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scripttorture · 3 years

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Hi! A minor antagonist of mine survived the genocide/torture of his species (sci-fi setting) as a child. He's now a young adult and suffers from nightmares, memory problems, anxiety, etc. My worry comes from him being an antagonist who is in a position of power now and who ignores/implicitly encourages the extensive abuse/torture of someone beneath him because their people are the ones that perpetrated the genocide. Is this skirting too close to the 'torture survivors are evil' trope?

Honestly I think the best answer to this one is: how many survivor characters do you have in the story?

Purely from a writing perspective I think that you need multiple survivors in any story focused on genocide. Because if you only have one survivor then you’ll struggle to really communicate the scale of what happened.

I had an ask a while back about competing communities (I can’t seem to find it-) where I talked at length about how torture and genocide imply communities of abusers and communities of survivors. Because we’re talking about a scale of tens or hundreds of thousands of victims.

So if the genocide is a big part of the background to this story then it should effect more then two characters. Because we’re not just talking about a single ‘abuser’ and a single victim here.

Think about where you can have other effected characters and how those characters were effected.

Are there people who got away just in time, missing the worst of it? Do they have survivors guilt? How many members of their extended families did they lose?

Are there people with tales similar to this antagonist? How did they survive? Did they do things they regret? Conversely do they feel justified in doing what they had to in order to survive? Perhaps they don’t feel like they took any active role in their own survival. Did their families make it? Their friends? How big are the gaps in their lives?

Were there ex-patriot or diaspora communities away from the areas the genocide took place? How has the genocide effected their politics? How many friends and relatives did they lose? Has it made their community feel stronger, more involved in each other’s growth and safety? Has it led them to open their doors to refugees and survivors of their own species? Has it led them to do the same for other vulnerable groups?

I was reading the work of a Holocaust survivor a few weeks ago and I was struck by her observation that for survivors this was not something that ended. Yes she was freed from the death camps, yes she lived and yes she emigrated to the USA. But the experience moved with her and (from what I can remember of her words) ‘continued on the streets of Boston.’

She spoke about how she was the last person left in her father’s line. That entire side of the family had been murdered.

And that, that is what genocide is for survivors: the holes in their lives where other people used to be. People they loved and cherished. People they passed on the street. Strangers that they connected to however briefly.

Holes.

You communicate that to your readers by showing the people who are left and having them show what they lost in simple every day terms.

When I was a child there was a section of the souk which was full of jewellers. Most of them were Yemeni. And I liked shiny things as much as the next mammal but I never paid the Yemenis much mind. They tended to sell a lot of big, gold pieces, well out of a child’s price range and I didn’t find the style particularly pretty.

So I’d say my salaams and walk on past to the stalls that sold antiques or Afghani pieces to look at semi-precious stones I could afford.

They were young men, the Yemenis. They were probably only a decade older then me, if that. They were probably married. They may have had young children. A lot of immigrants in Saudi come over when young and have families (whether those families are with them or ‘back home’), this holds true of my family as well.

One day the government decided it didn’t want them any more, they changed the visa laws. It did not quite happen overnight but the Yemenis left.

There’s been a famine in Yemen since 2016. And I wonder how many of those men who smiled and said salaam as I passed are still alive. I wonder how many of them got typhoid when the infrastructure collapsed completely. I wonder how many of their children died and how many of them will be crippled for the rest of their lived because of hunger.

I could tell you about their neat clothes and carefully slicked back hair. I could tell you how much effort they put into their winning smiles and how they’d try to persuade my mother to stop and look even though she wore horribly unfashionable abayas. (The rich white women all wore terrible abayas as far as I can remember.)

And that’s genocide. Seen from a remove.

Survivors are not saints. The urge to put survivors of global atrocities up on a pedestal as if everything they do and say contains exceptional moral insight is… flawed. Surviving something awful doesn’t make people morally worse and it also doesn’t make people morally better. Acting ethically is something everyone chooses to do or not.

I don’t think there’s anything necessarily ‘wrong’ with having a survivor be one of the bad guys in your story. They’re people and they can make bad decisions like anyone else. As long as they’re not the only survivor in the story. Because you only get that implication when you’ve got one point of representation.

So include the community. Think about where you can work in other survivors. Think about the diversity of experience there. Think about how to communicate the scale you need to justify the term ‘genocide’.

There are a lot of books and survivor accounts of the genocides that have occurred since the 1900s. They’re difficult reading but I think picking up a few could really help you understand the kind of scale and diversity of experience you’re aiming for.

Mao’s Great Famine is a good one for scale but it doesn’t really focus on survivor accounts. I found that made it slightly easier reading. I still haven’t read all of We Wish To Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families but it does contain interviews with people who were directly effected and people in the diaspora community. That may be helpful.

I think Amnesty International would also be a good source here. There are currently ongoing genocides in China and Burma which you should be able to find a decent amount of information on. The effected groups are the Uighurs and the Rohingya. There are diaspora communities for both groups and interviews with multiple survivors available online.

There are other genocides happening at the moment, but I think you’ll find the most free, English information and interviews looking at these two.

Overall, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with this scenario so long as you take steps to make sure this villain isn’t the only survivor we see. The message that abused people go on to abuse others only comes across if you have a single survivor. And I really think that your story will be deeper and richer in a lot of ways by including others.

Survivors are people. Most of the time I say that to encourage people to remember their positive capacities: their passions and relationships. But it goes both ways.

Survivors are people; which means we shouldn’t paint them all as saints and we shouldn’t paint them all as devils.

I hope that helps :)

Edit: Typos, whoops. Thank you for catching that.

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#writing advice #tw torture #tw genocide #writing survivors #writing responsibly #writing genocide #sci fi ask #Yemen #guilt in survivors #attitudes towards torture survivors #writing villains #that became a little personal

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opulopful · 5 years

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I’m posting my Paranatural fanfic here because Reddit won’t allow comments over 10,000 characters for some reason. Warning: I went full fanfic mode on this thing; OC protagonist and everything. It’s also less joke-heavy than usual. Also I have done exactly zero editing. Anyway, hope you enjoy.

Suzy’s grand scheme

The third grudge was being uncooperative. Not that the other two had gone particularly smoothly either, but there’s a certain point you reach after a day of running back and forth through the woods, up and down hills, and through Mayview’s small-town streets that you begin to take every scraping stick and uneven curb as a personal offense. Marcella had passed that point an hour ago. It’s not easy to track a spirit, even a rampaging one like the insectoid monstrosities of today. Apparently somebody had disturbed a nest and although most of the swarm had been contained, a few had become grudges and escaped. That’s when they’d called Marcella. “Lazy Consortium… smidges!” She hissed between her teeth as she hurdled another log in pursuit. Marcella tended to make up new insults whenever she was feeling particularly upset. “‘Oops, messed up a basic containment procedure, who should we send to do cleanup? Oh, I know, let’s send Marcella. She loves cleanup runs. I bet she doesn’t even need any help; she’s just so good at them!’” She caught a glimpse of a shiny insect leg through the leaves ahead and tried to put on a small burst of speed. It didn’t work. Her foot caught a tree root and she only just stopped herself from falling. She stopped, hands on her knees, gasping for breath. Something was buzzing in her ears and it was getting louder. It took her a moment to realize it was coming from outside her head. A bluish green streak flew towards her, cleanly clipping several leaves from the branches above as it passed. The giant bug spirit had turned around and come back the way it came. “It’s taunting me.” Marcella panted. It was coming directly towards her at quite an alarming rate. “Maybe not taunting exactly…” The bug spirit screamed through the air toward her trailing fresh-cut leafy debris. Marcella was forced to dive to the side to avoid its assault. The grudge traced a shallow curve as it zipped through the trees, looping back around for another pass at Marcella. The shrill buzz of wings grew louder as it approached, yet since it was a spirit, the birds gave it no notice. Sounds produced by spirits are very strange to those used to sounds in the corporeal world. Since spirit sounds don’t interact with the physical world, they often don’t echo off of surfaces or reverberate through objects. A ghost duck’s quack has no echo. However, there is still a ghost Doppler effect for some reason and this is what Marcella was hearing as the bloatfly-lookin’ grudge hurtled toward her although it is unlikely this technical audio-spectral phenomenon was on her mind at the time. Instead, she was probably thinking something along the lines of: “If it hits me at that speed, this dumb bug is going to cut me in half.” The dumb bug was going all out, it had extended sharp-looking spectral energy protrusions to either side of its body to maximize its slicing efficiency. Leaves and branches alike were falling to the ground as it traced a long line through the trees. It dropped altitude as it made a- “Bee line haha get it?” Marcella grimaced at her own joke. -a bee line towards her with clear lethal intent. “No dodging to the side of the bugger this time.” She thought. “Bring it on, bug! I’m not afraid! Unlike some people, I can face my doom with decency.” It complied with remarkable enthusiasm. The persistent human was dead in its sights. No way to dodge now. She’d smushed her last larvae! It had almost reached her when Marcella jumped. The second to last thing that went through the grudge fly’s mind was “humans aren’t supposed to be able to do that!” The last thing that went through the grudge fly’s mind was the opposite end of the grudge fly. Marcella dropped the ten or so feet back to the ground, landing with an unnaturally soft thump. She smirked at the gooey blue blob behind her. “The thing spirits always forget is that there are, in fact, some downsides to poltergeisting.” The fly may have been fast, but even it was no match for a large sturdy elm. As Marcella slipped a marble back into her pocket, its color faded from a dull grey to bright blue streaked with white.

“Did you hear that, Collin? Sounded like crime to me!” Marcella looked around, the voice was coming from a nearby clearing: past the line where the trees stopped and the edge of a field began. A soccer field. “Oh man, I didn’t realize I had come this far.” Mayview Middle School held few positive memories for her and she tended to avoid it as much as possible. “All we could hear was you yelling, Suzy.” “Shudup, Dmitri, Collin can speak for himself. You heard that crash right, Collin?” “Actually I-“ “Told you he heard something. C’mon let’s investigate! Everybody spread out!” Marcella decided she didn’t want to be spotted snooping around in the woods behind the middle school on the opposite end of town from her own school. She hid in a nearby thicket. She could hear the small group drawing closer. “What do you think we’ll even find out here anyway? Suspicious squirrels?” “Well, Dmitri, I’m glad you asked. As a matter of fact, I just so happened to overhear a member of the Activity Club -“ (The tone of voice Suzy used to say ‘Activity Club’ was the kind of tone people usually reserve for such things as ‘cockroaches’ or ‘infidels’ or perhaps the name of the bandit gang who burned my small rural village and murdered my family and who I’ve dedicated my life to training in order to defeat) mention that they would be meeting out here after school today. I thought it might be worth investigating.” “Suzy, you stuffed yourself into the locker next to Max’s and waited for two hours until he finally showed up.” “Your point, Collin? A good investigative journalist must be prepared to do what it takes to get the scoop.” They were quite close now. Almost to the bush Marcella was hiding in. Suddenly they stopped. “Ok, Collin, you go left, Dmitri, straight. I’ll go right. Make sure to stay in contact via radio.” “You call this a radio?” “You know it’s the best we can do with our club’s funds, Dmitri.” “I was referring more to the glitter glue.” “Hey, Suzy, I thought you said you knew where the Activity Club was meeting. Wouldn’t left be the opposite direction?” “It’s important to be thorough in your investigations.” “Right, but-“ “Move out, team!” Marcella heard a deep sigh and a resigned plodding away through the underbrush. Another, lighter set of footsteps went the other way at a much faster pace. Almost as though someone had somewhere specific to be as soon as possible. Then Marcella noticed a pair of white sneakers standing next to her thicket. They weren’t walking anywhere. The other footsteps faded away. Marcella looked up. “Hi Dmitri.” “Hey Marcy.” “You know I hate it when people call me that.” “Yep.” Marcella stood up and dusted herself off. “Sounds like you have somewhere to be.” “Nah, Suzy can handle herself without my help.” “That’s what I mean.” “Oh, ha. Well, I’m not too worried about it.” “I thought you were part of the Activity club.” “I was.” “Oh.” There was an awkward pause. Well, awkward for Marcella. Dmitri never seemed to be awkward. Like a middle schooler talking with a high schooler in terse phrases about a ghost club in the woods behind the school was the most normal thing ever. “Weellp, I’ve gotta go. Always nice chatting with you, kid.” She gave Dmitri a pat on the shoulder. The look in his eyes could melt glass but his expression remained unperturbed. His hands never left his pockets. “See ya later, Marcy.” They turned and began to walk in different directions. “Hey Dmitri” Collin’s voice came through the trees. Marcella dove into another bush. “I heard voices, were you talking to somebody?” “Nope. Just coming up with some new lyrics.” “Oh, cool. Should we go after Suzy yet or…” “Eh, give it a minute or so.” The sound of something crashing through the trees came from the direction Suzy had gone. “On second thought, maybe we should check it out.” Marcella stood as they dashed off and removed a small rope with a loop on it from her wrist. The other end hung over a tree branch nearby. It smelled of orange juice. “Who put this thing here?” She muttered to herself. Then she heard a familiar buzzing overhead. “Not again.” Another large fly passed overhead. It wasn’t attacking but it was flying with purpose. “Aw man, I thought I got the last of them.” She rushed after the fly and toward the distant crashing.

“Do you hear it, Collin?” “Yeah I mean it’s pretty loud.” “That’s the sound of a scoop.” “Sounds like a moose.” “Don’t be ridiculous, Dmitri. A moose sounds more like- wait, I won’t fall for that again. We can’t afford to blow our cover this time.” “Wow, you got me Suzy. Foiled again.” The three were huddled behind an overgrown shed. Nearby, a few rocky outcroppings poked out of the hillside above the forrest of pine trees that stretched for miles around this side of the town. A few of the pine trees below seemed to be moving. This was where the crashing was coming from. “You’re sure you saw the Activity club?” whispered Collin. “Sure I’m sure.” Said Suzy “Just before you got here I saw them go behind that rock.” “That one?” “Didn’t I tell you to go the other way? We coulda flanked ‘em.” “But if I had gone the other way I would-“ “Shhh. Look!” Mr. Spender ascended one of the rock outcroppings and posed dramatically. “Now kids, I want you to pay close attention. This can be a great learning opportunity for all of you. Especially you Isaac.” Suddenly, he flew backward off the rock and landed in the grass below. After a moment, a driving-gloved hand emerged with one finger held upward. “Lesson one: Never let your guard down.” “Thank you for the demonstration, sir.”

“What are they doing?” Whispered Suzy. “Perhaps some kind of elaborate role-playing game.” “Shut up, no one asked you Collin.” “Maybe we should go ask them.” said Dmitri amicably. “Don’t you dare! So help me if you blow our cover I’ll… I’ll… cut your salary for a week!” “Oh no… my salary.” “Well, you’ll be sorry, ok.” “I’m shaking just thinking about it.” “Shh, stop distracting me. I have an idea.”

Marcella was not getting paid enough for this. True, the Consortium never actually paid anybody at all. There had been that thing with the ecto tokens for a while until people began to realize that the tokens got up and walked away every time you stopped watching them and they always seemed to end up in BL’s treasure hoard in the end. Regardless, she wasn’t getting paid enough for this just on general principle. The fly wasn’t moving at full speed which meant she could just barely keep up with it. “Land, you dumb bug.” she said between gritted teeth. Her side hurt from all the running she had been doing and she was feeling quite dehydrated. Suddenly the ground dropped away in front of her and she skidded to a halt. Ahead were a few rocks, a shed, and the flailing tendrils of a horrifying monstrosity. This was where the fly was headed. “Oh no,” She gasped “It’s a Putrimoid.”

Suzy had a plan. Whatever the Activity club was doing, it was definitely illegal. If not now, it could be illegal later she was sure. It all depended on how she spun the story. And she would get the story whatever it took. “Collin, you’re with me. I need somebody to carry the camera case. We’re going to get some shots from down there, right next to the action. Dmitri, you stay up here and get some establishing shots, B-rolls, rolling shutters, stuff like that.” Dmitri thought quickly. “Thanks for trusting me with the more important job, Suzy. I’ll be able to get way better shots from up here without any trees or anything in the way.” “Hmm, on second thought, maybe you should go down and try your luck in the trees. As the head journalist, it is my responsibility to make sure we get the best photographs possible for our audience. Therefore I shall take pictures from up here.” “Sure thing, Suzy.” Said Dmitri. He breathed a sigh of relief to himself as he crept down the hill. No need to add Suzy and Collin getting squashed to the mix of today’s problems.

Marcella considered her options. A Putrimoid was the result of a dying animal, usually a deer caught by a wolf or something, which ends up as a ghost at the same time as a related spirit is created from something nearby. If these two come together in just the wrong way, they can get stuck together. Potentially things can get worse from there and the spirits can mutate and grow and feed off of the purification of the dead animal which is where they draw their name. Really gross, really dangerous. Highly likely to poltergeist. This one had flailing tendrils almost as long as the surrounding trees were tall. Some other spirits and ghosts including the bloatfly hovered around it at relatively safe distance. Sadness on this scale tends to attract them. Occasionally a stray tendril would slice through one that got too close and it would poof out of existence. The trees crashed and waved where it struck them. Clearly a full-blown poltergeist. “Ooh, boy. How do I handle this?” A bolt of electricity arced from behind a rock and struck the end of a tentacle. It recoiled momentarily and then lashed out with a violent smack that shook the ground. “No, no, no, no! The journalists will see you!” After a moment’s hesitation Marcella’s brows set in a determined frown. She clenched her fist and leapt from the cliff.

“Did you see that!” “You’re kneeling on my neck.” moaned Collin, his voice slightly muffled. “A good stepladder wouldn’t complain so much. There was some kind of flash and the whole ground shook!” “I think they’re just setting off some fireworks or something. I doubt we’re going to see anything interesting today.” “Dmitri! Why are you back already?” Dmitri shrugged. “Eh, I couldn’t find any good places to take pictures. Besides, there’s nothing interesting to see anyway.” The ground shook with a boom that shook rocks loose from the hillside. A blond spike of hair and a paintbrush emerged from behind a rock with a terrible war cry. The yell descended down the hill out of sight with a flapping of sandals, getting fainter. There was a sharp crack and then the yell got louder again as it came back up the hill. Apparently the charge had met some resistance. “Dmitri!” “Ok, fine, I’ll go back down.”

Time froze as Marcella fell through the air. The sky turned black and filled with an endless starscape. Standing on the forest floor yet towering high above it stood a blocky, roughly humanoid figure holding a massive beam across its shoulders. It’s face was lost in shadow. “WHY DO YOU HESITATE, CHILD?” “I’m not… hesitating. I’m planning my next move.” “THERE IS NO NEED TO PLAN, YOU HAVE MY POWER ON YOUR SIDE.” Marcella glanced at the marble in her hand. At first glance, it appeared to be a flat, dull grey, but if you looked closer you would see intricate details: tiny divots and cracks almost like… craters. “I don’t want to compromise my deal with the consortium. I can’t let the people down there see me.” “I AM THE FULCRUM ON WHICH THE WORLD HANGS. I AM THE SCALES ON WHICH ARE WEIGHED THE SANDS OF TIME. IF I HAD BUT ANOTHER EARTH TO STAND UPON I COULD MOVE THE WORLD. THERE IS NO NEED TO OBSERVE THE PETTY RULES AND REGULATIONS SO NEEDLESSLY PRESSED UPON YOU.” “I’m the same as everybody else, Fulcrum. And you’re not as great as you think.” Color returned to the world as Marcella’s feet touched lightly down to the rocky hillside. The marble turned blue and white again and she slid more heavily down some gravel and stopped behind a tree. She peaked briefly around it to make sure everyone’s attention was still on the shaking trees ahead and then ducked her head and darted between the pines.

Max lounged against a moss-covered rock, bat hanging loosely at his side. “Nice going, Isaac. Almost got it that time.” “Maybe if you would help a little we could actually make some progress here.” Spender was giving some inspirational instruction from the sidelines which was difficult to hear over the din from the trees below. Isabel was busy elsewhere on another mission which she had called ‘more important than some weak old rot ghost’. Ed was making another attempt at a charge. This time he managed to cut almost a whole inch off the tip of a tendril with an ink slash before making a hasty retreat. “Nah, it looks like you guys have got it under control. Anyway, what am I supposed to do? I’ve got magnet powers. Do you see anything magnetic?” “Well, you could try doing something.” seethed Isaac. “What if you ran up to there and then I could push you up over the thing with a wind blast. You could aim your bat down at a weak spot and I could shoot a lightning bolt through the bat and deal some devastating damage!” “Wow, what a great plan. I like it… except maybe for the part where I get tossed through the air over an angry tentacle monster and then you shoot a lightning bolt at me.” “Well, you come up with something then!” “I have.” “What is it?” “You’re looking at it.” Max started a game of snake on his phone.

Suzy was beside herself with frustration. “I can’t see anything, they won’t come out from behind that rock but if I get closer, they’ll see me!” “Don’t worry Suzy. I’m sure they’ll have to come out in the open at some point to eat or sleep.” Collin said helpfully. He was sitting in the shade massaging his neck. “No, I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands. I’m just going to have to go down there, no matter the risk.” “Ok, well have fun.” “Oh, I will. I certainly will. Muahahaha” “You know your evil laugh would be more convincing if you actually were laughing not just saying muahaha like a normal word.” “Let me have this Collin.”

The beast loomed through the trees ahead. A pulsating shapeless mass with dozens of protruding tentacles flailing in every direction. Some passed through the things they struck without a mark, others thrashed through the trees with a horrible cacophony of destruction. The overall effect was very disconcerting. “Ok, here we go.” said Marcella, but her feet didn’t move. Heroics are more easily said than done. “I just need to find an opening.” Suddenly there was a calm. The tendrils calmed for a moment and a sudden hush fell over the valley. “What is…?” Then the Putrimoid shivered and a large eye opened on its side. It was red-rimmed, twitchy, and opened sideways but it was definitely a functioning eyeball because it looked directly at Marcella. “Oh no. It mutated again.” Marcella barely had time to dodge as a tendril came smashing down on the place she had been standing moments earlier. She stumbled into a tree. “This is not good.”

Ed had an idea. It was a good idea because he had seen it in the movies multiple times and it almost always worked. “I’m going in!” He proclaimed. Max looked at him skeptically but Isaac, who was more in tune with common story tropes, began to look panicked. “N-No! Ed, that is not going to work! Do NOT-“ “That’s what they always say.” Said Ed grimly “But sometimes a man’s just gotta do what he’s gotta do.” “Ed!” Ed began to charge down the hill once more, but something was different this time. Maybe it was the set of his shoulders, maybe it was the hard, steely look in his eyes, or maybe it was the fact that his battle cry was so high pitched it could have shattered plate glass.

Marcella was nearly exhausted. There were only so many tentacles you could dodge before your luck ran out. She took cover behind one of the sturdier-looking trees as another attack flew by. “I can’t even get close to it.” The massive eye swiveled away from Marcella and towards the open hillside. A small boy with a paintbrush was flailing his way down the hill screaming wildly. “What does he think he’s… oh no.” There was a blur as a tentacle shot forward, almost faster than the eye could follow. It wrapped itself around the boy and hoisted him into the air. Marcella watched helplessly as the tentacle was retracted, pulling the boy in towards its awful bulk. He struggled valiantly but was pulled inexorably inward. Marcella dashed towards him desperately but a tendril caught her before she had gone 5 steps, knocking her to the ground. She watched helplessly as the tentacle finally dragged the boy the last few feet and then with an awful ’schlorp’ he disappeared into the grisly mass. “You fetid freak! You pustule of incontinence!” Marcella yelled. “I will be your end if it kills me!” The putrimoid paid her no attention. Her vision narrowed, she felt her heart rate spike. This was it. She had to act. She only saw one path forward and it was looking very bumpy. The sky went black. Her marble was in her fist. “Do you have my back Fulcrum?” “ARE YOU HESITATING AGAIN?” “No, just figuring out the timing.” The sky snapped back to blue. Marcella sprinted forward. A tentacle lay limply on the ground, apparently forgotten for the moment as the putrimoid flailed its others. She ducked as another went by her head and then jumped heavily onto the grounded tendril. It snapped upwards reflexively flinging Marcella high into the air. Much higher than she should have flown. For a moment, the earth fell away and she seemed to be suspended in mid air. In the distance was the lake between the two hills of Mayview. The setting sun sparkled off the still water. Pine trees carpeted the landscape below. Marcella looked down. She saw the shed and the cliff with the three journalists one of which was snapping pictures wildly. She saw the Activity club further below, quietly freaking out about their lost comrade. Directly below, the eye of the monster stared up at her looking about as surprised as a horrid tentacled blob is capable of looking. Or maybe she just imagined that part. “Taste the wrath of Jupiter you skrunge!” She shouted. The marble in her fist turned from a dull grey to a pattern of creamy bands adorned with a small red spot. You see, mass may be consistent, but weight is relative and a fulcrum can tilt both ways. A pound of lead may weigh the same as a pound of feathers, but if you move the lead to, say, Neptune, it would weigh much more. If you move the mass on a lever further from the hinge, it tends to have more of an effect. And if you put an angry teenage girl 60 feet in the air and give her the same weight she would have at the core of Jupiter, well… Marcella surrounded herself with a prism of purple spectral energy, point downwards and plummeted at a stomach churning rate. There was a squelch that would scar the memories of everyone present for years and a sudden, deathly silence.

“That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done!” exclaimed Ed proudly. Ed stood in the middle of a clearing of destruction and pale orange goop and looked around dazed. He was covered with slime from head to toe. “Wow Ed!” Said Max. “I didn’t think you had it in you, but in the end, it was the Blob that had you in it.” “I knew you could do it.” Said Isaac, trying to sound nonchalant. “Never doubted it for a second.”

“Yes! Victory! I finally have definitive proof that the Activity Club is up to no good! My scheme has finally succeeded!” Suzy held up her camera in victory. Collin sat against the shed rubbing his neck. “At least call it a plan or something. You don’t have to flat out say you’re evil.” he muttered. “Hovering around weirdly has got to be against some kind of rule somewhere!” Ed’s antics today had looked very strange from a non-spectral perspective. “Oh, hey, Suzy. By the way.” Dmitri walked over to the shed where they were hiding again. “Did you remember to replace the memory card after I took it out to use in my camera?” “Memory card!?” Suzy frantically checked the card slot on her camera. “I told you to do that before we left!” “Oh, whoops.” “Dmitriiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!”

#Paranatural

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thelastmorozova · 7 years

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Title: Murder Eyes and Wedding Cake

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes (pre-relationship)

Summary: “ Steve’s first impression of his new neighbour is the large and fluffy ginger cat being thrust unceremoniously into his face.”

Crack. Glorious crack. I don't even know what this trash is. It's 6:30am and the ramblings of an insomniac who wanted to try her hand at some Stucky. Maybe I'll continue it if people like it, lmao. Credit to Ginge, the large, ginger fluffball in my life. And to Kirby, his evil twin who most definitely inspired this story.

Steve’s first impression of his new neighbour is the large and fluffy ginger cat being thrust unceremoniously into his face the second the door opens, along with a stream of fairly desperate words. “You don’t know me and I don’t know you, but I have been awake almost twenty- three hours trying to perfect this fuckin’ cake and this little traitor just decided that he wanted to take a bite outta it while I was in the john. Look after him for an hour, wouldya?”

Steve stares for a long moment, attempting to take in the torrent of pleading. “I’m… uh…” Steve runs a hand awkwardly through his hair, dislodging the mechanical pencil from behind his ear. He catches it before it topples to the floor. “I’m allergic to most cats-?”

The man whines almost plaintively, pulling the now squirming tiger of a cat into his broad chest. “Really? Oh shit, I’m sorry. You’re not going to suddenly drop down and start dyin’ are you?”

“No, I just kind of… go red eyed and start sniffling.” It’s not a nice sight. Steve recalls the time he discovered his allergy; on the way home from school aged six and a ginger moggy that decided to rub itself up against his leg. When he’d leaned down and petted the purring cat, it had all gone downhill from there.

Cats. Cats. Why did it have to be cats? At least he isn’t allergic to dogs. …yet at least.

“Ah, fuck.” The man closes his eyes in something akin to defeat. “I’m doomed.”

Steve appraises his neighbour closer now that the cat isn’t blocking the view; to his credit, the man does look suitably desperate with his shaggy dark brown hair escaping the haphazard bun at the back of his head and his eyes smudged with tiredness. He also stares because oh shit, his new neighbour is something fine. Even if he is currently half crazy from fatigue. He has the whole… sexy murder eyes thing going on. The black sweatpants his neighbour wears are dusted with flour, as is the matching long-sleeved t-shirt and…

Is that a unicorn apron-?

Oh yes, it is. Steve takes in the sight of the baby pink apron; a prancing cartoon unicorn takes up most of the space upon its chest, surrounded by frosted cupcakes that he guesses are supposed to be stars. At first he thinks the unicorn is riding the rainbow beneath it, but upon closer look he realizes that the unicorn is actually farting it out. Along with the cupcakes. (Fully frosted? What an achievement!)

His neighbour follows his unblinking gaze and groans, raising the cat to cover his face momentarily. “My apron got ripped. I’m borrowin’ a… friend’s at the moment. A female friend I feel I should clarify.”

“It’s a free world,” Steve shrugs. “I’m not judgin’ you by your apron choices. Steve, by the way. You just moved into 7C?”

“Yeah-” he grins and tucks the grumbling cat under his left arm with a jostle and extends his right, Steve taking it briskly. “Call me Bucky. And this little shit is Voldemort.”

“Hey there Bucky. And uh… that’s kinda a cruel name for a cat, don’t you think? Does he commit murder or something?”

Bucky laughs darkly, glancing down at the cat and reaffirming his grip. Steve swears that its eyes scream bloody murder when his neighbour swoops a hard kiss down upon its fluffy head. “Yeah, well, His Dark Lord earned it barely outta kittenhood. You’d call him by his old name and he’d hiss and spit at you somethin’ crazy. The scars I have, man…”

“Oh, he was called Tom?” He says it without thinking.

A low warning hiss emanates from the ball of ginger fluff and Bucky groans, closing his eyes. “You’re not supposed to say the name, Steve. Now ya gotta watch out for his army of pure-blood alley cats.”

Steve laughs before he can stop himself, eyes flicking from the glowering cat to his owner. “You baking for a party?” Bucky really is quite beautiful in a rugged way. Upon closer inspection Steve spies a smear of red frosting upon his jaw, mingling with the light shadow of stubble upon his jaw line. Was it so terrible for him to want to lick it off when he’s barely known the man five minutes?

He shakes his head, raising his free hand and forcefully shoving the stray strands of hair behind his ear. “Nah. It’s for a wedding. I own a bakery, y’see. Family business and I handle the wedding cakes.” Bucky shrugs a shoulder.

“That’s cool. The bakery nearby?”

“A block over. There’s an apartment above but I let my sister have that. Too close to the workplace, y’know? She’s always usin’ me as a guinea pig for her failed experiments. And she’s always up at the crack of dawn working on something or another.”

“Seems like you are as well” Steve points out. It is 7am after all. He wonders vaguely how the hell Bucky even knew that he was awake. Perhaps he had been all around the complex trying to shove his cat into someone’s arms all morning? That was an amusing image. He would pay good money to see 8A’s reaction.

“Sadly true. And on that note-” Voldemort yowls as Bucky flips him up a little so he can check the shiny metal watch upon his wrist, a low groan slipping from him. “Yeah, I gotta get this icing done before ten. Guess I’ll just put this one in the toilet, shut the door and stick some earphones in to drown out the death screeching and apologize later with sausage.” Bucky flashes him a wide grin and Steve returns it instantly, feeling like an utter fool. “Sorry for interrupting you. I’ll see you around, Steve.”

When Steve leaves the apartment to grab his mail that afternoon when he finally finishes up editing a panel, there’s a small cardboard container with a single black frosted cupcake inside waiting just outside the door. The piped icing design upon the top is in the design of the Dark Mark, but instead of a skull there’s a glowering cat instead. He laughs there and then within the corridor, causing old Mr. Voss to shoot him a disgusted look as he passes. You-Know-Who and I send our apologies for disturbing you – B the note scrawled upon the slip of paper reads. When he turns the note over, there’s a hastily written P.S.

Come over at 6pm? The wedding got called off (the fuck?!) and I have a two-tiered red velvet cake to get through for dinner. It comes with beer and a movie. Voldemort swears he’ll remain at the other side of the room with his sausages.

Steve reckons that he’s going to like this guy. Even when he ends up crawling home from eating way too much red velvet cake.

#marvel fanfiction #Stucky #stucky fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #captain america #oneshot #trash #and a cat

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russianspy24 · 6 years

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Devils in the Windy City - Chapter 1

Summary: Elijah travels to Chicago, led by a vague prophecy about a girl who could be the Mikaelson family's salvation. Klaus soon confronts him, and later Rebekah is drawn into another case of family drama. However, this trip to the Windy City turns out to be longer than a short stint. The Mikaelsons discover that their lives may change forever. Including every other vampire's.

Word Count: 5,184

Author’s Note: This story is posted on FF.net and AO3, and since I’m on Tumblr, decided to post it here. ‘Bout time I’d say. Hopefully you read and enjoy!

Warnings: Rated M

Next chapter

Chapter 1: A Message from Beyond

He had not returned to Chicago in quite some time. The city didn't hold as much importance as New Orleans, a city which his family had practically built, but Chicago was a place that Elijah Mikaelson certainly enjoyed. He truly saw, for the first time in his long life, how special it was in the year 1893. And like many who had flocked to the city then, he saw how, like a phoenix, Chicago had risen from the ashes after the Great Fire had destroyed much of it just 22 years before.

There was an almost tangible "Chicago spirit," which Elijah felt when he and Rebekah had arrived. 1893 was the year of the Chicago World's Fair. He had never experienced such a thing with New Orleans—perhaps because the southern city's own soul never truly welcomed the Original family.

The World's Fair was held in celebration of the 400th anniversary of Christopher Columbus' arrival in the New World. It was probably one of the most memorable events in Elijah's long life. It was hard not to let years fly by, the decades, too. Some centuries moved far faster than others. And more often than not, he'd been busy chasing after his younger brother, Niklaus, trying to yank him back onto the correct path. Or, Elijah was busy just trying to keep his family together in general.

Rebekah had woken up a little over five years earlier. She'd been in her coffin for 52 years, and to say that she was furious with Klaus was an understatement. Which is why Elijah had swooped in to reintegrate her into society himself. The early 19th century was very different than the latter part. There were too many advances to count—in fields like science and art.

And so, in order for her to help keep her mind off of their brother and Marcel, the man whom Rebekah wasn't going to get over any time soon, Elijah stuck by his fair sister's side quite closely. Five years went by more like five days, and wanting to change their scenery, Elijah took his sister north to Chicago.

The Fair was a welcome distraction. Among new inventions like the long-distance telephone, which had transmitted the sounds of a live orchestra all the way from New York City; to things that might seem unimportant now, like the first zipper, or that gum called Juicy Fruit, and that beer, which had won the exposition's top beer award—none other than Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Silly little marvels like the locomotive made of spooled silk, the suspension bridge built out of Kirk's Soap, and the giant map of the United States made of pickles helped improve Rebekah's mood. Besides the Fair, she and her brother even had a chance to visit the hotel, which was later dubbed "Murder Castle," and mess with America's first serial killer—certainly a one of a kind experience.

Since 1893, Elijah had been back to Chicago a few times but never for a prolonged stay. He hadn't had a reason to. Now, present day, he did, and he was in search of a girl.

When he found her, he didn't make himself known immediately. That was not how he did things. He thought his decisions through, step by step, never simply rushed in, not like Niklaus did. The original hybrid had no idea that his older brother was in the Windy City—and it was going to stay that way. For now, at least. This was very important.

This girl was apparently important. How exactly? Elijah had no idea. Why? That too was unknown. And if her importance held any truth behind it? That was uncertain as well, for the person who had told him of this girl was the young, up and coming psychic named Benjamin Henry.

Until a little over a week ago, Elijah had no idea who the kid was. He didn't watch TV. It was the one human invention that had never interested him. Books had always been the type of entertainment he preferred. So Elijah definitely had no idea of the show "Tinseltown Medium," which aired on E!.

Benjamin had called Elijah in the middle of the night on a cell phone that the vampire kept reserved only for callers who were close to him, such as his siblings, or the few people who were probably considered his friends.

So, it was strange that this boy had called Elijah. But even crazier was the fact that Benjamin claimed a ghost had given him Elijah's number and had insisted that the young psychic call this Mr. Mikaelson. As soon as possible.

So Benjamin didn't dillydally.

This hadn't happened to him before.

The legend of the Mikaelsons, the first vampires, particularly Klaus, never passed by Benny's innocent ears. He had had his gift since he was quite small, and he'd always known that there was a dark side to the supernatural world, but he never tried finding it. Benny kept to the light, to the great Spirit, and strove to do good, to help people.

As worried as he was, that's the only thing he sought to do. To deliver a message to this "Elijah."

###

The boy lived in a nice condo with his mother in West Hollywood, Los Angeles. The success of his show was slowly propelling him upward within the industry. He was still a deer in headlights, green as they came, awed by every gift basket and every perk that included free clothes and free passes to that party or that movie premiere.

But Benny was the real deal, despite rumors and conspiracy videos on YouTube about how he might’ve been a fraud.

He’d given readings to none other than the Kardashians and to other famous names, such as Carmen Electra, Matt Lauer, Chad Michael Murray, Meghan Fox, Kristin Cavallari—the list went on.

He knew that there were a lot of people who thought that his show's episodes were craftily edited, but the kid had a legit sight. It was just that Benny wasn't yet a master of honing his spirit-sensing antenna.

One critic called the kid a "grief vampire." So, it was going to be ironic when later Benny would find out that the spirit, which had woken him up in the middle of the night, had him call an actual vampire.

The best place to meet someone in L.A., someone that you've never met before, was at a coffee shop, a public place. Cafes were a go-to. It made Benny feel marginally more relaxed as opposed to meeting somewhere like a park, or some other place that would have had fewer people. This Elijah guy—who had caught an immediate flight from somewhere else—thankfully hadn't insisted on any other meeting spot.

The boy sat outside on the bustling patio of the Urth Caffé, which was on Melrose. He always sat outside, anyway, and he figured that today it was a good place to bolt from if he had to. No doors that would he'd need to shove his way through.

With black Raybans on, his light red hair catching a ray of sun that slipped past the edge of the green umbrella overhead, Benny waited, his hand around his cold taro smoothie. He couldn't get himself to drink it. His stomach was doing flips. His freckled face was sweating.

His mother had driven him there, and he told her he was meeting a client, a non-celebrity client but an important one. Although his mother was his manager and knew of every appointment he had, insisting that he was going to meet said client there at the cafe was enough for his mother to trust him and drive off, promising to be back whenever he called her.

Benny was a naturally nervous boy, still working on the calm confidence that was expected out of most psychics, but this wasn't a normal client meeting. Ghosts didn't contact him by themselves regularly, especially not about random people across the country. Yet because he knew his ability was true, he knew that this was real. Elijah Mikaelson didn't have any social media, but that didn't mean ghosts usually pranked Benny either.

"Hello."

He heard the voice behind him and jumped, gasping, a hand to his heart. The boy had been expecting to see Elijah come toward the front entrance of the cafe, off of the street, which the boy sat facing. Startled, he watched the man in the crisp, dark gray suit and dark red tie walk around the table to the chair opposite of him. Benny quickly took off his sunglasses and put them down.

He smiled wide in his nervousness and said, "Mr. Mikaelson?"

"Benjamin, I presume?" Elijah said smoothly, extending a hand. Benny took it with his own clammy one, received a brief squeeze, and then the man was sitting down.

Elijah might've been a producer, or a CEO, judging by his appearance. He wore designer from his shiny shoes to his glinting cufflinks. He would've fit right into Beverly Hills, that was for sure. Benny just wore a hip, plaid button-down and skinny jeans, and felt very underdressed.

He tried so hard not to look jittery, but the smile on his pink face was strained. His hand immediately went back to his lap and his other held the taro drink tighter. "Call m-me Benny."

"Benny then," Elijah said. His face was unreadable, his dark eyes especially. "Call me Elijah, please." He was completely unaffected by the anxiety that emanated from the skinny boy. Judging by how he'd sounded on the phone, Elijah already had an idea of what to expect before he'd arrived.

Benny cleared his throat. "Do you want something to drink before—"

"No, thank you," Elijah answered coolly.

"O-OK." The boy finally let go of his smoothie and pushed it aside. The light purple contents were already melting, separating at the bottom of the plastic cup. The man never broke eye contact with him. "Were you, uh, in Chicago?"

"Chicago? No," Elijah said. He shifted slightly to lean forward, one hand, in a weak fist, on the round table. "Why don't you repeat what you told me on the phone? All of the details."

"I, uh—" Benny's blue eyes danced around, paranoid, but no one was paying attention to them.

Slim-bodied, fit actors and actresses gushed about auditions, or bitched about bad ones, over cold press juices; hipsters with handlebar mustaches raved about the new purple diesel strain of weed available in some dispensary, while eating veggie burgers; men, who were casually dressed as the guys with Hollywood connections, bought lunch for green, pretty young girls, new to L.A. The reality was that these men were all talk, and the poor ladies had no idea.

"All right. S-so—" Benny lowered his gaze. Elijah hardly blinked. Benny couldn't look at him while he spoke. His tone was so quiet, he was practically whispering, but Elijah appeared to hear him despite the chatter and the noise from the busy street.

"I woke up in the middle of the night. And-and just did what I was asked to, uh, do—to call you."

"Was the spirit malevolent?" Elijah asked.

"Oh, no. No, no." Benny glanced up at him in a fraction of a second. "Just...persistent. So I couldn't go back to sleep. It gave, um, it gave me your number, I wrote it all down and told me to call you. And then it told me some stuff about your family so that you would believe me if you asked."

Elijah was silent and that prompted the boy to continue. Benny stared at one of the cross hatches in the surface of the table.

"Your younger sister, Rebekah. Your young—younger brother Nik—uh—Nikalus?"

"Niklaus," Elijah corrected.

"Right. Niklaus. And you have a couple of other siblings, but...the spirit said they weren't around... Um, they passed away?” He spoke quicker. The man didn't confirm this. Benny hurried on. “The spirit told me you're from Sweden or—I mean, Norway, and you guys have "been around a long time," or something. I don't know what that means." Another quick glance.

"Just go on," Elijah said. He was patient but didn't want to waste time.

"So, it said I had to call you and tell you something, but I had to tell you in person."

Elijah leaned an inch forward. "What is it?"

Benny instinctively leaned back. But then he was digging in the pocket of his jeans to pull out a piece of paper that was folded neatly several times.

As he unfolded it, the words rushed out of his mouth. "It told me that there was this person, this, uh, girl, I don't know if you know her, but she's in Chicago, and you should find her, because she's got something to do with your family, I don't know what exactly, only that she's, like, OK this is going to sound weird," Benny gestured with a hand, lowering his voice, as Elijah took the paper and looked down at it, "the spirit said that she's got to do with "your family's salvation" or something?" Sounding unsure, Benny narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

The paper had scribbles that were barely legible—the message that Benny had written down:

Elizaveta Belova. Chicago. Salvation. Save—scratched—help the Mikaelson family. Condition. Medical? Disease. Event?

"Or something?" Elijah said, finally some sort of color entering his voice—that of minor exasperation. "That's it? That's all it said?"

"Yes, that's it," Benny insisted, his eyes jumping from the paper to Elijah's face, back and forth, swiftly.

The man started to scoff, and that prompted Benny further.

"Look, it doesn't work like...texting someone, or calling them. Most of the time I don't even get words. It's just feelings, or images. I don't think this spirit was…" A pause.

"What?" Elijah looked at him with such intensity that Benny raised his hands as if to shield his face.

Then he lowered his head to whisper again. "This...spirit was from another country. I'm pretty sure. And spoke in a language I don't understand, so I did my best...to interpret with what I was receiving. I am pretty sure that it said something...was wrong with your family like, uh, like, uh," Benny looked away, lowering his hands and gesturing to himself with a grimace, "like something genetic, or something with your blood. I don't know. Maybe—"

"A health issue?" Elijah offered cryptically.

"Yes!" Benny answered. "That was the feeling I was getting. So, it said that this girl could help, or something. And that's all I got. So, if you want to find her, go ahead. The spirit wanted you to. I only got a name and a location, so that's all I can give you. I really hope this doesn't turn freakier than this already is."

Elijah looked down at the paper once more. It had the name, Elizaveta Belova and Chicago underlined several times, the pen strokes hard.

"I've met many psychics in my life, but none as young as you, Benny," he drawled, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, his thoughts elsewhere.

Benny was silent for a moment, holding his breath. "I'm not going to, uh, charge you or anything. But if you...uh, want an actual session..."

There was a stirring from a table nearby. Elijah glanced in that direction and then he was standing up, cutting Benny off.

"I'll be in touch." He put the paper away inside his suit jacket. "Thank you. I would like you to not mention this to anyone, Benjamin. Unless you already have."

Sensing a warning, Benny waved his hands, looking up at him. "Nope. Nope. I swear. My mom just knows I'm with a client. I see clients all the time. Feel, uh, feel free to call me any time—"

"Oh my God, are you Benjamin Henry?" someone called to Benny's right. It was a woman, maybe a tourist, judging how un-L.A. she looked, dressed in an I love Cali t-shirt. She was with three more people, one of them a man with a fanny pack.

"I saw you on TV!" another woman said.

"Uh, y—yeah!" Benny said, unable to recover from the distraction as the group flocked to him, clearly huge fans. It threw him off completely. "But, one second, I'm in the middle of a session with—with a client."

"Oh my God, I am so sorry," said the first woman.

"Wait, what client?" said the second.

Benny looked back at Elijah. Only the man was no longer there. The boy rose in his seat, quickly scanning the cafe's patrons, the people on the sidewalk, the other side of the street. The strange, suited man was nowhere in sight.

The boy couldn't help a chill that ran down his arms, in the form of gooseflesh, and he swallowed hard. He didn't pay attention to one of the women, who asked next: "Do you...think we could get an autograph?"

###

Presently, Elijah was right across from Adagio Teas, much like a stalker, but no one really noticed him, as he watched the girl inside the little shop. She wore an apron and tended to a few customers who were buying said tea. There were locals and tourists. Tourists who had the big pockets. There wasn't a moment of pause in business, not until the day started to wind down.

Elijah had dinner at an Italian place called Osteria via Stato, on its front patio, across the street. The early spring breeze was a bit chilly, but he didn't mind at all, even though the waiter turned on the heat lamp for him.

There was nothing remarkable about the girl, not at first glance, anyway. She was just a girl, who was in her twenties, he hazarded a guess. His sister Rebekah was beautiful and fair. This girl had a different sort of prettiness—of course, she was human. All vampires had a different quality, an unearthly one. Humans had a natural warmth to them because they were, well, alive.

Elizaveta appeared of his sister's height, maybe a bit shorter, had long, light brown hair, which was tied back in a half ponytail, and those slightly round, high cheeks that were a characteristic of eastern European women.

There were other particular features, but Elijah didn't have that great a look despite his superb vampire senses. Cars passed up and down State St, and by the time it neared 7 o'clock, when the shop would close, traffic was in full swing. Cars obscured his sight and honks muffled his hearing.

He watched until the sun started to go down. A homeless man or two meandered past and asked for change, and Elijah ignored them. It was a group of teenaged girls, who were whispering him—staring off like that, vacantly—who jarred him. He heard them quite clearly without having to look, annoyance slipping onto his pale, angular face, and he took it as his cue to finally get the check and make his way across.

The long building had other shops to either side, and Elijah vaguely remembered that the structure had been there in 1893. He was sure that it had shops then too. But instead of bulky cars that drove by now, it was horse-drawn carriages back then.

As much as he missed that old Chicago, he enjoyed the clean lines of the modern era. During the end of the 19th century, there was still gas-powered illumination and a perpetual smog throughout the city. Elijah remembered how the streetlamps made the smoke glow yellow at dusk. Now, there was an electric light bulb as he looked up at a lit lamp.

A jingle sounded upon his arrival.

There was a couple there, shopping for tea. The girl was helping them. An older lady, who was in her 50s, despite her bright attire, was seemingly searching in the stockroom in the back, the door wide open, while a few other customers waited on her to the other side of the shop.

"If you're looking for a gift, these are nice…" he heard the girl say, saw her leading the couple to a display stand that had different tins stacked, each with a different zodiac sign, which had a type of tea. "Do you know what sign your friend is?"

Elijah nonchalantly strode to the closest wall, left of the entrance, where neat packages of tea hung in rows, the orange labels reading Black upon closer inspection. There were dozens upon dozens of black teas. The man busied himself with seeing all the types.

He was most definitely a tea drinker. He did enjoy black tea, but he usually stuck to one type that he brewed very dark, without sugar or milk, so the amount of flavored here ones was amusing. He sighed. Oh, Americans.

Reaching for one called Earl Grey Moonlight, he took it and inspected the label. Then, seeing a glass sample jar on a shelf above, he stepped closer and took it. Was he supposed to smell it? As he did so, after removing the lid and taking in notes of vanilla, he heard footsteps approaching.

"Can I help you find something?"

It was a rehearsed, neutral question, the female tone slightly husky, not high or too girlish. It had a mature sort of quality.

As Elijah set the jar down and turned, he smiled at the girl. "This one smells quite lovely," he said, lifting the package in his hand.

The way he said that caught her off guard briefly, and her brows, which were faintly arched, drew together. She had a somber expression on her face.

"Oh, that's one of my favorites," she said coolly, holding his gaze for a moment. Hers was equally dark, but not black. It was very dark brown.

His own eyes squinted the slightest, curiously, and that was when she looked away. He studied her for a split second, taking in other details. Her nose was long and slightly sharp and had the smallest of bumps. There was a faint accent in her voice, so faint that he was sure most people rarely noticed. But he wasn't most people. There was also a barely-there sheen of red in her hair, as the setting sun streamed past tall buildings and into the windows of the shop. She was cute.

Her name tag said Liza.

"I'd recommend the Earl Grey Bravo, and the one with the lavender. If you like Earl Grey." She was stepping down the wall, pointing. "Are you looking for any kind in particular?" She paused and looked back at him.

Elijah's smile remained. He spoke with a warmth that came easily. He was a naturally charismatic, but in a way that Niklaus never was. He was a gentleman. "This is my first time here. So I have to see what you have to offer. There is a lot to choose from. Would you be so kind as to recommend more?"

The way he spoke stunned her again and this time her glance at him was quick and had her shyly looking down. She failed at suppressing a more natural smile and clasped her hands before her. Taking in a breath, she straightened, stretching her neck a tad, as if prepared to unleash a wealth of knowledge about tea.

"Do you like green tea?"

Elijah took in all of her reactions, her sudden timidity not going unnoticed by him. "Yes, I do," he answered cheerfully and looked around to see where said green tea was.

Liza took several more steps. "All our green tea is here," she said leading the way, gesturing.

Elijah paused, silent for a moment or two, while she waited patiently, hands still together in front of her apron. He had his eyes narrowed as he scanned the types. Meanwhile, other customers paid at the register. The door chimed as someone else walked into the store, the sound of the Windy City very loud for a moment. Then it dulled once again as the door closed.

"What do you think of this one, Liza?" Elijah chose one and held it toward her. "Gyokuro?"

Liza nodded, stammering only slightly, for it was very obvious to her that this guy was not from around here. Employees all had name tags, but most who entered the shop hardly addressed her and her coworkers by their names, let alone sounded so polite. Unless of course a customer was complaining and wanted to report one of them to the GM—then they used their names. Few ever displayed such manners.

Her physiognomy eased. Elijah knew that he was skilled at producing such an effect on people.

"Uh, Gyokuro is Japanese. It's a really good one. It's actually not as harsh and grassy as you'd expect from a green tea," she said, adopting her matter-of-fact, professional tone, looking between him and the tea package. "It has a sweetness to it, and uh, it's quite soft. I like it."

"Then I'll take it," Elijah said at once.

Liza licked her lips and gave another nod. "Okay. Great. If you get three more, you can get another one free." She pointed to a sign that said this and took a step back. "And our Oolongs and Herbals are on the other side of the store."

"Please lead the way," he said and gestured wide with his other hand.

The girl quickly turned her back to him, mostly to hide her face, which her coworker saw. The older woman’s own name tag read Pam. She saw the nicely-dressed man whom Liza was guiding, and raised her eyebrows, but Liza didn't acknowledge whatever look Pam was giving her. Liza steeled her own expression while Pam made an obvious face that said, Geez look at that young male specimen. Little did Pam know that Elijah was far from young.

He followed around the sample stations, and other displays of tins and packages on small, round tables. There were a few types of honey out, and several types of steeping tools. And mugs and tea sets galore. But he didn't need any of those things.

He saw how, simply by the way her shoulders straightened, Liza was once again solemn, which he found interesting, especially when she finally turned back around to show him the Oolongs. He saw that her previous smile was replaced by that same expression she'd first approached him with. She looked at him, her opinions hidden, for he was just a customer. She sold tea to countless people, after all. It made sense.

After he decided on more, including that free last one, he was led to the register and the girl rang him up. She'd been patient thus far, yet her stony expression slipped through to reveal how tired she was. It was in those deep, dark eyes of hers. It was probably a long day of being on her feet.

There was really nothing more that the vampire could do or say. Liza suspected nothing about him, not that he thought that she would. By the time he was leaving, she appeared a million miles away, looking up at the clock to the far wall, and didn't watch him go.

An hour later, around 8, Liza finally left. She had to do some tidying up of products and cleaning here and there. Elijah watched, pretending to intently check emails on his smartphone. Her co-worker closed the shop, they said goodbye to each other and went their separate ways. It was very close to dark by now. Headlights filled the street. There was still traffic, but not as bad as before.

Walking quickly, her old, leather messenger bag over her shoulder, Liza produced a pack of light green Marlboros and lit a cigarette as she moved. She followed the pedestrians before her and crossed the street. Going south down State Street, she was making her way to the Grand Street Red Line stop—the EL, as people called Chicago's subway.

Other citizens, heading home, exhausted, were going the same way. Businessmen and women; those who worked in retail and those in the service industry; college students, too. The air had grown chillier and Liza pulled up the zipper of her dark green leather jacket.

The smoke from her cigarette drifted away, behind her, and Elijah slowed to a stop in the small crowd as his nostrils flared from the smell. He wasn't a fan of smoking. And while it was none of his business, he was surprised that a young woman like her would have such a habit. She could've seen the man as she rounded the escalator that led underground but she didn't look up. As she moved quickly down the metal steps, she also had earbuds in her ears.

Elijah had to step aside as a random man rudely told him to get out of his way i. Elijah barely uttered an apology before the man trudged past. When the vampire looked back to the train entrance, the escalator, that girl was long gone.

But that was quite all right. He knew where she lived, and his way of getting around was far faster than that of the subway, especially in rush hour. So, one moment he was there, to the side of the passersby, and then he was gone in a blur that no one had noticed. Most of everyone's attention was riveted to the smart devices in their hands.

#vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries #the originals fanfiction #the originals #elijah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #marcel gerard #rebekah mikaelson #original character #elijah mikaelson x oc #klaus mikaelson x oc #fanfiction #originals fanfiction #ORIGINALS #vampires #elijah mikaelson fanfic #klaus mikaelson fanfiction

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vivanaija · 7 years

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Benin City - the red soil city that left Europeans in awe

This is the story of a lost medieval city you’ve probably heard about and yet never knew of its greatness. Benin City, originally known as Edo, was once the capital of a pre-colonial African empire located in what is now southern Nigeria. The Benin empire was one of the oldest and most highly developed states in west Africa, dating back to the 11th century.

The Guinness Book of Records (1974 edition) described the walls of Benin City and its surrounding kingdom as the world’s largest earthworks carried out prior to the mechanical era. According to estimates by the New Scientist’s Fred Pearce, Benin City’s walls were at one point “four times longer than the Great Wall of China, and consumed a hundred times more material than the Great Pyramid of Cheops”.

Situated on a plain, Benin City was enclosed by massive walls in the south and deep ditches in the north. Beyond the city walls, numerous further walls were erected that separated the surroundings of the capital into around 500 distinct villages.

Pearce writes that these walls “extended for some 16,000 km in all, in a mosaic of more than 500 interconnected settlement boundaries. They covered 6,500 sq km and were all dug by the Edo people … They took an estimated 150 million hours of digging to construct, and are perhaps the largest single archaeological phenomenon on the planet”.

Barely any trace of these walls exist today.

View along a street in the royal quarter of Benin City, 1897. Photograph: The British Museum/Trustees of the British Museum

Benin City was also one of the first cities to have a semblance of street lighting. Huge metal lamps, many feet high, were built and placed around the city, especially near the king’s palace. Fuelled by palm oil, their burning wicks were lit at night to provide illumination for traffic to and from the palace.

When the Portuguese first “discovered” the city in 1485, they were stunned to find this vast kingdom made of hundreds of interlocked cities and villages in the middle of the African jungle. They called it the “Great City of Benin”, at a time when there were hardly any other places in Africa the Europeans acknowledged as a city. Indeed, they classified Benin City as one of the most beautiful and best planned cities in the world.

In 1691, the Portuguese ship captain Lourenco Pinto observed: “Great Benin, where the king resides, is larger than Lisbon; all the streets run straight and as far as the eye can see. The houses are large, especially that of the king, which is richly decorated and has fine columns. The city is wealthy and industrious. It is so well governed that theft is unknown and the people live in such security that they have no doors to their houses.”

In contrast, London at the same time is described by Bruce Holsinger, professor of English at the University of Virginia, as being a city of “thievery, prostitution, murder, bribery and a thriving black market made the medieval city ripe for exploitation by those with a skill for the quick blade or picking a pocket”.

Benin City – A forerunner in African fractals

Benin City’s planning and design was done according to careful rules of symmetry, proportionality and repetition now known as fractal design. The mathematician Ron Eglash, author of African Fractals – which examines the patterns underpinning architecture, art and design in many parts of Africa – notes that the city and its surrounding villages were purposely laid out to form perfect fractals, with similar shapes repeated in the rooms of each house, and the house itself, and the clusters of houses in the village in mathematically predictable patterns.

As he puts it: “When Europeans first came to Africa, they considered the architecture very disorganised and thus primitive. It never occurred to them that the Africans might have been using a form of mathematics that they hadn’t even discovered yet.”

At the centre of the city stood the king’s court, from which extended 30 very straight, broad streets, each about 120-ft wide. These main streets, which ran at right angles to each other, had underground drainage made of a sunken impluvium with an outlet to carry away storm water. Many narrower side and intersecting streets extended off them. In the middle of the streets were turf on which animals fed.

“Houses are built alongside the streets in good order, the one close to the other,” writes the 17th-century Dutch visitor Olfert Dapper. “Adorned with gables and steps … they are usually broad with long galleries inside, especially so in the case of the houses of the nobility, and divided into many rooms which are separated by walls made of red clay, very well erected.”

Dapper adds that wealthy residents kept these walls “as shiny and smooth by washing and rubbing as any wall in Holland can be made with chalk, and they are like mirrors. The upper storeys are made of the same sort of clay. Moreover, every house is provided with a well for the supply of fresh water”.

Family houses were divided into three sections: the central part was the husband’s quarters, looking towards the road; to the left the wives’ quarters (oderie), and to the right the young men’s quarters (yekogbe).

Daily street life in Benin City might have consisted of large crowds going though even larger streets, with people colourfully dressed – some in white, others in yellow, blue or green – and the city captains acting as judges to resolve lawsuits, moderating debates in the numerous galleries, and arbitrating petty conflicts in the markets.

The early foreign explorers’ descriptions of Benin City portrayed it as a place free of crime and hunger, with large streets and houses kept clean; a city filled with courteous, honest people, and run by a centralised and highly sophisticated bureaucracy.

The city was split into 11 divisions, each a smaller replication of the king’s court, comprising a sprawling series of compounds containing accommodation, workshops and public buildings – interconnected by innumerable doors and passageways, all richly decorated with the art that made Benin famous. The city was literally covered in it.

The exterior walls of the courts and compounds were decorated with horizontal ridge designs (agben) and clay carvings portraying animals, warriors and other symbols of power – the carvings would create contrasting patterns in the strong sunlight. Natural objects (pebbles or pieces of mica) were also pressed into the wet clay, while in the palaces, pillars were covered with bronze plaques illustrating the victories and deeds of former kings and nobles.

At the height of its greatness in the 12th century – well before the start of the European Renaissance – the kings and nobles of Benin City patronised craftsmen and lavished them with gifts and wealth, in return for their depiction of the kings’ and dignitaries’ great exploits in intricate bronze sculptures.

“These works from Benin are equal to the very finest examples of European casting technique,” wrote Professor Felix von Luschan, formerly of the Berlin Ethnological Museum. “Benvenuto Celini could not have cast them better, nor could anyone else before or after him. Technically, these bronzes represent the very highest possible achievement.”

Benin City laid out in organised fractal design.

What impressed the first visiting Europeans most was the wealth, artistic beauty and magnificence of the city. Immediately European nations saw the opportunity to develop trade with the wealthy kingdom, importing ivory, palm oil and pepper – and exporting guns. At the beginning of the 16th century, word quickly spread around Europe about the beautiful African city, and new visitors flocked in from all parts of Europe, with ever glowing testimonies, recorded in numerous voyage notes and illustrations.

Now, however, the great Benin City is lost to history. Its decline began in the 15th century, sparked by internal conflicts linked to the increasing European intrusion and slavery trade at the borders of the Benin empire.

Then in 1897, the city was destroyed by British soldiers – looted, blown up and burnt to the ground. My great grandparents were among the many who fled following the sacking of the city; they were members of the elite corps of the king’s doctors.

Nowadays, while a modern Benin City has risen on the same plain, the ruins of its former, grander namesake are not mentioned in any tourist guidebook to the area. They have not been preserved, nor has a miniature city or touristic replica been made to keep alive the memory of this great ancient city.

A house composed of a courtyard in Obasagbon, known as Chief Enogie Aikoriogie’s house – probably built in the second half of the 19th century – is considered the only vestige that survives from Benin City. The house possesses features that match the horizontally fluted walls, pillars, central impluvium and carved decorations observed in the architecture of ancient Benin.

Curious tourists visiting Edo state in Nigeria are often shown places that might once have been part of the ancient city – but its walls and moats are nowhere to be seen. Perhaps a section of the great city wall, one of the world’s largest man-made monuments, now lies bruised and battered, neglected and forgotten in the Nigerian bush.

A discontented Nigerian puts it this way: “Imagine if this monument was in England, USA, Germany, Canada or India? It would be the most visited place on earth, and a tourist mecca for millions of the world’s people. A money-spinner worth countless billions in annual tourist revenue.”

Instead, if you wish to get a glimpse into the glorious past of the ancient Benin kingdom – and a better understanding of this ground-breaking city – you are better off visiting the Benin Bronze Sculptures section of the British Museum in central London.

Courtesy: The Guardian UK

#Benin City #Bini #Bini kingdom #delta state #Edo #Edo State #Ishan #Oba of Benin #Red soil

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spectrumscribe · 8 years

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I live commented on the latest (and very leaked) episode of TMNT and this was the result.

Spoilers below, obviously speaking. Avoid if you don’t want to see this shit before you see the actual episode of Owari.

Not much of a break down or analysis of the episode, just me being salty about a lot of things.

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Finally he’s fucking dead

Why did they bury him don’t they cremate folks in japan

Oh fuck no he’s still alive

Wait no he’s a ghost, fucking great.

Oh real helpful advice splinter thank you

No he’s not the fucking sensei he’s their idiot older brother don’t tell him he has more power than he does

Oh oh he’s leaving

Fucking bye splinter, real useful advice as always.

Now the hospital scene. God. Karai I’m sorry your life sucks you didn’t deserve this.

Oh hey they mentioned Casey has an actual family. Whoa. It’s only been like two three seasons since they did.

Ew hand holding

Ew touchy hand holding

Nice a montage scene

Casey you disaster I love you, I can’t believe he did that to shredder’s mask. Oh wait yes I can he’s Casey.

Okay everyone looks like they’ve been listening to too much MCR and I can’t tell if I hate it or love it.

At least April is untouched.

Kay I have to admit, the sneaky black look when they’re in the actual dark is p cool.

Also April killin it as always. Thank you for that nick.

Y’all have been at this for like three years stop tempting fate and saying the Thing every time you get a break.

Real strategic guys, go straight for the cliff. Nice.

Aw shit its Xever. Finally someone who knows what they’re doing at least most of the time.

Apparently Raph leveled up since the last time he fought Xever. Nice.

Whoa cold, leaving him to suffocate. I like.

I can’t believe it only took a whole four seasons to get the kids on board with the murder plan.

Yo what the retromutagen is back?? Where the shit has it been all this time.

Omg the reason stockman has been a fly all this time is because he liked it. He actually liked it. Wonders never cease.

“Michael” omfg

“Michael” I can’t get over that. That’s almost as strange as Mikey saying “papa” out of nowhere.

At least bebop and rocksteady don’t forget Casey and April like the plot often does. Thanks guys.

Oh hell yes some Donnie ninja action for the first time in forever. Donnie hurry Casey is about to die and you’re not the one to do it.

Wow I can’t believe they finally remembered the shit Donnie can do when used correctly. Beautiful.

OH SHIT ROBOT ARM NICE

“-all of your hands,” nice

Ooh clockwork hands are nifty. Loving the steampunk.

Okay so April can take a full on punch from tigerclaw but not one slash from shredder on the arm, like what??? Continuity, people, please.

And Leo continues to have bad catch phrases in battle. Bring this back more often thanks.

OH SHIT MORE TIGERS

YES

Bruh wait has tigerclaw been chillin with a bunch of actual tigers

This seems like furry shit

I’m calling it he’s a cat fucker

MOLOTOV COCKTAIL THE NINJA EDITION YEEEAAAAH

Oh and we conveniently leave the humans behind. nice.

Showdown. Fuck yeah.

A family that murders together stays together. Kill a bitch, boys.

Actually working together in battle, nice nice. Everyone’s getting their shots in, I’m loving it.

OH FUCK IS IT GONNA BE DEE?

no of course not, who am i kidding why would they let him do anything cool in this hell show.

Retromutagen time. Oh no it doesn’t fucking work, of course it didn’t work.

DEE NO

Oh nvm his boyfriend and girlfriend saved him.

But shit he can’t get back up. Convenient.

YES MIKEY GO BEAT HIS ASS

NO DON’T

FUCK- well there he goes too. Bye Mikey, RIP.

The first they show of how scary he is in seasons and he’s thrown off a building. Ugh.

And there goes Raph too. At least he smashed shredder’s head against shit before then.

Oh shut up Leo shredhead obvs gives no shits anymore. Don’t try guilting him now.

HA HIS ARM

FUCKING

WOW JUST LIKE KARAI NOW YOU CAN BE TWINSIES

Rat dad no this is not the time for a vision

“Fear nothing” um excuse me that’s not helpful here

Wtf why was Leo’s sword able to defeat shredder but not fucking Karai’s, who had a direct shot at his stupid radioactive heart

I call bullshit

BULLSHIT

also

OH FUCK ITS HIS HEAD

Wait no it’s not a head. I thought it was a head.

The end- oh wait no more hetero

“-what no one else could,” like you?? Why is she just letting this go? Karai don’t let it go. You wanted the bastard dead and you didn’t get to do it yourself why are you not mad.

What happened to Leo’s broken arm. Did he healing hand it when no one was looking and not share that with Karai. Wtf.

Well that was a horrendously out of character moment from Raph. Thanks nick.

Everyone emerges from the shadows to cockblock Leo, bless.

Why are you all out in the middle of daylight holy fuck

Guys get underground it’s like noon or something

“Right, sensei?” guys Leo’s talking to thin air you should do something about that

And we pan out with a watermark in the sky of splinter. Real classy.

Okay but

WHERE IS SHINI

HELL WHERE IS EVERYBODY

Guys you had like, an armada of friends who are basically tanks why didn’t you use them to defeat shredder.

Wtf

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Okay so all in all- yikes.

Ignoring some continuity errors, it just felt… kind of really rushed? Also a bit forced in specific areas.

The whole “Leo defeats the big bad” thing is really bothering me. This was a family fight. The whole family. That should have been the brothers all together, their friends who are basically their extended family now, and Karai maybe?? Since she’s actually related to and very deeply involved in this mess??

But nope. Lone Wolf Leo strikes again. As per fucking usual. I don’t know how they’re expecting Leo to lead the team, honestly. His skills on teamwork need some serious polishing. (The whole “you are their father and master now” thing with splinter last ep is still seriously bothering me. Like…. Eugh.)

Definitely not a fan of how things worked out. We barely saw the other brothers do much of anything, Karai was flipping bed ridden- I swear she wasn’t that injured in the last episode, I’m calling bull- and Casey and April were utterly exiled from the final showdown.

Nvm that the Mutanimals- who lost their only safe refuge and literal home in all this- weren’t even mentioned. Also Shini. Where did that beautiful murder lady get off to? She was fine in the last ep, why didn’t she show up and shank shredder for her wonderful senpai?

And the retromutagen. Seriously, that’s been completely ignored for over a season, and it suddenly shows up again. There’s been a number of innocent mutants come and gone who could have used that stuff. Feels weird that the boys never even offered them the chance at humanity again. (Karai too, have they even told her it exists?? Though I doubt she’d take that offer, it’d still be nice if they at least told her she has the choice.)

((What is it with this show and taking choices away from characters? More specifically the female ones.))

At least we got an explanation why stockman was still a fly. Wow is he a weirdo. Gotta love him for it though.

So yeah, lots of dropped points here. Important points. Would have been nice to actually mention a few of them, even just in passing.

Over all I didn’t feel much emotion or gravity from the episode. Mostly just salt. I’ll bet people will be crying all over the place about what happened in this thing and I’ll just be sitting here feeling nothing but sodium powered emotion.

I’m still kind of really laughing over the whole MCR look though. I can’t wait to see all the angsty AMV’s that come from this, it’ll be fucking hilarious.

#writer's notes #my writing #SALT #oh god so much salt #Owari #TMNT 2012 #meta #a play by play of the episode #because i couldn't stand to be alone in my reactions #thus i'm sharing it with everyone here #thanks guys #y'all are troopers #tmnt spoilers #tmnt season 4

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