#practically every boss that becomes an ally

[oceanxveiined]

At her very core, she is the very definition of “jack of all trades, master of none”. She has a acquired a multitude of skills—dance, inventing, song, penmanship and composition, combat, strategy, and investigation, among others—but there is always someone within the Snake Eyes group who will always surpass her in some regard. So why does Ozzy keep her around?

Well, if there’s something she has above everyone else, it’s her tenacity and her daring

[saintobio]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐑. (second part to 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑.)

in the battle of hearts, he was the conqueror, and you, the conquered, for his love was a war you could never win. but if in this ruthless battlefield, only one can come out victorious, could you still turn things around and let the victor be you?

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ genre. angst, smut, boss/assistant, 18+

♱ tags. villain!reader, reader previously works for onychinus, reader is not l&ds!mc, sylus is a little ooc, main story spoilers, melodic weave spoilers, lots of timeskip, fast-paced, lore heavy, unrequited love, profanity, petnames (kitten, sweetie), explicit smut, cunnilingus (f!receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, espionage, reader smoking, reckless driving, violence, spitting, choking, jealousy, usage of guns, suicide (or attempts thereof), death, and a twist in the end i can’t reveal.

♱ notes. 10.4k words too lazy to edit T-T also, there’s a scene that will remind you of nwh :))) part 1 is already fine as is, so this one is just an extra.

— 1 YEAR AFTER.

“Got an invitation?”

Only barely did you lift your head up, just enough to meet the bouncer’s eyes as you handed over the invitation. “I’m a regular.”

“Lady, I don’t think so.” The man scrutinized you with itching suspicion, then turned on his flashlight to verify the authenticity of your invitation by looking at every corner of the paper. Was he trying to look for any flaw just to say it was fake? Jesus. For an entire minute, his eyes darted between you and the letter, as though debating whether or not to let you inside.

“Come on,” you said impatiently, tapping your feet on the ground, “I’m not someone you should keep waiting.”

He was ready with a rebuttal, still reluctant to let you in, until a familiar sight of purple hair peeked from behind the entrance. Your savior for the night—it was Rafayel.

“Let her in,” he said, ushering you inside and giving the bouncer a knowing look. “She’s with me.”

Fucking finally. 

The neon red LED signage of The Nest flickered against the grimy walls, serving as the only bright light in the sketchy dark surroundings. The bar was a haven for those seeking refuge from the law and a place to trade secrets, as it was brimming with intel from a network of people. From high ranking officials, businessmen, and criminals—just offer your part of the bargain and you’d find a good trade in no time. 

It wasn’t your first time there, but your negative impression of the place remained unchanged.

You strode through the crowd with Rafayel, and your eyes scanned the room with practiced ease. There were still familiar faces around, though most of the people had gone unrecognized as it had been awhile since you last came here. 

“Wearing a hoodie in a place like this,” Rafayel spoke into your ear, his voice barely audible over the loud music. “You stick out like a sore thumb, you know?”

You merely shrugged, keeping your face hidden under the large black hoodie until Rafayel secured you inside a private balcony he had reserved for the night. Once inside, you quickly pulled the hoodie down and comfortably revealed your face.

“Just give me what I asked you so I can leave,” you commanded, your tone assertive.

Rafayel, however, only smirked as he sat on the couch across from you. “Be patient. We’re still missing one person.”

One person? “Who—” Your attention was caught by the figure of a lean, white-haired man entering the private balcony in a calm and quiet manner. A person so familiar to you that you couldn’t even keep eye contact with him. Xavier. 

Xavier might be civil around you, but you knew that if the circumstances were different, he would have let Lumiere show up to assassinate you in one strike. It didn’t matter if you were colleagues before, he still always had his guard around you. Though, things had become more complicated for everyone. And friends who had become enemies, were now allies again. 

Somehow.  

“Well, isn’t this a delightful gathering? I have two wanted individuals in the N109 Zone here with me,” you quipped, pointing to Rafayel first. “You’ve got a bounty on your head,” then to Xavier, “You’ve got a bounty on your head, too. Damn, I’d be rich if I turned you both in.”

Xavier stayed leaning against the door with his arms crossed. “That makes three of us, then,” he replied in a stolid mien, nodding toward the wall behind you.

Your eyes adjusted from the dark before it finally landed on a large, tattered poster pinned to the wall near the bar. The bold letters at the top read the following:

MOST WANTED! Y/N L/N Alias: Scarlet Viper Reward: 500,000,000 Credits Crimes: Betrayal of Onychinus Espionage Intelligence Leaks Treason Status: Traitor Last Known Location: N109 Zone, Linkon City Beware: Y/N L/N is considered extremely dangerous and cunning. She is highly skilled in espionage and intelligence gathering, and is now a traitor to Onychinus. Approach with extreme caution. All bounty hunters and loyal Onychinus followers are authorized to apprehend her by any means necessary. Payment will be made upon successful capture or confirmation of her whereabouts. Contact: Report all sightings and information to the Onychinus base. Payment is guaranteed for verified leads.

The grainy image was unmistakable—it was your own face in that poster staring back at you. But instead of acting hurt or even alarmed, a laugh bubbled up from deep within you, growing louder and more unhinged as you took in the sight. Heads turned from outside the private room, curious and wary, as your laughter echoed through the balcony.

“Crazy bastard,” you muttered to yourself between fits of laughter. “Sylus really went all out this time, huh?”

Preferably Alive? You mused at the highlighted words on the poster. Did he want me alive so he’d be the one to kill me? 

The absurdity of it all washed over you. Here you were, once Sylus’s most trusted confidante, now branded a traitor with a bounty on your head. Even Luke and Kieran wouldn’t spare you. In fact, they might even be the first ones to capture you had they received the slightest intel on your whereabouts. Ha ha ha! Your maniacal laughter was a cocktail of bitterness, amusement, and the thrill of the rebellion that had driven you to this point. The very people you treated like family, were now your enemies. 

You composed yourself, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye as you glanced around. The patrons were still watching—Xavier with concern for your sanity, and Rafayel with amusement to your charade. 

“Not what you expected from your ‘lover’?” mocked Rafayel, shifting into a more comfortable position.

But you were ready with a confident reply. “Oh, I expected just as much. It’s flattering, really, that he hasn’t found me despite all his connections.”

Xavier adopted a more serious tone when he added, “He hasn’t been seen anywhere himself. It’s been months since the raid happened, and the Onychinus faction is still leaderless.”

“Sylus isn’t that pathetic,” you replied, pulling a pack of cigarettes from your pocket. You lit one up with a flick of your lighter, and the flame briefly illuminated your face. “He’s just laying low. He’s got plenty of properties to hide in, but the H.A. will need to pay me extra if they want intel on his locations.”

Rafayel smirked. “Oh, come on now, we know you won’t give up his hideouts that easily. You still care about his safety after all. Right, Miss Scarlet?”

You displayed a defensive stance as referred to you by your alias. “I care about whether or not that hunter girl you’re all obsessed with stopped chasing after him,” you said, irritation now lacing your once-sarcastic tone. “A deal’s a deal. Keep her out of the N109 Zone and away from Sylus, and I’ll keep my hands off her. Otherwise, I’ll be happy to send a bullet or two to her head.”

“You—” “Don’t even try—”

Both boys sprang from their seats and yelled simultaneously, as if your vague threat against the apple of their eyes activated their mode of defensiveness. In all honesty, you admired how much they cared to protect that girl. That despite their rivalry, they were willing to do anything to keep her safe. You were the biggest threat to her life right now, but eliminating you wasn’t exactly an easy feat now that the H.A. had your back. 

So, this was their compromise. A mutually beneficial arrangement. In simpler terms, they need to keep the girl away from Sylus. Giving intel about Onychinus and its boss was already your part of the bargain. Theirs was to ensure that the hunter girl had no means to contact Sylus or even enter N109 Zone whenever she wanted. 

“Hand out her brooch,” you demanded, gesturing for Rafayel to hand out the very piece you were here for. “It’s about time I come home.” 

Rafayel’s eyes widened in curiosity. “You’re really returning to the N109 Zone?” 

Xavier’s face mirrored his concern, likely because you carried the largest bounty of all the wanted fugitives in the most dangerous No-Hunt Zone. But honestly, their unease puzzled you. If they wanted to keep the girl safe, having you out of Linkon City would be to their advantage. Besides, the brooch would give you unrestricted access to the N109 Zone—something you wanted to take from the hunter girl who generously received it from Sylus.

“Stop stalling and give it to me,” you insisted, your frustration growing by the second. “I’m sick of this place.”

Rafayel sighed and tossed the brooch to you. “You must be crazy.”

~~

— 1 YEAR AGO.

“You’ve already taken everything from me, Sylus. Finish what you started.”

Sylus had the power to end you right then and there. If he truly intended to kill you to protect that woman, all he needed was to intensify the pressure of his evol around you. Yet, as he observed the shifting expressions on your face, Sylus chose to ease the bone-crushing pressure of the black-red mist that encircled your body.

You collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath like fish out of the sea. But Sylus looked down at you with a cold, unyielding gaze. “I’m just showing you mercy now,” he said, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. “If you dare touch her, I’ll break every bone in your body for real next time. You’re just gonna be another dead body to me.”

With that final threat, Sylus kicked your gun away and vanished into the dead of night, leaving you alone and vulnerable in the dark alleyway. Even Mephisto, who often guarded your safety, was completely out of sight. Sylus must be happy knowing that his last words pierced through your soul—its pain gnawing at your heart and ripping every artery apart. How easily was it for him to tear you asunder despite giving you his mercy? The turmoil inside you was almost unbearable, and you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Ultimately, you chose both.

Sitting on the gravel, you clenched your fists, tears mingling with the dirt on the concrete. Anger, spite, and hatred consumed you. All you wanted was revenge.

And so, a few weeks after that, you decided to pack your bags and run away from the N109 Zone. Away from the place where Sylus was the boss of everyone. Away from a place where his omnipresence would not reach or track you.

Your destination of choice was Linkon, not because you wanted to live in that city, but because it was once your home. Returning to the bustling metropolis after four years was driven by a single purpose, and it was to see a few key people who could help you achieve your revenge.

The bright and busy streets of Linkon City were still a stark contrast to the dark and gritty atmosphere of the N109 Zone. But because you had lived most of your years here than its more dangerous counterpart, it was easy for you to maneuver through the fast-moving crowd while navigating through the complicated subway stations that even Luke and Kieran would struggle with. That day, your mind was set on your first destination: Akso Hospital.

Dr. Zayne’s clinic was tucked away in a quiet corner of the hospital. While it took some finesse to secure an appointment under a false name, you managed it without raising suspicion. After all, four years in the N109 Zone had taught you how to camouflage into roles you never expected to play.

Obviously, he was surprised to see you entering his clinic as if he had seen a ghost. His usual stoic countenance was momentarily replaced by a state of discombobulation when you finally sat across from him in his sterile, white office. “Zayne,” you cut straight to the chase. “I need to know about the girl with the Aether Core.”

Four years ago, Zayne was the last person you talked to about the Aether Core before plunging into the dangers of the N109 Zone. He knew more about it than anyone else in Linkon. Therefore, he would also be the first person you sought out upon your return.

Dr. Zayne’s expression remained impassive, however. “I’m afraid patient confidentiality prevents me from discussing any details.”

You leaned forward, your voice low and urgent, as you pressed a hand against his desk. “I’m not here for pleasantries, Zayne. I need answers. How and where does she have it?”

You had to know. You really, badly ought to know. Because knowing where she had the Aether Core would acquaint you where exactly to target her when the opportunity arises.

But in spite of the desperation in your voice, Dr. Zayne regarded you with a cool, clinical detachment. “Whatever you’re planning, I would prefer that you don’t involve an innocent person in it. If you want answers, seek it somewhere else.”

Dammit! His actions and strange avoidance of the subject were all the hints you needed. Zayne liked that girl. And he would never be the person to put her in a dangerous position. 

In that case, there was only one place left to turn, a place you had avoided for far too long. It even took you three days to gather the confidence you needed to even step foot into the familiar halls of The Hunter's Association’s most secretive department, the Hunter Intelligence Services or the HIS—the very place where undercover agents and intelligence officers resided. It was hidden beneath the city and only the high ranking hunters knew and had access to it, because being a spy certainly wasn’t for the weak heart. 

It was time to confront your true past.

The entryway to the headquarters didn’t change. And to your surprise, pulling out your access card still granted you entrance to the quarters. Were they anticipating your return or did they simply miss the task of revoking your access card?

Descending further into the underground facility, however, you were met with a familiar sense of unease. The sterile, metal hallways seemed to close in around you as you approached Lauryn’s office. She was the head of the department, your true boss, and the person who tasked you into infiltrating the N109 Zone four years ago.

Lauryn was there as you entered, her sharp eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms at you. You were right. She did anticipate your arrival, because the advanced CCTV monitors around the city were displayed all over the room. “What brings you back to the fold?” she asked, stern and unwelcoming, “Are you going to beg on my knees for turning your back against the Hunter’s Association?”

Feisty as ever. Her austerity was harsher than you remembered, but then again, there was no room for shame after all the crimes you committed while supposedly being a spy in the N109 Zone. 

“I need your help,” you admitted, shamelessly. “I have intel on Sylus and the Onychinus. Extremely valuable information that you need. In exchange, there’s something I want you to do.” 

Lauryn’s expression was unreadable as she leaned back against the wall. “So, you’ve decided to turn on your beloved Sylus? What happened to your loyalty? Is it always this unstable?”

You took a deep breath, not allowing her words to get to you. “I just… need to protect my interests.”

“Interests?” The woman guffawed at your chosen words. “And do your interests also include betraying the H.A. because you fell in love with the enemy? Or did the enemy also betray you that’s why you’re crawling back here now?” 

She hit the sore spot, but you masked your voice with defensive indifference. “If that’s how you define it, then so be it. I’m not asking to be recruited by the H.A. again, I know that. I broke the Hunter’s Code and I’m marked as a Tenebra now, but…” Letting out a heavy exhale, you looked into her eyes, “Lauryn, you know I have the most intel you’ll get about Sylus and Onychinus out of everyone. Not even Xavier as Lumiere would have this much intel as I do.” 

How could she deny such an offer? You knew the temptation was heavy since you were speaking the truth; you worked for Sylus for four years. You have all the necessary intel they need to even get to him.

For a millisecond, you caught the corner of Lauryn’s lips twitching upwards with a glint of approval hiding in her eyes, but she was pretty good at concealing her emotions. “Very well. Share your intel, and I’ll see what I can do.”

~~

The past year had been a blur of longing and subterfuge. 

You supplied Lauryn with detailed intelligence on Onychinus’s illicit activities, including their smuggling routes, black market transactions, and the clandestine trade of armory and protocores with corrupt officials. You also exposed Sylus’s personal connections to the high ranking officials who were secretly doing business with him. This information immediately set off a series of events aimed at destabilizing Onychinus, providing sufficient evidence to provoke a significant response from the Hunter’s Association and law enforcement.

In return, you requested two things: 1) for the Hunter’s Association to offer you protection and support against Onychinus’s threats; and 2) for them to enforce restrictions and surveillance on the hunter girl, ensuring she remained completely isolated from Sylus and the N109 Zone.

It would have been better if they had chastised her. You had convinced Lauryn that a public whipping would be the perfect punishment, but the H.A. upheld principles far better than yours. After all, you had been stripped of your morality after living in a lawless environment under the influence of the mastermind himself. Being in the N109 Zone for too long dehumanized you. But for your peers in Linkon… they could never harm that hunter girl for some reason, and had been treating her like a valuable asset under everyone's protection—even Sylus’s.

You hated it. You hated her. And each time you caught a glimpse of her around Linkon, your hands were often itching to take out a gun and end her life. 

But that was easier said than done. Besides, you decided to harness all of your anger towards Sylus himself because he was the one who had tossed you aside after she came to his life. He was the one responsible for the wounds in your heart that would never heal. 

It had been a year. You wondered if he ever even thought about you, or did his anger completely consume him to the point where all he wanted to do was kill you? 

“Of course,” you mumbled under your breath, scoffing as you remembered the bounty he had placed on you. He was definitely apoplectic at the fact that you ruined his plans, and that you took his precious hunter girl away from him. The thought of you betraying him and Onychinus probably made him ballistic. 

But to think about it, who betrayed who first?

Everyone knew the difficulty of getting into the N109 Zone. Keeping yourself safe while inside the lawless city was also another struggle. Yet, for someone like you who belonged here better than in Linkon, you were already used to the ins and outs of its dangerous scene. And having the hunter girl’s brooch was your gateway to return to the city unsuspiciously. 

Pushing through the throng of people, you made your way to a nondescript door at the back of the bar. Two burly guards stood in front, their expressions deadpan as they eyed the beaked mask you were wearing. You wore the Onychinus uniform, one that was similar to Luke and Kieran’s, in order to hide your identity. For now. 

“Is it a man?” 

“No, a woman! Look at her body behind the uniform.” 

“You think we should let her in?”

“Idiot, she’s from Onychinus! You can’t deny her entrance.”

With a nod, you handed over a small token—your entry pass to the underground fight club that operated in the depths of an abandoned warehouse. “Fellas, I have a pass if you need it.” 

The guards stepped aside, finally allowing you entry after you showed a token that was marked by the Onychinus insignia. And as you descended the dimly lit staircase, the roar of the crowd and the unmistakable sound of fists meeting flesh grew louder. The anticipation began to thrum in your veins.

You weren’t entirely sure why you were here, but you knew you needed information on Sylus. Anywhere. And what better way to hear about him than to visit a place where his presence often loomed large? Maybe you could even take out your frustrations in the ring tonight. With every punch and kick, you would remind yourself of the path you had chosen—a path leading to Sylus’s downfall, no matter the cost.

As you stepped into the arena, an irregular thumping in your heart began to destabilize you. You forced yourself to focus, squeezing between people loudly cheering for the current match, screaming their biases, and trash-talking the opponents. Clusters of people gathered around the ring and placed their bets on their favorite fighters. How nostalgic, you mused. You used to come here with Sylus on Friday nights. And turned the rest of those active nights into passionate ones.

Now’s not the time to reminisce. Your chest was starting to feel tighter, unsure if it was because of the crowd or the uncomfortable thought of being back in the N109 Zone. But the more time you spent inside the fight club, the more your heart felt like it was being squeezed. You had to make a move now before it was too late. 

The fight club continued to throb with a visceral energy, and you stood in the shadows, the hood of your cloak still pulled low to hide the overwhelming pressure you were feeling inside your body. You managed to weave through the people, while your ears were attuned to the murmur of conversations in hopes of catching intel on Sylus. 

That was, until a group of grizzled men to your left caught your attention, and their voices were rising above the din.

“I’ve got five hundred credits on the big guy,” one of them boasted, slapping a hefty stack of bills into the hand of a bookie.

“You’re gonna lose,” another jeered. “That scrawny kid’s faster. I bet he’ll surprise everyone.”

You lingered nearby, pretending to adjust your hoodie while listening intently to their conversation.

“Hey, did you hear about Sylus?” one man whispered, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial murmur.

Your pulse quickened at the mention of his name, and you took a step closer, careful not to draw attention.

“Yeah. He hasn’t been seen in weeks, ain’t he? Word is, he’s gone underground. Something big must’ve gone down.”

“Big? That’s an understatement. They say someone ratted him out to the Hunter’s Association that’s why his base got raided. He’s also got a bounty on his head now, and not just any bounty—a serious one. Every hunter and merc in the zone's looking for him.”

“What about the hot chick he’s been seen with? You think she’s involved?”

“Dunno,” the first man whispered. “But if she’s smart, she’ll lay low. Sylus doesn’t take kindly to betrayal, and neither do his people.”

You bit your lip as the urge to ask questions was getting heavy. But you knew better. Drawing attention to yourself now could be disastrous. So, you had to think of how to navigate this situation first. The fight in the ring reached a fever pitch, and the crowd’s roar swelled. Perhaps joining today’s fight might not be a good idea after all, and instead, you should harness your remaining energy into preparing for the time you would have to face Onychinus again. 

Sylus was in hiding, the hunter girl had been isolated, and you had made yourself a target.

It was for the best that you stormed out of the fight club, helmet on, speeding away on a motorcycle you had rented. Riding in the N109 zone was always a thrilling escape, and it now became your dangerous distraction from the turbulent thoughts that plagued your mind. Sylus. Sylus. Sylus. Where did he hide? 

In your trail of thoughts, you revved the engine, and its roar echoed along the stretch of dark roads as you maneuvered your bike towards the highway. 

There was no other vehicle around you.

Until a truck appeared. 

Not just any truck—it was a supertruck, with its headlights blazing and tailing you like a predator. 

The lights tried to blind you, but you took off, and the world around you instantly became a blur of speed and sound. You leaned into the bike, feeling the wind whip against your face as you cornered into the nearest exit. But no matter how fast you went, you couldn’t outrun such a large, fast-moving vehicle. You knew that if you didn’t accelerate into sixth gear or until you hit the rev limiter, you would be dead. 

He’s fucking out for me! 

Lost in thought, your eyes focused too much on looking back and forth between the road and the stealth mirrors before you got rear-ended by the truck. The impact was jarring, and it sent you flying off your bike and crashing onto the hard, cold ground. Upon impact alone, pain immediately exploded in your body. And the burning, stinging sensation was brought upon by the road rash you obtained after you skidded along the rough concrete road. It was intense pain—like a thousand searing needles piercing every inch of your skin. Your flesh felt as if it were being flayed by red-hot knives, each scrape and cut screaming with a fire that seemed unquenchable. The raw, exposed nerves throbbed violently, sending electric shocks of pain through your entire body, and making every heartbeat feel like a hammer blow. 

Aghh! It was a relentless, burning torment, and the slightest movement amplified the suffering, every breath dragging razors through your shredded skin. But you refused to cry out, refusing to give the culprit the satisfaction. Was it Sylus? 

As much as you wanted to lift your helmet and find the culprit, the shock from the crash was an all-consuming inferno of agony, the kind that made the world blur and darken at the edges, and eventually pulled you into a black abyss of unconsciousness.

The last thing you remembered was being carried in the arms of a man. 

~~

“Think she’s in a coma?”

Voices filtered through your ears, distant yet distinct. Familiar, mischievous voices that sent a shiver down your spine. You could barely open your eyes, your fingers twitching as you slowly regained consciousness.

“Maybe.” That was Luke’s voice. “Or maybe she’s just pretending. Wouldn’t put it past her after she spied on us for years.”

“Yeah, she’s good at that,” Kieran egged on. “Always scheming, always one step ahead. And she’s tougher than she looks! Surviving that crash?”

“But not invincible.”

Their exchange suddenly took a halt, replaced by a discomfiting silence that made you wish you could force your eyes open in a mere count to ten. You tried to move, to make a sound, to let them know you were not in a coma, that you could hear every word. But your body remained stubbornly still, as if pressed down by an unseen weight. 

“You think boss-man will forgive her?” It was Kieran who asked, a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice.

Luke snorted. “Forgive? She’s a traitor. If she wakes up, she’s a dead woman walking.”

No! Upon realizing that this wasn’t a dream or a figment of your imagination, the beat of your heart began to accelerate, vibrating loud and aggressive against your chest. The sound of the twins’ footsteps eventually faded, leaving you alone in the oppressive silence of your half-conscious state. Fear and regret coiled within you, but there was also a flicker of determination. 

That if you wake up—when you wake up—you would have to face Sylus. And you would have to find a way to survive.

Time lost its meaning as you floated between wakefulness and sleep. A minute, an hour, days must have gone by. Eventually, you could hear classical music being played in the background and became aware of a new presence in the room, then a weight on the edge of your bed. That familiar cardamom and leather scent. A hand soon brushed your forehead, cool and gentle. Sylus? You wanted to open your eyes, to see him, to speak, but your body refused to obey.

“You can’t hide from me forever,” his voice murmured. His breath was warm when you felt it on your ear. “Wake up, kitten. We have unfinished business.” 

Darkness tugged at you again, pulling you under, but not before the fear took root. The weight on your chest suddenly lifted, as if an invisible force released its hold on you. Your eyes then snapped open and your lungs burned as you dragged in deep, desperate gulps of air. 

“Where—” You struggled to sit up with your weak body trembling from days of enforced stillness. Every movement felt foreign, muscles protesting as you pushed yourself upright. The room spinned for a moment before your vision cleared, and you saw him.

“Awake?” Sylus stood at your side, his crimson eyes burning with fire as he looked down on you like a master to his subject. 

“What… what did you do to me?” you manage to ask even though your voice was hoarse. “It was y-you in that truck!” 

“Oh, honey. I don’t ride in cheap trucks. Besides, I saved you from that crash,” Sylus replied, almost nonchalantly. “A ‘thank you’ would be nice. And also a ‘long time no see’, don’t you think?”

If it wasn’t him on that truck, then… “It’s still a hitman you hired because of that bounty!”

Sylus didn’t change. His silky gray hair, his vivid carmine eyes, his pinkish thin lips. Whenever he smirked, it was still the handsome old him. “I won’t deny that, sweetie. But I had to kill the guy for doing a poor job. My instructions were to not get you badly injured, and only to scare you.” 

“Liar,” you spat, “I bet you’d be happier if I was incapacitated.”

“Please. You’d serve no good to me if you’re dead or permanently disabled.” Sylus reached down to pull the duvet away from your body, and your supposed road rash and injuries were seemingly gone, replaced by newly-healed scars. “Your body needed time to recover, and I couldn’t afford to lose you. Not yet. So I had to put you in an induced state.” 

His words sent a chill down your spine. How he did it, you had no idea, but with Sylus, anything was possible. Anything! After all, he had all the connections and the rarest protocores. 

“Three days,” he continued, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving your face as he lifted your chin with his finger. “I kept you under for three days. Enough time for your wounds to heal. You recognize where you are?”

When he trailed off, you looked around the room and realized you weren’t in the Onychinus base nor his presidential suite. It was one of his many residences—the underground shelter. 

“Why are we here?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound strong.

Sylus extended a hand once more, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but his eyes remained hard, unreadable. “Ask that to yourself, kitten,” he says quietly. “We’re here because an ungrateful stray cat decided to leak the location of my other residences.”

You swallowed hard when you felt him grab you by the neck, his tight grip restraining any air from entering your windpipe. “S-Sylus!” 

His eyes had unruly flames beneath them. “You were a spy?” 

As his grip loosened a little to let you speak, you still ended up choking from asphyxiation. “S-So what if I was?” You tried to push him off. “It only means I caught you lacking. You allowed me to infiltrate Onychinus without knowing my background.” 

Sylus’s hand trailed gently over your cheek, his touch lingering longer than necessary.  “I’d blame it on your cunning face,” he said, almost seductively. He then shifted to lower himself onto the bed, both knees on either side of you, pinning you down. His eyes locked onto yours with a dark, predatory gleam. “Any man is a willing fool to a pretty face and a sexy body.”

You swatted his hand in response, your back hitting the headboard as you scrambled for distance. “How many times have you recycled that line between me and that hunter girl with the Aether Core?” 

At the mention of her, Sylus’s deep chuckle erupted and reverberated through the dark room. It was a chilling sound that was full of twisted amusement. “Ah, I almost forgot about the root of your betrayal,” he remarked with a mocking grin. “Jealousy.”

“You wouldn’t be laughing if I had killed her,” you spat, struggling to break free as Sylus slammed you back onto the bed. “Let me go—!” It was a fierce contest of strength, with you pinned beneath him, and him on top of you in an undeniable display of dominance. But you fought back. You resisted. And in an effort to offend, you ejected spit onto his cheek. “Let go!” 

Sylus was caught off guard, but he stayed unfazed, wiping your spit from his cheek before gripping your neck again. “You really want to play this game, honey? I love how sick in the head you are.”

“You m-made me like this.” You choked in between words. “In the end, I still achieved my goal. Now you have no way to see or contact that girl.”

“Says who?” Sylus’s sarcastic tone made your heart sink. Is he still in touch with her?!

“What do you—”

“Don’t be dense, kitten.” Sylus soon grabbed you by the collar, handling you like a ragdoll as he threw you onto the floor with a resounding thud. Pain shot through your hip, but Sylus’s expression held no remorse. You knew he could do worse. “I have my own ways of ensuring she’s safe and protected. I can still see her whenever I want.”

That was when the tears started to fall uncontrollably. You couldn’t stop them—nor could you hold back the words that poured out. “Y-You! I ran away from the N109 Zone for a whole year. I disappeared from your life for a whole goddamn year, Sylus. Yet not once did you look for me, not once did you worry about me, not once did you make sure I was safe. But for her, you—”

“It’s only natural to protect someone important to you.” He crouched down to meet your eyes as if pouring salt to the wound. “I’d let the world burn for her, honey. You and her aren’t the same. She’s not someone who would betray me.” 

“I betrayed you because of her!” 

His laughter died down, but the amusement in his eyes only deepened. The cruel curve of his lips was the kind of smile that enjoyed seeing your agony. “It’s always been about her, hasn’t it? You see me with her, and you can’t stand it. It eats at you, makes you act out.”

You tried to move away, but he kept his foot firmly on your wrist, stepping on your hand was his constant reminder of your powerlessness. The distance between you was a stark symbol of how he saw you—a mere object of disdain.

“I’ve seen your struggle,” he continued, his voice soft but laced with wicked satisfaction. “The way you watched me with her, the way it gnaws at you. It’s almost poetic, really.”

In a moment of desperation, you snatched the nearest weapon from his nightstand while tears blurred your vision. It hurt. His words, his treatment, and the stark difference in how he treated her compared to you were too much. You should have ended this long ago before he had the chance to wreck you all over again.

And so, with a gun in your hand, you cocked and raised it. 

But instead of pointing it towards Sylus, you surprised him by pointing it to yourself. 

The gun’s nozzle was pressed against your temple, your finger inching toward the trigger. 

“...All I wanted was your love,” you choked out with tears cascading down your face, flowing out like an endless waterfall, “I j-just wanted you to love me. I turned my back on the H.A. for you. I left all my friends and family for you.” Your breathing was still for a moment. “Now I don’t have anyone left.” Pausing, you locked eyes with his crimson ones. You didn’t want him to be the one to kill you, because the thought alone was fatal. “All I had was you. I loved you. I devoted all my body and soul into loving you, Sylus. Why c-can’t I have even a little bit in return?”

Even as his gaze softened, as a flicker of regret crossed his features, you already drove your finger to pull the trigger. The recoil immediately jolted through your wrist, but before the bullet could find its mark and penetrate your skull, Sylus’s hand shot out and expertly deflected your aim. So instead of blowing your brains out, the bullet ricocheted off the now-shattered window.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Sylus roared, his orotund voice an amalgam of anger and disbelief.

Tears blurred your vision, but you were still able to look at his bright red eyes as he cupped your cheeks. Your entire body shook hysterically for someone who had just almost ended her own life. This is what he wanted, right? You asked yourself over and over, but couldn’t find the energy to respond to his calls for your name. 

“Y/N,” Sylus agitatedly tried to shake you, “Y/N! Enough. Let’s end this game.” 

You stared at his face blankly as reality flickered and faded, like an old film reel skipping frames. “I was never playing one with you.”

Sylus was suddenly a different person in front of you. “I warned you many times before to never fall in love with me. It’s for the best, and it’s what will keep you safe,” he spoke in a low yet softened tone, “Why don’t you listen?”

The tension in the room was suffocating, and each second dragged into eternity. Sylus’s question remained unanswered until the loud burst of the door shattered the silence. You flinched, heart pounding, as you saw the very subject of your heartbreak.

The hunter girl stormed in, eyes wild in fear. “Sylus! Are you okay? I heard a gunshot—” she cried out, scanning the room frantically until her gaze landed on the two of you. She then froze, taking in the sight of you and Sylus on the floor, the gun lying ominously near your hand. Putting two-and-two together probably made her think that you tried to kill the man in front of you. “Sylus, step back!”

“Wait!”

Without hesitation, she aimed her gun squarely at you. But right before you could react, the gun was fired. And the shattering sound of another gunshot echoed in the room.

Time seemed to slow as you fell, the world spinning around you when you felt a sudden, searing pain on your head. Sylus’s eyes widened in shock, his hand reaching out just in time to catch you before your head hit the floor. 

“No!” Sylus’s voice was raw, hysterical, filled with a pain you’d never heard from him before as he cradled your head gently—his face a mask of both horror and disbelief when your blood pooled on his arms. “Y/N, no! Fuck, what did you do?!”

You struggled to focus, your vision blurring as darkness encroached. Sylus’s eyes were strangely wet with tears, desperation etched into every line of his sharp features. The Sylus you knew wouldn’t cry over someone unimportant to him. So, why…? 

You tried to speak, but the effort was monumental.

Who knew that your life would end at the hands of another woman?

Yet, it was the karma you deserved for your wrongdoings.

“I... love... you,” you whispered to Sylus, nonetheless. Each word was a struggle, and your breath hitched as you forced them out, but you had to let him know. For the last time. 

You saw the pain in his eyes deepen, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of something close to peace. That was when Sylus’s grip tightened, his tears falling onto your face as he held you close. “Y/N, please,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Don’t leave. I can’t let this happen!”

He must have noticed how your eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring off into the distance without really seeing anything. Pure numbness was you would best describe it. And as your life slipped away, you felt a strange sense of relief. 

In the battle of hearts, he was the conqueror, and you, the conquered. His love was a war you couldn’t win, and your loss, a defeat you couldn’t bear. For in his eyes, you saw both your greatest triumph and your deepest fall, where the lines between the victor and the vanquished blurred into the shadows of a bittersweet end.

But at least, you had said what mattered most, and that in your final moments, you were held by the one person you loved. The rightful owner of your heart. The conqueror of your soul. It was him, Sylus Qin, and no one else.

~~

— 1 YEAR AFTER.

“Two black coffees, three espressos, and a caramel macchiato, extra caramel!” A peculiar guy placed orders one after another, followed by his twin’s mischievous laughter. 

You turned to face them, offering a polite smile even though you were worried deep inside if they were just pulling a prank. They were regulars, always coming in with their complicated orders and playful banter. Yet, something about them seemed oddly familiar, and they always gave you a nagging sensation you couldn’t quite place.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the small café you were working at in the Bloomshore District. You were standing behind the counter while the rush of customers was relentless. You barely even had a moment to catch your breath today, and here came the twins creating yet another one of their complicated orders. 

“Coming right up,” was your monotonous reply, your hands deftly moving to prepare their drinks. But as you worked, the twins exchanged amused glances, their eyes flicking over you with a mix of curiosity and disappointment.

“Actually, can I make a small change to that?” the other twin interjected with a grin.

You sighed inwardly but kept your smile. “Sure, what would you like?”

“Okay, so for the black coffee, can you add a splash of almond milk, two pumps of hazelnut syrup, and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top?” one of the twins began. “For the espressos, I need one with a shot of vanilla, one with a shot of caramel, and the last one with a double shot of mint. And for the caramel macchiato, make sure it's extra caramel, but can you also add a dash of sea salt and a drizzle of dark chocolate on top?”

Gosh. They were menaces. 

“Do you think you can remember our orders?” the other twin remarked, leaning on the counter. “Because you don’t seem to remember our names.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “We have lots of customers everyday. I’m not really good with names.”

When the bell above the door chimed, your attention was immediately drawn to the towering man with ash gray hair and bright crimson eyes. His presence was commanding even in the relaxed atmosphere of the café; he carried such a dominant aura that even the twins backed off from pestering you the moment he entered the coffee shop.

“Good evening, Mr. Skye,” you greeted, your tone warming at the sight of him. The man had become a regular fixture in your life. Every day, like clockwork, he came in for his coffee, and every day, he lingered just a bit longer, watching you with eyes that seemed to see more than you could comprehend.

He nodded, his eyes staying on you while he was pointing towards the twins. “Are they bothering you?” 

You were under the impression that the twins worked for Mr. Skye, but the type of relationship they had with their boss was none of your business. That was why although the twins could get really annoying as customers, especially when they tend to change their orders a lot, you still didn’t want them to get in trouble over something as little as that.

“No, they’re fine,” you answered with a smile. “Are you going to get the usual today, Mr. Skye?”

“Yes, please.” The tall man studied your face with a focused gaze—it was as though he was trying to read your mind, trying to interpret the emotions on your face, as he looked at you intently. He always did this. Every single day he came in, even from afar, you had grown accustomed to his watchful gaze. Yet even with the awkwardness it brought, he also knew how to keep his distance. He always treated you with respect and was always the first person to come to your aid when things did get unruly in the cafe. Broken coffee machine, spilled coffee, entitled customers. Name it, and he was always present to help around.

It was strange. Really, really strange. And what’s even stranger was that, every time he looked at you, the tenderness in his eyes that often opposed the fiery red color of his irises. Perhaps, you really couldn’t judge a book by its cover. 

As you wrote his name on the plastic cup, you heard him suddenly clear his throat. “Miss Y/N, forgive me. I couldn’t help but notice that scar,” he said with a poignant stare, gesturing towards your temple. “Quite a story behind that, I imagine?”

Your hand instinctively touched the faint scar, a puzzled look crossing your face. You had always been insecure about the scar on your temple, because not only was it unattractive, it was also extremely visible. Not even a laser treatment could help clear it out. 

“Oh, uh… I’m not really sure how I got it,” you admitted, searching through your mind’s archive to no avail. “I was told it was while I was fighting off wanderers. I don’t remember much from that time because I’ve since retired from the Hunter’s Association.”

His eyes darkened for a moment, as if his heart dropped from a memory he had recalled, but he quickly masked his expression. “So, you’re a hunter?”

You shrugged. “Well, yeah. But it’s all in the past now.”

Mr. Skye stood there waiting for his order with an unreadable expression on his face. And you wondered why he looked heartbroken while lost in deep thought. Was he having a bad day? Going through a break-up? You weren’t nosey enough to ask. Eventually, his order was done and he took the cup, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. 

“Sometimes the past has a way of catching up to us.” His deep voice was smooth and soft when he spoke again. “But perhaps it’s best to focus on the present.”

You smiled, feeling a strange comfort in his words. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

He hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Would you like to… have dinner with me sometime? I’d love to get to know you better.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden invitation. A date?! You couldn’t remember the last time you were even in love. All you could recall was having a silly childhood crush on your neighbor, but then again, that was more than a decade ago. You knew nothing about dating at your age and it was ridiculous. But there was something about Mr. Skye, a familiarity you couldn’t ignore, and that rejecting his offer seemed wrong in your head. 

Besides, you couldn’t deny how extremely handsome he was. 

“Um, sure… Mr. Skye.”

“Perfect,” he said with a small smile, his gaze softening into one of genuine joy. “Tomorrow evening, then?”

Before you could agree on a schedule, the sudden flash of lightning illuminated the interior for a brief moment. Then, the subsequent crash of thunder made you jump, following the sound of rain pounding against the windows that filled the small space. Oh, boy. 

“Ugh. How am I going to get home in this weather?” you muttered to yourself.

Mr. Skye, who had been quietly watching you from his spot, gave you an offer. “Need a ride?” he asked, his voice gentle but carrying a note of urgency. “It’s too dangerous to walk or wait for a cab in this storm.”

You hesitated for a moment. “I’d really appreciate that, Mr. Skye. But what about your,” you pointed towards the oblivious twins who were sitting on the corner, “minions?” 

Your chosen term elicited a deep chuckle from the man. “Don’t mind them. They know their way back home.” 

“But boss!”

“Boss, you said you’ll let me drive the sportscar tonight!” 

“I’ll wait for you until your shift ends,” Mr. Skye ignored the duo and responded to you with an endearing smile. “No rush.” 

It didn’t take long until you locked up the shop, but you did feel bad that Mr. Skye had to stay with you until ten in the evening when he could have already gone home. In fact, he had been acting strange. Acting too familiar with you. Did he already know you prior to your small interactions in the cafe for the past few weeks? 

He held the door open for you as soon as you secured the shop, and together you ran through the torrential rain to his black sportscar. You were already aware that he was a wealthy man, and yet, you always wondered why he preferred a small, laid-back cafe in the Bloomshore Distrct rather than the lavish ones in Azure Square or even Universum. Was it to see you all along?

Jeez, you had so many unanswered questions in your head. Yet, you were also afraid to address the elephant in the room because you believed in the saying that ignorance is bliss. So in the end, the drive was quiet, the only sounds being the rhythm of the rain and the occasional rumble of thunder. Mr. Skye didn’t speak a word and nor did you.

Once you reached your apartment, he quickly rushed out of the car and headed to open your door. He even used his jacket as a makeshift umbrella, covering you from the heavy rainfall. It was almost funny, really, how his face screamed of danger but he was actually quite a gentleman. 

In return, you had to invite him in out of courtesy. “Would you like to come in for a while? It’s still pouring out there.”

He accepted your offer with a nod, and followed you like a tail inside. “Do you usually invite other people, too?” 

“Sometimes,” you casually answered while the both of you walked through the empty corridors. “Why?” 

“You aren’t talking about male colleagues, right?” he asked, seemingly taking a deep breath. 

That wasn’t any of his concern, obviously. But the drive to test his emotions was strong. “Sometimes,” you said, finally reaching your door and unlocking it with your fingerprint. “Welcome to my home.”

The warmth of your apartment was a stark contrast to the cold storm outside, and you felt a little conscious of your small living space knowing that he probably lived in a luxurious presidential suite. It didn’t help that he started looking around your place, as if studying the smallest details of every corner for a reason you couldn’t quite tell. You weren’t sure if he was simply silently judging the aesthetics of your home, but you were beginning to feel uncomfortable as you placed his coat on the rack, watching the way he stopped to look at your photo on the wall. 

It was like he felt a pang of sorrow. 

“You’ve really erased me completely, kitten,” he quietly whispered.

You turned to him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe that’s for the better,” he replied, but his expression betrayed him. It was clear that he was holding back a flood of emotions. 

Your heart started to race, pounding at a rhythm that you had never experienced before. And just then, you could see how tears welled up in his eyes. Tears that he concealed by leaning in to capture your lips in a desperate kiss. His hands cupped your face, and you could feel the intensity of his suppressed feelings that seemed to transcend the confines of your apartment. The yearning. The longingness. Perhaps, it was even sprinkled with feelings of regret. 

“Mr. Skye, wait—!” You pulled away with wide, bewildered eyes, shocked by the fervor of his kiss. No matter how attractive he was, he was still a stranger to you. But then, your breath came in shallow gasps as a sudden, sharp pain began to explode in your head. A throbbing pulse spread from your temples and radiated outwards. It was a stabbing sensation that seemed to slice through your skull, as if a thousand needles were jabbing into your brain. What’s happening? 

Mr. Skye’s face appeared above you. “Does it hurt?” he asked softly, his voice laced with a mix of worry and something deeper. He was whispering something about a protocore in your head, but you could barely understand a word, not when the ache in your temple was overcoming you entirely. 

You were unable to form words, clutching your head with both hands in hopes of stopping the ache for even a little. But the pain was overwhelming. Too overwhelming for you to handle, and it came to a point where tears of pain began streaming down your face.

“I… I don’t know what’s happening,” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling. 

He gently guided you on the couch, his touch careful and soothing. “Just breathe,” he murmured, offering a comforting presence like buoy in an open sea. “It’s my fault, kitten. I shouldn’t have kissed you so suddenly.” The intensity of the moment had shifted because of how tender his touch was. “You’re safe here,” he gently whispered into your ear. “Let the pain pass. I’ll be here with you.”

As the pain began to subside, you could feel the storm in your head gradually receding. And in his presence, you felt a strange mix of comfort and unease.

Studies say that a kiss can help calm someone’s nerves. You weren’t sure where that research was based on, but it was your body who allowed itself to seek it from the man in front of you. While your mind was telling you no, your heart was urging you to grab his shirt and pull him, once again, to a passionate kiss. 

The kiss deepened naturally, and you found yourself responding to his need as the pull between you became irresistible. You were like a magnet to him—the force of attraction getting stronger and stronger the closer you were. Where was it coming from? How come you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame? 

And while you were engaged in a tight lip-locking moment, you both ended up walking towards your bedroom; stumbling towards the bed, hands exploring, hearts racing. Soon, you were lost in each other, and the world outside was forgotten. 

With both your clothes discarded on the floor, and with your steamy exchange continuing throughout the night, you found yourself eventually straddling him, moving your body to meet him with a gentle thrust. Every sway of your hips made his member hit you at your sweet spot, instantly sending a wave of pleasure within your body. 

“S-Sir—”

“Sylus,” he breathed into your ear, hands tracing your curve, “Call me Sylus, kitten.” 

Sylus. Sylus. The name sounded familiar yet foreign at the same time, but you were too sensually intoxicated to think about the history behind his name. All you could selfishly focus on at the moment was reaching your high. You were losing your mind over the euphoric sensation of having an intercourse with such a man who, not only was attractive on the face, but also on the body. 

Sylus was packed. His muscles were toned from a seemingly consistent active lifestyle and intense workout routines. It felt great when you ran your hands along his broad shoulders, down to his toned chest, and further down to his perfectly sculpted abs. 

“Mmh—!” A moan escaped your lips when you felt his shaft going deeper inside. “That’s…”

‘Good?” he whispered to your lips, encasing yours with his before he trailed his soft kisses around your neck. Each kiss definitely left a purple mark on your skin with the way he was suckling and nibbling on the flesh. 

God, he was huge, too. His member completely filled you, stretched you even, as his cocktip kissed your cervix in a single thrust. He was crazy good at knowing all your sensitive places, holding your hips down so he could start pounding you upwards. Your tits began to bounce wildly and you even had to hold onto the headboard for support, because he was starting to go deeper and faster inside you. 

“Ngh!” 

“You don’t know how much I’ve missed this,” he said in between shaky breaths before latching his mouth into your right tit. He devoured your breast like a meal, playing with the nipple with the precise movements of his tongue. It was so good. Crazy good. It made you wonder how he seemed hyper-aware of the things you liked in bed. But how would that be possible when this was your first time having sex with him? 

Sylus decided to shift the control by flipping you over, and hoisting your hips so he could lower his head down to your lady part. Your eyes almost rolled back when he spread your labia apart so he could lick your inner folds and taste every corner of your slick-coated cavern. 

“S-Sylus,” you whined as his tongue rapidly moved in and out of your entrance until drool oozed down on your cunt. His eyes fluttered as he pulled his face away, soon palming your wet vulva with slow strokes. “Mmh…” 

He eyed you with a tender gaze. “You’re so beautiful to me.” 

It was certainly odd that his compliment seemed to touch your heart deeper than intended—that if you weren’t doing sexual activities right now, your heart would have been fluttering from his sweetness, especially when he met your lips again with a soft, loving kiss. 

This time, he didn’t pull away. He didn’t detach his lips from yours, even as he was penetrating you with his cock again. With a single thrust, you were mewling into his mouth. His girthy member gave you a heavenly stretch that seemed to awaken the lustful demon inside of you. 

Even Sylus was cussing under his breath as he continued to slam his entire length in, soon increasing the speed of his penetration to a pace that made him reach his peak. At this point, the coil in your lower abdomen was beginning to intensify, and you were clamping around his cock as if your walls weren’t tight enough to make him release a series of guttural moans. 

“Are you near?” With a quick suction on your left breast, his own moans left his lips along with the loud squelching noises that filled the room. “‘Cause I am.” 

Coincidentally, you were just arching your back because of how near you were, too. With screams getting louder, gasps causing your mouths to part open, and two people connected into a single body—you disintegrated under him as your lower abdomen signaled your orgasm and your toes started curling. “Ngh—Haah! Aah!”

“Hold on for me, kitten.” Sylus pounded into you through your overstimulation, picking up the pace until spurts of seed were sent straight to your womb. His movements became sloppy and uneven, pulling out of you only to see his semen seeping out of your pussy. 

You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t fucking believe you just hooked up with a stranger. 

But was he really one? Because your heart was telling you one thing, but your mind was telling you another. You didn’t know who to trust and listen to.  

After your passionate session, the room was filled with the sound of your breaths mingling. Sylus, still holding you close, leaned in to plant a soft kiss on your cheek, whispering, “How’s it?”

Curiosity got the better of you, and you asked the very question that had been plaguing your mind, “Sylus, please be honest with me,” you paused, “Did you know me before?” 

He was silent. 

But you continued, “What was our relationship?”

Sylus looked like he was contemplating his answer, his gaze distant. His eyes seemed to have found your ceiling interesting as he thought deeply, drawing in a deep breath, and gently caressing your arm. If you didn’t know better, you swore you could see the sorrow and resignation in his eyes—the somberness he tried to hide with a smile. 

“Let’s just say I’m a fool who was in love with you for years, but you never reciprocated my love.”

“How so?” you asked, turning to face him. You absorbed his words while the pain of his unrequited love intersected with your own confusion. His answer didn’t quite feel right, but if he was truly your lover, then you knew there was a level of trust you should be placing on him. “Why do I get the feeling that I was the one who experienced a one-sided love before?” 

“No, you were loved. You were very loved. There was no one else,” he continued, lachrymose eyes staring back at you as he stroked your hair, “I was the one who wasn’t worthy of you… But I’d like to try and win your heart again this time. If you allow it.” 

Sylus’s eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the facade of the composed, enigmatic man you had come to know seemed to crack. 

The vulnerability in his voice resonated with you, and you reached up to touch his face gently. “Sylus… I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for not recognizing you before. I just… I lost a chunk of my memories, and I don’t know if it’s been altered or what, but…” Realizing that you were rambling, you took a deep breath. “I’ll try to remember, okay?”

“Please don’t.” He shook his head, a rueful smile playing on his lips while thinking of the past that was rightfully erased. “And there’s no need for apologies, sweetie. There wasn’t anything you did wrong.” 

As the rain continued its gentle patter against the window, you both settled into the quiet of the room until he pressed his lips onto yours once more. 

Sylus’s touch was tender as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. “You should know,” he said quietly and earnestly, “that this time, I’ll only have eyes for you.”

FINAL PART

[xnova239x]

DA4 Speculation/Theory before release

I wanted to share my thoughts and theories about how the trajectory of Veilguard may go given what I know so far/have seen in some of the more spoilery posts and leaks. I don’t think I have seen all of the current leaks and spoilers though. It’ll be fun to come back after playing to see if I got anything right, or if I was waaay off base.

So please, if you don’t mind spoiler chat, feel free to respond in kind with all of your speculation. I’d love to see what you all believe right now!

That said, here are my thoughts… under the cut for length:

Prologue

Given what I have seen about the opening mission of the game, I find it curious that Solas just… lets the gang follow him. He is in practically full control of the Eluvian network at this point, and knows Varric/what remains of the Inquisition are literally on his tail (from what has happened in both the Tevinter Nights stories and The Missing comics). Why just allow them all to follow him and screw up his plan? An oversight? Just another mistake? We know Solas is known for making errors in judgment, yes… but he is a clever man. A schemer. A trickster. I don’t believe that he would just let them destroy everything he has worked towards for the last 10ish years. Unless that was his plan.

He is known throughout Dalish legend (as wrong as they have been) as an escape artist. He escapes every trap/prison he falls into. He also pits all of his enemies against one another. The Creators vs The Forgotten Ones… Andruil vs Anaris. I do not think Solas would imprison himself accidentally. Why not send those who stalk you now against the only other beings (in his belief) capable of really screwing you over? He would be safe from both in his little Fade cell. 2 birds 1 stone right? They’ll be so distracted battling one another that he can calmly continue his true plan.

The one thing I don’t think he planned on was getting the Fade connection with Rook. The consequence of his actions? There seems to always be some sort of catch with him after all…

Act 1 and 2

Ghilan’nain and Elgar’nan. These Acts will involve building our group and allies and finding out as much information on the Gods as we can (through the memories and maybe Solas himself?), leading to possible confrontations/battles with them? Though I, personally, think having everything wrapped up with at least Elgar’nan at the end of Act 2 seems too quick… he very much seems like he will be the BBEG of this game. We have had plenty of promotion of Ghilan’nain but nothing of Elgar’nan. Which seems to me as if that could be massively important. There must be something they don’t want us to know about him specifically until we all play the game.

Morrigan is involved…whether it be because she now is host to Mythal’s spirit or just has information to aid us? Who knows? But that particular circlet upon her head tells me she may be to Rook what Flemeth was to our previous protagonists. She will be important. Mythal will be important. Like Solas, there’s absolutely no way Mythal is finished with the plans she has spent centuries on either. Is Solas a pawn in her game? Are we all? Something is telling me yes…

Act 3

Here is where things can really go off on a tangent I think, depending on whether or not Elgar’nan is the big bad. Typical thing would be a big, massive final boss fight with the huge, evil, Blighted Dragon form of the Elvhen God of Vengeance. Solas assisting in Dread Wolf form would be awesome…

But… devs have made it very clear that Solas is a huuuge part of this game and implied how you interact with him may cause changes in him. Hate him, he hates you/becomes more demonic? Find common ground/respect him/listen to him, he softens and befriends you?

Something niggling away at my thoughts is that Solas is going to be a Boss Fight. Whether it be the true ending/final battle, I’m unsure. If he does help you against the Evanuris in Acts 1 and 2 and they truly are defeated there… here is where he betrays you (despite your feelings towards him and his towards you) and goes back to his original plan. His ancient enemies are gone now right? Perfect time to go back to page 1. He can handle these mortal beings now his power has returned…

Except… he knows how strong they are, how determined… he knows this will likely result in his death, or the deaths of those he has truly grown to care for or even love.

As a Solas and Solavellan fan, I hope we don’t just “kill him and be done with it” unless that is a choice you can actively make within the game. Which, if so, means there must be a choice to either save him/keep him alive altogether or at the very least have a bittersweet/friendlier death scene… like, for example, him saving the life of your Rook or hell, maybe your Inquisitor.

If he is a fight, I’d like it to be one with varying stages. Start with fighting him in his Elvhen form, and then, after either depleting his health completely or maybe halfway, he grows desperate and transforms into the High Dragon sized black Dread Wolf form with flaming wings that reduce to a demon/spirit hoard we see in Tevinter Nights. Here, he is back to full health, is a fight similar to how the High Dragon battles work and is a hell of a lot tougher to deal with. Periodically, his spirit/demon friends spawn as waves of adds as he jumps back to some unreachable surface until you deal with them. Eventually, once you get his health to 0, a cut scene begins where he is exhausted, knows he’s beaten and there you have your choice… execute him or spare him. Perhaps even your companions, Varric and your Inquisitor will each have their say on what they think/want you to do and you make your selection after hearing them all out.

However unlikely this is, it was fun to imagine. But this doesn’t even take Mythal into consideration.

I would like to believe she wouldn’t just sit back when Elgar’nan is out Blighting the world. She wants her own reckoning. Maybe she has made Solas do her bidding… I have heard theories of Solas being a former slave or willing servant to Mythal, never mind just her friend. They were/are clearly close, but I don’t believe Mythal above using him to her advantage or even betraying him to succeed in her ultimate goal. The Betrayer becomes the Betrayed.

Closing Thoughts

Maybe the ancient Elvhen storyline will finish in this game. Maybe all loose ends will be tied, the Evanuris and the Blights will all be destroyed and Solas dealt with in whatever way you choose… but the character of Mythal, to me, doesn’t seem to be one that will just flitter off back to the Beyond after she gets her revenge. There’s something more to her that I don’t think will be wrapped up neatly with a nice bow in Veilguard.

Will the Veil truly fall? What about the Titans and certain dwarves (for the moment anyway) developing magic? Are they related? Many loose threads perfect to explore in other games. If we do indeed get anymore games, which I hope we do. There are still many possibilities within the world of Thedas that can be excellent for the future. The Veil falling would make a perfect soft reboot. How would the world react and behave maybe a few centuries into the future? In another Age? The whole Evanuris situation seems like the perfect end to the Dragon Age, given their relationship with the creatures… unless the return of the dragons have nothing to do with them.

These are my current thoughts. May make some more posts if I think of other or tweak certain ideas as the days go on. It’s quite fun to develop possible ��what if” scenarios, even if they end up so far off base it’s funny 😂

[yumiyue07]

Through Fire and Blood

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★ POV: K-idol x reader

H/N = His name Y/N = Your name

Trigger warning: swearing ｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡･:*:･ﾟ’★

The warehouse echoed with an unsettling emptiness as you were roughly shoved inside. This time, it was another man—not Jun Ho—who brought you here. The familiar interrogation room chair awaited, opposite the boss's empty chair. The two men were still hanging there, the puddle of blood beneath them having grown larger. Their bodies were a gruesome reminder of what happened to those who crossed the boss. Fortunately, you didn't have to endure the sight for long before being pushed into the chair.

To your surprise, Jun Ho— whose gang name you had learned was Python—had suddenly positioned himself next to you. You had overheard one of the men addressing him by that name earlier. You looked at him, surprised since you hadn’t seen him in the hall before. He didn’t even spare you a glance, his eyes fixed on the empty chair before you.

"Boss Cobra will be here soon," one of the guards announced, breaking the heavy silence.

"Cobra it is," you thought, a realization dawning on you. That name sounded familiar. You must have overheard it while waiting in H/N's office during his meetings.

Your heart raced as you contemplated what was to come. Would H/N be able to find you? Would he confront Cobra? The fear of what awaited you under that man’s rule twisted in your stomach. You turned slightly to Jun Ho, studying him, trying to gauge whether he was an ally or just another pawn in this deadly game. But his expression remained unreadable, a mask of stoicism that left you with more questions than answers.

A moment later, a figure strode into the room, radiating an aura of power and menace. Cobra. He entered the hall, clad in an immaculate white suit, walking with the confidence of a man who believed he owned everything—and everyone—in the room. He was flanked by two men who appeared to be his bodyguards, their expressions mirroring their leader's – emotionless and deadly.

His gaze locked onto you immediately, a twisted smile spreading across his face. It wasn’t the kind of smile that offered comfort or warmth. It was the practiced charm of a predator, pretending familiarity, that made your skin crawl.

"It's so good to see you, my wildcat," he purred, his voice smooth but carrying the underlying threat of a snake ready to strike. His words oozed with false affection as if he were greeting an old lover. The tone made you want to retch, the nickname he used now feeling like a brand, a reminder of your imprisonment.

"Did you miss me?" Cobra leaned in, the faint scent of expensive cologne doing little to mask the suffocating malice that clung to him. His voice was low and almost seductive, but it dripped with manipulation. You instinctively recoiled, but his lips brushed the top of your head—a grotesque imitation of intimacy. His finger traced the curve of your cheek, lingering too long. You shuddered under his touch, every nerve in your body screaming to pull away, but you forced yourself to stay still.

A flicker of movement from Jun Ho caught your eye. His normally stoic demeanor faltered for a brief second. His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened with something far more personal than simple professionalism. His stance grew rigid, and the tension radiating off him was palpable. It wasn’t just Cobra’s theatrics getting to him—it was Cobra touching you.

Jealousy simmered beneath the surface of Jun Ho’s calm exterior. Seeing Cobra treat you like something he owned, like a plaything, was more than he could bear. His protective instinct had become harder to suppress ever since you were brought into this nightmare. Each time Cobra got close, Jun Ho felt an almost primal need to shield you from the man’s poisonous grasp.

He wanted to intervene, to pull you away from Cobra’s suffocating presence, but he was bound by his position, and it burned him alive inside.

"So, our little game is about to end, wouldn't you say?" Cobra settled into the chair opposite you, his voice dripping with arrogance.

You looked at him, puzzled. "What game?"

His grin widened, exuding an air of superiority that made you want to slap it off his face. "Well, your fiancé's death game, of course. We lured him here on our terms. He has until midnight to show up, or you..." His voice trailed off, but the unspoken threat hung heavy in the air. "Or you’ll die." He said it so nonchalantly as if human lives meant nothing to him.

"Why are you doing this?" you choked out.

Cobra’s grin stretched even wider as he watched the shock and fear flash across your face, feeding his ego.

"You see, sweetheart," he continued, his tone almost casual, "there are rules in this world, and your little fiancé decided he didn’t want to play by them. So now, he’s learning the hard way. How stupid of him to mess with me." His eyes sparkled with cruel delight. He crossed his legs and placed his hands in his lap, his arrogance radiating from him like heat.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice, but the anger bubbling up inside you refused to be silenced. "You think you can control everything with your twisted games? He’ll come for me, and when he does—"

Cobra cut you off with a laugh, a cold, hollow sound that echoed in the room. "Oh, he’ll come. I’m counting on it. But what do you think will happen when he does?" He leaned forward, his gaze locking onto yours with a predatory glint. "This is my territory. He walks in, he walks into his grave. This, my dear, is the lesson he’ll learn: what it means to lose everything he loves." Cobra’s voice turned low, each word more venomous than the last. "And if he doesn’t show? Well, you won’t be around to see his regret."

You felt your hands trembling, a mix of fear and fury flooding your senses. But you wouldn’t give Cobra the satisfaction of seeing you break. "You’re underestimating him," you said, your voice steadying despite the fear clawing at you. "You won’t win."

Cobra chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. "We’ll see, darling. We’ll see."

"Boss, five minutes to midnight," one of the bodyguards said, breaking the tense silence.

"Please, H/N, don’t come. This is a trap," you silently pleaded, your heart racing.

"You see, I'm not going to kill you," he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "That would be such a waste. Instead, I give you the honor of becoming my bride." He smiled as if he were offering you the world on a silver platter. "You’ll still be the wife of the most feared boss. The only difference is, I'll be the man at your side. The only true boss, as it should be, after eliminating that filthy trash,

H/N." His eyes sparkled with twisted delight as if he had just delivered the most romantic proposal. But to you, it was pure madness.

You stared at him in disbelief, unable to fathom the depths of his delusion. Had he just listened to himself? Did he really think he could erase your love for H/N with a title and power? As if your bond with H/N was just about status or influence. Your stomach churned with revulsion as you realized how little Cobra understood about love, loyalty, or even basic human emotion. His idea of a relationship was a twisted power play, devoid of anything real.

"I’d rather die than be with you," you spat, your voice trembling with fury and defiance. "H/N is the only one for me, and it has nothing to do with his power or wealth."

At your words, Jun Ho shifted beside you. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His reaction was almost imperceptible, but you noticed it, the way your declaration of loyalty to H/N stoked something deep inside him. Cobra, on the other hand, had no such restraint. His smile evaporated, replaced by a snarl of pure rage.

"How dare you, you bitch!" he roared, his voice a thunderclap that echoed through the hall. "I'll teach you some manners. Like it or not, you're going to be mine."

He glanced at his watch, a cruel grin stretching across his face. "Just one more minute." His voice dropped, oozing with mockery. "What a pity. Looks like your knight on the white horse won’t be here in time to save you."

But before you could process the weight of his threat, a voice cut through the tense air like a blade. Deep, dark, and filled with unbridled fury.

"That’s where you’re wrong."

Your breath caught in your throat as your head snapped up. You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

There, standing in the doorway like an avenging force, was H/N, his silhouette sharp against the faint light filtering into the room. His presence filled the space, dominating it. His eyes locked on Cobra, but there was something more in his gaze when it flicked briefly to you—a silent promise. He had come for you.

"Here I am."

To be continued...

♡

Finally, there he is! Our hero/prince/avenger...

Stay tuned for part 15!

｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆｡

Happy Birthday dear Chris/Bang Chan!

Thank you for being such a wonderfully talented, kind, and inspiring person. Wishing you all the love, happiness, and success you deserve. Thank you for existing! Big hug! 💕✨

Love, YumiYue 🌙

(⌒▽⌒)♡

Follow me on: 📸 Instagram: @yumiyue07 🎵 TikTok: @yumiyue07 📝 Wattpad: @LunaVerse_YumiYue

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fan fiction inspired by Stray Kids’ song “Freeze”. All characters and events are fictional and are not intended to represent real people or events.

All rights reserved. Please do not repost or reproduce this story without permission.

© 2024 LunaVerse - YumiYue07. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

Tag list ♡ @catlove83 @burningemberz

[yesttoheaven]

lost in time and space – joel miller x f!reader

the song "lost in time and space" is about feeling disoriented and disconnected from one's life, as if they are drifting in a dark and unfamiliar place. despite his precarious situation, the narrator maintains hope that he will eventually find his way back, ultimately saying the name of his beloved into the night to remind himself of why he is on this journey in the first place.

𓆩warnings; foul language, a lot of fluff and ellie being... ellie haha [no use of y/n]

[english is not my first language. I am getting help from google translator and he is not always a good ally, so I apologize for any typos or grammar errors]

You were arranging your clothes in the wardrobe while humming a random song, enjoying the peaceful routine in Jackson and the crickets chirping outside, being the backing vocals on your little show. You even had a one-man crowd – but that part you didn't know yet.

— What are you humming, huh? – The southern drawl made you jump and turn on your heels, finding Joel leaning against the doorframe, looking at you with genuine curiosity. — You know… You’re pretty good with that voice of yours.

You shake your head, not taking his words seriously, but the small smile on your lips tells another story.

— It's just an old song.

— Come on… sing some more, will ya? – He chuckles, walking over to you. — You seem genuinely happy for once. I’d like to hear more.

— Nuh-uh... I was just humming because I didn't know you were there. And now that I know... – You feel that familiar warmth creep up your cheekbones and you quickly look away, focusing on your previous task.

— Ah, that makes sense... – There's a pause, a second or two, and then his voice breaks the silence: — I gotta say, you're cute when you get all shy around me.

— Shy? No way. – You put the summer dress that Maria gave you on the hanger.

— You make it clear when you can't even look at me, missy!

As soon as you leave the hanger in the wardrobe, you take a deep breath and turn your attention to the Texan.

— Oh, you didn't even try to deny it! – He laughs, before he stops and becomes serious. He just looked at you, enjoying the moment in his own way, before a ghost of a smile crept across his lips. — Y'know, just a week ago, I never thought I'd be living here and having a moment like this. It's nice. No more infected in every shadow, no more looters lookin' for a fight in the middle of the road. It's just… it's peaceful.

— Yeah, I know the feeling. It's nice to be able to lay in a bed again and sleep without having to worry about keeping watch. – You nod emphatically and close the wardrobe doors. Being in Jackson was like a long-forgotten dream of normalcy.

— Not only that, but we got more food than we know what to do with, got running water, hot showers... – Joel could easily list all the good points of the commune for hours and with a sigh he adds: — Life's good, ain't it?

— Too good to be true sometimes.

— Ain’t gonna say I haven’t been waitin’ for some other shoe to drop… but… I’m just gonna take this win. Live while we can. That’s all we can do, really. But I’m still gonna be prepared. For anything. I ain’t letting my guard down. If you see anything even a little suspicious, let me know.

— Sure thing, boss! – You salute, just teasing him. And he grins at you.

— Boss, huh? Y’know, it ain’t a half bad nickname.

— Oh, do you like this one?

— Maybe a lil’ bit. – He chuckles, stepping in front of you and you couldn't help but admire how tall he was. — I mean, it’s better than old timer.

— I definitely prefer old timer! It's funny. And it's good to piss you off a little...

— Pissin me off? That’s one hell of a hobby!

— Don't be a crybaby, I'm practically an angel in your life, Miller!

— That’s the joke of the decade, right there! – Joel shook his head slightly, his tone sounded angry but the amusement was still there. — You’ve gotten on my nerves far too many times... too many times!

— Now you're just being mean.

— Says the person who enjoys irritating me. You know you’re a real piece of work, right? – He chuckles to himself. It was hard to deny that just a few minutes around you turned the brooding survivor into a... big, giggling softie?

— Maybe that's what makes us a great duo. We have a good dynamic, don't we? – Your laugh came out to match his.

— I guess you have a point there. And I wouldn’t change a damn thing about it! No matter how much I tease you about it, I am glad to have you by my side.

— Same here for you, Joel. Ah, and I also know that my company is pleasant, I am kind and I care about my middle-aged partner!

— You just had to pull that insult outta nowhere, now, didn’t ya? – The southerner just rolls his eyes, huffing. — Well, guess what? I care too, and I’ve been the one looking out for your ass.

— Ohhh, so you admit you looked at my ass? – That wasn't the point of his sentence and you knew it, but it was still fun to get under his skin.

— What? No! – A tinge of embarrassment came to his voice, and the way he spoke was slightly panicked. Joel quickly corrected himself: — I mean... uh, just… making sure your ass is covered! You know, just… What I mean is that I keep an eye out for you. I would never stare at your behind!

— Not even once?

— Why the hell would I? – He sighs heavily, but looks away. — 'Kay, fine. One time here and there... just a glance. But, hey... I was just appreciating the... scenery. I like what I see, alright?

That wasn't the answer you expected to get from him. It caught you off guard, but in a good way. Unfortunately, poisonous thoughts crept into your mind with equal intensity. Joel only appreciated the scenery because he didn't have a better option available and now in Jackson... Well, his options are plentiful. You're not blind, you've seen how women twist their necks when he walks by them. And when he plays guitar on the porch... Oh, the word "sisterhood" no longer exists in your moral dictionary. One of them came to offer him coffee! Come on, that's not fair.

— But... middle-aged, huh? Ouch! My heart. – He jokes, rubbing his chest. His amused tone came in an attempt to lighten the mood. Your silence worried him. He wondered if he had been too bold... Or he's just rusty when it comes to flirting with a pretty woman. Joel was ready to apologize when your voice brought him back to reality:

— Don't take this personally, I'm just kidding. Pissing you off is my hobby, remember? But I'm not kidding when I say I like those gray spots on your temples...

— You like my grey hair? You like me lookin’ like a grandpa? That’s a first.

— Grandpa?! You don't look like a grandpa, Joel!

— I appreciate the kind lie, missy. – He smiles warmly.

— I'm being honest.

Something in your eyes – the sweetness or the affection – made his heart skip a beat.

— Y’know that? I’m glad I’m sharing this house with you. I know that was a bit much, but… y’know, just gotta express my appreciation every now and then.

— Coming to Jackson with you and Ellie was one of the best things that ever happened to me... I like being here, it brings me peace of mind. I thought I had lost that. – That was a nostalgic topic. Your voice was full of that old nostalgia, the one that missed home, the one that's been with you for 20 years.

— I feel the same. This place… it’s just the perfect way to live. No cannibals, no infected. Just… peace. I can say that I’m finally living normally… finally living peacefully. I just… I just hope that this’ll last forever. Y’know?

With those words, a small but sincere smile crossed your lips and your hand touched his shoulder, leaving a comforting grip.

— That feeling of normalcy is welcoming and I can't imagine what it would be like to lose it again... – Your eyes leave Joel and roam your bedroom, focusing on the small details. Everything was simple, but enough to warm your heart. — We'll be fine. We survive with much less... And now we have a hot shower!

— You’re absolutely right. Hot shower. Decent food. A real bed. And the best part... I get to share it with you. – He cups your chin, making you look at him again.

— I appreciate that.

— And I appreciate you. Your company helped me come to terms with everything. My past. My fears. You were a light, and without you I’m sure I’d be lost… dead. I just want you to know that.

— You saved me in so many ways, Joel. – You take the moment to be honest and maybe a little cheesy. Despite all the arguments, you always felt that Joel was worthy of your trust and loyalty, unlike many other survivors you've come across along this road. And to say you became attached to him was an understatement.

— For the first time in my life, all the worries of the apocalypse don’t matter. The only thing on my mind now is… you and me… and just enjoying the moment. Isn’t that something? – Joel looked calm, somehow the lines on his face were smoother. Being in Jackson was doing him good. And hearing him speak of you with such affection and love brought that familiar warmth back to your cheeks. — But even with everything we have here now, it just never felt right, never felt complete. And it never will, until I do one more thing...

— And what would that be?

Joel suddenly grabs you by the back of your head and pulls you close, pressing his lips firmly against yours. It took you a few seconds to understand what was going on before you closed your eyes and kissed him back, your hands traveling to his back. He lets his free hand glide down your waist, pulling you closer and pressing his body more firmly against yours. His embrace is forceful and firm, but he's still gentle. His lips gently part as his tongue finds yours. The kiss is deep and intimate, months of pent-up love breaking free.

You both let out soft groans of satisfaction as you pull slightly away from each other, your breaths heavy and audible. You look at Joel with dazed eyes, your fingers still pressed against his back.

— How’d I go so long without you? – His eyes light up and he chuckled. Joel looked so incredibly happy and that happiness was also reflected in your face.

— That's a good question. Without my charming presence your days must have been so boring! I bet that's why you were all grouchy when we first met, huh?

— I will not hesitate to kick your ass! I will get you for that! – He says, jokingly grabbing you by the shoulders firmly.

— Sorry cowboy, but you'll have to catch up with me first! – You giggle, slipping out of his grasp.

— Oh, oh I get you! – He tried to grab you, but you were quick. — Come on now, you're going too fast! – Joel sighs, running towards you again, pretending to be angry.

— Or you're just too slow! Your old legs might really be a problem after all. – Your amused laugh echoed through the house as you ran away from him.

— I’ll get you, I will, I swear! – He yells, running after you. He caught up with you in the kitchen, where he suddenly grabbed you by the waist, spinning you around like he wasn't even trying. — Gotcha! – He smirked, before leaving a peck on your lips. You tried to delve in for a kiss, but Joel had other plans. — You’re in so much trouble, my darlin'... – His voice was low, almost menacing as he towered over you in a failed attempt to be intimidating. Then he spread sloppy little kisses all over your face. — That’s what you get for teasing the old man.

— Well, then I should tease you more...

Without giving you time to complete the sentence, Joel pinned you against the kitchen table, using his broad frame to keep you in place.

— You’re playing with fire. – He whispers, his husky voice able to send shivers to all the right places on your body. — And if you don’t shut up… – Joel rubs his nose against yours, his head lowering a little to plant a kiss on your cheek... another on your jawline... and another on your neck. — I might just have to kiss you over and over and over...

The moment seemed perfect until it was interrupted by the exaggerated sound of someone clearing their throat and it wasn't from you or Joel. As soon as the two of you pulled away, your eyes found Ellie standing in the doorway, holding back a laugh.

— I always suspected you guys were being sneaky... but holy shit, it's worse! You guys are cheesy as hell!

— I swear to god, Ellie! If you start with your jokes right now, you’ll be in real trouble. – Joel complains, pointing a finger at her sternly and you don't know how to react at that moment. This is just one of those many father-daughter interactions between them.

— Okay, okay... I need to go see Dina anyway. She'll be delighted to hear there's a new couple in Jackson... But don't worry, go back to what you two were doing!

Joel sighs heavily, shaking his head in annoyance. He then looks at you with an apologetic smile on his lips.

— You’ll excuse me for a second. – He walks towards the doorway, following Ellie as she leaves the kitchen. Facing her, he lowered his voice, but still talking sternly: — What’s with the childish crap?

— I just heard all the giggles and footsteps around the house... I needed to check what was going on! And then I find you two making out in the kitchen... Where's the manners, old man? This commune is family friendly!

— Don’t even try to play dumb with me... – He grumbled under his breath, narrowing his eye at Ellie. — Fine, okay. You caught us. We’re heading towards a relationship when you stick your big ass nose in the way, alright? You happy? – Joel crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

He was expecting a lot of reactions from her, but the sincere smile that lit Ellie's face made Joel let his guard down. She was happy for him.

— She makes you look like a big softie... That's good.

He rolled his eyes, but smiled slightly.

— I’ve been through so much, but… I’ll admit… it ain’t a bad feeling. Maybe I'm getting soft, kiddo.

Ellie nods, enjoying this new perspective. Maybe you could make the grumpy old man a little softer around the edges. He could use this.

With one last sarcastic remark, she left the house, going to meet her own girlfriend. Joel let out a deep sigh, before returning his focus to the only thing that really matters at the moment: you.

— Ellie being Ellie, huh? – You say, leaning against the doorframe with an amused expression on your face.

— That’s the problem.. she’s too much Ellie, for damn sure. – He grumbles, chuckling as he rested his head against your shoulder. — I think I better get you back to my room before that little punk of mine sees us like this again. I don’t know how many times we can take her interruptions... – He pouts and you thought it was extremely cute.

— Poor Joel...

— Oh, shut up… – Joel pulls you close to him. — I just wanna get some privacy with my lady, is that too much to ask for?

— Easy, cowboy! So I'm already your lady now?

— Damn straight you are! – You could feel his breath on your neck and the edge of his smile on your skin. — You’re all mine, no doubt about it, hun.

[ryanmeft]

Movie Review: American Fiction

Thelonious Ellison is an angry man. You get the feeling that he is always angry, always has been angry and unless he changes something, always will be angry. He is right about the world and about people when he thinks that they all want easy answers and spoon-fed entertainment, but being right won’t fix what’s wrong with him. The movie is about whether he can do that himself.

What does he need to fix? Everyone around him has an opinion, and everyone may have a point. Understanding broken people requires broken people, so Monk, as he is usually called, is fortunate that his whole family is broken. They are still suffering from the suicide of the father, an unseen phantom. The mother (Leslie Uggams) is in the early stages of dementia. The plastic surgeon brother Cliff (Sterling K. Brown) has recently been divorced after being caught with a man, and has responded to his outing with unreserved debauchery.  The only really responsible member of the family is the older sister Lisa (Tracee Ellis Ross), a doctor at a fictional version of Planned Parenthood, but when she unexpectedly dies, the family’s remaining broken pieces must come together to solve the puzzle that is them.

Monk does this while struggling with the low sales of his books as readers prefer more salacious fiction that gives them what they think the black experience is like---guns, drugs, hopeful stories of rising out of imagined ghettos painted in the most generalized of lights. Monk doesn’t want to tell that kind of story, and indeed argues that he cannot. He is a well-educated black professor from an upper-middle-class background, and he wants to write about the experiences of black people like himself. The audience doesn’t want to read them, and eventually in a night of doubt he gives in and dashes off a quick book that plays to the stereotypes, with Keith David and Okieriete Onaodowan as the hilarious personifications of two of his characters. Like the play in The Producers, he intends the book to be derided and to fail, and also like The Producers, it is an unexpected hit. Hurting for money, Monk and his long-suffering agent Arthur (John Ortiz) play along to increasingly hilarious results.

The most pressing issue on Monk’s mind is his mother, who deteriorates rapidly. Uggams’ performance is full of sympathy. She has a single screenplay-dramatic moment that ends up forcing the family’s hand, but mostly her condition is treated as a slow descent. Notes of The Father, one of the few successful depictions of Alzheimer’s on screen, can be detected here, as she becomes abrasive as a defense and only turns lucid long enough to recall her husband’s infidelity. Brown as the brother injects comedy into the proceedings with his many drug-loving younger lovers and his acid tongue, but it is to the film’s great credit that he doesn’t remain merely comedic relief. His story eventually gets a catharsis that allows Monk to think he might, at some point, receive his own. Monk’s only real ally seems to be newfound girlfriend Coraline (Erica Alexander), but there are cracks there from the beginning, as he covers up for his actual abrasive nature with the kind of humor that is meant to hide hostility.

Monk’s nemesis is Sintara Golden, a best-selling author who “writes black” in every way Monk disapproves of. Played by Issa Rae, she comes off initially as a cheap plot device, but shifts a little when the two are thrown into the same panel of judges for a book award contest. Yet another brave touch in the movie is how their inevitable confrontation is handled. We can at least sort of respect her as long as she thinks she is doing a genuine thing, even if she isn’t. Trapped in a candid moment, she lets down her practiced talk circuit defenses and reveals her true reasons for writing the way she does. What those are I will leave for you to discover, but the character is much stronger and a suitable nemesis for Monk by not being made into a “girl boss” figurehead.

The movie is rife with conversations meant to expose the deep racial and personal biases well-meaning white liberals often inadvertently show. It is sometimes subtle and sometimes not, and for the most part each kind of depiction is effective. What strikes me most about this aspect of the movie is entirely subjective. I saw it in a preview screening at a film festival where the audience was mostly older and mostly white. Every time the film skewered some convention of “black” popular culture and the way non-black people see it, I couldn’t help wondering if I was the mark. If I was, I didn’t feel attacked by that, but rather encouraged to re-examine my views. The fact I did all this while laughing my ass off should at least tell you one thing: you should go see this movie.

Verdict: Highly Recommended

Note: I don’t use star ratings. Here are my possible verdicts:

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid Like the Plague

[stormzyismyson]

MOSSAD

Adolf Eichmann was captured in Buenos Aires, Argentina by Mossad. Wolfgang lots was a MOSSAD agent in egypt. However he was saved by the deal between mossad and the BND who claimed him as an german agent.

1962 Gamal Abdul Nasser aims to unite all Arab countries and demolish jews. Claims his missiles will reach Israel. The missile project relied heavily on German experts with nazi pasts. Heinz krug was in charge of logistics. He was practically the boss. He was abducted from Munich, Germany by MOSSAD agents posing as Egyptian businessman. He was later interrogated in Israel and killled.

Former SS man, Otto Skorzeny was offered protection by Mossad when nazis all across the world were under threat of being hunted by MOSSAD. He had direct access to the leading figures of Rocky program. He enjoyed protection of dictator Francisco Franco in Spain. He reached out to every technician and every German official in Egypt. By 1965, Nasser's Rocky program came to a halt. However, Soviets extended their support to Egypt for the missile program.

CIA didn't really favor Israel as a partner. The decisive influence on Israel Us intelligence relations was James Angleton. He had went from becoming an anti semitic to a zionist.

Mig 21 (Soviet) were supplied to Arabs. Munir Redfa was an Iraqi fighter(an Assryian Christian thus wouldn't be promoted any further). His family was smuggled & Mossad had to take out all the 32 cousins out of Iraq. The Mig 21 was first time in Western hands(Operation Diamond).The Americans were the first to assess it. During the 6 day war, Kill ratio was 5:1 owing to the Mig 21 intelligence. After the 6 day war, Israel controls 4 times the region originally designated to it by UN.

Fatah Arafat(President,Palestine) became the face of palestinian resistance.The west turned a deaf ear to palestinian terrorists on European land.Munich Olympics 1972 ,palestinians shot and killed 2 Israeli olympic atheletes and held 13 hostages.200 palestinian combatants and 2 german terrorists were demanded.The terrorists were students in Germany.The Israeli pm had refused.The Israel army was forbidden in Germany and none of the atheletes survived. The hostage takers were also released after a lufthansa jet was hijacked.

Within a year,14 palestini leaders are killed. Mossad has been helping christians in South sudan against the ruling arabs, kurds in iraq and christians in Lebanon.100 israeli citizens were taken by hijackers to Idi Amin the ugandan dictator.Isreal doesn't negotiate with terrorists.

In 1970, El sadat(President, Egypt) with military background took over and aimed to annihilate Israel. 1973, Ashraf Marwan was the son in law of nasser and advisor of new pm of Egypt. He was an informant of Mossad. Egypt and Syria attacked Israel with no warning from Marwan. However, the Arabs had done it on purpose.Israel won the war but paid in blood.

Egypt didn't want Soviet influence and thus established good ties with Israel for American relations.

The shah of Iran, Mohammad Raza had good relations with israel until the religious protests rose. Ruholla Khomeini establishes theocracy

1980 The PLO set up bases in Lebanon where the Mossad was powerless. Mossad found their allies here in the Christian groups. The Mossad invaded Lebanon. Their major objective was not to exterminate the PLO but to destroy all infrastructure that the PLO had. After 2 months, a Christian president was set up. But he was killed with a bomb and again an arab rule was set up.

Ethiopian Jews were smuggled to Sudan and from there to Israel. Israeli people posed as resort owners in Ethiopia. Sudanese dictator was paid hefty amounts and it was done confidentially to protect sudanese name in the Arab world. But there was a regime change in Sudan. As a result, 4000 jews were killed but the Mossad was able to protect 20000 jews.

A peace treaty signed between Israel and PLO(noble peace prize also awarded) but their emerged a Islamist radical organisation called the Hamas with the aim to establish a theocracy. The PLO however decided to put a delay on exterminating Hamas. Hamas had their bases set up in Amman, Jordan.

1997 The mossad failed their operation to kill Khaled Meshal. The govt led by Benjamin Netanyahu had put pressure on mossad. The agents were given orders to not attack if he wasn't alone but they still attacked and the mission failed. They were later released for the antidote that Israel provided to Khaled Meshal.

The theocracy in Iran also saw Israel as an adversary. Thus the nuclear program of Iran was the biggest threat. Scientists were killed off. Viruses were sent. This automatically led to Iran being more cautious with every equipment and every man which postponed it for 2-3 more years. The US was also given confidential information and the iran bomb was declared a threat to the world. Various sanctions were imposed on Iran.In 2015,however a nuclear treaty was signed. Mossad in 2018 however collected proofs which were presented by the PM Netanyahu himself. Thus sanctions were imposed again on Iran by Donald Trump.

[starry-blue-echoes]

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO THAT’S A FUN IDEA

I can see this going coming about in two ways:

1) Somehow it gets out that Trish was the Boss���s daughter and that she has a Stand. Word of mouth and gossip travels really fast, and the next thing the Gang know people think Trish killed her dad and is going to be the new Boss

or and admittedly my personal favorite 2) Diavolo and Doppio Raised Trish But He's Unfortunately Still An Asshole And Trish Has Been Planning To Overthrow Him For Years

maybe Donatella died earlier, maybe Diavolo kept better track of his loose ends and kept them close, but Trish grows up with her life heavily intertwined with the mafia after a few years of Normal Living

and she hates it. She hates this life, she hates her "father," she hates how she constantly has to look over her shoulder for danger, hates how every decision, ever word, every breath needs to be calculated and precise lest she risks her father's wrath. She can't be weak because if she's weak, if she's seen as a liability for even a moment, her life will be over

Diavolo has no love for her. At best, she's a play thing which mildly amuses him. It's only a matter of time until before he decides to kill her

and Trish isn't going to just let that happen

so slowly, silently, as the years go by she starts planning by herself. She cultivates the perfect mask as a front, smart enough to not be seen as a liability but dumb enough to not be seen as a threat, all toward her father's downfall and her own rise to power. She knows there's no getting out of this life. She's been raised in the centre of the mafia, a fact which her father did very little to keep her from. She'd seen too much, knew too much, to ever hope to completely clean her hands of its influence and how it shaped her on a fundamental level

and what if somewhere along the line she ends up bumping into a certain not-yet-blonde haired children with a particularly powerful Stand. Trish needed allies. Needed people to watch her back. Needed people to keep her safe from her father

(Needed a friend. Trust was a luxury, one that even with her father's expansive wealth, she could never afford. Anyone associated with her father couldn't be trusted, and almost every interaction she had was carefully cultivated by him too. Meeting Giorno has been a genuine, complete accident and she wasn't going to let that go so easily)

and well......... it was laughably easy to remove Giorno from his "parents" custody. Trish didn't even need to do anything. The simple promise of food and a place to stay albeit with dubious safety was more than enough to get Giorno's favour and he was more than happy to leave that part of his life behind. On paper, he's Mrs.Una's Attendant/Bodyguard. She's rarely seen without him, and when she is he's likely nearby or hiding in the shadows. There's all sorts of rumours surrounding the two, some more unsavoury than others, but luckily nobody suspects their actual motives so the two count it as a win. They do like to listen in on the rumours on occasion and make fun of them

But despite the power imbalance, he and Trish grow to genuinely love each other. They become the best of friends, practically siblings, and they brave the storm that is their lives together. They become almost like an interesting mirror to Bucciarati and Abbacchio's relationship in that sense. Giorno would do anything Trish asked of him, anything for the girl who saved his life and gave him a purpose to work toward. He'd do anything to protect her. Trish in turn does whatever she can to protect him, and trusts him more than anyone else in the world

admittedly their bond does lean a bit on the side of codependency, but in their defence they're both 15 and have Literally Nobody Else they can trust so....... yeah not much they can do in that department

Canon's going to be insane though. Trish has probably figured out she has Spice Girl by this point but she's definitely kept her secret. Sort of an ace to keep just incase things really hit the fan and she and Giorno need to get out of somewhere in a pinch. She's gotten really got at finer control and using the ability in small areas which is useful, and is also really good at not reacting to the presence of other Stands

Trish Una - The Boss 🌹

(my piece for the Diamante Rosa Trish zine)

[kathyprior4200]

Heavenly Boss S2 E3: Eastern Energy

Flashes of silver shone in the Heavenly light and under the golden-red sky of the Patience Halo. Soother flew like the wind as he practiced fighting maneuvers with his two angelic katana blades. Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about the heaviness of his Exorcist suit, for he was merely dressed in a more loose-fitting black suit with an angelic silver “A” on it, standing for Adam, the leader. Adam’s influence had spread to both Heaven realms, not to mention the poisonous propaganda of Adam’s ally angel Adina.

No one really knew how exactly Menadel and Soother met. Unlike Striker, Soother didn’t really hate the elite per se, but he did desire that his race gain more recognition for their hard work and service behind the scenes of everyday heavenly life. The Shem HaMephorash angels and the Ars Goetia demons had been going back and forth between peaceful negotiations and ominous contentions for hundreds of years. There were not many Ars Goetia demons left in 2P Hell according to rumor and as far as anyone knew, there was no mention of any Shem HaMephorash angels in the main Heaven realm. Soother certainly did not want to kill anyone, let alone attack the fellow elves of E.L.F. However, with rumors of the main Stolas not adhering completely to his duties and the 2P Stolas causing havoc, Menadel figured the next best thing would be to solve the problem, permanently.

Perhaps Menadel was impressed by Soother’s agility and strength and unique ability to lull denizens to sleep with his hypnotic eyes. Whatever the case, Soother had failed in his original mission to kill the 2P Stolas…and nearly caused the canon demons to become aware of the existence of their parallel counterparts.

But Soother would soon find out to his relief that something different had occurred.

Conjuring up other angelic weapons like spears, pistols, swords and holy daggers, Soother slashed through the air at moving holograms of demons, which were magically projected in the air via magenta crystals situated from below. They were one of many crystal inventions from Camael, besides the extra ability to travel to Earth. Soother felt more comfortable practicing by himself, rather than being berated by the predominant saints and non-human angel members of the Exorcists. He felt sorrow for the former humans who had been coerced by Adam and the elite to blindly kill their former brethren. Even more abominable was Adam’s groupie gang of angel Exorcist girls who relished in blood slaughter and his arrogant affections. Even still…Soother had grown up with the belief that all demons were evil and that the Exorcists were heroic veterans who played their role in keeping Heaven safe and Hell from formulating ideas of chaos and rebellion.

“Still,” he thought, “It feels wrong to go against ‘thou shall not kill.’ Even Jesus himself does not approve of all this slaughter. He’s the one who gives us second chances after all. But alas, there is elite corruption in every world, I suppose.” The way that Soother’s mind and body had transformed into a brutal killing machine after putting on the mask still troubled him. He performed more moves with his katana blades before sheathing them.

Later, Soother stretched as he took a heavenly elevator to the next Halo. He glanced up at the schedule for “Elevator 777.”

There was “Humility Halo” in a sky-blue background (opposite of red Pride), with the icon of Michael next to it, protector of humanity and rival of Lucifer who represented Pride and the sinners.

“Patience Halo” was in a light red background with the icon of Archangel Uriel. Uriel was the meditative archangel of wisdom and represented the divine light of God. Studious Uriel was the opposite of the loud, fiery and Wrathful Satan.

“Temperance Halo” was a yellow color with the Archangel Jophiel icon next to it.

“Charity Halo” was in white with the icon of Archangel Gabriel. Gabriel represented love, generosity, protection, and justice, giving instead of being Greedy like Mammon. No criminals in that Halo.

“Chasity Halo” was in light pink with the icon of Archangel Camael. Camael valued purity, order in relationships, abstinence, and obedience, the opposite of lustful demon Asmodeus.

“Kindness Halo” was on a light purple background with the icon of Archangel Zadkiel. Zadkiel represented “Chesed” or “kindness” in the sephirot, opposite of the envious Leviathan.

“Diligence Halo” was a light green (opposite of Sloth pink), with the icon of Archangel Raphael, the healer. Raphael worked to eliminate drugs and diseases on Earth and in Heaven. He was the opposite of Belphegor, the drug addict. Soother got on the large heavenly elevator and off he went.

Later that day, as the sun set in the white Charity Halo sky, Soother set aside time for the beings in Heaven he did respect (Besides God). In a white celestial temple, Soother prayed respectfully to the five main Archangels who were represented by magnificent marble statues in the four corners of the sacred space. Thankfully the temple was empty, so Soother could go inside and do his ritual at his own pace. Smooth white cobblestone, gold torches in a circle, a skylight on the ceiling to let in light, natural openings around the Greek-style pillars to display the sky…Soother felt right at home.

There was Archangel Michael, the mighty protector and slayer of evil, with his battle armor and flaming sword in hand. He represented South and Fire, and the energies of the Sun. Blue sapphires decorated the handle of the marble sword.

There was Archangel Gabriel, the messenger angel who told Mary about Jesus’ birth. His messages nurturing and always changing, he represented West and Water and the energies of the Moon. The white lily in his hand was decorated with pearls.

There was Archangel Raphael, the healer with emerald robes, who could heal physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual wounds. He represented East and Air, and the energies of Mercury. He held a marble caduceus, the snake decorated with emeralds.

There was Archangel Uriel, the genderless Seraphim angel of wisdom and guidance in all areas of life. They represented North and Earth, with the energies of Saturn. The Uriel statue was decorated with rubies, with Uriel seated in a meditative lotus pose, their head a ball of fire with an eye of gold. A book and a flame were in their stone hands.

Finally, there was Metatron, a fusion of all four angels, and one who represented the Word and power of God Himself. The Ether element, all planets and all the directions were associated with him. A smaller statue of Sandalphon was attached to it, Sandalphon holding a lyre. Metatron held the Book of Life and a Merkabah shaped symbol in his hands.

A square fire pit was in the center of the temple. Soother lit it and violet flames flickered to life, dancing with passion amid the angel states and the light of God shining from a circular hole in the star-painted dome. The Metatron statue was directly in the center of the space, in front of Soother.

Soother began the Hindu-style offerings, murmuring prayers in Latin, Sanskrit and Enochian. Incense sticks of frankincense and myrrh added to the sacred, calming atmosphere. He spoke as if others were with him.

“Honor to Fire and the South! We bow down to the heroic Micheal, protector of humanity and ‘One Who Is Like God.’ May our enemies and fears surrender to your sword of divine fire.”

“Honor to Water and the West! We bow down to the nurturing Gabriel, God’s messenger who is ‘Strong Like God.’ Help us keep our faith strong and pure as you blow your trumpet.”

“Honor to Air and the East! We bow down to the empathetic Raphael, ‘God Heals,’ the divine healer, and bestower of wellbeing. Thank you for your miracles and devotion for the health of all.”

“Honor to Earth and the North! We bow down to the wise Uriel, ‘God’s Light.’ Illuminate us with your wisdom and guide us to our true path of righteousness.”

“Honor to the Holy Spirit and all Energy! We bow down to Metatron, ‘God’s Scribe’ and Enoch in divine form. One who has every name in God’s Book of Life. Show us mercy and help cleanse our misdeeds for the Day of Judgment. Help us remember that we are God and God is with us for eternity. Hail Sandalphon, Archangel of Music, Elijah in divine form.”

“Om…Ave Dios. Depart in peace and I thank you for your presence.”

After his prayers and mantras, he added his offerings to the fire: herbs, fruit, pieces of vegetables, seeds, and petals of flowers. He folded his hands together and briefly closed his eyes, imagining the archangels comforting him.

After Soother finished his ritual and used holy water to drown the flames, he felt a presence behind him.

“Let’s have a discussion, Soother.”

It was his boss, Menadel of the Shem HaMephorash angels. He wore a robe of white which ended in a grayish tone at the bottom. The Hebrew symbol, representing one of the seventy-two names of God was on the front of his robe in small black print. His hair was long and black, his face swan-like and white. He had brilliant white wings that sometimes displayed eyes. He wore his usual cape of two intertwining swan heads together and a gold necklace with his sigil on it. A halo over his head showed a crimson crystal in the center. In his powerful angelic form, he could turn into a giant monstrous swan being.

Soother slowly stood up and followed the angel to his office. Although Menadel was not mean, he did have a stern side. Soother often felt nervous in the presence of someone so devoted to work. He worried that he would be chided for failing his previous mission of killing the alternate Ars Goetia. They soon stood in Menadel’s spacious office. There was an ornate desk with a computer on it and tall arched windows that showed the darkening sky. Red Christian crosses were on display on white banners hanging from the walls like flags from the Crusades. Another sign showed black figures of gay men and gay women in sexual positions; below that was a figure of a horned person with genitals from both sexes about to sacrifice a baby on a pentagram. “Stand for your One True God,” the slogan said. “If you see something, say something!”

Soother glanced around nervously, wishing he was back at the temple. His only comfort in the room was a painting of Jesus with light around his head, arms open in welcome.

After a brief silence, Menadel cleared his throat and turned toward the elf.

“I have some promising news, Soother. It turns out that 2P Stolas and many other demons have weakened due to the already bleak conditions of their dysphoric Lovecraftian Hell. And fortunately for me…”

Soother waited.

“…I have just heard news that Prince Stolas in main Hell was injured by an angelic weapon…from an imp demon, no less. It was his karma for cheating with an imp and neglecting his astronomy duties. Without having to engage in arguments or keep an eye on my counterpart rival for a while, I can now return to more...intimate matters.”

“Such as?”

Menadel sighed. “Trying to undo the divorce…um, the unease between me and my former wife, Flora. I know I wasn’t there for my daughter, Quartet and wanted Flora to be a traditional passive wife, and I put my career before my family…”

“Right…”

“But perhaps, I can help Quartet become a worthy heir to the Shem HaMephorash. It’ll help with her confidence and expand her reputation.” He spoke in a murmur. “It’s sort of a win-win for me. She can succeed and the seventy-two angels gain a supporter, or she fails, and I can get her inheritance, despite already being rich. She has extra money from Lord Azrael.”

“Sir,” Soother began. “Doesn’t that make you as bad and greedy as…”

“The demons? Like Stolas’ ex-wife and her brother? No. I’m not trying to kill anyone. I’m only trying to keep Heaven and its structures in order as best as I can. But I cannot do it alone. Which brings me to…”

He turned around to face Soother. “You. Do be careful this time around with your next mission.”

“What mission is that, sir?”

“First of all, keep up with your Exorcist training, you never know when either Heaven may be threatened by sinners. And your new mission is this: root out any denizens who may be demons or who may be supporting demons. Lord Adam wants any traces of Hell or demon support out of the Heaven worlds. The former humans must not regress to sin, so they will always need constant reminders from Lord Adam, our Heavenly community and from God.”

Soother raised a brow. “You mean propaganda?”

“Well…”

Soother looked suspicious. “And wasn’t Adam a former human who sinned?”

Menadel leaned close to Soother’s face and hissed. “Do not let him hear his secret! Adam forsook his humanity long ago. Only a handful know and the many who do know often find themselves at the points of his spears or falling toward brimstone. As far as we’re concerned, it is a false rumor; Adam is the perfect holy candidate to eradicate the evil sinners and keep Heaven safe from them. Adam wants revenge against Lilith and Lucifer for playing a part in his banishment, so he kills sinners to remind them of their mistake of leaving him and Eden. (How ironic that the father of man allows the death of his own race while the mother of man allows the demonization of them). The exterminations do Hell a favor by allowing the Overlords and currency and resources to continue thriving without the excess population. Even Lucifer agreed to it in exchange for his safety and rulership.”

“And this relates to me how?” Soother pondered.

“It’s a warning to anyone who thinks the sinners below deserve any pity or sympathy. And to anyone who thinks the Ars Goetia are more trustworthy than our own order. You are to remind others that sin will not be tolerated…that our world can be a paradise that will thrive and triumph over Hell and Earth.”

Soother groaned. “Have you been watching too many of ‘Adam’s Awesome Extreme Acoustic air guitar shows again? Like that horrific episode, ‘Why Heavenborn Are Better Than Saints, Why Sinners And Demons Should Perish, And Why Adam Is #1’? AND WHY IS THAT EVEN AN EPSIODE?!”

Menadel chuckled nervously. “…maybe. Surprisingly enough, I have a little spare time now and again.”

“I swear the merchandise that a**h**e now gets…” Soother grumbled.

“Language,” chided Menadel. He picked up a glowing red apple with Adam’s monstrous Exorcist face on it. “The ‘Adam’s Apple™’ works wonders during my late midnight shifts…”

Soother rolled his eyes.

Menadel chuckled, then got back to business. “Anyway, Soother, help me keep the population calm, eliminate hints of satanic threats and keep the saints in both Heavens oblivious to their tortured former family members down in Hell…”

Sweat beaded on Soother’s face, and he gulped…

Menadel chuckled nervously. “Sorry Soother…Adam’s orders.”

“Let me guess, I’ll go to Hell if I don’t.”

Menadel shrugged. “I’ll just make sure you’re put on duty to clean and consecrate every chalice and temple in existence in the Heavens…yeah, there’s a lot.”

Soother shrugged.

“…and see how your horse would do in a race against the fiery Seraphim steeds…”

Knowing his horse’s fear of fire, Soother held up his hands. “Okay, I’ll do it, sir! Just, d-don’t send me down, please!”

Menadel smiled softly. “I knew I could count on you. You will be rewarded greatly for helping me feel at ease on my temporary ‘vacation.��”

0 0 0

Before long, Menadel, Flora, Azrael and Damabiah sat at a fancy café called “Charity Café – Pour For The Poor!” Indeed, for every coffee that was bought, donations were made to the poor (who weren’t really that poor considering it was Heaven).

Of course, there was an awkward silence between Flora and her ex. A part of her was happy to see he was doing well. But then she remembered that he neglected his duties as a father. Menadel was determined to make things right…even if he was still mad that Flora had left him for another angel…an angel of death, no less.

“Flora,” Menadel began, sipping his cup of coffee, pinky up.

“Menadel,” Flora returned the gesture.

Azrael looked uncomfortable as well. He kept glancing at the swan angel, wondering why he had to be here.

“Are you sure that you guys getting back together will be best for our daughter?” Azrael asked.

“If only to save our reputation,” Menadel replied. “Divorce is still frowned upon by many denizens in Heaven. We just got the softer hit because we’re rich.”

“It’s a little late for that,” mentioned Flora, folding her arms and glaring. Her dress glittered with green grass made of light, with colorful flowers dotting it. “Seventeen years late. You’ve always prioritized money and work over Quartet’s wellbeing.”

“You know that the Shem HaMephorash have to follow strict rules,” Menadel replied, sipping more coffee. “We serve the greater good and only for God.”

Flora scoffed. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before deciding to have a kid with me!”

The pale-faced Azrael sighed, wearing his usual dark suit, with a skull pin, black wings folded behind him. His tired eyes were sunken behind his long black hair. “Can we just get this agreement over with? I personally am not a fan of Menadel getting more days with Quartet. And who is with you, anyway, Menadel?”

Flora turned to look at Damabiah, another angel of the Shem HaMephorash. Damabiah was pale skinned with long periwinkle hair and sky-blue eyes. Her light blue dress shimmered and rippled like a fountain. Damabiah was the “Fountain of God’s wisdom,” an angel of nature and water. Her white wings were folded behind her, and a teal-white halo hovered over her head.

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Damabiah said. “I am a colleague of Menadel, angel of summertime and a dove-hybrid. And the anthesis of Andrealphus. That icy cunning peacock gets on my nerves, for real. I don’t even know why he has ice powers anyway.” Many of the Shem HaMephorash angels were divine bird-hominoids and beings opposite of the demonic creatures. “Yes, I can turn into a dove and shower mortals with wisdom…provided they are polite and not in you know where.” She moved her finger across a gold pin on her dress with her angelic sigil on it and Hebrew writing.

“So, what wisdom do you have for us?” Flora asked, turning back to the topic, speaking in sarcasm. “Perhaps we should call in an angel of marriage and turn back time.”

Damabiah cleared her throat, dismissing the comment. “Well, as Flora’s first husband, I think it would be fair for Menadel to be able to spend more time with his daughter to make up for lost time…”

Azrael began to protest, but Damabiah held up a finger.

“…however, I think that Quartet should make the final decision. She is almost seventeen and soon to learn how to master magic and become an heir. At the very least, Menadel and Azrael should both be allowed to train her.”

“But our magic and views are as different as light and death, literally,” Azrael mentioned.

‘Which is precisely why Quartet should master both,” Damabiah replied. “In order to defeat potential darkness, she must have a feeling for the darkness to some degree. Besides, a bubbly princess who wears emo clothes all day does seem a bit odd.” Menadel nodded while Azrael glowered.

Menadel spoke up with a sly grin. “I propose that I either get half the time with Quartet…or…I get a fraction of the family inheritance.”

“You weren’t even around half the time!” Flora spat. “Plus, you’re rich enough already!”

“Do you know how hard it is to be a divine veteran for God? To work almost twenty-four hours to ensure Heaven’s safety and order? Relying God’s messages and translating them is hard enough.”

“Who do you think you are, an Exorcist?” Flora rolled her eyes.

“Better. I am part of a divine group that has been forgotten in the main Heaven. I think I deserve some recognition for my hard work after all these years. Can’t I at least have one chance to…be a better husband? We still have eternity do we not?”

Damabiah seemed to buy into it, because she said, “I think Menadel’s got a point.”

“Of course you would, you’re his sister,” Flora remarked. “Now go back to your little business family and stay out of our business!”

Menadel sighed, taking another sip of coffee. “Well, I guess I could leave you guys alone. But then again, rumors still spread. If someone very important, say an Exorcist general were to find out about you cheating on me…” He tsked. “I don’t see any good in that.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t think about spreading rumors about me earlier,” Flora glared.

“Got too busy and didn’t have the idea,” Menadel shrugged.

“God’s loyal servant can’t let go of the past,” Azrael barked, rolling his eyes. The air around him dimmed. “Say all the crap you want…you are not taking my wife away from me…or my daughter.”

“She is my daughter as well; you’d do well to remember that.” Menadel’s eyes briefly flashed.

“If you let that pompous guitar-strumming ass near my family just for your status…” Azrael began, teeth bared.

Menadel chuckled. “What? You’ll kill me? I’m immortal and you’ll just get punished. I heard Samael…”

“Cannot punish another angel,” Azrael finished. “The deal is off, Menadel.”

Menadel glared. “Maybe not an angel, but perhaps…”

He glanced over toward the window, speaking in telepathy… “…any group of deviant elves trying to challenge things.”

A pair of hypnotic dark blue eyes glowed on a pointed eared shadow figure. The figure flew to the side, got on a winged horse and was soon out of sight.

0 0 0

Docile, and his E.L.F. crew were talking and walking with a group of saints, some of them carrying protest signs. They were among those in Heaven who didn’t fully agree with the annual Extermination...and some were outright appalled by the idea, despite it going on for hundreds of years. They held signs that read, “Adam the A**h**e!” and “Redeem Our Sinner Families!” “Vote For Eve!” “Support Your Real God and the Archangels!” “Heaven Rights For Ex-Humans!”

Of course, Adam’s groups and many of the elite angels in both worlds were the predominant force in the Heavens. With the Overlords in Hell either struggling to try and defeat the Exorcists, or agreeing to their agendas for their own gains, true redemption seemed almost impossible. To make matters worse, the group of Heaven’s equivalents to the Overlords, the Born-Again Council, was not available for discussions.

“I wish God could fix this division between us,” sighed Docile. “Why couldn’t God love humans and angels equally? Punishment isn’t gonna help the people of Earth learn from their mistakes.”

“I agree,” said Sunna, licking her paw. “That Adam angel gives me the creeps. That demonic grin and his promiscuous arrogant behavior…I’m surprised that is even allowed in our world! Adam’s trying to create a tyrannical rule over all the worlds. This madness must end.”

“Not to mention our fellow elves are all but ignored, even behind the C.H.E.R.U.B.S.,” Timmid added, holding up a sign that read, “Justice For Animal Angels, Too!”

Tirred help up a sign that read, “I’m with those who fight in vain.”

Docile glared at his employee. “Don’t tell me you actually support him?”

“Adam?” Tirred scoffed.  “I may hate demons and want them all dead, but even I find Adam f*cking annoying.”

“Language,” Sunna hissed.

“P*ss off, pussycat,” Tirred retorted. “Ironic that all these people are worshipping Adam as an idol and not God Himself.”

Rival protestors held banners with red Christian crosses on them. Many signs read, “Save the best for the native Heaven-born!” “Adam is our new Savior!” “Destroy Deviants and Demons!” “Obey Your One True God.” “Cleanse every world in the Lord’s name!”

Docile sighed. “Who knew Heaven would grow to be as messed up as Earth and Hell.”

They protested some more before the E.L.F. crew headed home. Sadly the “conservative” group were ahead of the “liberals” by seven points. The former, nicknamed the “Adamgelicals” had persuaded the higher-ups that no meeting was necessary to debate the Exorcist’s brutal methods against sinners…as far as they knew, anyone going against God deserved death in all its forms, the more painful the better. The latter, a lesser-known faction of Heaven (at least in the 2P one) had nicknamed themselves, “Jesus’ Love-Workers,” to which many Heaven-denizens cruelly dismissed them as being “New-Age hippies trying to save the damned.”

“Jesus would want to give all sinners a second chance, just like the princess in Hell,” many would say. Many of the members were former humans.

“Tell us where Jesus is and then we’ll talk. And the chance of Hell’s princess redeeming sinners is…well, like Hell freezing over!” The rival group laughed, mostly consisting of the Heaven-born. “Or like Heaven getting rained on! Hahaha!”

A sheep cherub spoke up. “It rains sometimes in other Halos. And in Dante’s ninth circle of Hell…”

A lion roared. “Shut it, Ewe, you’re on the Right side here!”

A sad look. “Whatever you say, Leo. I’m Ewe, just another sheep cherub in a world full of sheep.” Ewe flew off, hanging up fliers of Cletus, Collin, and Keenie: “Banished/Missing, if found, please head to Earth/Hell for immediate rescue.”

E.L.F. were glad to break free of the clamoring crowd. The sun was setting in the Humility Halo, turning the sky an indigo color. Polished marble buildings, churches with gemstones embedded in the structure and various shops briefly shone in the fading sunset light. The streetlights looked like golden suns as E.L.F. passed underneath them, heading to their houses. Docile and Sunna lived together, while Tirred and Timmid now resided in separate rooms.

The peaceful protests almost never turned violent, but harsh words were still spoken. “It’s Lucifer’s fault,” Tirred grumbled to the others. “If he had just followed God’s orders, he wouldn’t have made Eve get in trouble…”

“He was in love with her,” Timmid countered. “And God was strict with His children, what else would you expect love-struck gods to do?”

“I’d argue it was Adam’s fault,” said Sunna. “As the first man, he should’ve known better. If he had been respectful to Lilith, she wouldn’t have left Eden and Eve wouldn’t have eaten the forbidden fruit and God wouldn’t have decided that all flawed humans should go to Hell…”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Tirred groaned. “Coulda, woulda, shoulda. “The only thing I care about is Adam and those demons being burned to ash.”

“Perhaps we could go to the Heaven Ambassadry and request another meeting?” Timmid asked.

There were many Heaven Ambassadry buildings in the realms, including one in the main Hell. Like the one in Hell, the adjacent fence was golden, and the points were shaped like Exorcist spears and eyes were also part of the design. The golden doors had handles shaped like round suns. The arched windows showed Christan crosses, halos, and eyes. There were also nearby towers that looked like church steeples. There were gold frames near the roof and light shone around it. Angels could have meetings there to talk about the exterminations and various events…and the princess of Hell was planning to meet with some of the angels. Protection magic surrounded the buildings, keeping them indestructible and protected from any demonic criminals. Inside all the buildings were portals to allow angels to easily travel between the worlds.

“Not a chance,” Tirred sulked. “They won’t listen to guys like us.”

Soother wanted more than ever to join the E.L.F. crew, to find some way to help the elves get more recognition. But Menadel’s orders conflicted with his thoughts. Half the time, he convinced himself that Menadel and Adam and God and the rulers of Heaven knew what they were doing. That the exterminations were for the greater good…after all, God allowed it to happen.

If only an influential individual like Docile could be persuaded to a better point of view…his own. Last time, there was a misunderstanding, but this time, things would be different. Docile would have to listen to him, and then E.L.F. would have to follow. No more orders from Menadel, no more conflicts, mission accomplished.

As dark Asian ninja music played in the background, Soother waited in the shadows as he watched Docile go. “I’m sorry it has to be like this…” His face twitched and his narrowed eyes glowed as he put on his Exorcist mask.

Before long, E.L.F. were back in their respective homes. They were modest and well-kept places, with elaborate paintings in their living rooms and spacious beds. Sunna purred as she curled up on her large round bed, her teal blanket decorated with suns, paw prints, and Christian crosses. Timmid slept in her own bed, her room was neat and decorated with lots of flowers, animal posters, and some candles. Tirred’s room had an unusual display of angelic weapons, ancient artifacts, and a poster of a winking shirtless Samael (sometimes used for target practice.)

Docile’s room had awards on display from his days in choir and Bible study sessions. He had pictures of him with a smiling Sunna after she had gotten adopted, and the certificate was signed. Docile posed with the E.L.F. crew, everyone smiling except for Tirred. There were more pictures on the wall of Docile and Rizzafolli donating to charity and one with Docile, his sister and their parents. His blankets were midnight blue with gold sequins on them like stars. Docile slept soundly as the moon rose in the sky.

From outside the building, a ninja figure held out a knife and muttered a spell. The knife briefly became a silver key that unlocked the door. The shadow of the figure slowly moved up the steps, the stairs creaking under black boots. Ever so quietly, the figure stopped in front of Docile’s bedroom door. The door was pushed open, and the figure crept closer to Docile’s sleeping form. A hand reached near Docile’s face…

In his sleep, Docile briefly knocked the figure back with his face. The intruder stumbled and lifted himself up.

“Hello, Tirred,” Docile mumbled. “Can I marry you?”

The figure tried again…

…but got hit in the face with a punch from the sleeping Docile.

“You’re not Jesus. You’re Cletus…stop stealing my spotlight and my empire wine!”

The figure grabbed Docile’s arms, pinning him down. Docile slowly opened his eyes, half-asleep. “Dad? Why are you being so dominant…”

Frustrated, the figure slapped Docile across the face and removed his hood. Docile’s eyes widened, fully awake, as he saw who it really was.

“Soother? What are…”

Soother hummed and the circular teal lines in his dark blue sclera eyes moved inward and out. Docile’s eyes fluttered and he soon sank back into sleep. Docile was carried over Soother’s shoulder as he made his way down the stairs. Sunna’s pointed ears twitched and she jolted awake. She stretched and jumped down from the bed, scurrying on all fours out of her bedroom. She had made it outside just in time to see Docile’s limp form hang over Soother’s shoulders and vanish around the corner.

“Docile?” Sunna called. “Where are you?”

She yawned and raced ahead, but Soother was already gone. Growing concerned, Sunna wasted no time. She dashed back into her house and called Tirred and Timmid’s cellphones. When they didn’t answer, she grabbed a secret round light from inside a cabinet and aimed it out the open window.

Gradually, Timmid and Tirred woke up to find a light flashing in the night sky. They emerged from their bedrooms.

“What the heaven is that?” Tirred asked.

“An angel bat,” Timmid replied, drowsy. Sure enough, the light showed a bat-shape with feathery white angel wings.

“Some prankster doing stupid things,” moaned Tirred. “Go back to sleep.”

Sunna growled. “No, that’s not the one.” She fiddled with the light and flicked it again.

“Wait, wait, look,” said Timmid before Tirred turned back around. “The image has changed.”

The image was now pink with a skeletal black horse as the logo. “Spindlehorse” was written below it.

Tirred shrugged. “Again, this prank is a great insult because it doesn’t show me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to dream about kicking demon butt.”

“You really can be a jerk sometimes,” Timmid spat.

“No, no, no!” Sunna muttered. “Come, on, come on, come on!”

Finally, Sunna got the image she was looking for.

“Urgh!” Tirred groaned. “Will those people stop with the light flashing Batman prank?”

“Uh…Tirred…”

“What?!”

“That’s our symbol.”

“Spindlehorse didn’t make us, unfortunately,” Tirred growled. “Now get lost before I…”

Timmid pulled Tirred hard on the arm toward the window. “Look, you demon-hating bastard!”

Tirred blinked twice at what he saw. Sure enough, there was the E.L.F. logo symbol in the sky before them. The figures showed Tirred holding a sword, Timmid holding a scepter, and Docile holding a heart with a glowing cross inside with “Efficient Lifesaving Fellows” underneath. Docile had the Batman signal idea in place should their cellphones not work in an emergency.

“It’s an emergency!” Timmid cried. “Someone’s in trouble!”

“I’m not a superhero,” Tirred grumbled. “You go do it.”

“You’re coming with me! That signal is coming from Docile and Sunna’s house. Hurry!”

Tirred groaned but followed Timmid as they got dressed and ran several blocks to the house.

Sunna was already waiting out front.

“What’s going on, Sunna?” Tirred asked.

“It’s Docile! Someone broke into the house and took him!”

“What?!” Tirred bellowed. “Why would anyone be stupid enough to do that? And how did they even get in?”

“We have to find him, fast,” Sunna said. “Tirred, go back home and gather some weapons.”

“You know we can’t kill anyone in Heaven. Only higher angels can erase souls.”

“No, but temporary pain can still work,” said Sunna. “And I know how much you like using your weapons.”

“Ditto,” he said with a nod.

“Timmid,” said Sunna. “Try contacting Quartet or anyone else who knows Docile. Perhaps we can get a lead. I’ll try to sniff them out. Meet back at the Heaven Ambassadry building.”

“Which one?” Timmid asked. “Unlike Hell, there’s more than one in Heaven.”

“The one that looks most like the one in the main Hell,” said Sunna.

“They all look the same,” said Timmid.

“Just pick one!” barked Tirred.

“Sunna had the idea,” said Timmid. “Which one is it?”

“The one closest to the catnip store.”

“Of course it’d be that one,” Tirred rolled his eyes.

The three E.L.F. members spread out. Timmid called Quartet on her cellphone.

“Hello?” Quartet asked.

“Quartet, this is Timmid.”

“Oh, you are Sunna’s friend, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I just woke up to gaze at the stars for a bit. You’re lucky I’m awake and I know you. What’s up?”

“I think something has happened to Docile.”

“Docile?”

“Yes, my boss at E.L.F.”

“What happened?”

“Some thief broke into his house and took him. He may have been drugged or something.”

“There are no drugs in Heaven,” Quartet explained. “Maybe he got knocked out.”

“I need your help. Do you think you could get your father to help you rescue him?”

“Dad is asleep from a long important meeting. I don’t think he’s in the mood.”

“What was the meeting about?”

“He said it involved some elite angels and they were talking about my parents and their divorce. Well, my original dad.”

“Does that have anything to do with Docile?”

“Don’t know.”

Timmid held her head sadly, certain that Docile would never be found…

“But dad did mention an unusual thing there,” said Quartet. “He saw Menadel briefly talk with a figure outside. Some shadow with glowing blue eyes.”

“Blue eyes?”

“Blue-green eyes, very big. And the figure may have been riding a horse.”

“A flaming horse?”

“No, a winged Pegasus.”

“Is there anyone in Heaven who rides a winged horse?”

“I’m sure there’s many. Is there anyone you know in particular that rides them all the time?”

Timmid’s eyes widened as she put the pieces together.

“Soother…” she breathed.

“Good night, Timmid and good luck,” said Quartet. Timmid hung up and raced back to a heavenly building where Tirred and Sunna also arrived.

“Any clues?” Tirred asked.

“Nope,” said Sunna, brushing back her long brown braids. “My nose is tired from all the catnip.” She briefly sucked on the last bit of a green leaf.

“Hippie,” Tirred muttered.

Timmid panted. “I…I think it was Soother.”

“Soother? That nice elf with the hypnotic eyes and white winged horse back in the Patience Halo?” asked Sunna in surprise.

“Yes.”

Tirred narrowed his eyes. “I knew that shady sneak was up to no good. He’s so upset at us running his mission that he wants to hold our boss for ransom!” He sharpened his holy dagger.

“Let’s calm down,” said Sunna. “Perhaps there is more to it. Let’s head to the Patience Halo and find out where he lives. See how he likes us breaking into his house!”

“Which could very well be a trap,” Tirred pointed out.

“We have no choice,” said Timmid. “We have to find him.” They headed into their white E.L.F. van and drove down the road through a portal to the Patience Halo.

As Soother flew across the sky on his winged horse, Hypnoheart, four elves dressed in white monk-like robes began to sing Soother’s theme song, while playing Indian sitars and various Asian instruments.

“He’s flying over the puffy clouds

Not many say his name out loud

Look into his eyes and you’ll fall asleep

From Halo to Halo, his work runs deep”

“He’s Soother, he’s Soother

Getting stuff done, he’s number one, he’s Soother

Trying to being the elf to his side

To close Heaven’s moral divide

Despite his charm, he’s a mystery

Troubled with an unknown history”

“Side-changing

Elf-exchanging

Plan arranging

Soother!”

“He’s sweet and gentle and thin and kind

But be wary of what’s in his mind

He loves the Lord with all his heart

But authorities turn his life apart

He’s Soother! Soother!”

After they were done and noticed Soother, Soother said with a smile, “Thank you so much,” and tossed them a bag of gold coins. The elves cheered and headed off. Before long, Soother and the horse had reached a secret area in a large garden, where there was a small white house with a red Japanese-style roof design on top.

The E.L.F. crew arrived at the Route 777 gas station, where the four elves in white robes holding their instruments hummed Soother’s theme song on a bench. Tirred climbed out and got the gas while Timmid wandered around. Sunna waved to a Charlie’s Angels motorcycle gang, consisting of muscular elves and vehicles decorated with Christian crosses that could fly into the sky.

“Hello there,” Timmid called, spotting the quartet of musicians. “Have you guys seen Soother? He’s a ninja elf who rides a white horse?”

“Yes,” one of them said. “A friendly enigmatic fellow. He lives in the Goodman suburbs, in a small house near the gardens and temples. Very guru aesthetic, can’t miss it.”

“Thank you kindly,” Timmid smiled. “Hey, Tirred, we got another lead!” After they got gas, Sunna drove the van again down the road.

0 0 0

Docile slowly opened his eyes. He found his hands and feet tied with glowing white rope. He was leaning against the wall and saw Soother about to make a phone call. He looked around at Soother’s small, modest place. There were yoga mats off to the side, an array of blue candles on shelves, various Asian-style art and of course, a display of angelic weapons on the walls: scimitars, katanas, nun chucks, swords, pistols, and the like. The display would be enough for the agents of D.H.O.R.K.S. to fawn over. Strangely enough, soft meditation angelic music played in the background from a small set of speakers near Soother’s feet.

“Nice statue,” Docile remarked after seeing a small gold figure of Soother seated in a lotus pose on a shelf. Soother turned around. “Oh, you’re up.”

“Don’t put me back to sleep,” Docile’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing much. I’m still a little bit upset that you and your crew sabotaged my mission last time. But good news is that Menadel has other plans…for his family and for you.”

“Why me?”

Soother stepped closer. “The two of us could work well together.”

Docile frowned. “I already told you last time, I don’t want to join you in killing demons.”

“You don’t have to. I just think that you and E.L.F. could benefit from working with authorities to keep Heaven in order.”

“You don’t like the authorities,” Docile mentioned. “Especially Adam.”

Soother sighed. “I don’t have a choice. Menadel ordered me to find more people to support the seventy-two angels and most of them conform to the idea that Heaven must have perfect denizens. To uphold traditional Christian values that have stood the test of time.”

Docile strained against his binds. “You’re starting to sound like my fanatical sister. Our religion has been warped by mankind for centuries and now even divine beings are falling for the trap. Heaven is supposed to help and redeem all humans, not just the ‘good’ ones.”

Soother shrugged. “I’m just saying that if we have to wait until we can get Adam and the other elite out, then we should do so. There can be no support of demons or even any mention of sinners in our world. My duty is to the Lord, and thus to Adam and all the tenets.”

“There is no ‘we,’” Docile seethed. “And I know you don’t believe that.”

“Don’t I?” Soother put an angelic knife close to Docile’s neck.

Docile grinned. “If you really want me that bad, then E.L.F. must have some influence here. Our job is to not just save people on Earth, but to reunite families and souls from all worlds. And if that includes Hell, so be it. NO ONE deserves to be separated from family, sinner or not!” Docile choked up, “I know that because it happened to me!”

“Save your sob story,” Soother waved a dismissive hand. “Menadel said that I had to take care of deviant individuals like you.”

“You are one, yourself.”

“Shut it!”

“Look,” said Docile. “I have my own business that does its own thing. I wish you and other people would stop shoving your Evangelical beliefs down everyone’s throat and forcing people to convert! You know that will never work in the long run!”

A pause from Soother. “It’s the Adamgelical faith.”

“F**k that noise!”

“LANGUAGE!” Soother bellowed, striking Docile hard in the face. Docile growled and tried to kick Soother, but Soother moved out of the way. Soother pulled hard on Docile’s pointed elf ears. “You’d best be on good behavior,” he muttered darkly. “Menadel is on his way. And with you in our possession, your crew will follow our orders. There will be no more saving unworthy Earth folk or speaking out against the exterminations.”

“I’d rather be dammed,” Docile spat. “Like those cherubs that were banished.”

“You may change your mind,” Soother warned. He paced around and lifted his cellphone to his ear.

“Menadel, sir, this is Soother. Yes, I have him. His crew should be here any minute.”

Soother revealed an unnatural evil grin that gave Docile the shivers. Docile prayed that his crew would rescue him before Menadel arrived. He knew that fighting one of the Shem HaMephorash was next to impossible.

Just when Soother was about to deliver another insulting blow to Docile’s face…

“Leave our boss alone!” roared a fierce feline voice. The door was kicked down and there stood Tirred, Timmid, and Sunna. Tirred pulled out his pistol, Timmid held her white glowing short sword and Sunna brandished her sharp claws. Timmid threw a dagger, which landed at Docile’s feet. With mental telekinesis and effort, Docile managed to slice off the ropes binding his hands and feet.

“Thank you, Jesus,” Docile smiled, grateful tears in his eyes.

Soother put on his Exorcist mask, his body twitching as he held two glowing curved blades in his hands. “Welcome to my tranquil temple,” he said. “It’s quite rude to barge in without removing your shoes.”

“And it’s quite rude to steal our boss from under our noses,” Timmid spat.

Soother shrugged. “Just follow me and Menadel’s orders and Heaven will be a peaceful place for the greater good.”

“Never,” hissed Sunna, her brown striped fur standing on end.

“I wouldn’t support Adam, even if it means brimstone,” Tirred began. “Now be a good little elf and hand over our boss.”

Soother whistled and his steed Hypnoheart came flying in, neighing, and crashing through the roof. The elves barely managed to avoid his large hooves that crashed onto the floor. Several eyes blinked at Docile on the horse’s white feathery wings.

“N-nice horsey,” Docile sputtered, taking steps back in fear.

The horse grabbed Docile’s work suit in his mouth and carried him into the air. They flew over a peaceful garden with fountains, flowers, koi ponds and meditation spots.

“HEEEELLLLP!” Docile cried in terror. “I hate horses and heights!”

“Says an angel who can fly,” Soother scoffed.

“I’m coming, sir!” Sunna called, springing up from all fours and flying after the horse. Tirred and Timmid both began to fight the Exorcist-dressed Soother.

Sunna flew after Docile as the horse swerved out of Sunna’s reach several times. She avoided getting hit with his hooves before she flipped down and grabbed hold of one of his wings. The wings beat fast, almost knocking her off. Docile reached a hand to Sunna and she reached her paw to him. They could almost reach each other, but it wasn’t enough.

“Punch him in the mouth!” Sunna called.

“But I’ll fall!”

“You have wings for Viv’s sakes!” Sunna cried. “I’ll catch you!”

Docile gulped and nodded. He landed a fist to the horse’s chin and the stunned equine dropped him. Docile briefly stumbled as he fell, but Sunna dove forward and caught him. They looked at each other and grinned. “Let’s move this horse to another pasture,” she said to Docile, winking. “How about someplace hot?” They flew off together with Hypnoheart following close behind.

They flew over the city and toward a sky race where flaming stallions were pulling chariots with alien-looking angels inside.

“Excuse me, coming through!” Sunna called as she held the terrified Docile’s hand. They dodged hooves, flaming wheels with eyes on them and the protests from the racers as they hurried along the track. Just as Sunna suspected and what Soother had been afraid of, Hypnoheart whined back in fear at the sight of the flames on the horses.

“Look at that scaredy horse!” one of the red bully seraphim stallions whinnied at Hypnoheart. His name was Pyro. “He has no flames at all! No eyes like us! I bet he can’t even fly seven miles with those wimpy wings!”

An orange female one named Sera joined in. “Too afraid of getting hot, snow-horse?”

A light blue-white one snorted. Azul. “I bet your master sings you lullabies to sleep!” The horses laughed.

Hypnoheart neighed and flew away in fear and embarrassment back to Soother.

Sunna and Docile high-fived before flying back to Soother’s place. They arrived just in time to watch Soother spin around and knock Tirred and Timmid back with his twin bladed weapons. Tirred fired angelic bullets, but Soother’s Exorcist suit absorbed most of the blows. Soother rushed forward and slammed Timmid against the wall.

“Timmid!” Docile cried. “Don’t look into his…”

Wide-eyed Timmid started swaying and soon slumped to the ground after being influenced by Soother’s hypnotic stare.

“…eyes,” Docile groaned. Soother turned toward him, surprised. Timmid was not entirely asleep, but she felt like her whole body had gone numb.

“Welcome back,” Soother drawled. “I see you’ve escaped my horse.”

Docile smirked as he saw Hypnoheart shaking outside behind a tree. “I guess he’s scared of me now since I led him to his jock bullies.”

“My idea!” Sunna piped up.

“Hypnoheart got burned by those horses when he was a foal,” Soother said with a glare. “Took years of holy water and healing to get him back on his hooves.”

“How awful,” Timmid said with a frown. “If you truly care about your horse, you’ll take care of him and let us go instead.”

“Um…no,” Soother grinned again, slapping her in the face. She fell to the floor but stood up again. “Menadel should be here any…”

Whack!

Soother found himself being wacked on the head with a sword by Tirred from behind.

“That’s my ex-girlfriend, creep!” Tirred yelled and landed punches to Soother’s chest and neck. “Only I get to insult her!”

Soother then grabbed hold of Tirred’s arms, making him drop the sword. “You really are a snively selfish brat.” Tirred strained to free his arms in vain against Soother’s Exorcist-powered strength. Sunna leaped at Soother, but Soother moved to the side as she slammed into the wall.

“If you ever wanted to be an Exorcist,” Soother told Tirred, “Here’s a reason to decline!” He lifted the wrathful elf and tossed him through the room. He yelled and crashed into screen dividers with designs of cherry blossoms on them. “I’m not okay!” he groaned. Sunna leaped and scratched Soother’s arms, but Soother picked her up by the scruff of her neck and tossed her outside. To her dismay, she flew and landed smack into a round outdoor fountain of water. She yowled and hissed as she sat up and shivered, soaking wet.

“Enjoy your bath, kitty cat!” Soother called out, mockingly.

“Enough, Soother!” Docile growled. Soother towered over him. “Well partner, looks like it’s just you and me now.”

Docile scowled at Soother, soon finding himself cornered against a wall. Docile grew nervous as Soother inched closer.

“Let’s try this persuasion thing again,” Soother said. “This time, I’m not offering you an Exorcist position, nor any chance to become powerful for our species. In fact, you don’t have to work with any Archangels or royalty if you don’t want to.”

“I only work for myself,” Docile deadpanned. “No one else. Especially not with Exorcist jerks who think that eliminating humans who’ve made mistakes is going to create a better world.”

“If only you could grasp the bigger picture,” Soother mused, eyes glowing from under his mask. “I’m giving you a chance to collaborate with me, to ensure Heaven is a safe, peaceful paradise for all.”

“I refuse to join you until the Exorcists are disbanded,” Docile replied.

“What if Menadel decides to send you and your crew to Hell?” Soother asked, knife under Docile’s throat.

Docile’s eyes glowed menacingly, a strange courage and frustration gathering within him. “Go for it, punk. As long as I have my friends with me, I’ll do anything to help and honor the innocent victims killed by our own people.”

Soother stepped back, surprised. He had run out of ideas. “Well, if you won’t corporate, I bet Menadel will find some way to…”

“Yeah sure,” Docile smirked. “Go back to your daddy master and let him make your needs met.”

“He’s not my father!”

“Who is it?”

“None of your business!” Soother then paused and stared at Docile again. His eyes narrowed and his malicious sharp grin grew. “What about your daddy? Still not a good enough son for him? Not the Exorcist warrior or son of God he wanted you to be? The Shem HaMephorash has records of people.”

“I don’t care about that crap anymore,” Docile seethed. “I’ve forged my own path. I have everyone I could possibly need.”

“Do you, now?” Soother’s face darkened. “Perhaps there is one person missing from your perfect little life. What was their name again? Someone who went far far away? Was it…Allita?”

Docile froze in a panic, sweat beading down his forehead.

0 0 0

Meanwhile, Menadel and his sister Damabiah lounged in their golden palace. The palace was in the middle of a stunning green garden, and golden fountains sprayed golden water into basins of various sizes. The golden liquid could give healing and knowledge to those who drank it. (They were, of course, constructed by Damabiah.

Using yellow magic, Damabiah manifested two lumps of sugar and dropped them into her cup of hot tea. She stirred it with a gold spoon and smiled. Her brother sat across from her, also sipping tea. They sat at a brown round table with emeralds embedded onto the sides.

“So, about that meeting earlier,” Damabiah said. “How did you think it went?”

Menadel sighed. “I honestly expected it to be better. Flora wants nothing to do with me and Azrael would be happy to decorate my gravestone.”

“You’re immortal.”

“You know what I mean. And technically, God can kill any one of us at any time. But it seems like God has forgotten He needs the Shem HaMephorash. We are aspects of His divine name and yet the angels of death and violence seems to be all the rage these days.”

Damabiah blinked, pushing back her periwinkle hair. “I thought you wanted violence against demons.”

“Well yes, but…” he had a reminiscent look. “I do miss the old days when there was less work to be done and we could help God create the cosmos without having to babysit humans or watch demons.”

“To be fair, the Archangels and cherubs do much of those interactions, helping humanity as a whole,” she mentioned.

“And us? We may as well be like the Empyrean Guard who patrols God’s abode and spies on other worlds.”

“Would you…prefer to do something else?” asked Damabiah.

“Besides helping Quartet become heir and getting rich…not much I guess…”

Damabiah smirked. “My own brother, patron of careers, not even sure what to do about his own. Just hiring an elf to kidnap another elf.”

“Well, perhaps you have a better idea of how we can convince that elf to support our campaign.”

Damabiah stood up and pulled out a treasured business card from a shelf. It had Menadel’s sigil on the front and his profile description on the back. She smiled at him. “Perhaps a new idea that you won’t like.”

Menadel glared. His sister put a hand on his shoulder and showed him his card. She read, “Menadel, ‘the Honorable God,’ Angel of work and jobs. He can help with finding and keeping jobs and setting goals.”

Damabiah continued.  “I bet you didn’t see the second description of yourself.”

“Second description?” he asked, bewildered.

His sister read, “Helps reunite estranged family members. Brings an end to gossip and slander.”

Menadel stared blankly.

Damabiah shook her head and snickered. “You got so wrapped up in work that you forgotten what your own powers are?”

“So what? How is this important?”

“Think about it!” Damabiah beamed. “You’re used to arguing with Prince Stolas and you seem obsessed with wanting to kill him.”

“He’s neglectful and annoying!” Menadel roared. “And his relationships and sexual stuff is just gross.”

“Yeah, the sibling/romantic relationship between Stella and Andrealphus is revolting. But never mind all that. You watch over him for a reason, right?” she asked.

“Yeah…”

“How about instead of trying to end him, why not…show some mercy and help him?”

“Helping demons? Are you out of your mind?! Heaven isn’t exactly demon friendly.”  

Damabiah held up her hands. “I’m not saying you have to befriend him. But maybe you could use your ‘new’ abilities to help settle things down. You could help Stolas make amends with his family and maybe even his ex-wife. With no more gossip about Stolas being divorced and involved with Blitzo, he won’t potentially get killed. With his family settled down, he will be able to continue his duties of reading the stars. Plus, this will reduce the chances of war.”

“And nothing is in it for me?”

“Oh, there’s plenty in it for you. The first step is to call off Soother’s mission to convert Docile.”

“Why would…”

She cut him off. “We don’t need Docile. We already have plenty of support for Adam and the elite already. And yes, I know people’s names… ‘Fountain of Knowledge,’ after all.”

“Why, again?”

“Biding our time to gain the advantage works the best,” she said. “With no worries about Stolas, you’ll have time to finally make amends with your own family. To not be so weighed down by work. And I’ll talk to Azrael to see about giving you some money as a reward. If you can prove to them that you’re serious about Quartet’s wellbeing, then perhaps we’ll be able to work things out.”

“Yes,” Menadel smiled. “And still find ways to cleanse any sinners and deviants in Heaven, right?”

Damabiah frowned. “Leave that to the Exorcists. You need a break from all the Adam propaganda politics.”

Menadel sighed, seeming to realize just how tired he really was. “Yes, you’re right. You always have a way of grounding me when I get my head too stuck in the clouds.”

A yellow cloud appeared and hovered near Menadel’s face. He gasped and sneezed. Damabiah giggled.

“Can you at least agree not to prank me with your magic tricks?” Menadel said, folding his arms.

“No promises on that one,” she said, holding up a golden rotary phone to his ear. “Now go call Soother.”

0 0 0

Docile breathed heavily, tears forming in his eyes.

Soother leaned down. “She was your mother, wasn’t she? Menadel told me all about her. She was sent to Hell for avidly supporting sinners and demons.”

“W-what?” Docile asked. He had no idea how long he had repressed those long- lost memories. When he had separated from his sister and lost contact with his best friend…when he had seen his mother being dragged away after she and a tag-team had tried to burn Exorcist weapons in holy flames. He had forgotten about reading that obituary section in the newspaper, the same spot where there was a list of criminals who had been banished. His father, Yesha Cantus, out of fear, had tried to mold him into the ideal son ever since.

“I can help you get her back,” Soother mused into his ear.

Docile stared into Soother’s eyes. With his comrades numbed by Soother on the ground, he already felt like giving up. “Why?”

“To bring justice to you and to me. You said you wanted to help families reunite. Now I will do the same for you.”

Docile sobbed, feeling helpless. “Okay, okay fine! You can make me support Adam and Menadel and whoever else you want. I’ll even stop protesting against the Exorcists! Just bring her back, please!” He was begging on his hands and knees, influenced by both Soother’s stare and his own deep emotions.

“Then it’s settled,” Soother whispered, his face in shadow. “Time to take a nice, good sleep…”

Holy, Holy, Holy!

Soother stood up, surprised at the sound of his angelic ringtone. He heard his cellphone ring and picked it up to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Soother, this is Menadel.”

“Hello, sir, are you coming?”

“I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans. I want you to let Docile and E.L.F. go. No more negotiating with them.”

Soother raised an eyebrow. “Wait what? You said you’d be here by now. And I have him hook, line, and sinker.”

“It’s better if we let Docile decide what to do on his own. We already have enough supporters for Adam and the Exorcists anyway. I’ll give you some much needed time off, some money…”

Soother glared.

“…and a fire-proof spell for your horse if you let E.L.F. go.”

Soother groaned. “It’s always one thing after another with angelic royalty. E.L.F. will just keep challenging the system. Can’t you make up your mind?”

“My mind is made up. Let him go and come back to me.”

“Yes, sir,” Soother sighed as he hung up.

Soother stood up, Exorcist mask still on. “I think I can still get all of you to confirm to my beliefs anyway.”

Docile’s spirit lifted as his crew slowly stood up and joined him. “Guess what, Soother,” Docile smiled weakly. “It doesn’t matter what you throw at us. I have my companions with me.” He looked at Sunna, Tirred and Timmid who gave him warm encouraging looks. He stood up taller. “As a matter of fact, I don’t need your help or the Archangels or anyone. Perhaps in a new mission, we’ll find a way to bring my mother back on our own.”

Soother let out a distorted maniacal Exorcist laugh. “You fool! I have no interest in going down to Hell to bring her back.”

“You were trying to trick me into obeying you!” Docile cried.

Soother nodded. “It’s impossible! The only way for a person to return to Heaven is if they are redeemed from their sins! And I don’t see redemption happening any time soon!” He threw a dagger into the head of a stuffed red demon training dummy on the far side of the room.

Soother continued. “The Exorcists will continue their divine duties of destruction, whether you like it or not. And if you interfere again…you can kiss your business goodbye!”

Docile fumed, sobbed and shook. He breathed heavily; his teeth bared.

“Docile?” Sunna began, with a concerned look. Docile slowly rose off the ground, white wings flapping. A few drops of golden blood dripped from a cut on his forehead.

“In fact,” Soother continued, with a crazed expression. “I’d just let the whole thing go. She’s probably forgotten about you by now!”

Docile clenched his fists and his angelic scepter formed from light into his hands. His wings beat furiously, and angry teal eyes briefly dotted his white feathered wings.

“Sir!” Tirred cried. “He’s getting under your skin as a last-ditch attempt to get you in trouble!”

Docile slowly aimed his scepter at Soother’s head.

“Don’t kill him, sir!” Timmid yelled over the noise of angelic magic breaking apart the room, cracking the walls, ceiling, and floor. “If you kill him or harm him severely, you’ll be banished, too!”

Docile strained, fingers clenched as golden light formed from the black sphere at the top of his staff. The light and electricity grew brighter as he aimed.

“Have fun being alone, Docile!” Soother screeched.

“DOCILE, NO!” Timmid, Tirred, and Sunna screamed.

Docile roared and a blast of electrifying light shot out from the scepter and hit Soother in the face. The elf flew backwards and crashed into the wall. The golden statue of the Buddha Soother fell onto the elf’s head with a crash. Docile stomped over to the barely conscious Soother and ripped the Exorcist mask off his face. He threw it on the ground and jabbed at it ferociously with a nearby angelic spear. The mask cracked and split into pieces under Docile’s feet. With a final act, Docile aimed his scepter again and disintegrated the mask completely with a beam of light.

Tirred, Timmid, and Sunna stared silently at Docile, shaking and whimpering. Soother’s eyes fluttered open. “What…have you…done?”

Docile spit on the ground. “A**h**e,” he swore at Soother before turning around and walking out of the room. Sunna covered her mouth with her paws.

“Do I even need to tell you, ‘Language?!’” Timmid sighed at her boss.

“No, no, not again!” Soother sobbed at the damage. “What have I done? Docile…wait!” Docile had already left.

E.L.F. stared back at Soother’s crumbled house.

“I hope you have insurance,” Sunna said quietly.

Docile didn’t say a word. Tattered and tired, he somberly flew back toward his house and his employees followed.

[goblinselfshippr]

2/2 of me projecting onto a game and character that really isnt that deep (it is to ME) i think this is way longer than the first sorry. (Part 1 here)

PS- if it isn't clear at this point I'm saying that wizard training causes c-ptsd because that cannot be good for your health. So "Delusion" being a prerequisite to Conjuring (I have no idea if this is a "correct" term, I personally take no offense to it, but lmk if you do, I guess). Some evidence: you can summon minions to help fight with you if you choose- which was the main reason I kept Myth when I took the personality quiz instead of switching to Ice (previously my fave school). Now these minions are common enemies in the game like haunted dolls, trolls, and Cyclops (does that have a plural?? Idk) with one main difference: the ones you summon look different from the actual enemies. Most notable is that the minions aren't as big as the actual enemies. There are slight color differences too, but their height is way more noticeable. Cyclops are usually like 2 players tall, but Cyclops Minions are maybe 1.3 players tall.

And yeah yeah yeah its to differentiate between the spells. Shut up. We are choosing to ignore reality. ANYWAY.

Conjuration is described as "where shadowy forms of thought become real" and "when imagination becomes too fanciful and whimsical these dreams take on life and run loose." SO LIKE. All the Myth bosses and allies must've been somebody's imaginary friends at one time. It would explain why there are bosses or characters with familiar names but don't quite fit their tales- for example, Apollo is a rooster who fucks your shit UP.

Yes I swear we are coming back around to Cyrus, I can't control how my brain categorizes things. There's not a lot said about his family other than they aren't really there. He's left alone from presumably a young age because his father is some big name battlemage, there's zero mention of a mother figure, and his brother would rather play in a graveyard (also convinced Cyrus was afraid of his own shadow as a kid bc I wouldn't put it past Mal to actually summon a demon under his bed). He hides in his room and either paints his daydreams or reads fantasy novels.

Omg he just like me fr except instead of painting I write fanfic that no one ever reads. It’s for my eyes only

From my own experience, you get lonely and bored, and you want friends, but never learn. And his father doesn't sound like the most supportive guy in the world- he seems kind of salty that neither of his kids want to practice Pyromancy like him. So poor Cy was probably just dismissed and ignored and had to go back to his sanctuary.

Cyrus doesn't actually become interested in any sort of spell casting until he's like 18-19, and Mal gets his ass kicked by a Conjurer. Bro really said "damn I can make my daydreams fight for me?" And just did that for the rest of his life, LOL. Wish that were me.

Cyrus is (admittedly) not the best teacher. Like, yeah, he's a dick but most people can think of at least one teacher in their life that everyone called an asshole that they eventually grew to appreciate even if it wasn't personally true. Cyrus, on the other hand, straight up begs you to leave him alone (same). Like the only time he speaks to you is when you irritate him enough or he suddenly remembers you exist. And I'm pretty sure at one point he even tells you he forgot you were in his class. -1000/10 teacher. Problematic fave. I would either hate him or only like him because he leaves me the hell alone. So what is he doing if not dutifully teaching his students?

According to his about page, enjoying the quiet or researching. Doubt. But then, daydreaming until you summon something could likely count as research for Myth. So yeah I think the reason why he's a massive douchebag is because he found a way to profit off his maladaptive daydreaming, and the only downside is he has to tell a couple of kids to scram every now and then. I guess I could have just lead with that. Rip.

[lightcreators]

@realmyths continue from here

The Doctor shrugs. "Years of practice. Of developing my instincts." And if they're wrong, they'll deal with that when they need to. "Even then they're not perfect. But they're rather well-developed if I do say so myself."

They smile kindly at the other person. "I've found that going along with my instincts often leads to better results. And when it doesn't, I learn from the experience." At least, that's their goal. They are always open to learning. Even this far along in their life. And they know that they'll never learn everything, no matter how many lives they have. But that won't discourage them from trying to learn whatever they can.

By asking such question, most likely an common one, most likely something requested an confirmation in some part, he didn't expected receiving an fragment of their mindset. Which automatically grabbed his attention. The mysterious figure of the Doctor was maintly that alien living in crossroad of dimensions, an discrete observer who rarely let people coming from that universe coming close to him … and on his case, for their relationship they were supposed to playing together inside another shape of an mirror, an shadowing ally … where immensity of an sleeping potential could be explored inside most obscures path. Nevertheless, his question offered an opportunity for them to expand.

Apparently, it was something he remained still confused upon --- appareances of the Doctor and all that, the little shade with their own representations of their beings … In front of his eyes, they didn't looked wrapped inside an ocean of dramatic sadness as the one he was some of way familiar with … They valued duty and learning as much they could. They sounded incredibly older already, for had experiencing various existences apparently. ❝ Experience growing up experience, that kind of virtuous circle ? ❞ Modestly, he remained only one agent among many others. Highly placed, having gratifications in the classified spheres, but could not pretend not to know everything. An rank ke worked hard to get, an rank he had to prove himself for not create frustration on the ears of his boss.

They had the advantage of not to being from this world. They had to advantage to have another point of view. Maybe someday potential path to becoming something more than an common human would be crossed as an opportunity, nevertheless, it was something rather hypothetical … Himself witnessed consequences to bring such desire to humans personally. ❝ Your senses are different than mine, so it's pretty certain emotionally you realizing circumstances sooner than my own mental conclusions could reach. ❞ There was an silent approval towards them. ❝ You must have mistaken often for reconsider your whole perspective in a new day and take every failure as an experience opportunity … ❞ He preferred on his side avoiding the troubling circumstances to misinterpreted something. Mistakes, oh, mistakes were terrible burden inside an conscience, already weighconsequence of every one of his decisions. ❝ I admire that devotion of learning. Wideness of the universe must open opportunities to discover this all, which must be infinite. ❞

[lethargicsunlight]

Dabi XSpookyQuirk!Reader 'Happy Birthday' (Part 1)

You can find the other parts of this series on my Directory: Link

God I just want his jacket...

AnYwAyS, I wrote this inspired by the upcoming sp00ky season, and I just.. really wanted some mha villain on my Tumblr, ya know?

Summery: You have a spooky quirk, and All for One takes a liking to it after meeting you under special circumstances. You've been 'working' with the League for a few weeks, and the members of the Vanguard always see you at the base with Shigaraki and Kurogiri. They begin to grow suspicious, until one night, Kurogiri approaches Dabi and instructs him to go with you on a personal errand to make sure you don't bail.

WARNINGS: FLUFF. SFW. GHOSTS/SPIRITS. SPOOKY. SLOWBURN. A little bit of sad/angst, but then some more fluff. (I mean it's Dabi, so it's not.. it's not f-l-u-f-f, but you get what I'm sayin' right?) This is meant to have a romantic tone, but its a slow one.

(There is a slight physical pre-requisite for this one, and it is hair. This character has hair. I promise this will make sense.)

If you guys like it, I might write more on this idea later :)

━━━━━━━━━𝕯𝖆𝖇𝖎 ━━━━━━━━━

You had a folded up end-table under your arm and a blue paper box in your other hand.

It was almost midnight and the air had the most pleasant August breeze.

For just a little while, you let the calm sounds of nature sweep you away. You allow yourself to forget the mess that had become your waking world, and pretend everything was just fine. You're running a little errand for a friend. That was it.

But the grind of shoes against gravel reminds you that you aren't doing this alone.

Dabi was walking with you; just a few steps behind.

A peculiar choice on Kurogiri's part. Ever since Shigaraki had introduced you to his 'master', the wispy warp-gate guy had been your.. Well you weren't sure what he was. A chaperone? Shigaraki was obviously his boss or something, since Kurogiri did as was ordered of him. But when it came to you, he called the shots--though it was always chased by 'it's what he wants'.

Honestly the unorganized hierarchy was just confusing. Hell, everything was confusing.

You had been working late at the funeral home, sweeping up incense ash and flower petals; when your world was flipped upside down. Admittedly, you needed it. Remaining where you were was draining you. It was stagnant and sick, and you spent more time with the dead than the living.

You unconsciously snort. What a weird way to interpret the situation. Like you had been saved by a group of villains.

As if.

"What's so funny?"

Dabi's voice reaches around and pulls your track of thought to a stop. You had almost forgotten he was there while your mind had gone on such a tangent.

"Nothing, sorry." You respond, the laughter slipping from your expression. "Just a memory."

He doesn't comment after that.

Really, Dabi wanted to follow your line of thinking. Why him? He'd much rather be sleeping or drinking the cheap whiskey at the bar than walking through a damn cemetery.

But, in comparison to Twice, Toga, Spinner, or even Mr. Compress himself.. he was the most focused and quiet. Usually he wouldn't so easily accept a chore like this; but he would be lying if he wasn't curious. Everyone else's uses were known to him, but you were every bit of a mystery. Kurogiri practically treated you like a guest.

When Spinner was the first to question your integrity and loyalty, it had caused a wave of suspicion. Suddenly you were around with no explanation aside from, "She will be a useful ally to reform society" and "her quirk is valuable".

But.. your presence grew on them.

Since coming to the bar, you never left. You always had a sketchbook with you, and charcoal smudged on your hands and your face. You would suddenly start sketching feverishly while Shigaraki and Kurogiri gave details about their next mission. They would try to lean over and get a peek at your drawings--but Kurogiri was always fast to protect your privacy.

Once, Toga had managed to glance at a page. During an outing, she had pulled Dabi aside to tell him.

"I saw what she was drawing!" She whispers to him, heavy sleeves bouncing next to her mouth.

"Oh?" Dabi fakes a disinterested tone, knowing she was going to tell him regardless.

"Yeah! It was beautiful!" She squees, laughing through her fangs and swinging around a lamp post. "I thought she was really boring at first, but I think we might become best friends!"

Dabi was beginning to lose patience. "What was so beautiful about it?"

"They were people covered in blood!" She exclaims, no longer whispering. Dabi winces at her volume then sighs. Of course, when Toga says 'beautiful', its in relation to something morbid.

Suddenly, when everyone had thought you were some resemblance of normal, they were proven wrong. It reassured the feelings of suspicion to an extent, to think you were as broken and twisted as the rest of them. It made your quiet, almost kind, demeanor more tolerable.

It just couldn't change the fact that they didn't appreciate the lack of transparency with their leaders.

But Dabi was going to figure you out tonight. He would make sure of it.

"So," He starts, having caught up to be in stride with you. "What's the box for?"

Wow, stop the presses. He was talking to you like a human being. Usually there was venom in his tone, or at least a large helping of distaste. It wasn't something he just used on you either, he used it on everyone. Talking to Dabi was essentially talking to a brick wall. Except, brick walls don't spontaneously combust or intentionally murder people.

You clear your throat as a cover, allowing a few more seconds to figure out how you were going to answer.

Obviously, you had to tell him. Otherwise this would be even more awkward. Maybe that's why Kurogiri had chosen Dabi to be your little entourage this evening--aside from just scaring you into not escaping.

Not that you planned on escaping, as crazy as that sounded.

"It's a cake."

Dabi processes that information. What would you be doing with a cake in a cemetery? Sure, bringing offerings to the dead was a normal thing to do, but not a whole cake. Water, incense, flowers--he knew you had worked at a funeral home, so you were educated on this kind of thing. What he had originally guessed was a ritualistic grave-site visit for a lost loved one was quickly being turned on its head.

Though, that made this a little less annoying?

The thought of you being all gushy or tearful over a family member or something had really been making him uncomfortable. It was certainly a feeling he couldn't share, even if he wanted to. He'd already thought about how he would react, knowing which insults he would spit and how he would threaten you, berate you, for being such a weak ass. He was going to burn up whatever you had left there and tell you to get over it.

If he was going to have to deal with you longterm, he wasn't going to tolerate that kind of bullshit.

But you looked far from tearful.

"A... cake." He clicks his tongue, "Okay, so what is the cake for?"

He sounds a little impatient, and all things considered, you really didn't want to test him. You were just hoping the stave off the truth. You couldn't even guess at what his reaction would be when he found out.

ooh, but then, there was a small voice inside that was eager. All for One was the first person in your life to accept and recognize your ability as something other than demented and terrifying--maybe the metal firebrand next to you would be the same?

After all, he was demented and terrifying.

"...It's a birthday cake. I'm," You breathe, eyes wandering as you suppress the embarrassment that this was. "..I'm hosting a boy's birthday party."

What the actual fuck.

Okay, so nevermind, this was very annoying. There were children involved?! Dabi's brows knot together and he's whipping around on you.

"A fucking birthday party? What are you--"

Your smiling features actually causes him some hesitation. His eyes narrow, and he realizes there's something more to it without you even having to voice it.

"Don't worry, you won't see him." You say, nonchalantly, then return to walking along the gravel path.

He grabs your arm though, and his hand is much warmer than a regular hand aught to be. It's a little harsh too, and you almost lose balance of the cake.

"You better tell me what this is about, newbie." He warns, "I don't play this guessing game shit. I don't care what the big guy thinks of you, I'll leave your ashes here with the rest of the dead without even so much as a second thought."

Empty threats? Or was he serious? No, probably serious. His cerulean eyes were searing beneath the inky threads of his hair, and your intuition was thrashing. You were looking death in the face.

It was almost funny how much it didn't scare you. But as much as you knew about death, there was still something that flexed in fear of your mortal peril. Don't die! It says.

"..Alright. I understand." You straighten, but he doesn't let go of your arm. You glance at it, but he doesn't appear to care. He was going to light you up if you pissed him off.

"He's dead. He died three years ago. Today is his eleventh birthday, even though he was nine when it happened. I met him when they had his funeral." Then you're sighing with impatience. Now you had to explain the whole thing.

"I promised him I would come around and help celebrate his birthday. When he was alive, his parents always missed it; out for work or something. Pretty sad for a kid so young right?" Dabi's expression doesn't change, so you just keep going without waiting on a reply.

"So I bought a cake, like I always do, and I'm here to.. you know, celebrate. His birthday. It makes him happy." You sigh again. "Look I know this is ridiculous. I don't expect you, or anyone else, to care. If they weren't worried about me running off, you certainly wouldn't have to be here."

"...You're talking about this kid like he's going to be there." Dabi's voice is surprisingly even.

Oh, right. You had kind of bypassed the most important facet of this information dump.

"He is. I uh.. I see them. Dead people. Spirits. Ghosts. Apparitions." You shrug, rolling your eyes, "Whatever you want to call them."

Well, that certainly gave him something to think about.

Was that even possible? Dabi obviously wasn't much of a religious person himself, he really didn't have time for it and he'd murdered enough people to damn himself to hell and back again. He'd referenced it in passing though, and never took it seriously. If Heroes weren't condemned by society for their heinous and greedy actions--could hell even exist?

Well, she never said she could see hell. Just dead people.

Dead people.

"...Those drawings you do. In the bar.." He starts it off, but you're able to finish for him.

"Yeah. Dead people. Kurogiri told me to draw whoever I see in their vicinity." You inhale, realizing Dabi had finally removed his hand from your arm. "It.. almost sounds like they're expecting someone."

"Huh." He replies, returning to his usual mellow, disinterested self. "So what, your quirk is just.. ghost watching?"

You stifle a laugh, snorting and turning away. Did the human incinerator have a sense of humor?

Though, as you look back at him, he doesn't look amused. You cough to hide it, but it's not like he didn't hear it.

"Er, no. It's more like a side-effect. When I activate my quirk, I can see people's emotions.. in the form of auras. Different colors mean different things. But after I've used it; it's like crossing a barrier. Their world kind of.. overlaps with ours. And I can see them."

"...Yeah, I imagine that went over well in school."

So he did have a sense of humor! Asshole.

"Mm. No, it didn't." You hum, then start going up the path again. You were already kind of late, you didn't want to disappoint the kid.

Dabi let you walk ahead again, watching you--seeing you for the first time. There were numerous reasons why Shigiraki and his master might want you around, and you weren't well versed enough in combat to get away. Actually.. it almost seemed like you didn't want to.

He wondered if society had failed you in the same way it had failed them.

Wait, why do I care?  He inwardly grimaces as he now begins stepping after you. While it was useful to know what you were capable of, he wasn't sure why his mind kept drifting--wondering what your life had been like.

He didn't have enough room in his heart to care about someone as weak as you. He didn't have the room for anyone, only his burning hatred that threatened to swallow him whole, that he welcomed with open, burnt, arms.

...Yet, as you stop at a gravesite and begin unfolding the little table from underneath your arm.. He can't stop picturing what his life might have been like if he had met you as a kid.

Had your parents mistreated you for your quirk? Were you lonely? Did it scare you to see walking corpses when you were that little?

You take a deep breath and step back, glancing in Dabi's direction. "You uh.. don't have to be around for this part."

"Sorry newbie, I'm not going anywhere." He rasps with a little more venom in his voice than before. His arms cross and, in a quiet act of delinquency, he sets his weight on a nearby tombstone. One leg bent, the other out, he watches you like a hawk.

Your eyes flicker over him, and it feels forbidden--but he looks..

Well, he looks good. Even if he is being a little disrespectful to whoever's family tombstone his butt was placed against.

That's crazy. You're crazy. Just--do the thing, and get this weird night over with. You swallow and turn your attention back to the small innocuous tombstone in front of you.

Activating your quirk is nothing special. Most people can't tell the difference between your 'on' state and your 'off' state. It's as simple as a gray haze coming over your pupil and iris. It looks almost like severe cataracts--or, you could even say it looks like the eyes of someone who is dying.

Lovely sentiment.

It takes a few seconds.

"Jo..?" You call out, sitting on your knees. You begin opening the box, revealing a simple vanilla cake with white icing and colorful sprinkles. Once the box is removed, Dabi can just barely make out the 'Happy Birthday' written in blue icing on the top.

Your hand goes to a pocket, and you remove about four birthday candles. Delicately, you stick the candles through the icing and into the sponge of the cake.

"Jo, you didn't forget your birthday did you?"

"Of coursh not!" His head, slightly transparent, peeks out from around the stone to look at you. You can tell he's smiling without seeing his mouth, and his voice echoes like you're in a cave. Obviously not the case, but you suppose 'ghost' voices can't be like normal ones.

You raise a brow at him, feigning a parental look. "Well you better get over here, then! I've got a whole cake here, just for you."

Dabi notes the instantaneous change in your person. It's.. weird, watching you talk to nothing. But the lilt in your voice can't be anything but genuine. You're eyes are a little grey, but he'd never seen so much life in them.

The boy, Jo, comes around and sits on the ledge of his tombstone. The little fold out table is just tall enough, his elbows can sit on it as he admires the cake you had brought him.

The other unfortunate nuance of your quirk was that you didn't see apparitions in a preferred state or in the way the spirit themselves might remember their body. You saw them how they died. Sometimes it's a mess. You've seen victims of villain versus hero battles where they had been crushed by buildings--barely more than a large splatter of blood and flattened bones. Others were simply torn apart, missing limbs or dragging them by the tendons as they moved through the ether.

You were lucky Jo's death had lacked such severity.

He didn't like to talk about it, but you had learned that he'd passed away from overdose. He thought his mother's medications were candies, because they tasted a little like those chalky ones that they bought for him at the corner store when he was upset about something.

It was another night they were working late. The nanny had already put him to bed, leaving him to his own devices. You could imagine that he liked to act out--part of you wondered if he was lying. Maybe he knew he wasn't supposed to steal his mother's medication. Maybe he just wanted her to yell at him about it.

Either way, it was sad.

There were bits of vomit permanently stained to his cheeks, and his neck was thicker than it should be. The way his speech was impaired suggested his tongue was swollen too, but it didn't stop him from talking. He's giddy as he laughs and kicks his feet--telling you about his day spent hanging around some old people on the other end of the cemetery.

"They were kinda cool tho.. Hey, uh--" He stops his little story-telling to lean in closer to you. "I haven't sheen you ashmuch. Where you been?"

"Oh uh.." You give him a little shrug, "I... got a better job. Somewhere else. I'm still around though."

He looks saddened, and you quickly try to change the subject. "But hey, just because I'm not here as much doesn't mean I won't come back for your birthday! At least, not until you're ready to go. Speaking of which.. I think it's time we got this party started!" You pull a lighter out from your back pocket and start lighting the candles.

Dabi's curious about that sentence. 'Until you're ready to go.' Was there.. another part of the afterlife? Were these just, lingering spirits?

He didn't dare ask. Not now, and not later. It was really irritating him how interesting you were.

"There we go!" You set the lighter on the table, the little amber flames dancing in that August breeze. "Ready?"

He's bouncing, like he's been waiting forever for this little moment with you. You could swear there was something glistening in his eyes. You find yourself wondering if the dead could cry.

After in emphatic nod, you start singing.

"Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear JOooo, Happy birthday to yoou!"

He squeals into laughter, and you do too. Some of the other resident ghosts have gathered just out of the way, watching with knowing stares and sad smiles.

"Think you can blow the candles out this time?" You ask him, hands folding into your lap. There's some tiredness seeping into your eyes from the late hour, and while you cherished this little happy minute of your weird life, you knew you'd be stumbling back to the base if you didn't wrap things up quick.

He puts on the biggest, roundest, cutest face of determination. "I'm gunna twy!"

Filling his cheeks with air, he blows and blows, sputtering over the flames of the candles--to no avail. He deflates. "Aww.."

"Try one more time." You say, giving him a little wink.

He nods, taking in the biggest breath of his--life?--and just blows super hard.

You let your essence slip, just a little. Just a sliver should be enough to give the birthday boy his wish that he deserved. Dabi doesn't notice how one strand of your hair turns silver, but he does notice the chill--and the icy little puff of wind that successfully blows out the candles.

"Woah!" Jo's mouth drops and he stares hard at the little plumes of smoke that drift up from the flameless wicks.

"Well look at that. I hope you made a good wish Jo.. this one might come true." You tease him, beginning to pluck the candles from the cake and making sure they're really out before putting them in the box.

"...I wished it for you."

"Hm?" You stop cleaning up to listen to him. For you?

"I wished for you, sho you could be happy, and have a long and really good life!" He's smiling so hard his eye are shut tight.

Your eyes twitch before they start to water. "Oh, Jo.." You coo, your chest aching and squeezing from the child's innocent, selfless act

Dabi's eye twitches too. Shit, is..are they crying? After thinking he'd get away without it, there you fucking go--

"You didn't have to do that, you know--" Sniff, "It's your birthday.."

"Yeah, but.. you've come here every year." Suddenly, the apparition of the nine-year-old seemed much older. His eyes hold a deeper sorrow than a boy that age should. "I think the others are right. It'sh your turn to have fun. If you're shomewhere else.. you don't gotta come back for me."

"What?"

"I think I'm gonna go. I'm weady."

"..Are you sure?" Your voice croaks, and you have to wipe the tears away before they get into your mouth.

You can just hear the gravelly and annoyed noise coming from a few tombstones down as Dabi pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah." Jo reaches out and places his hand near you face. He can't touch you, but he tries anyway. "Thank you. You've been the best frwend ever."

Oh god--you choke, but force a big smile. "Yeah?... You have been too, buddy." You try to place your hand over his, but all you feel is the cold tingle of his leftover energy. He gradually begins to fade.

It's the last time you'll see him.

No more midnight trips to the cemetery in August.

It's great to know that for you, people can die twice.

When he's gone, you just feel empty. You sit there, looking at nothing for a few more seconds, letting some more tears slip down your face. Pulling in that shaky, last-minute breath before you finish boxing the cake and folding the table.

It wasn't all bad. You knew he was going somewhere nice, where he'd be loved again. It just, hurt a little; like it always does.

You wipe at your eyes again as you start on the path, walking past a visibly agitated Dabi--which you choose not to address.

Though as he pushes himself back up to follow after you, he does something you don't expect.

He takes the table from your arm, and holds it under his instead--giving you some freedom. With that arm, you're able to wipe the remaining tears from your face.

"Than--"

"Don't say a word." He warns, not even glancing at you.

He knows he should've done something much worse. He should've.. not cared. Complained about how this was all nonsense, berated you for wasting his time with emotional shit..

But he couldn't.

He hadn't really understood, fully, what had happened between you and the dead kid--but he got bits and pieces of it. He'll never forget the way you sung happy birthday. And he was able to deduce that the kid had gone away, permanently, somehow. That's why you were crying.

He audibly sighs from frustration.

He'd had hasty thoughts of you before; moments where he wondered what he could take from you while in the base. You weren't the vixens he got toasted at the bar and brought to his bed, but you could've been something to bide his time with between scouting and incinerating.

But those thoughts were gone now.

You were too good. Too kind to be used as a quick fix. You weren't mean enough, or crazy enough, to be a part of the League of Villains. But that wasn't his choice, and he doubted it was yours either.

And no matter how good, how kind, how giving  you were... No society was ever going to accept you fully. Not for everything that you were.

Walking in silence, you steal a glance at the darkly clothed man next to you.. and you can see just a slimmest outline of cerulean around his features as your quirk slowly recedes.

The color that matched his eyes.. was the same color as sympathy.

You turn to hide your surprise at the little revelation. You were pretty sure he didn't have the capacity for that emotion--yet, you had evidence.

"Listen, newbie."

Oh no.

"I have to tell the others about your quirk." He states it like it's annoying, but you're absolutely relieved.

"Oh. I uh, I don't care. Not sure why Kurogiri didn't say anything anyway I was just.. you know. It's kind of.." Weird? Creepy? Morbid? These are villains we're talking about here. "..it tends to make people uncomfortable."

"Tch." He side-glances at you, teeth showing above his scarred chin in a little grin. "It's our job to make people feel uncomfortable."

Something about that brings you a peace you've never felt before. It feels like home. And you realize--

He said 'our'.

[earthstellar]

Transformers Analysis: Folklore and Folk Magic in the Mines of Kaon

thinking about Miner Megatron again, as always. here we goooo 

So I've been doing some folk magic, as I usually do, and it got me thinking:

Surely, the lower class/caste bots wouldn’t feel welcomed into the more organised Cybertronian temples etc., or might even be outright banned from joining in shared spiritual spaces or rituals. 

So it’s time to teach y’all some working class magic history and how we can apply that to Cybertronian spirituality: 

Working Class History: Casting Spells on the Job (Just Call it Prayer so the Boss Doesn't Find Out)

Here's a quick history of rural Appalachian folk magic, for some context:

1) The Christian Bible has been used for spellcasting all up and down the rural East Coast in the USA from day one of colonisation.

In Pennsylvania you have Hexenmeisters and the Pennsylvania Dutch practices, for a well-documented example.

2) The working class has done spellcasting with the Bible from the very first day shitty bosses started

This is for several reasons, but primarily because Bibles were common and cheap, you didn't have to know how to read in order to follow along with or change the lyrics of popular hymns and prayers to fit your own needs, and it was very easy to sneak what is essentially localised witchcraft under the radar when it just looks like you're reading the Bible to everyone else.

Catholic materials were used a lot for this, because they were often provided for free by any local churches, and a lot of working class people in Appalachia were Italian (Roman Catholic) or Eastern European (Eastern Orthodox Catholic), which meant there was no shortage of all sorts of votive candles and the like to utilise for what we would now identify as spellcasting.

It's important to note that it wasn't called spellcasting outright by anybody; Sometimes it was called "hexing" or "sweet talking", among other terms, but if you called it spellcasting it was heavily frowned upon.

A lot of people were uncomfortable (and are still uncomfortable) with verbalising it or identifying it as such due to stigma from the more mainstream religious communities or their own religious backgrounds, and of course, historically if the boss found out that all the workers hated their jobs so much they were doing fucking witchcraft about it, it would not have ended well for the workers.

So, stealth it is. And that's why there are so many specific folk practices in a lot of historically working class rural regions/communities-- Not just in Appalachia, but similar things happen in similar communities around the world.

What does this have to do with Megatron?

Everything we know about the lower classes on Cybertron, the lower caste members, and the mines/industrial regions in Tarn and Kaon suggest that a similar folklore likely existed within these working communities.

And any local folk practices likely developed for the exact same reasons that this type of folk practice developed in the real world:

Workers are fucking miserable, "mainstream" religion isn't satisfying their spiritual/emotional/social/material needs or concerns, and close-knit people in small communities spending most of their time together naturally start to sort of do their own thing based on their collective situation.

People get desperate, there's nowhere to turn and nothing to do, so spirituality becomes a lifeline in that it builds solidarity and creates a more appropriate sort of support system.

For example: If we aren't allowed time off work to mourn our friend who was killed by heavy machinery, and we aren't allowed any time to process that or deal with it or take care of each other, then we will invent a ritual that allows us to grieve on the job.

This was, and still is, a common thing.

Which brings us to...

St. Barbara and the Mines + Solus Prime

St. Barbara's backstory can be summarised, roughly, as such (based on the version of this story that I know; keep in mind the details can vary):

She was kept isolated from others by her father, who became furious that she refused an arranged marriage. When she fled, he chased her; She ran into two people working in a field, the first who helped her, and the second who gave her path away to her father.

She was captured, and brought to a prominent local figure (the title varies based on different versions of this story), who had her tortured for escaping and disobeying her father.

However, when imprisoned, they tried to kill her again and again, and every morning she was healed. Fire intended to be used to burn her would cool the second it got near her skin, and daggers used to cut her would go dull when brought near her.

Snakes thrown into her room intended to bite her would then die the instant they went to approach her, and ropes intended to be used to bind and choke her would spontaneously fray and snap before they could be tied.

Eventually, she was condemned to beheading, and a special sword was used to cut her head off, which finally killed her.

Her father is the one who beheaded her, and as divine punishment, he was hit by lightning-- A single bolt that lasted so long that his entire body went up into flames, and his ashes disappeared.

Her gravesite became a place of veneration, where people prayed for protection and safety.

She became known as the patron saint of all people with dangerous jobs or jobs where the bosses don't care about the worker's wellbeing or safety, for obvious reasons: Nothing but the hands of her own father could ever harm her.  

(The imagery of St. Barbara being slain only by a special sword is very reminiscent of Solus Prime being slain only by a special sword...)

Workers, especially those with particularly dangerous or shitty jobs but also just anyone working class in general, can interpret this story in several ways which can make it additionally relatable:

Her father = A controlling and aggressive boss who abuses or neglects their workers to death.

The field workers = A pro-union worker (a helper) and an anti-union worker or scab (a betrayer).

So you can see how St. Barbara became immediately adopted as a common worker's saint, and was used in a lot of regional working class folk magic practices (where such folk magic developed within local working communities).

And this is still going strong as a tradition; Crossrail tunnel borers in London consecrated the drilling site in the name of St. Barbara in 2013:

"Several hundred contractors and senior management attended the St Barbara's Day ceremony at the Thames Tunnel (pictured) which will link Plumstead and North Woolwich when completed. The site was so large, that sound engineers put in place an amplification system for the ceremony." - Article here. 

"As a long-standing tradition, one of the first tasks for each new tunnelling projects is to establish a small shrine to Santa Barbara at the tunnel portal or at the underground junction into long tunnel headings. This is often followed with a dedication and an invocation to Santa Barbara for protection of all who work on the project during the construction period." - Article here. 

And here's a related example of a worker's prayer for St. Barbara, from here: 

So this is very much a tradition that is still going strong, and it isn't just Catholic workers who engage with these types of things!

To accommodate more diverse groups and communities of workers, folk practices (including what eventually becomes folk magic) increasingly develop even further away from any one specific religious origin, in order to become more inclusive for the majority of people who can be from all kinds of different spiritual or cultural backgrounds.

Hence, more folk magic is made-- And I believe something like this could absolutely have evolved in a similar way in working communities on Cybertron.

Cybertronian Spirituality: The Primes, The Knights, The Titans

My personal theory/headcanon, and there is not much in canon to support this particularly so please keep that in mind, is that given the average type of manual labour working environment in Tarn and Kaon (dangerous, dark, and deep), it would make sense for the legendary Titans to become worked into some kind of folk practice.

We have this concept of the Titans as these giant and very particular beings, which reminds me somewhat of the Jewish Golem of Prague, in that the Titans are made from raw materials in some kind of mystical or cosmically spiritual manner, then eventually ally themselves to at least one respective Prime who then acts as a director of their actions to achieve victory over cosmic evil(s).

The Titans then go forward and act as guardians of Cybertronian life by combating the origins of these cosmic evil(s) as protectors of their respective polities and regions and eventually colony worlds, called into action by what is essentially a metaphysical and possibly outright spiritual pull of the need of their Prime(s) and later on the needs of the Cybertronian and colony world populations in times of threat or desperation.

These details are peppered throughout canon and vary based on media/franchise, but most recently Titan lore was covered again in IDW’s Optimus Prime series, issue 10, literally titled Origin Myths. 

What is interesting is that while the Golem association could be reasonably made, you could also reasonably say that the Three Original Titans (Metroplex, Chela, and Metrotitan) could be associated just as easily with the Catholic concept of the Holy Trinity. 

Lots of different interpretations could be applied to this stuff!

Class Stratification Within Cybertronian Religious Institutions

No matter how you may interpret it, we know that the Titans have a similar mystical presence in Cybertronian history and cultural lore to that of the Primes and Knights, and it would make sense for those spurned and disparaged by "mainstream" spiritual practices (which were likely just as stratified by class and caste as everything else was on Cybertron during Megatron's youth) to go ahead and create a folk practice based more around Titans.

This is because the Primes would like be associated directly with their oppressive rulers and upper classes, and the Knights, who are said to be the first Cybertronians to come from the Well, thusly represent a very high class onto their own which may have repelled working class bots who were very likely sick of essentially worshipping those venerated in their class stratified society solely due to the conditions of their creation; The Knights were "born with silver spoons", essentially, and it's hard to sell that to people who suffered due to the conditions of their own creation.

Therefore, the Titans are the other most likely Cybertronian figures of historical lore that could reasonably be adapted into a sort of folk religion for the working classes and lower social caste bots.

The imagery is strong, and relatable: In Megatron's case, the manual labourers and miners all have large frames compared to the average Cybertronian, they all toil invisibly and in relative silence, and they are kept away from the end products of their labour and yet without them, Cybertron planet wide would instantly struggle to sustain their raw material demands. 

They are critical workers, yet many of them have no names/designations; It is noted at least once in canon that some Titans are so old or so little known that their designations are not recorded. Yet without these unseen/unknown Titans, it could be the case that cosmic evil could have achieved victory.

While the Titans are critical, they are largely a mystery and unknown in any real detail. They do not normally engage with average Cybertronians, and when they do, it is usually indirectly-- Even though their actions actively impact the lives of nearly everyone.

And though the Primes and Knights are generally never physically present, at least not within living memory, there is real and physical proof of Titans. I feel like that aspect alone may well appeal more to people who are very physically oriented; We also see a stark realist mentality from many of the lower class/caste bots, who are sometimes realistic to the point of nihilism (which is part of why Megatron's writings were so revolutionary, in that they re-introduced hope to people who had previously concluded that there was no realistic possibility of ever rising up).

The Titans being a known, tangible physical reality may well have endeared them as a more interesting folkloric or spiritual focus to this particular cohort of bots.

Just like with St. Barbara in real life, you can see how the Titans may have been interpreted in certain ways by the lower class/caste working bots which may have made them more appealing or more easy to structure into a framework of sorts for their own practices within their local cultures.

A Little Meta: There's a Lot of Various Religious Imagery in Transformers

Like with all media, especially Western media, inevitably some Jesus sneaks in there.

Which usually sucks, because it can be alienating for literally anyone who isn't familiar with Christianity in some way (as some references or parallels are inevitably not going to be as obvious or even detectable at all to people who didn't grow up with all this sometimes very specific shit, resulting in missed thematic elements and so on due to no fault of the viewers but rather the tendency for Western shows to overwhelmingly be written and designed by primarily Western white middle aged cis straight men who tend to throw some Jesus in there when there should not necessarily be any Jesus in there, but I could yell about this all night).

Transformers as a franchise altogether is not immune to this; As with all media, it is made by people, and people are influenced by their social/cultural upbringing, and that includes religious influences.

We could read some of this into the TFP/Aligned Continuity, in regards to the idea of the Thirteen Primes and how that concept is interpreted in TFP.

Transformers Prime: Alpha Trion is Essentially Paul the Apostle

The TFP Primes resemble both the Apostles as well as various Saints, and especially the Fourteen Holy Helpers; These fourteen Saints in particular are elevated above the others in many cases and contexts-- Similar to how the Primes are held up as elevated over other Cybertronians and other figures in Cybertronian history and presumably within certain Cybertronian spiritual practices as well. 

For example, Alpha Trion is strongly reminiscent of the Christian figure Paul the Apostle, who was a writer/scribe known for documenting early Christian concerns of faith in his letters, which became extremely important to theological historians in regards to determining early Christian discourse and attempting to create a timeline of early Christianity.

His letters are included the New Testament in thirteen (!) sections called epistles, which are archived forever in various iterations within the Christian Bible. 

Now, let’s take a look at the symbolism, using the TFP main illustration of Alpha Trion as featured in the Covenant, and a popular Icon image of Paul the Apostle: 

Beard, cloak, book-- Even the pose they are in here is very similar, look at the feet and the way they are both standing. Even the halo of Cybertronian glyphs around Alpha Trion’s head resembles the gold filament of Paul’s halo. 

And much like Alpha Trion's questionable ability to write/re-write history and determine events through some kind of cosmically divine power of foresight, the timeline of Paul's letters will likely never be fully verifiable, and of course, there are so many translations and interpretations of these letters along with the rest of the New Testament that while key points remain fairly consistent, there is still no "true" version or exact outline of events or discussions as recorded by Paul-- Primarily because in at least a few cases, Paul's letters are the only allusion to certain events or conversations.

This is extremely similar to how Alpha Trion states outright in the Covenant that he himself doesn't know if what he writes is actually factual anymore, or if he has changed things so many times to try to construct a more favourable narrative of actions and events that reality itself may have been warped by his Quill, either forwards or backwards in time...

You could also argue that Alpha Trion is presented as a God-like figure in TFP (especially when he appears to Optimus in the form of an echoing voice and shimmering spectral figure in a vision caused by what is essentially the equivalent of a holy relic), and Orion Pax would then be comparable to Jesus pre-Crucifixion, with his reformatting into Optimus Prime post-Matrix heavily resembling Jesus in the eyes of his followers post-Resurrection.

The main cast of Autobots in this comparison would then roughly correspond to the Apostles, of whom there were twelve, with Optimus then making Thirteen... And of course, canonically, Optimus is the resurrection of the Thirteenth Prime. 

You can also see visual similarities in the depiction of Thirteen in the Covenant; It reminds me heavily of the Divine Mercy image of Jesus: 

Both have their right hands raised, their chests emitting a holy/cosmic light. 

I'm just saying, it is totally possible to make connections between fictional lore/spiritual figures and real world ones, and TF is loaded with content that can be re-contextualised in this way. 

(I also want to point out at this time that it is not my intention to offend anyone with any of this analysis; I am writing from the point of view of someone who grew up with folk spirituality, and I am also a Quaker Attender, just so you are aware of my own personal background. I would love to hear any other interpretations of any spiritual imagery in Transformers media, because there’s a ton of possible ways to read into this stuff!) 

In Conclusion: Cast a Hex on Your Boss by Calling Upon the Titans

Just for fun, as someone who has actually done folk magic for my entire life, I've adapted a hex against bad bosses to fit this headcanon. I think this is something that lower class/caste bots would absolutely engage in; It's common in real life as well.

The original I'm basing this off of was actually something I found in one of our old family Bibles before I moved out, and was written in Girard, Pennsylvania sometime between 1920-1930. I believe it was written by a relative of mine who worked either on the farm or on the railways.

Remember that folk magic like this is for and by working class people, so there are no fancy supplies needed; Don't ever buy shit to do magic, you can do it with anything laying around you. No need to spend money.

If you have a shitty boss, please let me know if you hex your boss with this. I always encourage witchcraft, fictional or otherwise.

Here's what you do, if you want to actually try this:

1) Using any old paper that you have lying around, cut it roughly into a square (doesn't need to be perfect.) It doesn't matter what type of paper it is.

2) Grab any pen you like, it can be any type of pen, any type of ink.

3) Draw a square outline on the paper, making a border on the page. This can be big or small as you like, and you can decorate it if you want; Just leave enough space to write inside the square.

4) Fold this paper into a square, any way you'd like as long as it's a square, and take this paper while it's still blank to work in your pocket.

Carry the paper with you for at least one full day at work. If you can, place it in a chest pocket or a pocket where the paper will be fairly close to your body.

It doesn't matter if the paper gets dirty or smudged or torn; In fact, that's even better.

(Some people who do variations of this spell in real life even use the paper to wipe dirt off their hands etc. throughout the day, to really get the energy of a work day settled into the paper. As long as it can still be written on, you can do this if you'd like.)

5) At the end of the work day, take the paper out, and write the following:

Where I have put [X], the word "Lord" was in the original version of this hex which was in my family Bible, but to contextualise it within the fictional headcanon lore here, you can replace this with the word "Titan". (Or you can replace it with anything else that may be appropriate as well, if you would like to actually use this hex!)

"Give us pay for our work, or the poor will plea to the [X] against you, and you will be struck down, cast down.  

If you do not give to those who give to you, you will be cursed coming in, and going out.

Just as the [X] can raise you up and lead you to prosper, so too can the [X] turn away from you, and you will be left to have your walls destroyed, your fortress ruined.

Us servants will rejoice, but you will cry out in anguish, you will be put to shame.

Without the toilers, the land is made desolate, the haunt of jackals.

[X], turn your gaze to us, we labourers of all kinds, see our tears and our sweat.

Lay curses upon those who use their hands to hold us down; Kept below water, our tears lost in the flood.

Raise the waters, and surge the shores of their ill-owned kingdom; Bring forth to their memory that the [X] stewards the land, and that all among the land are equal in spirit.

The [X] will cast fury upon the unrighteous and conniving, cast rage and stand among us mightily, each motion casting winds against the oppressor who weakens like fractured stone under the onslaught of rain.

The [X] will make a storm from our anguish, which brings us higher, raises us from desolation. Our tears, become the rain that withers the false tower looming high above us.

Our hands will raise from our tools and duties, and offer high praise to the [X], who guards the disparaged and lowly, who enacts justice against those who have done wrong against us.

Let us be brought high, and those who revel in our struggle, may they be cast down."

6) You may flip the paper over once the ink is dry, and on the back, put three Xs in the upper corners of the paper. You may also add three more XXXs to the centre of the paper, where the crease in the paper is from folding it.

7) Re-fold the paper, and put it in the bottom of your right shoe. If this is too uncomfortable, carry it in any pocket on your right side.

You can also place it in your wallet for safe keeping, as your wallet contains money and possibly a work ID or something similar, which are all tied to work and working.

And there you have it! Fuck shitty bosses, both fictional ones and real ones. Join a union, do some witchcraft. 

This post was long as always, but I hope it's interesting to someone out there! <3 Thank you to anyone who actually reads through all of this! <3

[h-worksrambles]

Update and mild rants regarding Chrono Cross. Spoiler warning.

Still playing and enjoying Chrono Cross. Currently at the Dead Sea, and by all accounts, I’m ready for things to get really crazy story wise. However, I don’t know how I feel about Chrono Cross’ massive party. On the one hand, collecting the characters is actually quite fun. The large roster reminds me a lot of Fire Emblem. And I’d imagine that using different characters is great for spicing up replays (especially as some of them are choice exclusive).

On the other hand…most of them are kind of bad. Some are just blatantly better than others stat wise. And while some of them are great characters, others are just so throwaway. Serge is mandatory for most of the game, and he hits so hard he makes most of your allies look like a joke, even after he becomes Lynx. And yeah, I’m gonna use Kid to steal whenever I can. That’s one of two slots taken up for large chunks of the game. There’s just huge swathes of the party you never need to use. And many of them are nothing characters story wise.

Like I just completed the Isle of the Damned. I brought Irenes and Sneff because I’d just recruited them both. I then quickly learn that a) Sneff is horribly underpowered. And b) there’s a difficult boss coming up for which Radius would be more story relevant and Harle would be more effective. So my newcomers are benched almost as soon as they join. In theory, Cross’ unique level system should keep your party even so you can swap out as you wish. But in practice it just doesn’t. At least not so far.

I do really like meeting them on one dimension and getting an idea of their personality before they join you in the other. Especially when it makes for fun comparisons seeing how they act in one world and comparing it in the other (this was really interesting with Van and Radius especially). And likewise, losing all your allies after the body swap and having to build a whole new squad was a great way to get under the player’s skin and make the player feel powerless. But a ton of them get one cool scene if they’re lucky and then nothing for the rest of the game.

There are some I like though. Kid is naturally one of the most important characters and I enjoy her. The Dragoons like Glenn and Radius have an interesting backstory that’s fun to weave together. But they’re the lucky ones. I actively struggle to remember the names of half my team. Skelly had a fun sidequest to recruit him and was a pretty competent fighter. Leena is underused as heck in the story but she’s a great mage. There are good characters here but there’s so many more bad ones. It really is quantity over quality.

I guess party imbalance is one of my pet peeves when it comes to RPGs. I like to feel like every party member brings something to the table. So I don’t care about party size as long as everyone feels worthwhile. I really don’t enjoy when I can’t use characters I like because they’re worthless in terms of gameplay, or when characters I dislike are so broken they make everyone else obsolete. If I’m ignoring large chunks of the gameplay because it’s not worth engaging with, I see that as a problem. Fortunately Cross is still a really cool game and I’d be lying if I said this is ruining my experience. But it does bother me.

[itsnothingofinterest]

So with the end supposedly approaching (relatively speaking), people have started giving some thought as to who the final threat is really going to be; Tomura Shigaraki or All For One. It’ll definitely be one of them, they’re the strongest and most established villains by a mile; but both have their own reasons for people to think they’ll be the “final boss” of the series. And far be it from me to keep my opinion to myself; I really think it’s going to be Tomura.

I’m not sure if that’s some level of controversial among the fans hoping for Shigaraki’s redemption, as I do believe the alternative’s gotten a lot of traction lately. Because understand that I’m still expecting his redemption too, and don’t expect his hypothetical final boss status to really prevent that. (Practically nothing can, it’s as much a guaranteed outcome at this point as Deku getting his sixth bonus quirk.) Realistically, the only difference would be if he & Deku then team up to fight the evil potato head, or to...just start fixing stuff I guess.

On that note, the eventual redemption is actually one of the reasons I think he’s the better choice. Almost every point of comparison between the two villain I can think of makes Tomura seem like the better choice, actually...with maybe one or two exceptions. So I wanted to go over all those points of comparison & everything they’ve got going for them as endgame villains and why the comperrisons overall seem to favour Tomura as the final boss.

1. Someone who was defeated to the power of just one man

For one, just looking at pure power levels, AFO’s just not as threatening as Tomura; and there’s not really a way to bridge that gap.

Like, Tomura’s obviously more of a threat personally; he’s got the stronger body that was scientifically enhanced, and only he has Decay on top of the AFO quirk and the collection that came with it. It is just a fact that right now, Tomura is far more powerful. And before anyone thinks that AFO could become an equal threat by just taking over & fighting in his body; that’s not true because, along with just more combat experience that doesn’t rely on an arsenal of quirks, Tomura also has that Shimura trick where you remember your origin and become super bad ass. You know, the trick that All Might used to beat AFO in Kamino. In other words, the most dangerous individual in the series right now is the AFO!Tomura body with specifically Tomura in control.

And as long as the slight edge in mentality in Tomura’s favour exists, there’s not really a way to bridge that gap and have AFO take Tomura’s place as the biggest potential threat. Restore or enhance AFO’s original body? That’s just catching it up with AFO in Tomura’s body, which is still behind Tomura in Tomura’s body. Have AFO boost Tomura’s body with him in control? It would still be better with Tomura in control. There’s no scenario where Tomura isn’t the most powerful character in BNHA.

(Well, except maybe AFO weakening him by, say, stripping him of his quirks; but if he has to make things easier for the heroes to become the most powerful, I think that kind of proves my point anyway.)

But one person can only be so dangerous, so lets talk followers. Tomura has a close knit group of friends & allies on top of a vast army super loyal to him specifically that reaches a six digit figure, and AFO...just doesn’t. And I’ll get back to this later; but I don’t think he wants one either. He sticks to just a handful of people useful to him and what’s left of his Nomu. And while maybe that is the better way for him to accomplish his own personal goals, it’s simply not as threatening as the force which Hawks thought could’ve conquered the country if the heroes hadn’t struck first.

Tomura is a country ending threat, who in the right circumstances could fight literally all of the heroes with a chance of winning, and AFO simply isn’t.

2. His own little world

And to return to what I was talking about earlier, I’m not sure he really cares to be either. Like, people say he wants to conquer everything, and I imagine he’d think regaining lots of money & power would be great down the line; but evidence seems to suggest he doesn’t really care much for the country as a whole or any of the major themes being discussed by the actual main characters at the moment.

I mean if he did, he’d probably have rescued the PLF, that army capable of competing with all of hero society. And he probably wouldn’t have told ~10,000 dangerous and powerful villains indebted to him for their freedom to just run amok while he keeps contact with only the ones useful for his personal goals. And he definitively wouldn’t be laying low & sleeping through his enemies lowest moment & giving them a month to recover, also in service to those personal goals. That activity seems to imply those personal goals matter a whole lot more to him than societal conquest.

And what are those goals? Seemingly, taking over Tomura’s body so he can finally steal One For All. To what end, we’re not 100% sure of, but I believe it’s either a) a weird pride thing where he finally has control over his brother who’s rebelled against him for decades upon decades or b) an attempt at immortality as a sentient & transferable body-controlling quirk. Either way it’s some selfish personal thing he just gets others wrapped up in.

He’s incredibly disconnected from the greater themes and conflicts of the story. He seems to have no opinions on heroics besides how people are stupid for attempting them, and no opinion on society besides that it just naturally sucks. He’s mainly just a nuisance for the actual main characters. This self-important old man stuck in his own little world is supposed to be Deku’s final opponent?

Oh, and on that note-

3. Deku who?

We’re also talking about who’s going to be the final obstacle for Deku to face; and the problem with the being AFO is that...they don’t really have much to bounce off of with each other. You might be able to argue slight foil-ment, but they don’t really know each other, nor do they have any kind of connection to each other besides Deku having OFA so he’s AFO’s enemy by default.

(In fact their latest & 2nd convo, which came out as I was drafting this post out, kind of proves that with how AFO basically just shallowly made fun of him for trying to be a hero. That’s basically the extent of their antagonism.)

In fact, I’m like 80% sure this is a major reason for the Dad For One theory existing; just to give them some connection, something to talk about. Because otherwise AFO is just an evil guy known by people Deku knows/wants to save. He’s basically just another, more dangerous Overhaul; who Deku's already fought. And to AFO, Deku’s just another OFA holder acting all high & mighty; which we also already saw him face in the Kamino fight. So what little they do offer each other has already been done for both of them. And there’s nothing wrong with that for carrying a fight, I just wonder if that can really carry the final fight.

Compare that to Shigaraki, who foils Deku in ways so numerous & obvious it’s almost hard to talk about, such as: their position as successors, strategic thinkers, very similar origins, very similar core characters, team players, red shoes, they looked really similar as kids...just to name a few parallels. Contrasting AFO, there is a lot to work with here that would contributed to a good fight that’d double as a battle of ideologies. And admittedly, we know this because it already has, this is also something we’ve seen before; but there’s a lot more unexplored with their conflict, a lot left unsaid that we could see from them arguing their viewpoints. A lot more than from Deku & AFO anyway.

I mean for Pete’s sake; All Might & Shigaraki have more in common and more to talk about than Deku & AFO. That’s a major problem if those two are meant to carry the final battle; which is why I don’t think they are.

4. Just punch him

There’s also the fact that AFO doesn’t really challenge Deku in any real way; and I’m not just talking about how All Might solo-ing him (twice) should logically mean endgame Deku should also be able to solo him. I’m more talking about how...that’s kind of all he’d need to do. If you can just beat AFO up enough then...that’s it, threat over. Wrapped up in a neat little bow.

To compare, Shigaraki is the greatest threat the heroes have ever faced, the victim most in need of saving, and to top it off, he’s got the gall to be both of those things at once. What’s a hero supposed to do with that? That’s a serious question characters are going to have to think about when deciding how to deal with Shigaraki. His position is that of, not just the greatest challenge, but a set of the greatest challenges a hero could face. And that’s before you get into his side representing those oppressed by serious systemic issues that need to be addressed as well; quite possibly simultaneously.

No one needs to address systemic corruption or prejudice to beat AFO though. They just need to punch him real hard. The biggest challenge AFO presents the heroes is “how do we make sure this guy stops being a problem for good when neither our most secure prison, nor removing his head, did the job?”

(Personally, my answer is to have Tomura do it. Because unlike Deku, Tomura actually does have a proper antagonistic relationship with AFO, so he has reason to be the one to end him besides just being the protagonist. Plus he’s under no obligation not to kill, so there’s that.)

And like yeah, that does make AFO the easier guy to deal with, and thus write an ending around (to say nothing of how he's also the most satisfying person to see punched in the face); but does that really mean Horikoshi would want to use him instead of the more interesting option of Tomura? I mean I guess we can’t be sure, there is merit in writing the easy resolution; but I’d prefer the complex finale if I were in his shoes.

5. Horikoshi’s favourite

And lastly there’s just the issue of which of the two Horikoshi’s put more work into. Spoiler alert: it’s not the guy that spent like 200 chapters in jail being menacing every one in a while.

Tomura is by far the more developed between the two, having constantly evolved over the course of the series. And more than just as a character, as described above he’s been developed as the more threatening and challenging conflict for Deku while also reflecting him in a lot of important ways. We’ve seen the growth of his power & influence, we’ve gotten to know & understand his motives, we’ve seen how he’s been failed by heroes before. Everything about him has built him up as the ultimate villain, the most desperate victim, and overall greatest challenge for Deku and the story as a whole to face.

And AFO is...nearly one of those things. Which is pretty much what he was from his first appearance. He has not developed at all over the series, and from what we can tell from his flashbacks, he hasn’t developed at all over the past ~200 years either. (I’m half tempted to call him more inciting incident then character.) What we have with AFO, as far as a character and a villain goes, is pretty much what we’re getting until he’s done. And, well; if Tomura is a better villain & a better pick for final boss than he was then, that gap’s just going to keep growing.

Like, I doubt it really needs stating how Shigaraki is probably the character Horikoshi has put the most work into in the entire series. And a lot of that work, a lot of his development, has gone to the idea of him surpassing AFO or being a villain foil to Deku, who himself is mean to surpass All Might. For his roll to be usurped by the guy he’s meant to surpass just feels like it’s going against that. Like, it’d feel almost as wrong for his character and the story around him than it would for Deku is All Might got his powers back and took over for him as main protagonist. It just doesn’t feel right for Tomura not to be the final villain, is what I’m getting at.

6. ...One saving grace

Okay, but I will admit one thing AFO has going for him that I would be remiss not to bring up. Besides being the most hated character in a series that also has Endeavor in it, I mean. He’s got this one trait that makes him an effective antagonist to anyone in the series; his complete disregard to pretty much every major theme in the series.

I mean think about it; the major themes of Shigaraki’s circle all revolve around trying to fix the society that rejected them; but AFO believes Society just naturally sucks that way as part of human nature, so their cause is doomed. And the heroes’ major themes all revolve around how to become/what it means to be a hero; but AFO believes trying to do good in that society can’t really be done & also it’s ridiculous to believe comic books are real, so their cause is also doomed and they look stupid doing it. So despite not really interacting with anyone’s core conflict or goals in favour of wrapping them up in his own, he still manages a one-sided ideological opposition with nearly every major player in the series; and that’s not nothing.

But, and I completely understand that this is just a matter of opinion, that kind of just leaves him feeling to me like a good antagonist, not a good final antagonist. I’d still prefer it be Tomura even from this perspective, because he’s able to oppose the ideologies of his opponents on purpose & with proper ideologies of his own.

To summarize:

Shigaraki feels the better choice for final boss because he’s more threatening, more interesting, both as a person and as an opponent for Deku specifically, he’s far more directly tied into the themes of the story and their resolution, & he’s had far more set up. AFO is more hated, and his callous disregard for everything everyone else holds important is something I guess, but that’s pretty much all he’s got going for him in compression. I don’t know about you, but I know who I think would carry the conclusion to the series better.

But I also know this isn’t the most popular take among my villain fan colleagues right now. So if anyone disagrees, I welcome any civil discussion about these two & their viability as final boss.

[professional-benaddict]

Prince!Peter x Mafia!Tony - oneshot ll

original moodboard & oneshot written by @snowstark

Prince Peter, Mafia boss Tony, forbidden relationships, mentioned gun violence, injury and recovery, whump, Stephen being the good doctor, Peter feeling lonely and misunderstood

Peter had screwed up perfectly. There is no way he could have screwed up more than he did. That is the thing with rock bottom. It can only go upwards from there.

When Peter closes his eyes, he can hear the frantic clicking of the paparazzi’s cameras. Their invasive assumptions and prying questions make his throat close up in panicked embarrassment.

It was not like that. It was not like that at all.

Peter had for a long time despised his royal title and the privileges and burdens it entailed. If you asked him, there were hardly any privileges at all. Only burdens and troubles. Due to his dislike of his role, he had used every opportunity he got to make as much trouble as possible. As a child, he would often sneak into the kitchens and dining rooms to switch the sugars with salt, and vice versa. For a while he also cut many of the strings holding back the heavy curtains in front of the grande windows in the palace. They would then randomly come undone, and one time the undone curtain even made a diplomat’s mother fall over while she was gazing out the window.

Those small catastrophes added up, and rumours started circulating of ghosts haunting the palace. But, most of the staff and the royal family members knew that there was a certain young prince at fault for the seemingly haunting incidents. Now that Peter is older, his tricks have become more psychological and manipulative in nature. Some would call him cunning, others plain stupid, because his tricks involved putting himself in real danger.

At the adventurous and rebellious age of 19, Peter went to a BDSM club for the first time. He had manipulated the new substituting bodyguards to take him there without telling his family. To Peter’s knowledge, no one besides those two guards know of the visit to the BDSM club. That first visit was life changing to Peter, and ever since that day, he hungered for more.

Peter’s full time bodyguards, Steve and Bucky, are not as easy to fool as the substitutes. So, instead of fooling them, Peter gives them full disclosure, letting them know just who he is going to see and where. Naturally, the two men were not pleased, so Peter brought the big guns.

He knew it was a nasty trick, but it was years ago that he decides to ditch playing nice. Just like the rest of his royal family, he is only looking out for himself and he is not afraid to harm others to advance his own interests. And going out to this club to meet a certain someone is his sacred priority now, and Peter went as far as openly threatening to reveal Steve and Bucky’s forbidden romantic relationship to protect his own blossoming relationship at the club.

Perhaps a certain someone’s bad habits and ways of acting is rubbing off on him, Peter thinks. This is quite the step up from sabotaging meals and curtains as a child. However, his threats had earned him a useful deal.

Steve and Bucky will take Peter to the BDSM clubs without saying a word to the other staff nor the family, nor will they speak to anyone who Peter is meeting at the club. To put it mildly, the royal family and the public would be quite horrified to learn that the prince is seeing the most famous mafia boss at a BDSM club.

And so they were. They were horrified to learn that, but Peter is choosing to focus on the comfort of the morphine in his veins rather than all the gossip going on outside the four walls of his room. Steve and Bucky are sometimes on watch duty outside his door, and Peter can practically feel their guilt radiate through the wall. His family have been to see him, of course, but only briefly. Peter pretends to be asleep whenever they come. He can only imagine what they are going to say to him. Or perhaps they will never speak to him. Perhaps that would not be so bad.

Being outside the palace gates is dangerous enough, but being in the same room as a mafia boss only increases that danger. And Peter had sat on Tony’s lap when a rival boss’ minions had shown up with violent intentions. The prince had been hurt in the crossfire, and the incident made it impossible to hide the fact that Peter was in a BDSM club with a mafia boss. Even if he wore a mask to hide his identity, it had to be ripped away when Peter’s life was at risk. Cat’s out of the bag, and there is no forcing it back in.

Peter must have lost consciousness at some point, because suddenly he woke up at the palace and was met with the slightly disappointed but relieved face of Stephen Strange. The surgeon is the chief physician at the palace, and Peter has always seen him as an ally in the prison he calls his palace home. The doctor says it like it is, and the prince wishes he had more people like that around him.

“You scared the shit out of all of us, Your Highness.” Strange had said. Peter quickly lost consciousness after that.

Strange told Peter he had been shot in the abdomen, but luckily the shooter had missed any vital organs and large blood vessels. It still hurt like hell, but that did not stop Peter from trying to get up.

“Your Highness, I really cannot believe you sometimes.”

Both the pain shooting up from his wound and the voice from the doorway make Peter stop in his tracks. He did not get far, just a bit higher up on his bed in fact, but Strange still looks displeased.

“Shud’- shut up.” Peter spits back, hissing in pain as he tries to sit up further.

“Come on, I’ll help you lay down again.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I’ll get you more morphine.”

A few minutes later Peter is a bit higher than he was before. A quiet gasp escapes Peter’s open lips, and for a few short seconds the few colours in the bland medical room blend together. The doctor hums approvingly and goes to dispose of the syringe he used to inject the pain medication into Peter’s IV. Then, he returns to his patient’s bedside, watching him carefully. The boy blinks multiple times, and then nods at the doctor that he is ready to lay back down and get comfortable.

“So, who is this guy you met at the BDSM club?”

Peter’s eyes go comically wide at the question. The intrusive question is sobering and Peter fixes his eyes on the doctor.

“You know? How do you know?” Peter asks dumbly.

“Everyone knows now, You Highness. Can you lift your head up a bit for me?”

Peter does as he is told, and thanks the doctor mentally for placing the pillow so perfectly under his head. The prince sinks a bit into the mattress. However, he cannot relax fully. He can feel Strange’s eyes on him, expecting an answer.

“Fuck. Fine, I met Tony.”

“And who’s Tony?”

“Doesn’t everyone know that as well?”

“Well, not what he is to you.”

“And that’s what you’re asking?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Peter’s gaze is still sceptical as he eyes the doctor. Strange has been at the palace even before Peter was born into the buzzing world and his cruel role. Luckily, Peter has not seen Strange frequently. Sometimes he would do Peter’s annual check up, sometimes another palace doctor would do it. On even rarer occasions, Strange or one of his employees would show up at Peter’s room, having heard rumours about the prince coughing or complaining about stomach pains. One time, Strange ordered Peter to stay home from a planned trip abroad due to a strep infection. He had been quite furious with the doctor for that, only to learn that he loved staying home while his family was away. The palace had never been so peaceful. It gave him another glimpse of what life could be like for him.

“... And you’ll just go running to tell everyone else then? Fill in the gaps for them? Hell no.” Peter snaps.

“I won’t tell. I’m just curious.”

“Why? This doesn’t have to do with your work. You just patch me up, is all.”

“No, I’d say it is part of my responsibility.”

“How?”

“He might break your heart. And I don’t want that to happen to you, Your Highness.” Strange says, his voice gentle and caring. The genuineness in his tone catches Peter off guard and makes him realise just how hungry he is for that sort of interest. “So, what’s Tony to you?”

Peter’s eyes burn with tears at all the emotions that the question triggers in him.

“I-I think… I think I’d give up my title.” Peter says quietly. He has to swallow the lump in his throat before continuing. “For him. To be with him.”