on  about  the  mediocre  man  she  chose  to  marry    )    he's  just  …   always  there .  and  he  doesn't  make  any  difference,    if  you  know  what  i  mean.    just  all  the  time,    taking  up  space  in  the  room,---

a  scream  cuts  sharp  through  the  night.    liddy  stands  up  in  a  hurry,  joins  margot  by  the  window;  together,  they  watch  as  guests  and  staffers  gather  near  the  pool.  the  eerie  holiday  soundtrack  coming  from  the  hall  downstairs  brings  a  chill  to  margot's  spine.

      lydia :     oh  ,    god  .    oh  ,  god  ,    oh  ,    shit  ,    what  just  happened  down  there  ?    (    as  her  desperation  builds  up  ,    she  searches  for  comfort  in  her  friend's  features.    all  margot's  disposition  has  to  offer  is  an  unimpressed  last  drag  on  her  cigarette  .    )

she  burns  its  remains  on  the  window  sill.  

      margot :     you  brought  me  here  ,    liddy  darling  .    (    she  walks  past  her  friend  and  instantly  takes  on  the  task  to  put  on  her  brown  high  heels  once  more ,   )    we  both  know  what  just  happened  down  there  .

[nothecocktail]

                                                   𝕋𝕒𝕤𝕜 𝟘𝟘𝟙

                                    ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ғᴜᴄᴋ ᴍᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ, ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴄʀʏ                                  sᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴜʏ ᴍᴇ ᴅɪᴀᴍᴏɴᴅs

QUE TAL DESCREVER O FÍSICO?

Voz: Sua voz possui um timbre mais afinado, comum e simples. Alguns podem dizer que se torna mais aveludada e sensual quando no idioma espanhol, o que é uma verdade. Nesse ritmo, se torna mais grave, e por motivos especiais, seu tom pode ser abaixado. Para todos os caos, possui a voz ampla e clara, para que todos a escutem, e caso perca a paciência, adquire um jeito muito mais fino e irritante, principalmente aos gritos.

Idade: 20 Anos. 30/11.

Gênero: Cis feminino.

Peso: 49 KG

Altura: 1,60

Sexualidade: Pansexual.

Defeitos físicos: Por ser vaidosa, ela sempre faz o possível para que a aparência siga perfeita e intacta, porém, ela carrega uma cicatriz na parte esquerda inferior da nuca, de um machucado que adquiriu em um acidente quando ainda era criança, mas ela não tem qualquer memória do que aconteceu e ninguém fez qualquer questão de contar.

Qualidades físicas: Margarita tem um corpo esbelto, e intensamente ágil. Tanto por poder se transformar em animais, quanto pela inteligência de se auto adaptar. Fora isso, possui pernas fortes e grande elasticidade, pelos anos de treino com dança e a participação na torcida.

É saudável? Mesmo sendo extremamente exagerada e de sua criação, ela possui uma saúde mental boa. Considerando sua criação no meio do mato, ela mantém uma alimentação considerada saudável, praticando esportes vez ou outra.

Maneira de andar: Seus passos são confiantes, como se fosse dona de toma Aether. Anda com graciosidade, digna da posição mais alta da monarquia, uma Rainha. Além disso, geralmente anda de forma tranquila, observando todos os cantos para conseguir alguma informação. É comum que quando nervosa, tenha o andar mais rápido, e com isso, meio desajeitado pela raiva.

QUE TAL DESCREVER O PSICOLÓGICO?

Práticas / Hábitos: Sempre está com o transmissor nas mãos, gravando ou escrevendo algo, buscando alguma nova informação que possa usar no jornal ou em uma fofoca. Também possui o hábito de mexer no cabelo quando está desconfortável com algo.

Inteligência: Mesmo não tendo qualquer estudo quando no reino dos Moors, ela ainda conseguiu se adaptar bem aos aprendizados nos anos iniciais, ainda que estivesse atrás da maioria dos colegas de classe. Diria que possui mais esforço e perseverança do que inteligência, mas seu jeito observador a torna uma pessoa muito esperta.

Temperamento: Colérico.

O que te faz feliz? Ganhar, obter o que quer, descobrir algum bom furo pro jornal e estar certa.

O que te faz triste? Magoar os irmãos, estar de mal com os irmãos, ser ignorada por alguém que considera, ser traída, mentiras e a ideia de ser esquecida.

Esperanças: Conseguir se distanciar da imagem da mãe e da figura de ser “má”, ter um final feliz. Ser rainha.

Medos: Acabar infeliz tal como a mãe, se tornar parecida com a mãe, ter de passar pelos mesmos traumas que os irmãos e também perceber que Malévola estava certa quanto a ela o tempo todo.

Sonhos: Ser rainha e governar uma nação onde ela é apreciada por todos, ser rica e não ter de se preocupar nunca mais com dinheiro. Que as pessoas fossem incapazes de mentir.

QUE TAL DESCREVER ASPECTOS PESSOAIS?

Família: Não possui uma boa relação com a progenitora e sequer faz ideia de quem é seu pai, assim sua família se resume aos irmãos com quem tem uma boa relação. Em especial por ser uma das mais novas, assim sendo mimada pelos mais velhos e os incomodando com certa frequência, sendo um pouco dependente desses vez ou outra.

Amigos: São poucos do qual ela realmente considera como amigos próximos e até mesmo esses, ela ainda tem alguma suspeita e desconfiança, mais ainda se forem humanos. Costuma revelar sua verdadeira face com seus amigos, se sentindo mais livre sem ter de agradar apenas para conseguir algo que quer ou julga precisar. Os trata consideravelmente melhor que as outras pessoas e julga que deveriam ser gratos por isso.

Estado Civil: Solteira. Em busca de um príncipe herdeiro,

Terra Natal: Moors.

Infância: Teve uma infância complicada no reino dos Moors, o que era pra ser uma infância rodeada de belas paisagens e criaturas mágicas, foi uma infância cheia de batalhas e maus tratos vindos de sua progenitora, tendo de brincar escondida quando queria qualquer diversão. Ainda assim, por conta dos irmãos mais velhos, ela foi consideravelmente mais protegida que eles em relação às crueldades do mundo.

Crenças: Ela acredita fielmente no narrador, tendo analisado o estilo de narrativa feita por esse e o que parece dar ou não certo, com isso traçou o plano para o próprio conto e pretende seguir ele.

Hobbies: Escrever, dançar, atuar, tirar fotos e fofocar.

QUE TAL DESCREVER PRÁTICAS?

Comida favorita: Rinderroulade.

Bebida favorita: Margarita Strawberry e suco de laranja.

O que costuma vestir? Margarita possui um estilo sassy. Com vestidos rodados, saias curtas e estilizadas, blusas rendadas e com brilhantes. Tudo que remete a uma pessoa da monarquia. Em seus pés, sempre com santos deslumbrantes, além dos claros adornos na cabeça que dão tão conhecidos por qualquer um. Os tons são geralmente claros ou chamativos, em uma tentativa ainda mais forte de ser o centro das atenções. Tudo remete a uma princesa, e ninguém sabe quem paga por todas essas coisas.

O que mais o diverte? Fofocar e escrever para o jornal, mas gosta também de perturbar as pessoas de quem gosta, tendo isso como um hobbie também. Festas, ela ama qualquer evento social, geralmente sendo a primeira a chegar e a última a ir embora.

Inspirações: Drizella Treimaine (Cinderella), Lucrécia Montesinos (Elite), Evangeline (Rainha Vermelha), Morrigan (corte de espinhos e rosas), Jessamine Lovelace (The Infernal Devices), Zara (The Dark Artifices) e Lydia Martin (Teen Wolf)

[longitudinalwaveme]

Where Are The Ghostbusters When You Need Them?

Hi! Thanks for checking out my story!

Despite the title, the story actually does not feature the Ghostbusters, but it does feature the Flash Rogues. That's almost as good, right?

The story can't really fit anywhere canonically since Evan and Sam are alive simultaneously, among other things, but hopefully it'll be an enjoyable story anyhow. 

Mirror Master I: You ever seen one of those creepy houses? You know, the ones with broken windows and crumbling spires and ivy growing all over them? The ones that used to belong to super rich people and are now allegedly owned by some mysterious “third cousin once removed” that no one’s ever actually seen? The ones that stupid teenagers dare each other to spend the night in? Well, Central City has one of those creepy houses. Or, more accurately, Central City’s Pine Woods suburb has one of those creepy houses. It’s commonly known as the old Jackson place. It's a three-story mansion, with broken windows, crumbling stone, a creepy staircase, massive spires....the works. It was even used as a set for a horror movie back in the 80s. Even though it technically isn’t in the city proper, it’s close enough that everyone knows about the house-and the stories surrounding it. Allegedly, the old Jackson place was built by Adolphus Jackson in 1792, after he immigrated from somewhere in Ireland with his family. They were Central City’s first settlers (the Rathaways were second). He and his wife, Betty, had sixteen kids (although only ten survived to adulthood). All the dead kids were buried in the backyard of the house, so things are already getting creepy. (Some people say that you can hear crying when you go by the house, and other people have claimed to see ghostly children.) His oldest son, Jared, inherited the house when old man Jackson died in 1846. (He was buried behind the house, and yep, people have claimed to see him, too.) Jared worked alongside Martin Garrick (yes, he IS related to Jay Garrick) and my great-great-great-great-grandfather, Shawn Scudder, in Central City’s Underground Railroad. (Am I shaming my heritage? Yeah, probably. Moving on.) People have claimed to see the ghosts of slaves and such around the old Jackson place, and they’ve also claimed to see the ghosts of Harold and Rufus Jackson, an uncle and nephew who fought on opposite sides of the Civil War. In 1877, Jared died, and his second son, Arnold, inherited the house. (His oldest son was Harold, who died at the Battle of Chancellorsville.) Arnold got married to his second cousin, which is several levels of weird, and he added onto the house, making it a lot bigger and more impressive looking. He died in 1885, after adding to the family’s sizable fortune, and his son, Bernard, inherited the house and made it even fancier. Bernard is also where the really messed up stories about the Jackson place begin, as his oldest son, Robert, fell in love with a girl his father hated (partially because he had planned for his son to marry Lydia Rathaway, Piper’s great-great-great aunt). Their arguments over it got really nasty, and so eventually Robert ran away with his chick and got married to her, only for his father to threaten to cut him off. Sonny boy decided that he wanted the money more than his wife, and he abandoned her and was remarried to Piper’s great-great-great aunt. There was only one snag: his old wife had gotten pregnant and drowned herself in the pond (now dried up) on the back of the property to get revenge a few days after her baby was born. (People claim to see her ghost quite frequently.) Her parents, the Desmonds (and the Rathaways, who were mad that Bernard had had his son marry their daughter when he already had a wife) sued the pants off the Jacksons and the family was reduced to semi-poverty. Robert hung himself a few weeks after the lawsuit was settled (he allegedly haunts the house, too) and Bernard started drinking. A lot. He died in 1910 (probably from alcohol poisoning) and the estate was inherited by his only surviving offspring, a 19-year-old daughter named Alicia, who became a librarian and never married. (Alicia didn’t live in the house after the age of 21, probably because of all the bad memories, but people still see her ghost there.) She died in 1971, and the house, which had sat unused for over three decades, had already gained a reputation as being massively haunted, a reputation that only increased when some stupid 17-year-old broke into the house on a dare, fell down the old stairs in the dark, and broke his neck in 1995. (Since then, people have claimed to see HIS ghost as well.) So you get the point: the old Jackson place is massively haunted, massively creepy, and massively empty, so, of course, Captain Cold decided that we needed to break into the place on Halloween. Now, to be fair, we do something to get our adrenaline up every year on Halloween, but there’s a difference between going to a commercial haunted house, where nothing is real, and going to an old house that might actually be haunted, especially when said old house is falling apart and everyone is wearing ridiculous costumes (as we do every year). Earlier in the month, we had decided to dress up as classic movie monsters. Or at least I thought we had. As it turned out, some people had badly missed the memo….

Mirror Master II: Okay, so maybe the scarecrow costume I had wasnae all that scary, but it wasnae my fault! How was I supposed to ken that all the scary scarecrow costumes would be sold out by October 24? I wasnae PLANNING to be the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz! But I’m off topic. All of us had agreed to meet on the front lawn before we broke into the haunted house, so at 7:00 PM on Halloween night, I got into me costume and went to the lawn. Golden Glider (dressed as a vampire), Scudder (dressed as a zombie), the Trickster (dressed as a bedsheet ghost), Captain Boomerang (dressed as Frankenstein’s monster), and the Pied Piper (dressed as the Phantom of the Opera) were already there, and, of course, as soon as he saw me costume, Scudder started laughing.  “They were sold out of the scary costumes, ye eejit,” I said. “Then why didn’t you alter it or something? You don’t look scary at all!” Scudder asked. “Hey, at least I look scarier than the Trickster. And besides, not all of us be seamstresses, Scudder,” I replied. (He’d made his own costume and thought that nobody knew. Eejit.) Scudder flushed and suddenly became very interested in the bushes. At this point, Captain Cold showed up in cat ears. That was his whole costume. Otherwise, he jus’ looked like a hockey fan (which he be). His sister-a bonnie lassie, she-wasnae pleased with that. “Lenny, you were supposed to dress up as something scary!” “I did. I’m a werecat.” I’m nae sure why he thought that would be convincing. “Oh, come on! You didn’t even try!”“I never try. Why are you acting like this is something new?” The Glider threw up her hands. “Because you promised me you would try this year!” “I have a tail. Does that make it better?” The Glider rolled her eyes.“I give up.” She tossed her golden hair over her shoulder-I tell ye, she is a bonnie lass-and went to talk with the Piper. The Weather Wizard showed up a few seconds later, and I saw soomthing I never wanted to see: him in a dress. “What are ye supposed tae be, me gran?” The Wizard scowled.“I’m a witch!” I looked at him oddly. “Ye could have been a werewolf, and ye decided tae be a witch?”“It’s thematic! You know: wizards are magic; witches are magic….” I laughed. “Look, if ye want to dress up like a lassie, ye kin. Just donae expect me tae understand why.” The Wizard stormed off, and the Top arrived on the lawn, dressed as a gigantic top. Scudder laughed so hard that he had tae sit down, and I laughed pretty heartily myself. “What is so amusing?” the Top asked. Naebody bothered to explain that it was because he wasnae cooperating with the theme, because we all knew he wouldnae listen. “They’re just being stupid, sweetie pie. You look amazing,” the Glider said. (I’m nae sure if she meant it or if she was just trying to calm him doon.) Luckily for the Top, Heat Wave decided to show up at this point, and his costume made Captain Boomerang laugh so hard he wet himself and made me laugh so hard that I had to join Scudder on the ground, so everyone forgot about him. “Why are you wearing a tutu?” Captain Cold asked (as soon as he was capable of speech again.)“Well, I was gonna be Frankenstein, but Digger stole my idea, and I didn’t have any other ideas, so I decided that me in a tutu was scarier than any monster,” Heat Wave replied. I looked him over again and immediately wished I had nae doon it. He was right; the sight of a 6’6”, 250 pound man in a frilly pink tutu is more terrifying than any monster. His logic seemed to work on everyone else, too, because Captain Cold quickly changed the subject. “Okay, are we ready?” Scudder raised an eyebrow. “To break into the creepy ghost house? No, but I know I’m doing it anyway,” he replied. (At the time, I thought that he was being a wet blanket, but as it turned out, he was right to be a tad worried.) “As long as we’re bringing flashlights, I suppose so,” the Piper said. (He had been against going to the haunted house, tae, but he had been opposed to it because of some kid who had died there back in the 90s because the house didnae have lights, not because of Scudder’s ghosties, which he didnae believe in. Because of that, he had changed his tune after Cold promised him that he could bring a flashlight if he wanted tae.)“Then let’s go,” Captain Cold ordered.  With that, Scudder and I transported everyone to the house via Mirror Realm. Having only lived in Central City for a year, I had never seen it before, and I was a tad freaked out by what I saw. The house itself wasnae too bad, but the creepy dead grass and trees, and the graveyard in the back of the house, were spooky, especially under the huge moon.“‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here?’ Really?” Golden Glider said scornfully, pointing at a sign in the yard. Her brother shrugged. “Probably some kid’s idea of a prank.” Piper, meanwhile, was looking nervously at a different sign. “Cold, this sign is from the government. It says the building is condemned. Are you sure we’ll be safe to go in there?” he asked. “Since when do we care what the government thinks?” Captain Cold replied. “When a building might collapse on our heads!” Piper exclaimed. “And when it’s haunted!” Scudder added, sounding happy to have an excuse tae go home. Captain Cold sighed and rolled his eyes. “Piper, if the house seems like it’s gonna collapse on us, we’ll just have Scudder and the Scotsman transport us out. We’ll be fine,” he said. Piper seemed to relax.“Good point,” he said. Sam  didn’t look as calm. “But what about the ghosts?” he asked. “Sam, ghosts don’t exist. They’re a product of overactive imagination and too many horror stories,” the Piper replied, only for Captain Boomerang to join the conversation.“They are too real! My second cousin’s ex-girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend’s dad’s third cousin’s aunt saw one!” he exclaimed, sounding offended. Piper didnae look convinced. “That’s hardly conclusive proof of-” he began, only tae be cut off by Captain Cold. “Enough about ghosts! Let’s go inside already!” he exclaimed. With that, Trickster picked the lock on the door. He pushed it open, producing a loud CREAK, and then we went inside. 

Weather Wizard: I’m going to tell you a secret: the witch costume was an accident. I swear, I thought I ordered the Dark Wizard costume, but when I opened up the package a week before Halloween, I found a witch costume instead, and because I didn’t have another two weeks to wait (or any more money) I was stuck with it and just decided to pretend it had been my plan the whole time to save face. (At least it matched the theme, unlike cats, tops, and ballerinas.) But I digress. So, after the Trickster picked the lock, we went inside and Piper and Cold turned on their flashlights. The hallway contained cobwebs and a moth-eaten carpet, but nothing else.

“We'll cover more ground if we divide and conquer, so let’s split up into groups and search this place for valuables. Lisa, you’re with me. Scudder, you’re with McCulloch. Mardon, you’re with Rory. Rathaway, you’re with Jesse. Dillon, you’re with Harkness,” Cold barked.

“WE’RE SPLITTING UP? That’s like the #1 way to die in a haunted house!” Scudder whined. (As it turned out, he was right to be worried, but at the time, I thought he was overreacting.) Hartley sighed.

“Sam, ghosts do not exist,” he said. (He was wrong.) Then he turned to Cold and asked,

“How will the Mirror Masters be able to transport us to safety if we’re not in the same part of the house?” Cold rolled his eyes.

“Piper, unless there’s an earthquake, the Mirror Masters will be able to get to all of us before the house falls. They basically have access to a teleportation system. We’ll be fine,’” Cold replied. Piper didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t keep arguing.

“Why am I with Harkness? He’s an uncultured boor,” Dillon demanded.

“Well, I ain’t too fond of you, either, you wowser!” Harkness yelled.

“Why can’t I be with Roscoe, Lenny?” Lisa asked. Cold sighed wearily.

“Fine. Dillon, you’re with Lisa. Harkness, you’re with me. Sam, stop whining. Now let’s go!” Cold exclaimed. McCulloch saluted, dragged Scudder into a mirror, and vanished, and the rest of us fanned out to search the house. After walking through some more cobwebby hallways, Mick and I reached what I assumed was the living room. The room was filled with decaying furniture and mysterious old knicknacks, everything was covered in cobwebs, and part of the roof had fallen in. Seeing this, I had to wonder if the Piper had been right about the dangers of the building.

“How long do you think it’s been since someone touched any of this?” Mick asked me.

“If I had to guess, I’d say at least forty years,” I replied. I glanced out the window and noticed that a cloud had covered part of the moon and that the rest of it had turned red, and I shuddered. “Mick, there’s a blood moon.” I said quietly.

“So? They talked about that on the news,” Mick replied as he started pawing through the knicknacks laying on the floor.

“Never mind,” I said quickly as I joined him. I didn’t want him to think I was scared or anything. Several minutes later, we were still sorting through things and had found nothing but a broken teacup, a broken porcelain doll, and a dusty beaded shawl.

“I hope the whole house ain’t like this. If it is, Captain Cold’ll be mad,” Mick said. I shrugged.

“That’s his problem, not mine.” I heard a rumble of thunder in the distance, and, a few seconds later, the sobs of a child. Mick looked up from the floor in shock.

“Did you hear that?” he asked me.

“The thunder, or the kid crying?”

“The kid crying!” I nodded.

“Yeah, I heard it too. Why?”

“Because we need to go help that kid!” he replied. I rolled my eyes.

“Mick, we’re here to get rich, not help some kid.” Mick ignored me and pulled me in the direction of the crying sound, despite my attempts to break free from his grasp. We had gotten halfway across the living room when we saw a little girl. Her hair was in...uh, ringlets, I think they’re called?-and her dress came down to the floor. She was crying (of course) and Mick went over to her.

“Hey, there, little one. Are you lost?” he asked gently. I thought about leaving Mick with the girl and continuing to search for loot, but there was something about the little girl that made it impossible for me to pull away, and NOT in a “she’s so small and helpless” way. Mick reached out to put his hand on the girl’s shoulder-and his hand went straight through her! My knees went weak under me, and then the world went black. When I came to, I found myself on a dusty couch. I looked around the room and saw Mick waving good-bye to the vanishing ghost.

“Oh, hey, Mark. Glad to see you up-although there wasn’t really a reason for you to faint like that. Georgia was just worried that we were gonna hurt her doll. When I told her we weren’t, she cheered right up and went away,” he said cheerfully.

“The ghost has a name? And is friendly?” I asked. Mick nodded.

“I don’t even think she knew she was dead. Poor little thing,” he said, and I sighed in relief.

“In that case, let’s get back to work. If she’s the only ghost here, we’ve got nothing to worry about,” I said. (Famous last words.) With that, the two of us continued our search of the living room.

Trickster: The Piper and I- James Jesse, con artist extraordinaire-decided to investigate the attic. I’m a horror movie junkie, so if I’m breaking into a haunted house, what better place to get that adrenaline rush than the attic? Piper and I climbed three sets of narrow, creaky, cracked, cobwebby stairs to the attic (although Piper got winded halfway up the second flight and I had to drag him up the last one). Then I opened the door to see lots of cobwebs, a shattered mirror, a broken window, an old, rusted bedframe, some old-fashioned cabinets, a sword, an old rocking horse (sadly, it was too small for me), and a bunch of other old stuff. The roof was low, and it was really dark. My heart pounded, but in a good way.

“This is so much better than the fake haunted houses! We should go here every year!” I exclaimed. Piper swept his flashlight from left to right, and then started examining the boring knick knacks that were lying around. I pulled out a yo-yo and some bubble gum and waited eagerly for the walls to start dripping blood. After about two minutes, Piper pulled a stack of old papers out of one of the cabinet drawers.

“James, these are from the Civil War!” he exclaimed excitedly. I yawned.

“So?” I asked. Piper looked shocked.

“James, these are valuable historical documents! If they’re really as old as they look, they could provide priceless information about the role of Central City in the Civil War!”

“Can they summon a ghost?” Piper sighed.

“No. They cannot.” I blew a particularly large bubble.

“Then I’m not interested. Let’s find something that CAN summon a ghost!” Piper rolled his eyes.

“James, you’re not going to find something that can summon a ghost, because ghosts-” Suddenly, the windows rattled and we heard a loud moan.

“Don’t exist?” Piper squeaked. Five seconds later, a transparent man with a noose around his neck appeared and floated towards us. Piper screamed and bolted down the stairs, and I whooped with joy and followed him, narrowly missing the ghost’s clammy hands.

“Catch me if you can, you stupid ghost!” I yelled. I followed the Piper to the second floor and into a spooky old bathroom, complete with dusty mirror, a big tub with clawed feet, a broken toilet, and a sink. Mold was growing in the sink and on the walls, and I grinned. This day just kept getting better and better! Piper slammed the door and locked it behind us.His chest was heaving and he looked exhausted. (Rich kids don’t have much reason to be athletic.)

“You were saying?” I asked ‘sweetly’. Piper gave me a death glare.

“NOT the time!” Piper said. I laughed.

“Do you really think a locked door will keep out a ghost? It can’t even keep us out!” I asked him. Piper’s face went white, and he ran over to the dirty mirror.

“Sam! McCulloch! Get us home now!” he yelled. There was no response.

“Piper, you know the Mirror Realm doesn’t work that way. You can only talk to them through it if they want you to, and if they haven’t had the good luck to run into a ghost, they won’t be able to guess that you might want them to pick us up.” I said as I played with my yo-yo. Piper whimpered and buried his head in his hands, then started muttering incomprehensibly as I whistled merrily.

“How can you be so happy?” Piper demanded after a few minutes.I grinned.

“Kid, we’re being chased by a real, honest-to-goodness ghost! It doesn’t get more awesome than that!” Just then, the ghost drifted through the door, and I pulled out my camera and started snapping pictures as Piper screamed.

“We’regoingtodiewe’regoingtodiewe’regoingto die !” He darted to the door, fumbled with the lock, and opened it just as the ghost brushed his clammy fingers against his back. He screamed louder and ran down the hall. I snapped a few more photos, stuck my tongue out at the ghost,and followed Piper. The ghost roared angrily and flew after me. I caught up with Piper after about a minute and lead him into a dumbwaiter, then slammed the door behind us.

“James, how is this closet preferable to hiding in the bathroom? The ghost can still walk through walls!” Piper demanded.

“Piper, YOU’RE the one who had all the servants. Shouldn’t you know what a dumbwaiter is?”

“I know what a dumbwaiter is,I have just never seen one before. I was not allowed to spend time with the servants.You can hardly blame me for mistaking it for a closet. Besides, my point still stands: why would hiding in here keep us safe from the ghost?” I laughed.

“Piper, that ghost is Robert Jackson, who hung himself because he wasn’t rich anymore and gave up the love of his life for money! Entering the dumbwaiter that the servants used would be beneath him. As long as we’re in here, we’re safe. For a guy who’s college educated, you sure are stupid,” I explained. Piper frowned.

“You were taking selfies with the ghost, and I’M stupid?” he yelled. I smiled “innocently”.

“I never said I wasn’t stupid...but I’m not a graduate from Harvard, either. But I knew how to save us from the ghost, and you didn’t,” I replied. Hartley sighed wearily.

“Whatever you say, James...but how did you know what a dumbwaiter is? You thought that the American Civil War started in 1961 until last month, so you cannot have known about them from history, and you were not wealthy, so you cannot have had servants who used one,” he asked.

“My Nonna Gianna was a maid for a wealthy family in Italy when she was a girl, and she used a dumbwaiter when she worked for them,” I explained.

“Wait...you’re Italian?” Hartley asked.

“Sí. Well, Italian-American, anyhow.My paternal grandparents immigrated from Italy in 1935 after Mussolini took over and invaded Ethiopia. When they got to America, they joined the Big Circus because my Nonno Antonio had been an acrobat in Italy. They had a whole lot of kids, and my dad was the youngest. He was born in 1955, and he married my mother, who was a second-generation Italian immigrant herself, in 1980. I was born eight years later,” I explained.

“But your name is James Jesse! That doesn’t sound remotely Italian!” Hartley protested.

“Hel-lo! My nonni were Italian immigrants performing for the American public at the height of World War II! They took stage names: Jesse for the last name, and Rosie and Jared for their first names. By the end of the war, they’d gotten so famous under the Jesse name that they couldn’t really change it back to their real one, so they just kept the stage name. My dad’s real name was Alessandro, but he called himself Jacob. My mother’s name really was Helen, though, because her parents had given her an American name. My real name’s actually Giovanni Giuseppe. How’s that for a mouthful?” I exclaimed.

“Sai parlare italiano?” Piper asked.

“Nonni, nonna, nonno, pizza, spaghetti, Venice, Rome, sí, il Dulche, Mamma Mia, madre, padre,  nipote, figlia, figlio,Ti amo, caro, Coinvolgimi, bella noche, Dov'è la birra? That’s all the Italian I know. Well, that and a lot of swear words,” I replied.

“En d’autres termes, tu sais autant d’italien comme vous le français?” Piper asked. I looked at him oddly.

“English?”

“So, in other words, you know as much Italian as you do French?” he replied.

“Yeah, pretty much. Not everyone can afford tutors for twenty languages,” I said.

“I only speak six languages-Spanish, French, German, Italian, Japanese, and Mandarin Chinese, and I can only write in the first four. I’m passable in Arabic and Russian, too, but I’d hardly say I can speak twenty languages.” I grinned evilly.

“Let’s go find some more ghosts!” I exclaimed.

“No! I’m staying right here, where it’s safe,” Piper yelled.

“Spoilsport,” I said. I started using my yo-yo again.

Captain Cold: So, as I guess you already know, I ended up partnered with Captain Koala, because he and Roscoe insisted on being stubborn morons. I wanted to look for the safe, but Digger insisted that we go to the kitchen because he was hungry, and, since Digger seems to have an immunity to food poisoning, I figured it would probably be safe to let him eat 85-year-old food, and feeding him would get him to shut his big mouth besides. Digger, who practically has an internal homing device for food, found the kitchen in about a minute flat. The kitchen was dusty, covered in cobwebs, and filled with a lot of rusted-out junk, and it was so dark that, without my flashlight, I don't think I would've been able to see two feet in front of me. It was a little creepy, I’m not gonna lie. But I don’t scare easy, so I started pawing around for valuables while Digger found the world’s oldest box of crackers and started digging in. I found a bunch of silver spoons and shoved them into my bag…and then something weird happened. A really attractive lady appeared out of basically nowhere and walked right through me like she couldn’t even see me. It felt like when I accidentally shot myself with my cold gun, and I frowned. Ghosts weren’t supposed to exist. However, I had business to do, so I ignored the ghost lady and went back to my work. Digger, on the other hand, didn’t take the ghost so well. He let out a string of Australian swear words, yelled something about a “ghost sheila” (knowing him, it was probably the exact opposite of polite), grabbed his crackers, and started to run. I grabbed him by his scarf before he could exit the room.

“Let me go, you bloody loon! You’ve got kangaroos loose in your top paddock if you want to stay here with a ghost, Cold!” Digger yelled.

“Stop freaking out, Digger. She doesn’t have any weapons, she’s not dripping blood, and she’s not bad to look at besides. Just ignore her. We have work to do.” Digger looked closer at the ghost and grinned.

“Bloody oath! She is a beautiful Sheila, ain’t she?”

“Yeah, she’s pretty. I just said that. Now get to work.” I said. Digger ignored me and walked over to the ghost.

“G’day, Sheila. I’m Captain George Harkness of the Australian Secret Service. Who are you?” he asked. (He tells every girl he takes a fancy to that he worked/works for the Australian Secret Service. It’d be a great pick up line if it wasn’t a total lie.) I rolled my eyes as I helped myself to some fine china plates. Was Digger seriously hitting on a ghost?

“Is Australia a northern state, Master Harkness?” the ghost asked. She sounded terrified, and had an accent I couldn’t quite place. Digger laughed.

“Oz? In the North? Sheila, it’s called the Land Down Under for a reason,” he replied. The ghost looked terrified and started to cry. I tried valiantly to ignore the sound and shoved the remainder of the china into my bag.

“What’re you crying for, Sheila?” Digger asked, sounding annoyed.

“B-b-because if you a Southern soldier, you gonna take me and my baby back to slavery!” I noticed that she was, indeed, carrying a baby and grimaced. I did NOT have time for dealing with this crud. Digger walked back over to me.

“I didn’t notice she had an anklebiter. She’s a lovely sheila, but not enough for me to want to be a daddy. And why’s she wailing about slavery?” he asked.

“How should I know? I dropped out of high school at 14, and I don’t have many dealings with ghosts,” I replied in annoyance as the ghost’s wailings got louder. She moved rapidly toward Digger and fell on her knees.

“Please, don’t take my baby, Master Harkness. Let him be free, please, please!” she begged. Digger shot me a pleading look, and I sighed wearily. How did Digger get himself-and me- into these situations?

“Look, lady, we don’t want you or your baby. Now go on, shoo. You and the kid are free, and “Master Harkness�� and I have business to do,” I said. The ghost stared.

“Ain’t you Confederate soldiers?” she asked, obviously confused.. Digger and I looked at each other in equal confusion.

“What’s a Confederate?” Digger asked the ghost.

“They’s the soldiers who be fighting to make their own country,” she replied.

“What’s she talking about?” Digger asked me. I shrugged.

“The Civil War…..I think,” I said, drawing desperately from my memories of 8th grade history.

“You mean the war you Yanks had between each other? What’s that gotta do with this sheila?” I racked my brains for any connection between the two and wished that I hadn’t chosen 8th grade history as the class to sleep through.

“Um...she was talking about slavery…I think the South had slaves...probably….and that was maybe why the war started? Possibly? And-and since you said you were from the South, and she’s probably about as well-educated as we are, she didn’t realize that you meant you were from another continent entirely, and so she thought that you were gonna want to make her a slave again,” I said, feeling pretty proud of myself for figuring all that out.

“Didja hear that, Sheila? I’m not a Confederate, whatever that means! Australia’s an island. It ain’t part of America. Now, it’s London to the brick that I’m dangerous, so you probably wanna steer clear of me, but I’m not gonna be taking you to slavery, neither. And, hey, if you got any single friends without anklebiters,, tell ‘em t’ look up Captain Harkness, will ya?” Digger told her cheerfully.

“I..I’m free?” she asked quietly.

“As a bird. Now get outta here. You’re safe in this city,” I told her flatly.

“Thank you, sir! Thank you!” she said. She kissed her baby, and they passed through the kitchen wall and vanished into thin air. As soon as she was gone, I glared at Digger.

“Okay, now that you’re done hitting on a ghost, can we get back to work, please?” I asked.

“If you want to, that’s fair dinkum. I’m gonna go back to my chips,” Digger said. He tried to walk back to the table, but I grabbed him by the scarf before he could and forced him to clear out the rest of the valuables while I took a smoke break. He swore colorfully in Australian the entire time, but I ignored him. He was just packing the last of the chinaware away when another ghost, this one holding a gun, showed up. One look at him told me that we were in trouble, and so I ran out of the room, Digger hot on my heels.

Golden Glider: So, while Mick and Marky-Mark were in the living room, James and Hartley were running around like lunatics, and Lenny and Digger were running away from history as much as they were running away from ghosts, Roscoe and I had decided to investigate the backyard. It contained a rotting porch and a small cemetery, one which was surrounded by a wrought iron fence. It was quite dark, because there were no porch lights, but that just made it all the more romantic. As soon as we left the house, I snuggled up close against Roscoe and we both sat down on the one intact porch step. “Isn’t the darkness so romantic?” I asked him. He looked puzzled, and it was adorable. “I believe that the darkness is the absence of light, my darling,” he said. I tittered. “You’re so funny, Roscoe,” I cooed. He smiled. “I am glad I have pleased you, sweetums,” he said. A cloud moved and revealed the moon, big and red and lovely. I pointed at it in excitement. “Roscoe, look at the moon! Isn’t it beautiful? Doesn’t it remind you of us?” I asked. Roscoe looked concerned. “My darling, the moon is a celestial body that revolves around the Earth. I do not see how it can remind you of us. Did no one teach you about the nature of the moon? It is not a human being,” he said. I sighed; having forgotten how literal Roscoe can be. “Roscoe, dear, I was speaking figuratively. I said it was like us because it’s beautiful, just like we are,” I explained. Roscoe’s eyes lit up in understanding. “I see. Forgive my confusion, my darling,” he said. I kissed him on the cheek. “Of course, honey,” I replied. He kissed me on my cheek, and then I kissed him full on the lips. We were still embracing five minutes later, when a young girl in a white dress appeared. She was completely transparent, and stared at us in silence for a few seconds. “Are you lovers?” she asked quietly. “We are indeed, and my Lisa is a goddess among women,” Roscoe replied. Her face fell, and then twisted into fury. “How dare you flaunt your happiness in front of the grave of a poor rejected woman? Is it not enough that I was rejected by my Robert? Is it not enough that I killed myself of despair? Must I be mocked by your love as well? For your impudence, I will make you suffer as I have suffered!” she screamed. She moved over to Roscoe, kissed him on the lips (please don’t ask me HOW) and then disappeared. Roscoe shoved me off his lap violently and stood up. “Get off of me, you wretch!” he spat. The words felt like a blow. “R-R-Roscoe, what….what’s wrong?” Roscoe had never talked to me like that before, and in that moment I saw Lewis-my “father”-in his face. “You are what is wrong! I am a gentleman, and you-you are common trash. Why I was mad enough to kiss you I’ll never understand!” Roscoe said coldly. “What are you saying?” I asked. “I am saying that I have had enough of dating a welfare queen,” Roscoe replied. Normally, I would have struck back, but I was so bewildered by his behavior that I just stared at him. After a few seconds, he scowled. “What are you staying for, you pathetic wretch? Leave me!” he ordered, and I found my tongue. “No, Roscoe. I am staying right here with you. You may not think you love me anymore, but you will not drive me away. I won’t give you the pleasure of ordering me around like a dog,” I said. “Why not? You are a dog,” Roscoe spat. I moved to slap him, but before I could, we were interrupted by another ghost, this one wielding a old-timey gun, who charged at us. I kicked at the ghost on impulse, but, of course, it went straight through him. While I was distracted, Roscoe abandoned me, but after I regained my balance, I rushed after him and we went into the dining room. “Stop chasing me, you hussy!” he yelled. “I’m not chasing you, I’m running away from the ghost,” I said. As if on cue, the ghost lifted a table and threw it at Roscoe’s head. I pushed him out of the way and narrowly avoided being hit myself. “Why did you save me? It will not make me love a woman like you,” he demanded harshly. This time, I did slap him. “You’re welcome,” I spat. Roscoe frowned. “You dare lay a hand on a gentleman?” he demanded. Before he could continue, however, the ghost levitated all six chairs in the room, and so I grabbed him and pulled him into the hallway. A series of loud crashes followed almost immediately. “I notice that you don’t complain when I touch you in order to save your life,” I said pointedly. Roscoe sniffed haughtily and didn’t reply. Under normal circumstances, I would have led us to the door and left the house, but with Roscoe acting so strangely, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to leave only for Roscoe to keep treating me like dirt, so I decided to stay and take charge of the situation. “All right, so where do we go from here?” I asked. Roscoe scowled. “‘We’ are not going anywhere. Have I not made my disdain for you utterly clear? I am going to one of the bedrooms to go to sleep, and you-I care not where you go, so long as you stay away from me,” he said. I shook my head firmly. “No, we’re staying together. Even if you really do hate me, from a logical standpoint you’re obviously safer with me around,” I replied. Roscoe pondered this for a few seconds, then nodded. “Very well. We will stick together. However, let me make one thing clear: I do not love you. Our current predicament does not change that,” he said, and I felt my heart break. I slapped him again and said, “Fine! See if I care!” With that, I pulled Roscoe up the stairs to the second floor and into one of the bedrooms, which contained an canopy bed, a broken window, an old armorie, and a painting of a handsome young man. The plaque beneath it read "Robert Jackson, beloved son". It was a picture of the man who had spurned his lover. How appropriate. Roscoe laid down on the bed and fell asleep almost immediately (he is definitely not a night owl) and I started crying. How had this perfectly romantic night gone so badly awry?

Mirror Master II: After a quick trip through the Mirror Realm, Scudder and I arrived in the basement. It was awfy dark doon there, I’m nae gonna lie, but the way Scudder was reacting, you’d have thought it was a torture chamber. He was jumping at every little sound and keeping so close tae me that I was practically tripping over him. After aboot a minute of that, I got fed up with him and decided tae tell him tae grow a spine.

“Stop acting like a wean, will ye? It’s hard eno to move doon here without having tae avoid you,” I told him. He moved about an inch further away.

“If we run into a ghost, I’m feeding you to it,” he muttered. I laughed and started looking for trinkets, while he stayed right next tae the stairs. After a few minutes,  I uncovered an emerald ring.

“This is worth something, int it no?” I asked happily. Scudder shrugged.

“Great, you’ve found your prize. Now let’s get out of here!” he said.

“Not yet! I need a bigger haul than this!” I replied. Scudder frowned.

“Look here, you second-rate Mirror Master. I am not about to have my brain turned into soup by a ghost just so that you can sell two rings instead of one. We’re going upstairs now,” he said.

“Who are ye calling a second-rate Mirror Master? I use the Mirror Realm better than ye ever could, ye minger!” I yelled.

“You don’t even know how it works. You just swiped my equipment, you Glaswegian thug!” Scudder replied. Then I punched him, and he punched me, and we got into a fist fight. He was trying tae get oot of my stranglehold when soomthing weird happened: a ghostie showed up. You ken those drawings of fat rich people? It looked like that. I was so surprised that I let Scudder go, and he screamed like a lassie and dove intae the Mirror Realm. Me? I just froze. I didnae have a clue how to fight a ghostie, so I did soomthing pure stupid: I waved at it!  The ghostie levitated a lamp and threw it at me head, only narrowly missing me. I dove intae the mirror after Scudder. He was panicking.

“I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die; please don’t let me die please please please don’t let me die!”

“Calmy doony, Scudder. The ghostie canae come intae the Mirror Realm,” I said. Ten seconds later, the ghostie came intae the Mirror Realm.

“You just had to say it!” Scudder wailed.

“Dinae just stand there, run!” I yelled. Both of us took off running, and only stopped when the ghostie vanished. I grinned.

“We did it! We escaped the ghostie!” I yelled. Scudder smiled slightly, but then he looked around and his smile vanished.

“Oh, no. This is bad, this is bad, this is really bad,” he said.

“What do ye mean? We escaped from the ghostie!” I replied.

“Look around you! Do you recognize any of this?” I looked around, and realized that we were in big  trouble: I didnae recognize anything around me, and I ken most of  the Mirror Realm like the back of my hand.

“We’re lost,” I said.

“No duh, really? I had no idea,” Scudder replied sarcastically.  I tried tae punch him for that, but he dodged me swing.

“I don’t see why you’re punching at me. I was against coming to the creepy ghost house from the start, and if we had stayed home and watched A Nightmare on Elm Street like I suggested, we wouldn’t be in this mess! But did you-or anyone-listen to me? Oh, no! “Ghosts don’t exist, Sam.” “Stop being such a wimp, Scudder.” “We’ll be fine.”  “Stop being such an idiot, Scudder.” Well, WHO’S THE IDIOT NOW?” he yelled hysterically, and I wished that Captain Cold hadnae put me with him, because he looked downright loony.

“Ah am, all right? Now help me find a way oot of here!” Sam laughed weakly.

“Find a way out of the Mirror Realm? You might as well tell me to beat Superman in a fist fight. It’s impossible. There’s a reason that I never go out of sight of the mirror portals: the Mirror Realm is so vast that if you get lost, you’ll probably never find your way back to them-and they’re our only way out of the Mirror Realm. I can’t get us out without the portals, and, thanks to you, Len, and that ghost, I have no idea where they are. Heck, I don’t even know where WE are!” he exclaimed.

“The Land  of Abstract Art, mebbe?” I suggested. We were surrounded by swirls of colors and strange shapes, ye ken? Scudder didnae seem to find that as funny as I’d thought it was.

“Really? We’re lost in a never-ending mirror maze, and you’re cracking jokes?” I shrugged.

“Aye. Beats whining aboot it, ye jerrie.” To tell the truth, I was just as freaked out as Scudder was, but I wasnae about to let him know it.

“You’re a lunatic,” he spat.

“Ah am’nae!” I yelled back. I punched  him, he punched me, and we ended up in another fistfight that only ended when both of us collapsed from exhaustion. Apparently, all the running had taken a lot oot of us. Scudder basically ended up falling asleep on my lap, and I was too tired to move him. After aboot a minute of embarrassment, I fell asleep tae.

Heat Wave: Hi, there. I’m Mick Rory, but you can call me Heat Wave. Everyone does. So, uh, while everyone else was running away from angry ghosts, Weather Wizard and I were still searching for valuables, and not finding any. After about an hour of searching, I got bored, pulled out my flamethrower, and lit the sofa on fire. It was beautiful and pretty and warm, and I decided to touch it. Bad idea, because I was still wearing the tutu, and..well...tutus are really flammable. The fire didn’t exactly hurt me (the prison doc tells me my skin’s so badly burned by this point that it doesn’t feel pain anymore), but it did freak out Weather Wizard, who doused me (and the sofa) with what felt like a gallon of water.

“Hey! You put out my beautiful sofa fire!” I complained. The Wiz scowled.

“In case you didn’t notice, YOU were on fire, too!” he said angrily.

“And now I’m sopping wet AND don’t have my precious fire. I don’t see how that’s an improvement,” I replied. In response, the Wiz beaned me over the head with his wand. (He doesn’t have a good swing, so it  didn’t really hurt.)

“Being wet doesn’t kill you, you big oaf! You know what does? BEING ON FIRE!” His face was red and his eyes were crackling with electricity, so I knew he was pretty upset. Because he can create tornadoes, I decided to apologize.

“You’re right, Mark, and I’m sorry. Thanks for saving me,” I said. His eyes stopped crackling.

“Just don’t do it again,” he said. I nodded and sat down on what was left of the sofa, and Wiz went over to the window and gazed out of it.

“A storm’s brewing,” he said. I don’t think he was trying to sound spooky, but with his tone of voice and his witch costume, he did. A few seconds later, lightning flashed and thunder boomed. Wiz opened the window and leaned out. The wind whipped his (impossibly spiky) hair, and he stared at something in silence. After a few seconds, it got creepy, and so I went over to him and dragged him away from the window. I closed it as soon as he wasn’t in the way.

“Come on, Mark, let’s go to another room. Captain Cold’ll be mad if we don’t find something valuable,” I said. When he didn’t move, I picked him up, threw him over my shoulder, and took him up the stairs and into a bedroom which looked like it might have belonged to a little kid at some point, since there were a bunch of old toys in it. One of the windows was broken, and everything, including the toys, a rocking chair, and a crib, was covered in dust and cobwebs. It was very spooky, although it was in better shape overall than the living room had been. I started looking for something valuable, and the Wiz made a beeline for the window.

“Hey, knock that off! Just ‘cause you’re the Weather Wizard doesn’t mean that you get to look at the weather and not help me!” I said. Wiz turned around and locked eyes with me.

“The storm...it’s an ill wind that blows no good,” he muttered. It was almost like he was in a trance or something. And then it happened: a ghost appeared. Now, it wasn’t super gory-really, it just looked like a transparent teenager-but let me tell you: it was scarier than anything I’ve ever seen in a horror movie. At almost the same time, it started to rain heavily. The Wiz passed out again, and the ghost advanced on me. I decided that discretion was the better part of valor (what? I saw Shakespeare on TV one time), threw the Wiz over my shoulder, and ran downstairs and out of the house with him. (Question: Why is it that he was WAY heavier when he was unconscious than when he was conscious?) I wanted to make Captain Cold happy, but I wasn’t gonna fight a ghost just for some loot. As soon as we got out the door, the ghost stopped following us, so I dumped the Wiz on the ground and began what proved to be a LONG wait for the Mirror Masters to come pick us up. Wiz woke up about five minutes after we got out of the house and cleared up the rain (thank goodness), then took a look at me and smiled.

“You should see yourself. Your tutu’s unrecognizable and I can see your underwear,” he said. I felt my cheeks heat up. Man, that was embarrassing.

“Yeah, well, you fainted twice, so I think we’re even,” I replied. The Wiz flushed, and looked at the ground. A few seconds later, he yawned, then produced a wind that dried up the ground.

“I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me up when Scudder shows up,” he said. With that, he curled up on the ground and dozed off. After a couple seconds, I sat down next to him, and, after a few minutes of trying and failing to come up with an excuse for not finding any loot, I dozed off too. (One of the benefits of being….less than legally employed is that you learn to fall asleep anywhere.) I woke up about twenty minutes later when the Wiz poked me in the side with his wand.

“Huh?” I asked drowsily.

“Where are the Mirror Masters at? Surely they’ve gotta be finished by now,” he whined. I shrugged.

“Maybe they’re still looking for stuff. Or maybe they hit the jackpot and are still gathering up all the stuff they found,” I suggested.

“Well, they better hurry up. I’m bored and tired and I want to get back to my nice soft bed,” the Wiz replied.

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon,” I said. Then I fell back to sleep and was dead to the world for another forty minutes.

Pied Piper: After being trapped in the dumbwaiter for about ten minutes, I turned off my hearing aids. Not being able to hear is never a pleasant experience, but it was highly preferable to listening to a bored Trickster sing “This Is the Song That Never Ends” again and again and again. This solution worked reasonably well until I realized that I very much needed to use the powder room and needed advice as to how to do so without attracting the nightmare creature that wanted to devour my internal organs. Therefore, I had to turn my hearing aids back on, because none of the other Rogues have ever bothered to learn sign language and I had no desire to play charades. As soon as my hearing turned back on, I was greeted with what must have been the fortieth rendition of “This is the Song That Never Ends”.

“James. James. JAMES! I, um, need to use the powder room. Do you have any idea as to how I can do that without meeting the ghost?”

“Depends. What’s a powder room?” He batted his eyes and smiled in the most irritating manner imaginable.

“You know full well what a powder room is!” I exclaimed. James’ smile grew wider as he shook his head.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what you need, Piper,” he said. I sighed and gave in.

“It’s a restroom,” I said, blushing terribly. James laughed and did a particularly impressive trick with his yo-yo.

“Oh, so you need to pee! Why didn’t you say so?” he asked.

“Because my parents did not allow me to discuss bodily functions in public. Ever,” I replied.

“Did your parents allow you to breathe without their say-so?” I frowned. My parents had indeed controlled my days down to the second before they disowned me, but I didn’t want to admit it, so I said,

“Never mind that. Just tell me how to use the powder room without getting killed!”

“Oh, that’s easy. I’ll close my eyes, and you can do your business in here,” James replied. As I did not have access to a mirror, I cannot be sure about this, but I believe that I blushed even harder.

“No!”

“Why not? You can even blindfold me if you want. Believe me, I do NOT want to watch that,” James replied. I scowled.

“Because that is disgusting, James.”

“I don’t see why. It’s what we did in the circus,” he said, sounding genuinely confused.

“This is not the circus!”

“Well, it isn’t exactly Rathaway manor, either. I’m not saying that it isn’t gross, but this place is in bad condition already. You can’t make it much worse,” James replied.

“I think I would rather face the ghost,” I said. James laughed.

“I can’t believe that you’re more scared of breaking your parents’ rules of being “proper” and pretending that you don’t have bodily functions than you are of a literal ghost,” he said.

“This has nothing to do with my parents!”

“Somebody’s in de-ni-al!” James singsonged.

“I’m not in denial. Just because I do not want to be Digger does not mean that this has anything to do with my parents,” I insisted.

“Yep, definitely in denial,” James said. I ignored him and pulled out the mirror that I had brought with me in order to contact the Mirror Masters.

“Sam! McCulloch! If you can hear me, I need you to get me-and James-out of this house!” Nothing happened, and I sighed wearily. There went that idea. About three minutes later, I decided that I couldn’t wait any longer. I opened the doors nervously and, not seeing anything, bolted down the hall to the powder room, used it, and was on my way back when the ghost reappeared. I screamed like a little girl (which is quite humiliating in hindsight) and just froze up in terror. If I had been alone, I don’t want to know what would have happened next, but, luckily for me, James showed up at exactly this point and yelled,

“Hey, Casper! Over here, you preposterous poltergeist!” The ghost howled and started chasing him, and he whooped with glee and ran down the hall in the direction of the staircase. Thirty seconds later, I heard a loud cry of pain from James. I bolted to the top of the stairs and saw that one of the steps had given way under James, and that he had clearly broken his ankle. Worse, the ghost was floating over top of him, and, for the first time, he looked scared. I stared at the scene for a few seconds, unsure of what to do, and then pulled out my flute and started playing it in the desperate hope that its hypnotic powers would work on a ghost. I tried to ignore the fact that my knees were shaking under me as I played, and, after a few seconds, the ghost stopped howling and floated away from James. I carefully went down the stairs to my partner, still playing, then knelt down beside him and put the flute away.

“Do NOT do that again! You scared the daylights out of me!” I snapped. James smiled.

“Aww, you do care,” he said. All his fear seemed to be forgotten and I shook my head in amazement. He had almost been killed (possessed?) by a ghost, and he was already making jokes.

“I did owe you. After all, if you had not attracted the ghost’s attention, I might have been killed. How’s your ankle?” I asked.

“It hurts like the dickens,” he replied.

“Can you walk?” James stood up shakily, winced, and quickly sat back down, then smiled and said,

“I can walk on my hands!” He proceeded to demonstrate. In spite of myself, I laughed a little.

“Can you keep that up long enough to get to the front door?” I asked him after I stopped laughing.

“Probably. Why?”

“Because we are leaving. I don’t know how long my hypnosis will last, but it will wear off eventually, and I do not want to be here when it does,” I explained.

“Aww, but I wanted to see some more ghosts!”

“Can you run on your hands?” I asked. James grinned slightly.

“Maybe?” he asked. I shook my head.

“Let’s go. We can watch The Shining when we get home if you want,” I said. (It’s James’ favorite horror movie, and very useful as a bribe.) James’ grin widened.

“You know me well, Piper. Let’s go home,” he said. With that, we left the house-only to find Mick and Mark asleep on the lawn; Mick in little more than his underwear.

“There’s something you don’t see every day,” James said.

“What, Mick and Mark sleeping on the lawn or Mick in his underwear?” I asked.

“Both, but mainly Mick in his underwear. That’s an image I’ll never get out of my mind,” he replied.

“Me, neither,” I agreed. After a few seconds, James sat down on the ground and pulled out a pack of bubble gum.

“I swallowed my gum when that step broke under me. Want some gum?” he asked.

“I suppose,” I replied. James handed me a stick of gum and then took out one for himself as well. I sat down next to him, unwrapped the stick of gum, and started chewing it. James blew a huge bubble.

“How do you do that?” I asked.

“Blow bubbles? Haven’t you ever had bubble gum before?” he asked. I shook my head.

“My parents said that gum was for plebeians,” I replied.

“Well, if they really did cut you off, you are one now, so that shouldn’t be a concern anymore,” he said. I smiled.

“You have a point. So, carnie, how about teaching this ex-patrician how to properly blow bubbles with bubble gum?” I asked.

“You’re on!” James exclaimed.

Captain Boomerang: I hate all the bloody ghosts in that bloody ghost house! (I also hate Cold for making me go into the ghost house, but that’s beside the point.) After Cold and I ran out of the kitchen, the ghost chased us through several rooms and to the basement stairs. We exchanged a brief look and ran down the stairs into the basement.  

“If that bloody ghost follows us, I’m gonna be as mad as a cut snake,” I said. I was tired of all the running, tired of risking my life, and even more tired of not getting to eat my chips.

“I think he’s stopped chasing us,” Cold said as he looked around. Then he gasped.

“What is it?” I demanded. Cripes, I need a coolie , I thought.

“The Mirror Masters...at least one of them left their Mirror Gun here. It’s their only way back into our dimension. They’d never leave it here.”

“Well, if they’ve carked it, there’s nothin’ we can do. Let’s take our loot and leave this spooky place before another ghost shows up!” I said. I thought that I’d made a good point, but Cold disagreed and punched me in the face.

“We don’t  have any proof that they’re dead, so we’re goin’ in after them. They’re too valuable to lose, and besides, the Rogues don’t abandon their own,” he said. Cold activated the portal to the Mirror Realm and dragged me inside by the scarf. As soon as I got inside, I had a sickie and vomited all over the floor.  

“Scudder? McCulloch? It’s Cold. Where are you?” Cold yelled. No answer.  I stopped vomiting and looked around, then noticed something shiny. I went over to it and discovered that it was an emerald ring.

“Cold, have a Captain Cook at this! We’re rich!” I exclaimed. Cold looked at it...and went pale.

“Oh, no….one of the Mirror Masters must have been spooked by something and dropped it-and if they ran that way and were so panicked that they didn’t notice that they dropped a valuable thing like that, then they’re lost in the Mirror Realm,”  he said.

“Okay. They’ve carked it. Oh, well. Let’s go home,”  I replied. Cold shook his head.

“No. We’re gonna find them,” he said.

“Cold, you just said that they were lost in the Mirror Realm. If THEY got lost, we’ll get lost, too,” I protested. Cold didn’t listen.

“We ain’t gonna get lost, because we’re going to make a trail to follow,” he said. He drew one the spoons out of the bag and placed it on the ground next to his feet. Then he moved about ten feet forward and did the same thing, and did it again about seven feet after that. He’s got kangaroos loose in his top paddock for sure, I thought.

“What are you doin’, Cold?”  I demanded.

“I’m making a trail,” he said.

“Outta  spoons ?” I asked.

“Didn’t you ever hear the story of Hansel and Gretel?”

“I don’t read fairy tales. They’re for wusses,” I said.  Cold scowled.

“Look, I have  a little sister, okay? Anyway, Hansel and Gretel didn’t want to get lost in the woods, so they used bread crumbs to mark where they’d been. That way, when they turned around, they’d know which way would take them back to their starting point. This is the same idea, only our markers can’t be eaten by anything,” he said. With that, he started dragging me by my scarf towards the direction he thought the Mirror Masters had taken.

“You know, I can walk on my own,” I said.

“ Maybe so, but if I let you go, you’ll probably  be walking towards the exit, so I’m keeping ahold of you to be on the safe side,” Cold replied. I stuck my tongue out at him, but he ignored it.  After about twenty minutes of walking, we entered the weirdest place I’d ever seen. There were all these bloody weird shapes and colors, and I couldn't tell which way was up. It freaked me out, but for some reason, it didn’t seem to bother Cold at all.

“Cold, this is really freaky. Can we go back now? We’ll never find the Mirror Masters in this crazy place,” I said.

“Shut up, Digger. We are going to find them, and we are not going to stop walking until we either do or run out of silverware,” Cold replied.

“Ace!” I muttered sarcastically.

“What was that?”

“Nothin’,” I lied.

“That’s what I thought.” He dragged me along for about ten more minutes before I opened my big mouth again. (I think that must be some kind of record.)

“Can we stop now ?”  My legs were killing me (not to mention my neck)!

“No. Stop acting like a six-year-old,” Cold replied.  I really need a coolie, i thought.  

“I wouldn’t be actin’ like an anklebiter if you weren’t actin’ like a dictator,” I snapped. Cold punched me in the side and continued to drag me along like a bloody kelpie. After about four more minutes, i decided that I’d had enough of being dragged around and stabbed Cold in the arm with one of my razor-sharp boomerangs. He swore in pain and let me go, and I grabbed the mirror gun and ran towards the exit. Sadly for me, Cold managed to bean me over the head with a plate and knocked me out. When I came to, I awoke to see a pair of unconscious Mirror Masters. Normally, I would’ve been crosser than a frog in a sock that Cold had knocked me out, but at the moment I was too glad that Cold wouldn’t be dragging me through the Mirror Realm anymore to really care.

“You little Ripper! You found them!” I exclaimed happily.

“No thanks to you,” Cold muttered. He shook McCulloch awake.

“Cold? How did ye get in here?” he asked.

“Either you or Sam dropped your Mirror Gun outside of the mirror in the basement, and I used it to get in here,” Cold explained.

“But how did ye find us?”

“Stubbornness, mainly,” Cold replied. I laughed.

“That’d be right!”  I exclaimed. Cold looked at McCulloch oddly.

“Why is Sam sleeping in your lap?” Cold asked.

“ WHAT? ” McCulloch yelled. He quickly moved Sam off his lap and stood up. This woke Sam up, for obvious reasons. Once he realized what had happened, he noticed Cold, gave him a huge hug, and then punched him in the face.

“I’m...getting some mixed messages here,” Cold said.

“I’m happy you found us, because I thought we were going to die here, but I’m about equally angry at you, because you wouldn’t have had to rescue us if you hadn’t decided to take us to the creepy ghost house in the first place,” Sam explained. I laughed. It’s always good to see Cold get taken down a peg, the arrogant knocker.

“I do nae see why you  being here is a good thing. We do nae ken  how to get back to the Mirror Portals from here, we’ll all die here,”  McCulloch said.

“Actually, we won’t. I marked the path we took from the portals with our loot, so we’ll able to get back fine,” Cold replied.  McCulloch grinned, and my stomach growled.

“Can we go home now? I’m hungry,” I asked.

“Ye and me both, Digger,” McCulloch said. Cold nodded.

“Let’s get back to our reality,” he said. With that, we started the long walkabout back to the Mirror Portals.

Top: My nap lasted precisely twenty-five minutes and fifteen seconds. Then I awoke to see Lisa crying quietly. Normally, I would have felt  horrible upon seeing such a sight, but  at the time, I simply felt disgusted.

"Stop sniveling, you piece of gutter trash. I will  not be moved by your feminine wiles,”  I spat. (I have since apologized profusely for this comment, and for all others made under the influence of the ghost, but my darling Lisa is still distrustful of me, and her brother would have beat me to within an inch of my life for them  had she not stopped him.)

“All right. I WILL stop crying. I should have known better than to show weakness in front of a man who’s just like my father,” she replied angrily. If I had been myself, I would have been horrified by this accusation, but as I was, I merely sniffed dismissively.

“I am nothing like your father. He was an alcoholic boor who lived off of welfare for most of his life, and I am a gentleman,”  I said haughtily.

“And yet you’re calling me names just like he did,” Lisa replied. (In hindsight, her self-confidence was quite admirable, but at the time, I found it irritating.)

“Shut your mouth!” I snapped, unable to refute her argument.

“And let you walk all over me? I don’t think so,” Lisa said. Furious, I raised my hand to slap her, but thankfully, the Civil War-era ghost interrupted us before I could. Lisa grabbed me and pulled me out of the room before the ghost began to levitate anything, thereby saving my life for the third time that night.

“I told you not to touch me!” I said icily. In response, Lisa kissed me on the cheek and I pulled away sharply in utter disgust. (I believe that she was trying to make me uncomfortable in an attempt to snap me back to my senses.)

“I just saved your life again , and you want to complain about me touching you? AGAIN?” she yelled.

“I was aware that we were in danger. There was no need for you to touch me,” I replied coldly. The ghost drifted out of the bedroom we had  been in, and  the two of us ran to the stairs-only to find that one of the steps had collapsed. Lisa sighed and slid  down the banister to the bottom of the stairs, and I reluctantly followed her when the ghost appeared behind me and it became apparent that there was no other means of escape. (We were able to keep our balance because my darling Lisa was a figure skater and I am very resistant to vertigo.) We ran back through the dining room and back into the backyard, and were greeted by a most unusual sight. The ghost who had kissed me was holding hands with another ghost, this one with a noose around his neck.

“Oh, darling, you’re back!” she cooed. The other ghost kissed her.

“Yes, and I’ll never leave you again. I’m so sorry that I abandoned you all those years ago. My father was wrong: you were more important than our money ever could have been,”  he said.

‘I forgive you, Robert,”  she replied. Lisa started to cry again.

“Oh, shut up, you sniveling hussy! You are too far beneath me to deserve my sympathy,” I said harshly. Lisa frowned  and dried her tears rather angrily, then elbowed me in the side.

“Where have you been, Robert?”  the  female ghost asked.

“I don’t know. All I remember before seeing you tonight was a lot of anger at something,” the other ghost replied. The female ghost embraced him.

“Oh, well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters,”  she said. They kissed again, and then the female ghost noticed us and frowned.

“Are you the lovers?”  she asked.

“Formerly. I thank you profusely for showing me my folly,”  I said. Lisa nodded sadly.

“Why do you want to know? You can’t possibly make me any more miserable,” she said. The ghost smiled.  

“Because I am going to show you both mercy. Since my happiness has been restored, I will restore your happiness,” she said. She kissed me once again, and all my love for Lisa came flowing back-as did a crushing sense of guilt.

“My darling, I am so sorry for what I said. I don’t know what came over me, but I swear to you that  I do not care how rich you are. You are a goddess, and I adore you. Please, please forgive me,” I pleaded. I felt like an utter cad. Lisa frowned.

“R-Roscoe?” she asked nervously.

“Yes, sweetums,”  I said. I tried to kiss her, but she pulled away.

“Don’t , Roscoe. After what you said to me tonight, I just don’t trust you. How can I be sure that you aren’t saying you don’t care that I’m “gutter trash” only because of your hormones? What if two or three years down the line, you don’t find me attractive anymore? Will you still love me, or will I suddenly become a “welfare queen” again? I still love you, but I can’t trust you anymore,” she asked

“You...you are breaking up with me?”  I was heartbroken and rather tempted to attack the ghost (if that was even possible), but I could not really blame her.

“I’m not sure. Let’s call it a vacation,”  she replied quietly. There was an awkward pause, and then I said,

“In that case, since our date is off, perhaps we should go to the front lawn and wait for the Mirror Masters to take us back to our hideout.”  Lisa nodded, and we left the backyard, walked quickly through the house, and made it to the front lawn of the house without issue. Upon arriving, we saw Mark curled up on the lawn, fast asleep, Mick napping in little more than his underwear ( a sight that will haunt me until my dying day), and James and Piper blowing bubble gum. James waved at us.

“Hi there, lovebirds! How was your date?’ If there is one thing that James is the master of, it is saying things at the most inopportune times.

“Badly,”  Lisa replied. With that, she left my side and sat down next to Mick. James looked at me quizzically.

“It is a very long story that is frankly none of your business,”  I told him. I walked a few feet away from him, sat down, and buried my head in my hands, ashamed of what I had done to the one person in my life I ever cared for. Apparently, I dozed off at some point, because the next thing I remember was the two Mirror Masters arriving alongside Digger and Leonard.

“Look alive, everyone! We’re moving out!” he barked. Five minutes later, we were all back in our hideout (thanks to the Mirror Masters). Lisa immediately ran over to her brother and started sobbing. My stomach twisted with guilt and I looked away.

“Shhh..shh...shhh..Sis, what happened?”  In response, Lisa told him the whole story through hiccups and sobs. When she was finished, Leonard marched over to me.

“ Is this true, Dillon?” he demanded.

“Sadly, yes,”  I replied awkwardly. In response, Cold punched me so hard he knocked me to the ground.

“Then you’re gonna wish you’d never been born. NO ONE hurts my baby sister,”  he snarled. He moved to hit me again, but before he could, Lisa ran over to him and grabbed his arm.

“Lenny, don’ t!  He was under the influence of a ghost!  It wasn’t all his fault,” she said. Cold scowled, but he walked away anyway as Lisa helped me back to my feet.  

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Better than I should be after treating you so terribly,”  I replied.

“It’s good to to have you back, Roscoe,” she said.

“Does this mean that  we’re back on?” I asked eagerly.

“No, Roscoe, I’m afraid not. It’ll  probably be awhile before I feel comfortable around you again,” she said. She left me and went upstairs, and I was left to mentally berate myself for my idiocy.

Mirror Master I: And...that was basically it. We managed to get home alive from the creepy ghost house, everyone changed out of their costumes, and most of us, exhausted, went to bed (except James and Piper, who decided to watch The Shining for some reason.) The next morning, Trickster went to the hospital to get his broken ankle treated, and the rest of us decided to never, ever go to any house that was supposed to be haunted again. A week later, the Flash caught Len trying to fence his loot, so he’s in prison again. Lisa still hasn’t forgiven Roscoe, and James’s ankle is still very broken, but otherwise, things are pretty much back to normal for us Rogues. So, with that in mind-we would like to wish you all a Happy Halloween!- What James said.

FIN

[devlishsmile]

            FORTUNE FAVOURS THE BEAUTIFUL.

araminta charlize de vil é filha de cruella de vil e atualmente está em seu último ano no instituto aether. foi selecionada para a casa imre, está na grade de artesãos e similares e faz parte do grupo de dança contemporânea e do clube de costura.

                    TASK ONE: WHO ARE YOU?

⚜  ╱  FÍSICO

Voz: Tão doce que chega a ser nauseante, pois nada de sua delicadeza é verdadeira. Carregada de um sotaque britânico e uma falsa cordialidade característica, dificilmente levanta a voz ou abandona o tom calmo e sutilmente desafiador.

Idade: 25 anos (faz aniversário em 6 de junho).

Gênero: Feminino cis.

Peso: 49kg.

Altura: 1,56m.

Sexualidade: Assexual e panrromântica (o que significa que, apesar de sentir pouca ou nenhuma atração e vontade sexual, pode gostar de alguém romanticamente, independente de gênero).

Defeitos físicos: Nenhum!, ela certamente diria. Ora, para começar que nada no físico de alguém devia ser apontado como um “defeito”, porém, mesmo que insistissem, ela continuaria a afirmar que não os tem. É extremamente confiante na própria beleza, aquela pessoa que é bonita e sabe que é bonita. Contudo, tendo uma aparência tão bem polida, algo não esperado é que tenha mãos calejadas e ásperas e, por isso, nunca esquece de colocar o creme hidratante na bolsa; é que, como uma costureira de respeito, as mãos de Araminta são suas principais ferramentas, e sua grade curricular (Artesãos & Similares) também exige bastante trabalho manual.

Qualidades físicas: O que não é uma qualidade em seu físico? Com as proporções de uma bonequinha e uma rotina de skincare seguida religiosamente, é impossível que sua beleza passe despercebida. Mas gosta especialmente de seus cabelos longos e negros, os olhos pequenos e redondinhos, e o sorriso de quem está sempre tramando alguma coisa.

É saudável? Talvez não tenha uma dieta tão balanceada, já que come mais doces do que deveria, mas o metabolismo rápido a ajuda. Além disso, pratica dança contemporânea e é muito dedicada às próprias performances, o que auxilia em seu condicionamento físico.

Maneira de andar: Pode não ter um tostão, mas anda como se fosse a dona do lugar. Queixo erguido, coluna ereta e nenhuma pressa (damas não correm, meu amor). 

⚜  ╱  PSICOLÓGICO

Práticas / Hábitos: Chamar as pessoas de “querido”, “amor”, “docinho”, entre outros; criar apelidos; sentar em cima de bancadas e mesas; tamborilar os dedos quando está nervosa ou entediada; constantemente checar a própria aparência no transmissor ou em espelhos; costurar e bordar para amenizar o nervosismo; desenhar no caderno durante a aula; e girar seu anel no dedo enquanto pensa.

Inteligência: Muitas pessoas não sabem, pois, já que ela transparece uma personalidade fútil e despreocupada, costumam presumir que é burra ou desinteressada nos estudos, mas Araminta é uma das melhores aprendizes de seu ano. Gosta de aprender e até mesmo estuda algumas disciplinas de outras grades curriculares, por simples curiosidade. Por outro lado, entedia-se facilmente em sala de aula e prefere estudar sozinha, no conforto de seu dormitório ou no silêncio da biblioteca.

Temperamento: Se está de bom humor e com a mente ocupada, Araminta é muito fácil de se lidar com. Conversa com qualquer um e provavelmente puxará assunto sobre moda, a própria aparência ou as fofocas atuais do castelo, o que são de fato seus interesses, mas também uma forma de manter a fachada de “patricinha burra” que forjara para si mesma. Contudo, se está entediada, pode ser completamente insuportável; atormenta os outros como passatempo e tira gosto ainda maior de mexer com aqueles que revidam, pois, para ela, um bom adversário é o que deixa tudo mais divertido. Ainda há quando está triste ou irritada, e esses momentos são os piores: possui o hábito de descontar as frustrações nos outros e não descansa até ter o que quer. 

O que te faz feliz? Vencer; quando seus esforços rendem bons resultados; dinheiro; roupas bonitas; doces; perceber que mexeu com alguém de alguma forma; surpreender; notas altas; livros; bailes da realeza; tecidos novos; ver a mãe; estar com os amigos.

O que te faz triste? Perder; sentir-se solitária; ser desprezada; ver Cruella sofrer; sujar suas roupas; escolhas de moda duvidosas; atitudes machistas; estereótipos baseados em descendência.

Esperanças: Araminta sempre viu a si mesma como uma futura vilã. Era impossível não imaginar que este seria o resultado de sua jornada em Aether, vivendo com o estigma herdado de sua mãe e sendo a própria pessoa maldosa que é. No entanto, tudo que verdadeiramente deseja é ter sua marca de roupas e poder dar à mãe e a si mesma qualquer coisa que o dinheiro puder comprar (e, em sua visão, isso é quase tudo que existe). Após receber um convite de seu melhor amigo, Hugo, para que seja sua conselheira real uma vez que ele assumir a coroa de Asablanca, Araminta distanciou-se dos pensamentos de vilania e está cada vez mais próxima de realizar seu desejo.

Medos: Que a mãe perca completamente a sanidade mental; que não consiga ter o sucesso com o qual sonha e trazer glória ao sobrenome De Vil outra vez; que seja solitária para sempre; que jamais seja verdadeiramente amada; e, finalmente, canídeos.

Sonhos: Encontrar o próprio conto assim que sair de Aether, e fazer com que jamais seja esquecida; dar uma vida melhor à mãe; ficar rica e famosa; criar a própria família; ser suficiente.

⚜  ╱  ASPECTOS PESSOAIS

Família: A mãe biológica abandonou-a na porta de Cruella, que então descobriu ter uma meia-irmã por parte de pai. Araminta é, assim, sua sobrinha, mas a mulher a adotou e criou como filha. É filha única de Cruella e tem alguns primos, embora não possua muito contato com a família da mãe.

Amigos: Faz amigos com certa facilidade, embora poucos sejam os que de fato considera amigos. E quando digo poucos, quero dizer: dá para contá-los nos dedos das mãos. É extrovertida, mas está cercada por muros de pessimismo e desconfiança. Acredita que a companhia de outros eventualmente a atrasará e, por isso, não mantém muitas pessoas por perto, a menos que 1) tenha se afeiçoado excepcionalmente a elas; 2) goste muito de atormentá-las ou 3) precise delas para obter alguma coisa. Contrariando as expectativas, entretanto, tem amigos de diversas origens, desde filhos de heróis protagonistas a de vilões e ajudantes, e não costuma julgar alguém a partir de sua descendência, e sim de seu caráter. Certo é afirmar que quem torna-se amigo de Araminta De Vil terá sua lealdade e devoção, mesmo que na forma de amor bruto. 

Estado Civil: Namorando o paspalho do Fa Qi Liang.

Terra Natal: Nascida e crescida em Londres, Araminta tem grande apreço pela cidade e seu ritmo bem movimentado, mas não quer se prender a ela. Deseja conhecer reinos além da Grã-Bretanha e seguir para onde será melhor para ela e seu futuro.

Infância: Não foi criada com muitos bens materiais, já que a fortuna da família De Vil esvaiu-se aos poucos após Cruella ser desmascarada por seus atos maléficos, porém, surpreendentemente, viveu uma infância com bastante amor e atenção por parte da mãe. Não teve muito contato com a própria família, apesar de saber que tem uma avó e alguns tios e primos, e volta e meia os encontra em feriados. Era a garotinha que empurrava os colegas do topo do brinquedo no parquinho e dava escândalo por conta de um mínimo arranhão ou hematoma, porém, também foi a primeira em sua turma a começar a ler e escrever, e apaixonou-se por livros logo cedo.

Crenças: Não venera nada além da moda e do dinheiro.

Hobbies: Costurar, bordar, desenhar roupas, dançar, estudar matérias de outras grades, resolver mistérios, meter o dedo em assuntos que não a convém e encher o saco alheio.

⚜  ╱  PRÁTICAS

Comida favorita: É fissurada por doces num geral, mas seu favorito é, de longe, sorvete chocomenta. Uma graciosa ironia, considerando que seu apelido é Minty (”hortelã” / “sabor de hortelã”).

Bebida favorita: Cappuccino, com bastante açúcar e chantilly em cima. É possível vê-la tomando café várias vezes ao dia — uma mulher ocupada precisa manter-se acordada!

O que costuma vestir? Araminta ama moda e apoia a extravagância, contanto que não seja cafona. Babados, luvas rendadas, chapéus e boinas, saltos altos, meias 7/8 e acessórios brilhantes para combinar. É um tanto quanto excêntrica, mas faz parte de seu charme. Seus uniformes estão sempre decorados ou modificados de alguma forma, ainda que receba umas reclamações pela má conduta. Devido a tudo que acontecera à sua mãe no passado, usa roupas com pelo e couro sintético (mas não a pergunte sobre seu travesseiro de penas).

O que mais a diverte? Infernizar a vida dos outros. Ou fazer roupas. Ou comer doces. Talvez um pouco dos três.

⚜  ╱  INSPIRAÇÕES

Lydia Martin (Teen Wolf), Carlos e Evie (Descendentes), Pincer (Starship), Ivy De Vil (101 Dalmatians: The Series), Choi Soo-ji (The Great Seducer), Go Moon-young (It’s Okay to Not Be Okay), Lucrecia Montesinos (Elite), o filme Hustlers (2019) e o livro Vilão, de V. E. Schwab.

[moonstar2314]

Mother 3 warrior cats AU allegiance

Leader:

Willowstar (Leder)- Light gray tom with green eyes

Deputy: 

Foxpelt (Issac)- Red tom with light brown eyes

Medicine Cat: 

Brairsong (Tessie)- Tortoiseshell she-cat with amber eyes

Warriors:

Sparrowfang (Bronson)- Brown tom with forest green eyes

Hollyshade (Matt)- Near black tom with blue eyes

Hawkmask (Lighter)- Brown tom, black face markings with light blue eyes

Sunpelt (Ollie)- Yellow tom with amber eyes

Apprentice: Lilypaw

Fuzzyhare (Thomas)- Orange tom, brown patches with yellow eyes

Apprentice: Flashpaw

Cedarclaw (Reggie)- Black tom with dark brown eyes

Ivystripe (Bob)- Yellow tabby with dark blue eyes

Apprentice: Maplepaw

Dewfrost (Abbot): Brown tabby tom

Apprentice: Leafpaw

Shimmerpelt (Lisa)- Yellow and brown she-cat with golden eyes

Fernheart (Flint) - Dark brown muzzled tom with brown eyes

Cinderfoot (Duster)- Gray tom with blue eyes; has a limp but is able to fight

Tigerstorm (Kumatora)- Brown tabby she-cat with yellow eyes

Pidgeonwing (Beteau)- Dark gray tom with yellow eyes

Mintpatch (Jonel)- Black tom with blue eyes

Goldenfur (Dona)- Yellow tabby with brown eyes

Fawnpelt (Butch)- Light brown tom with green eyes

Robinflight (Biff)- Ginger tom with amber eyes

Tawnypatch (Ed)- Brown tom, dark marking with light green eyes

Ripplestorm (Bud)- Tabby tom with blue eyes

Flowerstream (Abbey)- Tortoiseshell she-cat with amber eyes

Mistypelt (Brenda) Light gray she-cat with one green and one blue eye

Juniperburr (Jackie) Dark yellow tom with brown eyes

Queens:

Petalrose (Hinawa)- Light brown she-cat with sky blue eyes

Mother to Cherrykit (Claus)- ginger tom with green eyes and Sandykit (Lucas) -yellow tom with blue eyes

Larkwing (Nan)- White and black she-cat with brown eyes

Mother of Snowkit (Alle) White she-cat with yellow eyes

Nettlestem (Caroline)- Pale yellow she-cat with brown eyes

Mother of Heatherkit (Angie)- Yellow tabby with brown eyes

Apprentices:

Lilypaw (Nana)- Yellow she-cat with dark blue eyes

Flashpaw (Fuel)- Dark brown tom with amber eyes

Maplepaw (Richie)- Brown spotted she-cat with amber eyes

Leafpaw (Nichol)- Light brown tom with green eyes

Elders:

Speckletail (Alec)- Brown tom, gray spots with brown eyes

Father of Petalrose

Ashwing (Wess)- Dark gray tom with brown eyes

Father of Cinderfoot

Mousefoot (Nippolyte)- White and gray tom with yellow eyes

Owltalon (Pusher)- Light brown tom with green eyes

Wolfpounce (Sebastian) Light gray tom with brown eyes

Cloudwing (Betsy)- White she-cat with blue eyes

Needlefur (Jill)- Gray she-cat with brown eyes

Rogues:

Sunrise (Boney)- Brown dog with amber eyes

Finder (Mapson)- Gray older tom, blind in one eye

Starclan Ancestors:

Plumfeather (Aeolia)- Dark gray pelt

Splashflower (Doria)- Black pelt with white spots

Flamelight (Lydia)- Yellowish orange pelt

Lavenderwhisker (Phrygia)- Ginger tabby

Mistshine (Mixolydia)- light gray pelt

Hickorydawn (Ionia)- Brown pelt

Croweyes (Locria)- Dark colored pelt; possibly black or brown but difficult to tell

Poppynose- Ginger she-cat; mother of Petalrose

[fragmentosdebelem]

Guaraná Sorbilis / Acervo Ignácio Neto

“Tirou-lhe o paletó e fez a faxina grossa. Mas o cheiro teimava, parece que havia invadido os poros, a raiz dos cabelos, para sempre. Trouxe Água de Alfazema da Phebo, esfregou-lhe o lenço ensopado no rosto, conseguindo resultado híbrido, de fragrância de mistura com fedor. ‘Agora vem, Palma, vem comer teu peixe’ (...) ‘Ô mulher, e achas que posso ter vontade de comer? Vou é tomar outro banho, que tu me transformaste num sachê de bosta e patichuli’. Dona Pompeia baixou os olhos, não conseguindo afastar o pensamento da humilhação imposta ao velho. ‘Espera aí’. Tivera uma ideia. Foi ao petisqueiro, onde guardava de um tudo. Pegou o vidro de copaíba, sempre à mão. Uma garrafa de Guaraná Sorbilis. Um resto de mamona com caromelano. Um vidro de Quina Lydia. Um de Capivarol. O Específico Pessoa. O Óleo de Mutamba. O Antiphlogestine. O Xarope Bromil. O Fluxo Sedantina. O Elixir de Nogueira. Um pacote de sebo-de-holanda. E as suas providenciais Pílulas Aloicas. Veio com a braçada de frascos e com a poncheira de gengibirra. Palma Cavalão calado assistia às diligências da mulher, que se sentou despejando o conteúdo dos vidros na poncheira. ‘Pronto, Palma. Vou te esfregar esse preparado meu. Não ficará nem lembrança do que te fizeram. No fim, passo-te uma camada de Creme Rugol’”.

 Haroldo Maranhão - Rio de Raivas (1987)

[fraysquake]

❄️ and 🦋 for gen! ☕️ for siobhan and ❤️ for ari!

❄️ What makes your OC sad, so sad that they can’t help but cry all day? How do they cheer themself up? Does their sadness upset any of their loved ones too?

For Gen, the saddes thing for her is realising how much of her childhood she lost because of her trauma. She tends to push it away, but if she sits and really thinks about how much life would be different with her family alive, she can spiral super easily. To cheer herself up she turns to dance as a distraction, letting it remind her of what good things she has, and the talents she has even if she doesn’t have her family. And her pack definitely doesn’t enjoy seeing her upset and they’ll do what they can to support her, even if that just means little Lori sits and watches her dance, offering her words of encouragement and enthusiasm. 

🦋 If your OC could change everything (or just something) about their life would they? What would they change? What do they think would happen if they did? What would their loved ones think?

Gen would obviously change things up and bring her parents back to life. It would give her a happy upbringing, even if it means she changes who she is. The foster care abuse isn’t something she wishes on anyone, so she’d happily get rid of that. She’d probably assume her life would be a lot brighter and she’d have less anxiety and maybe be more confident, especially if it means growing up with her wolf abilities. And maybe that would mean she’s grow up being even closer to Ariana since Ari’s father was Genevieve’s father’s emissary to the Carey pack.

☕ Give us one (or more if you feel like it) of your OCs deep dark secrets! Why do they keep it hidden? Spill the tea!

Without giving away too many spoilers and details, Siobhan knows exactly who the Donas is. Unfortunately due to her current mental state, she’s in no place to share that information. But time will tell...

And as for another less-spoilery secret, Siobhan had the biggest crush on Scott when he first joined the lacrosse team. She even hit on him but he rejected her over Allison, so Siobhan played it off as just caring about him because he as lacrosse captain, but she genuinely thought he seemed nice and sweet. But being Lydia’s second in command, she had to brush off any actual emotions. She’s always kept her eye on him though, but she stuffed those feelings away, deciding to forget all about him for as long as she can.

❤️ What would your OC’s ideal lover be like? Appearance, personality, voice? Would their family approve or would it be civil war?

They would look exactly like Liam Dunbar of course. As much as they hit their rough patch in book 2 and as dark as things get, Ariana loves Liam and as much as I tease the love triangle/square/hexagon coming up soon, Lariana is where it’s at folks! (or is it...?)

send me an oc + emoji!

[periculum-hq]

Conheça Korra Callaghan Kief, tem 17 anos e estuda na Escola de Magia e Bruxaria de Hogwarts, pertencendo à casa Grifinória; o seu status sanguíneo é nascida-trouxa /mestiça e está no 6° ano. Muitas pessoas dizem que é extremamente parecida com uma trouxa chamado Lydia Graham, mas pode ser apenas poção polissuco. Infelizmente, encontra-se indisponível.

❝All hail the underdogs, the new kids. All hail the outlaws, Spielbergs and Kubricks. And I say, hey, living like we’re renegades❞

data de nascimento: 07/03

animal de estimação ( apenas sapos, corujas e gatos): debbie Harry, uma gata laranja

amortentia: cheiro de gloss de cereja, roupas novas e chocolate

bicho papão: vê ao seu lado um corpo inerte, como se estivesse dormindo, mas pálido e quieto demais

 patrono: uma onça pintada

varinha: 24 centímetros, núcleo de pelo de unicórnio, feita de madeira de cerejeira e ligeiramente flexíve

 espelho de ojesed: Korra se vê com um futuro, sem morrer cedo, as chaves de uma casa em mãos e o jornal a anunciando como uma heroína de guerra

✦HEADCANONS✦

ANTES DE LEREM: gostaria de avisar que há triggers relacionados a depressão, mortes e consumo de drogas

Mais uma coisa: ela é filha do primeiro-ministro trouxa que pela história realmente começou no cargo em 1976, tudo bem? Sei que é meio drastico, mas eu já a interpretei (como Korey) em outros lugares e não tem muita influência no plot geral do rpg

·         Pelo menos três headcanons sobre o seu char contando sobre sua família, infância, o que achou sobre ir para Hogwarts, sua reputação, personalidade. O mínimo é de dez linhas para cada.

Extracurriculares: participa das aulas de alquímia, adivinhação e trato de criaturas mágicas. Está associado apenas ao clube do Slughe

·   Ex-tenente da marinha britânica, Leonard Kief iniciou sua carreira pública cedo, passando por diversas pastas do Partido Trabalhista antes de ocupar o cargo de primeiro-ministro, em 1976. Seu ritmo de vida foi acelerado, provinha de uma família de classe operária então o mínimo que pensava em fazer, era dar mais para a que viria a construir com sua esposa Aubrey Callaghan. Após o serviço militar, mudou-se de Portsmouth para Londres e amarrou laços no ministério. Os Callaghan já possuíam dinheiro de berço, provenientes do País de Gales, ditavam as etiquetas como o alfabeto e se comportavam como realeza. Aubrey e seus pais apenas aceitaram o casamento porque Leonard passara anos como sombra do primeiro ministro da oposição e sabia em que discurso dançava. Obviamente não se tratou de amor, foi uma união de forças, uma dama de família abastada e exuberante beleza e um político em ascensão que pretendia ter herdeiros. Os filhos vieram quando Kief ocupou a pasta de finanças em meados dos anos quarenta. Gêmeos, Michael e Julie já tinham o mundo em mãos antes de aprenderem a falar. Iam a conferências, apareciam em entrevistas, dois belos bebês de bochechas rosa, olhos claros e cabelos louros. Extremamente parecidos com Aubrey e um com o outro, faziam tudo em conjunto, desde se vestir a dormir. Comportados, viviam a sombra de uma babá e a própria mãe, que não se preocupava o suficiente em procurar um emprego, dizia que cresceu para escrever seus livros como dona de casa. Leonard também não fazia questão, vivia no ministério ou em outros lugares onde pretendia não contar para sua esposa, mas em uma dessas escapadas, voltou com uma filha nos braços. Era aniversário de seu próprio casamento quando surgiu Korra, uma bebê de olhos amendoados e cabelos pretos, o extremo oposto de seus irmãos e mãe. Uma bastarda que Leonard pôs sobre sua tutela sem permitir que Aubrey questionasse, na verdade, até questionou três vezes até que fosse obrigada a assinar em certidão que aquela era sua filha. “Essa gravidez passou despercebido”, outros familiares comentavam com olhares suspeitos e murmúrios. ·       Como uma rejeitada, Korra Callaghan Kief cresceu e se rebelou sempre consciente de ser uma bastarda. Depois de ter sido expulsa de duas escolas particulares diferentes, conseguiu impor a sua vontade de estudar em uma escola pública sobre sua família - desde pequena gostava de andar nos lugares mais perigosos e seguir por onde Aubrey não estivesse. Suas companhias eram estranhas, mesmo no fundamental e não progrediu tanto até os dez anos. Aos onze já era um completo caso perdido, quando a matriarca se irritava demais, e não a agredia, jogava-a para a casa do tio paterno, um homem solteiro que não tinha nada a perder no terceiro estágio de um câncer de fígado. Korra passava mais horas na casa de seu tio do que na sua própria, Michael e Julie só eram muito perfeitos para entender e sempre estavam ocupados ou protegidos pela mãe. Korra invejava os irmãos por aquela exclusividade, por aquele amor que podiam receber, pela paciência e inteligência, já que, com alguns graus de déficit de atenção, as notas da mais nova despencavam a cada ano. Gostava de ouvir punk rock, usava camisa de banda, visitava casas de amigos em lugares perigosos, cortava o próprio cabelo e destratava as empregadas como a garota mimada que era. Enfim, Korra não gostava de ninguém além de seu tio Matthew que sempre lhe tratava bem e providenciava a própria casa para a garota aprontar o que tinha de aprontar. ·       Sua primeira manifestação de magia foi ao estourar um hidrante no meio de uma briga de rua. Pensou por meses que aquilo tinha sido problema de pressão até o ano em que completou onze. Exatamente no dia de seu aniversário, quando estava na mansão principal ouvindo The Smiths no último volume, uma carta fora deixada no parapeito da janela. Primeiramente imaginou que fosse de algum amigo brincando, mas logo percebeu que era outra coisa: tratava-se de sua carta para a escola de magia e bruxaria de Hogwarts. Nada a surpreendeu ou aliviou mais que a descoberta do mundo bruxo. Uma experiência a ser explorada, e um lugar que dificilmente a expulsaria porque, afinal, trouxas eram um pouquinho mais sensíveis com suas brincadeiras. E foi então que definitivamente mudou-se para a casa de seu tio, Aubrey não aguentou tal anormalidade, chorava pelos seus antepassados nobres que queimavam bruxas e não suportaria viver com aquilo sobre seu teto. Aquela foi uma grande decepção para Korra, que esperou pela imposição de seu pai que não veio, ele simplesmente virou-se para seu escritório e deixou que a mulher colocasse a ordem que achava necessária. ·        Em Hogwarts, o chapéu não esperou muito para colocá-la na Grifinória, alegando que havia ouro e coragem em suas veias. Desde então, sua trajetória tomou um rumo mais obscuro. Era negligenciada, então o mundo trouxa era um armário onde podia pegar o que quisesse, não importando o tanto custasse, para usar de bom grado no castelo. Foi aos treze que as drogas começaram a surgir, Korra era uma espécie de aviãozinho nascido-trouxa que se importava mais com a diversão que a responsabilidade. Passou a descobrir coisas, lugares, sensações e pessoas. Explorou tudo, mesmo sua sexualidade e limites impostos ao seu gênero. Carregava a música em sua guitarra e vinis, suas roupas e conversas, mas ninguém se enganava sobre o caso perdido que a garota era. Diziam que ou engravidar ou teria uma overdose. Ambos realmente quase aconteceram em algum estágio de sua adolescência quando conheceu Rosalinda. ·       Começou como um romance de verão até ser namoro. Rosalinda Wytt, uma Sonserina mestiça que se rebelava contra o sistema tanto quanto Kief. Um papo atravessado no três vassouras em seu sexto ano que desencadeou um belo desastre. Pouco depois que tio Matt morreu, Korra começou a arranjar cada vez mais escapes e foi nas férias que Rosalinda morreu. Deitada ao lado de sua namorada, morreu engasgada após ter sofrido uma overdose. Foi um grande impacto para Korra, uma guinada drástica de direção para a depressão. Leonard Kief trabalhou cinco vezes mais para esconder o caso de ambas as imprensas, teve a capacidade de se reunir ao ministro bruxo para discutirem o rumo da jovem. Foi decidido a retirada temporária da filha do primeiro-ministro de Hogwarts para iniciar seu tratamento. Só demoraram para decidir qual: depressão ou reabilitação. Ao final, a trancaram em casa com sua madrasta, sobre cuidados de enfermeiras e psicólogas durante um longo e tenebroso ano. ·         Optando por recomeçar o sexto ao invés de ir para o sétimo, Korra tentou dar um passo de cada vez. Ignorava os rumores e já não fazia o que a fez chegar naquele estado. Quase não tinha mais amigos, mas era simpática com quem ainda se aproximava. Ainda fumava cigarros, mas apenas isso, e focava nas atividades extracurriculares já que suas notas não magicamente melhoraram. Tinham trasgos demais para alguém que já estava atrasada. Mas pelo menos tinha tempo para se dedicar e não estava mais aos cuidados de Aubrey, ganhará a liberdade de voltar para a casa onde seus irmãos moravam. Queria embarcar em uma banda, esse era o novo objetivo além de ir contra o que realmente importava: a guerra em iminência de explodir sobre todos.

Player: Lumes

[darkcolinodonorgasm]

earl and the fairy

volume 1 - capitolo 4

. «Ah, ma non fraintendermi. Non mi fido per nulla di te. Volevo solamente dire che mi sono sentita lusingata, solo un po'. E, ehi, smettila di toccarmi capelli!»

«Sono così morbidi, come la pelliccia di un gatto e tuttavia non sono aggrovigliati, può darsi che siano le fate a pettinarli per te?»

Si chiese come potesse uscirsene fuori con una frase simile, ma dal modo in cui le sorrideva, così dolce e gentile, Lydia non seppe cosa dire.

«Alle fate piacciono i capelli biondi. Non hanno interesse per questo color ruggine.»

«Caramello.»

«Uh?»

«Questa descrizione ti dona di più.»

Non poteva credere che quell'uomo maleducato, che stava giocando con i suoi capelli, potesse dire qualcosa che la rendesse incapace di alzare le mani su di lui.

«Sarà dolce se lo assaggio?»

[bm-contemporary-art]

Let Me See the End of Mercurial Borders, Lydia Dona, 1985, Brooklyn Museum: Contemporary Art

© Lydia Dona Size: 60 x 72 in. (152.4 x 182.9 cm) Medium: Oil and acrylic on canvas

https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/115601