#like i have that reaction in fics where there is zero romance whatsoever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harrowscore · 3 years ago

Note

Mikasa Ackermann, Levi Ackermann, Amane Misa, Aeron Greyjoy for the charactet ask :3

SOMEONE HEARD MY PRAYERS AND NOW MY TIME HAS COME, tysm!!!!! <3

okay, let's start with levi (my beloved):

hogwarts house: gryffindor (maybe....?) | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuff

ugh, the hp sorting house system is way too reductive. he has qualities of gryffindor, slytherin, and hufflepuff - brave, astute, loyal to a fault, etc. so it's a hard choice. but if i really have to choose, i'd go for gryffindor. i know that his Bad Boy facade shouts slytherin, but while he has larger goals (killing all the titans, then saving the world etc.), he's got no actual ambition for himself. hufflepuff would also be a good option.

daemon (from the his dark materials series): (because i've just decided that's just way more accurate than the hp method) some kind of big feline. maybe a panther - a black panther would be the ideal - aloof, predatory, dangerous, fiercely independent.

best quality: besides his obvious strenghts as a leader and warrior, the way he cares for his comrades-in-arms. it's very hard to gain his trust and respect, but once you have it, it's forever. he's pragmatic and ruthless, yes, but he also has a huge capacity for compassion and friendship. not that he would be effusive about his affections, of course.

worst quality: none, he's absolutely perfect ❤ jklsdfhjk jokes aside, he really struggles to open up (a serious understatement), idt he ever talked about his traumatic past with anyone. i mean, maybe he mentioned it to hange and erwin (erwin knew him when he was still an undergound thug, so...), but... he's not great with feelings. despite his apathetic, intimidating mask, he feels and cares deeply, but he has a long history with losing the people he loves, so he tries to not personally care about his squadmates, which can be both a strenght and a weakness. of course, he spectacularly fails at this.

ship them with: well, it's not a secret that i'm a huge rivamika fan, this ship is almost literally consuming my waking thoughts lmao. imo they're perfectly compatible: very similar personalities (stoic, the strongest warriors, absolutely terrifying on the battlefield but with a soft underbelly), very similar pasts/experiences, so many parallels that it's actually ridiculous, etc. i love how they're both each other's equals and likeness (yes, i took it from jane eyre. no, i don't regret anything lmao). a lot of tropes i love, too: Terrible First Impression (the Pride and Prejudice vibes are so strong with these two, you have no idea), Kindred Spirits/Mirror Images, Veteran/Young Prodigy, The Last of Their Kind, even Height Difference lmao. i could write a whole rivamika manifesto, but this is already too long. (maybe for some other time 👀) i would've loved for their dynamic to be more explored in canon but alas, isayama clearly didn't give a shit about the ackerman legacy, he just used it as a plot shortcut to give them conveniently unique powers, since they never really talked about it 🙄 (and before some troll comes into my askbox shouting "you iNcEsT fReAk!!!!1!!", they're only very distantly related. we know shit about the ackermans but we know for sure that they've got at least several generations between them. biologically their shared DNA is 0%, obviously they don't see each other as family, all the eldians have a dead ass common ancestor from 2000 years ago so they're all basically ⁓related anyway. if you really wanna scream about i.ncest, go watch got/dark/the borgias and shut the fuck up please. or alternatively go outside and touch some grass) sorry for the rant, uh. anyway, i can also see levi/erwin. idk if i'd ever care enough to read a fic about them (i'm usually a huge multishipper, but for some weird reason not when it comes to rivamika? same with braime and kastle tbh), but still, i can see it.

brotp them with: hange and erwin, obv. veteran trio >>> ema trio, sorry not sorry (at least h. and e. died before yams had the chance to ruin their character arcs)

needs to stay away from: ...uh, filth, i guess? lmao

misc. thoughts: besides the stupid teenage fangirl crush i have on him, i'm genuinely fascinated by the man himself. he's a huge mess of a contradictions, and yet somehow it works: he's violent and brash and kind of an asshole, but also has a strong moral code and integrity; he's obv very skilled at all the killing/torturing stuff and yet he has a huge respect for life; he's got a potty mouth to say the least, and yet some very aristocratic manners/tastes (the way he sits, his preference for tea and usually refined clothes); he comes from what's supposed to be an illustrous bloodline, he's methodical and very precise, and yet he was born and raised in the underground, he's been used to filth and blood and poverty since he was a child, kenny of all people was his father figure, and probably has known no other life than a perennial survival mode existence. he's "humanity's strongest soldier", but while well-built he's also small, the david to the titans' goliah, and probably not what people would assume a born warrior looks like. he's also one of the few characters who stayed true to himself and his original characterization until the end, bless you smol king ❤

(okay, this is getting long!)

mikasa:

hogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuff

this is actually easy: mikasa belongs to hufflepuff and no, i won't take criticism (just joking lol). enough with this "hufflepuffs are fluffy puppies/Cinnamon Rolls <3" thing: mikasa values loyalty and duty more than anything else. she's also hardworking... and fierce, strong, lethal. yes, hufflepuff and lethal are not mutually exclusive concepts.

daemon: (finally the better option) a she-wolf, fiercely protective of her pack.

best quality: loyal, brave, incredibly strong (alongside her more fragile qualities). practical and level-headed on the battlefield, at least when eren is not included in the picture.

worst quality: struggles to let go of the past (understandable, considering her trauma). tunnel-vision when it comes to eren, obv. extreme levels of delusions ("if only i spoke openly about my romantic feelings for him - as if i didn't made them abundantly clear in ⁓6 years - he wouldn't kill 80% of humanity :(((" lmao okay. just. okay), but that's more on the writing. she's sadly more static than any other main character throughtout the whole series.

ship them with: see above :) but recently i've also started to be intrigued by mikasa/annie and mikasa/sasha. also, i'm sympathetic to jeankasa fans, though i don't actually care for the ship.

brotp them with: EMA trio, especially armin+mikasa. their friendship is so beautiful and special. also sasha.

needs to stay away from: ...... eren, at least romantically. again, that's more on the writing than anything else, but e.remika unfortunately encompasses many tropes i loathe with all the strength of my old shriveled heart: childhood friends-to lovers where the (male) childhood friend doesn't acknolewdge/is completely indifferent to the other (female) friend's romantic feelings, she hopelessly pines for him for years without anything more than a cold shoulder... until in the last chapter it's revealed that he loved her all along and doesn't "want other men to have her!!! :((" (then why did you have no reaction whatsoever to jean's years-long crush on her while she was jealous of any vaguely female-shaped human being you were friendly to, including hange? are you that dumb, man?); the female character's development and entire arc 100% revolves around the male protagonist - she has no goals, no dreams of her own except staying with him forever and ever; the romance is based on an idealized childhood dream, therefore reaffirming those childish illusions would make the character regress, not actually grow up (and nope, epilogue!jk doesn’t count; that also lacks build-up - i would’ve said the same about rm as well, so it’s not about shipping, guys, it really isn’t - and mikasa needed an inner change; getting married to another man but still praying to eren’s shrine is not substitute to actual development lol). post-time skip she's never really frustrated/angry with him, they never get a confrontation about him becoming a, y'know, mass-murderer of gigantic (pun intended) proportions; she puts him on a pedestal, and never stops idealizing him/never sees him for what he actually is (the narrative framing him as some kind of tragic martyr/saint eren from paradis with zero agency and basically... no clear motivation for the abovementioned mass murder, and not the actual complex tragic anti-hero/villain motivated by revenge and righteous fury he deserved to be, does not help). it lacks a good or even decent build-up - it's basically all tell and not show. now, if they'd actually been childhood friends to enemies to lovers/mutually co-dependent... it could have been interesting. sadly, it's not my cup of tea. of course this is just my personal preference, no hard feelings to the shippers.

misc. thoughts: enormous potential. she's been my fav female character since s1 - and ah, i miss s1!mikasa, when she had actually other stuff to do besides mothering eren. i love that she's the strongest warrior (second only to levi, obv), that her skills are never called into questions despite her gender, i love how she stands up for herself and the people she loves, that she may seem cold and stoic and yet has a such a huge heart, that she's not perfect but also sometimes awe-inspiring. sadly, she never really gets out of eren's shadow; what she lacks is an arc focused on herself. that's why imo getting deeper into the ackerman lore would've helped (also, you cannot make the main female character and the most popular male character descend from the same Unique Bloodline or whatever, and never really make them acknowledge it out loud; as a writer, you just can't lol). my spite is so strong that i'm currently writing a ridiculously pretentious fic that's 70% development for her character, to give her a voice, and 30% ackerthirsting. (yes, that's the fic i'm always vagueblogging about lmao, rip @ my brain). if any other rivamika fan is interested… mind you, it’s in italian tho, and idt i have the skills to translate into english.

misa:

hogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuff

daemon: mmh, maybe some kind of butterfly? beautiful, colorful, and short-lived.

best quality: glorious fashion sense, more inventive and ingenious than fans actually give her credit for.

worst quality: shallow, impulsive, and obv her dependence on/obsession with light (which stems from trauma btw, but still… the very opposite of a relationship between equals).

ship them with: rem, kinda (monster/human ftw!). also weirdly enough mogi, a little bit? she deserves someone who actually respects her… though she’s far from being a perfect angel. she may actually be crazier than light on some aspects. but in this house we stan evil ladies anyway, so i have no problem with that <3

brotp them with: uh, idk, maybe matsuda?

needs to stay away from: obv light. also takada.

misc. thoughts: a tragic victim of sexist writing. she may be… unhinged to say the least, but she didn’t deserve the abuse she got from light (and from the fans). the female characters’ writing in dn is so bad that idk if it’s on purpose, to kinda mirror the reality of women in a patriarchal society (dependent on men, housewives whose life entirely revolves around their husband/boyfriend etc.), or just casual misogyny lol. it’s even more baffling since we don’t know the author’s gender (they may be a man, a woman, nb, anything really). i tend for the latter option tho.

aegon greyjoy (now, i wasn’t expecting him lol):

hogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuff

i’m so sorry, i haven’t the slightest idea lmao. maybe gryffindor? mind you, it’s been a long time since i’ve re-read the books, so i don’t have many thoughts about him.

daemon: maybe it’s cliché, but some kind of fish/squid lmao

best quality: ugh, i really can’t remember much from his chapters :(( he’s not a coward, i guess? (lame answer, sorry!)

worst quality: definitely his religious fanaticism.

ship them with: no one.

brotp them with: uh… his family, ig? except euron.

needs to stay away from: obv euron. brr ://

misc. thoughts: i genuinely like the greyjoys chapters, though i vastly prefer the martells (with the exception of theon and asha, bcs i love them). yes, they’re deranged. yes, victarion is… well, victarion lol. but the drowned god religion is actually interesting, grrm knows how to write trauma - every time aeron mentions euron and that freaking door i’m like… :// - and the tragedy of it all… just great writing all around.

okay, that’s the end lmao. thank you so much, love!!! ❤❤

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #asks #cafeleningrad #if *anyone* dares to start stupid wank on my super niche blog they'll be blocked on sight i'm warning you #snk salt

2 notes · View notes

michael-langdon-appreciation · 6 years ago

Text

Apocalypse After (Part 4)

Pairing: Michael Langdon x fem!reader

Summary: There was never any hope of saving Michael Langdon, never a chance to stop the apocalypse. The Antichrist was already too intertwined with his destiny when the reader met him all those years ago. But Mallory can go back and make things right and when the reader travels with her, an opportunity sparks to try and make things right after all.

Words: 4.6K

Warning: omg I don’t think we have any?!

Tag List: @queenie435 @elimineetje @i-alyssa @clairvoyant-hs @trelaney @a-l-l-e-x-a-n-d-r-r-a @ahsloverrf @sodanova @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @langdonsfallen @queencocoakimmie @petersfern-fics @langdonsoceaneyes @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sassylangdon @confettucini @Langdonalien @alexcornerblog @sevenwondr @sammythankyou @wroteclassicaly @Sloppy-Wrist @sojournmichael @langdonslove @whoviancumberbunny @the–queen-of-hell

A/N: Part 4 is here! This chap is really exploring the beginnings of Michael and Y/N’s relationship, how they’re gonna fit together and how they adjust to each other. No romance yet though cause Michael is still a bubba at this point (think Return to Murder House). Also I am not a Banker and haven’t a clue about accounts lol so if I do slip-up let me know!

We have to take the bus into the city. I don’t have a phone to call an Uber and Michael has no possessions whatsoever, all we have are the clothes on our backs and mine are on loan from Violet. I promised I’d buy the girl a whole room of new stuff if she let me hang onto her favourite jeans and got rid of the purple taffeta mess I’d arrived in.

‘What do we do first?’ Michael asks, swinging into a seat at the back of the bus. ’Are we gonna stay in a hotel?’

What has Constance been teaching him?

‘This isn’t Home Alone.’ I tell him, taking the seat beside him. ’We need a house.’

Michael frowns, ‘Do you have money?’

‘No.’

I moved to Robichaux back in twenty fourteen, the Coven was my life right up until I met Michael and he became my new home. He cocks his lip at me, ‘Then how are we gonna live?’

I return his scowl with one of my own, ‘Yee of little faith.’

He waits for me to elaborate and when I don’t reply, Michael takes up fiddling with his sleeves. I bat his hands away, ‘Don’t fiddle, it’s a bad habit.’

‘Why?’

‘It makes you look nervous. Shifty, like you have a reason to hide.’

Michael holds off for five minutes before resuming the action. He stares out the window watching the world go by as he hides his hands in the too long sleeves. His expression is one of intrigue and I can’t help asking, ‘Have you ever been to Santa Monica?’

‘Not often.’ He reveals, ‘Only when I could fit in the stroller. Grandma would take me to the hairdressers with her and she’d let me choose a chocolate bar on the way home if I was good.’

‘That mustn’t have been very often.’ I joke, nudging his shoulder.

Michael’s head whips round to me, ‘That’s not very nice.’ He scolds, ‘I can be good. I willbe good.’

I didn’t mean for him to take it that way. Vivian’s words must have really hit a chord with him, Michael’s desperation to meet her approval shining in his eyes. He turns his body back to the window and gives me the cold shoulder, I catch him tugging at the sleeves of his jumper again. ‘Stop it.’ I say, ‘I’ve told you once.’

‘You’re not my Mom.’ He snaps back, drawing the interests of some of the passengers near us.

‘No, but I am the one in charge.’ I say, ‘Stop acting like a brat.’

‘I’m not-’

‘Michael…’ He harrumphs and throws himself back in his seat, he takes his time rolling his head in my direction till finally those blue eyes penetrate mine. I find myself distracted by the range of emotions swirling there, there’s an unbridled resentment there that unsettles me, growing more obvious during our battle of wills. I don’t think Michael’s met anyone he hasn’t been able to push over or who hasn’t just given up on him before. ‘It’s gonna be difficult at first.’ I say, ‘We don’t have a home, we don’t have money. We’re completely starting over, but it’s better than where we came from.’

He listens intently and then nods in agreement, ‘When are you gonna tell me where you come from?’ That spark of genius flickers across his face again, ‘I know you aren’t an angel. If you were you wouldn’t talk back to me and you wouldn’t have shoved my Dad against a wall. But you’re something strong, I can feel it.’

There’s always been a magnetism between us.

‘When we have a house I’ll tell you.’ I promise and this seems to satisfy Michael for now.

‘I know you’ve done a lot for me.’ He mumbles, glancing round the bus as we come to a stop. Michael watches an old couple at the front, the man’s arm wrapped round her shoulders. ‘I’m not trying to be ungrateful-’

‘It’s fine.’

I calculate how many stops we have left till we reach our destination. Just two, thankfully, it’s the most awkward bus ride I’ve ever had. Michael’s shoulder brushes up against mine every time he fidgets, his focus still on the couple. I wish I had a phone, I’m gonna have to pick one up. But with what money I’m not sure, I have no idea what my savings were like back in 2014, did I even have any? I’m hoping my plan is going to work, but I know it’s risky.

Michael’s hand slips into mine, derailing my thoughts. His hand is warm and Michael’s fingers easily wrap round mine. He steals a peak at me, so quickly I almost don’t catch it. What do I do? Do I let him get close to me like this? He’s six years old, it’s just a comfort thing. But it doesn’t feel like that, not when Michael’s thumb glides over my skin.

Our stop arrives before I’ve made a decision on what to do about Michael’s hand in mine. We get off in the middle of Santa Monica and I tug Michael through the streets, ‘What are we looking for?’ He calls, letting eyes roving everywhere. Michael takes in the high-rise buildings and palm-trees, the bright shop names and the milling beach-goers, locals and tourists.

‘A bank.’ I inform him, ‘I need to access our savings.’

‘Our savings?’ Michael repeats, ‘I have no money.’

‘Not exactly true.’

We weave through the streets, even in the middle of the city we have a small glimpse of the sea straight ahead of us. Michael yanks me back from the cross-walk, ‘There?’ He points out the First Republic Bank and I grin at the sight of it.

I pull Michael onto the nearest bench, ‘Once we get inside you are going to have to behave, I don’t care about any excuses. If things don’t work out I’m gonna have to perform more magic.’ I tell him and Michael’s eyebrow go skyward in excitement, ‘This is crucial, Michael. You don’t do anything, even if things go horribly wrong. I will get us out of there.’

‘What could go wrong?’

‘Hopefully nothing.’ I say, ‘But we haven’t exactly had the best luck have we?’

His eyes wander to the fish taco shop opposite, ‘Well now you’ve jinxed it.’

‘You wish to combine the accounts?’ The Teller eyes us down, ‘How old are you both?’

Michael goes to answer but I beat him to it, ‘We’ve just graduated college.’ I reply, flashing my best smile.

The man we’re speaking to doesn’t seem all that thrilled to be dealing with us mere kids. He stares Michael down, but to Michael’s credit he doesn’t show any weakness, ’You wish to withdraw money from the Harmon’s account based on the fact that you are their son?’

‘That’s right,’ Michael says.

‘But here’s where your little charade falls apart,’ The Teller smirks at us, as if we’ve fallen right into his claws. ‘Mr and Mrs Harmon died in twenty twelve and their son was stillborn, their benefactor claimed the account money years ago. So whoever you are, I need to ask you to leave before I call the police.’

‘Who is the benefactor?’ I ask.

‘Classified.’

I hate that word, my eyes slipping over to Michael. He looks back at me as if he’s waiting for something, and I realise he wants my magic show to begin.

‘There were twins.’ I reply, ‘Two sons. Upon the death of the Harmons, Michael was raised by his God-Mother.’

The Teller does not believe us, he addresses Michael. ‘Who is your Godmother? They may be the benefactor but I would need a name first.’

I try to kick Michael under the table, but he babbles out the name anyway, ’Constance Langdon.’

I have to work quickly.

‘Radicem suam voluntatem.’

It’s a stronger Concilium spell than the one I used on Tate, I was taught this spell by Myrtle Snow herself. The Teller goes rigid, his expression slack and a bark of laughter escapes from Michael.

‘What did you do?’ He looks thrilled, waving a hand in front of the Teller and receiving no reaction.

‘Shut up,’ I hiss. This spell is all about eye contact and I cannot be distracted or the Teller could break free. ‘You will release the money from the Harmons account.’ I take out a piece of paper from my pocket and slide it across the table, ‘You will do so based on the wishes of Ben Harmon himself written by his hand in this last will and testament which overrides any previous false wills. Michael Langdon is the son of Ben and Vivian Harmon and he is their last living relative. All the money in their accounts goes to Michael.’

It isn’t exactly legitimate, I’m not a Banker and I haven’t the faintest idea if this is going to work. Ben had stopped us before we left the Murder House and handed over his will to me. The ghosts in the Murder House knew Michael was being raised by Constance, so Ben had created this will in the event of Michael’s reappearance to give him some extra help, despite Vivian’s wishes.

‘The money has been withdrawn.’ The Teller informs me, ‘You’re too late.’

‘Who withdrew it?’ I demand as the Teller’s will pushes against my magic, I hold him in place with my eyes. His eyes move from me to his computer screen and he starts typing. I move round to make sure he’s doing his job. The Harmon’s account opens and I let out a noise of disappointment. It’s more or less a big fat zero, but the account the money was transferred to is also there.

‘Constance.’ I growl, the bitch withdrew Michael’s owed money for herself. Probably the moment Ben Harmon died.

‘If she is the boy’s Godmother I’m sure the money went to college.’ The Teller assumes and I roll my eyes. We’ve lost out and our chances of securing any money for ourselves dies like the poor souls trapped in the Murder House.

Then there’s also the fact Michael said Constance’s name.

The boy responsible for my problems stands and peers at the Teller, now blank once again. ‘He’s totally under your control.’ He marvels, ‘Can I do that?’

It’s too much of a risk.

I take out the bottle of water I bought back at the Fish Taco shop, open the lid and spit in it. I place it in the Teller’s hand, ‘Drink.’ He shudders, fighting the physical compulsion to follow my commands. He strains against me, the veins in his forehead becoming more and more visible as he battles for his freedom. Michael’s watching with his mouth hanging open, ‘What are you doing?’

‘Drink.’ I repeat and the Teller snaps, bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a huge gulp. I pat him on the shoulder, ‘Only some memory loss, you’ll forget you ever saw us. Come on, Michael.’

Michael frowns but he follows me out of the bank, ‘Did we get our money?’

‘No.’ I say, ‘Constance stole it all.’

‘So we go and use our magic to get it from her, or use magic to fix our accounts.’

I snort, ‘I don’t have thatmuch power.’

Michael observes me, ‘I think you’re capable of remarkable feats.’ His words have a honey to them that has me momentarily stumped. Michael offers me a little smile, ‘So are we gonna sleep outside?’

‘Well it didn’t help you told them about Constance,’ I remind him.

‘Why?’

‘What would you have done if she got a call from the bank saying Michael Langdon her ‘God-Son’ was trying to access the Harmon’s accounts. Constance thinks you’re dead.’

Michael scowls, ‘Well I’m not. She left me to die.’

I could strangle the boy. ‘I know,’ I say evenly. ‘But she would track you down and who knows what would happen then.’

He doesn’t seem to care. Michael crosses his arms and his gaze falls on a MacDonalds up the road, ‘I’m hungry.’

I definitely couldn’t be a mother.

‘Go and order something for us.’ I tell him, ‘There’s a call I need to make.’

Michael scarpers off, abandoning me in the streets of Santa Monica.

I didn’t want to have to go there yet, but with the Harmon’s money gone and with none of my own I have only one option. I locate the nearest payphone and dial the number I know by heart and hold it up to my ear, waiting for someone to pick up.

Cordelia was as much a mother to me as she was to all her girls. Her voice is tight and I can hear the emotion quavering as she spoke, ‘You’re alive?’

‘Yes.’ I keep my answer short, not knowing how she’s going to take my sudden re-appearance.

‘Where the hell have you been Y/N? You vanish right in the middle of class, Zoe’s not been right since you disappeared. It was like you were taken by something and no one could find you anywhere.’

She won’t let me get a word in, so I wait for the Supreme to calm down. ‘I’m fine.’ I repeat, ‘I don’t know exactly what happened, maybe the spell I was doing went wrong.’ I’m getting very good at spinning these lies, ‘I need your help.’

‘You need to get yourself to New Orleans right now.’

‘I can’t.’ I tell her, ‘There’s things I need to take care of.’

‘What things?’ It touches me that Cordelia still cares about me so much. She should though, in this timeline I’ve only disappeared, there’s no bad blood between us yet, even if it did take all my pride to call the Coven. ‘What do you need?’

‘Money.’ I get to the point, ‘There’s something I’ve found that I’m investigating but I need to be able to afford accommodation. Can you work your magic and help me out?’

Cordelia doesn’t acknowledge my pun, ‘Where are you?’

‘New York.’

I’m not going to tell her where I really am, the last thing I need is Cordelia Goode turning up on my doorstep while I’m harbouring the ex-Antichrist.

There’s a pause and I can hear Cordelia talking with someone else.‘I’m sending you the funds now. You should have everything you need.’

‘Thank you, Cordelia.’

‘On the basis that the moment you are finished you come straight home.’ She tells me, ‘You aren’t doing anything dangerous are you?’

‘No I’m not.’ I say, ‘It’s a personal matter. I’m sorry, I can’t say more.’

‘I mean it, Y/N. I will get the council involved if you don’t keep in contact with me.’

She’s making me check in, Cordelia wants to keep tabs on me. I suppose she’s only trying to look out for me, ‘Alright.’ I agree, ‘Thank you for your help.’

‘Has it gone through?’

The Coven’s ability to move huge sums of cash has always intrigued me. It’s so mafia how they earn all their money. I know most of its handed down through the generations and people pay good money for a little magical help. I’m sure Fiona had a good few million stored up when she died that Cordelia’s put to good use.

‘I’ll let you know when I have a phone.’

‘Jesus, Y/N.’I smile, knowing I must sound ridiculous. ‘Stay safe.’ She warns, ‘If I hear of anything I’m coming to get you.’

Of course she will, or she’ll send one of her little minions. I hang up the call and head towards the MacDonalds, praying I won’t see Cordelia Goode any time soon.

Purchasing a house was pretty simple, a quick lie about starting college combined with the amount of zeros recently added to my account made the process quick and easy. But Michael got his way and we did have to spend our first couple of nights together in a hotel.

I was worried so many new experiences would overwhelm Michael, he’d lived such a sheltered life so far. He drank in the world around him like a man parched of water, his eyes roving everywhere pointing out the slightest and most minute of details. He saw the world through a magnifying glass, as if everything was heightened. Michael memorised the way to our room with absolute ease, navigating the corridors and which lift to take as if he worked there himself. He worked out how to fix the broken HDMI cable in our room in under an hour and took it upon himself to handle the management of moving of our new furniture into the house, even though I didn’t think he’d ever supervised anything in his life. He was still growing at an exponential rate, still advancing at genius level. I believe his exposure to such a vast amount of stimulus was encouraging his mental growth to catch up to his body, it was showing with his magic.

‘What have I told you about the bed?’ I grumble, putting down my bags on the desk.

Michael’s bed thunders back to the floor, ‘You said to practice.’

‘I meant sending a fork whizzing through the air.’ I say, my eyes catching yet another room service tray sat on my bed, only a few crumbs left. ‘And these room service bills,’ I snatch the receipt off the tray, signed with Michael’s new loopy signature. ‘We aren’t made of money.’

‘But we are.’ He points out, ‘I did the accounts, Y/N.’ He become much more familiar with me and my name. Michael likes to eek it out, his mouth forming every vowel as if he’s experimenting to find which version suits him the most. He smiles when I don’t have another retort and watches as I take out my new laptop and start setting it up, ‘Do I get one?’

‘What would you do on it?’

Michael shrugs, ‘Stuff.’

‘Exactly.’

The laptop pings into life and Michael’s curiosity gets the better of him. He grabs the other bags and makes the short distance from his bed to mine, upending the bags and leting the contents tumble all over the bed. I do my best to ignore him as Michael inspects the new clothes I’ve bought him holding them against his body, ‘Try them on.’

Michael peers over my shoulder, ‘Are they all for me?’

‘All but the dresses.’

His arms wrap around me and squeeze tight, ‘Thank you.’ He gathers up an armful and heads straight to the bathroom.

That was the first time Michael had hugged me or shown any kind of affection since the bus ride. I thought he had reigned himself in, but clearly not. The anti-virus is installing when Michael pops back out, dressed in a black shirt and black jeans. He looks at himself in the mirror, ‘It’s very …black.’

‘What’s wrong with black?’ I ask.

‘It’s just black.’ He states, ‘Boring.’

‘It suits you.’ I praise, fishing in one of the bags and producing a tub of hair cream. I climb off my bed and hand it to him, ‘Knock yourself out.’

I catch the light dusting of blush on Michael’s cheeks as he takes the tub and inspects it, ‘What do I do with it?’

‘You use it to tame your hair.’

‘What’s wrong with my hair?’

Maybe I am trying to dress him up too much, trying to shape Michael into the man I knew. ‘You’re right.’ I take the tub back off him, ‘Too soon. There’s nothing wrong with it, your hair is lovely as it is.’ I muss a little for emphasis and Michael pushes me away. I settle back on my bed, the anti-virus now finished. I jump straight onto Amazon and open a secondary tab for IKEA.

Michael appears before me, his face just above my laptop. ‘Y/N?’ I meet his gaze. Michael’s eyes shine with apprehension, ‘Are you gonna send me to school? Like the other kids?’

I hadn’t thought about that, though I doubt any other kids could already become an accountant. ‘No.’ Relief flickers across Michael’s face, ‘I think we should focus on your magic.’

He nods his agreement, “Good. I wouldn’t know how to…’ A pang of sympathy runs through me and Michael catches it. ‘I’m not an imbecile.’ He says and I’m sure he got that word from Constance. ‘I can make friends. I can do school I just think-’

‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me.’

Michael pauses mid-rant, not expecting my calm approach. I click open a word document, ‘Pass me my handbag?’ He retrieves it for me and I pull out the notebook where Michael’s account info is kept. ‘Update this for me, will you? All the receipts from today are in my purse.’

He gets to work, grabbing the pencil and little notepad set out by the maid every day. We work in amicable silence, Michael jotting down his sums, eyebrows moving up and down as his brilliant mind calculates while I online shop.

‘When do you think Mom will accept me?’

His question catches me off guard, ‘What?’

‘Vivian.’ Michael clarifies, ‘She said if I be good, if I get things under control then I can visit her.’ I wait for him to carry on, ‘Well I’ve been good for three days.’ Michael points out, ‘When do I know if I’ve been good enough?’

He has a point.

‘I don’t know, babe.’ I reply, pushing the laptop off my lap to take a break. ‘Once we’re moved in things will be easier. We can set up some real lesson plans and get you started on controlling your powers.’

‘But I wanna see them.’ Michael insists, ‘Violet and Ben and Vivian and Jeffrey.’

‘Well maybe we can visit again soon.’ I offer, ‘It’ll be a process, Michael. You’ve got to give them time too.’

Michael returns to his sums while I observe him. I have no denial about how monumental the task ahead of me is. To train Michael and hone his powers, teach him to control them and expand that patience into every other aspect of his life. Back at the Hawthorne Academy, when I first met Michael Langdon I saw how the Warlocks fast-tracked him along for their own purposes. It was never about Michael, just how my education with the Coven became less about my own personal growth and more about developing me as a tool, as a weapon they could use against him.

Oh how it backfired, Michael and I choosing to stand by each other rather than becoming the enemies we were shaped to be.

‘Done.’ Michael announces showing me the math, ‘We’re still doing really good.’

I take the notepad from him and start copying the info onto my word document, ‘You’re smart, you know.’

He grins, ‘I do know.’

‘Arrogant too.’

‘I know.’

He’s doing it to wind me up. In three days Michael has already perfected how to get under my skin, behaving more and more like my brother. That word sickens me a little, I don’t want my relationship with Michael to be familial, but how can it be anything else? In the past we looked out for each other, but Michael took the lead on that role. Now I’m his caregiver, his provider but I do not want to be his mother.

I won’t be.

Dinner ends up being room service again. I pointedly ignore Michael’s smirk all throughout our meal as he chomps down on fish and chips and a brownie. He can eat anything and still have those sharp cheekbones, it’s not fair. Our evenings have been spent watching crap hotel TV and experimenting with small-scale magic and tonight is no different. Michael has gotten into Hells Kitchen. I think he likes watching all the aspiring chefs panic under Gordon Ramsey’s wrath. He has his favourites, he cheers them on, hisses when they are sent home. Honestly, Michael is more interesting to watch than the show.

Now I have my laptop I settle back into social media, making sure to keep myself private. I check on the Coven girls, Zoe, Queenie, Cordelia and try to find a trace of Mallory. Cordelia’s words still hang over my head and I send her a quick text knowing it’s better to keep her fed with updates than have her set one of the other witches on my tail. ‘Whatcha doing?’ Michael complains, ‘Are you even watching?’

‘Half-watching, babe.’ I reply, reading Cordelia’s quick-fire response.

I’m distracted by Michael’s weight, nudging me over and climbing into bed with me. This is a new development, there’s always been an understanding that neither of us invades the other’s bed. It’s our only personal space, having to share a bathroom too. Michael’s still wearing his new clothes as he pulls the duvet up over us. He confiscates my laptop and puts it on the floor, ‘Watch.’

‘I am.’

‘Watch properly.’

I give in, letting the show absorb me, but I just can’t give it my all when Michael’s so close, when his hand has slid to cup the side of my thigh. It’s a small action, but one that sends a thousand questions running through me. Is this appropriate? The age gap between us seems problematic, my twenty-one years seeming so uneven against his sixteen, or is it six?

I scoot up making some space between us both. Michael doesn’t comment on it as I retrieve my phone and check for any other messages. Thankfully there’s nothing, my circle of friends isn’t exactly wide right now. ‘Moving tomorrow.’ I venture, ‘Excited.’

Michael screws up his nose, ‘I like it here.’

‘But you’ll have your own room.’ I point out, ‘We won’t be on top of each other.’

‘You mean you can put some space between us.’

I hope I’m not saying the wrong thing again, ’Sometimes that’s a good thing.’

‘I don’t mind it.’ He looks at me, ‘I’ve been alone a lot, it’s nice to have company.’

He’s killing me. Michael’s eyes fall on my phone, he opens his hand and my phone flies into his open palm. He puts it down with my laptop, ‘I’m getting better.’

He certainly is, already mastering Telekinesis. Has Michael retained the same capacity of power he had as the Antichrist? Is that possible?

We start a game of making the notepad fly back and forth between us while the program finishes, when it does I sink down into bed, ‘Sleep.’

Michael stares at me, ‘It’s nine.’

‘I’m tired.’ I say, turning on my side. ‘I’ve been out all day while you’ve been in here eating away our money.’

‘Funny.’ Michael’s voice drifts into my ear and when I look up he’s right above me. ‘I’m not going to sleep yet.’

‘I don’t know how you stay up so late.’

Michael smirks, ‘I had a PS2 in my room. Grandma never cared how long I stayed up for as long as I wasn’t causing trouble.’

I turn my light out and wait for Michael to move off my bed back to his own. His weight disappears and I listen to him padding around as I try to find sleep. The TV gets switched off, plunging the room into darkness and I wait to hear Michael sink onto his own bed, but it never comes. My duvet lifts and I feel Michael press himself up against me, ‘What are you doing?’

‘Getting comfortable.’ He answers, his nose pressing into my hair.

‘Michael, I don’t think this is very appropriate-’

‘You said you weren’t going to be my Mom.’ Michael says, ‘And I don’t want you to be.’

What on earth does he mean by that?

His arm slides around my waist, tugging me back into him. I can feel his soft cotton pyjamas brushing my ankles as his bare feet press into the back of my legs, stealing my heat. ‘I don’t know, Michael.’

‘Please.’ His voice is a flutter in my ear, ‘I just wanna be close.’

I bite back the thought I nearly voice, that Michael always gets too hot in bed. But he’s not running as warm as he used to, Michael’s a normal temperature, still invitingly warm but not oppressive. I already know he’s going to win this battle, I don’t have the energy and part of me wants the contact as much as he does. I miss having Michael with me, but I’m scared that I’m giving in too easily. He’s already got me wrapped round his little finger with only a well placed pout and a smile.

I can’t let this get any further, not until he’s older.

I turn over and he smiles dopily at me, his hand still on my waist. I run my fingers through his hair watching how he basks in the attention. It takes a lot of willpower to extract myself from my bed and settle down in his own. Michael rolls over to look at me as I snuggle down into his pillows. His eyes are questions marks that quickly dissolve into hurt, the rejection pooling in his eyes. He turns over and pulls the duvet tight around him, refusing to say another word to me.

It was cold, he didn’t deserve that after being so well behaved the past couple of days. The guilt bites at my chest, how could I do that to him? After all he’s been through? I try to find sleep, but an empty bed just isn’t the same. I miss his warmth, the feel of Michael’s arms around my body and I don’t sleep a wink, not with Michael crying into his pillow till the early hours of the morning.

Read Part 5 here

152 notes · View notes

theleafpile · 6 years ago

Text

@dressedforthebills asked, in reference to the post I made stating that Solo: A Star Wars Story, is a bad movie:

What makes the writing bad? Plot? Structure? What stereotypes would that be?

So I’m just going to go over what’s fresh in my head, so there might be some pieces missing that I’m not particularly interested in. I enjoy the Star Wars movies and read a lot of fic about it, but I’m not a die-hard fan and haven’t read anything in the extended universe.

SPOILERS abound.

Rule #1 of Storytelling: Don’t tell the audience something they already know.

Solo already sort of breaks this rule simply by existing, but we could forgive that fact based on the idea that it was meant to show Han’s early years. However, this rule sticks out to me throughout.

We know Han won the Millennium Falcon from Lando in a card game - we see two (three?) card games played. It’s difficult to be invested in a card game when you don’t understand the rules. When they lay down their cards, we have no basis of understanding if they are good or not before being shown an in-world audience reaction, which throws off the beat. (At least in most card movies there is a shot of the cards and a voice over of the dealer saying what the hand is for those who don’t know, so the audience can see the cards and hear the hand and make the connection as though they made it themselves. So that could be a simple editing issue.)

We know Han and Qi’ra don’t end up together. We have no reason to be invested in their romantic arc. I could forgive this if they did something at the end like they did at the end of Casino Royale, where the pacing was thrown off because we thought Bond was really going to leave with Vesper, only to find out that she betrayed him at the end and he vowed to go back to work (and never fall in love again). But instead, at the end of Solo, we have Solo left on a beach wondering why the fuck the ship Qi’ra is on is suddenly leaving - was she trapped? Did someone else take over? Is she a hostage again? (all perfectly acceptable canon questions that Han would ask). There’s no clear cut image or moment to show that that was a betrayal, leaving us (and Han) confused.

Rule #1 of Romance: If you have to show two characters kissing to show they’re together, it’s bad writing.

The first scene with Qi’ra and Han breaks this rule. He’s running, in a panic - there’s no reason at all why he would suddenly stop what he was doing, switch gears immediately from panic to lust, and kiss her as he did. It’s a simple and fast way to show two characters are allied, but its boring. If he saw her hiding and waiting for him, and while running took her hand and dashed them to a safer place it would have 1) established that he is confident in his surroundings enough to hide (we love experts) and 2) shown them allied anyway.

They were able to show Qi’ra and Dryden Vos allied even though they never macked on one another, which I guess was to show that Qi’ra still had feelings for Han and that she wasn’t really on Vos’ side.

Qi’ra would have been a more interesting character if she were Han’s sister, not his love interest.

The guilt he feels for not be able to return to Corellia sooner and the worry he feels over her would have been more palpable if she were his blood relation, the only person in the world he had left and/or could trust, and the only person in the galaxy who could have actually relied on him - making seeing her on the yacht that much more of a surprise, showing that this girl who once relied on him has grown up.

Also, it would have made a neat parallel for Leia/Luke if there was any strange sexual chemistry between Han and Qi’ra’s actors.

No idea what planet Han was on as a soldier, their objectives, or the purpose.

Which, I guess, was the same as Han felt. If confusion was the goal, they got it. In the book, I guess, they give a reason why Chewbacca was caged there, but for the movie they didn’t tell us so it just felt very, you know. Contrived.

The heist scene doesn’t make any sense.

The goal was to attach the ship to one shipping container, detach the container, and lift it away. Which means that there was no reason to blow up the bridge ahead. Which means...

Val didn’t need to die during the heist.

There was no reason to kill her character. If they were doing this job, as Beckett said, to steal a bunch of coaxium for a gangster, then being a thief she would know the risk involved (i.e., Dryden Vos would kill them if they did not return with what was asked) and not be willing to sacrifice herself in the chance that 1) their failing plan would work, 2) Beckett would survive, 3) the coaxium would survive and 4) her life was worth saving Beckett.

Which, love, I guess. But seriously she had no reason to die. And, being the only black character of the group, it was pretty shitty that killed off her and the alien pilot and not one of the two white guys. Because plot. Of course.

Coaxium is apparently super unstable when unprocessed - but it’s okay to be tossed around.

Take any high school chemistry class and the teacher’s going to tell you that unstable materials are called that for a reason. All the moving around they do getting the raw coaxium out of the mine, loading it and transporting it on the ship, and the temperature heating up to the breaking point (yet still safe enough to get onto the other world, unloaded, and stuck in a container and plugged into something that I guess immediately neutralizes it) but it’s still able to be handled, without any safety gear, by Beckett when he takes “a drop” (not a unit of measurement) and shoves it into the fuel line of the Falcon.

I mean, hell. When it is processed look at Han so carefully gives the containers over to Dryden Vos. The audience is meant to think he’s being too extra careful because we think it’s fake and he’s overdoing it, but - no. That’s how you handle very explosive processed material. I guess the “super unstable” unprocessed material is okay, though.

Stereotypes.

Seems like Hollywood can’t make a movie lately without poking fun at “SJWs.” Enter L3. Who walked, talked, and sassed like a prototypical black woman. No thanks. She did have some funny lines, but I hate how her character’s actual correct ideas were treated as the punch line. (The same problem Hermione had with the SPEW stuff in the HP books.)

Lando is vain. He has a whole closet for capes. Unfortunately we don’t get to see him be or say anything vain at all whatsoever elsewhere.

The alien pilot at the beginning is like “I am here to state the theme and die.”

Major characterization problems - aka I don’t care about these people.

Qi’ra’s woe-is-me / you won’t look at me the same way if I’ve told you what I’ve done / you don’t know what I’ve done lines. The audience has no idea either, so I feel absolutely nothing when she says these lines. Was she a prostitute? Did she steal, lie, cheat? Did she make other people work for her? How did she get to be in Dos’ inner circle? No clue. It doesn’t make her mysterious. It makes her boring.

Enfrys Nest’s rebellion has nothing to do with rebellion against the Empire.

Meaning I don’t care about it. That twelve year old mercenary is rebelling against the crime syndicate, which is not affiliated with the rebellion. But wait -

There was zero indication that was Darth Maul speaking to Qi’ra.

Maul came from a planet where people just... looked like that. The actor was the same but much older, and it showed enough that I had zero inkling to think “oh, hey, that’s Darth Maul” who is a character I really liked. You know why else? Because Qi-gon Jin murdered his ass twenty years ago. I don’t think the Force can keep you alive after being sliced in half and sent down a bottomless well. That’s not how the Force works. They tried to make me think it by needlessly igniting his double bladed red lightsaber, but I was still like.. okay. Another Sith. Whatever.

Also. There’s no indication in the prequels that Darth Maul was the leader of a crime syndicate.

Things I liked:

- Making the Kessel run. The visuals were pretty cool with the tunnel vision, the Imperial ship, and darting off into the wild unknown with the eldritch monster. Here’s a good example at telling something the audience doesn’t know: Han cheated to do the run in 12 parsecs using the coaxium, which is why no one believes that he actually did that fast. So that’s funny. (”Not if you round down” was a cute line, too.)

- The riot scene with the droids at the mine. They were having a good time.

- Chewie helping his fellow Wookies to get free, and that moment where they touched foreheads. Small character movements like those make a big difference.

- Vos’ blades. That looked like kyber power, which means that those were probably super expensive, and that’s cool characterization.

So, no. I didn’t like Solo: A Star Wars Story. It added nothing to the characterization of Han or the Skywalker space opera universe we’ve all come to know and love. I know the prequels aren’t as beloved because of the political content, but I think a young Leia movie would’ve been a more worthwhile investment. We could have seen her on Alderran, a planet which we know nothing about, struggling with the life of being both royalty and a senator. We could’ve seen a young woman struggle to be taken seriously at her job that would have had actual in-universe repercussions for the storylines and characters we are familiar with. Yes, it could have had all the problems Solo did, but we would have known that Alderran would be blown up by the Empire, making us root for any chance we saw for characters to leave the planet (and be heartbroken when something required them to stay).

Young Leia was feisty, not afraid to stand up to Vader (of all people), and I want an origin story for her, dammit! I’m tired of men’s stories! Honor Carrie Fisher you cowards!

#star wars #asks #solo a star wars story #han solo

9 notes · View notes