#keep creating imaginary bosses for imaginary fights

[signor-signor]

I posted 70 times in 2022

40 posts created (57%)

30 posts reblogged (43%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@signor-signor

@mp-knight

@owner-of-wendys

@leahdolphin6190

@scrumptiouslyimpossiblecat

I tagged 59 of my posts in 2022

Only 16% of my posts had no tags

#wander over yonder - 48 posts

#savewoy - 18 posts

#kid cosmic - 16 posts

#woy season 3 - 15 posts

#star force enforcement force - 12 posts

#save wander over yonder - 10 posts

#predictions - 9 posts

#craig mccracken - 9 posts

#the powerpuff girls - 8 posts

#foster’s home for imaginary friends - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 35 characters

#foster’s home for imaginary friends

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

June 27, 2022.

Six years ago, The End of the Galaxy (the SECOND SEASON finale) premiered. We viewers were on the edges of our seats wondering what would happen to the main four and the rest of the inhabitants after Dominator seemingly laid waste to the galaxy. Of course, we found that Hater triumphed and put an end to her onslaught once and for all. He’s the hero in the eyes of those who joined in the fight against Dominator (and perhaps those who simply sat it out), but that’s not to say he had no intentions to conquer the galaxy afterwards like he and Peepers mentioned earlier. Plus, he still denies being Wander’s buddy, so his journey to becoming a full-fledged ex-villain like Major Threat is far from over. And who could ever forget the elephant in the room that is the downed space pod with green lightning and simian screeching in the end credits? This is clearly indicative of unfinished business. It’s enough to motivate me to take action and also to make me ask Disney time and again, “Are you sure 2 seasons are enough for this show?”

Three years after the show got kicked to the curb, Lord Hater already had it with more popular shows getting all the love and with the fact that the show from which he originated didn’t get enough love to compel Disney to give it a third and final season. So what did he do? He tried to escape with futile, yet humorous, results. Today, he has gotten more bitter every time a show that came after Wander Over Yonder exceeds two seasons. If he had one reason for letting the show get one more season, apart from getting the chance to conquer a galaxy of recovering planets, it would be so he could rub it in the faces of the other villains, especially Emperor Awesome, all of whom never appeared in the season finale. He’d be more than willing to give Disney’s higher ups a piece of his mind for giving shows like Star vs. the Forces of Evil, the Tangled series, revamped DuckTales, the Big Hero 6 series, Big City Greens, and the recently concluded Amphibia at least 3 seasons in the streaming era regardless of their premiere ratings and failing to do the same for WOY.

Let’s scope out what’s going on inside the DTVA vault, shall we?

For those who are completely unaware, Craig McCracken and his WOY crew made a pitch for S3 in early 2015 (around February, I think). Craig knew exactly what was planned, as did @suspendersofdisbelief, @benbalistreri, @owner-of-wendys, @atalkingmagpie, and more. They were excited about it and so were the bosses of DTVA and Disney XD. Apparently, the love WOY got from its fans, including me, just wasn’t enough to convince the “higher up bosses of bosses of bosses” there was a need for a third and final season, so they rebuffed it and decided to cancel the show one week before S2 premiered.

Furthermore, the new characters who make up Star Force Enforcement Force remained under proverbial wraps for years until Craig mentioned them when he talked about Earth Force Enforcement Force from S1 of Kid Cosmic. The team name and the number of characters (3) are known, but not their appearance, which is why I depicted them covered in sheets. You probably don’t know how long Hater’s wanted to do away with characters from popular/lucky shows, including Paul Rudish’s take on Mickey and his friends. Fortunately for those characters, SFEF are there to keep him in line while WOY is still incomplete. If there’s something I learned from being part of a fandom, it’s not right to blame popular shows for the misfortune of other shows. It’s not their fault.

The takeaway from my comic: Don’t attack other shows no matter how popular they are and be knowledgeable like Peepers (without the pessimism) and persistent like Hater (without the violence). Believe you me, Hater would not have violent tendencies if WOY had that third and final season. That, and Peepers would burn the book by Phan “Dizz” Gnee, We’re All E.A.R.S. (Executives Against Reviving Shows).

Also, here’s my portrayal of SFEF in case anyone missed it.

See the full post

41 notes - Posted June 27, 2022

#4

Wander fans will have to wait again because Craig is now revisiting two familiar shows at his alma mater. What he said earlier is true. Studios want pre-existing IPs. Still, even if he doesn’t return to Disney for WOY’s 10th anniversary, we fans will support his work all the same and we’ll have more time to keep sending the message to Disney until we get the answer to the 6-year-old question: What is S3 about?

More details here (the author foolishly misspelled Wander in this article, but you get the idea):

https://www.animationmagazine.net/tv/hanna-barbera-studios-rebooting-craig-mccracken-classics-the-powerpuff-girls-fosters-home-for-imaginary-friends/?fbclid=IwAR37iSNIRsu7v1Cq1Et6g7A0_Ruvgqn_q8EGGseZ7nKmNFhKlZYEueblxKU

47 notes - Posted July 18, 2022

#3

Welp, this is the week when Kid Cosmic returns and comes to an end on the same day.

To all you Wander fans out there, unless you have comments that have NOTHING to do with bringing back WOY, you’d best keep your mouths shut. We wouldn’t want anyone whose hearts are in the right place to be pelted by flaming sacks of can’t do-do, now would we?

If the finale has any Easter eggs like @owner-of-wendys said, we’ll just analyze them.

56 notes - Posted February 1, 2022

#2

*Please disregard this post*

As previously established, Kid Cosmic’s third and final season comes to Netflix this February on Thursday the 3rd.

Don’t think Craig McCracken will have WOY’s third season on his mind after KC is over, ‘cause the faith he had in the show’s return probably got pounded out of him in the past few years. It happened to Craig Bartlett and Genndy Tartakovsky, but look at what happened to Hey Arnold and Samurai Jack after years of negligence.

What I’m saying is, now that Craig is all done with Kid Cosmic (third and final season comes out on February 3rd), let’s take this opportunity to bombard Disney with politely-written letters and emails convincing them to let him work on that third and final season of Wander Over Yonder (or maybe just a TV movie) exclusive to Disney+ so he can finally wrap it up the way he and the crew intended.

Sure, he may already have recently pitched a number of projects to Netflix, but there’s probably a small likelihood that Disney will ask Netflix to borrow him for just a short while before the next Netflix project gets put into production, in which case it couldn’t hurt to send messages to Netflix. Besides, Wander’s 10th anniversary is next year, and since it takes 15 months to make an 11-minute cartoon, somewhere between February and May would be an excellent time to put the plans for S3 into effect.

This is where we make our stand and let Disney know there IS still a need for just a little more “sunshine banjo face.” After what this country and the rest of the world have been through in the past 22 months, we Wander fans deserve to know what happens after S2. One more season or TV movie is all we ask for. To see the show have its cliffhanger resolved. To let Craig reveal what he planned for S3. To get a sense of closure. That’s the gist of SaveWOY.

65 notes - Posted January 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

As of today:

The Powerpuff Girls: 100% complete

Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends: 100% complete

Wander Over Yonder: 70-75% complete

Kid Cosmic: 100% complete

162 notes - Posted February 3, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

How about that! Even numbers!

Now, you’re probably wondering why I keep talking about Wander Over Yonder. It’s still both underappreciated and incomplete story-wise. Also, if I gave up on talking about it, who will keep it from being pushed further into obscurity by overappreciated shows? Basically, Wander without Star Force Enforcement Force’s introduction or Lord Hater’s history is like Kid Cosmic without Papa G’s past, Fantos’s fate, or (spoiler alert) Mo’s Oasis Café becoming a hot spot for the visiting extraterrestrials. KC, by the way, won two Emmy awards - one for background design (kudos to @skulptduggery) and one for character design. Craig McCracken himself couldn’t be any prouder. I’d tag him for the character design part, but for some reason he stopped using Tumblr years ago.

This coming year will see not only Craig continuing to develop the revival of The Powerpuff Girls as well as a retooling of Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends, but also the 10th anniversary of Wander Over Yonder (talk about a missed opportunity). To those of you fans who are still sticking around and those of you who gave up and moved on, I realize the SaveWOY campaign’s efforts have been nothing short of fruitless, but we don’t want the higher ups to think we stopped caring and we don’t want to give them the impression that WOY is better off stopped after two seasons, not while that cliffhanger is still unresolved. Still, I suppose it’ll take Craig about 2-3 years to finish his CN shows, and if that’s the case, we should have a shot at persuading Disney to let Craig finally end WOY his way. If that happens, we’ll probably have to find replacement voice actors for those over the age of 70, including June Squibb (Stella Starbella), who is a NONAGENARIAN. April Winchell and Tom Kenny are currently in their early 60s, but we don’t know how much longer they have to live, so time is of the essence.

This year, we must do what we can to acknowledge S3’s existence and make Disney and social media more aware. Remember, when the 10th anniversary comes up, go big or go home.

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Kid Cosmic #Wander Over Yonder #SaveWOY #Save Wander Over Yonder

[lucariwoah]

SEND ME ASKS ABOUT MY STORIES (PLZ :3)

Hey.

Send me asks about my stories. Please for the love of God. I need to talk about my stories. Here, I'll give synopsis of each one!!

Badrigulay

A not-so-human creature awakens in a dark castle in a forest as deep as it is old. Their realm is in chaos, demons have come to claim the souls of it's people to take to their realm for slave labor and punishment. Badrigulay, our nature-goddess hero, must put a stop to this and reclaim the lost souls of the Garden of Eden. The overweight dragon god of souls, life, nature, and the very essence of this world has a lot of work ahead of them.

The Fable Lands

Life is simple for Blumure Murduesong. Their sterile human life remains monotonous and safe within the walls of Capital West, one of six human cities upon Earth. All there have ever been is humanity, and that's all that will ever be. But nobody knows about his imaginary friend he's kept secret all this time. The painted dragon, Kolena. She helps take care of him and keep him company. But the Church of the Immutable Form does not tolerate any shape besides human. Blumure may be changed forever by the unknowable darkness of night, outside the walls of Capital West.

Rather Be Dragon

Eleni Bellum, a boy who has always longed to be more than human, maybe even a dragon, wakes up in the body of an ancient, morbidly obese, time-manipilating Mercury dragon after dreaming of receiving a porcelain dragon masked inscribed with the name Somastra. They meet a gravity dragon named Sid with a cracked mask similar to theirs who has forgotten their past and seeks friendship and safety with others. They want to escape the danger and darkness of the layer of filth they both woke up in, so they must go on a journey to navigate the dimensions and realms of elements and intensities that surround our universe, seemingly created by dragons, so they can get back to Earth safely with their bodies and minds still intact.

Lossery

Two employees of a digital flower shop that exists in the atomic virtual universe, the Omnisrete, have to deal with the horrible wickedness of their capitalist overlords and find ways to survive and fight back against unjust punishment, horrible labor laws, and lack of breaks. Yarrow, the huge strawberry cow, has trouble remembering who she was and loses consciousness when trying to think to hard. Dillard, the lanky blackberry armadillo, tries to take care of her friend but can't do much against the bosses and rules and mysterious lack of infrastructure and resources this job expects them to have but is absent like erased code from the flower fields they work in. Will they survive this digital hellscape to understand who they are and why they're here?

No Kobolds on Unia

On a planet where goblins have Snapchat and dwarves have perfected fracking and oil drilling, the modern fantasy world of Asbreicha is teeming with life, people, and technology. One kobold, Squeesha Firefoot, has recently been dumped by her long-time boyfriend who is going off to the esteemed college of Bridleheart to pursue an education in historical research. Wanting to impress her ex, she follows in his footsteps to try and get his attention and love back, only to fall in love with ancient history of the world she calls home. Myths and legends give way to historical record and fact. Once upon a time, magic existed in these lands, but an ancient threat required that power sealed off from the universe. Squeesha vows she will understand more about this history for herself, and goes to Unia on the first-ever Bridleheart historical expedition to look for clues surrounding a mysterious relic known only as The Black Door. What will she find there, and will it change life as she knows it forever?

Lmao I love how at the end there the synopsis get really long. Honestly the stories are in order of oldest to newest so there's different levels of development between them.

Anyway please let me know if you're curious about any of these a little more!!! I'm so happy to share cuz I've got so many ideas and written a lot already.

#my art #my stories #kissy sanguine #author #furry author #furry stories

[nextgenconsole2023]

Evil West the combat and gunplay is fantastic on PS5

There are many FPs available, and everyone tries to establish their particular, distinct identity without relying on their unique forerunners to the extent that they do. Flying Hog Games attempts to create an imaginary America overrun by a vampire threat that is a part of the Evil West. These are not the Twilight version of "just intending to blend in" with the vampires of the underworld; these tend to be bloodthirsty killing machines. The evil west keeps dragging vampires back to their ferocious origins the threats that would have Dracula himself bow to his tomb.

You are playing Jesse Rentier, who works at the institute in an alternate universe in which cowboys battled the occult to rule the entire world. The Institute operates from its valuable headquarters, The Manor, guarding the nation against beasts and monsters across all of the Wild West. I'm not intending to spoil the plot as I go over Evil West, mainly because I loved it and would not want to harm anybody with this.

Firearms can also be an integral part of your toolbox; it is almost odd to have a western-themed game without guns. You own a gun that is ideal for short-range shooting and also an assault rifle that can hit bad guys that are higher up or further away. There's a unique technique that says if you attack the rifle at the correct time, the other side will take more damage. I liked the first two weapons, as well as those later in the game. There's something from every genre and a ton of amazing New PS4 games to enjoy. Boss fights are a test of your ability to reach that stage. Being attentive to every session on upgrading is highly recommended, as the boss in each field typically requires proficiency in your latest upgrade. The practice of these skills will be worth it when it comes time to take on the bigger baddies. There's also a skilled forest that is accompanied by unlockable perks that lower cool-down periods or introduce new moves, such as the quake punch. Yep, Shockwaves can be transmitted by striking the floor like the Incredible Hulk. Invigoratingly, rewards might be reset with no worth, allowing you to assign them in any way you like. The treasures that are hidden in the side streets often appear in written notes that provide additional information about the lore and the context that are part of the tale. These aren't mandatory to read as the story is filled with enough details as it progresses; however, the collection is interesting to those wanting to learn more and more about the world as well as the occasions surrounding the primary journey. Biggest discount for New PS5 games.

The first thing you should notice with this play is that it is visually pretty smart. It has a mix of designs that make it an enjoyable scene to immerse yourself in. The over-the-shoulder perspective looks like you are in Gears of War, and you will enjoy the occidental feel with the attire and voice acting that is truly similar to Red Dead. Red Dead Redemption games in addition to those looks, there is a lot of steampunk thrown in, with a lot of mechanized gears and energy flowing through the weaponry, like your amazing gauntlet.

Evil West is unmistakably a throwback to the grizzled action games of yesteryear. The fast-paced combat coupled with ranged capabilities is a breath of fresh air in a game type that typically adheres to a standard mold. The stunning graphics of the Xbox Series X, together with fluid gameplay and awe-inspiring sounds, generate something splendid. In a game inspired by a variety of diverse great game titles, it still preserves its very own brand, which is an incredible feat. Flying Wild Hog produced the visually stunning Trek to Yomi and the Shadow Warrior franchise, but this might be their most unique and successful title to date.

#evil west #ps5 console #action games

[lokorum]

touch me touch me i won't bite

#Illustration #character illustration #original characters #gore #blood #concept art #horror #oc art #keep creating imaginary bosses for imaginary fights #ahhh i just see how on the phase two his mask #fused with his face starting to melt with both blood and gold #UGHGHGHG

[valkblue]

Lost and Found - Episode 1

"Tales of Clan Mudhorn" series

Word Count: 9k Rating: General Pairing: None (it's a story about friendship and duty) Summary: POV Din + unnamed OC (full multiPOVs later) — After leaving Nevarro, Din and the Child go on the quest for Jedi that the Armorer bestowed upon him. But how hard can it be to find one in the entire galaxy?! [This story takes place just a few months after the end of season one, and doesn’t connect with season two.] Warnings: a lot of fightings, killings (bounty hunter is a complicated profession...), violently shaking characters, Star Wars swearing... and in many languages on top of it.

A/N: Aaaaand here it is!!!! 🎉 Like I said, this story is a very different one, in a very different format. Each chapter is a full storyline, tied to the next (like the episodes of the show, really) to create an entire story which I call "Lost and Found" in my new series "Tales of Clan Mudhorn". This story is also tied to my previous text "The Foundlings", if you want to read more from me in this fandom. I will love you for it. And as alway, you can also find my stories on AO3, if you're more comfortable with reading and/or commenting over there. I will love you all the same. Anyway, have a huge fun reading!! 🙃

— The Lead

It was completely dark now. From the height of his rooftop, the hunter had seen the sun go down behind the outline of buildings. The wide crescent of the first moon, already up in the sky since at least the middle of the afternoon started to shine behind him. The other, a small blue one, was coming up. Its weak glow was no match for the lights of the city below.

But the hunter liked the night. It was his ally, his element, his sister, his mistress, whatever — you name it. On the heights of duracrete and metal, belly flat in the dirt and keeping an eye on a door through a scope, he couldn’t deny he was in his element.

In the scope of his rifle, there were only building fronts and passers-by — anonymous figures under the lights.

Pew! Pew!

Imaginary shots were fired, and nobody died — yet. The hunter snickered at the thought and tightened his grasp on his rifle’s grip, finger light on the trigger. He was bored senseless to wait, but it was part of the job. And this one payed well. The small internal feuds between underworld crime bosses always paid better. And here, it would only take him one shot to dispatch one at the expense of another. This way, he'd pocket way more than the price on their heads delivered through usual channels.

Leaving the Bounty Hunters' Guild — or betraying it, as they said — was the best decision he had made in a very long time. Well, that and to quit eating yobshrimps! It messed him up bad every time…

And the boss who hired him for this hit wasn’t kidding. This chick was giving him the chills! But he also kinda liked that.

Anyways! Back to business.

Some movement caught his eye by his target’s hideout. Returning to his sharp focus and the professionalism on which he had build his reputation, the hunter followed with his scope the exit of two bodyguards through that backdoor, the one he had stared at every detail through his crosshair to kill some time for the last hours. One of them, a big guy he had come across on ground level earlier while pretending to just be passing through, walked to the civilian airspeeder parked too close to the door. There was only one chance to take the shot, one narrow window to hit his target between the door and that speeder. Should he miss, the opportunity would be lost, and the element of surprise along with it. But, kriff, he was the best hunter — and sharpshooter — in the parsec! He wouldn’t miss. He never did.

Settled on the driver’s seat, the bodyguard revved the engines, ready to bounce off at the second his target was in the back cab. For now, the other guard stood in front of the ajar door, and the hunter guessed his target was just behind it. They had to suspect the danger… Why else would they be so cautious otherwise?!

Such big bads, and yet, they all quiver like preys… He smiled at the thought that despite all their power and influence, they were all equal in the crosshair of his rifle. He was death from above, the avenging finger on the trigger. He wasn’t quivering! He was their predator, a predator who finally caught a glimpse of the lekkus of his prey.

Right away, he adjusted his shot and his shoulder to keep a supple hand on his trigger; with a rifle like his, a slight pressure would be enough to make it fire. The boss left the cover of the door’s metal panel.

Something poked at the back of his head in a light pressure, stopping his finger on the trigger. There was a clicking sound but it wasn’t his rifle. In his scope, the target was climbing into the airspeeder’s cab — he had missed his window.

"Great," he muttered. "Now that you ruined my day, care to tell me why?"

The hunter didn’t turn around just yet; he wasn't exactly eager to look a blaster’s barrel straight in the eye. They weren’t intimate enough to be that forward yet…

"You’re coming with me," a voice answered, vocoded like those banthabrain troopers.

Though the voice was calm, it wasn’t any less threatening. One of those masterless Imps was probably working for the one he was about to take down. He figured  he would likely be interrogated about his employer.

"No, no, no, pal," the hunter retorted. "Don’t know who you are or who you work for, but I’m here for a job, andI can still make it at the cross of Main Avenue and Sea Side if I run fast. And boy, do I run fast…"

Still, he swallowed hard when the barrel pressed harder.

"I ain’t goin' nowhere until the job’s done."

"That makes two of us," the voice replied, in the same tone.

The airspeeder flew away in an agile curve towards the traffic. Even if he was fast, he’d never catch up with it. He was knee deep in poodoo…

"Dank farrik…" he grumbled, laying his forehead on his arm, and to move the back of his head away from the barrel’s threat.

Silence followed. He didn’t feel any movement behind him.

"Can I… at least, pack my rifle, or…?"

He only heard the click of the blaster in response.

"I'll take that as a yes…"

The hunter swallowed again. Painfully. Here again, he would only have one chance — a single, thin chance to turn around and unload the ready shot in the face of this trooper guy. And making such a close shot with a sniper rifle was never easy. He tried once… And because he was that bold and daring, he was still here to tell the tale.

He unmounted the scope with slow, deliberate moves, not risking to throw a single glance behind his back, and to try this guy’s patience too, to push him to make a mistake, or at least to be less focused. The hunter removed the bipod even though he could have simply folded it. He caught a glimpse of the guy, or rather of the street lights' reflection on his armor. He twitched but carried on with his plan; taking the rifle back in his hands, he rolled on his back in an agile move, barrel aimed at the guy’s head. It wasn’t a trooper’s helmet that he was facing now, it was a Mando’s.

The guild had put a bounty on his head?! Could they not be sore losers at least once?!

The sole of the Mando’s boot kicked the threat of his barrel aside, and the shock knocked the weapon out of his hands. The rifle clattered on the ground in a pitiful bounce, and the sharpshooter raised his gloved hands in a sign of reddition, faced with the barrel of the blaster pointed back on him. Now, he really was knee deep in poodoo…

"Hey, um… I had to try, ok? You… you don’t know who I’m workin’ for and-and… they won't take the… the job not bein’ done lightly, y’know?!"

He only met silence in response.

"C’mon…" he almost begged.

With a quick move, the Mando threw a pair of binders on his stomach.

"Put them on."

He held back from making some dirty joke about everyone’s kinks and complied, pawing without looking to take the binders the right way around. It was his turn to shake a little, not particularly out of fear — or maybe it was? He closed one of the cuffs on his wrist, then on the other. The things were tight enough to make it hard to break free from them. If he could manage to give that Mando the slip, he knew a guy here that could open these binders like flowers. After that, he would only have to disappear for a while. And with the down payment he had already received, he could afford a comfortable hideout. All wasn’t lost yet!

"Well," the hunter uttered louder to hide the shaking in his voice. "Now that we’re all cozy, what’s on the menu?"

Hopefully not yobshrimps… The Mando brutally grabbed him by the collar of his jacket to yank him up to his feet.

Oftentime, Din had to walk for a while to get back to his ship. With or without quarry. The effort never bothered him, though; he liked to walk. But now, it felt to him as if the sniper rifle was weighting heavier and heavier in the bag at the end of his arm, and that the distance between them and the spaceport was stretching with each step, with each word coming out of this man’s mouth and his sorry attempts to distract him, and run away. Maybe Din did need a bit more than a couple hours of sleep per hyperspace jump, after all…

He’d bring this quarry to the Guild’s quarters where he was expected and take a bit of rest. Four hours of sleep should do the trick. He rarely slept for more than six, anyway. And, for now, his last trail to find one of those Jedi, somewhere is the whole galaxy had only ended in a bitter failure and a few close calls in the underworld which had cost him almost a couple months and a good part of the credits he still had.

That’s why he had been forced to slow down for a bit on one of those planets where he knew the Bounty Hunters' Guild was operating to pick that guy’s puck and a few others. That one was the last on his list, the one that had taken him the longest to track down, but also the one for which he’d be paid the most. And he badly needed the credits. The kid needed to be fed, the ship needed fuel, and himself needed intel. And, the price of said intel was sometimes much steeper than the rest.

And as they were finally entering the spaceport’s area, his quarry started to sound desperate.

"C’mon!" he insisted as he turned to him, walking backwards on the vast section of landing pads where other ships were blocking out the pale glare of tall lightpoles. "How much they payin’ you for this? Four thousand credits? Five thousands?"

But Din didn’t say anything. He never told them anything. Like all those before him, it was better to let him wear himself out without answering. Giving them the slightest impression to be listening only encouraged them to talk even more.

"They can’t be paying you ten thousand creds for someone like me!" he replied to his silence. "Not that I wouldn’t be worth it, though. Their rates just ain’t fair. But you wouldn't waste your skills and time on pin-money, amarite?"

As he was slowing down, gaze intently scanning their surroundings and the coming and going of the spaceport’s personnel, Din shoved him ahead with a strong push.

"Ok, ok," he grumbled.

And with an even stronger grasp on his left arm, he pulled him along to the landing pad where his ship was waiting, between two lightpoles and a now available spot.

"Y’know, that’s what the problem is with the guild. Too many middle men. They talk you in with how much more legitimate they make the business for you, about how the law is on your side, blah blah blah… but in the end?"

He shrugged.

"They’re just makin’ more creds than you’ll ever be. That’s why I turned on ‘em, y’know? Because they really ain’t payin’ you for what you’re worth."

Pressing on one of his vambraces, Din commanded the opening of the port hatch of the ship and steered his quarry toward the ramp. He resisted a bit, stiff on his legs. They all more or less were, at this point of their procession.

"I bet I would have made more money with that shot I was about to take than you’re gonna be makin’ in the end. A real shame…"

He pushed him forward to walk on the ramp as it was barely reaching the ground. Din climbed right after and ordered the hatch to close before even getting inside the ship’s hold, not even taking his eyes off his quarry. The latter froze when his eyes met the twisted faces inside carbonite slabs on their racks.

"Oh, kriff, we… we’re crowded in here…"

He turned around to Din.

"Hey, tell you what!"

With both bound hands, his quarry gestured to the sniper rifle he was still holding.

"You free me and my rifle, we go back there, we take that guy down together and I’ll give you more than they’d be payin’ you for bringin’ me in, uh? How about that?"

Din dropped the rifle’s bag near the ladder to the upper deck; he’d deliver it with his quarry. And if they didn’t want it there, he’d add it to his arsenal later, if he just didn't decide on sell it for a few credits more. In front of him, his quarry was starting to grow agitated, restless. And so was Din. He grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along to the carbonite pod.

"No, no, man, c’mon!"

Din pinned him down inside, far from gentle, eliciting a painful grunt from the quarry who struggled despite the binders, moving his arms and kicking. Din stifled a groan when his heel hit him straight in the thigh without plate, lost in the E-WEB battery’s explosion in front of Nevarro’s cantina.

"And-and that… that wasn’t even the best payin’ job they were offerin'! But I-I just didn’t really feel like I was the right caliber to take down those Jedi guys, y’know?"

Din kept him in place in the pod and clenched his fist on the zipped collar of his black jacket.

"But a hunter like you, on the oth—"

"You said Jedi?"

His quarry’s face brightened up.

"Ahh… Interestin’, innit? Well, lemme tell you a thing or two about that."

He tried to straighten up in the pod but Din’s grasp kept him in place.

"Ok, ok…"

He rolled his shoulders to find his comfort against the hard wall of the carbonite pod.

"Th-there’s an underworld bounty on Jedi goin' on these days, the… the Hutts are back at it again, apparently. They… Y’know how they’re like, right? Those guys like to put all sorts of creatures and folks in their fighting pits… Folks against creatures even. And I-I can hook you up with one of my former bosses, if you want to play that game."

Din freed his collar and his quarry smoothed out the creases of his jacket as well as he could with his bound fists which he then let down in front of him.

"So, what say you? We’re a team?"

Din took a simple step backwards.

"Thanks for the tip."

And he pressed on the pod’s command, freeing the carbonite fumes which froze his quarry in a satisfied grin. Din had a new lead to follow now. He’d catch some sleep later.

The Crest’s landing gears touched down smoothly on the Nuth industrial starport's landing pad. Nuth was one of the moons of the gas giant Gorroth, on the southern border of the Hutt Space. For the moment, the moon was in its night rotation. And it would remain so for several more standard months. Din hoped his business here wouldn’t take him that long.

The credits of his last bounties in his pocket, he had immediately taken off to follow this unexpected lead. The last time he had been here, the moon was in its day cycle, Din’s mood as bad as the company he kept, and it was precisely said company that he intended to pay a visit to again.

If things hadn’t changed too much here, he knew who he could ask for intel about this underworld bounty… And in places like this, a lone city built around its industry and finding its rhythm in the extraction and treatment of tibanna gas, things didn't change all too much.

He cut the engines and silence returned to the ship’s cockpit, only lit by the startport’s floodlights through the viewport. Din swiveled his seat to face the child, strapped on the passenger one on his right; his big black eyes stared at him in curiosity.

"Ok," he told him in a soft voice. "Here we are."

He let out a brief sigh.

"Let’s hope it won’t get out of hands this time…"

Din stood up and untied the child from his seat to take him in his arms, and get down in the hold. There, he settled him in his berth; the child grumbled a few light sounds, not really a protest, and with a single pressure on his vambrace's keypad, Din opened his weapon locker. The doors separated and the inside lit up on its rack, neatly displayed. If Din could sometimes be a little untidy and lenient with the mess concerning things he deemed harmless and unimportant, he wasn’t when it came to his weapon locker and what was in it. A few blasters, ranging from simple DL-18 and other modified sidearms to a V-10 blaster rifle, explosives, thermal detonators, cartridges, all sorts of ammo… Even a good ol’ slugthrower.

He hadn’t kept his quarry’s sniper rifle; the magistrate had reclaimed it to add it to the case’s file. But Din wouldn’t need all that today. He would only take his usual gear, and replenish his utility belt with a handful of detonators. Not that he thought he’d need them as soon as he’d come down the ramp, but it was simply a habit to check his equipment when he knew he was in hostile territory. Or about to enter it.

Din checked his vambraces and replaced a few cartridges in the hoops of his bandoleer under the watchful gaze of the child he felt weighting on him, even behind the locker's door. With the tip of his gloved fingers, he touched the fabric of his pants on his thigh, where this part of his armor was missing. He had lost pieces of his armor before but the feeling of it was always so strange to him… Din clutched his fist and just shot a quick glance at his boot. His vibroblade was in place, tucked in his shin guard, and his blaster full; he would only have to strap his amban rifle in his back before leaving. For now, he’d have to take the time of a few words with the child.

He took one of the small metal cannisters from the supplies locker and a pack of ration bars which he carried to the berth. The child opened wide, hungry eyes and he extended a hand while babbling a few sounds Din had since learned to recognize as enthusiasm.

"Listen, Kid…"

And the child tore his focus from the pack of rations to blink his big, black eyes.

"I’m going to talk to another contact," Din explained as he broke the cannister’s seal and unscrewed it before tucking it in a corner of the bunk within reach of the child. "It’s gonna be dangerous outside. I can’t take you with me, not this time."

His big ears shivered when Din opened the rations' pack; if he wanted to keep his attention, he knew he’d better be done talking before handing them to him.

"You must help me protect you by doing what I tell you, ok?"

A long woooh was his only answer.

"You stay in here. You stay put…"

It was more or less what he had already told him last time, before landing on the Roost. And if this Devaronian hadn’t been so antsy, the berth would probably have remained closed for the entirety of the mission, and the child would have stayed safe. Safer, at least. And Din was sure he would have followed his orders, that he understood — even partially — how important his compliance was and how grave the situation was as well. He hoped he’d understand, and obey, this time again. Even more so when he lowered his long ears with a sad quaver, and flopped down.

"Good."

And Din rewarded him with the ration pack. Right away, his big eyes brightened up and his little fingers grabbed the package with a hungry purr.

"You’ve got food and drink here," Din continued, well aware that the child already didn’t have the same attention for him anymore. "Get comfortable. Even if it shouldn’t take too long. Hopefully…"

He wouldn't bet on that just yet.

The child had already pulled a bar from the package and had crunched a good half of it off in one bite.

"Stay here," he insisted, more for his own peace of mind than anything else, wagging his finger. "Stay…"

No answer from the child other than a blink of his big eyes and squelching sounds as he was already gobbling the other half of the bar. Din sighed briefly and reluctantly closed the berth.

The Crest sealed behind him, Din left the starport and walked down the main street, on the civilian side. Without having someone on the inside, there was no way he could get past the gate and the sentries’ vigilance on the industrial side of the starport. No need to foolishly catch any unwanted attention. He would soon draw enough eyes as it was, under the neons and lightpoles lining up in every street, like a vain attempt to simulate daylight.

At the angle of the cantina, still the same he had always known, he would find a narrower link where only landspeeders and speederbikes could go without risking to catch onto cables and whatnot, hanged between the buildings' dirty fronts. It was still a fairly busy street with plenty of stores and apartment buildings where many of the surrounding factories' workers lived.

On the chrono, it was only lunch time and the street was bustling with activity; workers were busy filling potholes in the road, drenched with the overflowing water of a sewer drain, or scratching the rubbles of a perfect square that once used to be the lucrative workshop of a mechanic, while none of the noise, dirty water or dust seemed to disturb the street food stalls and their patrons.

As he expected, Din attracted eyes too — or rather his armor did, under the colorful and harsh lights gleaming on it. He could notice the faint halo himself, following his steps, shimmering on the wet road. A Duros bumped into him without even trying to avoid him.

"Chess ko, wermo!"

But Din kept going. And so did the Duros. A few meters and a few more dodged passers-by later, the street widened in a crossroad where Din turned to the left. The factory was a bit further ahead, where it had always been, towering above the crooked roofs of the buildings bordering the alleyway. The gate was wide open for freight vehicles and its lit-up barrier was lowered. But that wouldn’t be how Din would get in either. If he’d get in at all…

He walked around the thick walls with their rusted fencing that enclosed the area, then walked on a few meters more in a much darker back alley. A bit farther ahead, the wall raised higher, pierced by air vents' grates, then by a metal door with chiped paint, above which hanged a single lamp brown with filth.

With a glance, Din spotted the security imager, still in the same spot. That was a good sign. He made a confident step in its range and the gatekeeper droid sprung out of the wall — "H’chu apenkee."

For all answer, Din faced the door and knocked on it with two slow bangs of his fist. Then, he stepped back. It used to be a signal a few years back, some kind of password before the password… And should the boss have changed, Din would only look dumb. But he could live with that.

He could also have simply let him know he was coming, and be sure from the start that his contact was still here, still active, and still in the good dispositions in which he had left him, but Din didn’t want to do the same mistake as with Ran again, and take the risk to find himself roped in another situation he would rather have avoided. To put it simply.

A heavy bolt was pulled behind the door which then opened in a low creak on a large Nikto who gauged him from head to toe with a slow groan, as low as the door’s. Then again, as he anticipated, Din didn’t recognize him.

"I’m here to speak to Wes."

"Who’s askin’?"

"An old friend."

If Wes wasn’t managing this place anymore, Din would know soon.

"He’s busy."

And this inadvertent validation of his expectations encouraged him. As the doorman was starting to close the door on him, Din held it open with a swift move, the flat of his gloved hand slamming on the metal.

"Tell him an old friend still needs more blood to polish his armor…"

And faced with the doorman’s grumpy silence, he added:

"He’ll understand."

The turnkey engaged in a staring contest with his visor and Din didn’t move an inch. A long second passed and, finally, the turnkey grumbled before stepping back. Din let him close the door behind him. The bolt didn’t move back in place. That, too, was a good sign. He took a deep breath and released it slowly.

Maybe he had gotten used to all those recent failures that had punctuated his quest for Jedi but things seemed too simple and, ironically, made him nervous. The door reopened, even more groaning than the first time, and the doorman invited him to enter with a tilt of his head. Hand close to his blaster, Din followed inside the gatehouse.

The doorman escorted Din inside the main building. There, he could notice that some changes had been made; the place was still a carbon-freezing facility, one of those in charge of solidifying tibanna gas in carbonite slabs for their transportation, but everything seemed to have benefited from some improvements not so long ago.

Din could see some vats looked newer than others, and an entire shiny-new plumbing network was running along the dirty grey walls. There were only a few workers still on shift at this hour, and as many droids to help them in their tasks.

The doorman motioned him to follow up some metal stairs raising above the main room, to a floor of platforms that some of the tallest vats were piercing through, and walked up to a room with a long one-way window. There, he knocked on the door.

"Yeah, yeah, um… Come in!"

The doorman activated the door’s which slid open on a simplistic office; a few storage cabinets, two pillars framing another door, an old desk, two seats and, coming to meet them, a paunchy man with only a crown of short hair left on his head. There was fear in his brown eyes, but Din remembered that there had always been.

"Ah, Mando!" he greeted him. "What a surprise!"

"Wes…"

And facing that answer, Wes cracked a wide, tensed smile.

"Thank you, Vintoon," he told the doorman. "You… you can leave us."

He waved him away as he nodded. The lack of hair on his forehead made it look larger and it was bringing out the thin sheen of sweat glistening there under the cold lights. The doorman grunted in compliance before staring at Din a bit longer, and then leaving. The door closed behind him and Wes chuckled, nervous. Forren Wester had never been an example of bravery but, contrary to his factory, he didn’t seem to have improved with age.

"I can’t believe it’s you!" he cheered, pointing at him. "How long has it been?!"

This question didn’t really call for an answer; Wes knew it very well. And Din wouldn’t answer anyway. Wes glanced at the window through which the platform and the main room could be seen from his office, and he pressed on his forehead as if to chase a headache when his gaze went back on Din.

"Please, sit!" he invited him.

Din hesitated, his eyes lingering on the second door, then lifted the metal clip of his rifle to sit down. Wes rubbed his hands, seemingly embarrassed, and sat too.

"Is that new hardware I see?" he asked. "Bounty business must be paying good out there!"

"Tibanna shipping too…"

With a simple tilt of his helmet, he indicated the facility through the window on his left.

"Oh, you noticed? You always had a keen eye under that thing, right Mando?"

Once again, he chuckled as he rubbed his hands.

"Well, yes!" he continued. "Things are going swell for me these last spins. Better than they went for poor old Ran, that’s for sure! Did you hear?!"

Din gritted his teeth.

"We… kinda went our separate ways."

Wes smacked his lips.

"Ah, I know that," he commented "He was so mad at you and… and everything when you dropped the crew."

He stiffened and added right away:

"I mean, I understand! Business was low at the time and, um…"

He stopped to finally admit, like a secret:

"Truth is, he had such a hard kriffing time to find you a worthwhile replacement!"

He shrugged and sat back in his seat.

"Last I heard, he recruited some ex-military guy, a hot head with guns."

His jaw clenched, Din didn’t move a muscle; he had met the guy. But Din knew the stories of the past. What he was more interested in, however, was to know how the intel could have reached Wes from the shadow station. There was indeed a few simple explanations… But also the possibility that Ran could have reported it in person. So, he asked:

"What happened to him?"

"Oh, yeah, right!" Wes exclaimed, back on tracks. "One of my guys who was shipping to them told me that the Republic found the Roost and… and blasted him with it!"

He shook his head and pressed on his forehead again.

"Rotten luck what happened to him… The whole sector is under surveillance now and, um, my guy, he barely got out without a scratch!"

"Did anyone survive?"

Honestly, Din hoped the answer would be no. Wes shrugged.

"No… Not that I know."

Jaw clenched, Din let the sudden silence linger.

"Anyway, what brings you here?" Wes inquired, on a lighter tone.

Then, Din would get straight to the point; he wanted to have left Nuth as soon as possible.

"Do you know anything about an underworld bounty on people called Jedi?"

Wes rose his eyebrows and joined his hands in front of himself on the desktop. For the first time and despite his surprise, he looked relaxed.

"Yeah, I-I heard about that. It’s very hush-hush! Why?"

"It piqued my interest," Din simply said. "And I want in for the specifics."

"I’m surprised you’re back on underground jobs. Why is that?"

"Catching bail jumpers gets old after a while," Din replied, reconnecting just enough with this testy version of himself — the only version that Ran, Wes and the others had known. "I’m looking for challenges…"

Those words elicited an honest laugh from Wes.

"Of course you are!"

From relaxed, Wes even became confident.

"Sadly, I don’t really know much."

What Din knew however was how much Forren Wester liked to play hard to get when he had or knew something of value, or at least useful to other people’s business. Din tilted his head, intently, to make him talk.

"Alright, alright," Wes purred, almost eager to speak. "Don’t look at me like that!"

He leaned forward a little, his hands still joined on the desk.

"It’s a high pay job, very select," he revealed, but it was no surprise. "And the handler doesn’t feel like having that intel on the streets too much, you see?"

Waiting patiently, Din didn’t answer to that.

"I know about it just because he and I are kind of, um… business partners, of sorts."

And as Din didn’t ask, he told him anyway, as if to force his interest:

"A few of my workers make some nice more creds by fighting in his arena…"

He nodded and fell silent, giving time for Din to make a comment. He didn’t like to involve someone else, someone he didn’t know, in his search; it was the best way for things to go wrong, again. And his last face to face with a client had caused the extermination of his covert and the mission to deliver this foundling, his foundling, to the Jedi. But now, he didn’t really have a choice either.

"I want to meet him."

That wasn’t the answer Wes expected either, of course. He frowned and reclined in his seat.

"Well, I’m afraid you, Mandos, don’t have a great standing with my Hutt friends," he retorted.

"A job is a job… And I don’t care about the hand that gives the credits."

And it was still true, not so long ago.

"Aaah," Wes let out, slamming the palms of his hands on the desk with a wide smile that briefly dissipated the fear from his eyes. "That’s the Mando I know!"

He chuckled again, satisfied, and added:

"Alright… in memory of Ran and the good ol’ days, I’m gonna help you with your lil’ thing!"

Din was sure Ran would love the tribute…

The place Wes had given him the address of was bearing a sign identifying it as a training hall, and that in three languages; Huttese, Basic and Gamorrese. Din only spoke two of them, more or less, but he wouldn’t need that many to get through the front doors. Wes had told him to go there, and tell the doorman he was coming from him to speak to the Handler. He would have informed his associate himself beforehand.

"Wes sent me," Din simply stated. "I’m expected by the Handler."

With a simple nod, the doorman stood up from his chair to guide him across the hall, and walked in front of him inside a vast room where two large guys were warming up, following the directives of their coach, a Zabrak woman built like Cara. He followed the doorman up to a small room, open on two guys looking bored over a game of sabacc.

"A new guy from Wes," the doorman said, as a terse introduction.

The two players gauged him from his helmet to his boots and one of them let out a slow mmh, almost disgruntled. He left his cards face down on the desk to take his comlink.

"He’s here, boss."

At least, it looked like Wes’ message had indeed preceded him. On the other end of the comlink, a man’s voice answered:

"Does he look like the real deal?"

"Yeah, yeah," the guy answered. "He does."

Despite growing increasingly annoyed by the minute, Din didn’t say anything, patient.

"Let’s see what he’s all about…"

Then, the guy stood up, gesturing at the console behind him and telling Din:

"Step in front of the holo, he wants to see you first."

But Din didn’t move right away, looking around at the room with no distinctive features, or colors.

"So?" the guy hurried him.

Din made a reluctant step towards the console. The sensor lit up quickly, and in its turn, scanned him for head to toe. A brief silence followed, enough to increase Din’s annoyance a little more.

"Let him in," the Handler then stated through the comlink. "Entry 2."

He didn’t like all these manners but he complied with them, without a word, without letting any of his mood show. The two guys escorted him out of their office and in a long hallway downward, lined with green neons, at the end of which stood nothing but a wide double door. It bore a pattern painted green, probably because of the lights, and a darker number. One of the two guys pressed on the command panel on the side and the doors opened on a much larger room, its dark floor and walls generously lit by spotlights.

Just enough time for Din to make that simple observation that he felt the two bouncers of the Handler grab him brutally; he balked against them but they held good and took his blaster and his rifle before shoving him in the large room with a strong push. Din spinned around to retaliate with the weapons he still had as the door sealed shut on their satisfied grins.

Not waiting any longer, Din tried to reopen the door but found no way to activate it from the inside. He would have to find another way out. With a quick glance, Din assessed his surroundings; the black walls were rising up, complete with high glass panels on the upper, open floor, lit with colorful neons.

He had been thrown in an arena.

And for now, he was alone in there, under the gaze of four spectators, standing behind the glass upstairs. One of them spoke to him, his voice carried through speakers, when Din made a step towards the center of the arena, all his focus and rage aimed at them.

"So. Tell me, Mando…"

The Handler, Din figured.

"Is your kind as good fighters as the stories claim?"

Din would have been tempted to dare him to come down so that he could provide him with a demonstration but said nothing of it. Too brash. He would need to stay focused and to channel all his anger into something really useful, like finding another way out. The glass panels were too high for his flamethrower to reach anyone behind but two of the four walls were pierced with the same doors as the one in Din’s back. And without jetpack, he would have to get through one of these doors one way or another.

"Wes is in this?" Din asked instead.

"Oh no!" the Handler assured, looking almost shocked by the suggestion. "He actually wanted me to send you on that bounty!"

One of the guys in the stands with him chuckled. But the Handler, however, wasn’t laughing. Even if there was a bit of snark in his tone when he continued:

"He said you were the best, that you were — and I quote — good for business!"

Din watched the frames of the doors, even from the center of the arena from which he hadn’t moved. No way to open those from the inside either. Thermal detonators would do…

"But, you see," the Handler went on. "The thing is… I don’t think that karking bounty is worth anything. Jedi don’t exist anymore, it’s all just a wild bantha chase! I don’t know why the Hutts keep going on about this every once in a while!"

Teeth gritted, Din had to admit to himself that he didn’t like what he was hearing, neither did he like the turn that the situation was taking. But for now, his quest for Jedi wouldn’t matter anymore if he was to remain trapped in here.

"What I think would be good for business on the other hand, is to lock you here, kill you, and strip you of your shiny shell."

Of course that’s what he was after…

"My only regret at this point is that nobody will be able to bet on that fight! But you will earn me a lot anyway."

This slip of the tongue restored some hope back to Din; he wouldn’t be put down from the stands like a beast, other fighters would enter the arena! So the doors would be reopened…

"He’s yours now, boys!"

The Handler and his companions left the stands. The doors behind Din slid open again and the two bouncers entered, his own weapons pointed at him. He felt a cold sweat running down his back at the idea of getting shot by his rifle, whether it was in shooting mode or in prod mode. He held out an arm, ready to torch them both, but the one with his blaster opened fire first. The bolt hit him square in the chest and he stumbled back under their snickers.

"Not so great warrior now, uh?"

In response, Din launched his whipcord in his legs and pulled quick on it; the guy fell backwards, his finger pulling the trigger of his blaster which flew from his hands when his back hit the ground, under a rain of sparkles from the exploded spotlight just above them.

"What the…"

The other quickly aimed the rifle at him. Din’s muscles stiffened and he rolled over on the side to avoid a shot which didn’t come; only the two prongs crackled with furious electric arcs. The guy grumbled, and Din didn’t lose that chance to charge. Up on his feet in an agile bounce, he grabbed the weapon’s breech with one hand and the guy’s wrist with the other.

The man crashed his free fist in Din's helmet who gritted his teeth under the impact, even softened. The guy grunted louder, shaking his fist but still didn’t release the rifle Din was trying to rip from him with both hands. He couldn’t use his flamethrower to incite him to let go; he was too close. His rifle wouldn’t take the joke…

"Achuta!" the one on the floor yelled as he was standing up, stunned. "Hopa, ateema!"

He was calling for reinforcements. Din had to hurry; he traded a bit of his stability on his two legs to add a little more strength to his grasp by pressing his foot against the guy’s large thigh, and push him back while pulling. If he didn’t manage to take the weapon off his hands, he still succeeded at making him waver a bit.

Some of the other doors slid open to let in two Gamorreans, each heavily armed, one with a short spear and the other with a mace. Then, Din changed tactics; he yanked the guy’s arm in the direction of one of the Gamorreans — the one with the spear — and stuck his thumb in the arc of the trigger.

POOF!

The Gamorrean disappeared in a whirl of matter and dust, and his weapons clinked on the ground.

"Hu?!?!"

The guy’s astonishment weakened his arms and Din ripped the rifle from his hands right away. No time to aim; he slammed the flat of the stock straight into his face and the guy fell backwards. Then Din only had the time to turn around at the sound of a guttural growl of the remaining Gamorrean to take a hit of the mace in the side. The armor absorbed most of it even though the shock and the pain still knocked the breath out of him, sending him stagger until his back hit the closest wall. The Gamorrean charged and Din stuck the prongs of the rifle in his ribs. The blue arcs extended on his green skin and he tripped over in a plaintive yelp.

"Keepuna!" — PEW!

A blaster bolt nearly hit Din as the door through which he had come in opened again to let in a Zabrak and three henchmen behind the bouncer who had picked up his blaster. One of the henchmen charged in his direction and Din managed to push him back with another hit of the rifle used as a staff in the guts.

Himself thrown off balance by the strength of the attack, he only narrowly dodged another shot from the blaster which brushed his helmet. This one was his priority now… The Gamorrean who was coming back to his senses was second on his list. The two other henchmen jumped on him, one trying to disarm him, the other to hit him but Din withstood the assault as well as his armor.

With a kick in the naked shin of his opponent, he sent him face first on the floor and maneuvered his still disputed rifle to drag the other guy into the line of fire of the one armed with his own blaster. The latter held his shot and Din pushed the guy back with a kick in the stomach, and pulling on the rifle. The man stumbled backwards, bumping into the shooter.

BING! The metallic impact shook Din entirely, nudging him forward on a few steps. The Zabrak had picked up the disintegrated Gamorrean’s short spear, and wasn’t pulling any punches against his backplate. He was obviously aiming lower but Din threw himself to the floor to avoid a second hit which swung wide in the air until scratching the arm of the second Gamorrean. This one cursed and violently backhanded the face of the Zabrak who went bouncing against the black walls of the arena.

Again, Din launched his whipcord on the one that was still aiming at him with his blaster; with another quick pull, he yanked the guy who tripped forward, dropping the blaster which slid right up to Din. He grabbed it as the furious Gamorrean and the two henchmen were already charging at him, and aimed upwards.

PEW! PEW!

The spotlights died in a rain of colored sparkles. Surprise slowed the attacks in the arena, now plunged into impractical darkness. Only a few neons in the stands were still casting a bit of light in crisscross at the center of the arena. With a touch on the side of his helmet, Din switched to heat vision, making out his opponents in shapes and gradients of warm colors.

"Where are you, fierfek!?" one of them grumbled.

A provocation to which only the Gamorrean answered. A few shadows and shapes were still visible even without thermal sight and, quickly, they all identified each other as enemies, grunting and swearing to be aiming at the wrong targets. Blaster in his holster, Din remained silent, unmoving at first. Then he made a step, then a second towards the closest target — the Zabrak. Turning around, arms extended, this one brushed him.

"Is that you, Drai'?" he inquired, unsure.

"I’m here!" the one named Drai' protested.

"Uh…"

Din grabbed him by the shoulder and headbutted him out cold. So hard that his HUD shook for a split second. He collapsed in a muffled oomph. Immediately, all rushed to his position. ZAP!

He shocked one, then another, hitting with his rifle's butt at head’s height those he couldn’t take the time to zap, and avoiding a violent slap from the Gamorrean by jumping backwards. Aiming the lower back, he zapped him in his turn. The Gamorrean let out another yelp with a whack that almost took the rifle from Din’s hands. But he held tight. Stunned, the Gamorrean wasn’t a threat any longer.

So, Din bent over to feel the wrist of one of the guys groaning on the ground, then the other’s, and he found what he was looking for; a bracelet as large as a chrono. Din tried one of the buttons, then another and finally, one of the double doors opened in a brief hiss — the cage was open.

With hurried but confident strides, Din left his opponents on the floor and, dismissing his own pains, he left the arena to walk up the green neon hallway.

It hadn’t been too hard for Din to find a way upstairs, walking past the office where the doorman had taken him; the cabin of a lift tube took up a portion of the wall beside a stairwell. One was labeled "stands" and the other "lounge". Both in three languages, yet again.

Din pushed the lift’s button and the doors opened on a cabin lit with a harsh yellow light. With one heavy step, he entered and commanded his way up with an unnecessarily strong punch on the button. The doors closed on him and the lift went up right away.

At this point, the only thing Din was still hoping for was that no signal would waste the element of surprise upstairs. Just to be sure, he whipped his blaster out before the cabin stopped and its doors slid open on a simple but welcoming hall where two other guys, not very burly-looking, were keeping watch in front of an elegant door with geometrical patterns.

"Hey!" one of them growled, in Basic. "What are you—"

But Din was already on them, walking with purpose. He pistolwhipped one and, grabbing the other by the back of his neck, he knocked him out against the door — BLAM!

"Yeah, come in!" answered the Handler’s voice on the other side.

Din wouldn’t need to be told twice. He commanded the opening of the door and strode in, weapon in his clenched fist; the Handler was enjoying a drink in a comfortable sofa, an arm across the backrest and one leg resting on the other.

"Did you bring me the—OH DANK… FARRIK!"

He spilled his drink on his dark jacket as he fumbled to his two feet as Din was closing in on him.

"NO, NO-NO-NO!"

Din lowered the barrel on his blaster on him as the Handler was shaking his hands in a sign of reddition, walking backwards and desperately looking around for an exit. Another door, opposite the entrance, seemed to have all his attention, but Din caught him first and pinned him down on the caf table.

"OW!" the Handler howled. "Ok, ok! I-I’m sorry!"

He was waving his hands in plain view in front of him on the table as Din’s fist clenched tighter on his collar. Cheek pressed against the glass surface, the Handler groaned and struggled a little.

"What can you tell me about that bounty on Jedi?" Din interrogated him, threatening.

"I-I don’t know anything!"

To stress out how serious he was, Din armed his blaster.

"Ok, stop! I told you, it’s all ronto scrag! My guys never found anything, e-even with the leads they had!"

Disappointment made him tightened his fist even harder.

"Loosen up a little, you won!” the Handler grumbled, not struggling so much anymore.

"Give me your lead on Jedi and I’ll be on my way."

"Hey, I’m not hiring you," he commented as an answer. "Why would you care about a lead if you won’t even get the bounty on it?!"

"I have my reasons."

And he jostled him a bit. It wasn’t really useful but it still shook the answer out of the Handler who quavered:

"On-Ontellar! The-the last I heard, one o-o-of my guys lost his trail around some… some ruins on Ontellar!"

He tapped with the flat of his hands on the table and swallowed so hard that Din felt it against his knuckles. He released his grasp and the Handler coughed a little, relaxing to the point of flopping on the side, one arm resting on the table. He massaged his throat and added in a croaky voice:

"I don’t know more than this… I-I told you, Jedi don’t exist anymore…"

He coughed again and grumbled a curse.

"Can-errr… Can I offer you a drink or something now?"

He coughed one more time, rubbing his throat:

"’Cause I definitely need another one."

Din let out a brief sigh, holstered his blaster, and left the Handler there to exit the lounge. He didn’t want to lose any more time now.

"If you’re tired to chase legends, you can still come back to me for a job," the Handled called out to him. "I’d make you richer than with that stupid bounty in just one evening in my arena!"

Last words on which Din closed the doors of the lounge behind him.

If this hunt for intel was going sideways a little, his ship, however, was at least still in place. Now, he hoped that the kid would have stayed still too. With a pressure on his vambrace, he commanded the opening of the port hatch, making it close right behind him. The inside was already lit up, and the berth open. The ramp finished to close as Din noticed that the kid wasn’t inside it any longer. With a sinking feeling, Din let his hand hover on the handle of his blaster.

"Hey, kid!" he called, more worried than severe.

With a glance, he scanned the inside of the hold without making another step.

"Ah-goo."

Din looked up to the upper deck hatch where two ears appeared before his big black eyes and his little fingers, gripped on the edge.

"What are you doing up there?" he asked him softly. "I told you to stay put."

The child only let out a series of calm sounds and, with a resigned sigh, Din extended his arms to take him back down. He gritted his teeth to ignore the lingering pain the mace had left in his side; a bit of rest and everything would be back in order. Or so he hoped…

The child let go of the edge to extend his small hands towards Din’s who grabbed him firmly under the arms, and took him in his.

"Well, it required more brawn that I expected," he told him, making a few steps in the hold. "But now, I have a new lead on those Jedi."

The child cooed to those words, his head tilted, and his big eyes blinking slowly.

"I’ve been told there may be one on 'Ontelar'?"

The Handler’s words still didn’t leave him in peace; wild bantha chase, lost the trail, Jedi don’t exist anymore…

"Now, we’re gonna have to check on this, and hope it wasn’t all for nothing."

For all answer, the child pulled a piece of ration bar out of his sleeve to hand it to Din’s visor. He cracked a smile under his helmet.

"Thank you," he told him, yet not taking the light brown square, a bit chewed off in a corner. "I do need a few of those, right now."

That, and a gallon of water. And why not sleeping an hour or two as soon as they’d hit hyperspace.

"But first, let’s get out of here…"

The kid lowered his arm and the bar with it, eyeing the thing as if he was contemplating the idea of eating it himself. Din wouldn’t hold it against him…

Gripping one hand to the rungs of the hatch’s ladder, Din rose the both of them to the upper deck where they went back in the cockpit. The child settled in one of the seats, he then sat at the controls and, in a few switches and a push of a shifter, he brought the ship out of its sleep, shaking in all its familiar, powerful vibration.

Din was very much eager to put as many parsecs as possible between Nuth and him.

Translation of Huttese: Chess ko, Wermo: Careful, idiot! H’chu apenkee: Greetings! Achuta! Hopa, ateema!: Hey! Help, now! Fierfek: general expletive Keepuna: Fire!

Masterlist: Tumblr Post / Tumblr chronological reading order Tag list: @hathorik @pheedraws @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor

#my writing #the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fic #din djarin #din djarin pov #multiple povs #OC povs #fic:lost and found #tales of clan mudhorn series #huttese #tocm masterlist

[jaskiers-sweetkiss]

Sunset Swerve - Part 8

Pairing: Luke x OC

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: some light swearing

A/N: For some reason I really want to say ‘We’re in the endgame now” about this chapter but its not true? We’re in like the mid-game lol. Anyway, shoutout to @meangirlsx who unknowingly inspired some of the dialog between Luke and Jordan in this chapter with her tags on a previous chapter. Send me a message if you’d like to be added to the taglist and, as always, let me know what you think!

Part 7  Masterlist

___

When they arrived back in the studio, they had not expected it to be filled with music.

Julie grinned at them from behind her keyboard and everyone else stopped playing at their arrival.

“Grab your guitars, we’ve got work to do.” Even without saying it, it was obvious that the girl had forgiven Luke and Jordan wondered what Alex and Reggie had said to her.

Jordan did as she said, heading to her stand and slinging the strap of her electric across her body while Luke headed straight toward Julie.

“What made you come back?” He asked the question Jordan had been wondering herself.

“I realized how much music meant to all of us, and we’ve lost so much already.” The way Julie said it made it seem like she knew more than Jordan would’ve expected and she wondered again what the boys had told her. “We can’t lose this too.”

“Thanks,” Luke nodded thoughtfully, slipping the strap of his guitar across his body. “Alright boss, where we at?”

Julie smiled, settling into her place at the keyboard before leaning forward again. “Oh, and by the way, happy birthday.”

The genuine smile that drew from Luke sent a pang through her chest and she frowned, wondering if it was another one of those jolts. However, as she looked around she noticed none of the boys felt it. Oh hell, she cursed herself silently. She was so lost in her thoughts that she nearly missed Julie’s instructions to start at the pre-chorus.

Jordan was grateful for the distraction of the music, all her focus going into singing and playing, no room for stupid thoughts about stupid boys. Practice ended too quickly for Jordan’s taste but she knew realistically that Julie needed time to get ready and travel to the venue while they could just poof around. She just needed Luke to do something stupid so that she could remember why she hated him because her stupid smooth brain (Julie taught her that) had forgotten it.

Instead, he turned and directed his dopey smile at her and she swore she nearly swooned.

“We are gonna rock those managers’ faces off!” He exclaimed as they put their instruments away.

Jordan grinned back at him, silently blaming it on the rush of playing well and having a performance soon. She was always more agreeable around music. Out of the corner of her eye though she thought she saw Reggie and Alex share a knowing look and she glared at them suspiciously.

“Yeah man, it’s gonna be awesome,” Alex responded to Luke and the rest of the ghosts nodded in agreement as they shuffled around the studio getting ready for the performance.

Jordan decided to keep the outfit she’d been wearing all day, fishnets and her old black Madonna t-shirt under a pair of overall shorts and her Docs. With her outfit and hair already taken care of thanks to Past Jordan, she was just left to slap on some makeup, thankful that she hadn’t done it before she’d spent the afternoon crying. Luke sat down on the couch next to her, watching curiously as she worked.

“Do you mind?” She asked, looking away from the small mirror Julie had lent her to stare blankly at the boy.

“Nope!” He responded cheekily and she groaned, turning back to her mirror and her eyeliner.

She’d finally managed to get the wings down again, making only one mistake this time, so the process went by fairly quickly.

“Do you need me to do yours?” She deadpanned, turning to stare at Luke who was still watching her.

“Nah,” he breathed, smiling cheekily at her as he flipped his imaginary hair over his shoulder. “I’m naturally gorgeous, I don’t need makeup.”

Jordan gasped.

“Asshole!” She exclaimed, smacking his shoulder but laughing anyway. “You’re lucky it’s your birthday or it would be on sight for that.”

“‘On sight’?” Luke asked, puzzled.

“Some twenty-first-century lingo Julie taught me,” Jordan explained superiorly. “Basically means I’d fight you as soon as I saw you.”

Luke nodded lightly, eyes going wide at the threat but slowly a mischievous look began to take over his face.

“Hey Alex, Reg, who would win in a fight? Me or Jordan?” Luke called out and Jordan rolled her eyes, putting away her makeup stash.

“Jordan,” they both answered at the same time and Jordan laughed, giving them both high fives as she returned her makeup to her designated cubby in the back of the studio (they’d had to create an official organization system because the boys tended to just take anything they found and claim it as their own).

Luke pouted, sitting on the couch with his arms crossed like a petulant child as he glared at his bandmates.

“Sorry, man,” Alex shrugged, “Have you seen her boots? She’d absolutely curb stomp you without a second thought.”

Reggie nodded and Luke huffed, standing up from the couch and making his way to the door.

“You guys are mean,” he whined. “I’m gonna tell Julie.”

He’d meant it to be a threat but the other three ghosts weren’t fulling listening, only hearing Julie’s name.

“Oooh, I wanna see Julie!” Reggie exclaimed and Alex and Jordan responded with a chorus of ‘Me too!’s and ’Same!’s as they began clamoring around the furniture in the studio in a race to the door.

Luke rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath as he followed after them.

When they arrived at Julie’s door, Reggie held his arms out dramatically, effectively halting the movement of the three ghosts behind him. Once he felt sure they weren’t just going to barge in he stuck his arm through the door, knocking three times while the other ghosts rolled their eyes or laughed.

“What are you guys doing?” They heard Julie ask through the door and Reggie stuck his whole torso through.

“We’re being classy,” Jordan snorted at that and Luke huffed, pulling Reggie back through by his belt loops.

With Reggie out of the way, Luke stepped through the door but at the sight of the girl sitting on her bed, all thoughts of tattling left his mind.

“What’re you doing? We go on in twenty minutes,” he asked as the rest of the ghosts stepped through.

Julie was sitting on the bed doodling on her mic, still in her clothes from earlier.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“I lied to my dad,” Julie explained forlornly, “So now I’m stuck in my room all night.”

“Yeah but like, the venue is packed with VIPs and managers,” Alex protested and Joran hit his arm.

“She’s grounded, the presence of VIPs and managers isn’t going to change that,” she huffed and Julie gave her a tight-lipped smile.

“What’re we gonna do about my aunt? She’s right downstairs.”

“Your aunt,” Luke repeated, chuckling as he crossed the room, throwing open her bedroom window. “You’re not taking the stairs.”

Jordan opened her mouth to defend the girl, never having been as big a fan of going around her parents’ backs as the guys had been, but before she could say anything Julie grinned at the group of ghosts.

“Okay. Let me get dressed, I’ll meet you guys there,” she said and the guys all grinned while Jordan looked at her nervously.

“Are you sure, Julie?” She asked warily and Luke whacked her arm with the back of his hand.

“Moss, don’t change her mind!” He hissed and Julie laughed.

“Thanks for the concern Jo,” she said, giving the girl a kind smile and Jordan felt her heart warm at the new nickname. “But it’s fine. We have managers to impress.”

She nodded and the ghosts prepared to poof out to the venue when Jordan stopped them again.

“Wait!”

“What now, Moss?” Luke groaned.

“I wanna grab my flannel.”

“Why?”

“It’s chilly.”

“You’re a ghost you can’t-“

“Shut up.” She said, ending their back and forth by poofing into the studio and grabbing one of her flannels from her cubby.

When she poofed back to Julie’s room the boys were gone and Julie was sifting through the trunk in her room.

“The guys went ahead to the venue,” Julie explained and Jordan nodded.

“Alright, I’ll see you there then,” Jordan nodded. “By the way, that vest is super cool.”

Julie smiled in thanks before Jordan poofed away to meet the guys at the venue.

___

The announcer had just called Dirty Candy to the stage when Julie arrived.

“Am I too late?” She asked, slightly out of breath.

“Too early,” Flynn huffed, gesturing up to where Carrie was taking the stage.

Jordan couldn’t figure out how she felt about Dirty Candy. On one hand, Carrie was the spawn of a fraud who she’d always hated and Carrie was mean to Julie and Flynn but on the other hand, the group was really talented and she loved their sound. She supposed it was like her feelings towards Sunset Curve, she loved the music but hated the musicians.

“Wait, did she just make a big show of putting on sunglasses just to throw them away in the first verse?” Jordan laughed, furrowing her brow in confusion at the choreography.

“Shhhh,” Alex hushed her, staring enthralled at the performance.

Before they knew what was happening he was on the stage, dancing with the group.

Jordan whooped excitedly, cheering him on while the rest of the group exchanged looks of surprise.

“You having fun out there?” Julie questioned when Alex poofed back to the group.

“It’s not my fault. It’s my, um… it’s my feet.” Alex gulped.

“Yeah,” Julie said, clearly not believing.

“Put me back in coach,” Alex breathed, poofing back to the stage.

“Why have we been keeping him behind the drums?” Jordan joked as they watched him dance out the rest of the song. “He’s got moves.”

Reggie nodded enthusiastically in agreement, their eyes never leaving the stage.

“I was just doing that for you guys,” Alex said when he returned and everyone expressed varying forms of disbelief.

“Mhmm,” Julie hummed while Luke and Jordan rolled their eyes.

“Yeah, you can’t stop smiling now,” Reggie smirked knowingly and Alex blushed.

“That was, actually kinda good,” Julie admitted, looking as though she’d rather cut her tongue off than admit it. Jordan knew what that was like.

“Yeah, I forgot why I hate her so much,” Flynn agreed.

“Hi girls,” Carrie said in her overly-perky voice as she made her way over with her entourage in tow. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Now I remember,” Flynn pursed her lips, glaring at Carrie and Jordan snorted.

“If you’re looking for nick, he didn’t come,” Carrie addressed Julie coldly.

“That’s not why I’m here,” Julie scoffed, squaring up to the pink-haired girl.

“Okay, we have one more act tonight,” The announcer called, reading off the list on stage. “Julie and the Fat Ones?”

Dirty Candy snickered while the rest of them turned to glare at Luke.

“Yeah man, my handwriting sucks,” he admitted and Julie shook her head, making her way onto the stage while Carrie and her group stomped off.

“Hey. It’s actually Julie and the Phantoms,” Julie greeted the audience, quickly realizing they didn’t seem to care. “Okay.”

Jordan rocked back and forth on her heels excitedly as Julie placed her hands on the keyboard, beginning the song.

“Hearts on fire. We’re no liars, so we say what we wanna say,” she sang, the apathetic audience starting to pay attention. “I’m awakened, no more faking. So we push all our fears away.”

“Don’t know if I’ll make it cause I’m falling under. Close my eyes and feel my chest beating like thunder.”

Jordan took a deep breath, steadying herself as their time to join in approached. She reached out, grabbing Alex and Reggie’s hands on either side of her repeating the small ritual Apollo 81 had always done before going on stage.

“I wanna fly, come alive, watch me shine,” As Julie sang the refrain Jordan squeezed the boys’ hands comfortingly, letting go just in time for them to poof onstage.

“I got a spark in me. Hands up if you can see and you’re apart of me. Hands up if you’re with me,” Luke joined Julie for the chorus as she made her way out from the piano to center stage. Jordan immediately made her way over to Reggie, the two ghosts rocking out together in front of Alex’s drum set. The mood in the venue had become electric, everyone’s interests piqued by their sudden appearance. “Now till eternity. Hands up if you believe. Been so long and now we’re finally free.”

Luke joined her and Reggie on Alex’s platform, giving Julie the stage as she sang the second verse. As arranged, Jordan hopped down, joining Julie for the pre-chorus.

“We know we can make it, we’re not falling down under,” they sang together, Jordan taking the lower harmonies. They’d bonded a lot after the dance, they could see it in each other’s smiles. It felt good to be performing together. “Close my eyes and feel my chest beating like thunder.”

“I wanna fly, come alive,” Jordan started the refrain with her before backing off to give her the final line. Rejoining Luke and Reggie in the back. “Watch me shine.”

The three guitarists jumped down from the platform as the chorus hit, Luke immediately taking up the mic next to Julie as he joined her in the chorus again, Reggie and Jordan singing the background vocals on either side of them and Alex in the back. At one point in the chorus, Reggie made his way over to Jordan’s mic, the two singing together briefly before he bounced over to Luke, finally returning to his own mic as they hit the bridge.

Luke and Julie took up center stage as they shared a mic, singing through the call and response bridge. The two had obvious chemistry and as Jordan watched she felt a pit forming in her stomach. She passed it off as just nerves, she was about to pick up the chorus after all, and exchanged smiles with Alex and Reggie, the two boys calming her down.

The crowd roared as they hit the chorus for the final time, Reggie and Jordan leaning into their mics as they joined the chorus.

“I got a spark in me. Hands up if you can see, and you’re a part of me. Hands up if you’re with me…” They sang through the chorus, Jordan taking up Julie’s part so that she could riff off the vocals. They’d decided the final run-through of the chorus was the perfect place to really show off Julie’s pipes.

As the song wound down, the three guitarists backed off again, leaving Julie to sing the last “Finally free” on her own.

The crowd erupted into cheers when the song ended. Jordan sung her guitar to the side as they all took a bow, the four ghosts disappearing. They reappeared at the back of the venue, sitting on the countertop of the bar and giving Julie huge thumbs-ups as she finished out their performance.

“Thank you. We’re Julie and the Phantoms,” she said into the mic, soaking up the applause before adding with a wink to her ghost band, “Tell your friends.”

The four phantoms nearly lost their minds at that, all of them whacking each other’s limbs as they yelled excitedly. They were only starting to calm down when Julie bounded over to where they were sitting behind Flynn, giving her best friend a hug before grinning at the ghosts.

“You were incredible!” Flynn gushed to her friend.

“Yeah, we were!” Reggie exclaimed and Julie rolled her eyes slightly with a grin.

Just when Jordan thought the night couldn’t get any better, a woman in a power suit started making her way over to them, gracefully dodging Dirty Candy on her way.

“She looks all business,” Alex whispered and Jordan nodded.

“Wait! Who should do the talking?” Reggie panicked before looking around at the group, all of them giving him looks that said ‘really?’ “Oh, right, Julie.” He nodded.

“You’ve got this,” Luke whispered as the woman approached, sticking out her hand in introduction.

“Hi I’m Andi Parker and I would love to-“ she began but was cut off.

“Julie,” Ray called sternly from behind and everyone’s eyes widened.

“It’s time to go.” He said and Julie gulped, dropping Andi’s hand.

Oh shit.

Part 9

___

JATP Taglist: @meangirlsx

Sunset Swerve Taglist: @oopsiedoopsie23 @angryknightstatesmantrash @onlygetaway @deni-gonzalez @advicefromnixxxx @brooke0297 

#jatp #jatp fic #julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #julie molina #luke patterson #luke jatp #jatp luke #luke patterson fic #luke patterson x oc #reggie peters #jatp reggie #alex mercer #jatp alex #flynn jatp #jatp flynn #dirty candy #carrie wilson #sunset curve #sunset swerve

[minimitchell]

benmitchellweek day 4 - “i haven’t looked at these pictures in years.”  (ao3 link)

.

Ben has never really thought about what he considered his ‘home’. A long time ago, home meant the hot sun of South Africa, warm hugs and his mother’s perfume. Then, it meant being shifted from one house to the other, bruises on his skin and his dad’s disapprovement. Not so long ago, it meant bouncing from household to household, dragging his daughter and her mother with him like a couple of nomads.

Now though, home means a person. Means big hands, a warm smile and unconditional love.

It means a two-story house across the square from his dad’s, ready to be moved into by him and Callum. They finalized the purchase last week, now proud owners of No.1 Albert Square, and since then they’ve cleaned and painted and bickered with each other. All that’s left for them to do now is to pack up their stuff in their current home and carry it across the square to their future one.

It’s what Ben’s doing right now, trying to fit their life into the few cardboard boxes they bought, while Callum is across the street assembling furniture with Stuart and Jay. He’s currently rifling through their closet, divvying the things into piles labeled ‘keep’ and ‘toss’. He’s already found long-forgotten belongings from years of stuffing things into this closet - old magazines, little trinkets and just downright garbage.

It’s when he pulls out the dark green box from the back corner of the closet though, that he falls backwards onto the carpet, staring at the lid for a moment. He hasn’t looked at the contents of the box in years, but he knows every little thing that’s stored in there. He knows Callum has a similar box to this one, filled with letters and an old beret, but while Callum was willing to share these things with Ben, Ben hasn’t been able to lift the lid and let Callum look at them yet.

Because looking at these things still hurts. It still feels like someone is inside his rib cage squeezing his heart whenever he even thinks about one of the items in there. He wishes he could talk about it more, talk about him more, but Ben still feels like he’s only allowed to talk about Paul a couple of days a year. And it’s even harder to talk to Callum about it, because there’s always the guilt coming with it that he doesn’t deserve to move on and be so happy with someone else, while Paul never got that chance.

Ben is so focused on staring at the green box that he doesn’t even notice Callum joining him in the room until he sinks down onto the ground beside him, carefully running his hand over Ben’s back. 

“You okay?”

Ben wants to sound out a yes, wants to assure him that he’s fine, but no words are coming past his lips. Callum knows what this box is about, but because he’s the best possible partner for Ben, he’s never pushed him on it, knowing that he needs more time to talk about this; to get over this huge chasm created by Paul’s loss.

“I haven’t looked at these pictures in years. Or anything else in there.”

“You don’t have to.”

Ben blows out a long breath, shaking his hands like there’s some sort of imaginary weight on them he has to lift, before he carefully goes to lift the lid of the box, revealing the contents inside. Callum tries not to crane his neck in curiosity but to wait it out until Ben is ready.

The first thing Ben pulls out of the box is a weathered, crumpled receipt from the bottom of the box, smoothing it between two of his fingers. He regards it for a moment, a small smile forming on his face.

“I planned this date for us at Ian’s when we actually got together for real. It was just some burger and chips really but we got all dressed up. It was - he was - beautiful.”

Ben looks like he’s somewhere far away, stuck in the memory, and all Callum can do is rub his hand soothingly over the wide planes of his back.

“Sounds lovely.”

There’s a card in there Ben takes into his hands next, running his thumb over the logo of the tattoo studio not far from here. 

It’s not there anymore, the black ink long gone and replaced by red, marred skin, but the ghost of it lingers. Whether it’s covered by one of his bulky rings or left bare, the memory of it is always there.

“Do you regret it sometimes? Getting rid of it?”

Callum’s voice is low and careful when he poses the question, looking at Ben attentively to gather his reaction. They’ve never openly talked about the tattoo since Ben drunkenly brought it up all that time ago at the housewarming party and that one time Callum had absentmindedly started playing with Ben’s ring, which had caused Ben to get out of bed rather quickly.

“I was in a bad place when I did it. It was the first anniversary I was all alone and… I couldn’t take it anymore. I reckon, I would’ve done it sooner than later.”

Ben doesn’t elaborate any further and thankfully, Callum doesn’t ask either, just letting him get back to his memories.

He pulls out a photo next and tilts it towards Callum to show it off. It shows Ben with Paul, Pam and Les in front of Cokers’, all dressed up and smiling into the camera.

“That was one of the last photos we took. We planned to manage Cokers‘ together - imagine that, I would’ve been your boss - and live in the flat with each other. I always have to think about it; that I ruined our last days together. Because I wasn’t comfortable yet, cause I let my dad get to me.”

“I bet he didn’t feel that way. He knew it takes time to accept yourself. He was willing to work it out with you, to wait for you.”

Ben isn’t sure if they’re still talking about him and Paul or Callum and him right now but he does see the similarities. It warms his heart a little that he was able to be someone to Callum like Paul had been to him. Someone to trust and look for guidance to. It makes him feel like a slightly better person than he probably, definitely, is.

“I still feel so guilty. About moving on, about being so happy with you, about the future I want with you. I think I always will.”

It’s hard to admit that to Callum, because the last thing Ben wants is for Callum to feel bad about this or like Ben is blaming him even just one tiny bit. But for really the first time in his entire life he has someone next to him he can be completely honest with and Callum deserves to be let in by Ben, even with the things Ben’s reluctant to share with anyone other than himself.

“He’d want you to be happy though. And I bet he’d be proud of you, of who you‘ve become. And he’d want you to have your happy ever after.”

Ben doesn’t know if he completely agrees with what Callum is saying. 

He often wonders what Paul would think about everything. What would he say about Ben being a real, full-blown dad to Lexi and absolutely loving it? Would he like Callum despite the fact that he gets to live the life with Ben they had imagined? What would he say about Ben turning the car lot and the Arches around and making good profit with them? Does he think the ring, already safely stored away from Callum in one of the boxes, is a good idea?

“Will you be that?”

It’s the first time Ben fully faces him, letting the photo fall back into the box in the process. He can feel the tears fighting their way up into his eyes but he swallows them down for now, because this is supposed to be a joyous day; the first day in their own home. He just needs the physical confirmation that Callum is in this with him again and that he won’t leave - at least, not if he can help it.

“If you let me.”

Callum pulls Ben into him, letting him fall into his chest and bury his head underneath his chin. Callum presses his lips to Ben’s forehead and Ben feels so, so much conveyed in that one simple action. That he’ll always love him, will always protect him, will always be there for him. A sentiment, Ben is all too ready to reciprocate.

Because he really wants Callum to be his happy ever after as well.

#ballum #ballum fic #benmitchellweek2020 #bm2020 #my writing

[sloppy-butcher]

Alrighty then. So Michael and Danny with a s/o or just a survivor that’s caught their interest that’s clearly favored by the entity (most likely due to excellent performance but could be bc of personality). Example: they more often they get better sacrifices or personal effects as a comfort. But they share their stuff with the others because they like helping

heyy! thank you for the request!

with this one i decided to make the S/O a killer cause i feel that would create the most conflict :) hope that’s ok<3 editt; i realize after writing it that i forgot you included “shares with others” T_T im so sorry

ok so when you say ‘favored because of personality’ I’m going to assume it refers to the reader willingness to obey the Entity and kill without question

ghostface is below the cut. also he's pretty NSFW

HeadCanons for The Shape (Michael Myers) and The Ghostface (Danny ‘Jed Olsen’ Johnson) with an Entity-favored killer! S/O

The Shape (Michael Myers)

It’s customary when a new killer arrives in the Fog, for them to be favored by the Entity. Their unique way of torturing and killing bringing new flavors of fear for the master leaving the other killers on the sidelines. However, when the excitement dies and the dust settles, the attention shifts back to the usual favorites. What confused Michael about you the most was that there was a consistent liking on you that maintained itself and grew even after your initial arrival. There was always a big eye watching you from the sky, a large red sign on your back that the Entity never stopped searching for. There was no denying that even after making yourself home among the Fog that the Entity still liked you.

Michael has never been the favorite. If anything, he’s one of the more disliked killers. That doesn’t mean he’s bad a killing, oh no. Just, in relation to how the Entity wants Its kills to be presented, Michael a bit of an under-achiever. He doesn’t do want is expected of him, he just kills. And that puts him on the boss’s F-tier. So when you show up and immediately get on the Entity’s good side, Michael is skeptical. But not jealous. He’ll just wait and watch as the spotlight shifts away and you lose your shine.

When time passes and you remain as attentive as ever Michael begins to get suspicious. What exactly made you so special? Did you have an ability that was interesting? Or was there something else? Whatever it was, Michael didn’t have to ponder it for too long because one night when he returned to his realm after a long day's work, he found you standing in the middle of the street waiting for him. You explained that you were sent there by the master to help “guide” Michael to become a more efficient and better killer. You couldn’t see it but Michael was furious.

Michael resented you. Every night you would be there, buzzing around him like an annoying fly. He once tried to chase you away, raising his arm in an aggressive gesture only for you to scoff halfheartedly, “You call that a lunge?” Oh right, you were a killer as well. After intimidation didn’t work, he resorted to throwing endless a hissy fits (consisting of him crossing his arms and angrily stomping away from you). You’d have to chase him lecturing him as you did, explaining that if Michael wanted the approval of the Entity he needed to listen to you. Of course, he didn’t.

“You are such a brat you know that?” Michael cocked his head, a sign of his so-called brattiness. He let out a loud huff and turned his nose up. You gasp. “How DARE you!” He huffed again as if testing your authority. He could be such a child.

Eventually, when it became clear that the nail wasn’t being hammered into his thick skull, you gave up on the man. You stopped pestering him, stopped showing up, and threw in the metaphorical towel. With you gone his world feel to silence, only the flickering of red and blue lights moved in the space around him. He felt... empty? Like something was missing. Almost as if on autopilot he looked to his left and surprising saw nobody there. He had grown used to seeing your smaller form next to his. So pristine, always talking with authority and determination. You were skilled, precise, and managed, he actually found himself missing the way you annoyed him. He missed your noise.

Without really trying, Michael started performing even worse in trials. Sometimes he would kill them all within minutes not even offering them a chance to escape or fight back. And other times he wouldn’t even try, deliberately losing chases and allowing the survivors to escape scott-free. And it’s not as if the Entity could punish Michael like it did the others; Michael didn't fear pain nor did he have any emotional attachments of which could be manipulated. The Entity had no way of twisting his arm. As a last resort, you were sent back to try deal with him.

He watched you casually stroll up to him, your arms crossed over your chest like a scolding teacher. When you reached him you shook your head. “You did that on purpose.” Tapping a foot in annoyance you waited for a nonexistent explanation. He just looked at you, eyes taking in your form, eating it up like a starved dog. After you realized that the man wasn’t going to bother with any type of apology or declaration, you sighed and lowered your hands. “Y’know there’s an easier way to keep me around.” He shuddered at your voice but showed no signs of irritation, it was as if he liked hearing you speak in such a tone to him. “Just, promise me you’ll try not to get on Its bad side anymore. At least for me.” Michael considered your proposition for a moment then turned and started to walk away. When he noticed you weren’t following him, he hesitated. He actually waited for you. It wasn’t much but it was a start.

The Ghostface (Danny ‘Jed Olsen’ Johnson)

Danny would definitely be jealous of your attention. Expect long, hateful glares and snide comments. How is it that you had all the entity’s blessings whereas he, a willing participant received none of your praise? He never felt so cheated as he did every time you would return from a successful trial, dressed in the blessings of your victory. He’d hate you.

Of course, Danny would never really show it. Sure, he’d let you pick up on the side-ward scowls and sometimes hear the odd slur but he always hid his true feelings and thoughts. However, his hubris made him believe his acting skills were better than they were you were that man's kryptonite, his weakness. Eventually, things started to slip through the cracks and you could see how much you burned him inside.

It became something of a game between the two of you. You would come back from a trial and while passing him, boast about your kills. “All dead. Merciless.” You sarcastically flip a hand through imaginary hair, passing him a teasing eye over your shoulder before strutting off. You’d leave him fuming. Next time he would return, Danny would approach you twirling a bloody, still-dripping knife. He’d smirk under his mask knowing full well your attention was glued to him. “Dead. Everyone last one of them.” He stated in a matter-of-fact tone, chest puffed out with vicious pride. “Did you use Hex: NoED though?” He paused. How did you know that? At his sudden stupor, you knew you had struck a nerve. Grinning manically you regain your no.1 killer status. “The Entity says that all the struggling killers use that perk.” You emphasize the ‘struggling’ part by curling your fingers and showing off your best shit-eating smile. Danny’s fist shook with rage. “I’m allowed to use whatever Hex I want. If the Entity,” he spat the master’s label with disgust, “didn’t want it to be used, it should be removed.” You crossed your arms and gave the killer a ‘really?’ look. He growled and began to trudge away. As if poking the bear you offer him one last piece of advice, “You already have an insta-down ability, Danny. Use it!”

It would take a while for his pride to mend after that instance but after it did, Danny set to work. He tried beyond anything to beat you, competing for the Entity’s favor. Or, at least, that’s what it seemed like to an outsider. What the man was really desiring was to become the top dog. Become better than you and make you eat your words. He’ll show you ‘struggling’.  As much as he hated to admit it, he often found himself following your advice. He never camped hooked survivors, rarely tunneled, and became the master of his stealth. You were a positive influence on him and his work ethics, it was no longer just about killing it was more about HOW he killed.

He would never EVER admit how you effected him. But you would notice the improvement. The eye of the Entity now had two flickers of interest and it couldn't be more impressed. You certainly were an effective killer, not just in the field but also on your peers. And because of this fact, you always remained the favorite.

Danny witnessed this inherent bias and while his blood boiled, he decided it would be better to make peace rather than enemies. "So," Danny put a gloved hand on his hip having finally cornered you in a private moment. "How do you do it?" At your confused expression, he chuckled shaking his head dismissively. "The Boss. How do you keep its favor? I mean, if you haven't noticed," Danny said, fixing a glove. "I've been performing exceptionally well in my trials. Yet the attention is always fixed on you." A smile crept across your lips. Something was different about the man. He didn't portray a total and complete aura of dislike towards you. There was something else there. Admiration? Desire? Whatever it was, it felt nice to be showered by it. You shrugged your answer unsure of how exactly to respond. "Shit then," Danny said, shaking his head again and letting out an airy laugh. "You must give awesome blowjobs."

NSFW! The new game the two of you had adopted was a more friendly competition than the previous hate-filled pissing contest. The rules were simple, whoever returned from their trials with the most merciless titles got to top. Sorry, I don’t make the rules. And to be honest, while Danny does enjoy the added bonus of bragging rights, regardless of if he won or not he always had fun in whatever position. He secretly likes watching you take control over him. 

#dbd headcanons #dbd x reader #dbd the shape x reader #dbd michale myers x reader #dbd the ghostface #dbd the ghostface x reader #dbd danny jed olsen johnson

[dazaaaai]

BSD as SpongeBob episodes

(in no particular order except first episode is First)

“Help Wanted”: Dazai sends Atsushi on an impossible fool’s errand so he can work at the Agency, and is shocked when Atsushi manages to do it

“Texas”: Lucy misses Canada pretty badly and Atsushi keeps trying to convince her to stay

Dazai: Can we say people from Canada are stupid? Lucy: NO! You CAN’T!

“Pizza Delivery”: Atsushi does a fantastic job of solving a certain case, but the client still gets mad. Kunikida smacks them for making Atsushi cry

“Ripped Pants”: Atsushi making jokes to get Kyouka to laugh

“Plankton!”: Mori tries convincing Atsushi to work for them with a golden spatula, but it doesn’t work, so he takes over his mind instead

“Jellyfish Jam”: Dazai brings home a wild tiger to live with him and ends up totally trashing the Agency

“F.U.N.”: Atsushi singing the Fun Song to Akutagawa

“The Chaperone”: Dazai tasks Atsushi with taking Kyouka to a dance

“Employee of the Month”: Kunikida and Dazai fighting over the award

“Valentine’s Day”: Dazai getting wildly offended because it seems that Atsushi hasn’t given him a Valentine’s Day present, especially because he’s already given one to everyone else in the Agency

Dazai: I thought we were best friends!

Dazai: I defy you, heart-man!

“The Paper”: Atsushi, used to making fun for himself as an orphan, has a wonderful time with Dazai playing with a piece of paper that Kunikida is just. beyond confused about

“Squid’s Day Off”: Kunikida takes a day off, and all he can think about is how Dazai won’t burn down the Armed Detective Agency.

Dazai: I’m gonna burn down the Armed Detective Agency!

Dazai: Kunikida-kun, are you finished with your errands?

“Something Smells”: Atsushi’s breath smells a little too much like bad chazuke, but Dazai convinces Atsushi he’s caught the Ugly instead

“Suds”: Atsushi catches a cold. Dazai convinces him not to see Yosano.

Dazai: She makes you read old magazines!

“Jellyfishing”: Atsushi and Dazai beg Kunikida to play with them.

“Bubble Buddy”: Atsushi makes up an imaginary friend when nobody has time to spend with him. Due to ability shenanigans, it comes to life.

“Dying for Pie:” Atsushi has a day left to live, so Kunikida goes out of his way to make it his best day ever.

Dazai: The boy cries you a sweater of tears... And ya kill him.

Kunikida: You were SUPPOSED! To EXPLODE! Atsushi: Um, okay, I'll try. KYOUKA-CHAN!!! YOU ARE GOING TO EAT YOUR DESSERT AND YOU ARE GOING TO LIKE IT!!!

“Dying for Pie:” Alternatively, Dazai has a day left to live.

Dazai: Show my best friend Kunikida to everyone in town, check! Kunikida: Greeaat! What's next on the list?

Dazai: Show my best friend Kunikida to everyone in town while wearing a salmon suit!

Kunikida: You're going to be wearing a salmon suit?

Dazai: Hahaha! That's funny, Kunikida-kun!

“Imitation Krabs”: Port Mafia shenanigans manage to manifest a Kunikida lookalike and Atsushi must determine who his real boss is.

Atsushi: I thought you wanted to ask me a question. Kunikida: Yes. Why aren't you working harder? Atsushi: I don't know, Kunikida-san. I don't know...

“Life of Crime”: Dazai and Atsushi are convinced they’re going to jail.

Dazai and Atsushi: We stole a balloon!!

Dazai: Did you eat my chocolate bar?  Atsushi: You just ate it, Dazai-san. It's all over your face. Dazai: You stole it...

“Frankendoodle”: An evil copy of Atsushi is created.

Atsushi: There he is. Dazai: He's hideous. He makes me sick, just looking at him. Those big multicolor eyes, that skinny body, those two suspenders, and that stupid tie! Atsushi: Ahem. Dazai: Oh... But it looks good on you, Atsushi-kun!

Atsushi: You okay, Dazai-san? Dazai: Finland! 

“Welcome to the Chum Bucket”: Dazai loses Atsushi in a poker game against the Mafia, and Atsushi is forced to work there now.

“Sailor Mouth”: Dazai and Atsushi learn a curse word and repeat it at the Agency the next day. Kunikida explains why they can't say that word. When Atsushi says it again accidentally, Dazai ruNS to tell on him, only for it to end in all three of them cussing wildly.

“Squid on Strike”: The Agency members all go on strike.

“Club SpongeBob:” Kunikida gets stuck in Dazai and Atsushi’s club.

Dazai and Atsushi: Welcome to our club! Welcome to our club! WELCOMEKUNIKIDAWELCOMEKUNIKIDAWELCOMEKUNIKIDA

“Graveyard Shift”: Kunikida and Dazai are stuck working the Agency late at night, and wait in fear of the Hash Slinging Slasher.

Kunikida: No matter what I’ve said, I’ve always sorta liked you. Dazai: Kunikida, I used your Ideal to unclog my toilet!

“Secret Box”:  Atsushi really wants to see inside of Dazai's secret box.

Dazai: Good thing he didn't pull the secret string, opening the secret compartment of my secret box... Revealing one embarrassing snapshot of Atsushi-kun at Kyouka-chan's welcome party!

“Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy V”: Fukuzawa and Ranpo as the titular characters. Ranpo is tired of being seen as the baby between them.

Ranpo: [points to the Mafia] I’m crossing over to the dark side! Fukuzawa: [looks at Port Mafia buildings, which aren’t lit] Chief Taneda: Why should we waste money lighting the whole city!

Special thanks to @bandaged-chessmaster and @passiverat, these are ideas from a conversation had with them two years ago <3

#bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu #atsushi nakajima #kunikida doppo #bsd #bungo stray dogs #osamu dazai #nakajima atsushi #doppo kunikida #armed detective agency #text #headcanon #omg the new tumblr update is #really killing how this post looks #pls view in my theme if you can

[epitheterasedgen]

hi hi so I sent an ask around when you made the Epithet!Switched scripts, and now I’ve written most of my AU scripts (they probably won’t be published, I’d have to explain a lot of stuff) and I’d like to ask; do you have any tips on making scenes different from canon? Also, any tips on battle scenes? That’s where I really struggle. Thanks!! (Also, all of your advice you’ve given already really helped!!)

Oh, hi! You’re serious! Awesome!! :0 Most people who start a project never follow up, so the fact you’re sticking to it— especially if you’re not posting it and just writing for yourself— is a very good sign! I’ll put advice under the cut since it’ll get a little (okay, VERY) long.

Making scenes different from canon

As I mentioned before, I always wrote down the most important points of a scene before writing it. That means stuff that’ll affect the plot— characters’ first appearances, new teams being formed, any time the arsene amulet changes hands, ect.— and then I thought about how to get to those points specifically using the changes I made. After all, the promise of the premise is what makes your script different from the original: what points make your script worth reading? For instance, if an Epithet is changed, you need to find a way to parallel what the original one did by using the new one. And don’t be afraid to think outside the box! (More on this in battle scenes.)

But before that, don’t just ignore the small moments— analyze their purpose, break them down, and then see if there’s a way to reconstruct them. For example: When we first see Ramsey’s silhouette in EE, he makes a pun about having an “eye for these things,” and then his golden eye glints. That’s a joke (albeit one you might not catch on the first watch) followed immediately by a hint to his Epithet. So to mirror that, I had Zora say “I do know a thing or two about antiques,” and proceed to ripen an apple in her hand. It’s not AS good a joke, but it keeps the same purpose as the original, while still being interesting to read! The line “I do have an eye for these things” would technically still work for Zora, but it would no longer a pun, and it wouldn’t clue us into her epithet. Meaning it wouldn’t be unique, AND you’d lose the whole purpose of the line (comedy and foreshadowing). Jello is a VERY good writer. Almost every line can be scrutinized for purpose, and there are so many jokes crammed in— EE is a comedy, after all.

Battle Scenes

Hohhhh boy. This was the part that was the trickiest for me, but it essentially follows the same rules as dialogue scenes: find the most important points, and work backwards to make them happen using your changes. It especially helped me to break the fight scenes into sections— the battle scene with Sylvie (who, in my script, is replaced with Percy) is the best example of this. After watching that scene over and over again (seriously, OVER and over again— if you wanna be a writer, you better be ready to rewatch), I realized that Sylvie’s battle scene vaguely represents a video-game boss fight… that is, it’s broken into three parts. I actually referred to each as “fight A, B, and C” while I worked on it. Battle A is the minion stage, when Sylvie sends out his counting sheep from afar to attack the main duo. Battle B is actually the most important, not because it’s a new attack but because it holds the emotional climax between the main duo. And Battle C is the close-combat final form, very much like a boss in a video game who gets a sick new design and a remix of their theme.

Perhaps the most challenging part of all this is knowing which parts of the structure are most crucial to keep intact— which, I’ll tell you right now, is anytime the characters have an emotional beat. In other words, Molly (or, in my script, Gio) MUST have the breakdown, and Gio (or, in my script, Molly) MUST save them. It’s a bonding moment. It’s what MAKES US CARE about everything else that happens. So, Battle B was pretty easy to figure out: give Giovanni a fear to parallel Molly’s, and have Molly save him. It’s unfortunate his fear couldn’t tie into his backstory, but Jello’s script is so tight, it’s basically impossible to replicate. Besides, I didn’t have the “create your greatest fear” trope to cheat with, so I had to work with what Percy’s powerset could already do, and claustrophobia was the easiest fear to create, keeping that in mind.

The hard part for me was realizing that I needed to switch (hah) the structures of battles A and C— that is, I still kept the “final form” until the end, but I gave the “close combat” section to Battle A, and made the “minion” stage the climax (Battle C). This decision was because Percy is the boss, not Sylvie— and her powers are based on a Tower Defense Game. It’s all about going back to the promise of the premise. Giving Percy a Beefton-like power wouldn’t just feel like a ripoff, it straight-up wouldn’t WORK. Sylvie can turn into Beefton because “he can bring dreams to life, and Beefton is HIS dream.” But there’s NO way Percy can bring something to life, let alone an imaginary friend. So I had to look at Percy’s powerset and make something cool out of it, which ended up being a Tower-Defense inspired “obstacle course” for Giovanni to parkour through (because, in the end, he had to be the one to defeat the boss).

I hope this helps you; thanks so much for asking my advice! I love gushing about my writing process, and also how good Jello’s writing is X”D

#this post is 50% me explaining my writing process and 50% me gushing about what a good writer Jello is #not headcanon #writing advice #epithet: switched #anon

[tessatechaitea]

Cerebus #15 (1980)

If the story so far had revealed that Cerebus has a vagina, I could make a hentai joke here.

The first time I encountered hentai was at an anime convention at a Red Lion Inn in San Jose in 1994 or 1995. I went to the convention by myself because I had recently fallen in love with the cartoon Sailor Moon and wanted to get some Sailor Moon LaserDiscs unless it was actually Sailor Moon dolls I wanted. It was so long ago, how am I supposed to remember?! They had a room where they were showing movies and one of the movies I watched was Sailor Moon R: The Movie. It was subtitled which was great because then I had the story memorized for all the times I watched my non-subtitled LaserDisc. But that wasn't the pornographic anime I saw! I don't even remember what that was but I watched some tentacle fucking movie late at night in a dark room with a bunch of other sweaty nerds. I didn't know that was what was going to happen though so I didn't have my dick in my hands like the other guys probably did. I was as shocked as anybody when they first find out that cartoons where women get fucked by tentacles exist! I mean, how many penises does an alien need?! I grew up thinking the little gray aliens had zero! That Red Lion Inn was the same one where I played in a couple of Magic the Gathering tournaments. Being in a dark room with a bunch of horny anime fans was less awkward and uncomfortable than playing Magic the Gathering against Magic the Gathering fans. Most of them probably couldn't believe they were actually playing against such a cool and handsome dude. It really threw them off their game when I would say things like, "Yeah, I've touched a couple of boobs. I attack with my Serra Angel." I know what you're thinking: "Anime, comic books, and Magic the Gathering?! This awesome dude must have owned every single Stars Wars figure too!" Aw, you're too kind! I'm blushing! But obviously I never owned Yak Face. "A Note from the Publisher" is still being published so I guess Dave and Deni are still married. In his Swords of Cerebus essay, Dave Sim discusses "Why Groucho?" It seems to mostly come down to this: Dave Sim enjoyed the characters of Groucho Marx as a teenager and memorized a lot of their lines. He also mentions Kim Thompson's review of Cerebus in The Comic Journal (the first major review of the series) in which Kim praised Sim's ability to make his parody characters transcend the parody to become unique creations of their own. This review gave Sim the confidence to put Groucho in the role of Lord Julius. Which worked out so well that Sim later adds Oscar Wilde, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Margeret Thatcher, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Woody Allen, Dave Sim, and the Three Stooges into the story. I'm sure I'm missing some but I can't remember every aspect of this 6000 page story. Was The Judge also a parody of somebody? Was the Regency Elf based on Wendy Pini? I don't know! I'm sure I'm missing a lot of references in Cerebus simply because I haven't experienced all the same knowledge sources as Dave Sim. Just like I'm missing a super duper lot of references in Gravity's Rainbow because nobody in the history of ever has experienced all the same knowledge sources as Thomas Pynchon. I've been reading Gravity's Rainbow (for the first time but also the third time because I'm basically reading it three times at the same time. You'll understand when you read it) and I'm surprised by how funny it is. I don't think anybody ever described it as funny or else I'm sure I would never have stopped reading it multiple times prior to this time when I'm actually going to finish it. Although I suppose when I read Catch-22, I had done so on my own so nobody ever told me how funny that book was either. But for some reason, Catch-22 lets you know it's going to be a funny book pretty quickly. Gravity's Rainbow is all, "Here is a description of an evacuation of London which is just stage setting because, you know, the bombs have already blown up, but it makes people feel safe. And after that, how about a scene where this guy makes a bunch of banana recipes for breakfast. Is that funny enough for you?" Oh, sure, there are some funny moments like when that one guy pretends a banana is his cock and then some other guys tackle him and beat him with his own pretend cock. But there's a gravity to the scene that doesn't lend itself to the reader thinking, "Oh, this is a funny book!" But if you make it far enough, you start realizing, "Hey! I'm not understanding this!" So then you reread the section and you start realizing, "Hey! I'm laughing at this stuff! This is pretty funny!" Plus there are a lot of descriptions of sexy things that I'm assuming are really accurate because Pynchon is obsessed with details.

Anyway, I was supposed to be talking about Cerebus, wasn't I?

A Living Priest of Tarim crashes Lord Julius' bath to scold him about a party Julius is giving in a fortnight (which is the amount of time your kid has lost to a video game). I don't know why the priest has to declare he's a living priest. You can tell that by the way he's shouting and foaming at the mouth. Although this is a Swords & Sorcery book so I suppose there are many dead creatures that also shout and foam at the mouth. Sometimes I forget I'm reading a fictional book and wind up ranting and raving about stuff that I'm supposed to just assume is fine. Like when I read The Flash and nothing in it makes any sense at all because The Flash should never have any trouble stopping crime or saving people from natural disasters. The comic book should be over in two pages. Even the writers, at some point, realized how ridiculous Flash stories were and decided the only way to make them believable was to have The Flash battle other super fast people. But that just meant Flash stories basically became bar-room brawls. Two people with super speed fighting is the same as reading a story about two people without super speed fighting. Boring! Some writers even decided that maybe a telepathic monkey would make things more interesting and I suppose telepathic monkeys make everything more interesting so kudos to them. I was going to go on a long rant about telepathic monkeys but then I realized how much I love the idea of telepathic monkeys so why should I create an argument against them? More telepathic monkeys, please.

This made me laugh out loud. Not as much as the chapter in Gravity's Rainbow where the old woman forces Slothrop to eat a bunch of terrible candies. But then it isn't a competition, is it? I mean, I guess it's a competition for my time which is why I haven't written a comic book review in a week or more. Blame Thomas Pynchon for being so entertaining (and also Apex).

Baskin, the Minister for Executive Planning, has come to let Lord Julius know what the revolutionaries have revealed while being tortured. The only bit of useful information was one prisoner's last words: "Revolution...the pits." Cerebus immediately assumes "the Pits" is a location and not a summation of the prisoner's feelings about revolution which led to torture which led to his death. Cerebus, being the Kitchen Staff Supervisor, begins an investigation into The Pits. His first step: threatening the Priest of the Living Tarim. Which makes me realize I transposed the word "living" in the previous encounter with the priest and went on a digression that makes no sense to anybody who has read and somehow remembers that particular panel. I'm sure they were scoffing and snorting and exclaiming to their pet rat, "What a stupid fool loser this Grunion Guy is! Living Priest of Tarim! HA! Ridiculous! What a moronic mistake! He has made a gigantic fool of himself!" I don't know that the almost certainly imaginary people who called me on my mistake as they read this have a pet rat but I do know there almost certainly isn't another imaginary sentient being in the room with them. Cerebus learns that The Pits are Old Palnu that lies under current Palnu. It was destroyed in a massive earthquake long ago and the new city built over the top of it. It's like a Dungeons & Dragons module but with a lot less treasure.

This scene reminded me that I need to finish rereading The Boomer Bible: A Testament for Our Times (which is what it was called in the 90s but is just as accurate for today).

Cerebus and Lord Julius engage in another typical misunderstanding (it's not hard when only half of the people in the conversation care about making sense) which ends up with Lord Julius deciding that the location for the Festival of Petunias will be The Pits. This complicates Cerebus' job of not allowing Lord Julius to be assassinated because the assassins are most likely housed in The Pits (along with their giant snakes (*see cover)). Lord Julius, Baskin, and Cerebus descend into The Pits to find a suitable location for the Festival of Petunias. In doing so, they wind up in a trap and confronted by a masked revolutionary of the "Eye of the Pyramid." Which is odd because you usually have to murder at least a dozen kobolds and several goblins before you reach the room with the boss in it.

Typical unbalanced beginning level module. A giant snake as the first encounter!

Cerebus manages to defeat the giant snake by crashing it headfirst into a wall. The wall winds up being a key support structure and the roof collapses. Everybody makes it out alive but the masked revolutionary evades capture. He will be back next issue to ruin the Festival of Petunias. Aardvark Comment is still just a mostly standard comic book letters page. I'll probably stop discussing it until people start criticizing Dave. Right now it's just "This comic book is great!" and "Keep writing, Dave, and I'll never think ill of anything idea you espouse!" while Dave replies, "I owe my fans everything! I can't wait until I can stop feeling that way and start jerking off onto my art boards and selling those as pages of Cerebus!" Cerebus #15 Rating: A. Good story, good Lord Julius dialogue, good Living Priest of the Living Tarim scenes. I wholeheartedly endorse this comic book and Dave Sim. No way a guy with a sense of humor like this is going to go off the rails, right?!

#Dave Sim #Cerebus

[chemicalmagecraft]

The Gamer Hero, Deku Chapter 26

A/N: What's even more fun than a Gamer getting a bunch of really awesome powers all at once?

Sidenote but wHY DO I KEEP CONFUSING ALL FOR ONE AND ONE FOR ALL

xoxoxo

Yang purred as I scratched her chin. "How does fire work?" I asked her in the semi-language cats use to speak to each other.

"Things hit me and fire inside grows," she answered. "Can use fire inside to make myself stronger or warm up."

I nodded and rubbed behind her ears. It sounded like it let her absorb kinetic energy for later use. If I was right it reminded me of One For All but fire-flavored. It probably wouldn't be as powerful as All For One because it was trained up by eight people before I got it, but if it worked right it might be worthwhile to have just in case. As for how I was going to get it?

Copy (Emitter)

The ability to temporarily copy the Quirks of others by touching them. The user can only use one copy at a time and they will wear off after five minutes, but multiple Quirks can be copied at a time. Accumulated resources are not copied.

Current Quirks: I Burn (Emitter): 4:57

It was only a theory at the moment, but my guess was that the way my Quirk copying worked by somehow obtaining data on Quirks and then storing them until I decided to buy one, where it fleshed it out to a full copy. But how did it get the information in the first place? My theory was that it was in some way tied to Skill Fragments or EXP. That was the common link between every Quirk in my Quirk Shop, so maybe it also encoded some information on the person's Quirk while it was at it. Or it was just a third, invisible type of spoil, but in the end it meant the same thing. Outside of special circumstances like quests the only way for me to get new Quirks was to fight someone.

And that wasn't really ideal, so I was hoping if I had a Quirk temporarily it would give The Gamer the same information needed to put the Quirk in the Quirk shop. Which brought me to where I was now, trying to copy my cat's Quirk. I scrolled through the Quirk shop, crossing my fingers and hoping that I didn't waste 3000 SF.

I Burn (Emitter)

I held off buying it. If I was testing, I was testing every possible downside now and not finding out later. First I turned off Copy and reopened the text box for it. It said it still had I Burn on it, but the timer had stopped at 4:42. I turned it back on. The timer started again. I turned Copy back off. So it paused the Quirk as it was when it was off. I wondered if that meant that a Quirk that had a cooldown would only have its cooldown go down when it was active. That would be a little inconvenient because I could only have two Quirks active at a time if I didn't want them to lower in quality, which would probably also slow down the cooldown timer. The only way to know for sure, though, would be to find a Quirk with a cooldown and test it out.

Wow it did not take me long after getting the power to copy Quirks to get Gotta Catch 'em All thoughts... It made me wonder if that was how All For One started out...

Ignoring that dark thought, I entered an Illusion Barrier. I decided to make a skeleton barrier. The skeletons really weren't worth much at this point, even the bosses, but at the same time they couldn't really hurt me and I could at least kill the mooks without any real effort. Speaking of which, I sent my elementals out to eradicate any skeletons that popped up. Because they were part of my magic any skeletons they killed would give me spoils, so even if it wasn't much it would eventually add up.

Now that I didn't have to worry about property damage, I turned Copy (I Burn) back on and slammed my head through my room's wall. I felt heat well up in my body. It reminded me of how One For All's energy pool recharged when I used Meditate at full MP, but only for a moment. If it got that much energy, then that meant that it absorbed energy before my defensive passives, which was the best-case scenario. Now the question was if it would still charge while I was discharging. I reached for I Burn like I did with One For All and jumped with all my strength. I didn't get much energy back from the original jump at all, but crashing through the roof filled me up. While I was in the air I activated one of the two skills I earned in my fight with Kacchan, Imaginary Architect. I started simple, mana forming into solid shapes on my roof. I landed on a light blue tower made entirely of magic.

I heard creaking coming from my roof. Even though Imaginary Architect made temporary structures from pure energy it seemed to still have weight. It didn't make physical sense, but at the same time I remembered that Bound Blade had weight to it and Imaginary Architect was basically just the theory behind Bound Blade taken to eleven. I wasn't much of an architect (though with Imaginary Architect it would probably be a good idea to fix that...) but I managed to make supports that made sure my house didn't fall under the weight of the tower I just made. I dropped Super Regeneration, the second Quirk that I had active, for Float and jumped off of my tower to survey it. It looked decent, but with how much it was draining me even though I had Mantra active I decided to make it a bit smaller. I smiled with the result and went back to the top to check out my other new prestiged skill.

Item Enchantment, as the name suggested, let me enchant items, which on its own I knew I had to get out of my head and into the hands of inventors. And I knew just who to talk to about that. But it also had a minor benefit of allowing me to automatically add enchantments to anything that I create with magic, cutting some of the creation's MP cost out of the enchantment's MP cost. I formed a large brazier with a simple Fire Aura-like enchantment. The brazier lit automatically.

I jumped back off of the tower to look at it again. I'd made a pretty good lighthouse. It was a shame it'd disappear the moment I stopped supplying it mana. I mean I could probably figure out a way to make it last longer, possibly with some sort of magic longevity enchantment, but this particular tower didn't have much life left in it. I took out my phone and snapped a photo, then let it die. It actually looked really pretty while it was dissolving, so I took a few more pictures. I sat down in midair and made myself a chair with Imaginary Architect. It fell because it was a chair and didn't have the power to fly. Next I tried to make a flying chair with air magic. It fell, but slower. I guess I made a gliding chair... Third time was the charm, I made a flying chair. Well, "flying" chair. I didn't have any way to actually move it aside from pushing it, so it was more like a floating chair, but it wasn't a gliding chair. Well actually I was using a Quirk called Float to fly so...

Semantics aside, I reclined in my magical floating chair that I made just because and checked my Quirk menu. Copy was almost out of I Burn, just a minute left, so I decided to just wait it out. While I was waiting I made a marble out of mana and started playing with it. Item Enchantment was too good not to grind out a lot of uses for. I didn't manage to make what I wanted to before Copy ran out, which to be fair that was less than a minute so it wasn't likely I'd make a major artifact, but I was hopeful with what I saw all the same. Once Copy lost I Burn I checked back in the Quirk shop and smiled. It was still there. I bought it after closing the menu and opening it again to see if "updating" it did anything. It looked like it lost the energy I'd accumulated, but I didn't really care about that. I swapped Copy out for it because I hoped it would slowly charge over time.

I looked at the ground, where a few skeletons were spawning, and told my elementals to not kill them. If I wanted to charge up I Burn, then wouldn't it be a good idea to have a bunch of skeletons who couldn't hurt me at all gang up on me? I activated Air Aura and jumped as high as I could, then created a platform in the air and used it to springboard myself as hard at the ground as I could, switching Float for Super Regeneration. I slammed into the ground hard enough to make a crater, then sat up. Because I was grinding anyway, my left hand glowed green and my right hand glowed purple. Getting a better healing skill was probably a good idea, so I was just going to powerlevel Healing Hands and Draining Hands. "Okay, now I should probably look at those titles I got."

I started with the title I got from the obstacle course, Swift as the Wind. It was basically passive Air Aura except instead of generating wind it boosted wind affinity. Useful, especially if I were to combine it with Air Aura. Cavalry Leader wasn't very specific, but assured me that using it would make me better at leadership, riding, and driving and would increase EXP for skills related to them. I guess the driving part came from the robot... Still, it could be useful. Especially if I could make vehicles with Imaginary Architect. Once I got one the appropriate licenses, which would probably be easy if I had a title that increased my ability to drive. Champion of Yuuei, though, was probably the best. It increased HP and MP both by 25%, which on its own was great because it was an upgrade of my Yuuei Student title. But it also said that it improved my Quirks, which could hopefully mean...

I turned Float on without turning off my other two Quirks, but didn't use it. Success! Adding a third Quirk didn't destabilize them with Champion of Yuuei. Maybe... I added Copy to my pile. That did it. I turned Float off. I could probably increase my limit faster by going over it, but for now I was content to just have as many Quirks as I could have active at once without any downsides, especially because that would make I Burn charge slower.

"What next..." I muttered to myself as I felt skeletons ineffectually pounding on my backside, rubbing my chin with my life-draining hand. Aside from grinding until it was time to go see Shuzenji-sensei, I only had two more things that I could think of that I wanted to do. "First," I said as I summoned my Skill Grimoir, "Let's see if there's anything worthwhile in here." I flipped through the pages. Nothing really stuck out to me enough that I wanted to buy them that I wasn't confident I could eventually figure out on my own eventually. That, plus the fact that buying skills and buying Quirks used the same currency, made me decide to only really use the Skill Grimoir for inspiration. I shrugged and broke it over my knee.

Now it was time for some fun. Singularity. It was permanently active like The Gamer and One For All, which heavily implied that it was mine in a way that the copied Quirks weren't. The fact that it literally said it powered The Gamer somehow certainly added to that. It said that I could draw in anything. I decided to test that out on my house. I reached out with a muscle I'd never used before that somehow still felt so familiar and touched the wall with it. A green glow spread across the wall where Singularity touched it, and I could feel where the wall was in relation to me as if by instinct. I tugged on the link I had with it. The portion of the wall that I was connected to was easily ripped out of the rest of the wall. I checked my MP bar and even subtracting Draining Hands and Mantra adding to my MP regeneration the dip wasn't bad at all. Dang, how powerful did I have to be to rip part of the wall out? Next I tried to see if I could pull it in any direction aside from toward me. I tried as hard as I could, but I couldn't lift it up or swing it around, just make part or all of it accelerate towards me. That was different from Mom's Quirk, as she could swing objects around if she moved her hands right, but I supposed I couldn't complain that my absurdly powerful gravitation Quirk didn't also let me easily throw entire walls at people. Not that I couldn't throw a wall at someone with Singularity, it'd just be harder to do.

Next I decided to see what "pulls in the immaterial" meant. On a hunch, because according to Todoroki I could probably do it, I created a simple Mana Bolt on my finger, holding it there, and targeted it with Singularity. It changed from light blue to emerald green. "Neat," I said, then shot the Mana Bolt. About halfway through its max distance I pulled on it. It stopped for a second before coming back to hit me in the chest. "So that proves I can pull in magic," I muttered. "Can I do other forms of energy?" I pointed at a skeleton and targeted the air around it. I concentrated really hard on trying to draw warmth, thermal energy, from it. After a few failed attempts where I just pulled the skeleton towards me a bit I managed to move something that wasn't the skeleton or the air surrounding it. A few more tries and the skeleton was covered in frost. "I did it!" I cheered.

I smiled and moved on to my next idea. If I could move magic and fire... could I move light? I took a deep breath and concentrated. A green aura surrounded me, covering the area around me in a tinge of green. I pulled at all the light around me at once. "Black Hole!" I shouted as I was enveloped in darkness. This lowered my MP regeneration a bit more and I was started to feel a weird strained feeling in my stomach, probably another drawback of Singularity. I tried making a Magelight, but even the magical light couldn't pierce the darkness I'd created. "This isn't your average everyday darkness," I quoted, "this is... advanced darkness!" I smiled as I realized that the connection I'd forged with the area that let me suck all the light out also let me feel everything in the area. It'd probably take some practice to fight in Black Hole, but I could definitely see the merit in making an area of advanced darkness around me that I could sense all of.

I dropped the advanced darkness with a bright flash of green light. I winced because it hurt my eyes. I'd have to watch out for that in the future... I didn't think that I had anything else I could test out about Singularity, except maybe range, so I decided to grind for the rest of the time I had left. I sat down and made a weight set on a set of rails a bit like a guillotine over my head. It didn't hurt me at all when it dropped on my head, but just having it sitting on my head was enough to make my I Burn energy go up slightly faster. It killed the skeletons that were hitting me, though... I shrugged and went into Meditation, setting the stat that it raised to INT and the stat Mantra raised to WIS. It was time for grinding.

xoxoxo

"You wanted to see me?" I asked Shuzenji-sensei when I entered her office.

"Ah, Midoriya," she said. "Good. Take a seat." She gestured to a chair, which I sat in. "Do you know why I called you here?"

"Aizawa-sensei said it was about the Quirk healer lessons?"

She nodded. "You know, it's surprisingly easy to get a Quirk healer license, as long as you can heal with your Quirk and are decently competent. I'm certain it was made that way on purpose. Even if it's illegal to use Quirks in public without a license, I figure at least some government figures decided that having anyone who can heal mortal wounds with a snap be allowed to, as long as they signed the right paperwork, of course. Speaking of..." She pulled out a few sheets of paper and handed me a pen. "As of the sports festival, which by the way I counted as part of your supervised service, you've completed all of the necessary prerequisites aside from signing these papers. Read them if you want, but you have to sign here, here, and here to get your license."

I nodded and read the papers. It seemed in order. I signed them where I was asked to. "Great," Shuzenji-sensei said. "Now because you're a minor you have to get your mother to sign there. Come back to me with it when you get back to school and I'll be able to get it to you by your work study."

"Work study?" I asked.

"Right, your class is going to have a work study with hero agencies soon. The timing felt right, so I figured I'd get it to you before you leave. If anything it'll impress whoever you choose."

"Thank you, Shuzenji-sensei. Also, do you think I could get some costume adjustments while I'm here? For one thing, with my VIT and defensive passives the armor probably isn't worth the slight reduction in mobility anymore."

"Power Loader should be in the development studio. He's the one you want to talk to about that."

"Thank you. Can you tell me where that is?"

xoxoxo

"That's interesting," Power Loader said after I told him about my copy power. "I have some ideas on how I could help with that. I've had to deal with a lot of Transformation Quirks, after all. I won't be able to make anything special for any Quirks unless you tell me which ones you want to be prioritized and how exactly they work, but I should be able to make it so that you don't destroy your costume every time you use a Transformation or Mutant Quirk. Unfortunately, though, I don't think it'll be done before your work study."

"That's okay," I said. "Do you think you could adjust my costume so it doesn't have the armor? It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I have two defensive passives and a self-healing Quirk just in case, so I think I'll take the slight increase in mobility over the armor."

"Good idea. Don't worry, I should be able to do that pretty quick."

"Thank you," I said. "Say, you're Hatsume's teacher, right?"

Power Loader froze. "...Why are you asking?"

"I got a really good spell for support gear and, well, making things in general, but it's kinda complicated, so my best idea for how to get someone else to know it is to have Hatsume watch me using it with the magic-sensing spell I taught her."

"I don't suppose you could try to teach the magic-sensing spell to me?"

I shrugged. "I could try, but I'm pretty sure the only reason Hatsume learned Eye For Magic so easily to begin with was that it was compatible with her Quirk."

He sighed. "Fine, then I'll tell Hatsume that you're looking for her. But I still want to try to learn the spell."

"Okay, so what you do first is..."

xoxoxo

That same Gamer playing with those powers!

Also I forgot to track Izuku's levels over the course of the sports festival... I do know that it should be over two higher than what it was before because tournament arc but I kinda forget what it originally was... I don't suppose anyone here was keeping track?

Also also, I have been planning the next chapter for a while. Even though I only just remembered about it... So hopefully it's good?

Elemental list: Midoriya: Halitus, Dune, Rayne, Blaise, Juniper, Mifuyu, Raimon, Iggy, Sonia, and Claude Bakugou: Pyra and Leaf Tokoyami: Corvo Uraraka: Nebula and Ion Hagakure: Lucy Tsu: Bubbles Aizawa: Charlie and Cassiopeia All Might: Seth O'Scope

#fanfiction #bnha #bnha fanfiction #the gamer #The Gamer Hero Deku #Gamer Hero Deku #GHD CH26

[miyiee]

“TOMINO”

“TOMINO”

Written By: Miyie 〴

(Disclaimer! Please do not read if you are someone who is easily disturbed, make sure you are over 13 to read this content may include violence, alcohol, abuse, and blood, Thank you!) This is not your typical horror genre, it truly describes real-life “horror.” I really wanted to bring out these situations, as there are many out there who suffer from these.) -Miyie 〴

It’s only imaginary, it’s something so forfeit, something you cannot deliberately see.

………...See, I once had this friend, it was only engraved in my mind, not necessarily sincere nor significant to me, someone that was so authentically cruel, but yet I followed…..

A bird caged-girl, as she started to plug her ears to block out the interphone chime, I am fighting with an enemy I couldn’t even see, even till the end I was leading myself to a truly unseemly thing. A leash clings on my neck, each step, each walk, each breath I took. I am always being watched by someone, something.

Who, you may ask? My imaginary friend. “And, it has been that way for years.”

“Free me, lift me from my guilt.” If it were only so simple.

1/2/1981

Ever since the day I was born into this world, I have always been those principles of innocence, my mother, my father always checked up on me to make sure I wasn’t doing anything bad and they would always find me quite strange for a child. You see, I was always talking to the wall, in the same position. “Look! Mommy, isn’t he nice?” Yes. Tomino loved me deeply, there was no doubt, but you see, this love was a strange one and cannot be explained. “Sure, whatever you say, Hika.” She leaned down and pet me on the head. Of course to her extent, mother would never believe such nonsense...I always thought Tomino was there, someone everyone else could also see…...

Not just me.

…...

2/18/1988

One day as my mother was going out to head for groceries, I stopped her, no Tomino stopped her, he

told me to.

“Please just don’t go today, I would like you to just stay with me.”

  The day after, it was reported, documented on the news of an incident that happened to be the same street my mother was just going to head to, xxx street of Zemark, a shooting happening between two drunk white men, about 12 people had either died that day, 9 injured within that store. These sorts of incidents would occur several times after then on any random day. “That excuse again?” Tomino this, Tomino that.” Mother would often say to me out of frustration. She couldn’t understand why her daughter was acting this certain way after all. 

Was I really that childish or…. Did I speak the truth?

But, you see, such kindness comes with a price. 

A promise that was forged. 

I spend the days with Tomino, we play together, talk together for hours, I drew and wrote on his requests, but one day, it seems he has gotten quite bored of my childish acts and lingers for a little more fun and excitement. He threw my painting on the floor in anger, “So what do you want me to do then?”I asked. I wished I didn’t have asked, maybe then I wouldn’t need to do whatever he said..…. It was a little dark outside for a spring season while taking multiple glances towards outside the window. He told me to “Go outside and stab this helpless squirrel with a kitchen knife, smear its blood around in a circle on this painting, and to finally make a box around it in the sand with a stick.” When I declined, he would get mad at me and would not talk to me for hours, doesn’t help me anymore, so I did it, I obeyed him like a dog.

Mother tried ever since, to cure me of this disease, this illness. She looked for any doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists, etc. “Your child is perfectly healthy,” they said. Not even the best professionals figured it out. Tomino was always mischievous, mysterious, secretive, smart about where he moves each of his pawns. To him, this was no more than just a game.

My father abandoned me because of this, well partly. He cheated on her, secretly, but it was funny since father still had this small affection for mom, so instead, he told her a white lie. I knew all along because Tomino tells me about these things. 

I was only left with my mother. “Why me?” Why can’t I have a normal child?,” I would often hear mother mumble under her breath. My mother was no longer the kind mother I knew. It wasn’t a surprise she has become an alcoholic soon after.  

“What are you looking at? You pathetic little brat, this is all your fault!”, mother said.

“I REALLY HATE THE SMELL OF ALCOHOL.”, I screamed at her.

Miza peered in on us in the corner, she came to my house for the project.

I knew,.... She knew.

……….

Tomino would often come to comfort me when I cry, although sometimes he is upset himself and never comes, he said it wasn’t my fault. “It was Okaa-san’s fault for not understanding us enough.”

School was no different. 

“No wonder her parents abandoned her..”    

“What a spoiled child.”

“Ewww, stay away from me….”

“Manipulative bi**”

“This is all your fault!”

I have always given in the efforts to redeem myself, but they were all main just seen as an unless waste of time.

“I’m not your friend anymore! How could you do such a thing?”

Wait- KI! Wha-what about you Miza, are you going to leave me too?, I asked. Deliberately. 

She looked at me sadly but she said nothing “...........”, as she just walked alongside her other friend.

I was always the one left out. It wasn’t my fault, was it?

I had to transfer to many different schools after then. 

“Ugh, isn’t that disgusting woman her mother?”

“Why would you raise such a slut?”

It always ended terribly. 

Tears were wiped with sleeves. I weep.

So then...

9/16/1990

Mother became even more so tired of all this as each day passed by. She dressed up, packed up. Slammed the door on me.

Unknown: “Wait! What about-!”

She left me…...

 “I don’t need her anymore, I should’ve never given birth to you.”

“Don’t leave me, I promise I will do all my chores, I would never cause you any more trouble ever again, please mother!”, I layed on the floor, begging.

But, that was the last sentence mother said to me, the last she spoke to me, the last time I saw her.

“Ojii-san, Do you think it's my fault?”

Unknown: “It’s going to be okay, Hika, come with me.”

….

Years passed then, it was hard to believe. 

“Hika, breakfast is ready!” “Coming Okaa-  Ojii-san!”

“What a weird grandchild I have.”   “hahaha, Ojii-san that’s mean!”  “Come eat, child.”

“Itadakimasu!”   If you couldn’t tell already, living with my uncle was nice and comforting, for once.

“Okay, I’m off, see you Ojii-san!”

It was only us two that lived together now after dad had left us and mother had disappeared off to somewhere. Ojii-san was the only person I have now, although he is growing quite old as days pass by.

Thing was, we are tight on money. Ojii-san tries his best to reassure me and tells me to just focus on my studies but I know about our financial problems.

The only other major reason why we had food left on our plate was that “Tomino” still exists, he protects me, this was part of our agreement. I thought for sure Tomino would get bored of me soon when I grew older, but he stayed and waited for the promise we made till the very end. It seems like Tomino never really ages and he just stays the same size every day even after years. Things just stayed the same. 

Tomino grants my wishes. But, that’s it….

….

11/7/1994

I walked between pebbles, between bridges, and on bridges. Tomino follows me wherever I go. It's like he’s a stalker, but I'm used to it. "I'm fine today, Tomino, how are you? You know, I know you're there..." "Yes, whatever you say.", he replied. He raised strange doubts when I was a child, but I loved him. It was my friend after all. He was the only person who knew me well. Tomino seems to look old these days, but not so deeply.He still seems to have stayed the same even after years.

As my walk almost reached my destination, I was in the middle of walking passed the archway of the two buildings as a shortcut followed by my upperclassmen.

"Ah, isn't that Hika Normanashi?"

Please, keep in mind that……..Nobody really knows my surname. It was a secret because of family issues. Tomino also knows. And since then I haven't trusted enough people to tell them anything. It wasn’t particularly very nice to see someone expose my surname.

I felt a hand grabbed me by my wrist as they proceeded to push me against the wall as the dude kept mocking my body.

Girl 2: "Hey, knucklehead! This is it! I brought over her here."

Unknown: “This little one doesn’t seem to scream much so it’s fine boss.”

As they threw me onto the ground below them, Grabbing me and pushing my head against the wall.

"S-STOP IT! RELEASE ME!"

Girl 1: "Hey, so what are you going to do? Get your boyfriend to protect you or something?"

“……… ..!”

"Wait! Tomino, don't!"

Soon, the blood of two young girls spilled under me, on the concrete under my feet. I was soaked in blood. The young man looked at me in shock of fear as if I were the murderer.

"Y-YOU MONSTER!", he screamed.

I looked down at my bloody shaking hands. The knife Tomino has given me…...

The young man tried to resist me as much as possible, but Tomino also fled before him and overwhelmed over him. I knew exactly what Tomino wanted me to do. Through the man’s eyes, I could see what it felt like to die, the terror. "Sorry, but you’ll have to die for me, it'll be fast, I promise." I closed my eyes. I took a breath. I wondered how just how many more people do I need to kill? There was no point in arguing with Tomino. This is his identity. I’m sorry Ojii-san………. The next thing I saw when I opened my eyes were two stranded dead bodies tied onto the tracks, two trains which ran at full speed in seconds over them. The man's body was specially cutaway where the organs were visible, but Tomino did not kill him yet. It can be said that Tomino threw him most. I knew about this, the way this guy died was exactly the same as a few years ago. "........ First, a small lead ball creates a large, deep bruise and breaks on subsequent hits. Finally, the skin on the back hangs on a long ribbon and the entire area If the prisoner determines that the prisoner is dying, an unrecognizable chunk, the strike will be stopped. "

I know I'm a murderer ... my feet move suddenly. But in the wrong direction. I could not stop sitting on my lap on the lawn and staring at the dead man.

His face stared at me and wanted to return, in hopes of revenge, I knew deeply.

But, Tomino doesn’t. 

No matter how many following attempts there were, Tomino always got away with it, dragging me along. When the news of these three students was blankly announced, the whole classroom began to place the blame on me. No one dared to approach me after that. I was invisible. It was an inevitable fate.

I couldn’t bring myself to believe my fate.

I couldn’t bring myself to believe Tomino was so cruel. 

I couldn’t bring myself to bear this anymore. I only have hidden the truth. I knew what he meant, by those silent words.

I planned my defeat. If order to win, 

You must lose. 

To bring illusion to reality, how do you do that exactly?

How can you eliminate something you loved so much in the world?

Without a doubt, I am always attached to Tomino, I believed there was always loyalty that has existed between us.   

Tomino made me feel emotions, of all kinds. 

The emotion of being valued, the emotion of being appreciated, and emotions of hatred. 

It was only that I could never tell what his objective was, nor who he was anymore. I cannot recognize him. I cannot be an attachment. I cannot be the one to ‘change’ him. We are like the strings of, the lines, the blinds between the lies. I cannot be there for him, I must stay away father always told me. 

“One day, he would ruin you. Do not be fooled easily, do not be influenced by terrible people easily. Keep that in mind, Hika. ”

…..

Friend, a person whom one knows, likes, or trusts. 

Was there ever trust that has enveloped in this relationship. 

“Let’s stay togeth-er forever, Tomino.”

smiles*

Hey…..., that warm smile you gave me just there…..

Was that a lie…. Or was that the truth? 

Was it a sad one or was that a happy one?

Call me an idiot, although I always have the ability to read people’s expressions…..

 I could never tell Tomino’s. 

I have never thought this day would come. 

I have always thought, it was the truth. 

How could he speak so falsely?

What did you mean exactly? 

….

12/24/1995

“I’ve grown tired of you, Tomino.” , I’ve had enough.

“Kill me, how are you going to kill me?” Tomino mocked me.

” I’m sorry, Tomino.” 

And within that, the only thing that can convince us of their love for each other is the truth. 

“I cannot ever get rid of you until I die, right? I wish you the best in the afterlife ...really.”

5/22/1985

I remembered the day we met, 

The garden was so beautiful, the pond filled with koi fish were so lovely, the flowers were all so pretty, the bridge above it was so clean, but it was all so lonely. I sat there walking and running around playing by myself until I grew tired. Where you came into existence ever since. Then, we would always be together. Where he was always quiet and kept to himself, but I didn’t mind.

 “Ne-ne! Tomoi-no!.....”  “Hi-ka!”(learned each other’s names) I wrote down both of our names and embraced it with a heart, the poor boy seemed so flustered for some reason. 

“Promise me that you would always stay by my side, never leave me, alright?” He seemed hesitant at first but then offered me his pinky.

 But that wasn’t the promise, Tomino hid the truth, he wanted much more. He just wanted to take my white soul.

Thank you for your company. Your kindness, no one can pretend. The flowers were never too strong to sustain itself, and the petals would eventually overtime fade out. The grass are cut away little by little by the humans because they hate how it was. The trees are brought down by the people in order to feed them. But, these were all often done without anything in return. I didn’t want to leave because I have faith in Tomino, but that would be selfish to say that, that was the only reason why I have lived. I wished I hadn’t agreed upon our promise.  I don’t want to stay, because it would mean I would still have to call Tomino a friend.

“I have more than once tried to deceive you, but you will feel that I am now speaking falsely,” Tomino said. 

 Tomino could never touch me because he isn’t real and because he cannot touch me, he cannot stop me. I wanted to cry, but nothing came out. 

 12/24/1995

I feel the breath of life taken away from me by the multitude. 

It was getting harder and harder to breathe as each second progresses. I have always tried to kill myself before. Standing at the edge….. I was a coward I could never face death. 

“Why? All you have to do is just to “jump”? It’ll all be over, right?”

  But, one day I found myself hung.. “I’m sorry.”

And then, everything just blacked out. The man in black disappeared, everything disappeared. There was no “Tomino”. There was just a little boy, all alone forced to carry out his duty.

“Goodbye ..old friend” 

“goodbye,'' he once said.

I could almost hear him saying in response...

12/25/1994

A woman in a black dress came to settle down a few white flowers as she prayed her hands together, she spoke only three words…..,

“I love you.”

….

And soon,

 a few more and more,

 flowers were placed.  

“Happy birthday, Hika.” , Tomino smiled.

“Here’s your present!”, as the young boy cheerfully places down a small box with a little teddy bear sitting on top. 

=//[For anyone confused]// “TOMINO” is her teddy bear, a stuffed animal^^

Well? Where’d do you think Hika has gotten her present from[Teddy Bear]?  

#books & libraries #aesthetic #Tomino #writing #japan #kawaii #my writing #novel #flowers #TeddyBear #Miyiee #Miyie

[anarchistemma]

Jerry Lewis. No comedian since Charles Chaplin has been so loved and so reviled. He is America’s Dark Prince of Comedy--brilliant, bitter, passionate and deeply conflicted. A man of many demons, his cockiness conceals a labyrinth of doubts and self-destructive impulses. An American original whom Americans have never quite come to terms with, he also happens to be one of the greatest filmmakers of the latter half of the 20th century. And for this he deserves an Academy Award.

It’s not surprising that he’s never even been nominated for one. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has a tradition of snubbing comedians. The list of those whose movies failed to win a single Oscar is appallingly long and distinguished: Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd, Harry Langdon, Mabel Normand, the Marx Brothers, W.C. Fields, Abbott and Costello, Bob Hope, Red Skelton, Lucille Ball, Bill Cosby, Richard Pryor, to name a few. The academy finally gave Keaton an honorary Oscar in 1960, and one to Stan Laurel in 1961 (after Lewis lobbied passionately on his behalf), and even one to Charlie Chaplin in 1972, bringing the once-demonized “un-American” director back to Hollywood after 20 years of exile in Europe.

Now it’s time to honor Jerry Lewis.

Lewis was a superstar in the 1950s and early ‘60s, the I Like Ike era of “The Organization Man,” when a Wonder Bread corporate monoculture force-fed an entire generation a bland diet of conformity. In a time of crew cuts and bouffant hairdos, of TV dinners, suburban tract houses, gleaming new supermarkets and the homogenized nuclear family paradigm set forth by “Father Knows Best” and “Leave It to Beaver,” Lewis’ archetypal character, “the Kid,” served as an escape valve--a personification of the American id, cavorting across TV and movie screens, acting on the anarchistic impulses his audiences felt obliged to repress.

“We used to hang out on street corners, and guys would do Jerry Lewis imitations,” says Philip Kaufman, director of “The Right Stuff” and “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” who came of age in the 1950s. “The way that Jerry Lewis walked, that staggering, uncoordinated adolescent walk--you could feel the American youth culture being born. . . . Lewis and Elvis had this primordial American energy.”

Lewis gradually filled his comic archetype with nuances and complexities, so that it continued to resonate on deeper and yet deeper levels. He did this by becoming what he calls “a total filmmaker,” as Chaplin and Keaton had been. When Lewis began appearing in movies in 1949, he set about learning the technical intricacies of every aspect of production. “After about a year and a half I was able to load a BNC [35mm Mitchell] camera and do anything on the set that any technician did--maybe not with the quality of a man who’s done it for 25 years, but if he got sick, I could do it,” Lewis told me in an interview in December 2003. “I know depth of field like you know your wife’s first name. . . . I therefore proceeded to own every union card in the picture business.” Along the way, he also managed to invent the video assist, which allowed him to instantly replay scenes he’d just shot--now standard equipment on most Hollywood sets.

Once he’d mastered the filmmaking process, Lewis dared to declare his independence from the studio system. He wrote, directed and starred in a series of features that he also co-financed with his own money. “I mortgaged my house a couple of times, sold two cars, I remember that!” Lewis told me. In exchange for putting up half or sometimes the entire budgets of the films he directed, he got 50% or more of the profits and a level of creative autonomy that no screen comedian had commanded since Chaplin. “I had final cut on everything,” he said.

“I would love to have achieved the level of independence that he had,” Kaufman says. “The opposite is Orson Welles. He’s a half a generation before Jerry Lewis, but he gets destroyed because he can’t control the films.”

The movies Lewis directed--including “The Bellboy” (1960), “The Ladies Man” (1961), “The Errand Boy” (1961), “The Nutty Professor” (1963) and “The Patsy” (1964)--were bizarre stream-of-consciousness concoctions packed with brilliant pantomime set pieces and surreal comic nightmare sequences, moving Rorschach inkblots that reflected Lewis’ deeply conflicted psyche. “They were not regular Hollywood films,” says director Martin Scorsese. “There were no stories. No plots. They were very dreamlike, going from one free association to the next, almost like the later Luis Bunuel pictures, like ‘The Phantom of Liberty,’ which was a dream within a dream within a dream. You know you’re in the hands of a master; you just let him take you along. His films were almost avant-garde.”

Like Buster Keaton, Scorsese says, Lewis had an uncanny ability to pour his subconscious onto a movie screen, creating phantasmagoric visions permeated with disturbing psychological undertones. Unlike Keaton, Lewis often worked in color. He urged his cinematographer, W. Wallace Kelley, to pump huge amounts of light onto his sets until the comic book hues popped off the screen. “Lewis’ use of color has influenced many filmmakers, [such as] the way David Lynch uses color, and Pedro Almodovar,” Scorsese says.

In the mid-'60s, European critics--the French, most famously, or infamously, depending on your point of view--embraced Lewis as a genius, an heir to Chaplin and Keaton. Chagrined American critics sputtered outrage. They saw Lewis as a vulgarian, a pretentious, sentimental egomaniac who was a tad less subtle than the Three Stooges, and a lot less funny. And those were the good reviews. “Mr. Lewis is a frenetic performer,” wrote Eugene Archer of the New York Times, “but he lacks a point . . . a rubber-limbed robot making faces in a void.” Harriet Van Horne of the World Telegram wrote of a Lewis performance, “you flinch from the soulless vulgarity of his spastic twitches and low-class leers.” In his 1968 book “The American Cinema,” Andrew Sarris demeaned not only Lewis, but also his fans. “Lewis appeals to unsophisticated audiences in the sticks and to ungenteel audiences in the urban slums,” Sarris wrote. “He is bigger on 42nd Street, for example, than anyplace else in the city.”

Lewis seemed to scuttle any chance that American intellectuals would change their minds by taking the fight to the enemy. He wrote nasty letters to reviewers and denounced them on television and radio. He said they were “caustic, rude, unkind and sinister. . . . They’re burying the business they’re paid by.” And in his most infamous salvo, blasted in a 1981 Los Angeles Times interview, he called them “whores.”

But beneath his belligerence one sensed the man had been deeply wounded. In a telling passage in his landmark 1971 book about moviemaking, “The Total Film-maker,” Lewis confessed: “I cannot sit at certain tables at the Directors Guild because I make what some people consider is a ‘hokey’ product. John Frankenheimer waves and hopes that no one else sees his hand, simply because I film pratfalls and spritz water and throw pies.”

In countless magazine profiles and biographies, Lewis has been vividly portrayed as a tantrum-throwing egomaniac. But there is another side. I’ve talked with many people who worked with Lewis over the years--including his longtime collaborators, writer Bill Richmond and comedienne Kathleen Freeman--who told me stories of his private acts of extraordinary kindness and generosity. Peter Bogdanovich tells of how Lewis befriended him when he was a poor, young aspiring filmmaker--lending him a car, allowing him to screen movies at Paramount and charge the cost to Lewis’ production company. “He’s been a good friend to me for more than 40 years,” Bogdanovich says. When I first interviewed Lewis a year ago, I found him to be a perceptive, articulate but deeply divided man who oscillated during the course of our one-hour conversation from laughter to anger to tears. His ability to infuse his movies with these seething emotions gave them their strange emotional charge, and helped make them audacious and poetic works of art.

In “The Bellboy” and “The Errand Boy,” Lewis’ Kid finds himself wandering through sprawling corporate complexes: the ultramodern curvilinear interiors of Miami Beach’s Fontainebleau hotel, and the cavernous soundstages and maze-like streets and corridors of a movie studio. He desperately tries to mesh with the gears of the industrial combine, but his inability to function with the automaton efficiency of his co-workers inevitably causes catastrophe. “There’s a sense in which he’s a modern man, a universal figure confronted with modernity, with bosses and difficult jobs, and especially with a fast pace that’s difficult to keep up with,” says Henry Sheehan, critic for KPCC-FM and KCET.

There are haunting moments that evoke the lonely yearnings of the alienated in America’s increasingly institutionalized society, such as the brilliant pantomimes in which the Kid conducts an imaginary orchestra or imagines himself to be a movie mogul holding forth in a deserted boardroom. Or the scene where the Kid is assigned the Sisyphean task of setting up more than 1,000 chairs in an auditorium the size of a football field. Lewis films from one wide angle, holding the shot as the Kid recedes farther and farther into the great hollow hall. “When he started directing his own pictures there was a powerful visual sense,” Scorsese says. “It was almost as if the films were drawn by hand--animated. Something was very arresting about the way Lewis designed his scenes and shot them, the way he focused the eye of the audience.”

In the middle of “The Bellboy,” the Kid is ordered to help with the luggage of an arriving celebrity: Jerry Lewis, the movie star. Lewis the star arrives in a limousine with a huge retinue of yes-men and sycophants. “That kind of thing was refreshing and brilliant,” Scorsese says. “It opened the audience’s mind. What is the reality? We know we’re watching a film. We know it’s directed by him. We know he’s in control. Then he shows up as a film star within the movie! It plays with your sense of what reality is and what cinema is--and also what celebrity is.” In a culture obsessed with celebrity, Lewis shows us that a star is as objectified as a Playboy centerfold, and his existence at the top of the ladder every bit as lonely as that of the Kid at the bottom. The entourage of Jerry Lewis the movie star laughs at his every remark. When he tearfully reveals that a beloved aunt just died, the crowd howls with unhinged hilarity. “Nothing like a laugh!” someone screams.

In “The Ladies Man,” the Kid serves as a gofer in a boarding house full of young women. Lewis built the entire mansion--four stories tall, including a stairway and working elevator--on two soundstages at Paramount, with the fourth wall of every room cut away, like a giant dollhouse, so the camera could swoop on a crane from room to room, each of which was pre-lighted and wired for sound. It was another groundbreaking technical innovation, and a fantastic dreamscape through which Lewis’ imagination ran wild. In one spectacular crane shot, Lewis pulls back to show the entire dollhouse. “That shot is so striking,” Scorsese says. “In a funny way, it had something to do with the way I did a shot in ‘Gangs of New York’ in the beginning of the film, showing the [multileveled] hell of the old brewery

Scorsese found more inspiration in Lewis’ masterpiece, “The Nutty Professor,” in the famous sequence that occurs after Professor Kelp has transformed himself into the incandescent lounge lizard Buddy Love. At first we do not see Love. Instead we see the world through his eyes. In an intricately choreographed tracking shot, Love walks through the street toward the Purple Pit nightclub and various passersby react with astonishment to his high-voltage charisma. “I use that as an example of the kind of point-of-view shots that I use,” Scorsese says. In “Gangs of New York,” he told his assistant director, Joseph Reidy, that he wanted to choreograph a similar point-of-view shot in the scene where Amsterdam Vallon (Leonardo DiCaprio) places a rabbit pelt on a Five Points fence as a declaration of war. “I am constantly referring back to Lewis’ work,” Scorsese says.

Lewis explored the polarities of his personality--the lonely kid he had been in his youth and still felt himself to be, and the polished persona he presented on television and in live performances--not only in “The Bellboy,” but also in “Cinderfella” (directed by Frank Tashlin and produced by Lewis) and “The Errand Boy.” This theme reached its full and most complex expression in “The Nutty Professor.” The movie is an extended investigation of Lewis the public performer, and his insecure inner self. But more than a movie star’s exercise in self-absorption, it is a meditation on the American model of masculinity. Lewis acknowledges its pathology even as he admits that he cannot free himself of his aspiration to embody it. In the climax of the movie, Buddy Love transforms back into Professor Kelp before a stunned crowd of college students. Kelp makes a heartfelt speech about the fallacy of trying to create a false personality to please others and the need for self-acceptance, and there’s not a dry eye in the house. But in the film’s denouement, as Kelp leaves for his wedding with heartthrob Stella (Stella Stevens), the director reveals that she has stuffed two bottles of Kelp’s magic tonic in the pockets of her jeans--an admission that there’s a dark, erotic power to Love’s aggressive posturing that Americans find irresistible, despite whatever lip service they may pay to the values of sensitivity and brains.

“Lewis’ sense of burlesque is a strange type of comedy because it’s full of anxiety,” says director Barbet Schroeder (“Barfly,” “Single White Female”). “It’s a tragic vision that makes you laugh. . . . And all that is completely personal and completely extraordinary. He took burlesque comedy one step further, like any great artist, to a very freaky, disturbing modern tone.”

In 1977, someone at an American Film Institute seminar asked Lewis why his films hadn’t been rediscovered, as those of other great comics had been. “They wait until you die,” he snapped. Until recently, it looked as if Lewis might be right. During the last decade, a series of serious health problems--bouts of meningitis and pulmonary fibrosis--forced him to cancel live engagements and spend long stretches in the hospital. But last year, Lewis bounced back. He returned home from the hospital, and in the fall he released sparkling wide-screen DVD transfers of 10 movies from his golden period, complete with outtakes and commentary tracks.

And the damnedest thing happened. They got good reviews. The New York Times published not one but two rave notices. In the second one, Dave Kehr wrote: “Is it finally time to stop with the French-love-him jokes and acknowledge that Jerry Lewis is one of the great American filmmakers?” Kehr noted that the DVDs “reveal both the fierce creativity of his comic performances and the extreme formal sophistication of his direction. The centerpiece is the 1963 ‘The Nutty Professor’ . . . a study in split personality that both anticipates Ingmar Bergman’s 1966 ‘Persona’ and surpasses it in psychological acuity. It’s also a lot funnier.”

In December 2004, the Library of Congress concluded that “The Nutty Professor” is a movie of lasting cultural significance, worthy of preservation, and added it to the National Film Registry. Then in January, Lewis received a career achievement award from the Los Angeles Film Critics Assn. The explanation for this turnaround is simple: As older critics retired, a new generation replaced them. They had come of age in the 1950s and ‘60s and had spent the better part of their youth in the dark, watching Jerry Lewis and laughing till they just about wet their pants. “For me, personally, the impact of watching ‘The Nutty Professor’ as a boy in a drive-in in the Valley was huge,” says Robert Koehler, who writes for Variety. “It was the first time I had felt a weird sense of terror, horror and comedy all in one fell swoop. I’d never felt that before in a movie. There was something going on here besides just another Hollywood comedy. There was a sense of wild theatrics. I was only 7 years old at the time; I couldn’t even put my finger on it, but it so absolutely impressed my young mind.”

As they grew older, like Morty S. Tashman in “The Errand Boy,” these young fans made their way to Hollywood to become part of show business. Their film school professors and older critics had told them Lewis was vulgar and tasteless, but they went back and watched the movies and didn’t believe it. “I always thought he was funny, from the first time I came to him, at 9 years old,” says Henry Sheehan, president of the L.A. critics association. “Once I grew older and learned something about composition and the mechanics of gags, I was full of admiration for him. I think my experience is pretty common for people my age.”

For years a growing number of Lewis supporters had been urging the association to give the comedian the career achievement award. This year the membership suddenly agreed. “It was pretty widely supported,” Koehler says. “In the past there have been complaints. The first year I was in the group, his name was brought up and some people were openly contemptuous. I heard none of that this time. I don’t know why. I think it’s the test of time.”

As the night of the awards ceremony approached, a question loomed: How would Lewis react? Would he be able to drop the contentious attitude he’d held against his old adversaries for more than half a century? When I talked with him shortly after the award had been announced, he seemed to be struggling for his equilibrium. “I don’t really know how I’m going to deal with it,” he admitted, then murmured something about handling it with grace. But when he talked with other journalists, some of the old fighting verbiage crept into his remarks. He told Larry King the award was “the best revenge I’ve ever had.” And to a reporter from the Los Angeles Daily News, he said, “Jesus Christ, is that retribution or not?”

Finally, the moment came. Peter Bogdanovich presented the plaque. Lewis stepped to the podium. His eyes passed over the crowd. “Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. I am delighted to be the recipient of this award. . . . What took so goddamned long?” The room exploded with laughter. Lewis segued smoothly into his Vegas act and did about 10 minutes that had the critics, filmmakers and stars doubled over and gasping for air.

Then he stopped, his voice growing serious. “I would feel somewhat remiss if I didn’t show you something that I believe brought me here tonight,” he said. Film rolled, and on the screen behind him appeared a 35-year-old Jerry Lewis doing the famous Chairman of the Board pantomime from “The Errand Boy,” his gesticulations and mugging timed to the tempo of Count Basie’s “Blues in Hoss’ Flat.” It was much more than funny. It was at once melancholy, poetic and exhilarating. When it was over, the room rose in a howling, hooting standing ovation. The only one of the night.

Now it’s the academy’s turn to step up. A few months ago, Bogdanovich wrote a letter to its president, Frank Pierson, suggesting that Lewis be given an Oscar. I hope the Academy doesn’t take too long. The hour is late. Another great clown and groundbreaking filmmaker, too long ignored, deserves to be honored by his peers.

JL’s yahrzeit

The once and future King of Comedy 👑

#rip #jerry lewis #the once and future king of comedy #yahrzeit #LA Times #david weddle #jerry lewis deserves an oscar #king of comedy #quote

[blackasteriia]

Xion in Re:Mind

So, today I’m going to go through all scenes that are Xion relevant and do some basic analysis. I’ll also talk about her data fight.

Spoilers under cut, obviously.

Keyblade Graveyard-- Counting with Saïx

In this scene, Saïx, Xigbar, and Xehanort, gather together to learn how to count-- AKA they’re filling out the ranks of the Organization. They come-up two short. Xehanort reveals that Terra-Nort is still up his sleeve. I don’t understand, and don’t ask me. Alright, lets get onto Xion:

Vexen creates 20 original puppets. The first twelve were the original set of the Replica Program from CO. It is of these twelve that the Organization is pulling from to put people into. They get-up to Ansem, Xemnas, Vanitas, Repliku, and Young Xehanort, to make five, and then + Xion.

Repliku is referred to as the ‘prototype,’ and then Xion is of course, No. i. 

“The plan for the last replica is to give it a heart that is connected to Sora.”

Cool. Cool. Cool. Why not Roxas? Literally, why not Roxas?

Xion doesn’t have a heart. That is the entire point of Days, if Xion had a heart, then why did she die? How does she have a heart Nomura, you’re skipping right over the question I want answered. 

FURTHERMORE, the only memory that exists of Xion is of the No. i, notes. Xion as in the girl that is in Sora’s heart, is not No. i. They don’t know about Xion because they can’t remember her. So why would Saïx mention ‘someone connected to Sora?’ As far as Vexen is concerned, his creation never attained sentience. Vexen was dead before Sora’s memories were put into Xion. Sora had not lost his memories until the end of Chain of Memories, so it’s just-- very confusing. 

This throws such a gear in the machine because Saïx doesn’t remember Xion. Why would they bother to resurrect a dead replica that was obviously an abject failure, instead of Roxas, the nobody of Sora? How do they know about Xion?

“No. i, an imaginary number, how fitting.” Thank you for the exposition Xigbar.

Then Saïx goes and gets Vexen. 

No one should give a shit about No. i, because No. i was just an empty, insentient replica that followed orders. Xion was the person that formed from No. i. There’s an argument that Vexen would return for Repliku, but as far as he’s aware, No. i was a shell. 

AKA this entire thing threw a wrench in character motivations, raises more questions, failed to answer old questions, and tells me nothing new about Xion. All of the information in this scene is in supplemental material, now it’s just in the main game. 

Cool.

The return of my Salt. 

This is the Seasalt trio reunion with some extra pizz-zazz and playable Roxas. We get a little more exposition on No. i and Xion. Kairi is also here.

Reunion of the old Organization members with Axel, Xemnas, and Saïx + No. i. Axel asks who Xion is. 

“This ‘guest’ of ours has an old score to settle with you.”

Okay, Xemnas, you said you can’t remember Xion. First, of all, you don’t know that Axel and Xion ever fought. You don’t know that they were friends. You don’t know anything about Xion beyond the notes Vexen left of No. i. What are you talking about?

Literally five seconds later: “It is a being of whom we have no memory.”

Still misgendering Xion, nice.

“A true nobody, hailing from the edge of oblivion.”

This means nothing and is just a cool line, but you know I’m going to run with it.

So, if No. i, was recreated from the notes left by Vexen, then it is not Xion. That is not Xion. Xion is still inside Sora. No. i is a completely different thing than Xion. Xion developed a personality, memories, and ‘heart,’ supposedly over time. So Xemnas alluding to ‘it has no memories of what it truly is,’ is bogus and dumb. Never mind that Xemnas wouldn’t know that. 

He can’t even remember why Xion was destroyed in the first place and even why he has no memory of it. 

Saïx is acting like he knows something when it comes to Xion and even encourages her to remember Axel and Roxas-- for no apparent reason. 

Because he doesn’t remember the friendship between Axel, Roxas, and Xion, why would he even think to prompt her on this.

Xion remembers Axel and immediately goes for Lea’s throat-- this is canon and valid. 

Okay then we get the usual scene with Xion getting.... her memory back? More on this in a bit. 

This is also good and valid. 

E N R A G E D  S C R E A M I N G

The only assumption I have is that Xion begins to remember Axel and Roxas. Then that starts to return pieces of memory to Xemnas. This is not at all implied in the text but it’s the only rational explanation for his behavior in this scene. 

I wanna use a few more images for this because it’s all visual through this part. 

Sora’s Station of Awakening peels back to reveal Roxas’. Roxas’ station now has an image of Xion in it. 

Then, these leaflets type thing start to float away and Sora calls them, ‘the memories.’ So, my previous theory that Xemnas was beginning to remember is dashed out of the water because, according to this scenes the memories had not been released yet. After this, Axel remember Xion. 

(This would be a great time to reveal Xion’s station of awakening and cement her as a unique person, even have her interact with Sora-- but no that would be too much to ask from Nomura).

This scene is also really dumb because it basically just stops the original scene, has Sora make an obvious statement to explain what’s going on, and then continues the original scene. Roxas’ returns, with a brief break into the void for exposition, and lets get into the meat of this.

Roxas and Xion fight Xemnas. So on and so forth--

This crap.

What is this.

Where did it come from? Why is it important? Axel says, ‘get what’s ours,’ and they get this. Which is the recusant symbol that is in all of their names. That’s, easy to figure out. It is then implied that this is the... symbol of their connection. AKA, the symbol of their membership in the Organization is also the symbol of their connection. Okay. Except, Xemnas was the character who brainwashed and assaulted Xion; The character that lead to Roxas and Axel’s death. The Organization is why their friendship fell apart in the first place. I could get deep into like, the psychological implications of the symbol it’s just--

Why use it for this reading. In this way. 

Ugh. 

Whatever. Kairi gets kidnapped and the scene continues as usual. Xion has no new dialogue. We learn nothing about her character. She just has the blank, default female character. The sole personality that Nomura can write for women. 

Xion is shown fighting wth the keyblade wielders. Nothing, really, to see here. She’s just in the climax, she doesn’t do anything unique. Heck, Roxas even has to save her at one point. So, lets move onto her data fight. 

Xion’s Data Fight

When I heard Xion was going to get a data fight I was very excited for the potential of that fight. Perusing the internet netted potential fights pulling on her replica abilities or the final forms from 358/2 Days. Imagine fighting a boss that can pull at least one move from all other bosses previously fought. Which was my first hope. My second hope was for the form changes from her previous final battle, different movesets, different abilities and powers. A wide challenge.

My worst fear was that she would be a copy of Roxas’ fight from KH2. 

Well, never underestimate Nomua’s ability to disappoint because that is exactly what we got. I suppose, looking at the previous content of Re:Mind I could have seen this coming. Xion did not receive any new dialogue. We did not learn anything about her character. All we learned was a few chunks of lore information that... we basically already knew. Anything new was confusing, useless, and irrelevant. I knew that Xion’s power mimicked Roxas’, that’s obvious.

 The addition of her using Saïx claymore in the graveyard was interesting because it implied something new about her powers. She could copy someone other than Sora or Roxas. In Re:Mind however, Xion shows-up in the graveyard without ever encountering Sora or Roxas, with the kingdom key. There is no, from a story or lore standpoint, for her to have that. She has had no chance to copy it. The keyblade is not inherent to Xion. So, really, we fight Roxas in Re:Mind, dressed-up as Xion. 

Nomura isn’t creative enough, or cares enough, to take Xion’s character in any new direction. He brings her back in KH3 not because he has a character arc for her, or anything to do for her. But only for fanservice, for Roxas’ and Axel’ character arcs. He won’t give her a unique moveset because he doesn’t consider her a unique enough character to warrant one. Light is Roxas’ element, not Xion’s, she doesn’t have an element. She doesn’t have a keyblade. Her face is Kairi’s face. Her value is rooted in her connection to Sora. 

On the other hand, she has, what I’ve seen and been told, is one of the hardest fights in the game. She will wood chipper Sora if the player is not on their toes. Through her teleportation trick she’s fast and has extended invincibility frames. Unlike Saïx, she is pointed and aggressive, with seconds between assaults. I will gladly keep the headcanon that Xion is an aggressive, hard-hitting, and fast fighter.

#✰*✦ This is the idiot speaking ⎧OOC⎫ #Re:Mind Spoilers #salt ahoy

[trade-baby-blues]

Routine

Pairing: Jim Kirk x Reader 

Word Count: 1625

Warnings: ANGST, depression, mentions of character death

A/N: So, uh...this was supposed to be a Christmas story...based on this prompt: “Character A and Character B broke up, but now they meet at a Christmas party” requested by an anon. We’re gonna pretend it’s at Christmas 😅

Wake up. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Go to work. Wake up. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Go to work. It was more than routine - it was mechanical. You were a robot trying to ignore the gaping hole in your chest, trying to figure out how to function like a human when your world had stopped turning months ago, when every color seemed dull compared to the piercing blue eyes that still plagued your dreams. Things were easier this way. Wake up. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Go to work.

The same music played through your office as you typed, Mozart’s Toccata and Fugue. It was the farthest you could get from the 1980s alternative hip hop your ex always listened to. You could still remember the way his eyes would light up whenever a Beastie Boys song came on. No matter where he was or what he was doing, he’d stop everything to jam out on an air guitar like no one was watching. You were, of course. You could never tear your eyes away from him in moments like these. It was the only time that Jim really seemed to completely let loose.

“Helloooo. Anyone home?” Your boss waved his hand in front of your face. You pulled the pen from between your lips, teeth marks all over the cap. How long had you been zoned out this time?  

“Sorry, sir. I’m just...out of it today.” You offered him a weak smile, trying to ignore the pity in his eyes.

He put his hand on your shoulder. A fatherly gesture that made you realize how long it's been since you’d been touched by someone else. “If you need to take a day…”

“No, I’m...I’m fine. I need to work. We should get back to the meeting.” Your boss frowned but made no attempt to argue as he dived back in.

You gasped for breath as your eyes snapped open. You had to get up. Had to get out. The sheets tightened around your legs and your throat. You couldn't breathe. Then you were falling, falling until your head caught the edge of the nightstand and your elbow hit the floor. The room spun. Your heart raced. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on anything but the lifeless blue eyes branded onto your mind and the cruel laugh that followed you around every corner.

Blood slid from the wound on your forehead down your cheek, down your neck like a lover’s caress. Every logical brain cell in your body screamed for you to ignore it, to get up, to follow routine, but something sinister twisted inside you. A dragon roaring to life in the cold furnace of your chest. You were a puppet on imaginary strings, watching as your arm was lifted, as your fingers touched your forehead and came away crimson. Then, the dragon spread its wings and took flight, dragging you kicking and screaming with it as the room fell away from you, replaced by screeching metal and blaring alarms.

You were back on the Enterprise, your first field mission since graduating from Starfleet. It wasn't common for journalists to accompany crew on long missions, but the Enterprise wasn't a common ship. Everyone in the fleet wanted to know more about the ship, led by the larger-than-life James Kirk. Your job was to profile the crew, to highlight the faces behind the best ship in the galaxy. You spent a lot of time getting to know everyone, especially Jim.

You tried to remain professional but interviewing him became harder and harder the more time you spent together. You wanted to know more about Jim than his inspirations and his dreams. You wanted to know everything - what food he liked, which side of the bed he preferred, what made him feel safe. Most of all, you wanted to know what made him smile.

Once you found out, it was all you could do. His smile was so intoxicating. When the two of you were alone and he gave you that special smile he reserved for you. God, there was nothing more beautiful in the ‘verse. His entire face lit up, and the edges of his eyes would wrinkle. He smiled with his whole body, his whole being, and it filled you with longing to do better, to be better so you could see that smile for the rest of your life.

Then Pike died and Jim stopped smiling.

Then Khan came and Jim stopped breathing.

You watched him, through inch thick glass and steel as the light you’d spent the last few months worshipping faded away, throwing the deepest parts of you into darkness. Everything else drained from you, leaving one thought in your mind. One thought that forced you to your feet, to the ground after Khan. All thoughts of risk died with Jim. If you couldn't beat Khan, maybe he’d at least have the mercy to kill you.

He did, for a short time. Until, Dr. McCoy brought your body back to life. You weren't so sure about the rest. Every time you looked in the mirror you still saw a corpse. You dreamt of death, of something in the darkness with Khan’s face and Khan’s voice but the twisted body of a creature unknown to you wrapping its icy hands around your throat until you were gasping for air, begging for mercy, for death, for Jim but he wasn't there. He couldn't be there. He was wrestling with his own demons.

From an outsider’s view, things got better. Your profiles were published. You wrote a book about your experience with Khan and your tryst with death. People stopped you in the street to congratulate your bravery, to ask you what was next. You couldn't tell them, not because you couldn't see the future but because you couldn't see a future at all.

That’s why your therapist suggested a routine. Get up. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Go to work. The same thing every day, so there was no question what the future would hold. It would be more of the same. Get up. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Go to work. It was enough to keep you on track most days. As you stared at the drying blood on your fingers, though, you knew it wouldn't help today.

You fumbled through the drawer in your nightstand for your phone, typing a message to Bones. Bad day. Need help. Even those four words took tremendous energy, and you let the phone tumble from your hands once the message was sent. You blinked, and he was beside you, gingerly touching the cut on your head, feeling for any broken bones in your arm.

He talked like he was underwater, touched you as if through a blanket. Bones held your hands in his, forcing you to breathe with him until the world came back into focus. He didn't say anything as he packed up his med kit. You didn't say anything as you watched him. How many times had you been here before?

“I’m having a party tomorrow,” Bones said. “You should come.”

“Not really a partier,” someone said. It was your voice, you were sure of it. But it was distant. Hollow.

Bones sighed, closing his eyes. “It’ll be good for you to get out for a night.” He walked to the side of your bed. “The crew misses you. I miss you.” He pressed a kiss over the bandage on your scalp, keeping a hand under your chin. You savored the feel of it. “At least think about it.” You nodded. Bones knew that was good as he’d get and walked to the door. He sent you one last look, but you were already far away again.

He came back the next day, dress in hand, determined to take you out. You didn't fight him, and soon you were back at his place, standing by the window overlooking the city. It looked peaceful from up here. You wondered what peace felt like. Then a hand slid onto the small of your back like a key into a lock, two parts created solely for each other. You looked into the window and saw a ghost.

“You look beautiful,” Jim whispered.

You looked through him, out over the city, the empty furnace of your heart trying to sputter to life. “I know how to clean up.” A smile with nothing behind it.

Jim watched your reflection, more dazzling than any he’d ever seen. Silence fell but he kept his hand in place, hoping that alone would say everything he couldn't bring himself to.

“What are we doing,” you asked, though you weren't sure if you were talking to Jim’s reflection or your own.

“Enjoying the city.”

“I should go,” you muttered. Jim tightened his grip around your waist. You looked away from his reflection, as if seeing the real Jim for the first time. Past the tiredness on his face and the emptiness in his smile, you thought you could see fear in his eyes as they slowly locked with yours.

“Stay,” he whispered. “Please.

“We've done this before. I-”

“Wrote the book on it. Literally.” You let his words sink in but could find no bitterness. There was a spark of joy gone as soon as it was lit. Jim put his free hand on your cheek, brushing your skin with his thumb. His lips were parted in awe of you. You reached your hand up to his jaw, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin, the scratch of stubble as he turned his head to press his lips to the palm of your hand. You felt his lips move against your skin as he whispered, “I think I'm ready for the sequel.”

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