one moment, he felt normal- the usual, nothingness and subtle tingle of static he was so familiar with nowadays. the next one, he could feel texture for the first time in years, and decided he loathed it.
it all felt so tight, and he knew for a fact it wasn't his clothes (these were too big for him, actually) but the skin suit that suddenly compressed his <st>static</st> bones and muscles in place.
it took a few seconds, to figure what was happening, and react accordingly. more than that, to get used to a corpse that should've been buried decades ago.
and yet, there wasn't any sign of decomposition. He doesn't know if that's better or worse (at least he'd have a excuse for the unease this event set on him, were he a decomposed corpse).
taking in the environment, –a disheveled hotel room– he looked for a mirror, or any surface slightly reflective, truly.
This storybook from every childhood reads like a nostalgic visit into another lifetime. My first time through, it enchanted me and had me questioning if I could have somehow read it before, to no avail. It's only been on my shelf since college, but the writing, art, and humor always evokes a sense of childhood warmth.
The artist, ★Modmad, has a vibrant and palpable passion for what she does. Her love and understanding of the fundamental heart behind her visual and narrative style, and how she utilizes it in her comics with a sort of finesse that slips right into your core memory banks, makes any book with their name on it a must-have for the shelf by my esteem. I've learned so much about the history of film, toons, comics, Donald Duck's cursedly handsome and compelling cousin… ahem.
Forever and always, however, The Property of Hate will hold its place as one of my all-time top three recommended webcomics. It's free to read?! And you haven't read it! That's wonderful; there's so much to catch up on!
I'm highlighting ★Modmad and The Property of Hate this week after seeing what they've been going through recently. I was heartbroken to imagine such a brilliant star in my orbit losing heart in their story, one that's inspired me for years and seen me through the darkest of them. Uncle Mod is a role model for all ages: Kind, funny, honest. The word I always come back to when describing this person is passionate. She does not just love, but loves with verve and fervor.
Her love is delightfully infectious.
Seeing what vitriol they've received turned my stomach, and the memories still do.
I’ve been following Mod for the better part of a decade and watching this unfold has been heart-wrenching and harrowing as a fellow creator and storyteller. She has been an inspiration for years, and seeing someone so kind and earnest being hurt and then ignored has been nauseating. Nobody deserves what she has been put through.
Having people cast doubt and aspersions without even taking the time to read her first-hand accounts has been almost worse. This is a human being whose life is being wrung and flung upside down because of a minor issue that could and should have been resolved ages ago if anyone would have done the bare minimum of opening a dialogue with her.
Read their story on ◆Tumblr or ◆Bluesky, help how you can.
Then go to their website and read their comics, buy some books, might as well get some merch while you're there. This helps too, and you get a prize at the end.
***
I have been doing weekly webcomic recommendations on the Syrcus. This one was delayed because I knew it had to be for TPoH, but finding the words was so difficult.
Modmad and her comics have been a constant in my life since the day I found them, and I can't imagine a world without her and her stories. She has so much beauty and wonder in her mind, and I can't think of a single reason everyone couldn't benefit from following her, reading her stories, and trying to be someone that would make Uncle Mod proud. Truly, I couldn't name a better candidate to fill the niche of Mr. Rogers; she is unerringly, unabashedly, unrepentantly compassionate and funny, and I believe inspires everyone who knows her to do and be a better version of themselves.
@modmad , love, we have only spoken sparingly over the years, but please know that I am always in your corner. You are beloved and cherished, and you are seen.
light reflected on his glass screen as he strode the path to the house of paint, his sleeve cuff's were growing wrinkles from how many times he had fixed them in the short time.
a weight could be felt on his chest, and RGB convinced himself it was the kiss on his top right pocket. at least he tried to until his mind dulled it out in favor of the next focus.
this being, how embarrassing this whole mission was. not only for the possibility of being rejected, which say, he'd die on the spot; but more so by the opening up that it'd take.
that is, if he even knocked, which he could just turn away and hide the whole attempt under the rug his mind was. but that rug was already worn, dusty and with corners showing what was hiding below it almost neatly.
and he also knocked before he could chicken and run away.
No way out now, coward.
wrestling could be heard from the inside, but that was expected with the years the house wore.
Hopefully he could convince himself his knock wasn't heard and-
-RUN. Get the fuck away from that door you imbecile. Are you bad on the head? god hello it's me again-
Aaand the knob was turning wasn't it. Welp, until here it was. he can already imagine his grave 'coward, monster, died of embarassment of his own making'.
"The house of paint- Oh god it's you again-" RGB could almost- no, definitely feel that eye roll through the hardwood the door was made of.
"Why you wound me, Madras" if he had lashes hed be batting them, feigning naivety.
The door was opened, a shriek escaping the ancient relique. Madras, unbothered by this, shushed him in, by the words of 'get in before i kick you out you walking migraine'. RGB was too busy not falling to string her a word about how he was a colorful sight for the sore eyes.
it was a silent way down, but one they were used to. the stairs were knowing and welcoming to the pair, for the amount of times they'd gone down them was outnumbering in number the crystal vials stored within it's walls.
Madras dropped herself gently onto Gladys, managing to somehow not lose a single droplet of her tea.
"My house is your house and all, you know" She looked almost bored at his stiff standing at the stairs bottom. He let out a breath he didn't know to be hold in, leaning on the wood counter like he'd done it a million times (and he might've).
"You still own a kettle, i presume" Looking at the mug in her hands, he strode past the room and into the kitchen nextdoor.
"No, I've developed water boiling powers" She answered without skipping a beat, and sipped her tea as he looked for the mug she kept for him (the one with the fop legend that looked right out of urban dictionary).
"And we need to talk" Pondering whether to chose chamomile or black, his static coated tone went through the room, and hopefully made it into the continuous one.
"You always need to talk" It was as though he'd implode if he didn't get his thoughts out, she thought. It was better than the silence, maybe enjoyable, but only every one hundred words, when it wasn't absolute bullshit he spew.
"Why i am only honouring my name" the word chatterbox crossed her mind, and she determined it fit.
The chatterbox walked in with a steaming mug that read 'fop' and she couldn't help the smile at the end of her lips.
"So you've accepted your title" Sitting on a chair (the eyeless, way less cool one) he crossed one leg over the other as he watched the mug on his hands steam.
"It's the only mug you've got besides your own" Red pretended to slip off his screen, but the true protagonist was the green that dripped into his casing and collar.
Proposition: We make Alastor work on therapy because he sucks at being a Host - ao3 link
Previous work | Next Work
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Chapter 1
(under the cut)
The puppy eyes that woman had made her weak, of that Vaggi is sure.
"But don't fight him, please?" It was fairly embarrassing how in the palm of her hand she was —Not that Vaggi complained, though—.
After reassuring Charlie that she had no will to fight the only person with maintenance knowledge in the hotel, they kept pacing on the hallway until they departed.
Of course she was the one talking the worst staff member into doing shit, mainly because she wouldn't buy his creeppy spectacle.
Vaggi knocked on the door —and immediately doubted Alastor was even there, whenever he wasn't fucking up something inside the building, he was fucking up something outside the building.
She wasn't pursuing his ass to cannibal town though, so she started knocking harder on the door —and if Alastor wasn't there then he'd be losing the only opportunity of negotiating his new time schedule, because fuck that guy.
Some cracking noises started after the seventh knock, confirming someone was there indeed, but no voices were heard.
"Alastor if you're there and you're not opening i am using the spare key i got from administration, first and only warning"
Truth to be told, there wasn't even an administration room at the hotel, or an spare key to Alastor's room specifically (Fucker surely disappeared it) but she was strong willed and had a spear on her back, which would probably do the same work (she hopes).
After knocking a little more, she decided Alastor would have to fix his own lock for being a stubborn piece of shit and started pickpocketing it with the point of her spear. The speed to which the lock's steel doubled made her reconsider what material Lucifer had used when reconstructing the hotel, but she quickly discarded it as Lucifer making Alastor's lock just worse, that would fit for them.
Going inside the room she was, to say, flabbergasted, for she hadn't seen such an ugly creature since her fall from heaven (and from earth, she was pretty sure).
Vaggi knew he could bend a lot, but this was simply ridiculous.
He was still snoring after all that noise, and she didn't know if she should be impressed or concerned mad at him.
She should clarify (to avoid being cancelled) that she TRIED to wake him up gently; making loud noises, trying her phone's alarm, shaking the man. But Alastor had just achieved How To Become Deaf Just To Annoy People™, to which she gave up, putting the most horrible alarm sound she found on Voutube on her phone and right next to his ear.
Alastor jumped off his bed, startled —to state the obvious— and was greeted by the wood planks of the floor right on his face.
Unfortunately for Vaggi who'd thought she'd witnessed something horrible when she stepped into the room, she was proved wrong as she saw Alastor's haircut in HD.
"Why would you do that to your hair?" He looked at her like she was wrong to point that out (she wasn't).
"Why would you do that to my ears?" He said with the nerve to be offended after all she had to do to wake him up.
Easing him from the floor, she maybe felt a little guilty when she saw how ugly this man was. The poor thing.
"So you've seen how we're running short on staff" She said and heard him mumble 'Maybe if you treated staff better-' before she cut him off with a nudge in the shoulder.
He stared at her (probably thinking of an excuse) as if she was guilty of every problem in his life. Vaggi followed suit and stared as if he was the man who named her.
"You aren't doing host business anyway, just fucking around and being creepy"
Which, could be their fault for having him working illegally at the hotel. But this was hell and nobody cared, so she didn't mention it.
"I have an angelic wound, mind you" He threw himself into the cushion as a woman from the 19th century who had just seen a teen show her ankles.
"The one Charlie and i sent Lucifer to heal, that one?" She nudged him on the chest, exactly where said wound would be, getting no reaction more than a grumble about those entitled youngsters.
"The paperwork it's on Charlie's office, if you don't come I'm giving you the worst schedule i can think of." She left, trying to close the door with the handle and remembering her oopsie of earlier. He also noticed if the High pitched static was anything to worry about. By the time he realized she was on another floor, so that was not her problem anymore.
------------------
Coming to the solution of fixing the door with a shadow tentacle, Alastor made his way to the bathroom, noticing he looked sketchy as fuck hell. Which was normal considering he'd just slept three hours when that angel had rudely woken him up.
Getting fixed, he skipped a few steps on the way to Charlie's office, because he knew Vaggi would actually act on her threat otherwise.
And unlike her, Alastor knocked on the door, like a civilized person. Letting himself in at the sound of 'Pass', he sat at the terrible swivel chair Lucifer had gotten for the hotel. Truly, the chairs were better than these when he was held captive during Vox delusions of grandeur.
"Came for your new work offer, Al?"
"Sounds more like unpaid work for me." The static around him pitched and he was given a death stare.
"You agreed to it when you first came to the hotel." Vaggi said, matter-of-factly.
"I agreed to be an unpaid host"
"Tomato, to-mah-to." She handed him a pen, because in all of this they still had to pretend legality and a contract with way too many post-its (Charlie, he thinks).
"Redemption exercises, seriously? What did i do to be derived this much?" He kept on reading, having put on glasses that barely did anything anymore, and ready to bargain that they were being non-accesible with how small the letters were.
He summoned his shadow and made it read the contract, still drowsy from the lack of sleep and deciding not to be difficult only today under specific circumstances.
"Do i have to teach them hobbies? They should have their own." Annoying the woman a little as he reached for the pen again, he looked up.
"Their hobbies are the reason they are here, Alastor." He already knew that, and should remind her of the reason he came to this hotel in the first place. Sighing like holding the pen straight had shortened his lifespan, he wrote his sign, and made all of the room wave with his magic, earning a look of offended disbelief from Vaggi. Weird considering that time she was a floor under him and Charlie making a deal and still noticed.
"Now i have to clean this mess because of you, get the fuck out of here." And he wouldn't tell anybody how easily she pushed him out as if he was made of feathers. Infuriating woman, that girl.
wut is this help. i have a headache i know its bad LEAVE ME ALONE
gunshow WIP
idk the wordcount but id bet less than 200
"some newbies who realized the company about crimes is, well, bad" wpnz said as he poked at the gunk that was once someone's head, before they'd shoot it to a heterogeneous mix of muscle, tissue and bone.
"what do you mean by that?" it wasn't as though he felt bad by killing them. Hell, he'd killed people for free, and if they were worth the pay, they'd done fucked up real bad.
"They tried to desert, thats what hitman's report said" some rubbish was next to the second body.
'<i>what an unlucky pair. maybe we'll be next- wait no</i>'
scrap metal fell off the ceiling and next to him, realization of how out of reality he was hitting him (as well as the metal, <i>ouch</i>).
"it isn't uncommon, y'know? some guys who got in thinking it was free money, then got scared when they got to cut someone's fingers to extort some rich family" They'd started taking pictures, part of the process to later reports. A clean up squad was in the way to the isolated warehouse they were currently in.
"The company can't risk leaks of our, say, illicit activities, and so they get rid of rogues as soon as possible." puzzles was avoiding looking at the assassin at this point, a feeling of dread recoiling on him.
He knew it was irrational, as the thought of leaving the company hadn't crossed his mind since day one. he still couldn't help it, and added it to the ever growing list his fears were. "And as always we're the ones doing the dirty work"
He'd wanted to crack a joke about 'dirty work', truly. white noise buzzed on his head, and whether it was a fail on his antenna or in his <i>very human</i> brain went unanswered. He realized he'd been staring past- no, <i>at</i> a body for way to long, and turned his head away from it way to fast for it to be casual. wpnz was looking at him <i>weird</i>, and it sank that now he was staring at <i>him</i> way to hard.
His gaze went anywhere but the man, hoping he didn't mind his big idiotic eyes glaring daggers at him just seconds ago.
the sudden awareness hit wpnz like a rock to the head. and maybe a rock <i>did</i> fall on his head, with the state the place was in, debris was to be expected.
<i>regardless</i>, the man in front of him, who he'd just told he would get killed if he ever wanted to stop working for the worst company in the world- looked, for a lack of a better word, ass.
light reflected on his glass screen as he strode the path to the house of paint, his sleeve cuff's were growing wrinkles from how many times he had fixed them in the short time.
a weight could be felt on his chest, and RGB convinced himself it was the kiss on his top right pocket. at least he tried to until his mind dulled it out in favor of the next focus.
this being, how embarrassing this whole mission was. not only for the possibility of being rejected, which say, he'd die on the spot; but more so by the opening up that it'd take.
that is, if he even knocked, which he could just turn away and hide the whole attempt under the rug his mind was. but that rug was already worn, dusty and with corners showing what was hiding below it almost neatly.
and he also knocked before he could chicken and run away.
No way out now, coward.
wrestling could be heard from the inside, but that was expected with the years the house wore.
Hopefully he could convince himself his knock wasn't heard and-
-RUN. Get the fuck away from that door you imbecile. Are you bad on the head? god hello it's me again-
Aaand the knob was turning wasn't it. Welp, until here it was. he can already imagine his grave 'coward, monster, died of embarassment of his own making'.
"The house of paint- Oh god it's you again-" RGB could almost- no, definitely feel that eye roll through the hardwood the door was made of.
"Why you wound me, Madras" if he had lashes hed be batting them, feigning naivety.
The door was opened, a shriek escaping the ancient relique. Madras, unbothered by this, shushed him in, by the words of 'get in before i kick you out you walking migraine'. RGB was too busy not falling to string her a word about how he was a colorful sight for the sore eyes.
it was a silent way down, but one they were used to. the stairs were knowing and welcoming to the pair, for the amount of times they'd gone down them was outnumbering in number the crystal vials stored within it's walls.
Madras dropped herself gently onto Gladys, managing to somehow not lose a single droplet of her tea.
"My house is your house and all, you know" She looked almost bored at his stiff standing at the stairs bottom. He let out a breath he didn't know to be hold in, leaning on the wood counter like he'd done it a million times (and he might've).
"You still own a kettle, i presume" Looking at the mug in her hands, he strode past the room and into the kitchen nextdoor.
"No, I've developed water boiling powers" She answered without skipping a beat, and sipped her tea as he looked for the mug she kept for him (the one with the fop legend that looked right out of urban dictionary).
"And we need to talk" Pondering whether to chose chamomile or black, his static coated tone went through the room, and hopefully made it into the continuous one.
"You always need to talk" It was as though he'd implode if he didn't get his thoughts out, she thought. It was better than the silence, maybe enjoyable, but only every one hundred words, when it wasn't absolute bullshit he spew.
"Why i am only honouring my name" the word chatterbox crossed her mind, and she determined it fit.
The chatterbox walked in with a steaming mug that read 'fop' and she couldn't help the smile at the end of her lips.
"So you've accepted your title" Sitting on a chair (the eyeless, way less cool one) he crossed one leg over the other as he watched the mug on his hands steam.
"It's the only mug you've got besides your own" Red pretended to slip off his screen, but the true protagonist was the green that dripped into his casing and collar.
wut is this help. i have a headache i know its bad LEAVE ME ALONE
gunshow WIP
idk the wordcount but id bet less than 200
"some newbies who realized the company about crimes is, well, bad" wpnz said as he poked at the gunk that was once someone's head, before they'd shoot it to a heterogeneous mix of muscle, tissue and bone.
"what do you mean by that?" it wasn't as though he felt bad by killing them. Hell, he'd killed people for free, and if they were worth the pay, they'd done fucked up real bad.
"They tried to desert, thats what hitman's report said" some rubbish was next to the second body.
'<i>what an unlucky pair. maybe we'll be next- wait no</i>'
scrap metal fell off the ceiling and next to him, realization of how out of reality he was hitting him (as well as the metal, <i>ouch</i>).
"it isn't uncommon, y'know? some guys who got in thinking it was free money, then got scared when they got to cut someone's fingers to extort some rich family" They'd started taking pictures, part of the process to later reports. A clean up squad was in the way to the isolated warehouse they were currently in.
"The company can't risk leaks of our, say, illicit activities, and so they get rid of rogues as soon as possible." puzzles was avoiding looking at the assassin at this point, a feeling of dread recoiling on him.
He knew it was irrational, as the thought of leaving the company hadn't crossed his mind since day one. he still couldn't help it, and added it to the ever growing list his fears were. "And as always we're the ones doing the dirty work"
He'd wanted to crack a joke about 'dirty work', truly. white noise buzzed on his head, and whether it was a fail on his antenna or in his <i>very human</i> brain went unanswered. He realized he'd been staring past- no, <i>at</i> a body for way to long, and turned his head away from it way to fast for it to be casual. wpnz was looking at him <i>weird</i>, and it sank that now he was staring at <i>him</i> way to hard.
His gaze went anywhere but the man, hoping he didn't mind his big idiotic eyes glaring daggers at him just seconds ago.
the sudden awareness hit wpnz like a rock to the head. and maybe a rock <i>did</i> fall on his head, with the state the place was in, debris was to be expected.
<i>regardless</i>, the man in front of him, who he'd just told he would get killed if he ever wanted to stop working for the worst company in the world- looked, for a lack of a better word, ass.
I would like to add for the uninitiated to my blog, that I am, in fact, a Deaf actor and screenwriter and Beethoven’s music is entirely an intentional choice.
asi que empecé a reescribir AARED (en español porque en inglés me bloqueé......... .......🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀)
wip, wordcount: +500 etc etc
El suelo retumbaba con cada nuevo glitch que aparecía, la carpa circense a poco de desmoronarse sobre sí misma. Sus ojos se sentían vidriosos, lágrimas amenazando con caer; no por tristeza, o felicidad, sino por incertidumbre de lo que pasaría.
¿Y si esta era otra aventura? ¿Otra falsa salida en la que la IA les quitaba la alfombra debajo de los pies justo cuando ellos creían haber ganado?
Solo podia mantener la esperanza de que no lo fuera, y en este momento, eso era lo difícil. Miro a sus compañeros, si de trabajo o de encierro, quedaba incierto, pues las líneas con los meses se habían difuminado. Él las habia borrado, en un intento de volverlas más claras.
Las vibraciones del suelo subían por su cuerpo, y el sonido de su nombre (aunque distante, lejano) llegaba a sus oidos. Miro hacia delante (no se había dado cuenta cuándo dejo de hacerlo), hacia la mano que la esperaba, impaciente por escapar (y quizás, si no se apuraba, lo haría sin ella).
Dio último vistazo mientras tomaba la mano y esta la arrastro a la salida, junto a otras siluetas (familiares pero borrosas, como todo el entorno que los rodeaba), pero apenas y pudo distinguir algo en el desastre de formas y colores que el 'circo' presentaba. No podia distinguir claramente que color los rodeaba, parecia cambiar y transformarse, imitando un caleidoscopio. Le recordó a los escritores que describirlo el azul mar como dorado, así que quizas debería inventar una palabra para describirlo.
Le tomo unos segundos darse cuenta que ya no veia el indescriptible color, atrapada entre pensamientos. Quiso volver a pensarlo, pero su mente era incapaz de replicarlo. Luego de su fútil intento, miro a su alrededor, que solo podia describirse como vacío; la nada misma.
No era negro, pero era la ausencia de luz, que es casi lo mismo. Pero había una luz, detrás de ella, y cuando se volteo, esta parecia burlarse, parpadeando desde su lugar arriba de una puerta roja.
Una puerta que la había perseguido en sus mejores sueños y peores pesadillas, y eso cuando no era ella quién la perseguía.
Una puerta que antes deseaba tocar, y ahora no podía atreverse.
Una puerta cuya textura ahora podía describir como pintura impermeable roja sobre acero inoxidable, en vez del plástico que atormentaba cada paso dentro del @#$_!.
¿... Qué?
¿... @#$_!?
...
Dentro de la prision de donde acababa de escapar.
O al menos esperaba haberlo hecho.
Extendió su brazo, y se dio cuenta que estaba flotando, lo que hacía imposible que la puerta estuviera quieta en su lugar tal y como lo estaba.
Por suerte ya estaba acostumbrada a lo absurdo, léase; Caine, quien una vez hizo su cabeza explotar en confeti y la puso a correr para encontrar un remplazo.
Ahora que piensa en ello, recuerda un chiste donde alguien hace algo parecido con una gallina.
Aparte de la falta de plumas, no ve mucha diferencia entre ambas situaciones.
La sensación fría y metálica del picaporte la devolvió a la realidad, si esto siquiera podia describirse así. Giró su muñeca, la perilla imitando el movimiento suavemente.
Quizas tendría más que decir, si la luz –en este caso blanca, estaba segura– que la encandiló cuando abrió la puerta de par en par no fuera tan brillante.
Dicen que una luz es tanto ciega como cegadora.
Pomni se pregunta si la luz la ve cuando la ilumina.
origamiaround
stormborns
dailybridgerton
areudirty
