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candaru · 8 months

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Fixing Marie and fixing Stein's arc*

*Disclaimer: I am ONLY an anime watcher. I have some loose knowledge of the manga, but this rewrite comes from the standpoint of "what would make the story tighter" with no thought of the manga canon.

Soul Eater starts as a 1/10 show and gets up to a solid 8/10. Those early episodes don't interest me at all, because fixing them would require starting over from almost scratch, but those 8/10s are so fucking juicy and easy to turn into 10/10s with just a little bit of rewriting. With that being said:

Spirit should've been the one to pull Stein back from the madness. Marie's arc should've been about motherhood, and she should've been used as a foil for Medusa.

This isn't even about shipping, though I do ship Spirit and Stein. This is about tightening up a story to actually wrap up loose ends and not create female characters solely to exist for the male ones. Here's how the fixes work:

For of her introduction, instead of the "I just want to get married for money and be lazy" gag which we never actively see from Marie (she is clumsy at her job, but never lazy), and the godawful "I'll marry a toilet" joke, Marie is introduced as being upset being called into work because she wants a nuclear family. She dreams about being a housewife and stay-at-home mom, and focuses deeply on the latter part. When Azusa points out that she'll have a chance to teach lots of children, Marie points at Blackstar and Death having an explosive fight in the distance and says something akin to, "Those aren't normal children!!!" It's Soul Eater, it's a comedy.

There are already a good number of scenes where Marie and Crona interact, and Crona clearly sees Marie as the (good) mother they never had. All that needs to be done to further this agenda is showing Marie's POV—she's initially unsure of how to treat Crona, given their circumstances, but quickly grows fond of them and begins to take special interest in caring for them.

Marie is still sent to live with Stein, as her extremely empathetic and kind nature is a good balance to his apathy and insanity. However, he is not just allowed to wander free, ESPECIALLY after being caught trying to free Medusa. Death doesn't want him in chains, because he feels that's animalistic, but tells Marie to keep him under house arrest for a while.

This would've worked fine, except that the snake planted in Marie has been lying dormant, and when Medusa activates it, she can control Marie like a puppet to let Stein out. That's when he goes and gets lost in the maze of his own mind.

When Crona comes to Death to request seeking out Stein, Marie says she can't trust them anymore, and demands to come with. In response to that, Spirit says he can't trust Marie, because the snake might still be residing within her. Besides, he knows Stein best. He's coming, too (instead of SITTING AROUND IN THE DEATH ROOM DOING NOTHING FOR SEVEN EPISODES).

During the battle against Stein and Medusa, Marie and Spirit both try to lunge for Stein, but Medusa cuts them off with an attack. Marie ends up separated and with Medusa vs. Crona, while Spirit ends up separated and fighting Stein alone.

When Medusa taunts Crona for being an obedient child, Marie cuts in with, "Yes, they ARE obedient! And kind, and gentle, and patient! That's why you don't deserve to call yourself their mother!" She turns to Crona and nods, affirming her trust in them. This is a resolution to Marie's saying that she can't trust Crona until she sees them fight Medusa, and fills Crona with emotion and strength: they realize they have another mother who cares about them more than Medusa ever did.

Meanwhile, Stein says to Spirit what he did to Marie in canon (begging him to run away before he attacks), adding that "I hurt you once before, I'll do it again!" but Spirit stands strong. He might be terrified inside, but he doesn't show fear the way Marie does, because he's seen Stein like this before.

Inside Stein's head, we see the radio. LET'S TALK ABOUT THE RADIO. In canon, Medusa tells him to smash it, and at one point it seems the radio might be his way of hearing the outside world, because he hears Maka's voice? But usually, his own voice is muttering nonsense, and it seems to represent his madness, in which case Medusa would never suggest he destroy it. Then the solution is to "accept it," which is not a good suggestion given the in-universe context and ALSO doesn't have anything to do with the radio metaphor.

So, in this rewrite, the radio is clearly representative of his madness. It's Stein's own voice, repeating things like "follow the path of madness," "you belong to Medusa now," "dissect everything," etc. Stein tries to reach towards the radio to turn it off, but every time he does, he seems to interfere with it and a loud, awful static noise happens over the voices. This makes it so he can't hear the voices, but is also painful, and he keeps stopping to cover his ears. He can't get close to the radio, so he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to listen to it, but if he tries to turn it off, the static gets louder and hurts him.

Medusa suggests that he just stop trying to fight it. If he stops fighting it, the voices will come in clearly, and he won't be in pain anymore. "Just accept it; just listen to the voices. That's what you really want, anyway, isn't it?"

While he fights Spirit, both of them are going all-out, yet exceedingly good at dodging and blocking each other—because they were Weapon and Meister for years, and they both know how the other moves. Because of this, Spirit manages to corner Stein against a wall with a blade to his throat.

Stein, with his eyes shadowed over so it's unclear if he is mad or sane, tells Spirit to just cut it off and end it all. Spirit shakes his head, and reaches out to soul resonate with Stein.

He enters Stein's headspace the same way we see happen often with Maka and Soul; he sees Stein crouched on the floor, hands to his ears, and the radio. Stein explains the situation, and tells Spirit to try smashing it with his blade. Spirit can tell this will kill Stein, but Stein says he doesn't care. "I can't fight it. I'd rather have it destroyed."

(The fights between Medusa/Crona/Marie and Spirit/Stein cut back and forth to add tension; I'm just telling them in order to make things clear.)

Spirit walks over, seeming as if he will smash the radio—then reaches out to the dial and turns it. It's a volume dial. The voices turn way, way, down. Stein looks up, startled and looking as though the pain has suddenly rescinded.

Spirit explains: "You're right. You can't fight it—not alone. That's why you need people around to help you. I can't turn it off, but I can at least turn down the noise."

In the real world, we see that Spirit has turned Stein's head gear. It looks like the radio dial. Stein has been trying to turn it down himself all this time, to no avail, but when Spirit turns it, it works. Stein falls against Spirit momentarily before opening his eyes and waking back up into sanity.

"Spirit..." "Yeah?" "Sorry about experimenting on you." "Eh. If you really want to apologize, you can buy me a sake when we get back."

It's Soul Eater, it's a comedy.

At this point, Marie is able to get to them, and throws herself into the hug, overjoyed to see Stein back to normal. She pulls Stein's glasses out of her pocket and hands them to him. It seems the battle is finally going their way, but Medusa is preparing another attack on Crona.

At this point, the canon resumes as normal, with Maka and Soul showing up, etc. Absolutely nothing in the other plots is ruined, since Spirit would've just spent the entire time stuck in the Death Room with Azusa.

#soul eater #rewrite #Marie Mjolnir #Franken Stein #Spirit Albarn #crossstitch #kind of but not really #I just wanted to wrap up the loose ends that weren't addressed #candaru makes things

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yaoogui · 8 months

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❛ it’s okay, you can touch me. i won't break. ❜ to sen (from @areumseas)

Her bare shoulders before his eyes ; her hair is pushed to the side by her delicate fingers going through the strands of it. Help me, she @areumseas said, it got caught, she added, revealing the silver chain laced with her raven locks. There is silence, in this piece of the night that seems out of time. His thoughts are clouded, yet not enough for him to not follow his very own rules. The obsession with the purity of her skin errupts just now. As if the world outside has colllapsed and only the sight of her skin remains. Untained. Untouched. His mind spirals - is the alcohol, is it the fantasy ; seeing the colors he would want to paint on her, carve on her, a pandora box for him not to open, to never open, not to speak of, the shameful thoughts that remain secret.

❛ it’s okay, you can touch me. i won't break. ❜

She speaks, as he still hasn't, frozen, sitting down the couch in her back, his hands stopped mid way, as if he has tried to execute the request but couldn't. " You won't." He replies. "But I might." His voice is deep, raspy, bothered, as if hypnotized by demons he did not call in the room tonight. His breath can be felt against her carnation, close, he is too close for his own taste. It is late, late enough she couldnt go back to her hotel room, late enough for him to insist she should take the bed and he will sleep on the damn couch they are currently sitting on. Slowly, his hands move again, his fingers resting delicately against that chain, the tips brushing against the milkyway of her skin, out of curiosity. Pieces of their conversations never stop dancing in his head, everything she knows about him, everything he knows about her, what they both might be capable of. An exhale escapes from his mouth as the world aroud slowly disappears into oblivion. Her skin, her skin and her skin only. "If I didn't know you any better, I would say you are playing a game, toying with me..." He whispers then, ironically as in, he does know her. "... and that you would take a lot of pleasure watching me pathetically not knowing what to do with my head and my hands on you. And yet, I dream of watching you do just that." His voice keeps on flowing as he is meticulous, in taking the necklace out of the claws of her locks like the snakes of Medusa. The task isn't so difficult as the two untangle smoothly, she could have getting it done by herself, couldn't she.They linger though, his hands, they are always so careful and delicate, as if she is made of something too precious for him to taint, and then, his fingers are snaking up her neck from behind. "Sometimes I regret telling you my deepest darkest secrets, as if you are just standing here, being the embodiement of that, the Pandora of my box, the one that could awaken my burried demons and corpses if you just snapped your fingers, if you just smiled at me a little too much." He keeps on whispering, his breathing short yet controled. His fingers form a shape then, wrapping around her neck like a spider web, not applying any pressure, simply keeping her close, in his grip, as their bodies are now gently pressed one against the other, his front on her back, his temple against the back of her head. Her scent, he takes it in, the perfume of a devil she is, deceiving, deceiving beauty. She knows his weaknesses, they are free for her to play with but, what about hers? Sen unraveled the bottoms of his inner hells to her, while she, she never allowed him to fully dive into hers. Secrets. She kept secreets from him." Do you think it would be liberating. You asked me once and I never forgot when you did. I remember everything changed after that day. Your pace, I remember your choice of words, it was different, the way you typed, erased and typed and typed again. The ponctuation, the syntax. I saw it, I did. As if I was talking to a complete different person and yet it couldn't be more you. Now that I finally see you, it's in your eyes, it's on your skin and I think it's beautiful. So why hiding it from me?" He confesses, his grip not leaving her. "Tell me how you did it." His eyes are deep, calm, the type of calm that is either soothing or terrifyingly alarming. "Tell me how it felt. When you killed him." ⟶ Assortment of dialogue

#変 : 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐧. / interactions.#変 : 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐧. / the photographer.#So this just happened

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everythingsinred · 3 years

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Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt.10)

WOW we did it folks. 10 parts to an essay that we're like. a quarter of the way done with. That's pretty great! More or less, by the time you finish reading this post, you'll have read 35k words worth of analysis and I'll have spent countless hours writing it. What amazing dedication we have to this manga! We should get an anime reboot as a reward!

Anyway, let's go crazy stupid trying to wrap up this arc, where we can see the extent of Natsume's selflessness. As we approach the end, something will happen to make Natsume's plans to distance himself from Mikan very difficult. Let us begin!

Also I've been forgetting to put trigger warnings up for these but I put them on the first few so hopefully you know they're all like that. Child abuse is a huge topic we'll cover throughout, as well as all the consequences that come with it, so be wary.

Chapter Forty-One

Medusa--Mihara-san--is amused to see that the frightening, powerful, and awe-inspiring “Black Cat”, who demonstrates a trained command of his alice despite wearing an alice-restraining mask on missions, is actually just a little kid.

Natsume doesn’t care about being impressive; he cuts to the chase, asking where Mikan is. Medusa makes his comments, but Natsume stays on his point: his new mission is to save Mikan, after all. Though keeping Mikan and Ruka safe had been his personal mission from the get-go. But just as Natsume isn’t interested in anything Medusa has to say if it isn’t about Mikan, Medusa isn’t interested in any topic that is about Mikan. So the small talk ends and Shiki is commanded to test the kids’ abilities.

Natsume cares about one thing right now and it isn't his DA alias.

They are in the midst of some kind of battle or standoff when Mikan reappears, safe. She calls out to them, excited to see them again. Ruka and Tsubasa are happy to see her safe as well, so they call out too. Natsume is not as thrilled. He’s good at staying on mission and keeping his attention on the dangers around him, like Shiki and Medusa, as well as the countless other Z members, all with mystery alices.

Mikan suddenly appearing and making herself known is dangerous, and she’s immediately under attack, unwittingly. He runs to protect her, using his alice as a barrier between them and the man who just tried to hurt her, but when he turns back to look at Mikan, he’s livid.

The art in this scene is so gorgeous, I could stare it forever. Look at how silky Natsume's hair is. Pretty.

Tsubasa and Ruka have never been on a mission like this. They were just eager to see Mikan unharmed. She was also just excited to see her friends again after being separated. But Natsume knows better. On a mission, you have to stay vigilant and always careful, and Mikan was careless. He yells at her, scolding her. But even through his emotions, he stays vigilant, protecting her even more when the enemy tries to take advantage of the distraction.

This is what he came for, not just to be the brains and keep them on track throughout the journey, but also to protect them, because that’s what he always does, what his priority always is. He will use his alice to ward off enemy attacks, and use his body as a shield, even if he winds up exhausted and bleeding and hurt. And he is.

But he still tells Mikan to stay behind him, to stay safe, so he can properly protect her this time, because he couldn’t do it before.

He doesn’t expect Mikan to get up and tell him that he doesn’t have to worry. She doesn’t want or need him to protect her; instead she wants to help him. She tells him, for once, that he doesn’t have to be the only one hurt anymore. He’s understandably surprised to hear this, because it means that someone other than Ruka has been paying attention. She understands that he’s been through the wringer, and she doesn’t want to just sit back and benefit from his effort without giving anything back. But more than just saying she’ll take on the brunt of things for him, she wants to help. She wants to be his strength, not a burden on him.

She has been noticing him, even the things he doesn't want her to notice.

This shocks him enough that it actually distracts him from his vigilance, and suddenly it appears that Ruka is in danger. He leaves her side just long enough for her to be captured by Shiki instead, and immediately teleported to Medusa’s side. They needed to get Mikan out of the way, after all, so that Medusa could use his alice, which he immediately uses to petrify Tsubasa’s leg.

Chapter Forty-Two

Right off the bat, we’re shown just how much the stakes have risen. Medusa’s alice is deadly, not just dangerous, and he’s already managed to hit Tsubasa with it. His next command is to have Yuka steal the kids’ alices, and to start with Natsume. It would make things easier on him, anyway, Medusa says, obviously privy to the idea that a child like Natsume wouldn’t want to be a child soldier at all, unlike Reo who mused that maybe Natsume would be more content with just a change of employer.

But Yuka makes it clear that her alice isn’t strong enough to steal all of the alices at once, trying to spare the kids from losing their abilities. So Medusa then goes to a Plan B, convincing the kids that his alice will only be temporarily affecting them until they agree to work for Z. After all, Natsume can’t really use his alice when Medusa has Mikan in his clutches. He’s been in this situation before, practically living in it, having the lives and happiness of his loved ones held over his head so that he will be pliant. Medusa comments that he loves torturing people like him, and he must not be the only one, since Natsume’s been tortured in this way for years now.

Ruka is hit in the shoulder while trying to shield Tsubasa from another attack from Medusa, and the shoulder region is particularly life-threatening, as it’s close to the heart and he might die from the loss of blood flow soon. Of course, this sets Natsume into berserk mode, but before he can use his alice, he coughs violently. This gives Medusa an opportunity to strike Natsume in his dominant arm, his left one.

He tries to use his alice, despite being at a new disadvantage, and still angry from what’s happening to Ruka. So his leg gets hit too.

Medusa gets temporarily incapacitated by Mikan’s nullification, so he sends Yuka to steal Natsume’s alice, which should be a walk in the park because he’s lost control of his arm and leg, so he can’t run away.

It’s here that Natsume reveals to the reader the secret he’s been keeping for the past few days, the one that we must now keep as well, that Mikan is Yuka’s daughter.

This is another one of those situations, where the stars align in all the wrong ways. Something you've always wanted is within grasp, but there's too many reasons not to take it.

Natsume stands there, unable to move, and ponders his situation as Mikan desperately screams for him to run away.

He wonders if he was waiting for this exact moment, if that’s the reason he came along at all, so that he could meet Yuka and have her steal his alice away.

Earlier, Natsume left a conversation about losing alices because it was too painful. He doesn’t feel the same way about his that the rest of them do. It’s not some fond part of him that he can’t stand to lose. He hates it. It’s been a hindrance since the day he was born. People of all sorts of organizations, including the government operated Academy and terrorist organizations like Z, have coveted his power. It’s put his loved ones in danger. It’s made his life a living hell. He’s been robbed of a fun childhood, of smiles and friendship, of peace. It’s stolen opportunity from him, so he can’t even feel free to pursue a crush, or make bonds freely, or let himself laugh. It stole his future from him, and he dies a little bit more every day. He won’t live long enough to go on a date, graduate, get married, get a normal job, have kids, grow old. He might not even make it to middle school, and he knows it. He lives his whole life in eternal emotional, physical, and mental agony. He’s always under the gun, always careful, always selfless, always defensive.

Why would anyone want that?

And this is his chance to lose it all. Things could be easier, better, safer. He could lose it and finally exhale. He could go back home to his dad. He could be an actual kid for once. Yuka could steal his alice and all of his responsibilities and the deadweight he’s been carrying on his back for his whole life could be gone.

Of course he almost lets her steal it.

But Mikan has been screaming in anguish for him to run away, and he remembers what she said when she saved him during the Reo Arc: that it was too late to give up, and that they should return to the academy together, because a bright future must be waiting for them.

And because of that, Natsume makes his first move to escape Yuka’s alice.

Does Natsume really want a future if his friends and loved ones would still be in danger? Would it be worth it if he was safe, if it came at the price of their safety? If Natsume doesn’t use his alice to keep them safe and protected, then who will? Who can?

Natsume smacking Yuka’s hand away isn’t selfish. It’s not him realizing he wants to keep his alice, that maybe deep down, he might actually love it. It’s not dear to him in any way. It’s still the thing that wears his body down and forces him to cough up blood. No, this act is selfless, yet again, because his own happiness and even his life come dead last to him. He has to keep them all safe after all.

Yuka snatches his wrist anyway, ready to steal his alice away, until she realizes she can’t. Mikan is using her alice from all the way across the room to protect Natsume.

So basically, the idea of Natsume leaving the academy causes this kind of reaction in Mikan, something Natsume has no choice but to see for what it is: fondness.

He looks at her with surprise, because this is an act of affection. Mikan has just used her alice to keep him with her. His life isn’t in danger, but she wants him to stick around. Now more than ever, Natsume can see proof that she cares about him, even despite all the bullying he’s done, despite all the mean words he’s thrown her way, even after he told her cruelly that he hates every single thing about her. Up until now, Natsume had no reason to believe she was doing anything but tolerating him, and though that was the outcome he was working for, deep down he does want the girl he likes to have some fondness for him too. This is the first time Natsume can really see that he means something to her too, as more than just a classmate or a partner. He is someone she doesn't want to part with.

And Mikan has fulfilled her wish, to be Natsume’s strength, because now Natsume is able to yell at her to duck and blow up the wall behind her.

Usually such huge explosions are the result of him at his angriest, using his ability to punish the people who hurt his loved ones. He’s probably also done similar things on missions, maybe even when he’s completely calm. But this time Natsume is weaker than ever, his dominant left arm completely out of commission, unable to move, under duress. He finds the strength to cause that explosion because of Mikan, because she wants him around.

While everyone is distracted, Natsume tells Yuka to go help Mikan, hinting that he knows her secret.

So Yuka stabs Mihara-san and has the petrified kids lick his blood off the blade. It’s confusing to the other kids why she would do this, but Natsume knows exactly why.

It would be interesting to see more interaction between Yuka and Natsume. Surely Yuka knows that Natsume is Kaoru’s son? It would be interesting to see if she noticed that his name matches Mikan’s. What does she think of him? What might their dynamic be like? I will always mourn that we’ll never find out.

Chapter Forty-Three

This chapter is the one that should officially designate this manga into the “tragedy” category. Yes, there’s been some heavy and deep stuff so far, most having to do with Natsume and the heavy abuse he deals with, but even with all that it’s managed to be mainly a cheerful and upbeat story. This chapter makes it clear that horrible and heart-wrenching things can and will happen, that we can’t count on a happy ending every time.

The kids are close to escape. They’re about to head through a warp zone back to school, and it’s urgent they move fast because the hide-out they’re in is currently imploding. Unfortunately, Mikan has dropped the antidote to the bullet that hit Hotaru, so she refuses to leave until she’s retrieved it from under a pile of rubble.

Pengy finally has a chance to prove itself, wriggling under and saving the antidote for Hotaru. It has helped Mikan, and because that’s the best thing someone can do, Natsume is grateful.

Natsume's smile (even a small one like this) has incredible powers, like giving robots a feeling of self-worth, making his classmates fall in love with him, and making me think he is a good boy. It would be irresponsible to overuse it.

Just like when Tsubasa showed his worth back at the high school division when he used his alice to help Mikan, Natsume has a new respect for Pengy, who was able to do something amazing to help the group, and Mikan especially. So he gives Pengy a slight smile. It’s really subtle and nothing outstanding on anybody else, but it’s a rare thing to get from Natsume, even for those whom he loves. “I guess you can be a little useful,” he says. This is the best sign of appreciation someone can get from him, and Pengy glows for a moment (ahh… the power of Natsume’s smile), until things fall apart.

The floor gives way under Mikan’s feet. They’re able to pull Mikan up, but Pengy is still too far to reach. Despite Mikan’s desperation, Pengy understands that they’re wasting time trying to reach it. Finally, after Pengy has proven its use to Natsume, it refuses to be a hindrance again, and sacrifices itself so that everyone can safely return the antidote to Hotaru.

They’re all through the tunnel, hit with the knowledge that Pengy is gone. They all react somewhat differently, but Natsume feels guilt.

Pengy's smile has evil powers because it makes me cry.

Natsume had considered Pengy a robot, something unfeeling and mechanical, just a useless thing Hotaru made once. It was something that could be discarded, and after it had proven to be troublesome, he’d even advocated that it should be discarded. He’d considered it useless all along, but when it really counted, Pengy was able to save Mikan and the antidote. It proved not only that it could be useful, but that it wasn’t just another mechanical robot. When Natsume smiled at it, it smiled back. And in its final act of sacrifice, it acted out of love for both Hotaru and Mikan, and Natsume feels sorry for what he’d said about it.

Natsume has a habit for establishing a bad impression of someone, and then having that person work hard to prove themselves to him. Pengy is one example, but he’s like this with Tsubasa, Mikan, and all sorts of people at first. People (and robots) that he despises until they show him what they’re really made of, winning his respect and sometimes even affection. It makes sense he would be so distrustful, seeing the life he has to live. Trusting the wrong person can get you hurt sometimes, and can lead to disaster. And having something useless like Pengy can cause a mission to fail. But Natsume is sometimes wrong about his first impression of a person, and the same qualities that could lead him to believe something is useless or annoying can end up being strengths that he respects.

Chapter Forty-Five

Yes, I skipped 44 because that’s more noteworthy as a Mikan chapter. Natsume doesn’t do anything I found particularly intriguing and I didn’t want to make anything up or repeat myself. In fact, for the rest of this arc, there’s very little left for me to say, so I apologize if this is a short analysis to conclude with.

The first thing we’ll address is the ESP and Persona discussing the insubordination that has just occurred. Yes, an injured student has safely recovered, and a Z hideout has been destroyed, but it wasn’t their plan for things to happen that way. Narumi needs a warning, for one. Natsume, according to Persona, needs simply to be punished back into obedience. From the way Persona talks about him, we can see how little he thinks of Natsume, how easy he can be to manipulate and control, which is all he is good for anyway. To them, Natsume is nothing more than a pawn in their game. Sure, he’s a useful pawn, the Black Cat that strikes fear into the hearts of the school’s enemies and successfully completes his missions even with a punishment mask on, but he’s still just a pawn. Nothing more.

While watching Mikan and Hotaru’s reunion, Tsubasa teases Natsume about joining the group hug. Natsume ignores him, and makes to walk away, but stops just long enough to toss his healing alice necklace to him. Tsubasa can borrow it to make up for having Subaru put Natsume’s injuries first. He makes it clear that he doesn’t want anybody looking after him, and that might seem like a snub, but this is kindness too. Natsume calls Tsubasa by his name, though he’ll do his best to avoid ever saying it again, and lends him a source of comfort and healing to pay back Tsubasa’s compassion. This is a growing moment, because Natsume has opened himself up to the idea that he could care about more people, even if it means more to lose.

Saying people's names is another rare magic from Natsume, I guess.

Natsume has learned things on this mission too, just like Mikan has. He’s a bit more open-minded now. He judged both Tsubasa and Pengy, and ended up changing his mind about them both, even if only by a little. He’s also discovered that Mikan has affection for him too, and it will completely undo all the effort he’s so far tried to make in distancing himself. It’s one thing to stay away from the girl you like when she hardly stands you. It’s another thing when she enjoys your company, and your feelings are turning into love. His feelings have intensified, or maybe they were always so intense but are just newly solidified, as he’s not hiding from them as much anymore.

He won’t be able to distance himself from her anymore, so he’ll completely stop trying.

Conclusion

Natsume has realized that Mikan holds a degree of fondness for him too, and because he is now very deeply in love with her, he will not be able to stay away like he'd resolved to before. Tomorrow we will begin our essay with Natsume's birthday, a very exciting way to start looking at his new approach to his relationship with Mikan.

The last essay (pt. 9) in particular inspired people to tell me that they were learning new things about Natsume, and as a result even loving him more, and that makes me so happy! Natsume is one of my favorite characters ever, and I want people to love him as much as I do! I love when people leave comments or questions! Really, I'm just so happy and over the moon that people are reading and enjoying, because again--this is a LOT of words. It's a long essay, and it means so much not just that people want to read about Natsume and his feelings for Mikan, but that they want to hear what I have to say about it! Thank you so much for supporting me! Isn't it exciting that we're about a quarter through? <3

I can’t put a song in the tags cuz I have too many tags. So. Church by Fall Out Boy.

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#gakuen alice #alice academy #hyuuga natsume #natsume hyuuga #natsumikan #sakura mikan #mikan sakura #my meta #ga #mine #ga meta #ga meta: nm #ga meta: manga #ga meta: manga nm #let's talk about natsumikan #let's talk about natsumikan: natsume #yes natsume is a leftie and i will bring it up a thousand times #hes left handed. as if he wasnt oppressed enough #might make an appreciation post for natsume being left handed #also his cute little smile! he is BAbEY #hes my son i will protECT him #also! when it comes to picking the title pictures.... its so hard #i try to pick pictures from the era #particularly a chapter cover from the arc that i like #sometimes im not lucky and theres not a grand selection #i also have to save some pics for mikans essay. so. limited options #i really am trying to do my best here and include good pics!#i was gonna pick a lil snippet from the aeiou book but i dont have any good quality images of that book so the pic i got was grainy #i chose this instead. closer to the era i think #could be better. im sorry

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: Gilded Cage {2}

Lu Xin Lee x OFC Phoenix Argent AU

Warning: Cursing, Plot

Words: 2.3k

Summary: Phoenix has been different her entire life. Not just because her father is rich and she has a lovely big house. Phoenix has a secret about her–a secret that can either make her very powerful or very dead. Because of this secret, she’s lived her life in a gilded cage. When she breaks free, that action creates a dangerous and destructive chain of events that soon have Phoenix wondering if she was better off in this cage. That is until a man who moves and kills like the devil but looks like an angel steps in, showing her that sometimes we have to claim our freedom, no matter the consequences.

Note: Okay, you guys are super supportive and I LOVE YOU ALL!!! So, we will continue. Again, thank you very much for reading and supporting!!

As always, thank you so much for reading!

If you enjoyed this please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive/Picture Insets***

~~~~~~~~~~

Once you opened your eyes for a few blissful seconds, you thought you were in some remote part of the world far, far away from the dangers of your life. All was quiet, all was still, and you could even smell the faint scent of coffee and coconuts. It was a strange combination, but it was pleasant smelling.

Once those blissful seconds ticked away, the idea that you were anywhere, but reality quickly faded as pain radiated along your right side. It was pain that had you bolting upright, which only intensified the ache. Once you caught your breath, you found a bandage around your waist. That alone was alarming. With the sheet pooled in your lap, you noticed you were topless. That alarm rose expeditiously as you lifted up the sheet and saw you only wore your black underwear.

Again, your head spun as if on a swivel as you carefully took in your surroundings. You didn't recognize it at all. It slowly dawned on you that it was because this was not your house. Above you were dark wooden beams, and on the walls was washed out red brick. It couldn’t possibly be a hotel either, you thought. The paintings that decorated the walls looked masculine but high end. They could have been done by unknown indie artists. As your eyes made it to the bed you laid in, you determined this was a man's bed. It had to be. The grey and neutral velvet feeling textiles and the equally bland colors surrounding you gave off an elegant feeling. The bed was a beautiful piece of furniture, though. It was sleek, large, and comfortable. Bergamot, sandalwood, and rich cigar smoke caught your nostrils. It was definitely a man’s bedroom.

Getting away from that, you looked around for any sign of your clothes. There was none, not even your bra. Gathering your strength, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood after pumping yourself up for the pain you suspected would follow. Once upright on the cold dark wood floors, you tried to steady yourself and find a stance that didn’t have pain radiating through your midsection. You then slowly slinked around, clutching the velvet sheets to your damn near naked body.

"Where the hell am I?"

Each step you took, you felt the discomfort in your side. You weren't sure if it was the wound or how tightly the bandage was bound. When you made it to the door, you touched it, realizing it was glass. The more you inspected it, you further realized it was tinted glass. It was either tech controlled or tinted on the inside, and whoever was outside was staring right in.

You looked around for a weapon of some sort but only found a heavy stone bust of someone who looked like Medusa. With it tightly in hand, you took a deep breath, held the sheet tightly with your free hand and prepared to barge through the door, ready to bash in the skull of whoever was on the other side. When you did, you expected to come face to face with some perv who was at least in his fifties, heavyset, possibly balding, and watching you through the glass in his underwear. There was no one there. The only things you were met with were the setting sun's colors shining in through the windows and the sounds of some sort of k-rap lowly booming from speakers.

"What the fuck!?"

A sound to your right drew your attention and out walked the sexiest man you'd seen in a long time. He had to have been almost seven feet tall. The white button-down shirt he wore was designer you could tell from the Gucci colors on his collar. It fit him better than perfect, it was a second skin, and you could tell that skin was just as perfect as how the shirt fit. The stranger’s hair was slightly buzzed on the side, with the majority of it coifed to the middle.

His head snapped to you before his eyes dropped to the statue in your hands. That was when he cocked an eyebrow as if asking a question.

"Take it easy," he warned, raising his hands a little higher, showing you the larger than normal chef's knife in his right hand.

Sensing danger, you slanted your head toward him then charged him.

"Oh shit!"

It was all he got out before you leaped over the kitchen counter and threw a kick right into his chest. The stranger groaned but only stepped back a few steps sending the knife clattering to the floor. Wasting no time, you threw more punches and blows his way, hoping to gain the upper hand. Every offensive shot you threw; he was on the defense blocking every single one. It didn’t even look like it took much effort.

"Calm down,” he advised.

"Fuck you, you creeper!"

You hurled an elbow at him that connected right into his gut. Instead of soft fleshy skin, you were met with rock hard abs. Jesus, you thought, he's built perfectly too. The stranger spun you then put you into a headlock. Both your hands grabbed his elbow, trying to pry him off. That action had the sheet that was haphazardly wrapped around you fall to the floor. You were naked again, except now in front of him.

"Shit,” he murmured in a way that was slightly above a whisper.

Seeing he was distracted, you stomped his foot. The action had his arms lowering enough for you to spin and push him onto the table behind him. You quickly grabbed the first item you saw—a knife--and held it to his throat.

"Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck do you want!"

"You're in my house. I should be asking the questions," he countered in a smug tone.

"I'm the one with the knife to your throat!"

In seconds he'd done a tricky twisting flip move that sent you onto the table he was just strung across with your hands pinned above your head and his body pressed to yours.

"Seems like I'm the one with the knife now."

You saw a cocky smirk on his face, and though you wanted to claw it off, you also appreciated his beauty. The new angle aided in your observation that he was gorgeous. Too damn gorgeous. You struggled underneath him, desperately wanting the upper hand. He refused to relinquish it. The tightness of how he gripped your wrists said it.

"Calm down. You'll open up the stitches," he cautioned.

You stilled then. "You did this?"

"Yeah, you were bleeding out. I had to do something."

"Including strip me?"

He slowly licked his lips ending on a soft smile, but his eyes remained on yours.

"I didn't look, I promise."

You couldn't tell if he was lying or not. Something inside said he had to have peeked.

"I'm going to let you go, chill out will ya."

Slowly he released you and backed away with his hands up where you could see them. When he turned his back, you sat up and hugged your arms across your breasts.

"Here."

He held out the discarded sheet to you. You quickly snatched it then wrapped it around your body again.

Sensing you were decent again, he cautiously turned, "Jesus, where'd you learn to fight like that? You're sloppy but effective," he half complimented. Narrowing your eyes at him, you ignored his question and asked one of your own.

"Who the fuck are you?"

His smirk, this time, turned to a smile. You were sure that smile had convinced many a woman to come right back here. Before your head to drift to the possibilities of how he moved in that bedroom of his, he spoke.

"The name's Lu Xin," he said as he leaned against the counter to cross his arms across his chest. The action had his biceps flexing and your eyes dropping to take them in.

“Who the fuck is Lu Xin?”

“The man who saved your life.”

It all flooded back to you. You were running from the hotel, being slammed to the ground, the dead bodies, the assassins, and him stepping in and fighting them off. When his face came back into focus, the look he was giving you had you licking your lips.

“How are you feeling?” Lu Xin made a move toward you.

“I didn’t need your help,” you smugly said, walking past him before he could get too close. You then stepped into the living room area.

“Sure, you didn’t. My mistake. It must have looked like you were about to be shot. You had it. My fault.”

You could hear the sarcasm dripping off of every word.

“Shut up.”

Lu Xin scoffed then shook his head, “That’s a great thank you for patching you up.”

You touched your side at the mention of your injury and winched.

“What happened?”

“I got to you, but not quick enough. The bullet grazed you. It’s not too deep, but I had to stitch you up—six stitches,” Lu Xin informed.

When you didn’t speak, he continued as he walked closer. “That’s why you’re—naked. I had to get to it, and there was no way you were sleeping in my bed filthy.”

“Where’re my clothes?”

“Ruined.” It was a matter of fact statement that said he didn’t think much of tossing them.

“So, what do I wear?”

Lu Xin quickly gave your body a once over as he licked and bit his bottom lip. It must have been a two-second action, but you noticed. Lu Xin then walked across the living room to a closet and pulled out a cardboard box. He rifled through it then held up two items: a tank top and a black pants. You walked closer but not too close and examined the items. They were women’s clothing.

“You just have a box of women’s clothes?”

“What can I say? I like to be prepared.”

Rolling your eyes, not believing that one bit, you snatched the garments and walked back into his bedroom to get dressed. As soon as the door closed, you opened it again and popped your head out to speak.

“Don’t worry, the controls for the windows are in the bedroom. I can’t see anything,” Lu Xin explained. Narrowing your eyes again, you retreated inside once again. A few minutes later, you remerged dressed in the tank top and yoga pants that so happened to fit. You had so many questions, but you knew questions were tit for tat. Plus, his home and demeanor told you more than you needed to know. Without a word, you made a move toward the door.

“So, that’s it?”

Lu Xin stood in the hall, smoothly leaning on the wall. He looked as if he expected something.

“Yeah. Thanks.” You continued your walk, determined to leave but only made it a step or two before he spoke again.

“Thanks? Wow, it seems that your life must not be worth very much for that kind of thank you.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed out. Part of you wondered what kind of thank you he wanted. “Look, thanks, but it wasn’t necessary. I didn’t need your help.”

“How were you going get out of it?”

“Somehow. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself,” you replied as you passed him, leaving a few more steps to the door.

“I don’t doubt that. You come off as resourceful—beautiful and resourceful.”

Your belly fluttered. Oh, he’s smooth, you thought. Scoffing, you shook your head.

“See you, Lu Xin.”

“Don’t I get to know your name? I mean, seeing as I just saved your life.”

With your hand on the door, you stopped again and thought about his words, then shook your head. You knew you should just leave. You knew it wasn’t a good idea telling him anything about you, even your name.

Sighing, you spoke, “No need. We won’t meet again.”

With that, you opened the door and left. You had to get the hell out of this city now that not only Rafe’s men were here but now so were the Hallowed Helix.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#gilded cage fic #lu xin lee #lu xin lee faniction #lu xin x reader #lu xin x you #lu xin x black reader #black fanfiction

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

the unseen one - 19

Pairing: Hades!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: none

A/N: i keep playing this game called “if i add this song to the playlist will it spoil the ending” and it has become my new favourite game. sorry that it took me this long to post, it’s been very hot in cambridge which always gets me in a right mood (i hate summer and heat) so i’ve been putting my frustration into finishing my exams. had to take a break because if i have to talk about serotonin once more, my only serotonin left will leave my system 😂

hope you enjoy this chapter xx

Next Chapter >>

(not my gif, credit to creator)

James maintained a tight grip on her as the Charon took them back to his chambers in the Asphodel Meadows. She was silent and still almost like a statue, her eyes taking in as they went away from the Tartarus to the Elysium and finally to the Meadows. Y/N wondered why the King of the Underworld had decided to make his home in such a bleak place. The sounds were always of torture and mumbled cries, the souls were people who, in Y/N’s mind at least, deserved to be somewhere else, and were always begging to be taken out of their misery. It wasn’t a pretty place but his home wasn’t also she’d call a home of a King much less a god. The ceilings were high and the walls were painted in light and dark tones of grey with minimalistic furniture. It was a far cry from what her mother would describe when speaking about deities’ residences. However, James seemed to be a simple man, at least that’s how he showed himself before she got dragged way under.

- Do you want me to ask the servants to draw you a warm bath? Maybe some flower petals? - James questioned, his hand coming up to her face to push some hair away from her sight. - Do you wanna eat anything? Just tell me what you wanna eat and I’ll make sur ...

- Did you hurt Anne? - Y/N was probably the only person in the Underworld who could interrupt James without having the furies being released on them immediately. He daren’t look at her, knowing exactly the look she was probably giving him, the type of look that would make him want to carry the world on his shoulders until she was happy.

- I did not hurt Anne.

- Did you turn her into any of the following. - she raised her fingers as if she were mentally counting. - A plant, an animal, some sort of plant-animal, cursed her, made her grow serpent hair ...

- I didn’t do anything, Y/N. - he held onto her hands before she could list other ways gods had punished mortals. He did wanted to punish Anne, there hadn’t been anyone who deserved more to have the furies released upon them but he knew that if he did such thing, she would probably try and release the furies on him too. - However, next time something like that occurs I will punish them. I’m the God of the Underworld and I won’t undermine that.

- That’s fair. - Y/N scratched the back of her neck. She understood there was a side to him that she was yet to discover, the side of him that was a god, a ruler, but she still wanted to believe that he was her Bucky. - Shouldn’t I get back to Hecate and the other maidens?

- If you want. - he tried to maintain a calm facade but inside he was puzzling himself over if his words had maybe scared her and she would rather be with Hecate than to be with him. - You’re free to do as you may. I just thought you’d want to stay with me.

There was a tinge of disappointment and uneasiness in his features, tightened expression as he managed not to show her how upset he felt that she did not want to be near him. Maybe it was too much for her to handle, after all up until a few hours ago she was sure she was dating a CEO and now she was dating the God of the Dead.

Noticing his, Y/N slowly raised her hands to rest against his cheek, her mere touch raising feelings of warmth in him.

- Sounds like you want me to stay. - there it was, her little playful smirk. James wanted to roll his eyes at her, but he couldn’t help but feel some sort of way whenever she outsmarted him.

- I always want you to stay, Y/N. - of course he wanted her to stay. He had to endure the first moments of their relationship constantly counting the hours and looking at the sky so he wouldn’t be caught and now she was here. Sure, she was here due to uncertain circumstances, but she was still here. - But if you wanna go back to the Elysium, I would understand.

- I just don’t want to cause you any trouble. - Y/N slightly turned her head to the side, embarrassment creeping into her soft features.

- Why would you cause me any trouble, sweetness? - he took the hand that was craddling his face into his own hands, sensing something wrong. - Homesick?

- It’s just ... considering that I’m supposed to be one of Hecate’s maidens, wouldn’t people look down on you if they saw you with me?

- Y/N. - he sighed. - Your parents were Greek historians, right?

- Yeah.

- So tell me, what’s the worse thing a god has ever done? - that as a funny question for Y/N. There were lots of myths that made her sick to her stomach just hearing about it and other myths that would make her want to climb to Mount Olympus herself and punch some gods. The short answer was, there is no short answer.

- Do you want it in alphabetical order? - she joked.

- What do you think it’s the worse offence?

- Well, if you asked me what I think was the worse thing ever done by a god I’d say it was what Poseidon and Athena did to Medusa.

- Were their reputations ruined even after what they did?

- No.

- Then I won’t get in trouble for associating with one of Hecate’s maidens.

- Yeah but gods also turn into a wide variety of animals to go and do less than savoury things with mortals.

- Less than savoury things? - he smirked. - Last time I checked you were one of Hecate’s maidens not Artemis’.

- Cut it off. - she playfully pushed his chest away. Bucky just rolled his eyes at her behaviour, wrapping his arms around her waist, carefully moving her closer to him afraid she might’ve gotten hurt at the Tartarus.

- Come, let’s get some food in you. - he guided her through his place. She wondered why it was so minimalistic and why is it in the Asphodel Meadows of all places. Maybe he disliked to be surrounded by all the fauna and flora of the Elysium or maybe Hecate didn’t allow him near it. Nevertheless, it was an odd place and an oddly unremarkable home, at least for that of a King.

He left her waiting in his dinning hall, allowing her time to inspect it. There was nothing much but a dinning table surrounded by various book shelves. The books were in Greek for what she could muster but what caught her attention were a few picture frames by a half empty unit of the shelf. Y/N’s hands reached for the first one, a sepia coloured photo of Bucky and a blonde man she swore she’d seen before. His hair was much shorter and shabbier with a child like grin, arms around the blonde guy who looked much more polished. Her mind was telling her she had seen this picture before, she just couldn’t point it.

The other frame contained the photo of a couple dressed in hellenic clothing adorned by golden accessories. The man was standing tall, hand on the woman’s shoulder whose hair rivalled the gold colour of the pins in her head and stood sat on a porcelain chair. The look in the woman’s eyes was serene yet controlling, almost like a storm brewing over calm seas. On both their heads sat adorned jewelled crowns and the man held the same staff James had been holding back in the Tartarus.

- Y/N? - his voice suddenly echoing through the silent made her drop the face on the carpeted floors, a flush creeping through the apples of her cheeks as she herself dropped to the floor to grab it and put it back in its due place. - What are you doing?

- I was just looking at your photos. - she put her hands behind her back, eyes lowered to the ground like a child who had just been scolded. Bucky walked over to where she was standing, looking at the frame she had put back. - Are they your parents?

- No, sweetness. - he chuckled. - That’s Hades and Persephone, well, the original ones. I find you must have memory of those who came before you.

- She’s beautiful. I mean, I always thought Persephone had to be beautiful, after all it was said her undying beauty was what made Hades kidnap her.

- Hades didn’t kidnap her. - Bucky always forgot that mortals still fully believed the myth brought back to light by the Greek. Honestly, it was a disgrace that no Underworld God had yet to chance the misconception.

- Yes, he did. That’s why Demeter stopped doing her job.

- Sweetness, do you seriously think someone whose name means Bringer of Death could stay in the Underworld against her will?

- What do you suggest then? - she crossed her arms against her ripped tunic, all knowing smirk on her face.

- I don’t know if I should tell you now. - Y/N huffed, lips coming into a pout which made his heart melt at the look. - If you were to tell the story of Persephone and Hades, how would you tell it?

- I wouldn’t because I seemingly don’t know. - she had a playful nature to her gaze, a stark contrast to those with whom he spent most of his days with in the Underworld. James took her hand in his like a scene in a Jane Austen movie, slowly pulling her to him. - So what’s it gonna be?

- Persephone found the entry to the Underworld and decided to stay because she enjoyed it here. Once Demeter realised her daughter was gone Hades faked the kidnapping story for her because he was hopelessly in love with Persephone.

- What about the nymphs that saw the abduction? How do you explain that?

- There are some perks to being the God of the Underworld, sweetness.

- I’m guessing you won’t tell me what those perks are.

- Maybe later, sweetness. You must join me for dinner now.

- Bucky ... - she picked onto her nails, eyes looking at her shoes. - Who’s the man next to you in the photo?

tag list: @philogrobizedvee @keithseabrook27 @inlovewith319

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7-wonders · 5 years

Text

Shatter pt. 11

Summary: It’s back to the future for you and Mallory, to either find out what went right...or what went very wrong.

Word Count: 4556

A/N: One or two more chapters for this lil fic! As always, feedback is always appreciated, like, reblog, and comment, you know the drill by now.

The first thing that you hear when you arrive back in the year that you left is...nothing. In fact, you’re surrounded by complete silence. The eerie stillness of the room is an unwelcome presence that witnesses your return, considering all you could hear was screaming and gunshots when you pulled Mallory under the water. Coughing water up to get your lungs working properly, you wipe your hands over your eyes until you can finally see again. Droplets hang off of your eyelashes like small crystals, clouding your eyesight whenever you blink. Mallory sits next to you, mimicking your actions as she tries to regain her bearings again after being thrown through time and space again and again in such a short amount of time.

“Did...did we do it?” Mallory asks, taking your hands in hers as you both stand and clamber out of the tub. The room that you’re in doesn’t look like the one at the Outpost, even though the large stone tub is the same. Mallory’s still wearing the clothes that she was in when you were stopping the execution of Ms. Mead, and a quick look down confirms that you are, too.

“I don’t know, did Cordelia ever tell you how you would know if events were changed?”

“No. Honestly, I assumed there would be some giant flash of light or something to signify that we had accomplished what we set out to achieve.” Mallory grabs your hand, muttering a spell that dries both your body and hers.

“I guess the only way to find out is by leaving the room,” you say without showing any intention towards actually leaving the room.

“I guess so,” Mallory concurs, also standing still next to you. You glance at her at the same time that she glances at you, a silent battle over who is going to actually take the initiative first.

“I’m going to have to lead the way, aren’t I.” It’s not a question: you’re going to have to lead.

“Hey, it’s not my Antichrist lover that we’re up against.”

She’s right, and you hate that she is, but you’re the one who convinced her to change the plan that she had been working towards for three years, just for the sake of saving Michael. You’re uncharacteristically hesitant, and you know that it all leads back to Michael. Everything, it seems, leads back to Michael. If the apocalypse didn’t happen, what has become of him? If he still ended the world, what’s going to happen to you? With a nod and a reassuring smile from Mallory, you wave your hand to open the door in front of you.

It’s obvious that you’re not in the Outpost, but it’s not immediately clear where you could be. The large open window at the end of the hallway allowing a light breeze to filter through and blow the translucent curtains inwards captures your attention. Not only is there wind, but there’s also natural light coming in. It’s impossible to make any assumptions based solely on this observation, but it’s certainly a promising sign. Mallory, however, focuses on a different facet of the hallway.

“Are we at Miss Robichaux’s?”

Her question sends your glee to a screeching halt. A closer look at the hallway reveals stark white walls and the French Quarter architecture synonymous with historic New Orleans. Any doubts you may have about where you’re at is erased when you look at the portraits on the wall; classes of years past, a variety of young women all in black dresses that vary from time period to time period. It’s odd to be back at the school that fostered your magical abilities, since the last time you were here, you had to see the dead bodies of your sisters. Still, no matter what could have happened here, this was once home for you. I am home, you think in amazement. I am home.

“I’m so confused, I thought we came back to the present. Why are we here and not at Hawthorne?” You ask, fingertips tracing along an old picture frame from 1912.

“Maybe the timeline resets when we come back and we’ve actually changed something, maybe this is where we would be if there was no apocalypse,” Mallory surmises, grinning at the thought that you’ve stopped the end of the world. “Miss Cordelia!” She calls, taking off around the corner as she looks for any sign of other witches.

“Mal, wait!” You follow behind her, glancing into the bedrooms and coming up empty. “Anybody home?”

You follow her down the grand staircase, still looking around for any of your sisters. You’re so preoccupied with looking towards the dining room for anyone doing homework that you run smack into Mallory’s back at the bottom of the stairs.

“Ouch! Why’d you stop?” She doesn’t answer, and you move out from behind her to see what stopped her so suddenly. Your attention, originally solely on Mallory, is drawn to the figure standing in the middle of the main entrance. The smirk that’s directed at you is one that has your heart nearly jumping out of your chest, your head spinning as you try to wrap your mind around what you’re seeing.

“You look surprised to see me.”

“Michael, you’re--you’re here. And you look like...you.” By ‘you,’ of course, you mean that Michael Langdon looks like the Michael Langdon that you had been hoping to come back to. His long golden locks fall to his shoulders, and he’s wearing a luxurious black velvet cloak with a deep red lining on top of a black suit that’s somehow a shade or two lighter than the cloak. His eyes twinkle at your confusion, accented by his signature red shade that somehow makes those baby blues of his pop even more.

“Of course I am. I would not miss the chance to welcome you back to the present after your time traveling adventure.” Your feet move of their own accord, propelling you over to him as you choke back a cry. “Love, there is no reason for your tears. I’m here now, it’s going to be alright.”

“I was just so worried that it wouldn’t work and that you would either die or the apocalypse would still happen,” you smile up at him, stroking his hair away from his face as he kisses you softly. “Sorry Mallory, I didn’t mean to make you the third wheel-”

Your words trail off as you turn around in Michael’s arms, Mallory frozen where she’s standing. She’s not frozen in the sense that she’s so stunned by the scene in front of her that she can’t even move; she’s actually frozen, suspended in time as if she’s a statue of someone walking down the stairs. Her hand rests on the bannister, one foot stuck in the air as she prepares to take a step that’s never coming. Her head is tilted up, eyes focusing to the side as if she were turning around to look at you.

“Michael, you promised me that you wouldn’t hurt her,” you say seriously, taking a step closer to make sure that Mallory’s still alive and hasn’t unknowingly faced some sort of Medusa-like creature. Michael grabs at your hand, gracefully taking your chin in his free hand and tilting it so that you’re looking at him again.

“And it’s a promise that I intend to keep. She’s not dead, or harmed, she is just--”

“You froze her like Han Solo, basically.” He looks at you in confusion and you shake your head. “Never mind. Could you unfreeze her now?”

“Hmm, but I quite like her like that, she’s a lot less...annoying this way.” You roll your eyes, jokingly hitting his chest while he chuckles. The small moment of playfulness is needed, it helps to remind you that the world is okay again. Michael sighs, smiling at you before blinking once and releasing Mallory from the spell.

She stumbles forward down the remaining step, almost as if Michael hit the ‘play’ button on a television remote. Her mind reels as she takes in the sight of you next to Michael when the last she remembers, you were still behind her. She glances between both you and Michael, trying to figure out what magic was used to manipulate the situation.

“Wipe that confused look off of your face, Mallory, it’s very unbecoming of you,” Michael scoffs.

“So we did it, then? We--,” Mallory trails off, not sure if the rules of time travel allow for people to discuss the prior timeline.

“Oh don’t worry, Bill and Ted, I already know about your most excellent adventure.” You stifle a laugh at Michael’s reference of pop culture, knowing that the only reason he’s seen the movie is because you forced him to.

“But I thought nobody was supposed to remember the erased timeline except for us?” You question, looking at Mallory, who’s far more knowledgeable on the spell than you are.

“You forget that I’m not just any normal person,” Michael says proudly. “When I had reached the room that Cordelia had locked you in, both you and Mallory were already gone. It seemed like mere seconds, although I assume that you were actually gone for hours. Suddenly, I started getting flashes of memories. They were memories that I hadn’t experienced, but that I were mine all the same. Instead of my Ms. Mead being burned at the stake, you were there to stop the execution and convince me to join forces with Cordelia. I had conflicting memories from both of these timelines, sort of like a fork in the road of two different lives that I was living simultaneously.”

“Ms. Mead was the catalyst, then. Her death is the reason that you brought about the end of the world.”

“In the original timeline, yes.” Your heart sinks at Michael’s words.

“What do you mean, ‘in the original timeline?’ Did something happen in this timeline to cause the apocalypse?” Mallory asks, barely controlling the shaking in her voice.

“Not in the way that you think. See, if there’s one thing retaining my memories from the original timeline taught me, it’s that my original apocalypse was far too messy. I’ve never been a fan of getting my hands dirty; learned that from my father. This time around, I decided, it wasn’t the Earth that was the problem: it was the people. I wasn’t going to launch my little plan without a justified reason, and so I waited and watched to see if my assumptions about the human race were correct.”

The walls feel like they’re closing in on you, and you have to will yourself to not stumble over your feet. “What did--what did you do? Michael, what did you do?” You gasp out.

“The real question is what they did to bring this upon themselves,” he says with a grim look on his face.

“I don’t understand.”

“The witches tried to use the one person I care for more than Ms. Mead, more than anybody in the entire world: you.”

“They did that in the original timeline too, though.”

“This wasn’t something as simple as erasing your memory and sending you off to wait for the moment the witches needed you again. Cordelia almost killed you, (Y/N).”

“She wouldn’t do that, she wouldn’t--she couldn’t kill one of us,” Mallory says, both of you feeling a bit faint at this bombshell of a revelation.

“She never forgave your actions at the would-be triple execution that day, considering your interference treasonous. That and your relationship with me, along with a few...other events that, while miniscule, only seemed to add fuel to her fire. Therefore, she decided that you needed to die.”

Your mouth goes dry as Mallory lets out a heavy breath next to you. “How?” You ask, only managing to get one syllable out.

“‘How’ what?”

“How did she try to kill me?” Your voice is hoarse, and you swallow thickly to try and clear your throat.

“Cordelia attempted to slit your throat on an evening that I was supposed to be back in California for a meeting with some of my father’s subjects. I, however, knew she was plotting something, had seen it through the carefully-constructed walls she had attempted to put up to guard her mind. It really would just be easier if I showed you.” Michael holds his hand out expectantly, but you look at Mallory before looking pleadingly back at him. “Fine. Mallory, take (Y/N)’s hand.”

She does as instructed, holding onto you as Michael clasps your free one in his large hands. The coolness of his large, bejeweled rings on your skin is comfortingly familiar, and you raise his hands to your lips to kiss them softly. Michael’s eyes roll back into his head, and the scene flickers to life in your head like a movie being played on a projector.

Cordelia approaches your bedroom, a knife in her hand and a plan in her head. She’s been waiting for the right moment to do this, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to get close to you with Michael always around. Michael being gone on a sudden trip to California, though, presents the Supreme with the perfect opportunity. Her plan is simple: slit your throat, lock your soul up before whatever entity (she’s not sure if Satan’s laid claim to your soul, but she hopes for her sake that he hasn’t) that has dibs on it gets there first, and burn your body to ashes. It’s a quick and painless death, one that Cordelia feels is a mercy to you. She could burn you alive, listen to you writhe and scream in agony as the flames consume every inch of your flesh, but she won’t. That punishment is reserved only for those who have murdered their fellow witches or warlocks.

She supposes she has her mother to thank for the creativity that comes with killing a problematic witch. Fiona Goode, may God have mercy on her soul, was a conniving, stone-cold bitch who was only good for drinking copious amounts of fine alcohol and accruing untold amounts of money. Her one skill, however, happened to be getting rid of those witches who wouldn’t fall in line, the ones who were always on the verge of causing complete chaos within the Coven. Her methods are legendary, each disposal carefully recorded in a little book that resides inside of a larger book inside of a locked box in a secret drawer of Cordelia’s desk. A trophy, because of course Fiona wouldn’t be able to not gloat about her supposed accomplishments. For years she avoided looking inside of the book, having never had a reason or desire to do so. Now, however, she has both a reason and a desire.

Her mother’s drink of choice--whiskey sour, on the rocks--perched in her manicured hand, Cordelia perused the book like it was a magazine catalogue, quickly and calculatingly reading through each entry to decide which would be the best way to end your life. Some entries surprised her, while others warranted barely more than a second glance. She always had a niggling suspicion that Fiona had had something to do with Madison’s first death. Fiona hardly strayed from the tried-and-true method of throat slitting in her later years, and Cordelia admitted to herself that she saw the appeal in it too. If she had to kill someone, one of her girls, at that, at least it was a quick way for the person to go.

The door to your room opens without even a squeak to announce Cordelia’s presence. Even if there had been a noise, it wouldn’t have woken you up. The benzodiazepine that the Supreme slipped into the glass of water you use to take your pills with made absolutely sure that you would remain asleep until it was too late. You’re facing away from the door, moonlight bathing your form as your chest rises and falls evenly with deep breaths. Cordelia’s heart clenches at the thought of what she’s about to do, and she has to squeeze her eyes shut to avoid turning around and forgetting about her plan to murder you in the first place.

With each step she takes, she reminds herself of a reason why she needs to do this. Left foot, you stopped Ms. Mead from being killed. Right foot, you recruited Mallory to your side. Left foot, you were involved in a romantic relationship with the Antichrist and loved him despite the fact. Right foot, your relationship was only prolonging the inevitable apocalypse that would befall the Earth for as long as Michael remained alive. The point now is to catch Michael when he’s at his weakest, in the throes of grief, and kill him as well.

Cordelia tangles her fingers in your hair, exposing your neck to her as your head lolls limply to the side. The light from the hallway glints off of the silver blade of the knife when Cordelia lifts it up. She looks at it closely, ‘inspecting’ it and certainly not trying to stall in the hopes that you’ll just spontaneously combust and do the job for her. With a deep breath, the Supreme digs the knife into the left side of your neck, pressing down until it cuts the surface of your skin and blood wells up before readying her hand for one quick slice. When she does finally go to complete the action, her hand seizes, refusing to cooperate with her mind before the knife flies across the room and lands in the wall.

You shoot up with a gasp, too many things happening at once. Cordelia tries to escape, but she shrieks and stumbles backwards when she’s engulfed in flames. Just as quickly as the flames appear, they extinguish, but Cordelia finds herself pinned against the wall by an unseen force. Your hand claps over the deep cut on your neck as you stare at the scene with wide eyes. The shadows in the corner of the room seem to move and warp, and it’s not at all surprising when Michael walks out of the darkness. The shadows and all of the creatures that lurk within are Satan’s domain, so it was only a matter of time until Michael harnessed that power as well.

Fire blazes in Michael’s eyes, and he stalks towards Cordelia like a predator closing in on its kill. Her heart sinks when she realizes that he must have been able to break through the fortress she put up around her mind, devising a clever lie about having to suddenly leave town in order to catch her in the act. The only thing that stops his slow, methodical pace is when he reaches you. His hand closes gently around yours, removing it from your neck so he can fully see the wound. His nostrils flare at the damage, and you cling to him in fear and disorientation as the benzo tries it's hardest to knock you back out. He looks into your eyes, muttering words of reassurance to you and kissing your forehead before you finally agree to let go of the hem of his coat.

Michael holds his hand out, and the knife dislodges from the wall and lands back in his hand. He traces it along Cordelia’s bare skin, watching with glee as her body stiffens. The tip comes dangerously close to nicking her collarbone, Michael purposely applying more pressure. When the blade reaches the swell of her breast, he stops, angling the knife so one skillful shove could have pierced her heart. Cordelia’s chest heaves as she engages in a silent battle with Michael, both parties refusing to concede any ground.

“Go ahead, kill me. You won’t be able to do it,” Cordelia declares. Michael clicks his tongue, laughing darkly and shaking his head.

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you. That would be too much of a mercy for you.” His hand closes itself over her neck, slowly applying pressure on her windpipe until only shallow breaths are escaping her throat. “Instead, I’m going to end the world, and you’re going to be forced to watch, knowing all the while that it’s your fault this is happening. And only then, after the world is remade in my father’s image, will I kill you. And I promise you, Cordelia, that it will be a slow and painful death, the likes of which you could never even imagine.”

Tears are falling down your face when Michael lets go of you, and once glance at Mallory confirms that she’s in the same state. You’re in disbelief that your Supreme, the woman you trusted with your life and who became a surrogate mother to you, would choose to kill you because of your relationship with Michael. How could she so callously plan out your execution as if each choice were for some sort of a dinner party? You knew she could go to great extremes to do what she believed needed to be done to keep the coven safe, but you never thought murdering one of her girls would be an option.

“Now you see. I tested Cordelia, and she failed. The human race failed, and the world needed to be cleansed and ruled by myself and my father,” Michael says.

“How are we above ground, then?” You ask.

“As I said previously, my first attempt at Armageddon was far too messy and complicated. This time around, a simple plague was all it took to wipe out humanity while leaving the good parts of the world intact. That way, it’s much easier to rebuild with an already-strong foundation.”

“How very biblical of you, Michael. Did lamb’s blood over a doorway save people, as well?” You scoff at the irony of his method this time around, invoking a plague much like that brought upon the Egyptians to free the Israelites.

“Part of a strong foundation,” Michael says, choosing to ignore your comment instead of taking the bait, “includes those with the right genetic makeup to repopulate the world. The people who were originally saved in the first timeline survived the plague this time.” You sigh in relief at the knowledge that Timothy and Emily are both still alive. “You’ll be pleased to know, (Y/N), that your dear friend Gallant also has superior DNA. He’s alive and well in California right now.” That’s news you could cry at, and you almost do.

“What about the witches and warlocks? Did you slaughter all of them again?” Mallory asks.

“No, I presented them with a choice: either they joined me and pledged their loyalty as my obedient subjects, or they died. Quite simple, really.”

Mallory looks at you as you both start mentally cataloguing who would have accepted Michael’s offer. A good number of the warlocks must have, but you can’t imagine that John Henry Moore would. As for witches, the numbers are slim. Zoe wouldn’t unless Madison did, the two sticking together even though they’ve long claimed that there’s nothing special going on between them. Queenie, too, if Michael managed to gain her trust again in this timeline. It’s possible that Coco did, considering the Coco you knew before your memories were wiped was sweet and caring. Besides those few, the rest most likely perished.

“You’re correct, for the most part,” Michael says, having listened in on Mallory’s thoughts. “A lot of the warlocks were never going to be worthy of living in the New World, so I disposed of them quick enough. Madison, Queenie, and Coco all decided to save themselves, but Zoe refused to go down without a fight. I was honestly quite surprised at just how many witches jumped at the chance to fall to their knees at my feet.”

“So that’s it, then. We lost. Even going back in time and killing Michael wouldn’t have stopped this,” Mallory says in despair.

“You were right in the Outpost, when you said you were always going to win,” you say in almost a whisper.

“Time travel is a fickle thing, and it’s almost impossible to work out if there are any true rules that govern it. However, I’ve come to believe that time is a repeating loop. Think of it like...developing photographs in a darkroom. You can change the contrast, and how much light is exposed, and how long you develop it for, but the image itself will always remain the same. You can’t change what’s on that film, no matter what edits you do during the process of developing said photo. Nothing you did would have stopped the end result, what has been printed on the very fabric of the universe since the beginning of time,” Michael explains.

“Now what?”

“We rebuild the world, of course. But that leaves you both with a choice.” His eyes meet yours first, a rare flash of vulnerability hidden within the pale irises, like he’s worrying that you’ll have finally decided to leave him just like everyone in his life. “(Y/N), will you stand beside me as my equal, as my queen, and help me with the mission bestowed upon me as my father’s one begotten son?”

There’s not a moment’s hesitation behind your eager nod, “of course I will, Michael. I’ll always stand at your side.” Michael takes your face in between his hands, kissing you gratefully. Although he’s rather eloquent with words, sometimes his actions prove far more effective at conveying what he wants to say.

“I love you,” he mutters against your lips, causing you to smile before repeating the words back to him. When he pulls away from you, the only sign that he was even kissing you are his slightly red lips, managing to look as put-together and stoic as ever, even though Mallory watched the entire encounter.

“Mallory, will you accept your place in this world as your sister witches prior to you have done?” Michael asks as you look at her hopefully. She’s silent, studying Michael as she calculates her next move.

“I...I need to know that we won’t be used and thrown away as you had planned in the original timeline. Witches can be a valuable asset to you, Michael, but you won’t be able to use that asset if you don’t hold our magic, and our people, in high regard. You certainly haven’t forgotten that (Y/N) is one of us, too?”

“You have my word. If anything, your actions over those eighteen months in the other timeline have proven your loyalty, not only to (Y/N), but to your coven. That loyalty is an admirable quality, and it’s one that we’ll need when rebuilding.”

“Then yes, I will accept.” You clasp your hands in front of your face, hiding your wide smile as Mallory accepts. Your cheeks burn as Michael replaces your hands with just two of his delicate fingers, turning your attention back to him as he smiles lovingly down at you.

“And now, my love, my queen,” you giggle nervously at the moniker, “I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Your eyes light up, although you’re not quite sure you could be anymore surprised after everything that’s happened since you emerged from that tub upstairs.

“Mmhm. It involves a certain fading Supreme, and an immense amount of retribution.”

///////////////

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#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #AHS #ahs imagine #ahs imagines #ahs apocalypse #american horror story #american horror story imagine #american horror story apocalypse #american horror story imagines

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despressolattes · 4 years

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AFTERMATH | CHAPTER THIRTY ONE | LEGACIES

book masterlist » book one masterlist

< previous chapter

——— Rafael walked into the Mikaelson dorm as the girls packed up.

"I'm coming!" he said.

"Hello to you, too," Hope said.

"Uh, and no, you're not," added Lilah.

"Look, like time you guy did this without me, it was a disaster," Rafael said.

"Except, I'm not gonna go alone this time," Hope said. "I'm gonna draft the twins, MG, I'm bringing Lilah, Kaleb," she said, counting the names on her fingers. "We're going before Dr. Saltzman comes back. It'll be like a Super Squad Assemble. I dunno, is that a thing?"

Rafael shook his head.

"I don't know. I'll ask MG," said Hope, throwing her hands up and walking back to her luggage.

"Yeah, I'll ask him myself," Rafael said.

"Raf," Lilah sighed. "Dr. Saltzman told her about the side effects."

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you come," Hope said.

He sighed, looking away in frustration. Lilah walked up to him, placing a hand on his upper arm.

"How do you feel now?"

He sat down on Lilah's bed, sighing again. Lots of sighing was going on. He scoffed. "Like my brains been split in the middle," he spoke truthfully.

Hope grabbed onto the ring around her neck.

"I keep having these flashes like I can't control myself," he explained. "And.."

"That's why I'm not allowing you to be coming on the mission," Lilah whispered softly, sitting down in front of him. "I can't let you go back into that psychosis state, Rafael. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"You know why," Rafael said, looking her straight in the eye. "I don't know how to be around you, Lilah. I don't want to feel this way, so I push it down. Because everyone at this school, they're struggling and get can control themselves. You have had it the worst, and you keep it down. And me repressing this just makes it all worse, which makes it harder to hide. And the only person I want to talk about it with is the only person I can't."

"I lost control to the point where my ancient mother put me in the afterlife," Lilah reminded him. "Why can't you talk to me about this?"

"You're a vampire, what would you understand about wolves?"

"I've lived with wolves for a very long time," Lilah said, looking at Hope, though the words that Rafael said stung a little. "And even if I can't understand, Hope is someone you can talk to."

"Raf..." Hope said softly. "You're a good brother. But for once, you need to put yourself first. Do what you need to get better. If things get really bad..."

She went to her drawer, pulling out some kind of jewelry and bringing it over to Raf.

"...Use this. It's a long story, but, um, it was a gift from a family friend," Hope said, handing him a ring.

Lilah instantly recognized it as one of the rings Klaus first introduced in New Orleans when he was trying to win over the Bayou werewolves, though that didn't exactly go as planned.

Hope continued, "But it's essentially like a reverse kyanite ring. When you use it, you can turn yourself at will. In your wolf mind, things are less complicated. You know that. It'll buy you time to heal. Only catch is, um, you can't turn yourself back, so... if you do use it, all you have to do is come find me when you're ready to be yourself again."

"I am really glad I know you..." Rafael said to her, but then he glanced at Lilah, shooting her a smile, too. "Hope and Lilah Mikaelson."

Lilah sat in front of Rafael, realizing there was nothing about wolves that she understood. There was a part of Rafael that he would have to go through without her. They chuckled at him.

"Now, go. You guys go save our boy," he told them. "And don't let anything stop you."

—

Lilah went downstairs to find MG and round up the Super Squad.

"Triad kidnapped Landon after all, and Hope and Lilah need help... so..." MG was talking to the Medusa girl, who we had locked up in one of the cellars. "I got to bounce."

MG turned around at the footsteps, smiling at the vampire. "Hey, Lils."

She smiled at him, linking an arm through his, the way she used to. "Why do I feel like it's been forever since we got a scene together, Milton?" she asked.

"Scene?" he questioned, looking at her funny.

"I meant moment. Come on, let's go," she said, tugging on his arm.

"After you let me out of here?" asked the Medusa girl.

"That's Dr. Saltzman's call," MG replied.

"I'll let you guys talk. I'll be upstairs," Lilah said, vampire sprinting away.

She made it to Hope and Rafael as Josie, Kaleb, and Jed walked over. Lilah linked an arm through Rafael's, something she was seemingly doing with people more and more. He glanced down at her, not saying a word about it.

"Our squad answered the Bat-Signal," smiled Hope, pointing at them.

Lizzie arrived from the other side, both twins saying, "She's coming?"

"I need all the help I can get," Hope said.

"So please, put your twin war on pause," Lilah added.

"Why is he going?" Rafael asked, pointing at Jed. "He hates Landon."

Jed sighed and said, "Look, you're the Alpha. If Landon's your pack, that makes him ours."

"Where is MG at?" Kaleb asked, noticing that his best friend was nowhere to be found.

"He's on his way," Lilah replied. "Let's load up while we wait for him. Come on."

Jed side-eyed Rafael as they passed, Lilah lingering with the annoyed wolf. She leaned her head against his arm, rubbing it assuringly.

"It's okay," she whispered. "Everything's going to be okay." She let go of him, sending him a small smile before joining the rest of the group.

They rushed outside to be met with a bunch of Triad soldiers, dressed ready for military combat, or so it seemed. Lilah got to the front, growling.

"Oh, sorry. We were about to knock," a man who seemed to be the group leader said.

"How did you get passed the gates?" asked Lilah, still growling.

"More like, who the hell are you?" asked Lizzie.

"Name's Burr," the guy said. "Triad Industries."

"Propellere," Hope said, casting a spell that didn't work. Everyone looked in shock, growing apprehension in all of their faces.

"I got this," Kaleb stated, vampire speeding over, but burning his hand in the sun. He stepped back into the shade.

"What you don't got is magic," replied Burr. "Which is why your daylight ring won't work. And what we have are stakes, wolfsbane... and other things. So I think you should invite us inside."

Lilah snarled as weapons were pointed at her friends. She knew she wouldn't be able to shield them all at once, but she also knew she was immune to all the things listed. So, she snickered.

"What's so funny, young lady?"

"Bitch," she laughed, baring her fangs at him and crossing her arms. "I'm over a thousand years old."

He looked at her with a questionable expression, his smile faltering as she didn't look nervous at all.

"We studied The Original Vampires, and unless Rebekah died her hair brown and got a face change, you are not her," he laughed, but she sped up to him anyways, perfectly fine in the sun with her arms crossed to prove a point.

He looked at her, scared, and so did the rest of the men.

"You should go a little deeper into your research," she said. "Because Lilah Mikaelson is a name you should remember. And no, we will not be inviting you inside."

"Lilah, let them in, you know there's no way we can leave this place without any of us hurt," Jed pleaded from behind her. "They have stakes and wolfsbane. You're Ms. Invincible or whatever Raf calls you, but we aren't, and you can't be in five places at once."

"Listen to the wolf, Ms. Mikaelson," Burr said to her. She growled more.

"You're lucky the wolf is smart," she snarled.

—

"We're looking for an artifact known as the Chalice of Arimathea," Burr said to the student body. "We have reason to believe it's part of your school's collection. Now, you know this place a lot better than we do, so the sooner you help us find it, the sooner we'll be gone. Triad thanks you for your time."

"I have to get out of here," Lilah said to Rafael. "I'm the only one who can get out of here. Someone has to find Landon!"

Rafael wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "You're not going Ms. Invincible alone today. We'll figure something out."

—

Hope and the twins called Alaric and found out a way to get the magic running again at the school. The downside of it all, Josie got shot, but Lilah was helping to create a riot. Her favorite thing, something she always missed about her Mikaelson genes: her ability to be so darn violent. She nodded at Kaleb, who nodded at MG, who nodded back. Rafael was standing with MG by the stairs, blinking back his werewolf side.

"You okay?" mouthed Lilah, and he nodded, though her and MG seemed unconvinced.

"You sure?" she heard MG say, and she thanked the heavens once again for her vampire hearing because she got to hear Rafael tell him, "Not at all. But if you're fighting, and Lilah's fighting, I'm fighting, too."

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

#Legacies #cw legacies #legacies imagines #legacies fanfiction #hope mikaelson #hope mikaelson fanfiction #mikaelson

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hyenasnake · 5 years

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Battle Scars

Happy Father’s Day! TW: Past Abuse, Depression, Self Harm Mention, and Mental Illness.

They say you can take the warrior from the war, but you can never take the war from the warrior.

While Scrooge McDuck was no warrior, he had seen his share of battles in his time on earth. His senses had been heightened from them, which is how he heard the door to the bathroom shut loud enough in the dead of night to wake him and possibly Beakley whilst the other occupants of the mansion slept through it. Normally, he wouldn’t have paid it any mind, as the residents of McDuck Manor tended to wake up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom or get a drink of water. But this time, a gut feeling caused him to rise out of bed and walk to the source of the noise.

He knew as soon as he saw the door to Webby’s room slightly ajar. Whilst Lena had been given her own room with everything she could ever ask for inside, she was nervous about sleeping on her own and preferred instead a sleeping bag on the floor of Webby’s loft. The younger duckling protested greatly about having her friend sleep on the cold floor, but Lena never let up. So often Webbigail would be found curled up next to Lena keeping her warm. He looked in the loft where the girls slept and found Webby asleep next to the old sleeping bag Lena insisted on sleeping in, the latter nowhere to be found. A light from down the hall caught Scrooge's eye. As he followed it, he sighed in exasperation upon realizing it led to the bathroom. “Curse me kilts! Not even two days back from the hospital and she's already tryin' ta wind up back there.” He grumbled under his breath, then mentally chastising himself for getting angry at his newest ward over something she could barely control. He heard soft sobs, hisses, grunts and rummaging as he prepared to knock on the door in case this was just an ordinary midnight restroom break. He gently knocked on the mahogany door, not waiting for an answer before pushing it open.

As expected, Lena was slumped on the floor in her nightshirt looking like a deer in headlights. She had been caught red handed rummaging through the drawers. Her eyes were filled with tears and her forearms still wrapped in bandages. Scrooge sighed and offered her his hand. “Yer not goin’ ta find anythin’ in here to hurt yourself again, lass. C’mon.” Lena took his hand as he helped her off the bathroom floor. She looked down in shame, her feathery hair covering her downcast, tear filled eyes. The pathetic sight of her tugged at the old man’s heartstrings. Scrooge led the teenager downstairs to the kitchen.

This called for an unused teabag was Scrooge’s thought has he handed Lena a mug of tea. Lena took the mug in shaky hands. The old man sat beside the teenager with his own mug. He gave a sigh and put a hand on her shoulder. “Lena, ah know yer strugglin’. Ah know ye feel like yer holdin’ all the sorrows of the world on yer shoulders. Ah wish ah could take all that sufferin’ away from ye, if only teh see ye smile without a care in the universe. Ah know everyone else in this house wishes the same for ye. But part of the healin’ has teh come from ye.” “No you don’t. You don’t know anything about me.” She grumbled. “Ah know that ye act tough and cool in ordah teh get by, ye act like ye could care less about what the world wants from ye. But inside, Lena, ah know yer tired. Yer tired of all the people, all the sadness, all the fear. Yer scared of messin’ up, bein’ a failure, disappointin’ the people in yer life. Ah know ye wish ye could cry yerself teh sleep every night and not bein’ able teh because yer family would hear ye.” Something all too familiar to Scrooge passed behind Lena’s dark eyes. “I don’t have a family.” Lena said in a hushed voice. “You said you’d let me be apart of your family if I helped you get your family back. I didn’t do squat to help. They came to you on their own. None of you ever needed me. The only one who needed me was Magica and once she’d used me she got rid of me.” Scrooge thought for a moment. Lena had been turned back to shadow as soon as Magica was free, not having the chance to help bring the family together again. He quickly snapped out of his thoughts when Lena began to speek again. “I’m just a failure. A burden. A bad influence. A lowlife. A traitor. I’m just some dumb kid. I should have stayed in the shadow realm forever. I deserve it.” Her hands trembled. “Yer only dumb fer thinkin’ all that baloney about yerself.” He lifted her chin to look up at him. “Lena, Magica has always been a basket case who’s done more harm than good. But she did one good thing, and yeh know what? That was ye. Yer the only good thing teh come from that mephistophelian medusa. Ye didn’t ask teh be caught up in all this crazy mess, teh live such a life as a witch’s slave with no love. Ah know ye cannae get used teh all of this so fast. Believe it or not, but we have a lot in common.” Lena’s eyes were blinking back tears. “Really?” “Ah was just like yeh as a lad. Sad, quiet, broodin’, wishin’ ah could go teh sleep and never wake up. Teh tell ye the truth, ah still feel like that sometimes. Ah still have the same battle scars that ye do. It doesn’t go away, but it gets better. Ah promise yeh on my life. But it isn’t goin’ to get better if ye keep wishin’ ye were dead. Ye hafta make it better yerself, carve your own path. Ye hafta write yer own story in the book o’ life.” He cupped her cheek, setting his mug of tea on the counter. “As fer ye not bein’ a part o’ the family, well ah have a few documents that could change that with yer signature.” The teenager’s eyes widened. “You mean-?” “Welcome teh the McDuck family, Lena.” The old man gave her a warm smile. Lena put her mug down, tears rolling down her face. Scrooge engulfed her in a hug which she readily accepted. He held her as she cried as if she were the infant she never had the luxury of being. She sobbed her thanks and apologies as he rubbed her back.

It was over an hour later when Scrooge McDuck was finally tired enough to go back to bed. He had sent Lena up to bed when she got tired and was slightly shocked to find the teenager asleep in his own bed. He recalled her words from earlier; “every time I close my eyes I see her. It won’t stop. She won’t stop hurting me.” She’d confided in him. But now she seemed to be the opposite of restless. Her breathing wasn’t labored and she slept peacefully like a baby, the first time she slept this well in her life. Scrooge tucked her in and fell asleep next to her, giving her most of the room to sleep. She snored softly, lulling him to sleep.

After that night, Lena began to sleep in her own room. She began to make a point of going out more to socialize, remembering to take her medicine, and asking others for help. It was still a bumpy ride full of relapses, nightmares, panic attacks, fights, hospital trips, therapy, and days where she felt so crippled she stayed in her bed all day. But at least now the young girl could feel a little better with her newfound family by her side.

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queenofcats17 · 5 years

Text

Last Meeting

After @insane-control-room‘s announcement that their Joey would change after their newest installment of The Big Picture, I decided my Joey needed a last goodbye. So we kinda rped.

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

"Hey...Jo?" Freckle pokes his head in. "Are you...going somewhere? My creator saw something about that. I mean, the exact words were changing but...Um..." He fidgets a bit. Johan's head lifts from his desk, working on his computer. He is silent a moment.

"I think I am going to die," he says calmly, quietly, after a moment.

"What...What the Hell is that supposed to mean?!" Freckle stalks over. "You can't just die!" He doesn't mean to sound so accusatory, so angry. But he's afraid. Johan stares at his hands.

"I don't know," he sighs, tired. "I can't see anything past a few weeks from now, at best. Like there is nothing there. Dead zone."

"But your story isn't over!" Freckle's not sure who he's yelling at. "You can't just disappear!"

"What do you mean, my story isn't over?" Johan sinks in his wheelchair. "It should have ended long ago."

"The thing my creator saw said it wasn't over." Freckle begins to pace, gnawing at his lip. "So it can't be over. You...You can't die. It's your story and it can't be over." He doesn't want it to be over. As long as it's still going on, he has a friend. He needs a friend.

Johan's thin fingers snake into his hair, and he fists his hands in an attempt to quell his anguish.

"There is nothing there," is his hoarse reply. "It ends."

"It can't end," Freckle mutters. "It can't!" He hits the wall with his fist, then winces and draws his hand to his chest.

"It can't." He repeats weakly.

"Freckle, please," Johan weakly says, not referring to anything in particular. He reaches to him with a scarred hand. Freckle hunches his shoulders, looking very much like a guilty child.

"I'm sorry." He sits down beside Johan, taking Johan's hand in his.

Johan leans his head on Freckle's shoulder. "I'm glad you're here."

Freckle hesitates for a moment, then leans his head against Johan's. "I'm...I'm glad to be here. You're my friend and I care about you."

"I love you man," the young and tired man says, choking up. "I'm happy that you can... call me a friend." Freckle's expression softens.

"I love you too." He whispers. Johan wraps him into an awkwardly angled hug, but tight and warm no less. Freckle lets out a soft laugh, returning the hug as best he can. Johan smells like cinnamon and spices as he hugs him tightly, swaying slightly.

"If I am, somehow, still alive," Johan swallows. "Please, do come visit me...."

"I will." He replies without hesitation. If Johan is still alive after whatever strange event his creator knows is coming, he will visit him. Maybe Johan won't remember him anymore, but he doesn't want to lose him. Johan's watch buzzes, and he ignores it, hugging Freckle tighter still. He sniffles, and hides his face on his shoulder, trembling. Freckle wants to tell him that it will be alright. But he doesn't know that. And he doesn't want to make any more false promises.

"I'm here." He says, gently patting Johan's back. Johan shudders and quakes.

"I don't want to die," he bemoans.

"No one ever does," Freckle says without thinking. His voice is dark and his eyes far away.

"I don't want to die feeling like this," Johan corrects himself. "Feeling wrong."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Freckle drags himself back to the present. If Jo is going to die, he wants him to be happy when it happens.

"You are now," Johan whispers.

Freckle smiles again, soft and genuine. "I'm glad."

Johan doesn't want to let go, but his hips (why is he so feminine?) are starting to ache. He still doesn't let go, but shifts a bit in pain.

"Are you okay?" Freckle feels his heart leap in panic. Why is he so afraid? Jo isn't going to die. Not yet at least.

"I'm fine," he lies as another electric pain shoots up his back, and he pulls away a little.

"Bullshit." Freckle gives him a look. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Back," Johan mutters. "From my whole... disability."

Freckle nods, standing up and gathering Johan in his arms as best he can. "You got a couch nearby?"

Johan nods and looks to it, over by the left wall.

"Alright." Freckle grunts a bit, making his way over. He is not a big man, neither in height nor weight, so it's a bit difficult for him to carry a tall being like Jo. Johan blushes from being carried, and leans onto Freckle's chest, closing his eyes. It feels nice.

"There we go." Freckle lowers himself and Johan onto the couch so that they're both laying down. Gods, he can't remember the last time he actually spooned someone. Johan gives a small crying giggle, like a child that got a boo-boo might after being cheered up. He snuggles against him best he can with his weakened limbs.

"Hey," he breathes, finding a patch of Freckle behind him and holding it gently. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Freckle gives him a big goofy grin. Johan can't see it... but he can tell it's there, and appreciates it. Satisfied, Freckle rests his head gently on Jo's chest. Johan's arms tighten a bit around him. It feels nice to be close.

Freckle stroked Johan's hair, humming to himself. He wanted this to last forever. He wanted to just stay in this moment. He felt his old compulsions creeping up again. The old desire to force the world to conform to his will. But he couldn't. He couldn't do that again

Johan let out a soft chuckle, not a happy one. "You're thinking too hard."

"Yeah, I guess I am." Freckle laughed weakly.

"Take it easy," Johan mumbles. "It's all gonna be alright."

"I'll take your word for it." Freckle nodded, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in his stomach. Everything was going to be alright. Their creators had a plan. It was going to be fine.

“That means a lot,” Johan whispered trying to hold on.

Freckle sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "Do you think it'll go better this time around?" He asked. "Your story, I mean."

Johan wrinkles his nose a bit. "No clue."

"Yeah, I guess you wouldn't know." Freckle chuckles. "Here's hoping, though. You deserve to be happy."

"Mm." Johan doesn't agree in the slightest, but he's far too exhausted to argue.

"You deserve to be happy." Freckle insists, pressing his face into Johan's hair. "You're a good person."

He can feel Norman's blood on his chest, constricting, pressuring, just as the man's body was in his death. He can hear Johnny's wails, Sammy's pleas, everyone's suffering.

"No."

"Well...A better person than me." Freckle corrects himself, realizing his mistake. "You didn't murder your whole studio just because you were afraid to admit you failed." He'd been deliberately cruel. Experimenting, torturing. Their lives had been of no consequence as long as he could get what he wanted. Look at what that had gotten him.

Johan tucks his legs up, trying to make himself as small as possible. He'd never even come to as close as good as Freckle is.

"Hey. I can feel you being self-deprecating." Freckle pokes Johan's cheek. "Stop that now." He tries a smile. It's amazing how small a seven and a half foot man can make himself. He's now nearly a hundred percent spherical, and he doesn't reply.

Freckle sighs. "I guess I ruined the moment." No wonder no one ever stuck around him. Whenever he opened his mouth he just stuck his foot in it.

"It's not you," Johan mutters. "I'm just. Bad. I don't deserve you around at all."

Freckle blinks, staring down at him. "I...You know what I've done right? The murder and the ink and the trapping? I'm not a good person. At least you felt bad about what you did. I didn't feel bad until Esther forced me to acknowledge what I did."

"You at least had a reason," Johan whispers, somehow curling even more. He's tired and cold. He still doesn't want Freckle to go. Selfish.

"It was a stupid reason," Freckle mutters, trying to distract himself from the fact that he will have to leave at some point. He doesn't want to go. What if the new Johan hates him? What if he doesn't want anything to do with him? What if he's better?

"Still a reason."

Despite himself, Freckle lets out a quiet laugh. "Fine. It was still a reason."

Johan reaches out a hand to find Freckle. He's so balled up he can't tell left from right.

"You're like a little kitten." Freckle leans down so Johan can find his face. Johan squeaks embarrassedly, exactly as a kitten might, and the ends of his fingers curl in Freckle's hair. He is very glad his face is hidden, as he doesn't know how burning dark it is now.

Freckle's smile widens. "You're so cute."

"Noooooo...."

��Yeeeees. You’re adorable.”

Johan's pout is audible in his voice. "Prove it."

"First of all, you're adorable when you pout." Freckle is trying very hard not to laugh. "Second, you're curled up like a little kitten right now. Third, your hair does this really cute curly thing sometimes where it reflects your emotions."

Sounds indescribable escape Johan, and ironically, in that moment, his hair spikes up in surprise, and curls back in fluster.

"See? It's doing the thing!" Freckle reaches out and pats his hair. "It's like you're a cat or something."

"Most people say snake," Johan manages to squeak, his hair curling around Freckle’s fingers slowly and steadily.

"Oh yeah. There's some universe where you're a naga or something." Freckle's voice goes quiet as he watches the hair curl around his fingers. Like snakes. Like a Medusa.

"I know that," Johan smiles a little, though it's nearly impossible to see with the way he's curled. "Have you met that me?"

"No, but I know Esther has." Freckle stifles a snort. "She tried to take him home."

"Oh my goodness," Johan giggles a little. "Poor snake's never even seen a house and she planned on taking him home."

"She likes to think she's the sensible one, but she's the one who always brought home stray animals." Freckle snickers. "She's always been the mothering type."

"Mhm." Johan seems to have uncurled a bit.

“She probably embarrasses those kids of hers all the time.” Freckle laughs. His smile quickly fades though.

"Heh, yeah..." Johan smiles a bit, and unfurls some more. "Kids are like that."

“Especially Rachel.” Freckle’s gaze softens. “She’s just like I was at that age. So desperate to be grown up and mature.”

"Weren't we all?" Johan chuckles a little. "Until we grow up and want to be kids again."

Freckle nods, his smile fading. "Makes me wish I could go back and do it over." He pauses, then snorts. "God, I sound old."

"Me too," Johan says almost inaudibly after a minute.

Freckle lapses into silence, stroking Johan’s hair absentmindedly. “I hope you get to do it over.”

Nothing else is said, even when Freckle has to depart, his heart heavy. He hopes things will be better for Johan. He hopes the other man will be happier this time. He hopes he’ll still remember him.

#bendy and the ink machine #fanfiction #joey drew #johan ramirez #freckle drew

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brattywriters-anonymous · 6 years

Text

A Rose In Harlem

OC x Erik Story

Based on Teyana Taylor’s VII & KTSE

Warnings: Language

@chaneajoyyy

Chapter IX: Rize

February 6, 2014

22 HOURS BEFORE SHOWTIME.REHEARSAL, NINE PM.

"Ladies, Gents! Find Seats! Sit in them!" All twenty-four models followed Yani's request. We just wrapped our rehearsal, everyone did phenomenal. I can only pray that we get it like this at 583 Park Ave. Yani and I have been thee dynamic duo for the past seventy-two hours. I've been steaming outfits, she's been bagging accessories. I've been designing roll-away walls, she's been contacting every contractor in her contacts to design the black and gold glitter floors.

Honestly, in the past month, Yani and I have been on our hustle. I finished my last shoot and have been on go since. Erik and I have basically been like two ships passing in the night. I usually would leave before him, and come home after he arrived. We never talked about my father's birthday, our kiss..well..kisses. None of it. I've been too busy. Yasin and I have been texting here and there, but I haven't seen him either. He's been understanding about it though. The only person I've been spending my time with is Yani.

We've collectively gotten maybe eight hours of sleep in three days. So now, we're just exhausted and over it. We're trying to get this rehearsal over and done with. The theater's silence is my queue to step on the stage, I do so, scanning my models faces. They're looking like kids on Christmas Eve. So excited for what the next day has to bring. Their faces make me grateful, my smile spreads and everyone breaks out in applause. I decipher a few, "Yeah Syd!" "You did it girl!" and "Woos" in the crowd, I yield my hands up and down, they lower their yells. "Hey everybody, We're down to the wire here. We're less than a day away. We've been working our asses off for a month and a half. I couldn't have ever gotten this done without any of you. I'm excited for everyone to see our hard work. I'm even more excited for you to see your hard work pay off."

I point to Iyo in the control center, He dims the lights and lower the projector screen. "I now present to you.. UPTXWN." Applause rings out as the projector displays a drone clip of High Bridge among the sunrise and Syd's voiceover, "Uptown, Home of the greats. From The Bronx, to Harlem. The place I know, the place I love." The six models she started with appear on the screen, daringly sitting on the railing, laughing with one another in their high end garments. "Our hustles.. It always had this special..thing about it. We always went a little harder. Thought a little smarter. Emerged to the top a bit faster." Photos of me and all of Uptown's finest begins scrolling through from right to left. From a photo of me and Dapper Dan when I was fresh out of college. Diddy and I when I was an intern at Chanel. With Kerry Washington a bit after Save the Last Dance came out when I was twelve. Sistah Souljah, Kid Capri, Bianca (aka Young B), Cam'ron, Juelz, and Jim Jones back when Rock-a-fella were still together, Kalis, and finally, A$AP Mob & me when they were fresh in the game back in 2011.

"And when we're on top, we set trends. We define eras. Their stamps will forever be evident in our culture. Here's mine. Here's UPTXWN." All of the photos scroll backwards and the screen goes black for a few seconds. Images of the Big L tribute wall outside of the Harlem Up Deli Market, in black and white appear, then the same original six models; Sam, Levi, Von, Jade, Deanna, and Cass kneeling at different levels, crowded around the wall. Making sure not to block his face or name. Then Pretty Flako instrumental bangs through the theater's speakers. The TV flake transition changes to the Bailey house shoot. The drone shot pans around the corner of the property, all twenty four models posing looking like royalty draped in over $80,000 worth of clothes collectively. The visual pans over to a slowed down visual of Nina flashing her bottom grill, her thick frame vibing out to the up tempo beat. Then to Xierra kneeling beside her, giving face in her side profile. The screen shortly displays a wide pan of the property and models again, then switches to Levi. Iyo's suggested scene of displaying the details of his tattoos on his shirtless body-- while simultaneously showing the VVS necklace, the embroidery on the custom one of a kind jean jacket; came out perfectly.

The photos of each model in each of their looks scroll through at the right speed so each detail is fully displayed. Every model stands up, showing off as their photos went across the screen. As Gina's photoset emerges, I turn to the screen so I can roll my eyes. I instantly become reminded of how flirty she was with Erik before Yani had to snatch her up to take these. Yani stands beside me, peeping the entire scene, "Girl, suck it up. She in it now. Let's get it over with." I shake it off, turning back to the models.

The park Marcus Garvey Amphitheater scene pops up, it was a gloomy overcast. Which was perfect for the theme. As the looping instrumental repeats, each model was either sitting at the top of the folding seats, or crouched on the seat of the folding seats. The collective total of every look? $110,878. I'm lucky I got such great relationships with these clients and these models didn't fuck up any of they shit. The first visual was Von, on the center stage. His long hair hanging over his entire face. He rocked this black long open hooded jacket, shirtless. Displaying his massive musical themed chest piece. It gave me a grim reaper vibe that I was definitely looking for. The jacket was a piece I asked Chris Brown's people to create for their Black Pyramid line. They fucked with the vision and agreed to do it. Von flipped the bottom of the jacket back with force, the rest of the models appeared on stage, smoke filled the stage floor as the all black visual came to life. Gina and Cass rocked matching contrast dresses, Cass was the only model not in black that day. I put her in a white intricate lace Erdem Dress. Gina wore the matching Black dress.

Jade and Deanna were back to back. Jade was wearing a black deep v neck, with a leather ribbed comme des garcons jacket. With a cascading gold necklace reaching her stomach. Accompanied with black and gold aviator Louis Vuitton shades, Black ripped Levis I thrifted on the East side, and Jefferey Campbell's Legion booties. Deanna was wearing my favorite outfit of that day. A black long sleeved Oscar De La Renta ruffled shirt with cut out shoulders, a Burberry black ruffled skirt, and black Averil Doc Martin boots. Her bamboos and three finger ring spelling out her name put a street edge on her look that was near and dear to my Harlem bred heart. GG beat every woman's face and gave them the same cohesive smokey eye with the black, In The Spirit MAC lipstick. The only difference makeup wise was Cass' white undereye liner.

Once again the photos of every model starts cascading slideshow style. Johan was my second favorite look for that shoot, He rocked a black high low long sleeved Alexander Wang shirt, black distressed Givenchy jeans, and his personal black on black Ralph Lauren Hi Boots. I was going to put him in some other shoes, but I saw the ones he had on and they looked way better with the fit. We accompanied that look with a black Cuban link necklace, the matching bracelet, and Dolce & Gabana retro flip up round glasses.

Everyone's rave reactions trigger my tears of joy, it's all of our first times seeing the visual's final product and I couldn't be any more proud. This has really been my baby. I've nurtured it, I've put in the work for it. This moment was like its graduation. Everyone looks at me, "Awwwwww!" Yani gives me a big hug, "I'm proud of you, kid." I squeeze her, "I'm proud of us, kid." I push out a laugh.

The final shoot displayed the brownstones on Mount Morris Park, the street right outside of Marcus Garvey Park. Where my parents' old brownstone was. I only needed my original six for this one, since all twenty-four wouldn't fit on the stoop. That day, it was sunny. Not one cloud in sight. Perfect lighting for the intimate shoot. The theme was spring, specifically, pastel colors.

I dressed Jade in a pastel yellow Ted Baker maxi dress, I accessorized her outfit with vintage canary yellow teardrop earrings with a matching tennis bracelet. She wore some nude Christian Louboutin spiked peep toed heels. She stands up when she finds her face and yells while twerking, "Long Hair! Red Bottoms! Long Hair! Red Bottoms!" Everyone, including me burst out in laughter. She kept saying it so much during the shoot, I let her keep them. Paid the $1,500 tab too. Deanna was draped in a Monroe and Main white two piece suit with black accents on the collar and cuffs. We accompanied that with my personal pearls I got from my mom before she passed, some white Manolo Blahnic pumps, and some VVS diamond earrings while her hair popped in the sunlight. She wore her low cut with a rose gold tint. I put Cass in a pair of nude Emilio Pucci wide legged trousers, a White Alexander McQueen peplum top, and a matching nude blazer was draping over her shoulders. Her accessories was a silver double C Chanel choker, charm rings from Tiffany Co., and a vintage Chanel crossbody, gifted from Karl Lagerfeld himself. He said I needed something old for my collection.

The guys were matching my girls' fly. Von parallels Deanna with a Tom Ford cotton two piece suit, I laced him with some white Versace loafers with the gold Medusa emblem on the center, with the Cuban link chain Johan wore at the Marcus Garvey shoot, and golden Panthere De Cartier rounded sunglasses. Levi's parallel was for Jade's look. He wore a pastel yellow Calvin Klein. Accompanied with a large size canary ring on his index finger, and the Burberry vintage loafers. Sam paralleled Cass, in a nude ASOS suit with the matching vest. I kept it simple and just accessorized it with my dad's gold pocket watch and black Stacy Adams dress shoes.

I thought the presentation was over, but then the screen transitioned to me working behind the scenes. Me pointing and directing at the Bailey house, with the wind blowing like crazy, me filming on Highbridge at the crack of dawn, Iyo even snuck some footage of the meeting we had in Morningside Park. It looks like Yani snuck some footage of me putting the image board for the fashion show stage together as well. I'm just admiring the scene of watching the hard nights and amazing days I shared with an incredible team. The last shot was me sitting on my old stoop. I was just reminiscing, thinking of how my mom, dad, and I would eat ice cream in the spring in the same spot. I looked up, as I normally do when thinking of them, put my hands together and mumbled, 'allah , shkraan lak.' The camera was too far to catch my phrase. Afterward I bowed between my legs so I could have my emotional moment to myself.

Everyone hops on the stage to crowd around me and initiated a group hug. Once everyone slightly disbursed, I see Gina still sitting in the audience with Erik, I guess he just got here. I hear the doors open again and see Yasin, smiling at me.

By half past 10, everyone had gone home except for Yani, Nina, Gina, Erik, and Yasin. Nina is waiting on Rashad to pick her up, and I guess Gina is looking to Erik to take her home. She's literally been all up under him since his arrival.

"Tomorrow's gonna go great, babe. You got a great team behind you, you've been super focused. It can't go any other way." Yasin lands a kiss on my temple as I blush at his encouragement. I blink in Erik's direction, he's giving the same look he gave us at Rashad's party. He then grips Gina, pulling her closer to him, "Yeah. You got it Syd. We gon head out. See ya later." with that, Erik and Gina strut to the exit. Nina's phone dings, "Oh, bae is here! See ya tomorrow Syd! We gon kill it, boo!" She hugs me and Yani then jogs out the double doors, "Nice seeing you again Yasin!" he nods, "You too!"

"So tell me something about you, Sin! I've only talked about me when I see you. What was lil Yasin like?" We are strolling down Saint Nick Avenue after getting grilled jerk chicken from King Barka. We decide to sit on a park bench right outside Saint Nick Park to chat since I wasn't quite ready to go home. "Well, I was born and raised in Brooklyn. Flatbush. My moms is from Brooklyn as well. My dad's side of the family is from Harlem, the eastside, but they love uptown just as much." I grin as he continues, "I was a bad ass kid growing up. Always fighting, getting into trouble at school, I even got expelled in middle school." "Well damn! How did you go from that to--" I wave my hands around his silhouette, "This?" He takes a bite out of his chicken and flashes a sexy smile, "My mom sent me to live with my Uncle. The one that retired and gave me the maintenance business."

"Ahhhh, I see. He whipped you into shape?" He snorts, "Oh, he whipped me alright. A lot. He taught me what it is to be a man." "Where was your father?" He continues eating, pausing his story for a spell, "Uh.. He was in prison. He pushed weight for about ten years, he got caught up. He didn't snitch, so he got twenty. He got out after eight years for good behavior." "How's your relationship with him now?" He shugs, "We're cool. We had a little spat when he first got out. I had to be the man of the house for a while for my moms and sisters. I resented him for it." I take a hold of his free hand, "We patched things up recently." "So him and your mom still married?" He nods, "Yeah. Moms held him down. That lady.. She deserves the world." He finishes his dish as he glows at the mention of his mother.

"She had to get two jobs before I turned sixteen and worked with my Uncle. She held down our household for three years, alone, before I was able to step in and help her. After that, she went back to school. She finished the year before my pops got out, now she's a nurse. Doing what she loves to do." "That's great. That's what life is about, doing what you love." "Definitely." He throws away our empty plates and we keep walking down the avenue, "So what do you love to do Yasin?" "I love music." I stop in my tracks.

"Let me guess, you rap?" he sucks his teeth, "Nah, girl. I play instruments. Three; Acoustic guitar, piano, and snare drum." "Ah, okay! When did you discover your talent?" "I was... ten, I think?" "You make songs?" He pulls a slick move behind me, grabbing me by my waist. I roll my eyes as we continue to walk, "I haven't made a song in five years." "Why not?" I feel him shrug behind me, "I've been busy." I turn around to grab his hands, "You're never too busy to do what you love." He smiles at me, I sense the same glow about him that he had when he spoke of his mom. "Especially when it makes you this happy...just talking about it." Yasin closes the gap between us, "Maybe, you're right. Look at you. Doing what you love. You're inspiring Syeda. Beautiful, too." He strokes my left cheek with his palm. I freeze, much like I did a couple weeks back in my apartment with Erik.

Speaking of Erik, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do about what happened since my dad's birthday. I guess Erik knows what he wants, and that's Gina. So why am I freezing? What's stopping me? All of a sudden my inner thoughts are silenced when Yasin seals our distance, gently kissing me. My knees buckle and he hoists me up by my butt, cuffing the bottom of my cheeks. That makes me even weaker, he breaks off from me, "Damn girl. You good?" My eyes flutter as I respond, "Yeah. Yeah. I'm good." I pull him by his shirt to kiss him again.

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avicebro · 6 years

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Perseus: In Myth and in Fate

Hello everyone, I’m tired, we’re gonna talk about Perseus.

This is actually going to be a combination fate meta post and Greek Myth post which is you know, amazing, but that’s because Perseus was the reason as to why I got into Fate, and thus I feel like he deserves this. So, buckle up. I think that should explain my biases pretty well.

Probably the Weirdest Way Zeus Fucks a Woman

Like many Greek Myths, the story of Perseus starts with a prophecy.

Perseus’ grandfather, Acrisius, is the king of Argos. Since he likes being King, he goes to the Oracle for his future. The Oracle breaks the news that he’s going to be killed by his daughter’s son. Instead of pulling a King Laius and driving a metal rod through the kid’s feet and then leaving him on a mountain to die (that’s where Oedipus’ name comes from by the by), he decides that the way he’s going to not have a grandson is by making sure his daughter, Danae, can’t get knocked up at all.

He does this by imprisoning Danae in a bronze chamber open to the skies (in some versions it’s a tower, some a hole in the ground with a grate, it’s just gotta be open to the sky). There. No one can get in.

But unfortunately for King Acrisius he forgot about the whole “Zeus” thing so when Zeus sees this lovely woman in a bronze box/tower he’s head over heels in love with her. And again, since he’s one for theatrics, he makes the smart decision to turn into a shower of golden coins and rain down on her.

Danae becomes pregnant because of a golden shower.

Since divine seed (or coins?) must take root, Danae becomes pregnant with Zeus’ child.

Nine months after Perseus is born.

So, since the first box thing didn’t work, King Acrisius decides to put his daughter and her newborn son into another box (or more specifically a wooden chest) and put it out into the sea. Danae prays to her baby daddy so that they survive, and since Hera doesn’t seem to mind Perseus for some weird reason, they safely arrive on their new island of Serifos, where they are taken in by a fisherman.

Polydectes is a Dick

The fisherman’s brother, the King of Serifos, is Polydectes. When Perseus is grown up, Polydectes finds himself falling for Danae. Perseus isn’t very fond of this creep trying to take his mother, and she doesn’t seem to be very fond of him either, so he tells Polydectes to back off. Polydectes doesn’t take this very seriously so once more Perseus tells him to back off, no dating his mom you creep. This makes Polydectes mad. He might also be too afraid to fight Perseus 1v1 so he makes a plan to get rid of him instead.

He hosts a banquet and tells everyone to bring a horse as the gift. Perseus has no horse to give, so he says that his gift is whatever Polydectes asks of him.

(Side note: Polydectes should have just asked him to die. Nice and simple.)

Instead he asks for Perseus to bring back the head of Medusa, the youngest and also mortal Gorgon sister.

(Side note: Youngest = strongest in Greek Myths. Both Zeus and his father Cronos were the youngest children. It makes a little more sense as a story stand point for Zeus [His mom tired of her husband eating her kids at the 6th one] but with the two Kings of the Cosmos being the youngest child cemented this rule of the youngest being the strongest in Greek Myth. This of course has no relation to Hesiod’s hatred of his brother. None at all.)

Medusa has gotten a little bit of a celebrity status as being unkillable, as whomever looks at her turns to stone. This doesn’t seem to bother Perseus very much – he’s gotta make sure Polydectes doesn’t creep more on his mom, and he is the son of Zeus, after all.

The Killing of the Gorgon

Thankfully he’s got another god on his side: Athena. Yeah, I guess turning Medusa into a gorgon for something she had no control over wasn’t enough punishment. Athena wants her dead now.

So, Athena sends Perseus to the Hesperides, the nymphs who tend over Hera’s garden and also hold the fancy weapons he can use to kill Medusa. For those who know anything about Heracles he ends up convincing Atlas to go and fetch some of the golden apples for him from the Hesperides. But Perseus doesn’t know where that is so following Athena’s advice he finds the Graeae sisters.

The Graeae sisters are three old hags who share only one eye. They are also all-seeing.

(Side note: they’re also the sisters of the gorgons! Thanks sisters.)

Perseus grabs the eye and basically holds it for ransom in return for the whereabouts of the Hesperides. Since they can’t really do anything they say fine, sure, okay here’s where it is, can you give us our eye back?

(Side note: for anyone who has seen the Disney Hercules, the Graeae are kind of retrofitted with The Fates. I’m not saying that I necessarily agree with this decision, but I do understand it. It should be noted that in Greek Myth only one of The Fates actually was an old lady, because only one was associated with cutting the thread of life. But three old ladies who act independently of the gods’ will and make dated references are kind of my trash. Disney Hercules despite its shortcomings has become my trash.)

The Hesperides give him a bag, to hold Medusa’s head, Zeus an adamantine sword and Hades’ helm of darkness. Adding to the list of gods that wanted to kill Medusa and or help Perseus grows as Hermes gives him his winged sandals to borrow, and Athena gives him a polished shield. So, the list of gods that are helping Perseus are: Athena, Zeus, maybe Hera, Hermes, and likely Hades doesn’t hate him because Zeus was somehow able to get his brother’s helm for him to use. The only god that probably likes Medusa still is Poseidon. Probably out of pity.

(Side note: Adamantine! For those who have read Hesiod’s Theogony know that Cronos’ cool as fuck sickle is made out of adamantine. Oh, and also the shackles that bound Prometheus to the rock. And in some versions the walls that Alexander the Great builds? It’s an unbreakable metal basically.)

Now armed with a bunch of OP items, he heads out to kill Medusa. With the polished shield he is able to kill her without looking into her eyes. He beheads her, wraps her head up in the bag so he’s fine. From her neck springs her children with Poseidon: one king named Chrysaor and of course, the well-known Pegasus.

(Side note: Pegasus would eventually team up with another son of Poseidon to do their own story.)

Perseus’ New Bae

On the way back to Polydectes, he stops in Aethiopia (Ethiopia). There he finds a very pretty woman tied to a rock.

Like an idiot, the queen of Aethiopia, Cassiopeia, made the claim that her daughter Andromeda was prettier than the Nereids. The Nereids are basically a bunch of sea nymphs who are close with Poseidon. In response, Poseidon sends out a giant sea monster and floods. Now stuck with a sea serpent and way too much water, they go to the Oracle to find a solution. The Oracle says that Poseidon will only be appeased if they sacrifice Andromeda to the sea serpent, Ceto.

Perseus finds Andromeda strapped to the rock as sacrifice and decides that he likes her so he kills Ceto (depending on the version by the sword or by Medusa’s head). Despite being betrothed to another guy, he claims her as his bride. When the guy that she was supposed to marry interrupted the marriage, Perseus uses Medusa’s head to turn him into stone. He does that a lot.

He returns to find that his mom has been running away from Polydectes, because again, he’s a dick. So, Perseus finds him, uses Medusa’s head on him to turn him to stone, and makes his brother king instead. This works out because Danae actually liked this fisherman and so she becomes queen in some variants.

There’s a small myth in which as he was travelling some of Medusa’s blood ends up dropping onto the desert and creating a new species of killer snakes, too.

Fulfilling the Prophecy

About that prophecy.

There are three versions of how Perseus ends up killing his grandfather. The first two include being hit in the head during sports.

The first version has him not returning to Argos but to Larissa, where some games are being held and also it just happens that King Acrisius is visiting said games. Perseus shows up and is testing out his new sport he just invented (which is basically just a fancy form of the game of horseshoe) when Acrisius steps in the way and is killed.

The second has him returning to Argos, but when Acrisius hears that his grandson is returning, he goes into exile. Perseus just happens to be in the place where he was exiled to participate in funeral games. During the discus throw, it ends up hitting Acrisius, and he dies.

The third has Acrisius’ brother, Proetus, exiling his father. When Perseus returns to Argos, he finds out about the exile and as such turns his great-uncle to stone to ascend his grandfather back to the throne. Then when he’s now the King of Argos again, Acrisius accuses him of not actually killing Medusa. So, sighing, Perseus turns him to stone and fulfills the prophecy.

Nevertheless, through manslaughter or through actual murder, killing is still killing, and as such he must be exiled and cannot be the King of Argos. He takes the son of Proetus and King of Tiryns and gives him Argos. In return Perseus becomes King of Tiryns.

(Side note: this is all to prove the ideas of manslaughter and also exile in Ancient Greece. Technically, Perseus should have been exiled and then purified like Oedipus does, maybe even killed. Even more so, the son of Proetus should have killed Perseus. Well.)

He gives Medusa’s head to Athena, and she puts it on her now famous shield, the Aegis. Because cursing, then helping in her murder wasn’t enough. Thanks, Athena.

King of Mycenae

Perseus finds and founds Mycenae. As such, he’s considered to be a historical character. Perseus and Andromeda would end up being strong rulers, fortifying their kingdom and having a whole bunch of kids (7 sons and 2 daughters. I feel for Andromeda).

He actually ends up being killed by the son of Proetus, after a successful and fruitful rule. Perseus, Andromeda, and her mother Cassiopeia would end up in the stars by the gift of Athena.

These kids would end up really spreading out but the descendants to note are: Heracles, Penelope and as such Telemachus, and of course—Pollux and Castor! See I’ll tie everything to my namesake.

What Fate Did

Now we can talk about the things that fate changed. Most of the changes are what happened with Medusa. Not a surprise to anyone, the rape of Medusa has been retrofitted to Athena being jealous of her and that is why she turns her into a Gorgon. She then, in an attempt to protect her sisters, becomes more and more monstrous, until she can no longer return back. When she ends up killing her sisters and Perseus arrives with his items, she accepts her death.

Perseus, when he arrives on the island, is filled with this feeling of unease and uncertainty. He does not feel like a hero and wishes to simply kill Medusa and leave. He has regret when he kills Medusa. He finds no glory or fame in the act as it is really tricking her.

Medusa says that she does hate Perseus, calling him a brat and a successful Shinji and hating the fact that he was the one that killed her.

Perseus is the Rider in Fate/Prototype. He is specifically summoned by Aro Isemi because he wanted a hero who had a happy ending. His master has been kept alive simply to summon a servant and to be tested on. He’s only with his master for a couple of days. Before he dies, he gives him all of his command seals so that he can continue to live without him. When he dies, Perseus gets revenge by killing those who tested on him. He then becomes a master, thrusting himself into the war so that he can bring Aro Isemi back to life. Oh, and he also decides to become a student at Ayaka’s school because he’s bored or something.

Ultimately the OVA is really about Ayaka’s relationship with Arthur, and it acts to set up the love… triangle? Square? I mean there’s like 4 guys after Ayaka…Pentagram? Despite this, he does have two scenes in the script: one where he defeats Caster to save Ayaka when they launch an attack on their school, and one where he faces off with Saber.

Saber accuses him of being a murderer, as he’s being killing civilians, since he needs their mana to stay in this world. He then says he’ll punish his master, but Perseus reveals that he doesn’t have a master to punish. Saber accuses him of having killed his own master. They engage in battle, Rider almost kills Ayaka before pulling away, and then Saber helps her escape.

Nasu in the notes talks about him briefly, saying that he’s someone who gets obsessed with something to the point that it takes over him. He must give the task 110%. He also says that he’s a kind-hearted soul and puts more emphasis on the fact that he’s a hero who had a happy ending.

Let’s Get This out of the Way

When discussing Perseus in fate, the one thing that comes up time and time again is that Perseus is bad because he kills Medusa. This is not something new in fate—I’ve seen it for fans of many characters. Some characters thankfully get more characterization by fans than just “x killed y” (Like Ishtar for example). Others, like Perseus or more commonly Fionn, are mostly characterized by having killed a more popular character.

(Side note: I am in no way saying that what Fionn did to Diarmuid is okay! But again, his relationship and his dynamic with Diarmuid is what makes him interesting in America. I digress.)

By simply characterizing these characters by whoever they killed, and ignoring what they do in their respective series, it is doing a disservice to them. Especially in a series where characters may have to interact with those they killed, or are trying to repent or rebuild an old relationship with them. I am in no way trying to act high and mighty—if you want to see hypocrisy in action just go through my Avicebron tag and you’ll see me hating on him for killing Roche or even just my dislike for Jason because of Medea—but the claim that Perseus should not be in Fate/Grand Order, despite having a design, voice actor and my room lines from other servants, is silly. I want Jason in Fate/Grand Order because I want to see the relationship with him and the rest of the Argonauts outside of Okeanos and some interludes.

Like imagine if Achilles was only discussed for having killed Hector. That would erase everything he’s done in Apocrypha.

(Again, not saying that murdering these people are okay! What happens with Penthesilea is interesting and I like hearing each side’s view on it.)

What makes fate so interesting for me is that these characters who are tied by fate are given a second chance. We get to see old foes pitted against each other brought together by the throne’s cruel game. This is what makes fate grand order especially interesting—characters who murdered or betrayed each other being forced to work together. Do they despise each other and refuse to work together? Are they, like Hector and Achilles, too tired to fight anymore and as such just pull tiny pranks on each other? Do they try to rekindle their old relationship? Is it even possible for things to go back to before the catalytic event? This is what is interesting for me.

We have two compelling characters at the hands of the gods and fate pitted against each other. Medusa, the monster hated by the gods, versus Perseus, the hero who is just being used as a pawn to get rid of her. One is being remembered as a famed hero while the other as a disgusting beast. Through Heaven’s Feel and Hollow Ataraxia, and ultimately through Medusa’s eyes, we get a subversion of this.

“A Successful Shinji”

Oh boy, Shinji Matou. I won’t say that everyone hates him, and there are certainly are some Shinjis in canon that aren’t… that bad. At the same time, I won’t say that he’s a fan favourite by a long shot.

Designs in fate (at least the earlier spin-offs, whether or not this is true for fate/grand order depends on your own opinion) often tie back to other characters in the series. When Okeanos came out people pointed out that Jason’s design is reminiscent of Gilgamesh. By having a character look like another it makes one already have opinions about them. Like how you are to tie Jason with being a self-absorbed leader who probably doesn’t treat women well, by having Perseus’ design be reminiscent of Shinji’s, you are to make your own conclusions.

The main design aspect that’s brought up is the hair. Which I never got but I guess their hair is roughly the same length and is wavy? I guess when he’s in his school outfit he looks like Shinji? I guess? I don’t know maybe I’m blind.

The biggest comparison between the two is Medusa’s line in Hollow Ataraxia, where she sums him up as a “successful Shinji.”

I could go into a discussion about whether or not we should believe this claim, but instead of boring you I want to instead talk about what Medusa, and ultimately Nasu, is trying to say by calling Perseus a successful Shinji. If Perseus is Shinji, then he should be an envious, manipulative abuser who hurts those he has an advantage over. He should be trying to get approval from those he looks up to. He should be feeling as if he needs to prove something and that any bad that happens to him is not because of him, but because of someone else.

However, we don’t really see these aspects in Perseus’ character. Sure, he has this feeling that he has to prove himself, but he is a flawed Greek hero, needing to prove that he is the son of Zeus. But he is also doing this to help his mother. Depending on the version he can kill multiple people, but in some he only kills the person who was terrorizing his mother and the one he was prophesized to kill. Depending on the version, he is simply a man fighting with fate.

In prototype, we see a more complex character. He is compelled by his love for his master that he is willing to become this human killing monster who goes against everything Saber stands for. If he was truly a Shinji, then he would be doing this not for revenge, but for his own gain. He does use his advantages to try and kill Ayaka but can’t find it in himself to do so. He saves her at one point. He does not act like the self-absorbed, envious and prideful brat that Medusa characterizes him to be. Maybe his anger is bratty—but his anger out of revenge is understandable in order to bring his master back. What I’m saying is that if he truly was a Shinji, he would be doing this less for Aro Isemi, and more for himself.

Then here’s the question: why are there two versions of this Perseus? Through two series Nasu is telling us two different things about his character.

My Answer

I have a possible answer. We have an older design for Perseus, from Hollow Ataraxia. I propose that there are two Perseus servants in the canon. Rider Perseus, the flawed and conflicted hero who wrestles with his murders and his fall from grace as a hero as seen in Prototype. The one that fights for revenge on his master’s treatment. Then, a Lancer Perseus, one that exemplifies the modern view of a Greek Hero, with the cocky, Shinji-like personality. The one that Medusa and the world associates with Perseus, and the real Perseus.

Both versions of Perseus are needed in fate. Lancer Perseus acts as the cocky character some people adore, while Rider provides a realistic view. I would personally love for both to appear in Grand Order—but certainly Rider Perseus provides a more complex version of the character. He, along with Heracles, provides a more realistic view of what characterizes “The Greek Hero” and how interpretation has diverted them from their more realistic and fate-driven narratives.

I included his myth to show that he is more than just the killing of Medusa. He has to wrangle with a lot—and even more when he is summoned in Prototype. And I want to see how he and Medusa and her variants (we know from game files that Gorgon hates him) interact. One person’s dislike for him because of their own biases removes the possibility of growth and deeper deconstruction of Medusa.

I’m going to end this by reminding you all about why Perseus goes on his mission in the first place. For his mother. I refuse to believe that if, by chance, Perseus was Shinji’s servant, the two of them would have been best friends. Rather, he would have taken one look at what was happening and be hit with deja-vu.

Anyways Perseus better show up in Lostbelt.

Thank you for reading! Please come talk to me about fate I’m bored and lonely.

If you would like to read the Prototype notes, you can do so here. If you would like to watch Medusa explain her backstory and thus the story of Perseus, you can do so here. Thanks have a nice day.

#pollux discusses greek myth #pollyux writes #if you would like JUSt the fate meta you can go to 'what fate did'#/dabs #fate/prototype #perseus #medusa #fate/hollow ataraxia

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clownsgobeepbeep · 6 years

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Krakens and Ships

I didn't write everything I had planned out for this drabble and it's a little boring, but that's because it's the characters getting to le island~

The next part is where things will, be a little more interesting I guess ^^

Bella let out a small sniffle as she looked down at the ground with a neutral expression.

Was it worth being sad about her current situation? Probably not. Was it worth being mad about her current situation? Probably not, especially because her anger only happened to get her mocking responses along with laughs and teasing.

She let out a sigh as she shut her eyes, slowly losing her hope as she had no idea what she could do to escape these dreadful pirates. She wasn't in the best of moods considering how she had been kept against her own will for about a week or so and during that time period, nothing seemed to work out for her.

And oh that damned pirate...how he ruined everything, even her dreams of meeting a pirate some day...Roger.

"Ahoy there!"she heard from behind, and she slowly turned her head before her eyes landed on an all too familiar woman who held onto the cell door's wood as she peeked her face through one of the holes. "Name's Maggie, and I've heard you're Bella. How things going for you?"

Bella glanced down at the chain that was on her ankle before looking at the ropes tied around her cuffs, then looking back up at Maggie quietly.

"Right, right...shouldn't have asked that."she said before unlocking the cell, then walking in with a silver plate that held a variety of foods too fancy for a prisoner. "The boys wanted me to bring these for you, especially since we'll be arriving to the shore soon and we won't be eating anything there."

"Shore? What shore?"

"Medusa Shore of course! We have certain business to handle on there."Maggie replied before setting down the plate on a nearby barrel, then getting down with a key to remove the heavy piece holding Bella's ankle. "Come on, Jolly Roger boy wants me removing these things from you. Apparently he wants a word with you."

"And what, do you plan to do once in control of your sister's kraken?"

"Simple: I use it to demolish rivaling and enemy ships Harley. I thought you would have known that by now."

Harley looked at their friend for a moment, right before releasing a sigh to then hold their now scrunched up nose.

"Stellar..."

"Yes?"

"You can not...you can not just control a kraken just as you would commandeer your ship, there are grand differences tha-"

"Oh Harley, please. You make it sound as if it were complicated!"Stellar exclaimed before taking a bite of the drumstick he currently held in his hand, then talking again. "I'm going to propose a little deal to her...ask her to borrow the damn kraken and I'll bring her something she likes. Maybe I can cheer her up a bit, seeing how she can't smile at anything."

"Stellar...it is not wise to mess with such things, we all know what Coraline has gone through and that meddling with her emotions or the ones she lacks will result in trouble for everybody."

"Harley stop it, and here I thought you'd side with me. I though, wonderful, we'd rule the seas together like we said we would when younger."

"Please Stellar just, grant me the favor of not doing anything stup-"

"Shhh, wait…."Stellar said before jumping up onto his feet, immediately making Harley close their mouth as they turned their head to the side so that they could glance out the window. "Listen..."

Harley slowly stood up next to their friend who turned to face the door, and he walked over to it in a quick manner as Harley followed behind.

"Stellar what-"

"Harley, keep quiet!"he whispered as he walked up the stairway, then walking onto the deck before Harley grabbed his shoulder and made him look at them.

"Stellar what is going on!? Why the sudden sense of panic?" they said as they held both of his shoulder, but he pulled himself away before whispering.

"It's too quiet...you can clearly hear the waves but no seagulls or fish jumping in and out of the water..."he started before turning to look at the deck filled with his crew. "If it's calm and quiet it means we're near the island, and..."

"The kraken?"

Just like that, despite how quiet Harley had asked, the entire crew turned their heads to look at the pair with wide eyes and they were all ready to run off.

"Avast!"Stellar yelled out and everybody did just that which resulted in everything to quiet down. For a brief moment all was quiet and there was absolutely no movement besides the ship being rocked by the surprisingly soft waves that were also the only source of sound.

Stellar scanned the entire deck with his single eye, noticing that some of the pirates were indeed shaking considering how they knew what it was was currently happening.

He held his breath before he began taking slow steps, some pairs of eyes staring at him as he walked towards the side of the boat to place his hands onto the rail. He carefully leaned on it to peer down at the water: there wasn't very much difference to it since it looked as blue and clear as always.

Although, he did notice the humongous figure that slowly drifted under the ship which made him slightly gulp before leaning back in a bit of panic. He let out a breath before a gasp escaped his lips after the water made a sound, as if something had exited, for one of the figure's enormous tentacles had indeed shot up from the water.

Everybody else had reacted in similar ways as Stellar slowly stepped back looking at the tentacle which merely appeared to grow longer the more it revealed itself before it went down to place itself onto the boat's floor. Nobody dared approach, and neither did Stellar stared at it apprehensively before it slowly slid over to him.

He held his breath again, then shutting his eye as more tendrils appeared out from under the waters which made the entire crew stick together as they clutched onto whatever they could. Rather than looking at the captain, they all looked up at the tentacles not knowing whether they were safe or not whilst Stellar clenched his fists at his sides.

He felt the tendril place itself on his legs, barely wrapping itself around him as it then went to his chest before completely removing itself from him. The tentacle, along with the rest that hovered over the boat, slowly went back into the water which resulted in everybody to release the breaths they were holding in as Stellar opened his eye and cleared his throat to turn around.

"Alright, everybody back to their positions. We're ready to go."he said out loud before walking back to his quarters with as much casualty as possible, ignoring what it is just happened.

"What...was that all about?"Bella asked, turning to Maggie who cleared her throat.

"Oh,that? That was just Calypso."she replied while removing the ropes that were tied around Bella's arms. "She was just checking that it was us, and not the Royal Navy or some other lootin' pirate ship."

"The creature...knows you?"

"Of course it does! We've been here lots of times to visit it and its owner who happens to be my best friend! And the captain and Roger's sister."

Bella blinked for a moment before turning to look at Roger who had been poking at his teeth with a dagger of his, and she saw that once satisfied, he flung it behind him before it barely missed one of the crew members and had instead stuck onto the wooden floor. She then turned back to look at Maggie.

"Sister...now that's something to worry about."

"Worry? Negative,no! You don't have to worry about Corals at all, she's a lot calmer and...emotionless than her brothers!"Maggie reassured her with a grin once she had completely removed the ropes. "I mean, unless you upset her and she feeds you the fishes. Or Calypso."

Bella raised her eyebrows and shut her eyes, not liking the family she was currently dealing with. She shook her head, then opening her eyes to turn and look at the waves that crashed against the boat, as some of them continued on their way until reaching what she now noticed was a beach.

"And-"she started as she turned back to look at Maggie, but flinched once she saw an all too familiar grin stare at her from an evil expression.

"Oh no..."

"Oh yes, my angel~"Roger said before wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her towards his chest as she tried pushing him away. "Did you miss me?"

"No! Let go of me you, dirty pirate!"

"Oh Bella, Bella, you're going to have to do so much better than that to insult Ol' Roger."he said with a dark chuckle, though he gave her an expression of the same way as he grabbed her chin which made her stop to look at him. "But if you do, I'm just going to have to tie you back up down in the cold, dark cellar. Don't think I won't-"

"Roger."somebody said from behind which made his smirk disappear before he turned and the pair caught sight of the captain."Quiet your flirting and leave the poor girl alone. Go do something useful for once and get the prisoners."

"Aye, alright Stellar."Roger said before releasing Bella, then poking her nose to turn and do as he was told. The woman looked at Stellar who had his arms behind his back as he examined her with his eye and a stoic expression. With one last glance, he shrugged and walked away to get off the boat and onto the island they had now arrived to.

#belinda the ballerina #maggie the clown #cosmos the clown #cuckoo the clown #pepper the clown #pirate au #belpepper #the NEXT one will have lennie and jelly for sure

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sending-the-message · 7 years

Text

Tobias by Ilunibi

The one drawback of Dead Coyote keeping himself clean-ish was that his social circle collapsed in on itself like a dying star. The regulars I’d grown up with were pretty sour that Dead Coyote kicked them to the curb after his first relapse, when he realized that their mere presence made him regress back to his old, self-destructive self. People who’d demonized him when he was a known dealer were incapable of wrapping their minds around the fact that he could turn over a new leaf, and very few were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. That’s not even to start in on the folks who wanted him to “go back to Mexico” when they realized that he was approved for disability because of all the emotional backlash of overcoming his addiction, accusing him of stealing their hard-earned money when he “probably doesn’t have a green card.”

He chose to find humor in it, or tried. Still, you could tell that he was jonesing for something a bit more substantial than a hit of heroin, and it got worse when I went to college.

His girlfriend was dead. His princess was an hour away. His family wasn’t really on speaking terms with him. The most companionship he usually had, surprisingly enough, was my mother, who’d stop by from time to time just to make sure that he was eating. After all, he was the surrogate father to a daughter she hadn’t got a chance to raise. Even if she still had nagging thoughts in the back of her mind that he was a dirty junkie with impure thoughts about her little girl, nine years of committed babysitting had secretly won her over.

Me? I worried. Even at the age of eighteen, and even having seen Dead Coyote in less-than-flattering situations, I still had this very childish, idealized view of him in my head. He wasn’t perfect, but I always thought of him as strong and unshakable and unbreakable. He’d overcome demons and hexes and curses and heroin, and did things no sane man would do without batting an eye, succeeding more often than not.

But that’s not really Dead Coyote. Dead Coyote is a perpetually exhausted, well-meaning man who made bad choices when he was my age because he lost all hope that he could do better. Dead Coyote has impulse control problems and anger issues and spends a lot of his time depressed and worried. He’s a human being who puffs himself up because he’s never been given the option of being weak, but he’s actually scared of a lot of things he stands up against. And he is hurt that he was essentially abandoned by everyone he ever knew, right down to Cheryl overdosing in her apartment.

My sixth sense tingled every time I talked to him on the phone. He began to sound more hopeless and listless, and I was terrified that he’d either wind up back with a needle in his arm or I would one day get a call from mom that they found him with a bullet in his head. Life without DC in it just seemed impossible and hollow, and I spent a lot of time crying over the thought.

Fortunately, it seemed the stars aligned just right enough for a single, solitary person to show up in his life. Or rather, reappear. He called me, confused, the weekend before finals week and told me that he’d heard from an old friend he hadn’t spoken to in years.

“Tobias,” he muttered, flabbergasted. “Of all the fuckin’ people, princess, it was Tobias.”

Now, Tobias was Dead Coyote’s best friend before he moved away from home. I’d heard a lot about him but never met the man because, well, Maryland was a pretty good distance away and I was under the impression that he was about as broke as either of us. Travel wasn’t really an option. But I did know that he taught him a lot about magic, he was the person responsible for the nickname “Dead Coyote,” and that he was eerily good at predicting things. Apparently, their old crew gave him the alias “Seer” because of it, and some people outright stopped talking to him because of how accurate he wound up being, accusing him of being the harbinger of everything he foresaw.

Not that he was psychic, no. When I suggested that on the ride home from campus for a summer of black magic and beer, Dead Coyote just laughed at me and shook his head. Psychics, he said, aren’t real, but spirits are. Tobias was just very, very good at reading omens and signs and was dedicated enough that he built up quite the rapport with a particular demon by the name of Vine.

Vine is, essentially, an oracle who takes the form of a circus lion. You think I’m joking, but what else do you think of when you imagine a big cat on horseback? Silly as that may sound, he supposedly knows all things past, present, and future, and doubles as a one-spirit demolition crew when riled. Allegedly. I can’t think of a time I’ve ever heard of a building toppling and immediately wanted to pin it on an archaic demon, but the capability is recorded in the old grimoires and just the thought of somebody being good enough at what they do to build up a working relationship with that was both terrifying and impressive.

The first few weeks of summer break, I was treated to quite a few stories of the good old days, Dead Coyote making it perfectly obvious that hearing from somebody who wasn’t me or my mother had made his goddamn life. The part of me that would have been jealous had pretty much died, because more than anything I was just happy to hear him happy. His one complaint was that he wished they could actually meet up. Phone calls are nice, but they’re nothing compared to sharing shitty beer in person and loudly complaining about said shitty beer.

“Maybe we could visit,” I suggested. He liked the idea and we tried to figure out the logistics of it in a drunken, emotional haze that eventually turned into an in-depth discussion about Beast Wars. Still, the seeds had been planted and we almost had a pretty good rough draft in place for our first ever unorthodox family vacation.

But, we never got to act on it.

A few days after our discussion, I woke up to the sound of somebody knocking, loudly, on the door. It was the kind of knock that instantly makes your heart leap into your throat: heavy, hard, and relentless. Not knuckle knocking, but side of the fist, open-this-goddamn-door-right-fucking-now knocking. It startled me so much that I took a spill off of the couch and waited in the floor, hopeful that I’d hear Dead Coyote shuffling around upstairs. That was obviously expecting too much. The man could sleep through the apocalypse.

My first thought was that it was somebody from the housing authority. They had a tendency to be assholes and I was bad at keeping track of the pest control regimen or the quarterly inspections. Maybe it was a very aggressive postman with yet another official letter from yet another person to whom Dead Coyote owed money. I crept toward the door, peeked out the peephole, and didn’t even have a chance to say anything before a voice boomed back at me.

“Where’s Angelo?”

I blinked. Nobody called Dead Coyote by his real name, not even the people at the complex’s offices. I actually forgot he had a real name.

I stood in silence on the other side of the door, holding my breath and trying to make sense of what was going on. I couldn’t even see anyone on the other side of the door. The opposite end of the peephole was covered, like whoever was on the other side had leaned in close trying to see their way in.

“Know you’re there. Know you’re not Angelo. Where is he?”

As deep and terrifying as the voice was, it wasn’t angry. I decided to take that as a good sign. Realizing that Dead Coyote wasn’t waking up and that I was now an adult who had to handle scary adult things myself, even if it was potentially a home invasion, I made the not-so-wise decision to open the door a crack. I only undid three of the locks, though, leaving the chain in place.

Hair a mess, glasses crooked, and still in my pajamas, I glanced through the gap between the door and the jamb and stared wide-eyed at the man on the other side. He had dreadlocks for days, half-tied back and half tied down with a bandana. He looked like a cross between a fortune teller and Medusa.

“You’re Seymour?”

I stared at him blankly and tried to close the door. He stopped it with his foot. I suddenly had a lot of regrets.

“Tobias. Where’s Angelo?”

And so, I met Tobias.

Tobias was strange. He was the human equivalent of a Clydesdale horse with dark skin, bright blue eyes, and a withering expression that just seemed to be his default. I also couldn’t peg what he was supposed to be for the life of me, beyond human. You could look at Dead Coyote and tell he was Hispanic, or look at me and tell I was Celtic as fuck, but Tobias just was.

Uncomfortable as it was, we sat and made small talk as we waited for Dead Coyote to drag himself up from his hangover and ooze down the stairs. He was polite enough, if a bit blunt and quiet, though it seemed less out of a sense of awkwardness than the fact he had too much on his mind. Halfway through our on-and-off conversation, he reached into his pocket and fished out a deck of playing cards, shuffling them and cutting them as though it was a nervous tic. His eyes never left the floor.

By the time Dead Coyote finally decided to join us, Tobias had cleared off the coffee table and laid out a chaotic spread of cards that began as a game of solitaire and turned into something like a tarot spread. The only thing that interrupted him was seeing his old friend, the two exploding into a series of excited yelps and overly manly hugs. According to Dead Coyote, Tobias hadn’t changed a bit. According to Tobias, though, Dead Coyote looked like he’d been crushed in a dumpster sometime between the ages of nineteen and thirty.

“How did you find me?” Dead Coyote finally asked as they cracked open a couple of morning brews and I sat awkwardly on the sideline. Tobias shrugged.

“Not a lot of people with the last name ‘Sepulveda.’”

“And why come all this way, man?”

Tobias gestured at his cards. I had no idea what the hell any of it meant, but Dead Coyote looked at the weird arrangement like an art connoisseur sizing up a painting. With each card he glanced over, the more concerned his expression became. Before I could ask what was going on, Tobias began to speak. It was as though he knew what I was going to ask.

He said he’d come because his readings and rituals were beginning to become more and more focused on Dead Coyote, seemingly out of nowhere. When he slammed into an actual coyote with his car and killed it--an apparent rarity in his parts--he took it as a sign from Vine and tracked down his old friend through a mixture of good old fashioned asking around and even more old fashioned divination. A few calls didn’t ease his worries, so he’d chucked a fair chunk of change for a one-way Greyhound ticket and had come to figure out what in the hell was going on.

“Knew you were bad when you left, but you didn’t set off the alarms. Now you do. Worried me.”

Despite the somber tone, I honestly didn’t have a damn clue what was going on. The only thing I knew was that almost every card in Tobias’ reading for Dead Coyote was a spade. When Tobias finally left, albeit reluctantly, he gave us a single warning to watch ourselves. Something was very, very wrong. His gaze lingered on me a bit longer than I would have liked and I shrank away as he disappeared out the door.

“I don’t get it,” I said, once the apartment was quiet and we had settled on the couch. Dead Coyote inhaled deeply and immediately fished for his cigarettes.

“He does cartomancy, princess. If it were anyone else, I’d think it was bullshit, but it’s Seer, so… you know.”

Cartomancy, he said, was like tarot but using a deck of regular old playing cards. It’s more direct and less interpretive, and the cards all had set meanings that made them more believable and less sketchy than the vague readings tarot spat out. Typically, Dead Coyote laughs at anyone who takes that sort of thing seriously, but Tobias had used cards for as long as he’d known him to tease out concrete answers from the powers that be. It was one of the many ways he interpreted signs and omens, because it was honest, quick, and handy. There was no specific store to buy them in or any hocus-pocus “relationship” you had to have with the deck. If you needed them, you just picked some up from the dollar store and got to work.

And spades? They’re bad. Very bad. I hadn’t gathered heads or tails of the reading Tobias had laid out on the table while Dead Coyote was asleep, but it predicted everything from debilitating depression to disruption in the apartment to death. I didn’t have a goddamn clue how one person could get all of that out of a game of solitaire, but Dead Coyote was shaken to the core of his being. It bothered me to see that sort of uncharacteristic weakness, to see him reacting with anything other than anger or apathy. The only thing that seemed to bring him back down to earth was reminding him that Tobias wouldn’t have come and told him if he didn’t think something could be done.

Honestly, I needed to hear it, too. Seeing him freaked out did nothing to help me calm down, and the fear was so overwhelming that my brain could only process it as anger. That night, I laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling and wondered aloud to myself just what in the fuck was going on and who the fuck Tobias thought he was. The prediction of “death” loomed over me like a storm cloud and I tried to think of all the ways something could happen to Dead Coyote and what I could do to stop it, if anything. It became a borderline obsession, this nagging fear, a paranoia more powerful than when I just wondered if his loneliness would drive him to self destruction.

The next few days were a blur; I couldn’t bring myself to pay attention to anything, especially when Tobias would stop by to do his wellness checks. He was a distraction, an unlikeable distraction whose “man of few words” act was beginning to grate on my last nerve. Even though Dead Coyote would light up and temporarily forget what fate had willed for him whenever he stopped by, I couldn’t find it in my heart to like the guy. When I looked at him, all I could think about was where the hell he’d been when Dead Coyote needed him most, why it took so long for him to realize his friend was in trouble, and whether or not they could even still be considered friends after not seeing each other for years and years.

I could stomach it for about a week. It was a week of watching Tobias pull spades repeatedly, knit his brows together, and pull them again. It was a week of watching him do nothing to try to figure out where it was coming from. Seven entire days of looking up from whatever I was doing to see him glaring at me like somehow this was all my fault. All I could think of was how desperate I was to prove Tobias wrong and how offended I was that--if he was correct--he was doing nothing but the same thing over and over, like an idiot, to try to “fix” things.

I had had enough.

Dead Coyote had gone to bed, drunk. I tried, but I couldn’t. Yet again, I lay on the couch and conversed with the ceiling until I felt this urge throughout my entire body to get up, a horrible and uncomfortable twinge in my legs and arms that compelled me to move. I stood, I paced, but I was still so fucking restless. And angry. And fed-up.

And scared.

Being a dumb eighteen-year-old is both magical and puzzling, because to this day I have no idea why the hell I decided to go steal Dead Coyote’s phone out of his room. He was snoring on his mattress, shirtless and tangled into a drunken mess of limbs, and for all intents and purposes he was dead to the world. I snatched it off the charger, snuck back down to the kitchen, and sat at the table in the corner staring at his contact list debating whether or not I should call his little friend. You know, just give him a little ring and demand he tell me what needed to be done to reverse fate and who in the screaming hell he thought he was bringing that kind of negativity into our apartment.

I wanted to tell him fortune telling was bullshit and that I didn’t believe he was as powerful as Dead Coyote had told me. I wanted to face down that giant of a man and threaten to kick his ass up one side and back down the other. I pressed the button, let it ring twice, then disconnected with a furious growl. Phone calls and voicemails didn’t seem like they would send a powerful enough message. I needed to tell him to fuck off in person.

I knew where he was, too. He was at an Econolodge just a few blocks away on the edge of the complex, holed up with a dirt-cheap weekly rate that I hoped he wouldn’t have to use for another week. It was dark and it was in a bad neighborhood, but I’d lived in that neighborhood my entire life and I’d wandered around at later hours. Granted, I usually wasn’t by myself, but I was a dumb college kid with renewed belief that I was invulnerable, just like when I was a kid. Old enough to have the confidence, young enough to be stupid.

I quickly threw on a bra and jeans, slipped on my shoes, and slipped outside.

For as much as I talk about growing up in the projects, I don’t think I’ve ever given you a good idea of what it looks like. During the day, it’s almost nice aside from the bars on the windows and the grass growing through the cracks in the sidewalk, the only real eyesore being the fact that people clutter up the stoops to their apartment with more bikes and junkyard trash than any one family would have a use for. At night, though, it’s like a scene from some kind of movie: dark with flickering street lights, and dogs barking on chains attached to the window bars, kicked out of the house now that the housing authority office was closed and their owners didn’t have to hide their undocumented pets. It’s unnerving with somebody, let alone by yourself, and had I not been propelled by a combination of sheer idiocy, desperation, and anger, common sense might have kicked in and told me to go back home.

But, it didn’t. I soldiered on, hands rammed in my pockets and glasses sliding down my nose, hair a mess and mouth held in such a powerful scowl that my entire face hurt. Hell, it hurt behind my eyes and the entire back of my head felt like it was being crushed. I’d never had a rage migraine before, and I hope I never have one again.

I could see the lights of the Econolodge sign when things took a sharp turn south.

You see, it had been years since Joseph Shepherd, the charming man who tried to molest me as a kid, had graced the neighborhood with his presence. Being a dick who chases his girlfriend with battery acid is overlookable, I suppose, but touching a little girl is not. Mean as he was, the neighbors just couldn’t tolerate him popping his face up in their territory any longer, and after his release he was treated to a few choice ass-kickings. Dumb as he was and as vicious as he played at, after a couple of years it finally sank in that it was only a matter of time before something more than his tires got slashed and he skipped town.

His place had been taken, oddly enough, by a kid I grew up with.

Adam Emmert was almost my friend once, though that “almost” should be bolded and underlined for effect. I was a lonely child and he had seemed lonely, too, though I was too young to realize that he wasn’t a young, neglected kid like I had been. No, there was something deeply wrong with Adam in much the same way there had been something wrong with Joseph. Trade in throwing grade schoolers in front of a bus with threatening kids with broken glass and poisoning the neighborhood dogs for fun, and it seemed as though our lovely complex actually upgraded in terms of their local villain. And he only got worse as he got older, when he realized how much he hated anyone who wasn’t white.

I knew to avoid him, everyone did. I was not, however, expecting him to be sitting outside on the sidewalk with a crew of fellow miscreants at two in the goddamn morning. To be honest, I didn’t even really register who it was at first, stomping by with my eyes focused on the no-tell motel where Tobias was hiding, waving their cigarette smoke out of my face as I passed. No, it didn’t even occur to me who the ringleader of the group was until I heard his voice, unusually loud and echoing in the abandoned streets.

“It’s Seymour!”

It was almost a singsong. I stopped, turned, and short circuited. He stood up from the curb, grinning with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, looking at me from underneath the brim of his trucker cap. He was the epitome of white trash, and had a dangerous gleam in his eye.

“Who?” a dazed girl asked.

“That fuckin’ wetback’s whore.”

I didn’t answer because I suddenly lost the ability to do so. All I could think of was, in the previous week, I had developed quite the knack for being an idiot. I should have never been out alone at night.

“She fucks that greasy fuck? Jesus.”

I realized I had forgotten my phone and Dead Coyote’s phone in the kitchen.

“Oh, yeah. But why are you out now, Seymour? Side job? Meetin’ up with a John, eh? Guess crazy money doesn’t keep your little fuckbuddy on his feet very well, huh?”

What was in his waistband? What did he reach for? It was shining. Was it a knife? I thought of Joseph’s friend, the alley, the threat of being stabbed. I always thought a knife would be worse than a gun, but I was having second thoughts realizing that what he was holding was most definitely not a cheap folding knife.

“Maybe she needs a real man,” one of his toadies offered.

My brain was white noise, television static.

“She’ll have to pay first. What do you say, Seymour? Wanna walk crooked for the next few days?”

Amid their laughter, I found enough clarity to run, dead in the opposite direction of my apartment. I bolted for the Econolodge, faster than I think I have ever run in my life. A gunshot cracked through the night and I swore I could feel something whizz past me as I stumbled over my feet and landed on my palms. The asphalt scraped away the skin but I ignored it and sprinted, bleeding and crying, all the way to the lobby office of that shitheap motel.

Blood and dirt smeared the glass as I forced the door closed and twisted the lock. I’d lost my glasses somewhere between point A and point B, so finding my way to the desk was an adventure in and of itself. The attendant was nowhere to be seen (not that I could see), so I slammed on the bell until he came ambling out like a tired old dog, his voice shaking when I finally coaxed him to speak. That is, if you can call screaming hysterically that somebody was trying to shoot me “coaxing.”

“Tobias!” I yelped. “I need to speak to Tobias!”

“What’s the last name, ma’am?”

I could tell from his tone he really wanted to help me, but there were rules. So many damn rules. I didn’t have a surname or a room number, and my demands were so quick-fire and desperate that calling the cops seems to have been the last thing on his mind. I was my own worst enemy, a distraction from real help, scaring a poor middle-aged hotel clerk so badly that he seemed to believe that finding my “friend” was the only way to solve the problem.

He was about to offer to call him, refusing to give me the room number, when I heard a tapping on the glass. Somebody tried the locked door. I couldn’t see worth a damn to figure out who it was and every part of me was convinced it was Adam. Even when the clerk let out a sigh of relief, every nerve in my body buzzed with adrenaline.

“Oh, thank god.”

It was Tobias. With my glasses, no less. Apparently, I had lost them just out on the sidewalk.

Even if I had come with the intent of laying into him with all the fury of a particularly whiny hurricane, in that one moment, I could have kissed him. That all went away when, after he handed me my glasses, he didn’t even bother to ask what happened or if I needed help. He looked at my bloody hands, reached into the pocket of his jeans, and pulled out that same goddamn deck of cards he’d been carrying the whole time he’d been visiting. Instead of a spread, he drew just one and stared at it, intently and with mounting worry. I stole a peek and saw the ace of spades staring back at me.

He didn’t say a word, not to me, not to the desk attendant. He just hurriedly crammed his cards back into his pocket, turned tail, and ran back in the direction of Dead Coyote’s home.

I followed, like the idiot I had proven to be. Panic was the primary motivator, Dead Coyote’s voice ringing in my head. He’d said that spades were bad, very bad, and if the whole suite was awful wouldn’t the ace card be worst of all? I thought of Adam and his cronies, and it sank in that after I hit the Econolodge they never showed up at the lobby. I had spent a good five to ten minutes shrieking like a banshee about how somebody was trying to kill me. They had more than enough time to catch up.

So where did they go?

Even though I am built for strength, not speed, I did a pretty decent job of keeping up with Tobias for a while. I noticed that Adam wasn’t where he had been and my mind came to a screeching halt when I realized that that wasn’t exactly a good thing. Had I locked the door to the apartment when I left?

I hadn’t. For the love of fuck, I hadn’t.

Despite being a straight shot from the Econolodge to Dead Coyote’s apartment, I couldn’t really see far enough ahead to see if my fears were founded. My vision was blurred, people’s stoops were stacked high with bullshit, and there were more than enough overflowing garbage cans dotting the sidewalk. Eventually, I even lost Tobias in the maze of trash, panting and lagging behind like an old race horse. Even fear couldn’t keep me going forever, I guess.

I only stopped running, though, when I heard a gunshot. Then a scream. It was too high-pitched to be Tobias or Dead Coyote, though, and I thanked my lucky stars for that. Still, when home was finally in sight I didn’t expect to see a gigantic mass of dreadlocks and hate sitting on top of the neighborhood psychopath beneath the bottom step of our stoop. Nor did I expect to see Adam’s less-than-loyal cronies scatter past me like roaches.

Yet, there he was: Tobias, in all his glory, pinning Adam down to the sidewalk with his sheer weight. Adam squalled and lights began to turn on one by one, heads poking out of windows, people stepping out onto the street. I walked up behind Tobias, wheezing and gasping, waiting for him to make some kind of idle threat to Adam, but he just sat there in almost infuriating silence, eyes boring holes into Adam’s skull.

Then I heard Dead Coyote. I glanced up to see his head dangling out of the window, his hair a mess and his eyes squinting against the street lamps. Right as one of the neighbors demanded to know what was going on, Tobias calmly looked up at his good friend and huffed in exasperation.

“Call the police. Asshole was trying to break in.”

Calling the police made Tobias a sort of pariah, just as it had done to Dead Coyote briefly all those years ago. Not that he cared. It was the only way to make sure the threat was gone for a good, long while and he had a sneaking suspicion that they may have been what he was seeing in the cards and omens and dreams. And it was something that I had inadvertently triggered, he warned me, by leaving Dead Coyote alone and alerting the neighborhood ne’er-do-well to the fact.

He told me I was really dumb. Dead Coyote glared at him, but honestly? I agreed.

“Dunno what they’d steal,” Dead Coyote groaned, hiding from the living room lights as Tobias sauntered in, sat down on my couch, and began to lay out his cards. “Not like I got shit.”

“Car. Television. Five dollars in your wallet,” Tobias answered, making a gun with his fingers and pointing it at Dead Coyote. “Also, you’re brown with an accent. Enough for him, I think.”

I watched, transfixed as he spread the cards in the same chaotic pattern as before. I was still shaken, I was nauseous, and a part of me still wanted to kick Tobias in the throat, but as I saw the cards being drawn, my emotions began to settle.

Not a spade in sight. One red card after another, which he kindly explained out loud when he noticed me gawking, palms still bleeding and tears in my eyes. Success and unexpected good fortune and health and support from friends and family. All of it was really wishy-washy, but it brought a smile to my face.

“King of Clubs and Queen of Diamonds. Huh.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, Dead Coyote yawning on the floor as Tobias quickly shuffled his cards back together.

“Mm. Nothing bad. Not just Angelo’s reading, I guess.”

I won’t lie and say Tobias and I got along immediately. I also won’t lie and say that his residency didn’t end up being pretty permanent. However, in that one night, I realized why it was that Dead Coyote respected him so much, and I fell asleep wondering just how good of a connection one had to have with a demon to get that skilled at what they do. Tobias is kind of a jerk, but he’s also fairly amazing.

Even if, in the deepest parts of my heart, I still think cartomancy is full of shit.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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agent-85 · 7 years

Text

Inhumans Meta: Maximus

Spoilers for Inhumans below!

Can I just say that I really liked Inhumans? I’m not a film expert by any means, but I thought it looked great on the big screen, especially the shots in space and in Hawaii. I mean, sure, Gorgon befriending the beach bums was a bit of a head scratcher. I could do without Karnak. They didn’t explain what Crystal’s powers were. And, sure, some of the acting and dialogue was weak at parts. But I feel like people were judging this like it was a movie, and it clearly is not. It’s the pilot episode for a TV show, and sometimes it takes a while to work the bugs out. I think there was enough good stuff in Inhumans to prevent the bugs from bothering me too much.

I found Maximus really interesting. While we’ve had a lot of MCU villains so far, we have yet to have one who is actually right. Except in this case, it doesn’t matter that he’s right, because he’s still evil.

Maximus, as a Human among Inhumans*, has a unique perspective in regards to the structure of Inhuman society. It’s called a meritocracy, but it's a very limited meritocracy, since your status isn’t determined by how smart you are or how hard you work—it’s all based on the powers you receive after Terrigenesis. While it makes sense that certain powers make people more suitable for certain tasks, their strict caste system means that your station in life is chosen for you based off of something out of your control, and there is little to anything you can do to change it. While they don’t realize it, this is likely contributing to their lack of resources, since it stifles the competition and innovation that could solve a lot of their problems.

So, when Maximus says that people should be considered equals and should have a right to determine their own course in life, of course he’s right. No one should be condemned to the mines! But what stops Maximus from being a hero, or even an anti-hero, are his wicked intentions. While he preaches fairness and equality, he is making sure that the power ends up in his hands, and that he is no longer considered worthless due to his apparent lack of powers.

Maximus shows his true self when he goes after Medusa and says he’d be a better husband to her if she was his queen. (Which, first of all, Black Bolt is clearly just an introvert who needs alone time to think, something Medusa clearly understands even if she doesn’t like it; second, did Maximus really think she’d be interested in him five minutes after he threw all that shade at her in front of everybody? Please.) Medusa then gave the best line of the episode: “I AM your queen.” He’s not only gross and a huge jerk, he’s also a sore loser. In fact, I’d say that Maximus’ huge flaw is that he covets. He sees that someone else has something, and he wants it for himself. He doesn’t respect the rights of others, and he isn’t willing to find something else that he might actually like more. He sees that his brother wants power, so he wants that power. He sees that his brother has a wife, so he wants that wife. What he doesn’t know is that he will not be satisfied with Black Bolt’s life, even if he can manage to steal it. Coveting is one of those things that always ends badly for everyone.

The thing is, he’s not going to get anywhere by telling people that he wants to steal all of Black Bolt’s stuff, but he can get people to rally around him if he promises things like equality and fairness. He can even get people behind him if he promises to give them some of the stuff he’s stealing from Black Bolt and the royal family. But given his true character, do we really think that he’s going to deliver on those promises? Unlikely.

What I like about this is that Maximus resembles real-life villains more than any other villain in the MCU. Great leaders have seized power using the the same methods as Maximus, and there are hopeful leaders in the present and in the future who use or will use these methods as well. After all, anybody can point their finger at the king and promise that they can do better. But we have to look past the rhetoric and examine the principles, not just of the person who wants the power, but the movement that person is trying to create. There are a lot of questions we should ask anyone who seeks power, especially when they plan to introduce radical change.

With Maximus, the first question is this: why the coup? Why couldn’t he present his case to Black Bolt and persuade him with logical arguments? After all, Black Bolt seems to be a pretty reasonable guy who wants the best for his kingdom. While it’s true that Black Bolt is the supreme ruler who doesn’t have to listen to anybody, his ultimate power means that he’s the only one that Maximus needs to persuade. The fact that Maximus chose a violent path over a peaceful one speaks volumes to his true intentions.

The second question is this: how did he get so many of the royal guard to go along with his plan? Here’s where my asterisk from earlier comes into play:

*In the comics, Maximus has mind control powers that he keeps under wraps. Is is possible that he has them in the show? Is it possible that he brainwashed the royal guard so they would follow him?

And if he didn’t, what did he have to promise them in order to get them to his side? Do they think THEY will be the ruling class when all is said and done? If he truly wants to bring equality to all, why isn’t he bringing his case to everybody?

So, I’m very interested to see where this goes, and what twists and turns are in store for us. Will the people be fooled by Maximus, or will they stay loyal to the king? How long will it take for this new world order to collapse when Maximus and his intentions are revealed? Will this ordeal open Black Bolt and Medusa’s eyes to problems that they can solve if/when they regain power?

#Inhumans #Inhumans spoilers #Meta of Agent 85 #Maximus #this has been a queued post

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