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mllemaenad · 7 days

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The Magnus Protocol: Getting Off

Much like Gwen, I would very much like to know what the point of this is.

The first time I listened to this, I had a horrible fever, and honestly I think my only takeaway was that dying to the sound of that irritating Mr Bonzo song sounds tremendously unfair. That's a gross insult added to fatal injury situation right there.

Now, listening with a clearer head, I just keep thinking – this feels like a ridiculously convoluted way to achieve anything. So what are they aiming for, with all this rigamarole?

Most of the victims seem to be ... well, moderately important, let's say? They're throwing a bachelor party in a private room in what sounds like an upmarket strip club, so they have some money to throw around.

And this:

Norris/Jordan Bennett This lot weren’t the worst. Just a bunch of heavyset, middle-aged lads with names like Ozzer, or Rozzer or whatever. My guess was they used to be a school rugby team or something. The groom was fine, acted embarrassed even though he was obviously keen and they were easily pleased. – The Magnus Protocol: Getting Off

... very much gives off private school old boys vibes. Er. I mean public school, since it's British. But regardless.

They're probably somebodies, up to a point. Successful in business or politics. Drive Audis or Lamborghinis, or whatever is fashionable these days (my entire understanding of what car people like may be derived from a couple of Top Gear episodes I saw over a decade ago). Vote Tory. Have wine collections. Send their sons to the same school they attended. That sort of thing.

But only up to a point. Jordan, the bartender doing the narration, pointedly doesn't recognise any of them. They're just more of the same sort she served every night. The Prime Minister didn't die in that strip club that day, nor did any famous film star, nor any CEO big enough to have been on the news defending his company's dubious business practices. Just some guys, presumably with a bit of money.

It took a bit to set up, too. All the business with the name and address in the envelope, which required a hand delivery to the monster. Then, of course, someone had to plant the lunch box – or I suppose it could supernaturally manifest itself, but that does not sound like less work. And it seems to have only worked because "Baz" the groom was genuinely a Mr Bonzo fan.

Norris/Jordan Bennett They started giving the groom gifts. Same old tat as always, cufflinks, poo gags, all the standard stuff. Then the groom spotted the last one on the table, this cheap yellow and purple kids lunch box. It looked old and shoddy and no one admitted to bringing it but the groom just squealed with glee and carefully opened it before pulling out a bunch old souvenir merch. Pencils, postcards, keyrings, all sorts of crap, all the same yellow and purple and last of all a cracked CD case. When they saw it the whole bunch gave this big laughing cheer. – The Magnus Protocol: Getting Off

He had to like Mr Bonzo to trigger the trap. Had that lunch box been delivered to Jordan she would have tossed it.

It required research and setup, and access to exactly the kind of monster to which Baz would be vulnerable.

For an assassination, it's obviously absurd; there have to be thugs who'll do that job with less associated nonsense. It's entirely possible that somebody wants these guys dead, but that can't be why the OIAR did it. It's also a lot for the purposes of generating a scary story. I mean – the OIAR is drowning in scary stories. And if I'm honest, this one wasn't especially scary. I mean, don't get me wrong – it's deeply unpleasant and awful, but I've never been much moved by "monster on a rampage" tales.

But on the other side of it, it's much too small scale for a The Magnus Archives-style ritual.

There is Jordan, though. The thing about Jordan is that she is very much the sister of Dianne Margolis from Give and Take. If you subtract the specifics of the monsters, the stories are basically identical:

A place of business

A monster that is in some sense invited in

A massacre

A single, surviving staff member, traumatised and seeking compensation

Jordan and Dianne themselves are both professionals who find themselves wildly out of their depths when confronted with a supernatural interloper. And, crucially, both were abandoned by their superiors, and that isolation made them vulnerable. Dianne has a boss who goes on "personal development sabbaticals" and doesn't answer her emails. Jordan has a doorman who goes on unscheduled smoke breaks. Now, in fairness to poor Joey the doorman, it does seem as though Mr Bonzo took him out first. But there's a lot of plausible deniability to be found in that history – sometimes, Jordan is left on her own, and if something were to go wrong ...

Norris/Jordan Bennett All I actually want is my hand back so I can tend bar but that isn’t going to happen is it? So I’ll have to settle for the next best thing and sue you for everything I can get, because I don’t know what happened that night but it was in your venue and no one came to help. Not Derek, not another doorman, no one. So yeah, you’d better have one hell of a settlement waiting for me, or I'll see you in court. – The Magnus Protocol: Getting Off

A bachelor party is an odd choice of a place to kill someone. This isn't Baz's address. He wouldn't be here long, and in practice might be hard to pin down: he could arrive late or leave early; he could decide to go hang out in the public areas for a bit. Jordan, though. This is her workplace. You can just about guarantee she will be there.

Monsters in The Magnus Archives were not primarily interested in killing people. I mean – they did kill people, obviously. Sometimes quite a lot of people. But they killed people because dying people are often afraid, or because if you're, say, trying to make people afraid of falling, throwing one guy out of a cable car will make an impression on the other passengers.

Killing wasn't the point.

We have, here, another semi-public murder with a surviving witness. Jordan is unlikely to convince herself this never happened because she has her missing hand as evidence.

Geraldine The witness statements from three murders over the last five years – Nigel (speaking over her) I told your producer this wasn’t going to be discussed. Geraldine – that claim a person in a Mr. Bonzo costume was at the scene? Do you think there could be a copycat? – The Magnus Protocol: Saturday Night

On her own, Jordan might just be a spooky story. But that's a fourth witness statement for Geraldine. There have been at least four cases over the past five years of something almost exactly like this: grisly murders, and someone left alive to tell the tale.

Something is trying to get everyone's attention.

And I wonder if the name Gwen gave Mr Bonzo wasn't Jordan Bennett.

As for who benefits, I have no doubt Alice is quite correct.

Alice What are you getting at? Gwen You never wonder what the point is? Who benefits from all this awfulness? Alice I don’t wonder. I know. Gwen (sitting up) What? Really? Alice (portentous) Oh yeah. I’ve known for a while. What we’re doing here, it’s all part of a grand plan to satisfy one of the most unspeakable evils known to mankind… Gwen’s on the edge of her seat. Alice (almost a whisper) …the UK government. – The Magnus Protocol: Getting Off

Sure, that's one of those lines that sounds like a joke, but which actually speaks the truth. That's been the horror all along: the difference between The Magnus Institute, that had to coax people in, and the OIAR, which can just harvest the horrors, sometimes from very private sources.

And I have not forgotten this:

Alice Colin! There’s my guy! How's it hanging? Is it an app yet? Do we have a minimalist logo? I assume you’ve finished all the social features? Colin Don't you start. I swear I'm going to shove a cable down that prick's throat, pull it out his ministerial anus and floss him to death – The Magnus Protocol: First Shift

There's a minister behind this mess, somewhere, and he is likely the one pulling the strings.

The question, mostly, is whether Alice knows she's right. She does talk a good game about indifference, of course, but it's becoming abundantly clear that the OIAR does not hire people who are not marked by the supernatural. And something is already following her.

What could she tell you, if she were ever willing to talk?

Celia and Sam are what remains, of course, but that's just more put-a-pin-in-it-for-later stuff. Whether Alice does or no, Celia has things going on, but she won't talk until the plot is right for it.

#the magnus protocol #the magnus protocol spoilers #the magnus archives

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astrum-aetherium · 10 months

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I was watching a movie where main character is a baker when an idea came to me.

Baking with Henry pls! I wonder what cake he'd prefer to try (I once made headcanon about TSH characters and type of cake they would be, and I agreed on tiramisu because taste of it reminds me of his personality)

-Shiro

it thrills me greatly to imagine just how much seriousness he would approach the matter with. i mean, we already know how dedicated he is to each commitment, whatever he sets his mind to, no matter how mundane. but to do something he is so unfamiliar with (rich kid things), and for you? he would overthink and overplan all of it. it would almost be comical.

in spite of his inexperience and unfamiliarity with the activity, i think he'd, rather pretentiously, consider making the most complex pastry just for the sake of it right off the bat, like canelés or a multi-textured layered cake. this is where you would need to intervene, however, and bring him back to earth, convince him to start small. cookies are a little too basic, so what about palmiers? madeleines? mini chocolate-filled croissants out of puff pastry? something along those lines — fast, easy, delicious.

no matter how easy it would be, however, henry would still approach the task at hand with the utmost dedication. amusingly, he will have researched irrelevant details like flour density or something beforehand. therefore, it's safe to say that he will have come prepared, but not exactly for homestyle baking — more like for a french baking academy final exam. and yet, you would appreciate it greatly — it's the thought that counts, right? he would be standing there in an apron (picture the sight of that), his shirt sleeves hiked up to his elbows, and his note-infested diary within reach to refresh his memory on any lost details. it would be adorably engaging.

considering his effort and dedication, you would undoubtedly get a satisfying, and, most importantly, edible result. hell, it would be so great that you'd insist on saving some for the greek class to try (richard would like it most). from then on, i suppose the two of you could make baking a part of your routine, as it would translate as unwinding for both of you. additionally, it would merely solidify your bond ;)

when it comes to desserts he would like to try, i'd say anything from ancient rome/greece. he would read about some sort of pastry in an old book and desperately try to find a recipe for it. something convoluted and rare, characteristically. as for the type of dessert he would be, i agree with you on the tiramisu part — he definitely seems like something coffee-flavored. it makes perfect sense. in addition, i also feel something mildly chocolatey for him, like a pain au chocolat or an éclair. in the simplest form, i definitely see him as a chocolate-covered coffee bean, though. or a stick of pocky, lol.

#henry winter imagine #henry winter x reader #henry winter thirst #indulgent thoughts #astrum asks #this is so very sweet #i headcanon him as a capricorn so he would definitely take this seriously and have a whole itinerary #sorry for predominantly mentioning french desserts #i don't think there would be any of that flour fight romcom bullshit though #he'd give you dirty looks for as little as stirring incorrectly #TBHHH HAHAHHA #you could definitely become the designated baker couple though #bringing cookies to every occasion and shit

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obae-me · 1 year

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Upside Down- CH 5

Author's Notes: This chapter was so fun! I love trying to take what we know from the game and turning it around to match what would happen in the human world. This chapter was a bit more world and character building, but shenanigans will be right back in the next chapter!

WARNING: This chapter contains cussing, mentions of death, mentions of abuse, spiking a drink, as well as other possible general sensitive subjects. As always, read safely!

Word Count: 7210

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Blood of the Covenant

Oil popped up from the scalding pan, making little sizzling and popping sounds. Steam rolled up from a boiling pot, wafting up to the ceiling where a little vent fan kept the moisture in the air from sticking to surfaces – or at least that’s what you were told when you asked. Human technology was so convoluted. Why not just make the cabinets out of a material that wouldn’t be ruined in the first place? You kept quiet, watching from your seat with your legs crossed underneath you. The sight was too nice right now to ruin. A quiet peace. Despite there being other things you could be doing, coming up with a plan for instance, you resigned to simply watching Mammon move side to side in the kitchen, a more neutral but focused expression on his face. The more you stared at the back of his head though, the more his eyebrows furrowed till eventually he turned around, pointing a cooking utensil at you.

"What? What're you looking at?" He asked, a scowl on his face but a little heat coming to his cheeks.

You were just observing him in general, a little surprised that he seemed to be cooking rather efficiently. But you couldn't let him know that, so you just pointed to the apron he was wearing. That got him flustered, although for him the expression was very similar to anger. He turned around and went back to what he was doing. "My clothing is expensive, alright? I can't let it get dirty! If you make fun of me, you're not eating anything!"

"I wasn't planning to," you mentioned flatly, tilting your head a bit. "I just came up with an excuse to get your brother to eat something so he doesn't collapse.” You flopped your head to the other side in thought. “Well, I mean if he ends up being so gravely weak that he can't go get that figure, that might not be a bad plan either."

Mammon threw some stuff into the pot, set a timer, and then turned around again. "That sounds like a very bad plan!" He put a hand on one of his hips and changed the subject. “And whadda’ mean you’re not going to eat, what did I even make this for then?”

“For you and Levi.”

“But I made enough for-”

The door to the kitchen opened causing you both to turn your heads. Heavy steps down the hall had suggested someone was approaching, but you assumed they’d simply pass by. A head covered in ginger colored locks looked inside before stepping through the door. The human blinked in a bit of shock, but other than the blinking, his expression didn’t change much. “Mammon, you’re the one making the house smell good?” The human looked at you but hardly acknowledged you, walking towards the cooking.

Mammon huffed. “Yeah, I am! Why is that so shocking to everyone?” His gaze shifted back and forth as he contemplated what to say, almost like he was embarrassed to say it. “I’m making food for Levi.”

“Can I have some?” Mammon’s brother stood there expectantly, not expecting no for an answer.

With a sigh, Mammon nodded. “Fine, fine, but it’s not done yet. Sit down for a minute.” He picked up the utensil again and pointed it at you again, swinging it as a gesture between you and the human. An introduction of sorts. “MC, Beel. Beel, MC.”

Beel came over and sat in another chair. The furniture made a little noise as it moved across the polished floor. It must have also been caught off guard by being used for once. The human was wearing a simple tank top and some black pants with a red stripe running down the outside of each pant leg. The moisture clinging to the neck of his clothes and the skin of his forehead suggested that he’d just come back from some sort of physical recreational activity. Gluttony was the name the lesser demons called this human back home. All the followers of him had a tendency to stuff themselves to the point of sickness. Occasionally it did damage to others, but more often than not, it mostly sabotaged themselves. You would hope the brother didn’t embody all that up here but…who knew? Humans, much like their creations, were confusing. You really had taken on more than you could chew…pun not intended…with these brothers. It didn’t require magic to tell they were falling apart. “So there really has been someone new living here,” Beel confirmed with a rather monotone voice.

Again with that…You finally spoke up. ”Is it really so surprising to have someone else here for a while?”

Both humans nodded in confidence at the same time, not needing even a single second to think it over. Beel was the one who answered. “Sometimes Asmo will bring a lot of friends over, but other than that, no one really comes around. Lucifer tries to keep people out for the most part.”

“Of course he does,” you muttered, keeping it mostly under your breath. You should’ve known. “He definitely seems…” You stopped yourself, thinking of many crass or even vulgar metaphors to use for the eldest brother. Most of them referring to a stiff object being lodged in even stiffer places. Probably not the best first impression to make to this new human. “Quite authoritarian.”

“I think he’s just paranoid,” Beel stated honestly. It got you to drop your sarcasm for a moment.

There was a very long period of silence, the only noises coming from the meal Mammon was making, although even the food seemed to try to stay quiet. The faint ticking of the kitchen timer was your proof ensuring you that you weren’t frozen in time. As for the metaphorical basilisk in the room, there were a lot of context clues given to you already. Mammon kept bringing up having a loss, and there were frequent mentions of how everyone was grieving. You really needed to know. Normally you would’ve decided it was not your place, but the source of their sin, of their struggles, seemed to tie or at least stem from a certain event. “What happened?”

The humans both looked at each other, silently debating to each other who would talk about it. Mammon gave in first. His shoulders slumped, and he spoke to you without looking at you. “It was a few years ago.” But before the story could continue further, Beel stood up, tucking the chair back against the table, striding towards the kitchen door. “Beel,” Mammon called, a waiver of emotion in his voice. Beel stopped for a moment, but didn’t answer back. You watched Mammon struggle with a decision on what to do, and got caught a little off guard when you observed his eyes soften towards his younger brother. “I’ll set your food aside for later, yeah?”

A quiet “okay” was muttered before the red-haired human left as quickly as he came. Apparently whatever this was, it was even more important than gluttony’s own sin. Or perhaps he felt that such a stranger didn’t need to know. So much for first impressions.

There was more silence for a time, and while you were usually one who preferred simple quietude, this was driving you mad. “Forget I even brought it up.”

“Too late for that now,” Mammon sighed. “We’re all still…” He took a deep breath in and a deep breath out. Then with the violent ringing of the kitchen timer, the subject changed completely. As he pulled down dishes and utensils, he turned back around at you with his usual stance, as if you had both picked up where you left off before Beel had come around. “I don’t care if ya don’t need to eat or whatever. If you want to keep up this whole secret, you hafta act like a human. So, as your royally approved guide-”

“I think you and I remember that whole meeting differently.”

“-I insist that you have a little bit to eat. It doesn’t have to be much. Here.” He scooped a little bit of food into a tiny bowl, placed a fork inside, and handed it over to you before doing the same thing three more times. One of the bowls he wrapped and placed inside a large cold box. “Let’s take one of these to Levi and then…we can continue our conversation.” Refusing wouldn’t do you any good in this situation, so you stood, leaving your bowl on the table. “Don’t forget your food,” the human mentioned.

“Are we not coming back down to eat? Do you not dine, as it is so aptly named, in your dining room?”

“First off, this is just the kitchen,” he corrected, which made sense. The little table they kept in here would hardly seat more than four people let alone seven. “Secondly, we haven’t used the dining room for a long time. We’ll just make sure Levi eats and then we can eat in my room or somethin’.” He tucked one bowl against his chest with his arm and kept the other one in his hand so he could open the door for you. With a quiet sigh, you grabbed the food he made for you and went on your way.

When you had both dropped dinner off, Levi actually looked surprised. It was short lived however, as Envy quickly went on to say how this was just one step above whatever ramen was. They both quipped at each other for a little bit, but not nearly as serious as before. Apparently Levi was feeling grateful in his own strange way. He had taken the food and shut the door while mentioning some sort of ‘raid’ he had to attend to. And so now you were here…in Mammon’s room. A giant screen to your right was playing some odd video while music spilled out of two large boxes right beside it. You almost bumped into a pool table while staring at it.

“Careful,” the human warned while trying to casually kick a small pile of dirty clothes under his bed. Other than that though, his room wasn’t too bad. Not as bad as Levi’s had been anyway. While the other brother seemed to live in his room, Mammon’s appeared to exist only as a display. Plenty of lights showed off little trinkets here and there ensuring that they glittered at every angle. Glass displays on dressers housed watches and gems and coins. There was even another car placed on a platform…above his bed. You withheld the skepticism about the safety of it all. The door next to the car, as well as your internal mapping of the place, suggested that this was close to the garage if not directly attached to it. But what really confirmed that this room was hardly a bedroom was the fact that Mammon’s presence was hardly felt here. “What?” Mammon asked, looking at the way you were eyeing everything. “Don’t tell me you don’t like it, just look at all this!” He sat at the foot of his bed, gesturing a hand to show off his many treasures.

You headed over to the set of stairs that led up to the car and selected the third seat up to serve as your seat. “When’s the last time you’ve been here?”

You asked him the question while he was in the middle of a bite. He raised an eyebrow and waited till he was done to respond. “Whadda mean?”

“Your scent in here is stale,” you admitted. “Almost completely faded.” The main and almost only thing you could smell in here right now was the scent of metal and plastic.

Jaw slightly dropped and eyes wide, the expression he was giving you was rather laugh worthy. He took a minute to recover before clearing his throat. “Okay, first off, do not say weird stuff like that here at all! You sound totally alien! Or a complete freaky weirdo at best!” Rude, you thought. He rubbed his forehead before his eyes cast down. “But you can really tell I haven’t been here just from that huh?”

You nodded, taking the smallest bite of the food Mammon cooked for you just to keep him from bugging you. It was human food alright. “Have you been staying somewhere else?”

Shoulders shrugged. “Motels some nights, my cars others. I can’t stand to be here much anymore. Although anytime I try to leave, it usually causes trouble.”

“Is that what Lucifer and you were arguing about before?”

With that, Mammon scoffed, his jaw clenching. “First time I tried to move out, I did it impulsively, sure, I’ll admit.” His hands went up in a mock surrender. “No plan, no job. Ended up running out of money when no job would take me. Little did I know it was because my dear older brother was creepin’ on me. Somehow caught wind of anywhere I tried to apply and called in to give a bad impression of me, only to blame me for leaving in the first place when I came back home after being evicted.” He settled his bowl off to the side, no longer up for eating at the moment it seemed. “Second time, Cash offered me a place to stay. I knew it was a sketchy offer, but getting out seemed too good to pass up. When I figured out some of the stuff he was doing, I left. And well, you saw how that went.” Mammon formed a fist and pounded it against his bed. “And now we’re on house arrest. I swear, Lucifer is doing whatever he can to keep us all trapped here.”

Strange…the brother who acts like his brothers are a burden is going out of his way to ensure his brothers stay home…why? “Is that part of the paranoia Beel mentioned?” You rotated your own bowl in your hands, absorbing the heat into your palms.

“Maybe,” Mammon whispered. “Still no excuse for him to be such an asshole.” The muscles of his face were so tight with rage the ends of his eyebrows almost touched. Then it all lifted at once, the seething turned solemn. He looked up at his ceiling with a gaze so intent you imagined he was trying to look through it. “She was murdered.” A sudden statement spoken so softly, you relied on the movement of his lips to understand what he had said.

Maybe it was the pact, that was the only reason you could think of for feeling…a tug of some sorts inside you. You stood up from the steps and went to join him on the end of his bed. With a swift movement, you picked up his bowl and put it back in his lap hoping the sensation would ground him back to reality. “Who was?” You asked.

“Our sister.” His head then lowered, his eyes covered up by the hair blanketing his face. “It happened two years ago, but to us all it still feels like only a month or even only a week has passed…” He went on to explain the situation to you, starting at the beginning.

Unfortunately, the beginning started quite like the ending. With death.

Two humans met, and like quite a lot of them do when they fall in love, they got married. Husband and wife had found a place on this earth, found a place to start a family. The dream that so many humans crave came true. She got pregnant and they were elated, for why wouldn’t they be? Then when the child came, there were complications. Dire ones. They had no idea. They had no time left to dream. The child lived, but the mother died before she got to hold her only son. A soul snuffed out in an instant. The father was convinced he would never love another woman like her again, and so, raised the son on his own. They were the last two of the Morningstar line. And for a time they were happy, they were fine. All the love they needed they gave to each other as father and son. Until some things felt wrong. Until the father went to the hospital and discovered that which cuts human’s short lifespans even shorter. Despair filled him, yes, but more so than his own life was the thought that his son would be alone. So for that he prepared.

Then we find another beginning, a beginning also filled with death. It started with a small child who could barely count to ten and a mother in a desperate situation. One where the number of alcohol bottles scattered on the ground could tell you how many bruises you would find the next day. But the mother wanted better for her son. She wanted out. She wanted to run. And so one night she did. Tucked her baby in the backseat of her car and ran…but not without being caught. Not without another car pulling out of the driveway right behind her.

“It’s funny,” Mammon told you. “My mom died in a car, and yet despite that, I love to drive. Maybe it helps me feel closer to her. It is the only thing I know about her really…”

“You only ever remember being with the Morningstars?”

“Yeah.” Mammon set his now empty bowl aside, having eaten it in between storytelling. You had finished your food as well, stacking your empty dish with his. “I’m fairly lucky in that regard. Wasn’t in an orphanage for long at all. Dad always used to say it was because it was destiny or somethin’ stupid like that.”

“Guess that solves the mystery on why none of you look alike.”

Mammon straightened his back. “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” Then his posture slouched again as he gave a thoughtful shrug. “Or at least I think that’s what Satan always says anytime someone brings it up. Think it’s a fancy way of meaning a true bond doesn’t have to do with being blood related. But yeah. Dad and Lucifer share DNA but the rest of us were brought in. I came first. Levi came in after. Asmo next, and then the twins and…Lilith.”

“Your sister,” you realized, glad to finally put a name to this lost sibling. “Wait, when did your brother Satan come in? I thought he was the fourth oldest.”

“He is…he was adopted last though.” The pause alluded to a touchy subject. “Remember how I said I was fairly lucky to be adopted so quickly?” You nodded at that and he continued. “Satan was not so lucky…He was there for a while. Dad brought him in last…Died before it went through actually…it was Lucifer who ended up making sure he could come home. So, we were all always kinda messed up, but…it was never this bad.”

“Humans are bound to indulge in sin eventually, it’s impossible for you all not to.” You had no way of knowing if that would sound helpful to him or not. From the looks of him though, it wasn’t. So you sighed and wondered why you were playing therapist when you could be investigating…but you were bound through a pact now…and you did ask. “But you’re right, it doesn’t have to be this bad. If it wasn’t this bad after your father died, I’m assuming your sister’s…” Death was much worse, you were going to say, but felt the implied word was enough. After all, humans did take murder much more seriously.

“It happened so fast,” he recalled, pulling out a golden coin from his pocket to flip between his fingers. It seemed to calm him. “Lucifer had just gotten his big promotion that he’d been working on getting for ages. So naturally, he took us all out to eat at this big boujee restaurant with a ridiculous dress code and expensive wine.” That description elicited a single chuckle from him. “He was so pleased with himself I wanted to puke. And then…” He stopped fiddling with the coin as he clenched it in one hand. “I don’t even remember how it started. It was stupid. One minute, I’m trying to convince Lucifer to let me have another drink, and then the next, Lilith goes running out the door with the twins running after her.” Apparently his willingness to go into detail had come to an end. He stopped speaking.

But you still had more questions. “And then?”

“And then I never saw her again.”

Not wanting to push him too far, you figured storytime was over for now. However, you had the feeling that there was more to the story than was said. At least now you had a few more pieces to the puzzle. Not that you would make a frequent habit of this, but… “Thank you for telling me,” you praised. “I’m certain it was…difficult to talk about.”

He simply stared at you for a moment before removing his gaze to push air out of his cheeks in exasperation. “Geez, you sound like my therapist.”

“I practically was one, so figured I would play the part.” Half a tease but half honesty. “Don’t suppose you’ll pay me for my time would you?”

“Fat chance.”

“...I don’t know what that means, but by your tone I’m assuming it means no.” That seemed to relatively lighten the mood. “How about a change in subject?” You got to your feet, hopping down the raised platforms his bed was on to lean against the pool table adjacent from him. He simply raised an eyebrow as a response allowing you to move on with your new topic. “Let’s discuss, oh I don’t know, the fact that your brother Levi has set up a rendezvous with a demon. We need a plan.”

“A plan to do what, exactly?”

“To stop him, obviously!” You focused on him with a bit of disbelief. “As much as I think a bit of fresh air would do your brother major good, getting up close and personal with one of my kind usually doesn’t improve one’s health.”

You went from leaning on the pool table to lifting yourself up and sitting on it which only had Mammon wince a little. “How do you know it’ll end badly? I mean, you didn’t hurt me.” You gave him a pause to work it out. The gears in his head were turning, the flicker of a memory flashing across his eyes as he undoubtedly remembered all the other poor unfortunate souls that got abruptly sent back down home by you while you were saving him. So he nodded in agreement. “He won’t want to give it up. Once he sees something he likes, he kinda obsesses about it. Plus we’re on house arrest.”

You heavily rolled your eyes. “I truthfully couldn’t care less about Lucifer’s so-called house arrest. What good is a bodyguard who can’t even leave the premises?”

“The more you piss him off, the more you’ll be on his radar, trust me,” he warned, speaking from his own personal experience. “What if he gets suspicious and figures you out?” …Darn…the human was speaking some sense. “If we can find a way to stay home and stop Levi, my brother’s soul won’t be stolen and better yet Lucifer will probably find someone else to yell at.”

“Glad your priorities are in order…but, fine. You make a decent point.” No promises that you would simply stay put though if it came down to it or even just in general. You could do with stepping out to do some surveillance. “You know your brother best. How do we stop him from leaving in the first place?”

He sat in contemplation for a while, humming a little to himself as he mulled it over. “I guess…the first thing that comes to mind is to make him obsess over something else.”

“That’ll be all for today.” Low muttered voices spoke amongst each other as chairs were pushed back, papers and devices were grabbed, and tired feet shuffled out the door. You watched them go feeling almost as exhausted as they did, and yet you had been lying here all day. Although you weren’t necessarily one to rely on luxury…would a couch have been too much of a pain to put in here? The floor wasn’t exactly your favorite to lie on. You went from a fully horizontal position to sitting up, rubbing the back of your head, watching the last person in the room sigh, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Why do I feel like they didn’t listen to a word I said?”

You would have responded to that question with several answers. Maybe because it had been one of the most boring human experiences you’d had thus far. Maybe because you could tell that people were subsisting off of a handful of hours of sleep and coffee. Or maybe it had something to do with being one of the most insufferable humans you’d had the misfortune of meeting. Unfortunately, you couldn’t respond with any of these lovely examples. You stood up, silently stretching, trying to shake the terms like ‘pipelines’ and ‘liquidation’-- which strangely enough had nothing to do with actual liquid – out of your head. The door to the room then opened and the last remaining human stepped out. Quiet as a shadow, you followed him, keeping your hands behind your back as you slipped through the crack before it shut behind you. You followed the human through the hallways, passing a few exhausted drones with cups and files in their hands.

Soon the human approached a desk where a young man typing away at a computer looked up quickly and got to his feet. “Mr. Morningstar! I have some important papers for you! Oh, and Mr. Collymoore called again about that proposal.” Blah, blah, blah, human work stuff. He handed a folder to Lucifer who took it with a nod and nothing more before moving on without even a thank you. Which wasn’t all that surprising, all things considering. The young man sat down and honestly looked relieved. Silence must’ve been on the better side of reactions.

Lucifer approached the sleek black door, the tip of his index finger placed over a tiny groove next to the doorknob. A little light flashed before it beeped and the room was unlocked. Like you had already done so many times today, you slinked through right behind him. All this security was obviously not demon-proof. As soon as the door clicked shut again, Lucifer sighed, heading over to what you were assuming was his desk. After seemingly endless meetings, the both of you were finally able to have some quiet.

The room was…rather nice if you had to admit. The floor was lined with white marble tiles, streaks of black and silver mixed in with the ivory shade. To your direct right was the desk, positioned so he had to take no more than five brisk steps to sit in his chair with his back to the wall. The far right wall was made with dark wooden tiles, a large display shelf against it which kept little statues, plaques, pictures, some bottles of alcohol, and other human things you couldn’t place. There were only two solid walls in the room, the one behind you and the one to your right, the other two – directly in front of you and to your left – were purely windows. Plenty of natural light flooded into the room, removing the need for any sort of lighting during the daytime. And while you didn’t necessarily like the noise of this human city, being able to look down and watch humans and cars scurry around far below you like little insects was pretty entertaining. But even better than all these…was that there was a couch right near the window. Perfect. While Lucifer was distracted, you settled yourself onto it, making sure you made no noise and didn’t disturb the pillows. While the human left a bitter taste in your mouth, at least he had good taste. You were worried that the couch would be as stiff as he was. You glanced up at him, watching him sort through the papers with a surprisingly calm look on his face.

Oh how badly you wanted to mess with him right now…The temptation was almost too much to bear.

Mammon had protested you leaving in the first place, but eventually gave in when he heard your reasoning. Although you didn’t give him all the information, it was more of a need-to-know basis. And by that, you mean you thought it would be more amusing if he didn’t know what you had planned. The plan required you to leave the house though, and so you had left this morning right behind Lucifer as to not arouse suspicion. Cloaked of course. Then while he sped off to work, you had the time to walk around town and get what you needed. Luckily your previous hopes had pulled through, finding an unassuming little store that was run by one of yours. While it was true you hadn’t gotten out much in the past millennia, it seemed your kind hadn’t changed too drastically, and so you knew what symbols to keep an eye out for. Those little clues went unnoticed by humans and led you right to your kind. And wouldn’t you know it? The demonic shopkeep had exactly what you needed. You still had it in your pocket right now, making sure it stayed intact till you made it back to the house. If you didn’t die of boredom first…

Sure, you probably could’ve headed back without needing to come to the office in the first place, getting Mammon to let you in. Surely if he didn’t leave the property he wouldn’t get into trouble. However…you wanted to get a sense for things here. Lucifer had the most following down in your world, and so he had the most corrupted soul…the most sought after. Yet…despite that, you had no sense of him being in danger. You sensed none of your kind in the building at all. Good news you would normally think…but it only succeeded in making you more suspicious. This place as well as the house…was protected. That was one of your guesses. Otherwise, demons would’ve hopped over or broken through to the house a long time ago to snatch up the free all-you-could-eat Morningstar soul buffet.

So what…or who was protecting them?

A sudden classical melody broke through your thoughts. Lucifer placed down a paper and picked up his phone. With a quick tap, he placed it against his ear. “Yes?” There was speaking you could hardly hear. You could probably make some words out if you cared to pay attention to it, but if it was more workplace jargon you didn’t understand, you’d pass. Although Lucifer’s expression shifted to one you hadn’t seen him use yet. He seemed pleased. Show-stopping. “How are you?” Lucifer leaned back in his chair, his shoulders less tense. “I’m glad to hear that……Oh, you know, just the usual tedium. Although, I don’t think I’ve informed you yet, but we have a guest living at home right now.” Well, now your ears were burning. “Yes, of course I did a background check……I had thought of that. In fact, I did refuse at first……It was all rather sudden.” Just sounded like he was trying to slide past the fact that he let you stay in his house for a bribe. “No, I know Belphegor comes home soon, I didn’t forget.” Belphegor?...One of his brothers? “No need to sound so worried, Diavolo, trust me I’m handling it.” Diavolo…hm, you felt like it was a name you should know, and yet despite that intuition, the name wasn’t ringing any bells. “I think that sounds like a plan as long as you can ignore my family. You can come over and we can catch up……I have plenty of drinks already, you don’t need to bring any……Yes, we’ll plan a time for soon…” He hummed a bit in response as he listened to the person on the other side say goodbye before hanging up himself.

Interesting. You’d have to ask Mammon about Belphegor and Diavolo later. Speaking of, maybe you were no longer needed here. Lucifer seemed to be perfectly safe here and right now Levi needed more of your worries. You got up off the couch, heading over with quiet steps to the display shelves. What to mess with?...Your eyes locked onto a picture that had been framed. It was all of them. Each brother close together, trying to all squeeze into view. In front of them all, crouching with a smile was a young woman. Lilith you could only conclude. Seems even Lucifer couldn’t part with some sentiments. You put your hand on the picture and knocked it over, making sure not to break it but causing a decent clattering noise.

With a startled jolt, Lucifer looked up. It was all you could do from chuckling at his reaction. As he got to his feet to fix the picture, you headed over to the door where his back was now facing. Luckily the door on this side was able to be opened without any fancy human ritual. You only opened the door as much as you needed to sidle through, and then without looking back made your way back to the House.

“Absolutely not.”

“And why not?”

“Because it’s…Weird!”

“...” You gave Mammon a look but couldn’t help but smirk a little. This was about the reaction you expected. You dangled the tiny vial in front of his face. “You told me what would stop Levi, and this is it. All you have to do is slip this into a drink and make sure you’re the only person in the room when it hits.”

His arms folded, and you had to bite your tongue from comparing him to a less intimidating Lucifer. “I’m not drugging my brother!” He exclaimed in a sort of whisper yell.

“Then I’ll do it,” you assured him. “Didn’t you want to see some magic?” Tempting him was far too easy. He’s lucky you’re the demon he made a pact with. You looked right into his eyes, gaze unwavering, the bottle and its contents glittering under the light. “From what you figured out, Levi is supposed to leave tomorrow, so it's either this or plan B.”

His resolve was cracking, you could tell. “What was your second plan?”

“Physical restraints,” you answered. “Or blackmail. Or perhaps some kind of mild torture.”

He sighed, pacing, his expression suggesting that he was trying to figure out if you were joking or not. You were not. “Can’t we just…follow him to his meeting and make sure he’s safe? The demon probably won’t do anything if you and I are there! You could talk to ‘em or somethin’ right? Or fight them off if it comes down to it!”

“Mammon.” You said his name so seriously he stopped talking. He sat down on his couch in his room to listen to you. “First off, you were the one that wanted to not leave the house in the first place, I’m simply following what you wanted. Secondly, demons are much more dangerous than you still give us credit for. Your best case scenario, we follow after him and this demon is alone and weaker than I am. Which if I’m being honest isn’t likely. Demons are selfish. We don’t want to share. We’ll kill anyone who gets in our way. I suspect one of the only reasons you’ve all stayed alive for this long is because all your hunters keep killing each other off simply so they’re the last ones standing. Which means one of two things. One, the demon after Levi is so strong that no one is willing or able to keep them from taking your brother. Or, the more likely of the two, is that a few demons have ganged up and are, for once, willing to split the spoils.” You came up to stand in front of him. “Going out is dangerous. Staying here is safer. And besides…” You took his hand and placed the vial in his palms. “Worrying isn’t like you. You like the thrill of the unexpected, don’t you?”

For reasons unknown, he didn’t seem to be able to meet your eyes. “I thought you were supposed to keep me from giving into impulses.”

“I’m a demon, not an angel.” You shrugged, folding your arms across your chest. “I’m just here to observe your actions and make sure they don’t get you killed.” He still remained silent for a while and you sighed, snatching up the vial. “If you’re too scared to do it, fine.”

He got to his feet rather quickly at that, looking irritated at being accused. “I’m not scared, just…it sounds too weird!”

“What’s weird about it?” You held the potion behind your back, taking a few steps away from the human. “He consumes this and then after a few seconds becomes obsessed with whoever he sees first for a few hours. A pretty cut and dry potion. If you do it, you can literally get him to do whatever you want. Just tell him to completely forget the figure and the demon, and his mind will erase the memory. Then just do the little clicky-clacky internet thing and make sure the demon can’t contact him anymore. When the potion wears off he’ll resume his hermit ways and…do whatever else it is that he does.”

Mammon’s eyes shifted back and forth. “He’ll do whatever I want for a few hours?”

“Yes.”

The worry lines that had been digging themselves into trenches between his brows suddenly cleared. He smirked like he normally did which made some sort of weird knot in you subside. “Give it to me.” Another day another human won over to chaos. You handed him back the vial. He took it quickly and marched out of his bedroom with surprising speed. If anything this would at least be interesting. You followed after him, making your way through the hallways before settling back in front of Levi’s room. Before he summoned his brother, he whispered at you. “Hey, how about you do that little invisible thing again? Levi’s gonna be skeptical if we both come in.”

“...Fine,” you muttered. Using all this magic was getting to you though. A nice nap was deserved. You took a look around you, ensuring the coast was clear before your human disguise was dropped, your horns and tail revealing themselves before eventually all of you faded from view.

“So cool…” Mammon then turned and knocked intensely, not letting up till the entrance to the room swung open. Levi’s annoyed face peered through the crack in the door. “Again, Mammon? What do you want now? You better not expect me to owe you for dinner or anything.”

“Listen, man, I’m bored. Lucifer’s got me on this stupid house arrest and I feel like I’m losing my mind.” He leaned against the doorframe, slipping the vial in his back pocket. “So, hear me out. You and me, some drinks, and that racing game we always play. Whoever loses takes a shot.”

A little intrigued, the door opened a little more, but you could see the human shuffle on his feet inside. “I don’t know, Mammon. I actually have to go outside tomorrow…and I don’t feel like being hungover for that. It’s hard enough as is.”

Mammon simply chuckled. “Oh, so that means you know you’re going to lose, eh?”

The sudden challenge to skill tore at any anxiety Levi had possessed. “I would never lose to someone like you!” He stormed away from the door, leaving it open for his brother to enter. Mammon looked behind his shoulder, giving you some time to head in. You easily stepped inside and touched his shoulder to let him know where you would. However, even though he was in on your secret, he still jumped. Levi looked up from his seat. “What?”

“N-nothing.” Mammon shut the door and scurried around the room, grabbing two miniature glasses and a large bottle to put on Levi’s desk as the sound of a car engine roared through the room through some speaker, two overly shiny vehicles displayed on the computer screen. Look at you, remembering all the technical things. You simply leaned against the wall for now, watching carefully as Mammon chatted with his brother, pouring two shots of human alcohol into the teeny glasses waiting till his brother was turned away before dumping the little potion in his brother’s drink. You would’ve thought that maybe the prospect of having his brother at his command soon was what was making Mammon practically glow with happiness, but…maybe just playing a game like this with his brother was something he needed.

Then they got to playing. There were shouts and screams as they competed, and then…Levi won the first round. Mammon proclaimed that he was simply giving his little brother the first one out of respect. It was quite possible Mammon didn’t plan this through. What if he got drunk before Levi could drink the potion? Your fears were supported when he lost the next two rounds…But then, after literally swerving and leaning his body along with the fake car, Mammon won. Levi took the shot with a scoff, although he was smiling too. For once, this house felt normal, like what you imagined the warmth of a typical family should feel like. Levi, probably already feeling the effects of the potion, stood up with a little wobble. Mammon, already a bit tipsy, only held out a hand as support for his brother. So it wasn’t much of a surprise that when Levi’s foot came into contact with the bottom of his chair, he tripped. Face mere centimeters from the ground, Levi’s eyes went wide when he simply…stopped. All because in a moment of panic, you dashed over to grab him. You quickly dropped him again, hoping Levi would feel it was just a fluke. Instead, he scurried back to his feet, freaking out.

“What the hell was that?!”

“Uhhhhhh,” was all Mammon could say in your support. Note to self: keep your pact-mate sober while you try to remain a secret.

“S-s-someone grabbed me!” He looked around the room wildly, trying to spot you but obviously unable to since you were cloaked. A little light flashed across Levi’s eyes. The potion officially had worked its way through the human’s body. Now all he needed to do was turn around and look at Ma……you…why was he looking at you? Maybe not directly in your eyes, but in your direction. “Maybe ghosts do exist…or maybe guardian angels…” With two quick steps, Levi came up right to you, his arms wrapped around you. “I can’t see you, but I can sense you. I can feel you. Which means you’re real, right? You’ll protect me.”

Mammon’s mouth was open, flabbergasted…which was simply just a mirrored version of you. He rubbed the back of his head, perhaps sobering up a bit from the shock. “Shit…”

@rayanicaraynbow

@designatedbreadbox

@qrowsofafeather

@crystal-freak24

@josiedoesdoodles

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #second person pov

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recurring-polynya · 9 months

Note

I'm sorry if this comes off weird, but I wanted to ask why you seem to not want to know about Can't Fear Your Own World? Do you dislike it, or it's nature as a post-series work?

So I've read a couple of the light novels and they simply do not spark joy. The plots sort of wander around, the characterization has very little to say, and they are full of what I'll call "lore dumps", where there will be a paragraph of exposition that's not integrated into the story in any sort of natural way and is frequently of the "thanks, I hate it" variety. Even though they may be "Kubo approved", or include stuff that he came up with, they completely lack his storytelling skill or the charm of his character voices. There are usually about 3-5 bits that I find charming per light novel, and about five to ten times as many that I find aggravating or off-putting (or just plain tedious or boring).

I think that a big part of it for me is that I read a lot of fanfiction and while there is an awful lot of mediocre fanfic, I have also read a lot of brilliant stories written by people who have given a ton of thought to the characters and the worldbuilding and out-of-canon adventures that these characters might go on. To me, the light novels I have read feel like finding a story on AO3 that has all my favorite tags and a cool story description, and then it turns out that I absolutely hate the writing style and direction. It feels like adding insult to injury that on top of that, I am somehow obligated to consider them canon.

To address CFYOW specifically, it does not contain any of the characters I care about. I mean, I like Shuuhei, but what I like about Shuuhei is his relationship with Izuru, Momo, and Renji. I like his job at the Seireitei Communication. I like his guitar playing and boring cooking and the goofy outfits he wears in splash pages. I could not care less about him getting bankai. I've said this before, but I would like relatively very few characters to get bankai, and he is not on my shortlist. It feels very shoehorned to me.

The plot sounds convoluted and tedious as hell. I already found the Fullbringers tedious enough when I had to read about them in the manga, I do not want to spend one more minute of my life thinking about Fullbringers.

Tokinada seems mildly interesting, but I'm pretty sure I got as much as I care to know about him from reading thru some BBS screenshots.

I hate literally every piece of Soul King-related lore I have heard come out of CFYOW. It makes me literally enjoy Bleach less.

I read a fan translation of the first couple of chapters when they came out and it barely kept my attention. I briefly considered that maybe the professional translation might be a little more readable (I say this with all love and respect for the translation I read, which was trying to keep it very close to the original), but then I have heard that Viz butchered the translation, so I feel like there's no winning there.

It's just not for me. If it were a fanfiction, I would look at the tags and description and simply keep scrolling. I wish peace and love on planet Earth to everyone who enjoyed it and any of the other light novels, but it's not something I wish to spend my time and energy on. There are so many parts and pieces of Bleach--the manga, the anime, the movies, the filler arcs, the novels, databooks, random facts Kubo spills in interviews, fanworks, etc, and I've always been of the opinion that as fans, we all have the right to pick and choose which ones we want to consume and what we want to include in our own personal canons. Further, because CFYOW is post-canon, it literally affects nothing if I ignore it. Yeah, there are a few interesting crumbs in there, like the stuff about Ikkaku and his sister and I think there's an off-hand mention of the Six Hearts gang going to the beach, but it's simply not worth it to me to read through over a thousand pages of something that I am otherwise just not interested in.

#if i have to read a thousand pages about hisagi he better be spending a significant part of it kissing kira on the mouth #and it is my understanding that this doesn't happen even once in CFYOW

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fangirlwriting-stories · 2 years

Text

Protector

Summary: Virgil’s entire job is to protect Thomas, and he takes that job very seriously. The core sides might argue too seriously. The core sides don’t know that there are actual dangerous sides he needs to protect Thomas from. But there’s another side he needs to protect too. He used to be able to count on help from Janus, who did the job without even knowing it back when he still lived with them. But now Virgil and Remus are alone, and they have to look out for each other, which means the last thing that Virgil should do is leave his brother by himself.

Too bad it’s not exactly his choice.

Author’s Note: Hey, read the trigger warnings for this one. Not everything comes up in every chapter, but when it does, I’m not messing around. Please be very careful with this one if the warnings are something that’s going to bother you, and if you don’t read it, I won’t be mad.

That being said, welcome to my massive love letter to brotherly dukexiety. These two are such amazing brothers and if I have to write my own monster of a fic to make everyone else see it, that's exactly what I'll do. It's finished already, so welcome back to your regularly scheduled Sunday morning updates. Hope you enjoy!

And as a last note, absolutely all the credit to @shadowling-guistical, who was there for me to scream to and who cheered me on and got just as excited about this story as I did the whole time it was being written. Mishii, I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I say this story would not exist without you.

...

Virgil was not at all excited at the prospect of meeting with the core sides again. That video was supposed to be a one time thing! Okay, well, Thomas had said something about him being potentially used in future videos, but that was going to be something that happened once in a while, whenever they needed a villain to defeat or wanted to talk about the dangers of anxiety. Why on Earth would they need to talk to him again so soon?

Remus hadn’t seemed to get it either, but he at least had been willing to get Virgil’s mind off of it by suggesting all sorts of ways he could annoy the core sides when he went to talk to them. Most of his ideas involved dropping blood, saliva, or other bodily fluids on them, to which Virgil had laughed and pointed out the way that he definitely wouldn’t be able to conjure that much of anything. He wasn’t Creativity, after all.

“Eh, you could at least spit on Janus,” Remus said, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ll be right next to him.”

Virgil laughed again. “Yeah, spitting on Thomas’ Self Preservation. That’ll get me invited back.”

“I thought you didn’t want to go back,” Remus pointed out with a grin and raised eyebrows.

“Well, if I’m not invited back, how will I ever work up to being able to spit on Janus without consequences?”

It was Remus’ turn to laugh now, and he flopped down on his bed while continuing to grin. “You make an excellent point.”

For how lighthearted the conversation seemed, they were both ignoring the undercurrent of fear tucked under the entire thing. Because for how much Virgil and Remus didn’t love the prospect of him talking to the core sides again, there were still three sides that very much did.

It had been long known by the two of them how badly Malice wanted a way to get to Thomas. Why he thought Thomas would listen to him was anyone’s guess, but he’d managed to get Positivity and Cruelty on board with the plan decades ago. They had thankfully gotten pretty much nowhere, due in no small part to the fact that the side they’d need to convince to let them talk to Thomas was a core side who almost never came to their side of the mindscape in the first place.

Of course when he did come down here, he usually talked to Virgil, which didn’t make Virgil super popular. But him having a direct line to Janus more often would be exactly the kind of thing that Malice would want. Far easier to pressure Virgil into pressuring Janus into pressuring Thomas for something, as convoluted and complicated as that sounded. So whether it was what Virgil wanted or not, Remus wasn’t too far off. The safest thing for Thomas in this situation was to be as antagonistic as possible— which wouldn’t win him any points with Malice. Whatever. He was used to hiding bruises whenever Janus came down here. It wasn’t that hard.

Virgil stayed in Remus’ room for most of the morning, as it was better for brainstorming and coming up with a game plan, especially when Remus was in there with him. Of course, the game plan often ended up involving a lot of sex jokes and spitting on other sides, but Virgil could edit those parts out.

It was just after what would have been lunchtime if they were eating today that Virgil felt the tugging that meant he was being summoned by Thomas. He glanced over at Remus with a tense smile that probably came out more like a grimace.

“Ah, time?”

Virgil nodded.

“Spit on Janus for me!”

“No,” Virgil said, as he sunk out in order to appear in the real world.

If he was going to be antagonistic with this thing, might as well get a head start. Virgil appeared leaning on top of Janus’ hat, picking at his fingernails. “I’m told you want to talk to me for some reason?”

“Get off of me,” Janus snapped, shoving Virgil towards the other side of the stair platform they were standing on.

“Oh, shoot, were you standing there? Sorry, I didn’t see anything important.”

Janus gave him an unamused look, and Virgil turned from him to face Thomas before he could reply. “Is there something you wanted? I did have things to do today, you know.”

Most of those things probably involved hiding and running for his life, but that could come after he ended this conversation on a bad note so Thomas would never want to talk to him again.

Thomas sighed. “Well, there was a bit of a surprising reaction to the video you were in,” he said.

Oh, god. “What? Are people lining up with torches and pitchforks? Hate to break it to them, but they can’t actually affect me, I’m imaginary, they’re not—”

“Actually, everyone loved you kiddo!” Patton said brightly.

Virgil blinked and turned to face him. “I’m sorry?”

“Yes, unfortunately, the fanbase seems to have adored you,” Roman said, crossing his arms and looking very unhappy with the situation. “You are the second favorite character.”

“Second favorite?” Virgil asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course! After me!” Roman proclaimed, adding a flourish with his hands.

“Oh, of course,” Virgil grumbled, leaning against the banister to his left. “So why exactly does that matter?”

“Well, we have adjusted our plan slightly to align with what the viewers seem to be enjoying,” Logan said. Virgil glanced down at him. “And you will of course be included in more videos.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Virgil asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna be a main character!” Patton called.

“I don’t want to be a main character,” Virgil said, crossing his arms over his chest. That would be way too much pressure, were they insane?

“Oh!” Janus said brightly, clapping his hands together. “Well, that decides that then! Alright, Anxiety, if you wouldn’t mind heading back to—”

“Janus,” Thomas said in a low warning tone. Janus groaned and looked up at the ceiling in clear disapproval, but stopped talking.

“You didn’t have a problem doing the last video,” Thomas said, turning back to Virgil.

“That was one. Do you honestly think I’m okay with showing up in multiple videos? Probably almost all of them if you’re saying I’d be a main character!”

“Anxiety, I can understand the idea of filming can be a little unnerving,” Patton said. “And so can the idea of moving over here—”

“Wait.” All of Virgil’s arguments came to a screeching halt before most of them had finished forming. “Moving over here?”

“It would make it far easier to film if you could be around most of the time already,” Logan said. “We can hardly expect Janus to make a trip to the other side of the mindscape every time we need to make a video.”

Virgil took a moment to process the irony in that statement, blinking at Logan.

Well, that changed things. If he helped with the videos, he moved over here? For a second, Virgil considered what that might mean. He’d get away from Malice, Positivity, and Cruelty. From what he understood, the core sides didn’t do things the same way they did. Maybe he wouldn’t have to watch his back every second. Maybe he could actually sleep easily for once. But the problem there was, Virgil didn’t only have to watch his own back. And if he left Remus alone…

It would be a huge disservice to the creative side to say that Remus couldn’t defend himself. He was far from helpless. He’d saved Virgil’s own ass more times than he could count. But there were two of them and three of the others. On a good day they could hold their own, but if it was just Remus against the three of them, he’d be pretty exposed.

Virgil was a protector. That was his job, to protect Thomas. Remus was a part of that. And he needed Virgil far more than Thomas did most of the time.

Besides, there was a pecking order to the mindscape, as had been explained to Virgil very clearly the time that Malice and Cruelty had thrown Remus at him, unconscious and bleeding from where his mustache was supposed to be. They wanted to get to Thomas. But in order to do that they first had to get to Janus. And since Janus wasn’t an easy side to get to, their best chance was to fuck with Virgil, the person Janus talked to if he ever came down there. And if you wanted to fuck with Virgil you fucked with the people he was supposed to protect. If Virgil left Remus alone and exposed, it would be giving them an even more direct line to Janus, and in turn, to Thomas.

Virgil paused as another option struck him.

He looked directly at Thomas. “On one condition.”

Thomas blinked in surprise. “You changed your mind?”

“On one condition,” Virgil repeated.

“What?”

“I get to bring someone with me.”

“Absolutely not,” Janus said instantly, glaring at Virgil.

“Janus,” Thomas said, crossing his arms.

“That’s my job!” Janus snapped. “He doesn’t get to decide when you meet sides! That’s my territory!”

“No one said he had to meet Thomas,” Virgil said, smirking as he slipped effortlessly back into the asshole persona. “But if I have to deal with all of you idiots, I want some actually enjoyable company.”

“Hey, be nice,” Thomas said, raising an eyebrow at Virgil.

“Sorry, buddy, nice isn’t in my job description. You should talk to Patton about that one.”

“Kiddo,” Patton said, sounding a little disappointed.

Virgil ignored him and looked back over at Janus. “That’s my deal. You want me to be part of this stupid video series long-term, you want me to come over here and be on-call for whenever you want to film, I get to bring one side with me.”

Janus narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “No.”

“Janus,” Thomas said in exasperation. “Come on.”

“I am not allowing a hostile side up here,” Janus said, still looking directly at Virgil. “I decide when you’re ready to meet new sides. I know all of the other sides down there, and trust me when I say that you’re not ready to meet any of them. Letting one of them come over here is dancing too close to that line, and I will not allow it.”

Patton started to say something else, probably an attempt to change Janus’ mind, but Virgil recognized the expression on his face. He wasn’t going to be swayed.

And Virgil wasn’t going to leave Remus by himself.

“Fine,” he said, straightening a little as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Then I suppose we’re done here.”

“Wait a second, Anxiety—” Logan started.

“I suppose we are,” Janus said, not moving his glare.

Virgil sank back out to Remus’ room without another word, despite the protests he heard follow him down.

Remus wasn’t there when Virgil got there, which was definitely a bad sign. Virgil headed for all of their usual hiding spots first, as they’d decided years ago. If they went to the others first, they would unquestionably get hurt, and if they already were being hurt, it was okay, they could last a little longer in order to not give away hiding spots.

This time, however, Virgil didn’t have to make it through all of the hiding spots, because he was passing the third when he walked in behind Cruelty holding a knife up to Remus’ face.

Remus must have seen him, but Cruelty was the only one in the room and they were both well practiced with not acknowledging the other’s presence. Virgil summoned his scythe, made with Remus’ help a long time ago, and crept up behind Cruelty, silent on his feet.

“And another thing—” Cruelty started in a low voice. Unfortunately, his other thing would be lost to time and space, because that’s when Virgil slammed the handle of his scythe into the back of his head, and he crumpled.

“You okay?” he asked, looking at Remus.

“Yeah,” Remus said, waving a dismissive hand, even though after doing so he moved to clutch at his other shoulder. “Just a stab wound.”

“Ah.” Virgil shoved down the anxiety that always came when Remus was hurt, whether it was hours of grueling torture or just a simple stab wound. “You want help?”

“I can patch myself up just fine, thanks, I don’t need help.”

“Oh, yeah? Because it looks like you got cornered by just Cruelty,” Virgil said, smirking at him.

“Ah ha ha ha,” Remus said. “But come with me, I want to hear what the heck the core sides wanted to talk to you about.”

Virgil followed Remus to the bathroom, looking him over as he did so to make sure he wasn’t hiding worse injuries. He had a tendency to do that if he thought it would make Virgil nervous.

“You checking me out?” Remus asked as they both stopped in the bathroom.

“Yeah, you’re still smoking hot,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry, your new scar will not take away from how attractive you are.”

“Virgil, please, everyone knows scars make someone more attractive. Movies say so and therefore it must be true.”

“Uh huh, yeah.”

Virgil set Remus’ shirt and sash to the side to be washed later as Remus inspected the knife wound in his shoulder. He was right, it didn’t look bad at all, and he cleaned and wrapped it in under a minute, then snapped a new shirt on over it. “So, what did the core sides want?” he asked.

“Oh, apparently the fanbase loved me, and they wanted me to move over there to be in more videos,” Virgil said, waving his hand dismissively.

“Hang on, what?” Remus exclaimed, leaping up from his spot sitting on the toilet. “What did you say?”

Virgil stared. “I said no,” he said in bafflement. “Duh.”

“You did what? Are you nuts? And I don’t even mean the fun kind, Virgil!”

“Oh, please.” Virgil crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “What am I supposed to do, leave you over here by yourself?”

“Um, yes.”

Virgil stood up straighter and dropped his arms. “What— Remus, I’m not going to do that.”

“You get offered a chance to leave this hell hole behind and you turn it down for my sake? Jesus, Virgil, I love you too, but come on.”

Virgil stared at Remus for another minute. Was he serious? It sounded an awful lot like he was serious. “You… Remus, you’re joking, right? This is a really poorly timed joke?”

But Remus was seeming to realize that Virgil was serious the same time Virgil was realizing that Remus was. “Virgil.” Remus reached out and put his hands on his shoulders. “I just got stabbed in the shoulder, and we’re reacting like it’s a normal Tuesday around here because it is. Listen to me. You are going to get out of here.”

“Not without you,” Virgil said instantly.

“Yes without me,” Remus replied just as quickly. “Have you thought this through at all, idiot? Remember when Janus first went up there?”

Virgil scowled. “What about it?”

“Everyone hated him at first. Don’t you remember? Remember why he went up there in the first place?”

“Yeah, of course. Laura Singer.”

Thomas had met Laura when they were both in eighth grade, when he had found her crying behind the school because she was worried her parents were going to find out she was a lesbian. Janus had shown up on a whim to make a suggestion, and that was how Thomas got his first girlfriend and came out for the first time simultaneously. And through that, overtime, Thomas had gained a lifelong friend in Laura, and a core side in Janus.

“But what’s your point?” Virgil continued, crossing his arms.

“No one liked Janus at first,” Remus said, crossing his own back. “He won them over overtime. Who’s to say that can’t happen again?”

“It’s not going to happen fast enough,” Virgil insisted. “I can’t leave you down here by yourself, you idiot.”

“What, you think I can’t handle myself?”

“I know you can. But I also know three against one isn’t a fair fight. I’m not going to leave you here, Remus.”

Remus narrowed his eyes. “Yes you are.” He sank out before Virgil could protest.

“What— Remus!” Virgil cried, sinking out to follow him wherever he went.

He ended up in the core side’s commons in front of all four core sides themselves, and most of them were already looking either very surprised or very displeased to see both of them.

“Hello, all,” Remus said with his too-wide smile. “There’s been a change of plans. Anxiety will in fact be coming up here to assist with more videos!”

“Remus!” Virgil hissed, trying to kick him while being subtle about it. It’s not like he was going to outwardly disagree with him in front of the core sides, and Remus knew that.

“Oh, really? That’s great, kiddo,” Patton said with a smile, standing from his spot next to Janus.

“I’m not your kiddo,” Virgil snapped. “Don’t call me that.”

“Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we, maybe you’ll warm up to the idea while you’re up here,” Remus said, giving Virgil a large blindingly bright grin that made Virgil reach behind him and pinch him on the back of the neck.

“But he’s so thrilled for the opportunity,” Remus continued. “He just needed a moment for it to sink in, you know, it was a bit overwhelming is all.”

Patton’s smile turned a bit confused.

A second later, Janus stood up, already scowling. “You seemed very against the idea earlier,” he said lowly.

“Yeah, what the heck is with the change of plans Hot Topic?” Roman asked, crossing his arms from his spot against Janus’ other side.

“I just told you,” Remus said, tilting his head just enough for his neck to crack. “He needed some time to process. But he’s more than willing to move up here to join you all. Aren’t you, Anxy?” Remus asked, turning his smile back onto Virgil again.

Virgil gave Remus a large smile back that poorly hid the fury of a thousand suns, and turned to face the others again. “Yep. Just thrilled at the prospect,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh,” Patton said, still sounding confused. “Well, that’s wonderful ki— Anxiety,” he amended. “Do you know how long you’ll need to move up here?”

“He can do it right now!” Remus called brightly. “He already has all of your begrudging permission, right?” Remus snapped his fingers and there was a loud crunching sound followed by Virgil’s room appearing down the hallway right next to Janus’ room.

Virgil grabbed one of Remus’ hands and yanked it behind his back so he could bend the fingers back, even though it was clear at this point that Remus wasn’t going to change his mind.

“Well, that looks perfect!” Remus said brightly. “We’ll just make sure everything looks good, and then I will be out of your armpit hair!”

Remus sunk them both out again, and reappeared them both in Virgil’s bedroom.

Virgil immediately whirled on him and shook him by the shoulders. “Why did you do that?” he snapped. “You asshole, I told you no!”

“And I told you I’m not letting you turn down the one chance you have to get away from the others,” Remus said firmly. “You’re staying here, Virgil.”

“Remus, it’s not just about that,” Virgil said. “Don’t you get it, you just gave them an easier way to hurt you and pressure me into doing something to get them to stop. You know what they’re capable of. They could seriously hurt you. They could kill you.”

Sides couldn’t die permanently, but they were way more vulnerable while reforming from death. Getting hurt during that time was the kind of thing that caused permanent damage. Virgil and Remus had always been there to watch each other’s backs when it happened before. If they managed to kill Remus, while Virgil wasn’t there to help…

“It doesn’t matter,” Remus said, pulling Virgil from his thoughts before he could really start spiraling. “Just don’t do what they say.”

“What— oh yeah, I’ll just do that,” Virgil said, stubbornly ignoring the tears welling up in his eyes. “I’ll just knowingly let my only family get badly hurt while I live in the lap of luxury. That won’t make me a huge fucking asshole.”

“You’re right, it won’t. Because that’s exactly what I’m telling you to do.”

“Remus. I can’t just leave you there.”

“Okay, fine. Don’t. Get them to like you, just like Janus did, and ask them to let me come over here once they do.”

“I said that isn’t going to happen fast enough!” Virgil snapped. “How am I supposed to get them to like me? I’m not exactly a likable side, Remus!”

“Virgil,” Remus said, raising an eyebrow. “I get that this might be a difficult concept for you to understand.” He leaned into Virgil’s face as if Virgil was missing something obvious. “Play. Nice.”

Virgil scowled.

“Don’t be confrontational. Maybe agree with another side every now and then and don’t constantly bring up the negatives to everything they say. Try not glaring at Janus every time a word comes out of his mouth.”

Virgil opened his mouth to protest, only for Remus to shove his hand over it, which Virgil leaned back from instantly. He didn’t want to know where that thing had been. “Virgil, Janus is the main side you have to win over. You do get that, don’t you?”

Virgil took a step back and let out a groan. “Yes,” he mumbled, glaring down at the floor. “I just… Remus, I don’t want to have to deal with him to get you out!”

“I get that. I’m with you, okay? But that’s just how it is. Get Janus to like you, and he’ll be much more likely to let me come over here. And that’s the only way to ensure that I’m not kicked out almost immediately.”

“I know,” Virgil grumbled. “I…” he sighed. He was being unfair, wasn’t he? Remus was the one who would have to deal with the others alone, if he could do that, Virgil could manage to not scream at Janus every time he saw him. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll…” Virgil glared away. “Play nice with Janus.” He looked back at Remus. “But I can’t just suddenly start being the friendliest side in the world to him, that’s just going to make him suspicious.”

“Okay, then try slowly working up to sucking his dick.”

Virgil winced. “But Remus—”

“I can handle it. I’m a patient side.”

Virgil snorted. “Oh yeah, when I think patience, I think of you.”

“I know I won’t be able to get out immediately,” Remus said. “It’s okay.”

Virgil looked back up. Remus was biting his lip while frowning and not even pulling off a finger to chew on.

Virgil looked down and laughed bitterly. “When did you get so serious?”

“Excuse me, is that a challenge? I’ll strip naked right now.”

“Ew, no!” Virgil called, leaning forward enough to shove Remus’ back. “You’re disgusting!”

“Thank you, I try. And don’t ever call me serious ever again.”

Virgil looked over at him, smiling even as he shook his head in exasperation.

“I just trust you,” Remus said.

Virgil stopped smiling. “Oh.” He looked at Remus for another moment, then walked forward and pulled him into a hug. “I’m not gonna let you down,” he mumbled into Remus’ sash.

“Yeah,” Remus said, hugging him back. “I know.”

Remus pulled back after a minute and smiled weakly at Virgil. “Okay. I’m gonna go and add more traps to stop anyone trying to get into my room.”

“Let me help you,” Virgil said instantly.

“No,” Remus said, pushing Virgil back a little more. “I’ve got this. I’m gonna be on my own for a little while, I can—”

“Remus,” Virgil cut him off. “Let me help you with this.”

Remus swallowed, and nodded. “Okay.”

They both sunk out together and headed for Remus’ room, and Virgil tried to ignore the fear that was cropping up at all of this. Remus would be fine. He was Remus, he could handle himself. Three against one still wasn’t fair, but that just meant he would have to move as quickly as he could. He’d start tomorrow. He could make everyone breakfast of some kind. Pretty much everyone likes pancakes, right?

...

Chapter Two

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the-hornedwitch · 6 months

Text

Utinam Ne Illum Numquam Conspexissem

The convoluted tale of my experience with Lucifer.

By Kozel Aamutähti

Disclaimer: Many of the things discussed in this manuscript are retellings of my own experiences walking the Left Hand Path.

Introduction.

Satan, The Fallen one, Most unclean, Father of lies. These are a few names "He" is known by, I can sit here and play Scholar. Break down centuries old text, argue on about nonsense that feeds the ego. Thump my unholy tomes and proclaim "This! This is the right way." That I see so often in any sort of spiritual community. I'm not, I'm only sharing what I have experienced.

And what? Exactly is that you ask? Well New friend, plain and simple, Lucifer.

Now before you start on about Satan is a title, Lucifer is the Light Bringer NOT The Devil, blah blah Yada Yada. Yes, I'm well aware what "The Books" say. And what So and so in this particular practice says. Yes, yes, I'm very aware. The thing is, life isn't always like the books, and like any experience or relationship everyone has their own perception or outlook on it. This, is mine, just remember there is a real chance I'm completely insane. So there's that, dear reader.

Anywho, onward yes? I'm sure you are reading this because either you have some sort of interest in The Left Hand Path. Know me in some capacity and is reading this for the sake of humoring me. Or have some sort of connection to Satanism or Lucifer. In either case, or all three welcome to the shit show. It only gets worse from here on out. So buckle up butter cup, we going on one hell of a ride.

Part One.

The Devil has and always will be, a Gentlemen.

Honestly, He really is. When I first met Him, it was rather terrifying. Not because He fully manifested in all His Dark unholy glory in front of me, after I performed the most elaborate esoteric ritual known to man. No. It was terrifying, because He made Himself known in the gentlest way after a makeshift candle ritual. Yes, you read that right. Makeshift candle ritual. Now, I do not remember the particulars. What I do is this, I sat on the floor of my room one night, with one of His sigils drawn out. A red candle, some incense (dragon's blood or sandalwood) and some random draconian chant queued up on YouTube.

Now at the time, my confidence was, alright. I tens to come from a place of respect, and these enegeries come in hot sometimes, it was a bit overwhelming.

I did what one does prior to such a simple ritual, cleansing, grounding all that jazz. Focused on the task at hand, and fixated on my intent. Going about my little ritual I didn't notice a shift or change. Giving it sometime, I waited and stayed in meditation for a time. Nothing happened. Thinking it either A. Hadn't worked or B. I wasn't aligned, I started to say my Thank yous, before blowing out my candle.

Except, I stopped, because I felt something.

The words of EA Koeting echoed in my mind. "Just because YOU dont see Them, dosnt mean They arent there."

Waiting for a moment, I refocused and centered myself best I could, but the energy in the room had shifted. And I began to feel a sort of way. I don't want to say fear, I wasn't afraid. It was that primal feeling of something bigger, and potentially deadly was very much present. Then the arousal hit, and while I do mean in a sexual manner it went beyond that. My entire being felt alight.

Taken aback, I rather humbly addressed the energy, and apologized for anything I had unwittingly done. The energy stayed potentent, yet was not aggressive, it simply observed. I did not hear anything, nor was anything impressed upon me. It just, waited, patiently.

Still nervous and apprehensive, I said my thank yous, gave my farewells and closed out my little ritual. The energy hung around for a few moments, lingering as I calmed myself. I still felt as if someone was there. Chalking it up to my overactive imagination I carried on with my night, and eventually fell asleep.

I do not recall my dream that night, nor did I keep a record of those to follow. Looking back, I wish I had, but there is a reason for things I guess. I do remember, vaguely, a few dreams I had days if not weeks after that ritual. They were like many dreams, blurry, mixed with waking life yet not.

In those I recall, I often found myself in the living room of the home I was living in at the time. With a lovely piano of all things by the back sliding door. (I did not own a Piano) There was a man, one who I never really saw a face. Only the clothing, body, and length of hair. A smile here and there, but as I said, dreams are blurry. He did not resemble anyone I knew in the waking world, yet I knew Him. Like an old friend you hadn't seen in years.

From what I do remember they started out innocent and vague. Words were exchanged but I do not recall what was said. We simply sat together, at a table, or the strange piano. There were a few that were very intense and sexuaI. I assumed they were just silly dreams of a life I wanted to live at the time, nothing more.

My concept of time is a little jumbled here and there. I didn't do many rituals after that, life had become rather chaotic and I was swept up in it. My craft and practice began to suffer, but I found some solace in the Satanic community on Instagram. I began reaching out to other Practioners, yet kept my little ritual to myself. I had been rather atheistic before this ritual and mildly remained so.

Life progressed on, and I remember very little of my mundane existence. I was working, looking for a new place to live, trying to build a relationship, and was having some rather vivid dreams. Outside of that, Lucifer began popping up in the strangest ways. Yes, I'll admit my algorithm was Flooded with satanic stuff, but this was 2016, the internet was nowhere near what it is today. I had run into two devotees of His, who were rather wonderful. The CW show had started airing. I began seeing His sigil more and more. (Yes the one I had used in my ritual). Ghost had also caught my full and complete attention. Especially Square Hamner, He Is, and Absolution. Again nothing to really get all weird about. Just coincidence right? Yeah. Of course.

#satanism #theistic satanism #left hand path #witchcraft #satanic #lucifer

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weezly14 · 9 months

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Hey Weezly, wondered about your thoughts on EP 9 of TCR. Tough one to watch, at least for me anyway. Thanks!

Hi there. You may regret asking for my thoughts.

Let me preface this by saying that I came into this show wanting to like it. I think Tom Holland is a great actor, and the source material was interesting, and I was curious to see what they'd do with it - especially once it became clear they were going the "inspired by" route rather than an adaptation of the Billy Milligan book.

That being said, I think episode 9 is when we start seeing the plot really get going, and, as a result, see just how poorly constructed it is. Episode 9 laid bare all the flaws and issues I could ignore in previous episodes. I'm going to watch the last episode because I've invested all this time already, but I liked this show a lot more before I watched this episode.

Here's a brief bullet-pointed list of some of my issues with it:

i hate this courtroom drama angle. a) that's not how trial works and b) why the fuck are we having a trial in the first place. Is he not pleading guilty? The trial just makes it clear how convoluted and contrived the case is - a shooting that injured but did not kill - and I know we were given the heads up that the defense lawyer isn't a good trial lawyer 2 episodes ago or something, but god, I could've represented Danny better. And the prosecutor gave a great performance except I cannot imagine a judge allowing half the shit he did. Also, again, the defense lawyer? Didn't cross-examine Marlin? wtf

the racial and sexual politics of this show are all the fuck over the place, and I could sort of let it slide but nope, now I've gotta call it out. 1) the prosecutor has been so clearly and completely painted as The Bad Guy so she's an easy target for abuse from viewers because she's being mean to our protagonist, and the fact that she (and the judge, who I assume will give Danny a harsh sentence next week - because the jury decides the verdict but the judge decides the sentence) is black and Danny is white? Feels some kind of way. 2) Angelo on the stand? This is a drug dealer, why would he show up? Further on Angelo - in like a 10 second scene last week we saw that Jonny-Danny had apparently a sexual relationship with him which makes the trying to get a gun scene hit so different. There's so much to unpack here. And yet. 3) Jerome. So, like most of the actors on this show, he's given a great performance. He and Tom have had some great scenes. But a) the amount of emotional labor this black character has done for the white character he barely knows is vaguely upsetting, b) when we're first introduced to Jerome via Ariana it doesn't come across as Great Love (sure we can debate this but I digress) but as soon as he seeks out Danny in prison and on the stand we get that narrative of practically Soulmates, c) this show purports to take place in the 70s - not a great time to be gay! To say nothing of the extra layer of race. Stonewall was 1969, dudes. On the one hand, super glad we're not having to listen to slurs. On the other, how is seemingly everyone barely blinking at Danny having a female alter or at the very least, if they don't accept the idea of alters, cross-dressing and fucking dudes? The prosecutor tries to prove that Jerome and Danny/Ariana weren't a couple because they never interactied outside the club - I'm sorry, it's the 1970s. Again, there is so much to unpack here re: Jerome as both a black man and a gay man and! We are getting! Nothing!

I liked Rya well enough but this episode she really grated on me? Her monologues felt preachy and patronizing.

Candy. So, one of the things I've come back to over and over is - we know Marlin abused Danny, and now we're to believe that Candy, on some level, knew. We also know that she married Marlin and theoretically stayed with him for financial reasons. Financial abuse is real, I'm not discounting that. But aside from being a dick, we don't really see Candy and Marlin's relationship as terribly abusive. She's so deferential to him, and yet we never see why, what has her so scared of him. She has a job! Her child is out of the house! Her characterization has been nearly nonexistent and it's frustrating.

So after struggling with undiagnosed MPD/DID for his entire life, we're supposed to accept that Danny, who was given a diagnosis like three days ago, is suddenly able to control his alters? With no issue? The scene 2? 3? Episodes ago where he tells Rya there are voices and he needs help is completely undermined by how much of a nonissue his alters have been in the interim.

All press tour Tom has been saying this show is about asking for help, and Danny asked for help in that scene - which was a great scene, I felt so seen there - and then in episode 9 we get Rya saying how brave or whatever Danny is for asking for help. BUT! He didn't! He committed a crime and was sent to jail and ended up in these therapy/interrogation sessions and then eventually yes, asked for help. But he was not out there crying for help, asking to be saved. He had his alters! He was unaware that he wasn't okay!

It's so clear that this show doesn't know what it wants to be and doesn't know what its focus is. Is it Danny? Is it Rya? The first 4 episodes are their own fucking show, and 6-9 are their own show. 5 feels like its own thing, too.

Additionally, this show is set in the 1970s. Why? Because Billy Milligan. Except they took the teeth out of that story, completely sanitized it to the point that there are virtually no stakes, but kept the set dressing. But that's literally all it is at this point. We get b-roll of 70s London, we have the costumes and cars, but aside from one shot of defense lawyer in army fatigues, we have no real sense of where we are in time. That is the only allusion to Vietnam. The prosecutor talked about incarceration like she's also read The New Jim Crow. Not a slur to be heard despite the fact that we are allegedly between Stonewall and AIDS. Rya talks about mental health like someone might in the present day. If they were already going to not make this about Billy Milligan, why the fuck did they keep it set in the 70s?

It is so frustrating because the actors are giving it their all. Tom? No notes. I was moved this episode, I've been moved all season. But I cannot get away from how poorly constructed this all is. This could've been so good. We should've spent more time digging into each alter. (What the fuck purpose did Mike serve? Ariana is the one "who can have sex" yet we also see Jonny engaging in sex?) What about the other dead alters in the barn? What about Adam. It has been hinted at all season that Marlin was not the first - the existence of Adam before Marlin would indicate that Danny had already experienced something that caused his psyche to split. we know nothing about dad. we still know nothing about Adam!!!!!!! Are we ever getting that resolution? Then what was the goddamn point? Why is there even a trial. Why have him commit a crime that's so toothless and that he's so obviously guilty of? Why structure this around a crime in the first place? Emmy Rossum has been severely underutilized, fuck, even Amanda Seyfried. Cannot believe they got Jason Isaacs to be in like. 17 minutes of this show. And once again, Tom Holland can have no lines and still be the most interesting character on screen. Can he go back to theatre, I'd love to see what he can do with a good script if this is what he can accomplish with a bad one.

I'm tired. This show had such potential, and it's tripping at the finish line. After taking four episodes to get started. Acting is great, cinematography has been good, but story? Writing? It's disappointing. I'm frustrated.

#weezly talks tcr #i'm gonna lose followers i can feel it #if you like this show then good for you!#not saying you can't!

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dadsbongos · 2 years

Text

why did you ask me out? (3)

1 / 2 / chapter 3 - heartbroken but alive / 4 / 5

5.4K words

warnings - quick c-tier slur, jason carver is homophobic (go figure) and shoves you into a desk, eddie outs you to your friends in a convoluted and roundabout way (everything ends fine), speedrun enemies to friends to lovers trope

summary - You and Chrissy are long-lost best friends that join sides to pull one over on the girls hoping to make you prom queen as a bet. Things don't always go to plan - sometimes you realize you're in love and sometimes the girls shoot back at you.

1986. Senior Year.

It felt pathetic to still be in love with her then. Hell, it feels pathetic now.

Chrissy isn’t one to lie, you know that after this she won’t let you go like she did over the summer of ‘82, but you’re sort of dreading that. Having to pretend you’re okay hearing about Jason Carver and his stupid hair and his stupid lips and his stupid body.

You never understood how Chrissy and Jason started dating. Sure, she left and she stood by but she was anything except evil. Jason Carver, however, was evil.

“How’re you and Jason?”

“We’re not talking.”

You hate to smile, but she doesn’t seem too upset so you hope they secretly break up. Not because you’re jealous (a little bit because you’re jealous) but because he’s so terrible and she’s so good, you doubt that anything he could ever do would be worthy of her affection. Not that you think you’re much better.

“What happened?” Chrissy swipes a shade of red over your palm and quickly pairs it with a pink, then turns to her own forearm to do the same.

“We got into a fight,” she frowns, “I feel bad that I don’t…” you wonder why she bothered bringing you if she was just going to test the shades on her skin anyway, “I don’t really care.”

It’s whispered. Shaky. Like she’s petrified at the idea of being overheard.

“I mean, maybe it’s just… that time,” you mutter, hoping you can sound dismal enough to be convincing, “Jason’s an asshole, in case you haven’t noticed.”

She most certainly did. Chrissy picks out the palette from the shelf and moves to the lipstick. Her gentle fingers brush over a few until she crosses a vermillion shade and holds it up to your face. She squeezes one eye shut before nodding to herself and shoving the lipstick into your hand, then taking up a watermelon pink for herself.

You think you might’ve said the wrong thing, but you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Chrissy’s making a mistake with Jason and if it really hurts her to hear you say that, you’ll apologize - but you won’t be taking it back. He screams in the face of common decency and still gets to call himself the golden boy. He gets to claim that the tragedies of Hawkins fuel the basketball team and he gets to be selfish and he gets to call innocent kids with innocent passions freaks.

He’s worse than an asshole. You think he’s a monster.

She tells the girls that you two are done shopping and sits by a bench at the front of the store while they finish up. You join her and find it too awkward to look at her pensive face. Just before you can mutter a half-sincere apology, though, she’s speaking again.

“You wanna know what happened?” Chrissy’s voice is so quiet, you’re almost worried you imagined her speaking.

“You two fought,” you’re just as quiet, leaning closer so that the two of you can feel alone, “You just- “

“No, during the fight. What it was about,” she turns to face you and you have to force yourself to lean back, lest the other patrons think you want to kiss her (you do, but that’s not for them to know), “I haven’t told anyone and I don’t think he’s told anyone either.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“I want to,” her foot bounces and you remember a time when it was excusable for you to place a hand on her knee in public. Now you’re a little too old to explain it on not seeing the issue, “He found out I was smoking weed, and he almost punched a hole through my wall.”

“Jesus, Chris,” you don’t mean to gasp, but you couldn’t stop it before it flew from your mouth, “That’s bad. Like, insane bad.”

“I know. I wanna break up with him so bad,” she’s even quieter than before. Like it’s forbidden she have such a desire. Like she’ll be locked away if she’s heard.

“So, just do it,” you don’t understand the world she’s in, but you know enough to know that people like Chrissy more than they like Jason, “Your status as queen won’t change or anything.”

“I don’t wanna be alone, and if we break up then he’ll spread rumors or make it sound like I’m crazy,” she sucks in a sharp breath, “I can’t be alone like that.”

“You won’t be,” for the first time tonight, Chrissy’s shocked by how earnest you sound. You take one of her hands in yours, and she finally has the courage to lock eyes with you, “You won’t be alone. I’ll be there. The Hellfire guys will love you, too,” you turn away to cough awkwardly, “I- I know we’re not the cheer squad or the sports teams or anything, but we’re good people. I like to think so, at least.”

“No, I know you all are,” she presses her lips, “My mom would lose her shit, though.”

“Your monthly swear makes its appearance,” when she glares at you weakly, you look down, “Sorry,” she chuckles in good humor and you feel the tension leak from your muscles, “Fuck your mom, though. Not literally, but just, like, fuck her. You know? She’s not looking out for you.”

Not like I did.

You choose not to say that on account of how douchey it sounds.

“At the expense of sounding naive, I’ll admit that for the longest time I had no clue why my mom hated you,” Chrissy lets out a hollow laugh, “I just did what she said so it’d feel like she actually liked me.”

Your hand moves from hers to her shoulder, you’re careful - gentle, even - as you press your thumb into her skin.

“I don’t really care that much anymore,” she laughs again but it feels more lively, “I just want you.”

“That’s good, it’d be awkward if this were part of the bet, too.”

“Not so loud or they’ll know you know,” she giggles now, full and hearty and alive, leaning into your side, “I like this.”

“Me too.”

Chrissy suddenly bounds up from the bench and to the cashier. A row of nail polish was on display and she’s carefully examining it for just the right color (Chrissy never had enough nail polish despite having her bin and desk cluttered with the bottles, not that you were really complaining). You join her at the register as the cheerleaders flock out from the aisles and towards Chrissy.

She holds up the nail polish once it’s been scanned, “Black! I didn’t have any and I figured you’d wanna have some color for tonight.”

“What? You don’t like,” you hold up your hands, “chipped to shit, ugly ass moss green?”

“Not particularly,” she teases, nudging your hip with hers. You take the bag of makeup and nail polish from her hand and begin out the store with the other girls.

1982. Eighth Grade.

“Thanks again,” you murmur to Chrissy, “I know this isn’t your scene.”

“What? I’m happy to come,” she seems uncomfortable in the cramped bedroom of your family’s trailer, but says nothing.

The boys shuffle about in the room as you finish tuning your bass. Well, almost all the boys. Gareth was sitting out in what was technically your family’s backyard with his drum set. You bounced up from your bed and over to the open window he sat outside.

He had his walkman on, the tape for Corroded Coffin’s song of choice already loaded and ready.

“Thanks again!” you cheer and he nods, lips pressed thinly and you can feel how embarrassed he is like this. You move into position with the rest of the boys and shoot Chrissy a nervous smile. She gives one back.

“Sorry if you hate it,” you look down at your hands. Callused and rough and sometimes you wondered if Chrissy would hold them anyway.

“Don’t be a bunny,” she waves off. She insists on the phrase even though it’s so dated by now. Cute, she calls it.

Eddie signals off to Gareth and the two quickly find their rhythm. You don’t look back up at Chrissy, knowing full well that if you do then you’ll lose your nerve.

The middle school talent show was soon and Chrissy was more than willing to sit in and listen to what Corroded Coffin had lined up.

Chrissy isn’t much surprised you chose a KISS song, though she’ll admit that the choice of I Was Made For Lovin’ You did shock her. Although, according to you it was either this or Paranoid by Black Sabbath and she took your word that Paranoid was too long.

She doesn’t know that you chose this song for her and she doesn’t know that your hands shake because you’re in love with her and she doesn’t know how badly you sometimes wish you were a boy so that it’d be easier for you to love her. But that’s okay, the favor is returned eventually.

Because what you don’t know is that soon after this, she would slowly stop being your best friend. And after that, she’ll slowly stop being your friend altogether.

1982. Freshman Year.

The summer months have you scorching for a reason besides the heat. You hate to admit it, but you’re mad. Mad enough that when the boys are setting up their instruments, they can all feel the ick that radiates off you in thick rolls.

“Are you sure you’re gonna keep your cool?” Eddie narrows his eyes at you, as if he’d see through your lies if he stared hard enough, “This is our first gig and if you fuck up ‘cuz you’re all heartbroken your cheerleader best friend is gone, we’ll kill you. Collectively.”

“If this goes wrong it’s ‘cuz you’re slumming it with a bunch of 14-year-olds, not ‘cuz I’m heartbroken,” you grumble, making a point of staring at the shiny finish of your bass rather than looking at your lead, “Because I’m not, by the way.”

“So are,” Jeff instantly denies, “I saw you staring at her during lunch. And algebra.”

You totally were and you totally are.

“So what?”

“So, you’re upset,” Gareth jabs one of his drumsticks between your shoulder blades and you whip around to glare at him, “It’s fine, just own up to it.”

“I’m not even upset, it’s fine,” you look up as the nurses herd in the attendees of Corroded Coffin’s first ever gig, “How we even got booked at a nursing home is what you guys should be focusing on.”

Eddie shrugs, shooting you a wink, “I know a guy.”

The elderly didn’t appreciate Corroded Coffin’s rendition of War Pigs by Black Sabbath quite as much as you’d hoped they did.

1986. Senior Year.

The girls have disbanded and now you’re up in Chrissy’s bedroom as if she never left. Here you are, watching through her vanity mirror as she carefully, carefully, applies the red eyeshadow to her outerlid. Her lips are pursed and sometimes she bites her tongue when she’s focusing, it brings you back to every time you wanted to kiss her in this very bedroom. Right now being no exception.

You can’t help but roll over onto your stomach, just to stop staring at an image more beautiful than any painting in the Louvre. Quickly, you decide to busy yourself with her cassette player, rummaging through her tapes and shaking your head - hoping above all hope that she notices you.

“What’re you doing over there?” she hums, moving onto the pink shadow now.

“Searching for something good.”

Despite knowing exactly what you’re about to say, Chrissy opens the door for your jab anyway, “Find anything?”

Madonna - Like a Virgin Michael Jackson - Billie Jean Fleetwood Mac - Farmer’s Daughter ABBA - Angeleyes Madonna - Borderline Madonna - Burning UpMadonna - Crazy For You ABBA - Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!

Jesus Christ, maybe you’re as pretentious as Eddie.

“Nope,” your fingers continue to flick through tapes until you come to the end of the line, “Remind me to make you a new mixtape.”

“What? You think your music taste is better than mine?”

“Yup,” you reply without hesitation.

“Wow,” she turns now, looking at you as you lay back in her bed. Cat that ate the canary grin and crossed legs and fidgeting fingers, “Such a snob.”

“‘m not a sob,” you protest even though you’re partially convinced it’s true, “Just want my girl to have good music.”

For some odd reason, your heart doesn’t seize when you let the pet name slip. Not when Chrissy’s smiling as she turns back to the mirror and picks up the lipstick she got herself.

“Your girl, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, then come here and let your girl put on your lipstick, ‘kay?”

“‘kay.”

You slide off Chrissy’s bed and kneel down in front of her, your hands settle on her knees and she uncaps the dark red lipstick.

She holds up her hand to your chin, “Can I…?”

Without thinking, you nod, eyes falling closed, “Whatever you need.”

Carefully, her hand takes to your chin, and tilts your head upwards. The press of lipstick is gentle as she swipes it across the skin. It almost feels like in another life this could lead to something more. Smudged pink and red lipstick and frisky hands and Jason Carver never getting the privilege of so much as seeing Chrissy Cunningham ever again.

But this isn’t that life and Jason will be going to prom, most assuredly. So you sit still until she’s done and when she is, you look in the mirror. Blinking away the bleariness, you grin and watch how the deep red accentuates your lips.

“If I was a guy, I’d kiss you,” Chrissy nods to herself. More so to say you look pretty than an actual desire, you’re sure.

“If I was a guy, I’d kiss you,” you repeat.

Chrissy hopes you mean it the same way she does, but she isn’t sure that you mean it genuinely - so she lets it slide as a compliment rather than voiced desire.

“Now, nails,” she grabs the black polish and shakes it while you lay your hands flat over her thighs. Repressing a shiver (a good shiver, she’s flustered to admit), Chrissy unscrews the cap and picks up one of your hands, “This way, it can dry and we’ll have time to put on the dress.”

1984. Sophomore Year.

You went on a secret date one time. With a girl. With Vivian Coord - one year your senior and captain of the tennis team.

You two shared the same chemistry class and she was pretty and nice and you liked talking to each other. You found out she liked girls by accidentally finding old doodles of her and another girl in her notebook and she found out you liked girls when you told her in a split second attempt to calm her down.

This date was nice. You two went skating and got the pleasure of disguising the hand holding as her guiding you through the rink. But there was something missing, and you really felt bad.

“I don’t wanna lead you on,” you turn to her before she can let you out of her car, “I’m just…” one hand flies up in dramatics, “not over my ex.”

“Yeah,” she nods slowly, one hand bumping against the steering wheel, her lips press and she shrugs, “I’m not either.”

“Is she the one you drew, creeper?” you tease.

“Shut it,” Vivian jokingly pops you in the arm.

“She is,” you open the door and wave, “Good luck with that.”

“Good luck with yours.”

Vivian was funny and lighthearted and she could take it just as much as she dished it - you have no idea why your heart wasn’t in the rink with her tonight.

You’re lying when you think that.

Your arms are wrapped around yourself tightly in the chill that blows through Hawkins. You watch your feet hit the dirt road leading into Forest Hills and you can’t help but wonder.

Why would you lie in the car? Vivian barely knew you, why did it matter what she thought of you now?

Well, it was easier than admitting you were still in love with a girl you had no chance with.

Vivian could swallow the ex response, but if you even tried spooning the Chrissy Cunningham schlop to her, she’d slap it out of your hand.

Chrissy is so high above you now that sometimes it’s crazy to remember there was ever a time you two would practice kissing together. There’s a Chrissy-sized hole in your head when you think about your loved ones and there’s a Chrissy-sized hole that blares through your heart when you see her and Jason kiss in the halls.

A few months later, Vivian and the junior would get closer and when you’d spot them linking pinkies under the table at lunch, you knew what that meant. You’re happy for them, you are - you’d just rather not be alone.

You don’t know it as a sophomore, but even years later - you still go on to daydream about Chrissy Cunningham.

1986. Senior Year.

You know why you’re here. To fuck with Anne Mark and Lily Pham. You know that just as well as you know how sad it is to still be in love with the cheer captain dating the star basketball player.

But as Chrissy is applying the black polish to your nails, it feels different. Nobody is here to impress or trick and this is purely for you two. This isn’t about the bet or fucking over either girl doomed to peak in high school. This is about you and Chrissy and the fact nobody else is home.

And the fact that Jason Carver is probably on his way out as a taken man.

She gently blows against the polish as if it’ll actually dry that much faster before switching to your next hand, “Do you want a top coat?”

“No, I like when it peels,” when she gives you a bewildered stare, you restrain a shrug for the sake of her work, “I think it makes me look cool.”

“You look cool all the time,” she grins.

Her hair is in pigtails that you helped do. It gently cascades down and sometimes it falls into your face, but you don’t mind. You’d spend forever with your face pressed into the gentle waves and loose curls of her honey blond hair if you could.

But you don’t admit that, instead you say something completely lame, “I forgot how to dance.”

“You don’t just forget how to dance.”

“Well, I did.”

“Don’t be a bunny.”

“That phrase expired like six years ago.”

“Well, I like it.”

“You do you, Chris.”

Keep on truckin’, she mouths and you roll your eyes, but there’s such an undeniable smile swiped over your red-stained lips that she doesn’t even care.

“No, but really, I don’t know how to dance.”

“Nobody knows how to dance,” she grins, “They just follow everyone else’s lead and think they look cool. But you know what?” hm, you hum, “I think the coolest people are actually the ones that don’t follow the others, and do what they want - they know how to dance.”

“What about the people who don’t dance at all?”

“They’re waiting for somebody to show them it’s okay to.”

You watched her carefully. Her soft eyes under this pink light. She sits so pretty and looks so kissable. You clear your throat, “Who do you think I’m waiting for?”

Chrissy looks away from her work on your nails, just for a moment, “To show you?”

“Yeah.”

It’s so ballsy to say me, but something about the way you’re looking at her makes her feel like that’s the exact answer you’re waiting for. If she’s wrong you might run away like she did. But if she’s right and she doesn’t say it, nothing will happen. That should be good, right?

Nothing changes if nothing happens and everyone’s happy.

So why does the idea make her want to roll into an early grave?

She’s tired of doing nothing, so she relents.

“Me.”

“Really?” if your tone weren’t so clearly teasing, she might’ve been embarrassed.

But there’s light in your eyes. She did well. So she doubles down and nods, “Yeah.”

“You’ll have to stick with me, then,” you watch her lips curl into an ‘o’ shape as she blows on your other hand’s coat of polish, “Show me how to dance.”

“I can’t show you, but I can encourage you,” she sets your hand down and you back away for her to stand, “like in fifth grade, during the winter dance.”

“You remember that?”

“How could I forget?”

I fell in love with you that night, you both almost say.

…

Chrissy’s heels have advanced since elementary school. You’re fitted in a pair of black pumps she says are reserved for church and court and she’s got on kitten heels.

“I always have trouble with the straps,” she pouted while pulling them on.

Looking back on it, you think it was just a ploy for her to not have to do anything. You don’t regret it, though.

You click one heel into place. Then the next.

Your fingers linger at Chrissy’s calf as you look up at her. She smiles down at you and leans forward, you don’t move.

“Thanks again for coming,” she whispers, so close you can feel her breath gently sweep across your lips.

“Sounded fun,” you lean ever closer, “I missed you a lot.”

“I missed you a lot, too.”

And just like when you guys were eleven, back in sixth grade in 1979, the last night of 1979, you both lean in.

You’re both more experienced now, though. Heads tilted and lips soft, her hands cup your cheeks and yours settle on the tops of her thighs. Your thumbs press into the soft skin and she hums sweetly. She parts your lips with the press of hers and gasps when your hands just dare to climb a little higher.

Then, she’s pulling away, “We still have somewhere to be.”

You pull away, too and your hands settle onto your own thighs, “Probably best you fix our makeup.”

Chrissy’s head turns to the mirror and her eyes widen at the sight.

One minute you’re both laughing at the specks of red riddled into Chrissy’s pink lipstick and the pink faintly sprinkled into your red. The next minute? The next minute, Jason Carver is bursting through the window she forgot to shut and is calling you a carpet-munching freak.

All boyfriends have their way of apologizing, you suppose.

“What is she doing here?!” he shouts and Chrissy jumps away like you’ve been set ablaze.

You can only stare up at him in terror. The man who’s given Dustin and Mike twisted ankles. The man who’s given Jeff a black eye. The man who’s given Gareth two split lips over one summer. The man who chased Grant down the road with his lackeys. The man who dumps cola over you whenever he sees you’ve made an effort to look nice. The man Eddie swears is the real Satanist, despite all his prayers to God. He stands before you with an iron fist.

“She has no right to be here, she’s against God, Chris,” Jason storms over to you and winds a hand behind your neck, squeezing like you’re a kitten and he’s the mother. He pulls back until you’re sitting straight on your knees, “What the fuck is she doing in your room?!”

“We’re just hanging out, Jason,” she tries to reason, “Let her go!” now she’s firmer, heels harsh on the carpet as she stomps forward and pushes her boyfriend, “Let her go, Jason Carver!”

“Let her go? Let her go?” he laughs in her face and gives another harsh squeeze to your neck, “You’re siding with this- this freak?!”

“Yes, I am!” she shouts, “And we’re so over- so just let her go or I- “ her eyes dart down to you nervously and you know whatever threat comes next is a lie, “I’ll call the cops!”

“For what? Treating a freak the way she deserves?” Jason grins like a hyena before dying prey, shaking his head, “I’ll let her go, Chris.”

She doesn’t relax, though. If anything, she’s more tense than before.

Jason doesn’t let you go, more like he tosses you. The second his elbow yanks back you know you’re in trouble, his fingers slip from your neck and your head bangs into the side of Chrissy’s vanity.

A throb forms at your forehead as she screams and Jason pushes her back when she goes to lift you.

From your angle on the floor, you can faintly see up the Sixteen Candles poster Chrissy hung and you can see the hole in the wall that Jason did end up punching.

1985. Junior Year.

The five of you do this every year now. Well, maybe not this specifically - the beer part - but the five of you - Corroded Coffin, Hellfire, freaks, etc. - gather around Eddie’s trailer at the end of every single school year to shoot the shit and drink. This year the drink is beer, now that Eddie is lax enough to let you all have alcohol on his property. It’s a step up from whatever soda he has stocked in the fridge.

You all like to look back on good times and pretend that Eddie should still be in high school. This coming year, especially, since you’ll all be seniors when Eddie should technically be a sophomore in college.

Not that it matters to any of you. Judgment is hardly found between your quintet and you all look up to Eddie (in a half-brotherly, half-role model sort of way that none of you are willing to own up to). Yes, as the DM and face of Corroded Coffin he’s the leader, but he’s also the only guy willing to give four misfits a place to call theirs. Judgment and scorn are hardly a thing between you all, but now you wonder how true that is.

When it’s brought up, you can’t help but seize and wonder if tonight is the night that discrimination finds its place in your home across from home.

“Wasn’t there that rumor? That you’re gay,” Jeff chuckles against the lip of his beer, “God, that was fucking weird.”

“So weird,” Grant nods, then turns to you, “Where’d that even come from?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling heat lick at your skin under their collective gaze, “Dunno.”

Eddie’s smile falls at your mood change, his brows draw tight, “Do you really have no clue?”

The question isn’t insulting nor is it insinuating anything. Not framed as though he knows something he shouldn’t. It’s pure curiosity.

If there’s anything you want to tell us, now’s the time.

Not in a mean way. More like gentle (if annoying) prodding, like a sitcom mother.

“Yeah. No idea.”

Gareth is suspiciously quiet and attention turns to him. He simply stares at his shoes. Unmoving, unwilling to speak. All eyes return to you and you’re just the same.

Eddie scoots closer to you, he tilts his head, eyes squinting in that stupid way he does when he doesn’t believe you, “Is…”

Your eyes finally shoot up and he hates the fear he sees. It reminds him of how he used to be before his shell grew.

No, this is different. Nothing like when the popular kids would sneer at him and make his life hell. You’re scared of him. You’re scared of your friends.

“Is it true…?” he’s quiet enough to where you can easily back out and just shake him away.

Jeff and Grant lean away as if you need the air to breathe. You swallow harshly and look to Gareth, who only stares right back.

Gareth takes the bold move to whisper to you, “No matter what happens, I’m here,” when he can tell you don’t believe him, he continues, “Not joking. I’ll quit the band right now in outrage.”

That gets you to smile and the other boys mirror it.

“It’s okay,” Jeff finally hunches forward again, “if it’s true.”

“It’s perfectly fine,” Gareth adds as he pulls away.

Part of you is scared to come through with the truth - too scared to lose the boys you consider family. Another part of you is scared of hiding yourself from them. Gareth is with you, and if you two don’t have a place here then you trust him to follow you to another one. And if that place isn’t right, then you two can build your own. Maybe Jeff and Grant will even join you both.

But what about Eddie? The one that built the palace you all reside in? The one who held his hand out to you that day with an overly broad smile when Gareth said you could play bass. The one who stands up to Jason when you don’t have the energy. The one who said he wanted to run away with your group and be a traveling circus in his van.

If the boys were your family, Eddie was your bona fide brother. You can’t take the disappointment, but the question is out and he’ll know no matter what you say. The silence would double - it was true and you were ashamed. You’re tired of being ashamed, though.

“Yeah,” you huff and stand, starting to walk away only to turn right back.

They stare up at you. Whether in disbelief or shock or horror, you can’t ultimately tell.

Your hands shove into your pants pockets and you look at the starlit sky.

You decide to close up before they - before Eddie - can say something to shatter you completely.

“If you have a problem with it: fuck you, but please don’t tell anybody,” you kick up dirt from the road, staring down at your shoe rather than the band of boys, “Like it even matters, people already fucking know.”

Slowly, they all come to a stand in front of you.

“Nobody actually knows,” Eddie lays a hand on your shoulder, “and none of us care.”

“We care,” Jeff steps in, pushing Eddie to the side so he can look you in the eyes, his gaze is kind and his smile is reassuring, “just not in the way you’re worried about.”

“We just want you to be happy,” Grant pitches in, “It might take getting used to, but we still love you.”

“You’re one of us, little witch,” Eddie wraps you in his arms, refusing to let go even as you groan about the lingering smell of cigarettes on his clothes. His embrace is chain tight but you can’t bring yourself to want out of it.

Gareth sticks back in the hopes nobody picks up on the fact that he already knew. You two happen to spot each other from over Eddie’s shoulder, though, and he nods with a thumbs up - you return it.

I’m proud of you, he mouths.

You spent years wondering what everyone in your life would say about you liking girls. What would your parents say? They were open-minded but you could never be completely sure. What would your neighbors say? What would your classmates say? What would Chrissy have said? Her mom would surely disapprove.

Your arms slowly come around Eddie and you squeeze, head lowering until it’s pressed against his shoulder.

Years wasted pretending your heart didn’t beat just a little faster when a pretty girl would smile at you (back when they did, anyway; before you were a total outcast). Months wasted pretending the welcoming bartender at The Hideout that liked to call you hun had no effect on you. Years pretending you weren’t in love with Chrissy Cunningham.

Chrissy was gone but her hands remained wrapped around your heart. If she couldn’t say she loved you then you were content to lay, heartbroken but alive, with the boys you knew were home.

You hate the way your lashes wet and the way you know Eddie can feel your tears blotting through his Metallica shirt. You feel hands rub your back lovingly and you feel Gareth join the hug with a “don’t tell anyone about this” as if his reputation actually matters to him.

You hated that Chrissy left, but you feel so loved - it’s all you could really ask for. Maybe a little more.

A heavy hiccup falls through you and Eddie presses a tender kiss to your head, just like a big brother would. You’re quiet, but you’re sure they hear you,

“Thanks guys.”

They just hug you tighter.

#chrissy x reader #chrissy cunningham x reader #chrissy cunningham x you #chrissy cunningham fic #stranger things x you #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #wdyamo fic #chrissy.🍑

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waheelawhisperer · 2 years

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I'm trying to get over The Fatigue of reading so I can learn more Arknights lore, but as you seem to be the local Nearl enthusiast, I want to ask: Are Margaret and Maria Nearl the same person? Are they relatives? Who's harem am I getting into?

This is a good and important question and I'm glad you asked it, because now I get to talk about my wife. I'll try to answer in as close to a spoiler-free manner as I can since I don't know where you are in terms of the Arknights story and I don't want to ruin anything you haven't read yet.

Margaret and Maria Nearl are not the same people, not at all! Maria is Margaret's younger sister. Both of them are members of the Nearl family, a clan of noble knights from Kazimierz (and when I say noble, I mean it in multiple ways: the Nearls possess both the high social standing of literal hereditary nobility and considerable strength of character).

In Kazimierz, there are two types of knights: competition knights, who fight in tournaments like the Kazimierz Major for fame, glory, and cold hard corporate cash, and campaign knights, who serve in the military and protect the borders of Kazimierz from enemy nations like Ursus. Margaret and Maria's grandfather, Kirill Nearl, was a legendary campaign knight whose name commands considerable respect among the campaign knights to this day.

Margaret and Maria's parents were also campaign knights, but they disappeared while on a mission at least a decade before the start of the story, leaving their children in the care of Margaret and Maria's uncle, Mlynar. From what I understand/remember, Mlynar served as more of a knight-errant than an official campaign/competition knight, wandering the country righting wrongs, but ultimately gave that up when his brother (Margaret/Maria's father) disappeared. At some point after that, his idealism dried up and he took a corporate job, which is where all the "wageslave Mlynar" jokes come from.

I'm definitely fuzzy on the details, but from what I remember, Margaret was getting fast tracked into the Kazimierz military before she decided to speak out against the commercialization of knighthood and joined the Kazimierz Major in order to try and restore the country's old ideals of chivalry by swaying the hearts and minds of the populace. She... sort of succeeded, in that she won the Major and garnished a great deal of popular support, but she was ultimately exiled and forced to leave the country.

During Margaret's travels, she met up with Shining and Nightingale, forming a group of roaming healers called the Followers. The Followers eventually found their way to Rhodes Island, where Margaret serves as a combat operator at the start of the story. She uses her last name as her operator codename because she's secretly a giant freaking dork, but considering some of the other codenames we've seen, her choice honestly wasn't half bad.

The five-star Defender version of Nearl available since launch represents this stage in her story. Nearl the Radiant Knight (her limited 6-star Guard version, only available on a specific banner), on the other hand, represents Nearl as a competition knight, the champion who took the Kazimierz Major by storm. In this incarnation, she fights with less emphasis on protecting others and more on just deleting whatever's in front of her.

Maria Nearl, as I mentioned earlier, is Margaret's (significantly younger) sister. When Nearl was exiled, her family's reputation suffered, which sparked the plot of the Maria Nearl event. Maria stepped up to try to restore the family's reputation because Mlynar was too busy working his office job and giving everyone else condescending lectures despite absolutely having the chops to restore the family's primacy. After a convoluted series of events, Maria ended up at Rhodes Island, where she took the codename "Blemishine". She's a six-star healing Defender whose skills play with the archetype a bit by emphasizing her damage output instead of pure healing and durability.

Zofia Whislash is a member of one of the distantly removed branches of the Nearl clan, rather than part of the main family/in the direct line of succession. While the actual familial relationship is somewhat complex, the game simplifies it by calling her Margaret and Maria's aunt in the legal, official sense, though their relationship is more sisterly (and almost motherly in Maria's case) in terms of actual emotional connection and dynamic. Don't call Whislash "auntie" or she'll get mad at you.

Whislash is a few years older than Margaret, and also participated in the Kazimierz Major at one point. She reached the top 16 and made enough money to live comfortably for the rest of her life before suffering a debilitating injury that ended her career. Now she serves as Maria's mentor figure, and the same events that brought Maria to Rhodes Island also led to Whislash coming along with her.

You will become a member of Margaret's harem. Admittedly, the "Nearl is a harem protagonist" thing is a bit of a fandom joke based on the way Nearl's been teased with both Shining and Nightingale - the narrative has implied that the nature of her relationship with one or both of them is romantic, but hasn't explicitly confirmed it (frankly, I doubt it ever will, considering the Chinese government's censorship laws and attitudes toward LGBT people and content). There's also a major NPC who has the biggest gayest crush on Nearl, and their confrontation during Nearl's storyline is practically dripping with homoerotic tension. Add that to an extremely unfortunate abbreviation for her Guard form (Nearl The Radiant Knight is frequently shortened to NTR Knight, and NTR is also a common abbreviation for a genre of Japanese pornography wherein one partner in a committed relationship, usually the woman, is stolen away by someone else) and we get harem protagonist/steal-yo-girl-Nearl memes. The narrative doesn't present her as being as promiscuous as the playerbase does (or at all; if anything, she's implied to be devoted to Shining/Nightingale, or potentially outright celibate if those bonds are intended as platonic), but fandom exaggerating a character's canon traits for comedic or dramatic effect is a well-known phenomenon, examples of which are frequently found on this very blog.

tl;dr the "Nearl is a lesbian sex goddess" thing is an exaggeration of the narrative presenting Nearl with a few potential romantic partners (notable in a gacha game, a genre where recruitable characters are frequently written to have interest in the player character instead of having canon love interests among the rest of the roster) and her acknowledged in-universe popularity and charisma.

Hope this helped. I tried to keep things very general to avoid spoiling anything too badly and also because I don't remember every single detail. Don't feel bad if you find Arknights lore intimidating or fatiguing to absorb, this franchise really requires you to be willing to read between the lines because it writes an entire freaking novel there (which, as an aside, is a storytelling style that I absolutely hate because I feel like it puts the burden on the reader to do the writer's job for them and leaves large chunks of the audience frequently confused, as demonstrated by the common "please explain the lore of the latest event" posts on larger and more popular blogs than mine, but whatever).

#arknights #nearl #margaret nearl #maria nearl #blemishine #zofia whislash #whislash #mlynar nearl #shining #nightingale #viviana droste #wife #husband

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sanstropfremir · 2 years

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Hey! I hops life has been treating you well! And warning for a long and convoluted ask incoming (which is pretty par for the course for me). I’ve been going down a Yunho (U-Know Yunho to be precise lol) rabbit hole and I’m curious how you think he compares to other male SM solo artists especially Taemin (though I think it would be interesting to compare all SM solo artists like BOA or Taeyeon and Hyoyeon for the purpose of this ask im just thinking about the dudes). Cause I feel like him, Taemin, and Kai all fall on different ends of the same spectrum that’s distinct from some of the other SM solos like the other Exos (except I might add Baekhyun in there but I’m just not familiar enough with him) as they tend to tackle that darker sexier sound. I’ve been thinking about how when people say a male solo artists is making taemin lite music it’s usually actually closer to Yunho’s more recent stuff. Like taemin has kind of become short hand for dark male solo concept especially if it’s on the sexier or high concept side when that’s not always an accurate comparison. I’ve seen this especially with Wonho which is really interesting to me cause in my mind he falls way more on the Yunho end of the spectrum than Taemin (by like a long shot). And this could also be cause the kpop circles I run in are way less familiar with Yunho to make that comparison in the first place, I was just wondering if others like you that knew Yunho would agree with me. I also found it interesting that Taemin went solo before Yunho even though TVXQ are the older group so I wonder he affected Yunho’s music at all. Cause Yunho kind of seems like a more, I don’t want to say masculine, definitely more of a player, conventionally sexy foil to taemin’s more unhinged (satanic?? Fantasy? Horror-adjacent? I can’t really describe it accurately but I mean TVXQ has down their share of that too) sensual side and I can’t tell if it’s cause of the age difference between them, their group concepts (I mean TVXQ are the grown men of the kpop industry in my mind and I have no doubt they play a role in inspiring any “manly” or mature concept and Yunho’s concepts seems to follow pretty closely to TVXQ’s image in a way that Taemin doesn’t at all with Shinee), or their own artist personas and careers- taemin has always been viewed as the “feminine” one and you’ve talked a lot about how he’s both rejected and embraced that image overtime in his career. And to further complicate this I don’t really know where to put Kai between them cause he has the more overt sex appeal in Mmmh, and in his image over all, that Yunho has but also is more sensual and softer (subtle?) dance style that seems closer to taemin (or at least taemin’s image I’ll be the first to admit that my understanding of him as an artists doesnt always align with his actual output and the expectations I project on him) so I guess he goes in the middle. But peaches does really stand out as a sort of softer lighter storybook concept (which I love cause I feel like we don’t see traditional concepts that are more feel good) so that kind of throws a wrench into my theory and I guess thats what I get for treating artists’ output as a monolith and for comparing them😅. This ask is getting very very long and I’m late for class so I won’t continue but I did have some idea about where Xiumin’s recent comeback fits into this roster of artists but I’ll save that for another day lol. As always thanks for your input and I hope this makes at least some sense to you!

i stopped photo editing to answer this lmao bc i think this a very interesting question/thought experiment etc etc

firstly, most people will make the taemin comparison for male soloist because he is significantly more well known as a soloist, and part of that is that he's famous for being a soloist; an extension of which is the disparity between his solo work and his group work. now there are two points i want to fork off into from here:

-> the first is that it's a flawed comparison to place yunho, taemin, and kai on a spectrum because they're not derivatives of each other in the way that a spectrum would imply; what they all are is derivatives of rain. every dance-based male soloist is, via some lineage, a descendant of rain, whether it's through the skills line (taemin) or the 'masculinity' line (yunho) or a mix (kai). baekhyun doesn't factor in here because he's almost purely rnb based and therefore a kangta derivative.

-> the second is that it is valid for people to be making that comparison to taemin because most younger idols are going to be using him as reference, and because a lot of these younger idols are following his method of creating a separate solo persona from their group. yunho does not have that distinction. he is quite literally the face of tvxq, and therefore inextricably bound to the group's identity because there are literally only two of them. if they were, for example, still a five member group, he might have had more a chance to diversify himself a bit, but that's a bygone point because we don't live in that world. the reason tvxq made it through the split and maintained being an extremely successful group is very likely because of yunho's singlehanded determination. obviously changmin does care about the group, but as we've seen with his solo work, he's much more of a musical chameleon; he's more focused on dabbling in widely different genres that interest him. yunho's solo music however, is pretty consistent in sound and also not all that surprising of a leap from who he is in tvxq. so by that observation, i would say there isn't actually a difference between uknow yunho and uknow the soloist. his artistic identity is tvxq, in a way that he can't separate, unlike how taemin can separate from shinee. and following that point through, no younger soloist can really be compared to him because his history and group image are so integral to what he does. that's why there's like a negative number of young idols that every attempt to cover a yunho song, bc the vibes of something like follow or thank u would OBLITERATE anyone under the age of 30.

if you were to look at just aesthetics and music styles, sure on the surface there are some younger idols that unintentionally skew more towards some of the stuff that yunho has done, but in the end that's because they're all under the rain umbrella.

#kpop questions #tvxq w #tvxq #yunho #taemin meta #i know i've talked about this before in a post somewhere. but yunho's only comparable peers are literally like. junsu and rain #both them COULD cover a yunho song if they wanted to. but again. their vibes are wrong. they don't have the same desperation #to be completely honest i actually think it's unimportant to compare the literal aesthetics/music style of solo artists #and instead you need to compare HOW they approach those aesthetics styles etc etc #like you could say that taemin kai yunho and baekhyun have all done dance based 'dark sexy' concepts within a relatively close timespan:#criminal (sept 2020) mmmh (nov 2020) thank u (jan 2021) and bambi (march 2021)#but that doesnt take into account the fact that all of them approach the concept of 'dark sexy' totally differently #and each according to their own contexts #i dont think you can put all of sm's soloists on a big scale of similarity of music and aesthetic #i mean. you can bc duh theyre all gonna look and sound similar bc they share resources #but that's not seeing the forest for the trees in terms of actually analysing and understanding a soloist's work #this is basically just a very longwinded way of me saying that i dont think there's anyone that makes solo work like yunho #i guess you could argue that kai is actually the most similar to yunho since he doesnt have a real distinction between solo kai and exo kai #but again its different bc he's got a wider array of genres he's willing to try and exo is not the same as tvxq #but again again its not about relating them to each other. its about relating them in comparison to rain #answers #text #like when i say taemin is more popular i mean like. 1.2 million monthly spotify listeners vs 30k. its not an insignificant difference

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maybemoonout · 1 year

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"Get freaked out from a knock at the door

When i haven't been expecting one

Didn't that used to be part of the fun

Once upon a time?" - Ultracheese

"Well we were kissing

It was secret

We'd had to sneak beyond the kitchen

Both well aware that there'd be trouble" - The Dream Synopsis

I can feel the same energy and i have some thoughs about it

Hi there anon! It took me a little bit to get what you were seeing but once you said it I saw it SO CLEARLY. I can sort of understand the similarity you're seeing. I'm not sure if what I'm getting from you is the same thing you're actually seeing, but from what I understand: Get freaked out from a knock at the door When i haven't been expecting one Didn't that used to be part of the fun Once upon a time? and Well we were kissing It was secret We'd had to sneak beyond the kitchen Both well aware that there'd be trouble

both are saying something secret is happening? Like he gets freaked out when there's a knock because hes doing something no one should see, but the thrill of it used to be part of the fun? And of course the next lyrics are self-explanatory. If I did get what you're seeing, then this is definitely an interesting way of seeing it. If you have read this analysis on The Ultracheese by @yellowloid (if you haven't, please do, it's a really good read) but basically even if you haven't read it you can definitely hear the sadder undertones it has. Although The Dream Synopsis is also quite sad in a sense, I think the idea of both is a bit different, especially comparing the eras he wrote these in, TDS being in ETYCTE Era and TU during TBH+C. Now if we look at it from a MILEX persepective (by this I mean imagining that it was written with the Idea that Miles is the subject of both songs) we could probably shift the ideas a little more. TDS was written during ETYCTE Era, written WITH Miles, so I can't really be fully convinced this song is about him, although a few aspects definitely are about Miles (e.i. "It was you and me and Mile Kane DOES IMPLY Alex dreams about Miles HAHAHAH) I don't think I'm the right person to analyze that one. I have also seen before that possibly the first verse, the lyrics you mentioned, are likely about Taylor, but who truly knows other than Alex right? If anyone wants to make a song analysis on TDS, be my guest and I'd read it to its entirety. THE ULTRACHEESE THOUGH? Different story ENTIRELY. I might be a little biased because I have read the mentioned song analysis above, but if we consider the period this was written as well I definitely think its a little more likely that this song is about Miles. What I personally believe from that verse (Milex Perspective or not) is that possibly he's no longer used to having someone that constantly visits him. The teenage years have gone by, and although he definitely still has fun, it's just not the same as before, hence, when someone does continue to bring that aspect back into his life, it freaks him out, but then realizes shortly after that, that he used to like it, it used to be fun, long ago, the thrill and the adventure and just having someone be comfortable enough to visit him without needing to call or text before hand. Someone he's.... REALLY COMFORTABLE WITH.... I definitely think a lot of Alex songs continue of off each other, like how the car continues off from TBH+C in a way. TBH+C was the next album after ETYCTE after all and although they are technically different bands they're still the same Alex Turner. I like to think Alex always just sings about his experiences in this convoluted cynical, but beautiful way, so it's definitely possible that whoever he was writing about, still continues on to the next thing he does. Do I think TBH+C is more about Miles than songs in ETYCTE? A little bit yes, in a Milex perspective of course. But, even after all of this, please realize, I'm just a small little boy whose opinion doesn't really matter in this sense because I am not Alex Turner. Art leaves us to our own interpretations and YOUR interpretation is as important as MINE. Songs are meant to be enjoyed the way we view it. And I definitely see your point as well anon! I'd love to hear back from you if you wish to keep explaining your point of view because honestly, it's quite an interesting one that I think should be explored! Kudos to you for making me think really deeply, lol. Sorry if I this wasn't really the reply you were hoping for! I'd love to hear back from you and discuss some more <3ec

#answered #ask #the last shadow puppets #arctic monkeys #milex #alex turner #miles kane #song analysis #lyrics analysis #I have no Idea what I'm saying sometimes sorry #my post

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thetomorrowshow · 2 years

Text

poisoned rats in a pot of grain - ch. 8

Masterlist - Previous - Next

IM SORRY BUT THEY'RE FILMING LAST LIFE S2??? MAYBE???? BRB CRYING

anyway i've been fairly busy!! main draft for this fic is just about completed; the next part of the trust au is ready for posting later this week; i can post the next chapter of scott's backstory any time i want as long as i edit it lol. much love!

cw: implied/referenced torture, onscreen murder (of unnamed character), blood, dehumanization

“The plan,” Scott says, hitting the convoluted stringboard with a ruler, “is simple.”

The plan is anything but simple.

In the past seventy-two hours, Mythics has been moved into what solely Scott refers to as ‘witness protection’ (actually into the care of the hero Pearl, who had taken him quite willingly); fWhip has sent out drones that found the precise location of Xornoth’s base rather than vague directions from Mythics (a manor on the edge of the city); and Xornoth has somehow, through entirely illegal and frankly impossible means, become an elected senator. None of them can figure out exactly how that happened.

“fWhip is on bed rest,” Joel pipes up before Scott can properly begin. He waves his phone. “He just texted me. Surgery went well, but he shouldn’t be up for a week at least.”

That’s fine, Scott had expected that. He taps a photo of a hero on the board. “That is why I planned ahead. Lady and gentleman, Blossom.”

“No,” Blossom says, smiling apologetically. “I’m a pacifist, Major, you know this. I don’t seek out fights. I just want everyone to get along.”

She shuts the door in his face.

“And that is where Pearl comes in,” Scott says, tapping the stringboard.

“Yeah, I’ve kinda got my super-hands full?” Pearl says, grimacing. “Mythics isn’t exactly easy to entertain. I’d love to, don’t get me wrong, but he’ll definitely wreak havoc if I leave.”

“And that is why we depend on and trust one another,” Scott says, tapping the stringboard. He eyes his two compatriots seriously. “If any of us proves to be a traitor to our cause, we fail.”

“We literally know the plan,” Lizzie deadpans, arms crossed. “We helped make it.”

“It’s still best that we go over this, just to make sure we have it memorized.”

“We wrote it down?” Lizzie pulls a slip of paper out of her pocket, waves it.

Joel sighs, leans over to her. “Lizzie, let him have his action movie moment. He built a whole stringboard and everything.” “First step,” Scott forges on, “is to sneak into the manor. Our best bet for getting us in is Joel—he can make the guards think they heard a sound or something, I don’t really care. He does something to get any guards away, and then we’re in without an alarm being immediately raised.”

“Unless there’s a security system.”

Scott nods to Lizzie. “Unless there’s a security system—and they don’t disable it. That’s why I’m going in first—if I see anything that looks like an alarm or a camera, I freeze it. It’s not foolproof, but hopefully it can keep them off our tail for a couple of minutes so that we can find Gem.”

“Are we sure that Gem’s in the house?” Joel brings up, hand slightly raised. “Like, she could be anywhere in the city. She could be dead. If she’s the fourth member of our party and we can’t find her, what are we gonna do?”

And when I have your little friends, that Gem and that Blossom and the mayor, I will make you watch me torture them.

“She’s alive,” Scott says, shaking off the memory. “Xornoth isn’t interested in killing anyone at the moment. She’ll probably be locked up somewhere, though. Maybe a basement of sorts?” He scribbles basement? onto a sticky note, throws it onto the board under a cut-out of a photo of Gem. “This is probably where we’ll split up—Joel heading off to find Gem, while Lizzie and I look for Xornoth and Solidarity. Of course, things could change once we get there. In the heat of the moment, there’s a million things that could go wrong.”

“Right. What if Xornoth kills us?”

Scott glares at Joel.

“What if we kill Xornoth?” Lizzie asks. “I know the goal is just to lock them up, but what if something unexpected happens?”

“Nothing unexpected will happen,” Scott says resolutely. “Not in this case. Xornoth isn’t going to go down like that, they’re too powerful. But they won’t want to give up Solidarity.”

Lizzie shrugs. “Not my problem. I’m just here to kill him.”

Scott sighs, taps a corner of the board that reads RULE NUMBER 1: DON’T KILL SOLIDARITY.

“I mean, I’m just here to . . . not kill him. Right.”

Oh boy.

“Right, you all know the rest of the plan,” Scott concludes, rubbing his forehead. “Just . . . no more casualties than necessary, okay?”

“You got it.”

“I’ll try my best, Major.”

This isn’t going to go well.

There’s screams coming from the basement.

He can only hear them occasionally, when the door to the meeting room opens for lackeys or official-looking businessmen to bustle through. His master is in constant meetings and conversations now, several seats around the table always occupied by a rotating door of people.

Jimmy’s been here for hours, he thinks, maybe even an entire day. He hasn’t moved from Xornoth’s side, cheek pressed to their leg like the obedient dog he is. When Xornoth stands, leaves the room, Jimmy stays, eyes demurely on the floor, not even processing what others say. The only words worth hearing are his master’s.

He’s been staring at the ground for some time now while waiting for Xornoth, perhaps longer than an hour, when his master finally returns, angry words spewing from their mouth.

“You think you can defy me? This is my city, fool!”

“And—and someone has to stand up to you!”

“Pet,” his master hisses, pulling Jimmy up by the hair. They unclip the leash from his collar, point him in the direction of a rather scared-looking man in a too-tight button-up. “Kill.”

Jimmy dives at him without hesitation, long nails tearing into his face and pulling at his hair. The man screams under him, and Jimmy lets the adrenaline flow as he grips the man’s throat—he doesn’t have enough physical strength to snap his neck, but an accident—

There’s an awful crack and the man crumples, eyes rolling up. Jimmy releases his neck, watches dispassionately as his body hits the ground. Then he turns back to Xornoth, waiting for their next command.

His master is smiling. “Good job, darling,” they purr, beckoning Jimmy close. There’s other people still around the table, Jimmy notices, people now silent, people looking anywhere but at the body behind Jimmy.

Xornoth fixes the leash back onto Jimmy’s collar and he relaxes into the familiar weight, rolling his shoulders back. This is good. He’s done good.

There’s a bit of blood under his fingernails and staining the pads of his fingers. Nothing abnormal. Nothing that should make him want to shake apart.

Xornoth leads him back to their seat, where Jimmy obediently drops to his knees, uncaring of the sharp pain that shoots through his bad hip. He doesn’t feel anything for the body just meters away. He doesn’t look at it. He doesn’t think about it.

He just killed someone. He just killed someone who did nothing to deserve it. He just killed someone because his master told him to.

He’s spent so long not letting his brain catch up to his actions. He can’t start thinking about what he’s done now.

Xornoth’s hand cards through his hair as his master begins speaking, and Jimmy does nothing but lean into it. He rubs the hem of his shorts under his fingernails, clears out some of the blood.

The door opens again, another distant scream echoing through the room. Jimmy chews on his tongue. He’s glad that whatever is happening to whoever that is, it’s not happening to him. He’s good. He’s a good pet. He does what his master tells him to do.

“Pet—”

Jimmy hears the word in the middle of the conversation, glances up a little to see that while his master isn’t talking to him, they’re smirking down at him, something almost . . . triumphant in their gaze. Jimmy rests his head against their lap, stays still even though his hip screams for him to shift just a little bit to the side. He’s a good pet.

His eyes wander out to the side, where only the shoes of the dead man are visible. Why has nobody removed the body? Why is it still here? His first ever intentional kill, committed thoughtlessly, automatically, and now a man is gone like he’d never even been here.

He’s losing his grip, Jimmy realizes, his tremulous hold on the compartmentalization that keeps him sane beginning to slip. He can’t have that, that’s very bad news, he can’t let emotion leak into this part of himself because he’s a good boy. He’s a good pet. He’s good for his master.

He twitches his head, just slightly, as if trying to scare off a fly on his nose. His master doesn’t notice, doesn’t notice that Jimmy’s carefully-crafted delusion of control is crumbling before his very eyes. He hadn’t wanted to kill anyone. He hadn’t thought that would be required of him. He doesn’t want to be here.

You’re fine, he tells himself, careful not to let his lips make any noise. You’re a pet. You can’t do anything that master doesn’t command. You can’t risk the cage.

Because that’s all it really ever boils down to, isn’t it? He’s not a pet because his resistance will hurt others. He doesn’t warn away the heroes of the city out of any actual care for their wellbeing. He only cares about not getting put in that cage ever again.

People file in and out. He doesn’t hear any more screams. His master holds a meeting, then another, then another, and Jimmy sits at his side and doesn’t doze for once, stares at what is left of the blood from the scratches he made down that man’s face.

When he’s finally alone, Jimmy rinses his hands in the too-cold water from the broken sink in the corner of his cell.

There’s still dark red crusted under two fingernails.

He leaves it.

A stakeout reveals that, likely due to Xornoth’s new political position, cars go to and from the manor frequently, a mix of classic kidnapper vans and government vehicles. It might be as easy as driving to the front door, Joel pulling a Jedi mind trick, and then walking right in.

That’s what Scott hopes, at least, jostling on the floor of the white electrician van that Lizzie had somehow acquired.

Joel’s up front in the driver’s seat. Even through the small grate window, Scott can see his knuckles turning white around the steering wheel. Lizzie’s across from Scott, staring determinedly at the floor.

This doesn’t feel like Scott’s typical base-busting. This feels like a shady, villainous operation. Which is sort of what it is, with Lizzie involved.

There’s a huge chance that everything will go wrong. They’re only three people, after all. One of whom certainly wants Solidarity dead, and is therefore untrustworthy. But Scott has to rely on them. He can’t do this alone.

The van jolts to a stop and Scott swallows, balls his hands into fists. This is it.

“This is it,” Joel calls back to them, voice filled with false cheer. “If this doesn’t work out—”

“Please—”

“Lizzie, I love you,” Joel continues, undeterred. “And Major, you’re a prick.”

Scott rears back. “Unprovoked?” he sputters, before Lizzie shushes him and suddenly Joel is rolling the window down.

Scott ducks down, Lizzie following barely a half second later. “Cargo?” an unfamiliar voice requests, and Scott can feel his heart pounding. They’ve done absolutely nothing to protect themselves here. If there’s anyone examining the van with some sort of x-ray vision there’s no way to get out in time. Even if they do, the alarm will be raised and Xornoth will be conscious of their efforts. There isn’t a second try here. They’ve pinned everything on this.

There’s a moment of quiet, too long, a moment only filled with the sound of the idle engine and Lizzie’s breaths. Then Joel’s seat creaks, and the voice says, “All in order. Go ahead.”

The van jerks forward and they’re moving. Scott dares to raise his head a little, catches Joel’s cheeky grin in the rearview mirror.

“Headed to the garage!” he calls back, and Scott bites his lip, his stomach flipping. The first checkpoint has been passed—they’ve gotten in without detection. He ought to be celebrating, ought to be excited. He can’t help that everything feels like it’s about to go horribly wrong.

He hasn’t been this nervous in years. It’s just another fight, he tries to tell himself. You’ve busted tons of bases in your time, including Xornoth’s. It’s just another fight.

It’s not just another fight. This is Solidarity’s life on the line. This is Gem’s life on the line. This is the entire city on the line.

And then they’re pulling into a garage, and Scott has to suck it all up and clamber out of the van.

There’s nobody else in this garage. A black van is parked beside them. There’s a screen door leading into the main part of the house. Shelves of typical garage items line the back wall—spare tires, jacks, rope. Nothing out of the ordinary.

It’s quiet. Not too quiet, not eerily quiet. Quiet like a church on a weekday. An accustomed quiet. A not-to-be-disturbed quiet.

Joel behind him has fixed his mask onto his face, and Lizzie behind him is climbing out of the van, smoothing down her hair. She’s got a canteen strapped to her hip, ready to spit out a stream of water just in case.

“Should we head to the door?” Scott whispers, nodding toward it, but Joel points instead to the opposite corner of the garage. There, Scott notices, set into the floor, is a trapdoor.

A basement.

That’s their first place to check for any prisoners—and somehow, it seems safer to come in through a trapdoor rather than the main one into the house.

Joel takes point, stealing toward the trapdoor and easing it open. Scott follows Lizzie down the ladder, glancing around behind them. This is too easy. A door straight to the cellar? Through the garage? There’s no way they’re this lucky.

It appears that they are, though, because when, unhindered by non-existent guards they begin going through the rooms, the third room they check in the dark basement (which is eerily quiet, quiet in the unnerving way rather than the natural way) houses Gem.

She’s not in the worst shape of anyone Scott’s ever seen, but he rushes to her side as soon as they spot her. She’s chained to the wall, a flickering purple force around her, hair tangled and face bruised. Her eyes are closed, bags beneath them deep and dark.

Even asleep, just by looking at her Scott can tell that she won’t be up to accompanying them for the rest of the mission. He’s not sure what they can do for her, though—she can’t take the van home, seeing as it’s their current escape plan and would alert the manor to their presence. They can’t abandon the mission to help her, that would be consigning Solidarity to his fate. They can’t just leave her here—they can’t do anything, it seems, and Scott’s starting to panic which he can’t afford to do—

“Gem,” Scott whisper-shouts, stuck outside her shields. Gem starts awake instantly, raising her arms to cover her face—until she sees Scott.

“Major,” she breathes, and her entire body visibly relaxes. The force flickers once more, then disappears. Scott shoves himself forward on his knees, pulls Gem onto his lap.

“Gem, it’s so insanely good to see you,” he tells her, trying not to betray any actual emotion. They’re still in the middle of a mission, after all. He doesn’t have the time to let down any defenses.

Gem mouths something. Scott leans forward, ear over her mouth, and she tries again.

“Get out,” she croaks. “Scott, it’s—he’ll come back any moment—they know you’re here—”

Oh no.

Things had been going too well, hadn’t they?

“We’ve been made,” Scott hisses to his companions. Lizzie curses, Joel spins around to face the door.

Gem’s stirring, fruitlessly pulling at the chains around her wrists. Scott takes a link, applies tighter and tighter ice, he doesn’t know the physics behind this move but he’s broken metal by freezing it far too many times—

The first chain snaps, and he makes quick work of the other one, pulling Gem up to her feet. She can stand, surprisingly, shakes out her arms with a pained grunt.

“I’m fine,” she mutters when Scott tries to help her. “I just wanna get out of here.”

Everything is suspicious, everything including how injured Gem had seemed at first to how capable she seems now—how she warned them, but there’s no one nearby—but Scott pushes aside the prickling in the back of his brain and nods to her, continues on his way out.

He’s barely turned his back on her when something heavy slams into him from behind, sending him flying into Lizzie with a loud crash.

The air is totally knocked out of him and it’s a few seconds before he can even see, let alone breathe. When he does manage to suck in some air, he blinks his eyes open—he and Lizzie are on the floor, Lizzie shoves him off of her and rolls to her feet—Scott pushes his aching body up, gasping, only to see Lizzie dive at Gem and take her to the floor.

He cries out, pain forgotten in adrenaline as he sprints forward—he has to protect Gem, he has to save her—but Gem’s hands go loose from where they’re pulling at Lizzie’s hair as Lizzie slams her head into the concrete floor.

Gem’s unconscious before Scott can get there, and he goes to shove Lizzie away—that’s Gem, that’s his friend, how could she—but a hold on his cape stops him. He whips around; Joel is there, face white, holding him back.

“Major, Gem—she just tried to kill you,” he says, and Scott doesn’t need to be able to read minds to know that Joel isn’t lying. He glances back to Gem’s lax face, Lizzie dusting her hands off as she stands.

“Thank me later,” she bites out, stepping over Gem to stare Scott down. Scott looks between Gem and Lizzie, trying to work out—why would Gem—?

Joel groans at the same moment that Scott connects the dots. “The other telepath,” Joel grumbles. “They must be here.”

And Scott, still looking down at Gem, knows exactly what’s about to happen. He almost doesn’t want to turn around, as if not looking will make it not happen. But he sighs, pushes a hand through his hair, and turns around.

Joey Graceffa waves from the doorway.

Graceffa seems put out, almost, when he gets no reaction from the group. “C’mon, nothing for the richest man in the country?” he pouts, slipping out of his expensive suit jacket. Scott’s lip curls.

He can take Graceffa, easy. He’s known for years that there was something up with him, that he wasn’t just corrupt in that all-billionaires-are-evil way, but in more pressing ways as well. He’d never had sufficient evidence to go after him, though.

Right now, evidence doesn’t matter.

But once again, Joel pulls him back by his cape. “Don’t,” he says lowly, and Scott can feel the power in his voice. It’s not directed at him, not right now, but Scott hasn’t been on the other end of a telepath’s powers in a long time and he certainly doesn’t want to break that streak now. He backs down, lets Joel approach Graceffa.

“So,” says Joel, gesturing toward Gem. “Your work?”

Graceffa shrugs. “Quick and dirty,” he says. “Nothing near what I had going with Mythics. I suppose you would know what happened to him?”

Joel barks out a laugh. “It’s not gonna be that easy, mate,” he says confidently, pressing closer to Graceffa.

And then they both go silent, staring into each others’ eyes.

An entire minute passes.

Scott exchanges a look with Lizzie. She shrugs.

“Is this a straight man thing, or. . . ?”

Graceffa slaps Joel across the face, points at Scott. “How dare you accuse me of being straight!” he gasps dramatically, and there’s something pushing at Scott’s brain, behind his eyes, and he doesn’t like this, he doesn’t like this at all—

Then Joel is slamming Graceffa into a wall. “Both of you, head out and find Solidarity! I’ll catch up!” he shouts, as Graceffa wriggles free of his hold and kicks him in the knee.

Scott doesn’t need to be told twice. He runs, Lizzie on his heels, further down the basement. The basement isn’t too large, quite a bit smaller than Scott expected for a manor of this size, and within sight of the room Gem was in is another staircase. Scott freezes just before it, holds an arm out to stop Lizzie.

“Joey Graceffa knew we were here,” he whispers. “He could’ve alerted anyone.”

“Who even was that guy?”

“Classic billionaire type, and apparently a telepath?” That part is still fuzzy, but Scott’s pretty sure they’ve just left Joel and Graceffa having some sort of telepath showdown. So Joey Graceffa is the telepath, and for some reason, he’s been hanging out in Xornoth’s basement. Scott entertains the idea that Graceffa is Xornoth for about .2 seconds, before dismissing it entirely. Laughable.

Scott leads the way up the stairs, slow and careful. Something still isn’t right about this.

It’s the middle of the day. Sure, they sort of hoped people would be out to lunch, but there’s got to be some sort of staff here, right? And they know for a fact that Xornoth employs some basic muscle, so theoretically there should be any number of thugs around the building.

It’s not right that Joey Graceffa of all people is the only one to notice that they’re here.

But when Scott pushes open the door at the top of the stairs, there’s no one there.

It’s just him and Lizzie, alone in a grand, painting-lined hallway.

The prickling in the back of Scott’s brain has grown to a roar of dread, because this just isn’t right. They shouldn’t be alone in a building that constantly has vehicles shipping to and fro, a building where Xornoth and presumably all of their thugs reside, a building where Solidarity by all rights ought to be.

But it’s just the two of them, and the quiet that had been unnerving earlier is downright oppressive now.

There’s an open doorway to Scott’s right, light spilling onto the polished wooden floor beyond it. Scott looks to Lizzie, who shrugs.

It’s the first sign of proper life that they’ve seen. And if Gem is to be believed, it’s not a secret that they’re here.

Xornoth is most certainly there. It’s also most certainly a trap. But Scott’s not a hero for nothing, and Lizzie’s not a villain for nothing. Both kinds are quite notorious for getting out of traps.

Scott stretches, rolls his neck out, then leads the way into the room.

It’s a ballroom, large and grand, all sorts of intricacies decorating the walls and ceiling, but Scott only has eyes for the two figures on the dais at the opposite end of the room.

Xornoth in all their dark glory, resting back in a jewel-encrusted throne. The Canary in full costume (glider wings and musketeer hat included), kneeling at their feet. A chain connects the Canary’s collar to Xornoth.

Xornoth raises a hand, and Scott suddenly realizes that it isn’t just the two of them in the room. There’s a small guard made up of eight or so thugs standing by the door, and it’s barely a second before two of them have Scott by the forearms and two others have Lizzie. Scott struggles, but only for a moment—they’re not attacking him, just pulling him forward to meet Xornoth. He was already planning on heading that way, anyhow.

“Well,” Xornoth says once both Scott and Lizzie are before them. “Here to destroy me?”

And Scott’s seething, because he is here to destroy them. Because Solidarity is right there, chin on Xornoth’s lap. Because they’re finally here, and Xornoth is still acting like they have the upperhand.

When Xornoth removes Solidarity’s musketeer hat and glides a hand through his golden hair, Scott can’t help but yank one of his arms free. A shard of ice shoots down his arm and into the thigh of someone holding him. That person curses, smacks Scott over the head.

Scott curses as well. He needs to calm down. He can’t lose control here, in front of his nemesis, with an innocent’s life at stake. He stares up at Solidarity, searching the little bit of visible skin for any signs of recent injuries, trying to catch the man’s eye. Solidarity isn’t even looking at him, eyes fixed on . . . on Lizzie.

Lizzie’s staring back at Solidarity, face tight. Her hands, restrained as they are, are clenched in fists, knuckles turning white.

What’s visible of Solidarity’s face is expressionless, even as he leans into Xornoth’s hand.

“Nothing to say to me, Major?” drawls Xornoth, lip curled. Scott returns his attention to the villain. “Nothing to say to your . . . brother?”

Brother?

In what? Being powered?

Maybe it’s some sort of tax bracket thing, Xornoth pleading to his anti-establishment spirit. Even so, it’s weird. Confusing. Probably meant to throw him off. Scott doesn’t like it at all.

“We’re not brothers,” he spits out, “and we never will be. Anything else cryptic to say to me, or should we skip to the part where I kick your demonic butt?”

Xornoth laughs, strange and echo-y in this space. It sends a chill running up Scott’s spine, one that he tries fruitlessly to shake. “Why, why, Major—or should I say, Scott,” they say, and the chill spreads to all of Scott’s body, stealing the air from his lungs.

There’s only two people on earth who know Scott’s secret identity, and neither of them have taken up supervillain activities in the last ten years—unless his therapist has something to tell him. And his therapist is a middle-aged woman named Nora, so it would be more than a little concerning for Xornoth to remove their mask right now and reveal themself to be her.

“How do you—?”

“Brothers, Scott,” Xornoth tells him, one finger idly wrapping a lock of Solidarity’s hair around it and pulling hard. Solidarity doesn’t move. “You’ve forgotten your poor, lonely brother, cast from the home at just fourteen? Surely you remember something of me, you at least stood taller than a toddler.”

No way. There’s literally no possible way that’s true. Scott was an only child. He hates to think of the people who raised him, the place he grew up, but now he casts his mind back, tries to recall any evidence of such a sibling.

There’s nothing. Not even a faint echo of a teenager occupying the house when he was young. No photos, no possessions, no memories.

Xornoth’s probably lying. They’re probably just trying to shake him before the battle, give themself the upper hand. But the fact that they know his name is scary. Incredibly scary.

If they know Scott’s name, who else does?

He’ll just have to make sure to bring Xornoth in alive. He needs answers about this, but right now they’re going to have to wait.

Scott sighs, tugs himself free from the guards easily. “We fighting or no?” he asks, then doesn’t wait before sending an icicle flying at Xornoth. The villain dodges it easily, stands, unclips the chain from Solidarity’s collar (Scott’s blood boils at the sight of it) and places the man’s hat back on his head.

“Pet,” says Xornoth casually. Solidarity’s eyes instantly leave Lizzie, turning instead to Xornoth. “I have some business to take care of with my long-lost brother. Keep her—” they point at Lizzie— “out of my way.”

Scott barely has time to process the words before the Canary leaps at Lizzie, and Xornoth flies toward him.

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