#this is the very overlord that put up more of a challenge than anyone else to Lute | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

royivia · 3 years ago

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The Neighborhood

Sibyl Campbell wasn’t even mad when she woke up on a hot ass May morning in her room, drenched in sweat. Instead, she bypassed anger and went straight to resignation because the HVAC system in the Robert Moses Houses was broken — again — and she didn’t have the time or the energy to bitch about it. In fact, the heating and cooling stayed shutting off across Groundview Gardens. It had become a predictable kind of disappointment in the neighborhood, more so than flooding during superstorms or the fact that no matter which part of the neighborhood you were in, you could feel the rumbling of the shuttle every seven minutes.

Sibyl had spent all night coughing and turning in her bed from the claustrophobic heat that agitated her asthma. Her mother had already gone to work, otherwise, she would have heard Mildred Campbell yelling in indignant patwa over the phone at an Arcadian Realty & Management representative “to fix the damn AC” before she threatened to call 311 on their ass, and report them to the city. Both Mildred and the AR&M rep knew it was an empty threat, but to shut her up, they’d call someone who’d tinker with the system and the air would come back on for a couple of days or so, before it chipped out. And then, the routine would start again.

Sibyl checked the weather. It was already ninety-five degrees. She took a puff from her inhaler and scrolled through her timeline. The same picture of a little girl with a big bright smile captioned with different variations of “RIP Destiny’’ and prayers for her family flooded her feed. Sibyl forced herself out of bed. The sweat on her body made her feel uncomfortable. She hauled a clunky, old portable air conditioner out from her closet and plugged it into the wall. Management would fine them for the spike in their energy use, but she didn’t care. She pushed the power button on, and waited for the box to cough out some hot air before it eventually cooled the room down from a humid haze to a lackluster lukewarm.

SOIL had been trying to meet with AR&M, the neighborhood’s collective management company, about the HVAC problem with little to no success for close to three years. They had circulated petitions. Tried shaming them in the local news. They even considered organizing a rent strike, which would have done nothing because everybody who lived in Groundview Gardens received subsidies from the city that made rent practically free. And as much as people were pissed about freezing their asses off in the winter or not being able to breathe during the summer, nobody was tryna fight free rent. So, SOIL decided to annoy the shit out of their landlords instead. On their way into their coolly ventilated corporate office buildings, occupying their lobbies, picketing in front of their luxury condos, and most effectively, managing to damage one, or two, of their solar-powered generators in the hottest month New York City had ever seen. A few arrests and some pissed off rich people later, management finally agreed to hold a town hall to hear from their tenants, which meant SOIL’s next plan of action was to convince as many people as possible to show up. Nefi Ramos saw it as a challenge that they could surely accomplish. Her neighbors were like camels to water in a desert. They were thirsty, and had learned to go without for as long as they needed to, but lead them to a watering hole, and they would drink.

“It’s too fucking hot,” she shouted into her megaphone. She was standing in front of one of the many large screens around Groundview that cycled between ads for things they couldn’t afford and AR&M’s infamous “neighborhoods of tomorrow” promotional video. Most people just used the screens to check train arrival times and the air quality. The next shuttle was two minutes away, and the air was currently “unsafe for vulnerable groups.”

“Are we just supposed to take this shit?” Nefi asked. “We don’t deserve to live like this.”

Around her, the rest of SOIL handed out cold bottles of water, popsicles, and fruit cups from coolers filled with melting ice, along with flyers to people walking towards the train platform. They walked past the demonstration uninterestedly, only stopping long enough to take a bottle of water. Everyone had gotten used to Nefi shouting at them to care about things beyond their control, and learned to tune her and the rest of her angry SOILders out, taking their flyers every now and then only to chuck them into the nearest trash can. This morning, a few people did stop to listen for a second or two, the heat getting the better of them, before they saw the time flicker on the screen behind her, and realized that they’d be late for work.

Sibyl, her camera always strapped to her body, snapped a few shots of her neighbor. Nefi was like a loud older cousin who wasn’t afraid of a little trouble, or frankly anything. She both awed and terrified Sibyl.

“It’s time for these slumlords to sweat,” Nefi went on. “We need to organize. Our voices are stronger together — ”

“What makes you think anyone gives a shit about what happens to us down here?”

Mr. Solomon had been on his way to the bodega to buy his morning loosie, but stopped to sit in his walker, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“That’s exactly what they want us to think, vecino.” Nefi softened her voice in that way she did when she was trying not to shout. “The more we believe that we can’t make them pay attention to us, the longer they get away with treating us like shit.”

“I remember when they first moved people into Groundview.” In the midst of reminiscing, Mr. Solomon started coughing aggressively, prompting someone to hand him a bottle of water which he drank quickly before continuing. “We were protesting and shouting in the streets, but they didn’t care then. They’re not gonna care now.” The history lesson quickly turned into yet another heated debate about neighborhood politics between him and some of the other SOILders trying to convince him to take one of their flyers. Sibyl used the opportunity to catch Nefi’s attention, who waved her over enthusiastically.

“Yo, did you hear?” Nefi handed her a fruit cup. “We finally got a meeting with the overlords! Are you gonna come?”

“Nahhh, Nefi. You know that’s not really my thing…I’m not an activist.” Nefi was always trying to recruit her for some radical ass shit that just never seemed worth the trouble of explaining to Sibyl’s very Jamaican mother.

“Nobody said you had to be. You live in this neighborhood, and have just as much say about what happens in it as the suits who own it.” Nefi sensed Sibyl’s hesitation. “Please Sib! Come so we have more people in the room. You don’t have to say anything. We just want those dicks to see that we have power. People power!”

Nefi was very proud of the fact that she had an uncle, or it might have been a second cousin, who had been a member of the Young Lords and, drawing on their legacy of fighting for the liberation of Puerto Ricans, was always going on about the oppressive nature of renting, and self-determination for poor people, and community empowerment, and, and…

“Aight — I’ll go,” Sibyl assured her, trying to cut her sermon short. Nefi hugged her and thanked her a million times before shoving a stack of flyers into her arms to pass out and post up around the neighborhood.

The singular garden in Groundview Gardens was usually ten degrees cooler than anywhere else in the neighborhood. It was created — not by the architects who had designed New York City’s newest development, but instead — by the community out of desperation as an escape from their cramped apartments. During the days, the older folks used it to grow their herbs, medicines, and flowers for their healing practices. The local farmers grew produce that fed the community. After school and on the weekends, all the kids hung out at the community center at the heart of the garden where they learned to dance, make art, and play music.

By the time Sybil got there later that night, Groundview’s collective of artists had already transformed the greenspace into their Saturday night hangout. One of the DJs was spinning records. People were dancing, drinking, smoking, having a good time. Dante, Sage, and Felix had bottles in their hands when Sibyl joined them at their usual spot. Their clothes were covered in colorful patches of spray paint.

“Did you finish it? When do I get to see it?,” she asked them excitedly. She hadn’t seen her friends in about a week, which meant they were either done with their latest mural or were taking a break before they disappeared for another few days. “Soon.” Dante looked tired, but excitement danced in his eyes. “Shoot anything good lately?” He leaned in reaching for her camera, but she quickly pulled back from him.

He laughed at her and took a sip of beer. Dante was her oldest friend out of the trio. There was a quiet protectiveness between the two of them Sibyl hoped they could always maintain.

“It’s been a minute since I last checked.”

“How come?” Dante asked.

Sibyl usually couldn’t wait to hold herself up in the darkroom at the community center to develop her film, but she had been putting off her latest batch. She’d fallen in love with photography while taking classes at the center as a kid. So much so that one day, her mother came home with an old film camera and Sibyl never put it down. That first summer, she ran around the neighborhood asking to take people’s photos. It felt so natural to her, though it had taken a while to gain people’s trust. Take their pictures for what? What was she going to do with them? Skeptics, but curious, they eventually agreed. They’d uncomfortably pose or force a smile, and then immediately ask her to see it because if they didn’t look good, she’d have to delete it. Then she’d explain how film photography worked, and they’d cuss her out for wasting their time.

Weeks later, she’d find them again — at the corner store, or at the People’s Garden, and give them the glossy prints she’d developed. Through her lens she could see they were secretly afraid she’d see the things they’d all spent so much time and concern trying to hide. But those things would all melt away when they’d see themselves — some for the first time — with the same worth and value she saw in them. After that Sibyl didn’t have to ask. They booked her for quinces and graduation parties and engagement photos. People would stop her when they saw her around. “So you not gonna take my picture? Girl, you know I look good today. Quit playing and snap something quick,” and they’d pose with more pride than before, as if to officially celebrate the triumph of living, something they didn’t know they had accomplished until they saw proof.

After seeing so many of her neighbors’ pictures, some of which she took, circulate in online memorials, something lodged itself in the pit of Sibyl’s gut. She couldn’t fully identify what it was, but it left her with little energy to feel or do anything else outside of going to school and work. But she didn’t know how to explain that to her friends without being weird or bringing down the mood, so she just said, “Been busy with school.” She quickly changed the subject before anyone tried to press her on it.

“Are ya gonna go to the town hall?”

“What town hall?” Sage asked.

“The one with management. About the HVACs.” Sibyl handed them flyers from her bag. “I promised Nefi I’d go, but I don’t want to go by myself. Someone come with me?”

“Pass,” Felix snorted.

“I’ll go. Should be fun,” Sage said with a smirk on their face. “I wanna hear what those assholes say their excuse is for not fixing shit.”

“I’ll save ya the trip. Sorry, you’re too poor for us to care,” Felix mocked. “It’s not like they’re all of a sudden gonna have a conscience ya know.”

“You mad negative bro,” Dante said.

“What?” Felix asked animatedly. “You really trying to spend the rest of your life down here? We all need to focus on getting the fuck up outta here instead of asking them to fix some janky ass vents.”

It’s not like anybody was trying to spend any part of their lives in Groundview, but lately it seemed like the rest of their lives wouldn’t take so long. The sound of the shuttle, more muffled than anywhere else, reverberated throughout the garden.

“I’m out the first chance I get,” Dante admitted. His answer wasn’t surprising to any of them, but this was the first time Sibyl heard him say it out loud. Dante was one of the more talented and disciplined artists in the collective. It would only be a matter of time before he blew up and left.

“What happens when ya leave though?” Sage was upset. “You get out, but what about the rest of us? Not everybody can up and leave right? Shouldn’t we try and make shit better for everyone.”

“That’s a trap, Sage. Shit’s not gonna get better,” Felix said harshly. “Does it ever hit ya, like really hit ya that there’s no future for us here? Everybody’s so busy working to get by, we don’t even have time to realize how fucked up everything is.”

“I’m not saying it’s perfect.” Sage shot back. “I just don’t think we have to turn our back on our community. That’s fucked up.”

“Don’t take it so personally, Sage,” Dante cut in. “Nobody’s turning their backs on anyone.”

“Besides, no offense to Nefi n ‘em,” Felix said, “but everybody’s wasting their time if they think those suits are gonna fix anything.”

Sibyl listened quietly. Groundview was all they ever knew. She had never considered leaving it, and yet she also was afraid to admit that she thought Felix might be right.

The middle school auditorium only had like fifteen people — half were members of SOIL — in there that Tuesday night, which was more than Nefi had expected. The handful of people who told her they wanted to go to the town hall, but couldn’t, were either working, or would get home too late from work and would have to cook dinner or iron school uniforms for the next day. Everyone else couldn’t be bothered; like Felix, they thought it was a waste of time. That nothing would come from it. Sibyl didn’t show. No one who attended the town hall actually thought anything would come from it either. If AR&M had wanted to do something, they would have done it a long ass time ago. The people who did show up were mostly Nefi’s elderly neighbors who were always ready to spit their anger into a mic because if they weren’t going to get a solution, they would at least get to cuss someone out, and have an audience to witness it.

Nefi worked her way around the room to thank people for coming. These things always felt like family reunions to her. Old friends hugging and catching up because they hadn’t seen each other in a minute, with work and family and life moving everybody in this or that direction, even though they all still lived in the same neighborhood. She finished up her greetings and joined the rest of SOIL, huddled at the front of the room. They went over the order of speakers, before Benjy, the group’s designated peacemaker for the evening, asked everyone to quiet down and get seated so they could start. He reminded everyone to keep it civil. Then one by one, people got up to the mic to direct their anger at the empty faces in tailored suits, sitting at the table in front of them, who could all care less about the people shouting at them. There was a lot of finger snapping, and “that’s right” and “tell-em’s” from the crowd throughout.

Finally about half an hour in, a young woman, with a little girl clutching on to the left side of her body, got up to the mic.

“My name is Mercy Brooks, and this is my daughter Angelique.” Her voice was shaking, in that soft, angry, pissed off kinda way that warranted attention. Nefi hushed the crowd down so that she could speak her peace without interruption. “My daughter’s asthma acts up almost every day. She can’t breathe. Ya should be fucking ashamed of yaselves. Our babies are dying down here. Is that what we deserve because we can’t do better? We just supposed to take that shit. You ever thought about what it’s like to live down here, huh? I’m sure ya don’t cause if you did, you wouldn’t think it was right to keep people living like this. Or do ya not care cause it’s not your kids?”

There was silence from the table, which was worse than feigning any sympathy or remorse. It set the room off into chants, which meant it was over from there. AR&M security shut that shit down quick right on cue, and if you weren’t arrested that night, you were brusquely escorted out. Management promised to set up some vague kind of task force with representatives from the neighborhood, but it led to nothing. A fucking disappointment, that’s what that shit was. And it wasn’t a surprise to Nefi or anyone else, but it hurt all the same. A few weeks later, that same woman who got up and spoke, her daughter Angelique died because they couldn’t get her to the hospital in time after she had an asthma attack. AR&M still hadn’t fixed the vents in their housing complex. And they still didn’t change the filters or fix the ducts in the other housing complexes so that it wouldn’t happen again after that. SOIL kept trying to drum up some kind of anger. Anything to get people to feel something. To do something.

Murals of Destiny, Angelique, and every other person who had died that year quietly popped up around the neighborhood. Vigils and altars with flowers and prayer candles accompanied them. But as much as people were upset or sad, no one knew what else to do except mourn and move on because it was clear to everyone that no one gave a damn about them. And so, what was the point?

They called it the Subterranean Housing and Inner-City Tunnels project, or S.H.I.T. for short. A plan to provide affordable housing for everyone who had experienced the worst housing crisis New York City had ever seen. People were evicted left and right. Families were priced out of their homes and neighborhoods. The shelter system, swelled beyond its limits for decades, finally collapsed. The streets and subway were overrun with people in sleeping bags and blankets. So nothing new, but it finally annoyed enough people to warrant action.

Naturally, the city contracted its most blood thirsty developers, AR&M, to help solve the problem, which was kinda like asking an arsonist to put out a fire they had proudly started. To no one’s surprise, they didn’t want to forfeit any of their luxury condos that sat empty while people slept on the streets. Instead, they struck a deal to create the largest scale of public housing of its kind, in exchange for absolute, unregulated freedom. The only problem was there was literally no land left for them to develop because they had already bought it all. And then one day, the chief architect of S.H.I.T. had an epiphany when he felt the uptown 6 train rumbling beneath his feet. There was an entire part of the city he had yet to consider. Where a majority of the people who needed housing were already living. Sprawling housing complexes with multi-unit apartments appeared overnight 150 feet underground, with the pilot site in the South Bronx. A new subway station and miles and miles of foot tunnels connected New York’s newest neighborhood to the world above it.

There were protests, anger, outrage! That the country’s most progressive city could so blatantly, and quickly!, shove all of its poor people out of sight only seemed to bother the poor people because everyone else praised S.H.I.T. as the most innovative solution of the 21st century. New York City had done the impossible, and housed every single person. That was grounds for celebration and federal funding. Plans were quickly announced to roll S.H.I.T. out across every major city in the country. To ease people’s concerns, the mayor at the time, eyeing a presidential run, promised that his own city’s underground neighborhood would just be temporary — transitional housing at best. Transitional to what, no one could answer. Temporary until when? Until they could think of something else. One year became five, became ten, etc., etc.

In time, AR&M and the city eventually added a couple schools, a hospital, a library, and a sad excuse for a park that residents eventually turned into the People’s Garden. Folks opened up bodegas, 99 cent and liquor stores, and made themselves at home. It didn’t take long to accept living where they did as another fact of life because they had no other choice. Over time, the plan to move everyone back aboveground disappeared from the city’s housing briefings. Then, the briefings disappeared altogether. The high rates of asthma and chronic bronchitis that seemed to come from living in Groundview occasionally made the nightly news, but not enough to cause major concern or stop neighborhoods like Groundview from popping up across the country.

There were still those who remembered life before Groundview, and vowed to move out of the neighborhood as soon as the opportunity arrived. They kept the dream close to their hearts. And if it didn’t happen during their lifetimes, they’d make sure it would happen during their children’s. More realized it was a fool’s dream and moved on. Eventually though, everyone adapted to the vibrations of the shuttle inside their kitchens. The white, fluorescent lighting that lit every corner of their world like a harsh, artificial sun. The damp, muggy air that arrested their chests if they tried to breathe too freely. And the humming of the massive ventilation systems that heated and cooled their cramped, windowless apartments — when they decided to work.

An Artist’s Treatise on Survival

I don’t know how we do it sometimes. That is, put up with all the shit that life throws at us. Work jobs that exhaust us with little in return. Take care of our families with little to no support. Do so much with so little. And still be able to smile or laugh in the midst of it all. Then, I remember: it’s because we have to. No one else is gonna pay our bills if we don’t. No one else is gonna put food on our tables for us. No one’s gonna bail us out. Naturally, you learn to hustle. To channel your frustrations into working around the way things are because trying to fix things that were built broken takes time you don’t have when you’re just trying to get by.

What gets me even more is how we’ve perfected survival itself as an artform, and created whole new types of living from abject desperation. We wasn’t supposed to, much less find reasons to enjoy life, but we did anyway. Some even take on the added challenge of trying to make life more bearable, more enjoyable, for the rest of us. For example, sometimes when it felt like there wasn’t much to appreciate. That you were resigned to the fate of being alive and not living and didn’t deserve any better. You’d see a mural. On the way to the laundromat. Or the corner store. While you were running errands. Or walking home, bone tired, from the train after another long, shitty day at work. And like all good, beautiful things, it reminded you to breathe. You didn’t always know who created it. Or couldn’t remember if it was there the day before even though you’ve walked that way millions of times. You just knew that it was, in its own way, encouraging you to make it to tomorrow. Bright bursts of color and story interrupting the mundane, tiresome every day you’d come to accept with no protest. After a while, it becomes easier to accept a simple truth about living. That we can still manage to find a reason to laugh, to enjoy life, despite it all, and that we can be the source of our own power. It’s kind of audacious of us to still try and find joy even if it means creating it for ourselves. Maybe that’s why we do it.

At first, it started off as harmless tagging, and they kept it up chasing the thrill of not getting caught. Then they tried to outdo each other. It became a sport: who could paint the better mural. Get the most buzz around the neighborhood before they got painted over. But the better they got, and the more the murals looked legit, the longer they stayed up. Until they stopped painting over them altogether because people loved them so much. They didn’t belong to the creators anymore. They belonged to the neighborhood. And before they knew it, they’d created something much bigger than any of them could have imagined.

The tunnels just seemed like the next natural step for the graffiti artists in Groundview. Miles and miles of blank walls? Dante, especially, saw something to keep him busy after his brother died. Besides, painting murals felt like the only thing he could do. He’d stopped going to school. He’d just paint. When he ran out of ideas to paint, he asked Sibyl to see her portraits, and he started replicating them across the neighborhood. He was relentless — portrait after portrait. Sage and Felix started helping him out because they worried he would lose it, spending all that time in the tunnels by himself. He was grasping for something, but he didn’t know what it was. Until he saw it, lying on the ground near a garbage can.

The Groundview Residents’ List of Demands

The People of Groundview Gardens demand financial and social restitution for all residents, especially those who developed chronic health issues from living underground and/or have lost loved ones because of it.

The People demand New York City move all Groundview residents back above ground into rent subsidized apartments.

The People demand New York City disband all underground housing policies so that no one else has to live in Groundview Gardens or any other housing project like it.

Until the first three demands are met, The People demand Arcadian Realty & Management fix the HVAC systems in every single housing complex it owns and regularly maintain them.

Once Groundview Gardens is fully evacuated, The People demand New York City turn the entire neighborhood into a public memorial to commemorate the loss of life, preserving the art and The People’s Garden.

After the town hall, and the supposed task force, proved to be a bust, SOIL had created the demands to deliver to the city. They circulated leaflets with the five bullet points, but no one would take them seriously. Dante himself, admittedly, had checked out, and had ignored SOIL’s literature, up until that point. The demands appeared overnight on the walls of the tunnels in bold white paint for everyone to see. They were the last thing everyone saw coming into Groundview and the first thing they saw from the shuttle on their commutes leaving the neighborhood.

Nefi kept waiting for the moment when her neighbors would suddenly realize that they were angry — very angry. They’d decide they were fed up once and for all and refuse to settle for less anymore. They’d riot in the streets. They’d protest in front of AR&M’s offices. They’d refuse to go into work until something changed. Their anger would get everyone’s attention. Her own rage had burned intensely inside her for as long as she knew herself. She learned to channel it through SOIL trying to make Groundview a better place, even though everyone told her it wasn’t worth it; it wasn’t possible; it was a waste of time. But it was either that or literally set some shit on fire. But, it didn’t matter how many rallies, tenant meetings, town halls, or demonstrations SOIL organized. Nefi learned that she couldn’t have a revolution without people. And the people? They were tired and overworked. They didn’t have time to overthrow anything. And, even though no one would admit it, they were also afraid — afraid of change, of what they could lose, of realizing that something greater than what they had come to know was possible. So to save themselves, and Nefi, further disappointment, they rebuffed her again, and again: Nefi you need to chill. Girl you’re doing too much. Don’t waste your time. Nothing’s gonna change. After the town hall, and years and years of holding hope, the fire inside Nefi dulled until she couldn’t recognize herself anymore. She conceded her rage for high-functioning hopelessness. She withdrew from her friends, from her neighbors, from SOIL, only tapping into enough energy to wake up, go to work, and make her way back home. The days bled into each other, so much so that when the night Nefi had been waiting for eventually came later that August, it caught her completely off guard. It caught everyone off guard because it wasn’t the HVACs or the deaths of toddlers, or even the wrath towards AR&M that finally set people off. But it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone who’s lived in New York City long enough because it was the one thing that could incite the level of large-scale anarchic rage Nefi had been holding out for — and that was the MTA.

The night in question, the air was hot, muggy, and heavy with potential. Like any other evening, people were heading home from work, the collective exhaustion weighing down on their bodies, stamped into their faces. They waited together, huddled in a sweaty mass on the sweltering Third Ave-138th St. platform for a train that felt like it would never come. When an empty shuttle finally did arrive in the station, the doors opened to the grating sound of a man’s voice coming through the train’s speaker system:

“Attention passengers. This is your conductor speaking. Due to unplanned construction up ahead, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview Gardens at this time. I repeat, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

This shit had happened plenty of times before. A disruption of service that made it difficult to get home. Everybody was so used to it and had even come to expect it. The inconvenience of being poor and powerless consistently working against them. It too had become a predictable kind of disappointment. Even the audible, collective disapproval was muted and slightly rehearsed, nothing more than a reflex. They would have to find their way home, some two-odd miles on foot, through the tunnels. But that night, Ms. Claudette, who had been on her feet all day at work taking care of her elderly patient and still had to go home and iron her scrubs for the next day, was fucking tired. She had paid her fare. And, she had paid her taxes. She had also paid her dues in this country — twenty-seven years worth of struggle and debasement — for what? This could not be it. Life could not just be disappointment. The least she expected was that the train would get her home like it was supposed to. She decided that she was going to let the conductor have a piece of her mind.

“This is nonsense. Tell me, just tell me, how am I supposed to get home?” Her boisterous St. Lucian accent traveled well beyond her.

Folks who heard her echoed in agreement, hyping her up. “They have the nerve to raise prices for this shitty ass service,” someone said loudly. They all collectively decided to board the empty train. The construction workers in their hard hats and massive boots, the women with their large tote bags and their tiredness neatly folded away into themselves. They were all going to sit on the train, until it started up again. It was going to take them home.

The conductor was tired too. Nothing as deep-seated as his passengers, but something not too far removed. He had no skin in this game though, and his job didn’t pay him enough to care. He was annoyed; they were keeping him from clocking out. And so, after listening to a bunch of people passionately curse him out, he told them to, and I quote:

“Write a letter.”

It happened so fast. I mean, when I say shit popped off before anyone could swallow their spit. Someone knocked over the trash cans on the platform. Someone else, set them on fire, with what to this day no one really knows, but their latent anger seemed to have ignited what they didn’t know was inside them.

The riots lasted for weeks. People boycotted the MTA and didn’t go to work.

The restaurants aboveground shuttered because they were understaffed. Construction on all the new developments stopped because the workers, a lot of whom lived in Groundview, refused to show up. People aboveground had to stay home because their nannies and house cleaners weren’t able to come and relieve them like they had come to rely on. Groundview had forced the city to come to a complete stop. The mayor held a press conference saying she didn’t condone the behavior of the vandals at the train station. SOIL led protests and demonstrations in front of city hall until she had to hold a second press conference to apologize for her statements at the first press conference. She promised she was going to make sure that it would never happen again — not just the riots, but the unnecessary deaths in Groundview, the resentment the residents felt towards the city. They were going to fix the HVACs, and the MTA! They were going to heal the great divide the city had long thrived on once and for all, if, and only if, the workers called off the strike and went back to work. It sounded so sincere, everyone wanted to believe it. Tired of holding all the power, they asked SOIL to represent them at the bargaining table. Deals were made. Hands were shaken. And things went back to a semblance of normal with a few slight adjustments.

Sibyl was heading out of her apartment when she saw a piece of yellow paper on her front door.

60 DAYS NOTICE TO INCREASE RENT

Mildred Campbell 207 167th St. (GG), Unit 10E

Beginning September 1, 2041, the monthly rent will go up an additional 5% for all units located in the Robert Moses Houses. Please make the appropriate adjustments within the AR&M digital payment system.

We appreciate your continued tenancy.

Sincerely, Arcadian Realty & Management

Pieces of yellow paper were taped to every single door she passed on her way to the train. It had been a year since the last time the heating or cooling had stopped working. Everyone held their breath celebrating, just in case that was when the heat would shut off or the air would decide to stop working again, but it never did. The number of deaths and hospitalizations went down, and everyone seemed content enough after the strikes and boycott ended, to go back to work. The trains even went back to running as efficiently as possible for the MTA, always teetering on the edge of collapse, but never actually approaching it for fear of recreating another opportunity for mass rebellion.

On her way to the shuttle, Sibyl saw a group of people congregating near one of the murals. She clutched her camera in her hand, ready to raise it to her face, when she heard a voice she didn’t recognize shouting through a megaphone. It belonged to a man she had never seen around the neighborhood before, and he was walking backwards while talking to a group of people Sibyl also didn’t recognize.

“Groundview is the latest up and coming neighborhood in the city,” his voice echoed. “Some of the most promising young artists have gotten their start in this urban — ”

She didn’t stick around to hear more.

After the riots, small groups of tourists descended regularly on Groundview like vultures to see the murals they had seen in viral photographs. They’d rudely block the paths from the train platform, or take up way too much space on the footpaths of the tunnels posing in front of the murals for pictures. Not long after that came the opportunistic hacks who had never stepped foot in Groundview before, running “culture tours’’ around the neighborhood. The residents felt like they were stuck in some sick and twisted museum. Out of annoyance, they banned the tours and non-residents from the People’s Garden, preserving their one last sanctuary in the community.

Sibyl had been in the middle of it all the first night of the riots. She was on the subway platform on her way home from classes and started snapping pictures once she realized what was going on, catching the fervent energy better than anyone could describe to everyone else who wasn’t there. She had no idea her photos would end up everywhere. But they did, and they not only helped draw attention to the plight of her neighborhood. They also drew attention to the wealth of talent germinating underneath the city. Her photos of her friends, their murals, and the other members of her neighborhood, had also attracted a lot of attention that felt good to the young artists who all of a sudden saw opportunities previously unavailable to them right at their doorsteps.

The shuttle arrived on the platform before her. Sibyl boarded the cool air-conditioned cart; the beads of sweat on her skin quickly evaporated. Nefi had warned them to be careful early on. “These things always end up having you exploit your own people for a cheap come up, and it’s never worth it.” Everyone thought she was trippin’. There Nefi was again just looking for another cause to fight now that her crusade against A&RM had seemed to come to an end. Even Sibyl thought she was overreacting at first. People were finally paying attention to Groundview. If she and the rest of the artists could help show the world how important the lives of the people who lived there were, maybe things could change for the better.

The train disappeared into the tunnel towards the 138th St. station. A lot of things had quietly changed over the last year and a half. Many of the families who had lost loved ones, including Dante’s, received settlements from the city and moved out of the neighborhood, leaving a sizable number of the apartments empty. Leading to perhaps the most visible addition to the neighborhood. AR&M had a couple of the younger artists looking for their own big break paint over SOIL’s list of demands and replaced it with a more “aesthetically inviting” message for the new visitors to the neighborhood: Welcome to the Mural District. Sibyl had only heard the tour guides call it that, in an unveiled attempt to rebrand Groundview. It didn’t take too long to find out where they got it from. The name and the welcome sign led to intense debates between the artists in the collective, including her friends, about people selling out and what they owed to each other as artists and their neighbors, which led to a few people splitting off and doing their own thing. The mural made Sibyl sick to her stomach, and she tried her best to avoid seeing it on her commutes. Then one day, someone started covering it up with black graffiti making the message unreadable.

No one knew who it was because they never got caught, but it didn’t matter to AR&M. Like clockwork the next morning, they had cleaners paint a fresh welcome message over it in time for the daily tours at noon. When the welcome message started appearing on the AR&M screens, the screens started getting covered in graffiti too. After a few months, Sibyl expected the guerilla painters to give up and move on, but they didn’t. Fresh graffiti kept appearing over the mural and on the screens, prompting AR&M to deploy their clean up crews, and then the routine would start again. Sibyl looked out the window in anticipation. “OURS.” The word, written over and over again across the mural, quickly came into view and then vanished out of sight.

#short story #original fiction #creative writing #writers of tumblr #fiction

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oasisspringstownie · 3 years ago

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FAME: A Legacy Challenge

Sul sul simmers!

Like many of you, one of my favorite things to do in The Sims is play Legacy Challenges. They lead you to explore new aspects of gameplay, give you new imaginative ideas, and facilitate storytelling. So, a couple of nights ago I got the idea to create a new kind of legacy challenge revolving around different aspects of fame.

The goal isn’t exactly to become the most famous using said career/ skill, but to play around with different elements of the fame system in the game. You by no means need all the packs to play through this legacy. While the experience would be more complete and you will be missing careers and skills and stuff you can obviously adapt it to your need. Also, you are more than welcomed to use mods to enrich your gameplay. I myself can’t play without mods and look forward to see what kind of chaos mods can add to this challenge.

So without further a do below are the 10 generations I concocted like a fever dream at 2 am on a Saturday evening:

Gen 1: A Shaky Foundation

Traits: Cheerful, Ambitious, Self-Absorbed

Career: Acting, Style Influencer (Trendsetter Branch)

You move to a new city full of hopes and dreams. You initially pursue your dream of becoming an actor. However, your career is cut short by the unexpected arrival of your first child. You retreat from the spotlight in order to raise your baby and put all of your energy into making sure they have the best future possible. The rest of the time you spend either working or trying to unwind from your demanding life. What will fate bring you and your descendants?

Goals:

Move into an empty lot with 1600 simoleons for the bare minimum.

Start in the Acting Career, but abandon it for the Style Influencer career once your first child is born. Remain in the Style Influencer Career and eventually choose the Trendsetter Branch.

Max out the Style Influencer Career.

Reach level 10 of the Parenting and Wellness Skills.

Be close friends with all of your children and make sure they each age up with at least 2 positive character attributes.

Gen 2: Get Your Head in the Game

Traits: Active, Music Lover, Outgoing

Career: Athlete, Entertainment (Musician Branch)

Your parent might have seemed very overbearing at the time, but they instilled a work ethic in you like no other. Your entire life you were split between your two passions: basketball and singing. Okay, fine, you're Troy Bolton. After succeeding in the sports world you still find yourself feeling somewhat unfulfilled. You enter the entertainment career later on in life to live out your dreams. Will this be the start of something new?

Goals:

Max out the Athlete Career and then switch to the Entertainment Career (Musician Branch).

Max out the Fitness and Singing Skills.

Be in the drama club in high school.

Gen 3: Going for the Stars

Traits: Clumsy, Loner, Genius

Career: Astronaut

Your parent always told you to shoot for the stars, you just took it a bit too seriously. This world was always a bit too pedestrian for you and you yearn to finally lay your eyes on the astronomical craters of Sixam. There's just one problem: you're terrible at it. It's not your fault, you're just a bit clumsy; but will your two left feet keep you from reaching your dreams?

Goals:

Work in the Astronaut Career your entire life. Get demoted and fired at least once in your lifetime.

Destroy and repair a rocket 3 times.

Live in a tiny home for your young adulthood and adulthood.

Have at least one set of twins. *You can cheat for this!*

Gen 4: The Finer Things in Life

Traits: Materialistic, Hates Children, Lazy

Career: None

You've seen all the generations before you work their little pixelated butts off for every simoleon, but you're not about that life. You were destined for the finer things in life.

Goals

Reach level 10 of the Charisma and Mixology Skills.

Marry and survive 5 spouses. Take that wording however you want. Divorce is not allowed. You must be the last once standing. After all, spouses are like infinity stones. Meaningless.

Never have a job. Only make money from spouses, family, or children. If you get desperate enough you can ask a friend for a loan or steal, but no working of any kind.

Each child you decide to have with one of your rich spouses comes with a 20k trust fund. If they get taken away or die before coming of age, all the money has to be returned to the evil capitalist overlords. You can't get rid of them that easily.

Own at least 1 restaurant/ retail/ business with one of your spouses. Decorate it, assign the uniform, and hire everyone, but you never run it. Why would you go through the trouble?

Gen 5: My Precious

Traits: Art Lover, Kleptomaniac, Self-Assured

Career: Criminal

Your childhood was pretty hectic and you felt like you barely knew your parents. Who needs them? You've never needed anyone else anyway. On your 18th birthday, you receive your inheritance and use it to buy yourself an unfurnished apartment in the nicest building you can find and that's when your money runs out... literally. However, will a new job as a tough guy be the first of many great ideas or will it only be the beginning of the end for this famed family?

Goals

Once you become a young adult give yourself enough money to buy one of the apartments in the Uptown Neighborhood in San Myshuno. It must be unfurnished. After moving in set your money to 0 simoleons.

Complete the Criminal Career.

Reach level 10 of the Mischief and Dancing Skills.

Gain an atrocious reputation and spend the rest of your life trying to cover it up.

Steal 10 paintings from a museum and exhibit them proudly in your home. You are never allowed to sell them. As an adult, hide them in a secret attic nobody else has access to or knows about. They are your precious.

Gen 6: The Muses

Traits: Creative, Family Oriented, Insider

Career: Painter

You could have anything you wanted in the world thanks to your family's empire so you pursued your passion: painting. While you were never close to your other family members you were always very close to your art teacher. This led you to have very close ties to your friends, co-workers, and eventual children. Will your legacy remain for longer in the memory of strangers or your loved ones?

Goals

Complete the Painter Career

Reach level 10 of the Painting, Cooking and Baking Skills

Have a better relationship with your art teacher than anyone else in your family until you're a teen.

Move to a new world once you become a young adult and cut ties with your family.

Be the leader of one club for all your young adulthood and adulthood.

Be close friends with 3 co-workers and all of your children.

Prepare a meal at least once a week with the help of your children. *I know we don't have this in the game yet technically, but I'm hoping to have Cottage Living by the time I play with this generation*

Hang 5 paintings in a museum.

Retire from Painting Career to help care for your grandchildren.

Gen 7: Mole

Traits: Good, Perfectionist, Paranoid

Career: None

You always had a good relationship with your parents. You told each other everything... well, almost everything. You never understood why but one of your parents never talked about the rest of your family members. They explained that they simply never had a good relationship and would rather not talk about it. You respect this until their death when you return to their seemingly abandoned childhood home. While exploring the house you find a not-so-subtle bookcase door and a long forgotten attic filled with paintings. You take them in hopes of returning them but unbeknownst to you, you are being watched.

After an unfortunately unavailable nail-biting car chase, you shake off your attackers. You can't just lead them home to the rest of your family and what would the police do? They don't even arrest Vlad when he's trying to bite all of your sims!

Sorry, different rant.

So you do the only logical thing: you sell the paintings you just stole for some cash to buy an empty lot and skip town. A new life awaits you... just a bit underground.

Goals

Reach level 10 of the Writing, Logic, and Handiness Skills.

Complete the Best Selling Author Aspiration.

After your parent dies, you visit Gen 5's main home and retrieve the paintings hidden in the attic generations ago. Sell them and use the money to buy an empty lot in a completely different world.

Use your remaining money to build a small underground bunker. You can now never leave your bunker or risk immediate death.

You make your income by writing books under your new name. Oh, didn't I mention that? You changed your name to avoid detection. Your children may carry this new fake last name or your partner's.

Gen 8: Part of Your World

Traits: Loves Outdoors, Outgoing, Geek

Career: Social Media

All you knew was the bunker and it's not that you hated it, you just wanted a bit more. You're basically the little mermaid, except you don't get to be a mermaid. You just get a bunker you can never leave and a desperate yearning to explore the outside world.

Your outlet is the internet. From a young age you loved using it to play video games and make friends. As a teen you began to make videos and fostered a community online. Will you finally take your place in the world or remain hidden underground?

Goals

Reach level 10 of the Media Production and Video Gaming Skills

Complete the Social Media Career.

You're never allowed to leave the underground bunker until you're a teen.

You aren't allowed to go to school. Instead you play video games and use your computer for outside interaction.

As a teen you start developing your online presence by posting on social media and making videos on the video station.

You are only allowed to move out of the household once your parent dies and you have enough money in reserves to buy a furnished home.

Gen 9: Natural Born Performer

Traits: Gloomy, Unflirty, Adventurous

Career: Entertainment (Comedy Branch)

Due to your parent's fame, it was always expected you would follow in their footsteps. While a bit more gloomy than most, you are happiest when you make others laugh. So you join the Entertainer Career where you flourish as a comedian. You're also a bit unlucky in love. Will the family name's fame and your own notoriety keep you from finding true love or are you destined to a lifetime of gold diggers and one night stands?

Goals

Complete the Entertainer Career (Comedy Branch).

Reach level 10 of the Comedy and Rock Climbing skills.

Complete Serial Romantic Aspiration

Have four children.

Die suddenly and *mysteriously* in your adulthood.

Gen 10: A Grand Finale

Traits: Kleptomaniac, Ambitious, Perfectionist

Career: Actor

After losing your parents at a very young age, you and your siblings were sent to live with some distant relatives you didn't even know about. While you and your siblings are all very different and you bicker plenty, you always stick together.

After learning you are a descendant of some of the most famous and infamous sims in history, you are determined to meet and surpass their achievements. Will you come out on top or have you flown too close to the sun?

Goals

Complete the Actor Career

Achieve level 10 of 10 skills of your choosing.

Become a Global Superstar.

Get a star on Starlight Boulevard.

Throughout your lifetime you must go on vacation to every house you lived in throughout all previous 9 generations. Oh, and your three other siblings need to come along too. Think of it as Narnia meets It. Also make sure to steal something from each of the houses as a souvenir and display it proudly in your own home.

After you've completed all the things above, get turned into a vampire and choose to end your mortal legacy here... or start a whole new type all together.

Thank you so much for indulging me in this insanity. While I haven't played through any of these generations myself as of yet, I look forward to see the chaos and cuteness possible in The Sims.

Happy simming!

#simblr #ts4 gameplay #ts4 lets play #sims challenge #fame legacy challenge #ts4 simblr #ts4 legacy #ts4 legacy challenge #sims legacy #the sims legacy #ts4

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seaquestions · 4 years ago

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faith in gold

hey so last night at like 1am i ended up writing a 1.2k fanfic about snare, and what if he didnt die in lsotw. its got some snare/impactor vibes, yknow its got some yearning, some longing. enjoy! (warning for eye trauma and thoughts of dying.)

Excerpt: Perhaps Impactor felt like he owed Snare something. Perhaps he felt kinship, having both lived through Overlord’s rule. Snare couldn’t tell, halfway dead as he was.

Snare couldn’t dodge Stalker’s shot, not that fast. It hurt bad, shattering his optic and dislodging the right clasp of his face mask. He screamed as it happened, but he could barely speak now, his back on the rough floor. Sparks flew from exposed wires. His remaining eye could barely focus upward, his intakes were stuttery. Maybe he was lucky that Stalker’s shot missed his brain module, maybe not, depending on how you look at it. The pain was overwhelming, but not as much as the feeling of dread and despair that quickly ran up his spine. Right before death by impalement, Stalker sent out a comm to Overlord. And if Overlord was coming, he was going to be dead later even if he held onto life now.

How much faith did he place on the Wreckers to get the job done? He didn’t know. He couldn’t compute the odds, not now that all his power was routed towards not dying. But even if they weren’t, what would the point be?

A yellow and purple blur crouched next to him. Impactor. Snare gave as much information as he could. After what felt like an eternity of being helpless under Overlord’s command, he could at least spend his dying breaths doing something useful. It was a less than ideal death—he would’ve preferred to have escaped Garrus-9 at least—but it was realistic. And Snare considered himself a realist, mostly, with brief moments of idealism that he’d usually consider lapses in judgment.

Although freeing Impactor didn’t turn out to be one, at least not yet. If the Wreckers succeeded… Well, it was a roll of the dice. But there was a chance he did something good.

Then Impactor offered to keep him alive. Move him somewhere safe. Snare didn’t have the slightest clue on where could be safe in this hellhole of a prison. Even if he survived, what life would await him? Snare was tired. Very tired.

Impactor’s scarred face looked tired too. He wasn’t scowling, not like he usually did, but the lines on his face felt deeper than ever. He repeated the offer, gentler this time. He was already gentle before, but it was almost a whisper now. It felt like an oath. How uncharacteristic of him. Perhaps Impactor felt like he owed Snare something. Perhaps he felt kinship, having both lived through Overlord’s rule. Snare couldn’t tell, halfway dead as he was. He could feel his plating start to cool, just a bit, and couldn’t stop himself from weakly inching ever so slightly towards the other mech. He felt the rumble of Impactor’s engine, the gold of the wrecker’s optics on him, and closed his remaining eye.

Snare was tired of thinking. Let someone else decide for him.

——

He woke up to brightness.

If it weren’t for the sounds of medical machinery, he would’ve asked aloud if he was in the Afterspark. Snare was never a religious mech, but it felt like the thing to do. Regardless, that was definitely not the case.

“Snare, correct?” someone asked.

The jet looked to his left, and sitting on a stool next to him was the Wreckers’ sniper-slash-scientist, Perceptor.

“Y-yeah,” he replied. His voice was weak still.

Perceptor wrote down something on a datapad, then leant over him to grab a box he couldn’t see. It was at that point that Snare realised he was still missing his right eye.

“You aren’t quite healed yet,” the sniper said, as if reading his mind, “but the procedure is almost done. Anyway. What colour optic would you like?” he asked, presenting Snare with the box.

Spare optics, in various colours. But not green.

“Green is rare. You understand, yes?” said Perceptor.

Snare nodded. Green wasn’t his original eye colour anyway. He’d gotten quite attached to it though. The Skomiloch Territories were a distant memory now, but he kept the optical filter that came with the mission and so did the rest of his team. It made them feel like they belonged together.

(And then they all died one after the other. Stalker had been the last to go, right after blasting Snare’s eye off and leaving him as the last mech standing. Funny, that.)

There were a lot of blues in the box and that was a big no immediately. He could go with red, which was his original colour, but…

His hand moved before he could finish the thought.

Perceptor took it from him and nodded. “Gold it is. Would you like to be offline for this?”

Snare thought for a second. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then I’d like to stay awake.”

While Perceptor went about his task, Snare’s mind was racing. The Autobots won, clearly. He wouldn’t be here if Overlord did. What did that mean for him? Were they going to keep him prisoner? They couldn’t just let him go, could they? He was still a Decepticon, after all. Well, Snare didn’t feel any particular love for his faction at the moment and didn’t really want to go back actually, but his wants were never especially relevant, so. Best to ignore them if he were to think rationally here. Would he join the Autobots? He’d rather not. Disillusioned with the cons he may be, but Snare still disliked the bots. Maybe he could go neutral and run away. But that would make it easy for the DJD to pick him off, wouldn't it? He wouldn’t even be a challenge for them; he’d probably be someone they off while on their way to a real target. And Snare wasn’t in the mood to die at the moment. Not when someone had clearly gone through the trouble of keeping him alive…

“It's done,” Perceptor said, leaning back. Snare felt a mirror being handed to him, “Satisfactory?”

Holding the mirror up to his face, Snare could see that his mask was the cleanest it had been in forever. But more importantly, his eyes were… Well, it would take some getting used to. Gold was an optic colour that stood out, and so was green. He didn’t really know how he felt. He hoped he wouldn’t lose his other eye anytime soon, at least.

“I believe that’s one of Impactor’s spares, actually,” Perceptor idly commented as he cleaned up the medical supplies.

Impactor. “Where is he?” Snare asked.

Perceptor shrugged.

The jet put the mirror down. “What’s that mean?”

“It means I don’t know where he is. He left as soon as he was pardoned. No trace of him here,” Perceptor explained.

Figures. He’d have his life saved and he couldn’t even talk to the guy who did it. Not that Impactor would appreciate a thank you. And it wasn’t as if Snare had asked him to do it either. But he still would’ve liked to know why the mech saved him. Impactor wasn’t exactly known for his kindness and compassion towards Decepticons—or anyone really.

Snare poked at the metal surrounding his new eye. A bit sensitive but mostly healed. He looked at his reflection in the mirror he set down. He couldn’t stop looking at the gold.

“This was his,” Snare said quietly.

Perceptor paused and glanced at his patient. “It was once meant for him, yes,” he said, and then went back to cleaning up.

Snare closed his eyes and felt an ache deep in his spark. He didn’t know what was going to happen to him now. But he knew, he was going to make sure that he’d meet Impactor again. Sooner or later. He whispered it, just to himself.

It felt like an oath.

#transformers #maccadam #impactor #tf snare #lsotw #fanfiction #im posting here cuz.. yanno #but anyway! as always pls read my fan fiction......

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megatronswaifu · 4 years ago

Photo

wrote a fanfiction and wanted to draw something to go with it!!

if you want to read some sickeningly sweet ooc overlord with nightlight please take a look under the cut. i’m happy with how it turned out because i really didn’t take it seriously like i’ve tried in the past.

“Nightlight’s Shadow” <2k words rating: GEN tw: mild canon-typical violence

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

“What’s wrong?”

Overlord peered through the door, hunching over significantly. The phase-sixer was incredibly bored, having killed everyone he felt like and no missions assigned to him for a long while. When Overlord was bored and without those to maim, he went to go bother Nightlight.

The minibot sat in the shape of a ball on her berth. Her helm was tucked between her knees, and her little horns poked out, the only thing clueing Overlord in that “Oh, that part of the purple dot is her head.” When she looked up at Overlord, he thought to himself that this was the most pitiful face she had made to-date.

The towering bot squeezed into the room, scraping the doorframe with his shoulders as he stomped in (he wasn’t stomping on purpose, it was simply a feature of his size), his pillar audials threatening to pierce the ceiling. Nightlight’s accommodations were definitely made with efficiency and budget in mind. Why would anyone waste shanix and space on the ship just in case someone larger than a pea wanted to visit this room? Overlord thought he should carve out the wall and ceiling so his visits weren’t so difficult.

“What’s wrong?” Overlord asked again, and Nightlight turned to face away, “Why the long face?”

“I’m not a good Decepticon,” the tiny bot started. Her voice was quivering and hoarse, like she had been crying. Little cheekplates having subtle remnant streaks of tears confirmed this. “I’m not scary. Everyone keeps being mean to me. The bigger bots push me and call me names, even when I don’t do anything to them.”

“Why don’t you kill them?” replied Overlord like it was obvious. He had slithered onto the berth, laying sideways lazily behind Nightlight, his legs curled so he could fit. Luckily the slab was medium size, having not been made specifically for Nightlight, but it still creaked horribly under Overlord’s weight.

“I can’t do that! I’m not strong enough like everyone else. I’m not big. I can’t beat them up....I...every time I try to fight back,” her face scrunched up and her voice became even higher pitched and even wobblier, “I...I get my- my tailpipe kicked!”

Nightlight choked and whined, stifling a staticky sob in her forearms. She clearly felt so strongly about these simple tussles that it pained her enough to cry. The poor thing. The blue mech brought her into his chest with his big servo like a hockey stick to a puck.

“Don’t cry,” Overlord cooed, “I’ll give you advice.” Nightlight peeked at him from her arms. “You can’t beat them up and you can’t grow any. But that doesn't have to stop you.”

“When I walk around, everyone moves. As if I have a force field. Nobody gets in my way.” He gestured to Nightlight with his chin. “Why do you think that happens?” She looked away again, not in an attempt to hide her tears, but in thought.

“Um….because you’re really tough,” the moped said, “And, um, you’ll, maybe you’ll beat them up if they’re mean to you.” Nightlight always said things like “maybe” when talking about if Overlord would do something violent or not. Like she wasn’t sure if he was a bad mech, or she didn’t want to accuse him of anything. How kind.

“Yes, that’s true. I’m very tough.”

“But I’m not...it wouldn’t work for me. I’m not really-”

“Yes it would.”

Nightlight stuttered a few syllables of denial before resorting to looking at Overlord with a tipped helm in confusion. Overlord couldn’t help but laugh.

“When I walk around places where nobody knows me,” he said, “Where nobody knows I could mash them to a slurry, my force field still works. That is because I hold myself a certain way. I hold myself with an expectation that everyone fears me,” the duocon puffed out his chest plating a little, and it made a “clink” sound when it tapped his tiny companion, “With confidence. Confidence in myself and that the force field will work no matter what.” He smiled triumphantly. “Lo and behold, the seas part.”

Nightlight looked at him like he was the coolest mech on Cybertron. She had uncurled and instead was facing him, sitting with her knees forward and her pedes behind her. “So,” she spoke with a bit more pep in her voice, “they don’t know you’re strong...but they still kind of know you’re strong because you walk so confident.”

“Exactly.”

“But...but I don’t think I could do that.”

“Why not?”

“Cause what if I pretend to be strong and then they figure out I’m not and they beat me up?”

“If you walk with enough confidence, they won’t challenge you. And if they do, you threaten them. Then they run off like little glitchmice, with not a finger lifted.” Overlord waved his free servo as he talked, and Nightlight rubbed her fists on her optics and cheeks as he spoke, scooting closer to him.

“If I was injured in a way that left me unable to fight, but able to use my words, I would still win. In that moment, when I threaten them, it is not pain they are afraid of,” he explained, half-lying. Overlord loved to taunt, but he rarely threatened. If someone challenged him, most of the time he smashed their head in immediately. “I’m not touching them. They aren’t experiencing it. What they fear is the prospect of pain. All you have to do if you want to scare them off is make them believe you’ll rip them apart.”

Overlord had a feeling he was losing her, given her big optics staring at him. Or maybe that’s just how she looked. He poked her in the chest with acquired gentleness. “I can teach you. I can make you like me,” he said, “You can be intimidating. And nobody will ever bother you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

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

Nightlight had such a tall stack of datapads in her arms that the top of the pile concealed her face. She had to stumble slowly in the hall and occasionally, carefully glance to the side of the stack to see that there was nobody in front of her, and issue out “excuse me”s and “I’m sorry”s accordingly.

Overlord’s lessons on being braver and more intimidating had not yet been put into practice. Fortunately so, in Nightlight’s optics. The two wheeler hadn’t come across anybody who felt like bullying her for a whole week, and she was hoping her lucky streak would last forever. She didn’t want to try out what she had learned from the phase-sixer, even though out of everybody on the ship, he was probably the best person equipped to teach it. Nightlight didn’t want to mess up.

Turning a corner like an old bot driving slow on the highway, she scooted forward on her pedes and shifted her grip on the datapads. She felt the datapads sliding, and she “eep!”ed as she steadied them, and they settled back in place. “Whew,” she whispered.

Despite her dearest wishes on shooting stars, Nightlight didn’t get much time to be relieved. Just as she found her footing again, some mecha decided to sneak up beside her and stick their pede out. The minibot made a brief yelping sound before landing on her front, some of the datapads breaking her fall, layered like a deck of cards. The rest scattered and clattered around them. The floor and the pointy edges of the datapads poked and scraped her chassis and hands.

“Oops,” said the bot above her, laughing. She recognized him from his voice. She didn’t know his name. “Heh, watch where you’re going, squirt.”

Nightlight stayed on the floor for a moment, facing down, steeling herself and her urges to cry. It was action time. She got up, pushing herself with her tiny servos, whipping herself around with gusto and pointed her finger right in the mech’s face.

“How about YOU watch where YOU’RE putting your STINKY PEDES, BUSTER!!”

The Decepticon stood with his mouth agape. He stared at Nightlight like she had grown another helm. Her being any bit of aggressive was pretty equivalent, really. “Wha-” he snorted, before barking out laughter that scraped Nightlight’s audials from being too loud. “What’s your problem, Autobot model? You think you can just waltz up in here and get sharp with me? You lookin’ to get pummeled?”

“You’re the one asking for a beating, stupidhead!” Nightlight yelled back with surprising volume, looking up at the considerably taller mech, even stepping towards him with gritted teeth. She stomped at him and almost jumped towards him doing so, looking like a dog trying to chomp at a chewtoy placed above it. “Get out of my way or pick these up,” she pointed at the datapads now, “and take them to room L2400! Or I’ll rearrange your face so much you’ll have to get your whole head replaced!!”

Nightlight, venting hard, felt equal amounts proud and equal amounts terrified. She had used the strategies Overlord taught her! Nightlight had tried her hardest and her best, put on her scariest face with her scariest voice. Hours of practice with Overlord, of him showing her how to be unabashed and angry, were coming to fruition.

The mech looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he froze up, his expression contorting into a wide-eyed frown. He frantically vented, taking a few quick breaths before letting out what Nightlight could only describe as a “squawk”. His helm darted between facing forward and towards the datapads. He was shivering so hard his chassis rattled. Was it working?

“I’ll do it! I’ll do it, I’ll pick up the datapads!” he threw himself at them, scooping them up like they were shards of his spark. Nightlight couldn’t help but look on with her mouth in the shape of an O. “Just leave me alone, okay?! I don’t want any trouble anymore!”

“Really?!” asked the purple minibot, “I, I mean, yeah! And I don’t wanna ever see your dumb ugly face ever again, got it?!” She shook her fist at him, throwing in a growl to her intimidation tactics. It sounded like a baby cyberwolf.

Taking no time to look back or even respond, the mech rushed off with the datapads in his hands. He screamed and practically jumped in the air when Nightlight yelled “L2400!” to remind him of where he was supposed to be going.

When the bot disappeared in the hallway, Nightlight stood still. She seemed to start to gradually vibrate, before exploding in excitement, jumping around the hallway, squealing and screaming, dancing and throwing her fists all around. She did it! She did it! She was intimidating! She could stand up for herself! She didn’t have to be bullied anymore! She was a real Decepticon!

Nightlight then felt a little guilty. She put her servo to her mouth and thought. The mech looked so scared. Had she been too mean?

No, she hadn’t been. Overlord told her that she should stand her ground, go full force, and dish back exactly what her bullies were doing to her. There was nothing wrong with that. An optic for an optic, and then some. The moped bounced in place. Overlord would be so proud of her!

“...I have to tell him!” she said, out of breath. She dashed down the hallway despite this, giggling and cheering, back in the direction she came from.

As Nightlight skipped away, Overlord stood at the other end of the corridor, in direct line of sight of where her bully had been standing. He backed away into the darkness with a wicked smile.

#tf oc #nightlight #overlord #maccadam #sunnyd #tried posting this last night but i am pretty sure tumblr ate it #or something #cause it got like 2 likes and i was like #DAMN Y'ALL HATE IT THAT MUCH?#i got unreasonably sad about it LMAO #but then i went to take a nap and i was like #oh nvm it's fine laksjfdlkads #so now i'm grabbing you guys by the head and forcing you to read it #you WILL consume my content OR ELSE #and thank you to my friends who helped me feel better #i owe you one

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aros001 · 3 years ago

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First time read through light novel vol. 8. Random thoughts.

...So...does anyone else feel a little uncomfortable with that cover image between Reinhard and Felt? I mean, I know he's not going to do anything sexual to her and she's not as young as I originally thought she was (I think vol. 1 said she was 15, while ever since the anime I thought she was like 10 or something), but she still is underage, being forced into wearing and doing something she doesn't want to by a grown man, and I think just the way he's got his hand holding her bare thigh makes it feel more sexual than it should be.

Also, is Wilhelm floating? The heck is he sitting on?

Subaru was afraid of death. Dying constantly trashed his life with an unbearable sense of fear and loss. He thought it was like that for everyone; he assumed that was how it had to be. Subaru, who had experienced death more than anyone via Return by Death, didn’t want anyone else to know what it was like.

I'm definitely seeing more similarities between Subaru and Ferris here than I did in the anime. I like how they both have a more unique perspective on life and death than most people would; Subaru from his Return By Death and Ferris from being such a powerful healer (to the point he can even regenerate himself from near death, I guess). Again, for a series where death can be undone so easily, it really knows how to use that premise to show just how weighty and serious death is. While the two will and do kill, it sits with them more than it does for others because they know just how awful death can be.

Something I've really enjoyed when reading through various LN series after watching the anime first is that I end up liking certain characters that I didn't in the anime. I didn't hate Ferris but the cutesy way he talked really bugged me and I didn't focus on him much. Here though I'm definitely getting a better feel for his character, especially with how much he values life, cursing at the suicidal witch cult members for tossing theirs away so easily. He and Subaru's back and forth makes the ending feel that much more heartbreaking when Ferris has to mercy kill the possessed Subaru.

Also, just to clear up any confusion I have, is Ferris in drag or does he identify as a woman? I don't have any problem referring to him from now on as a "she" (I never had that problem with Magne in My Hero Academia) but I'd prefer to get my facts straight. Ferris also makes a joke about Subaru swinging over to his side of the fence but I'm not sure if that means he's gay or not. It's a little hard to tell how far his affection for Crusch runs, for example.

Similarly, there's Julius, a character I never disliked in the anime, but I can definitely see more of a path to him and Subaru becoming friends here. It is funny that a comment from Ferris got me thinking how something to two have in common is how easy it is for them to get others to immediately dislike them just by talking. For Subaru it's because he too often talks without thinking, shoving his foot into his mouth, and for Julius it's how unintentionally snobbish and "better-than-you" he can sound. It's also nice that the story is getting Subaru to try and work through his issues, acknowledging that he's being unfair towards Julius, whom really has done nothing wrong aside from unintentionally pricking at Subaru's inferiority complex.

Like Subaru, I thought demon beasts and monsters were just so common in the world that a barrier around a lord's domain was a very common thing. But from how the other characters in-story are talking, it sounds like Roswaal deliberately put his domain and the village in the center of (or at least nearby) a demon beast habitat. Even in the anime I always believed he knew more than he let on but here he feels like a straight-up mastermind with everything he's been pulling behind the scenes and all the things he's done that, as of yet, have no explanation or reason behind them. Just what is he up to?

One thing I'll say about this series in comparison to some others I've seen/read; the dark magic here, like with the Witch of Envy, Return By Death, the White Whale, and the Unseen Hands, really feels like DARK magic. I've seen series that have their own version of dark magic that'll make bad things happen or summon demons or sacrifice people, but this? Everything to do with the witch feels creepy and unnatural, like it's not or should not be part of the world. With how much suffering it's caused, the mystery behind the gospel, just how unhinged Petelgeuse is and his body jumping, it all feels like stuff you should really not be messing with. Even at the end with Subaru running off and Julius finding him, getting no response at first from Subaru, feels like something out of a horror movie.

Subaru keeps getting asked if he's Pride, to which I'm assuming they mean if he's the one to become the Archbishop of Pride. Personally, my theory is that because of how much the witch seems to "favor" him, Subaru is Envy, like, well, the Witch of Envy and the only one of the seven sins they never mention to have an archbishop, given Satella destroyed the other witches. If that's the case, I can only imagine how much that's going to piss off all the other archbishops, that after all their shows of devotion some schmuck came to their world out of nowhere and became Satella's favorite.

“Lending one’s strength does not mean merely swinging one’s sword. It means challenging the same foes, worrying over the same obstacles, sharing the wounds and the weight of the burdens. This we can do. This is the lesson I learned in the past.”

Obviously this is meant primarily for Subaru but I can't help but think it can apply to Rem and Emilia as well. With the exception of Puck, Emilia tends to go out of her way to avoid involving others in her problems or having them feel they owe her anything when she helps with theirs. Rem dedicated a good chunk of her life to live as her sister's replacement after Ram lost her horn and tried to kill all the demon dogs on her own after Subaru was cursed saving her. They both seem determined to bear the weight of their burdens solely on their own, like they're the only ones who need to suffer. Subaru goes back and forth on how much he involves others in his problems, but while he's more than willing to help ease the burdens on others, his problem for the longest time was that he was so fixated on "swinging his sword", as he thought fighting and strength was the only way to help (probably because strength would honestly solve a decent chunk of his own problems).

“Two days ago, the forest around the mansion became unnaturally calm... to the point that even my eyes could catch nothing. Thereupon, an armed group appeared bearing the crest of the House of Karsten, which had declared war with the blank letter... Surely you cannot blame my little bird’s heart for being on the verge of breaking?”

Ram, I had no idea how much I missed you until you came back.

Namely, that someone out there had swapped his letter of goodwill, aiming to turn Emilia and Crusch against each other.

I don't think a line or speculation like this was in the anime, which it probably should have been. Without it, it just seems like Subaru's an idiot and made a stupid mistake, but now it seems like someone is directly manipulating events behind the scenes. Personally, I'd say my money's on Roswaal if I didn't have terrible luck when it comes to gambling.

“Silence! Cease your prattle! Give that book back, right—”

“Hey, don’t shout. If you get too angry, you know—your brain’ll shake.”

...

“G...gah...! How dare you, dare you, dare youuuu! My disciple of love!!”

“Don’t gimme that, you’re the one who mixed us up! Tunnel vision! What, are you lazy?!”

HA!

Overlord was the first light novel series I read (the only other LN I'd read before was Death Note: Another Note - The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases and that was years ago), so naturally it's the series I tend to make the most comparisons to for the other series I've been reading. In this case, something I really like about both Ainz and Subaru is that, despite how they're presented sometimes, neither is actually stupid (though they too often suck at reading the room). They're both just in situations way over their head and they have no frame of reference for how to deal with these fantasy world situations. Subaru, like with tricking Sloth into getting attacked by demon beast or figuring out what was up with the flowers, has plenty of times where he shows he can come up with decent plans or quick thinking that can pull off a win. His flaws are based more in his own immaturity and need to grow more as a person.

Honestly, Ainz and Subaru are fun to compare because, of the LN MCs I've read so far, they both seem to get every break the other doesn't. Ainz is obvious. He's got actual power, tons of resources, and numerous people whose faith in him is absolute, while Subaru has almost nothing save for the curse and the clothes on his back and has to continuously struggle to make any difference. On the other hand, Ainz has no one in his life he can relate to or be his real self around, making him feel incredibly empty and lonely, while Subaru has attracted a surprisingly wide web of people around him whom, despite some hiccups, do genuinely believe in the real him.

I am 90% certain Emilia and Puck fighting Sloth wasn't in the anime. Well, no wonder anime-only fans have trouble liking her when you cut out nearly all of the character's best sh*t! [Edit: I was wrong. Another post pointed out it was at the end of ep 23. Like I said, it's been a bit since I saw the anime and I remembered none of this fight. Though I still stand by that LN Emilia is better than anime Emilia] Like I've said before, it's not like anime Emilia could just be replaced with a sexy lamp and nothing would be different, but compared to the LN version she really didn't get a lot to do in the anime outside of the first arc. She wants to be queen and sometimes heals people. Otherwise she was mostly off-screen or serving as Subaru's object of affection (and sometimes obsession). Just being able to fight isn't everything but Emilia here certainly feels like she has a lot more fire to her personality and does more when she appears. She's not just a nice, pretty girl for the MC to fight for.

Somehow, he’d died again. He’d probably lost it all once more.

He surrendered everything to the abyss. This was the familiar embrace of failure after he pathetically lost his life.

Look back at the world.

Look back at your failures.

Don’t forget. Don’t forget. Do not forget.

Ferris’s tear-filled voice. Wilhelm’s lament, shaking with regrets. Julius’s resolve and remorse, so great he probably gnashes his teeth over it—Don’t forget, ever. No matter how low you are, don’t ever let go.

Is this Satella saying this to Subaru? I'd assume so since it ends with the "I love you" line Subaru's been getting before he RBDs. But if so, why is she saying this to him? One theory is that she has her own regrets from her life and is giving Subaru a chance not to have the same. That assumes she is a good person and that the stories around her are wrong. Another theory, given the Witch of Envy title, is that she's insisting Subaru never let go of what's his. It's his (and hers, since he is hers) and no one else can have it. I mean, that applies more to greed than envy, I suppose, but stretching a bit you could say she'd be jealous of a world moving on without her.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/Re_Zero/comments/gwjfwy/novels_first_time_read_through_light_novel_vol_8/

#re:zero #random thoughts #reddit repost

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dontasktheradiodemon · 4 years ago

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Peace Talks, Pt. 1 (3/5/2021)

Alastor #1 (@usedhearts) contacts Alastor #2 (hi there) to ask #2 about why he intervened in #1’s fight with Sir Pentious (who #2 happens to be dating secretly). They meet up to discuss the fight, why that Alastor & Pent hate each other, and potentially how to reduce hostilities between them so these fights don’t keep happening.

(Part 2 where my Alastor goes and gets Sir Pentious’s side is here.)

usedhearts

🩸Alastor, I think we need to have a chat.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 What luck, I've been telling myself the same thing for a couple of weeks! Let's do lunch. I know a very discreet little café that loves to leave me alone and would be twice as happy to do so with two of us there.

usedhearts

🩸Send me the address, I'll meet you there.

dontasktheradiodemon

[Sends an address, as well as a picture of a map with the location circled in sharpie.]

usedhearts

🩸See you soon.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 I'll be waiting!

–––

dontasktheradiodemon

The café was an ugly place, in Alastor's opinion—concrete floors and walls, black-painted wooden booths, naked bulbs hanging from simple pipes—but attempting to look like abandoned warehouses was the fashion of cutting-edge restaurants these days, wasn't it? And anyway the coffee was decent and the employees didn't run out the back door when Alastor showed up, so it would do. He got a cup of coffee and some ridiculous fancy toast, claimed a booth, and waited.

usedhearts

He didn't have to wait long-- but a few minutes later and Leclerq was walking in as well, receiving more than a few double takes. He'd swapped his glasses back for his monocle, and his coat was on-- the only thing differentiating him from his alternate his slight longer, wavy hair. Leclerq's smile turned a bit mischievous as the staff looked between him and Alastor, trying to be sure they weren't seeing double. He made his way over to the table and sat, ordering a cup of the strongest they had, black, from a passing staff person.

"So, my dear self, how's things?" He asked, looking at his gloves nails, feigning nonchalance.

dontasktheradiodemon

Alastor smiled innocently at the staff's baffled glances. What, never seen two radios at once?

He beamed a little more brightly at his alternate—although there was wariness underneath it. He knew full well what this was about; what he didn't know yet was how, exactly, his alternate had taken it, or how bad the consequences were going to be.

"All going well! I can't complain." Walking on cloud nine and head a little foggy, in fact, but he was sure his alternate didn't want to know the details and even more sure he didn't want to share them. "And how about you—doing well, I hope?" With a mischievous glint in his eye, he added, "Recovered from those snake bites, I hope?" No point beating around the bush for *too* long.

usedhearts

The beaming grin was normal for Alastors in general, but considering the reason they were there, seeing his alternate looking at _him_ like that was a bit...strange. Leclerq crossed his legs, and took a sip of the coffee set in front of him as soon as it arrived.

"Yes, recovered. Only took me a day to get back into working order. I suppose Pentell is doing fine now, considering he posted about his successful shed." He took a breath, smile firm as he folded his hands in his lap.

"Why did you interfere? You could've let someone else stop us. Charlie could've taken care of it herself, even, if she hadn't been panicking. Why not talk her down and get her to do it, instead of showing up yourself? And so _quickly_, too. We'd hardly even maimed each other by the time you showed up." Leclerq's eyes narrowed a fraction. "I simply must know why go through all that trouble? Explain it to me."

dontasktheradiodemon

“Glad to hear it!” He didn’t respond directly to the comment about the shed, only offering a vague shrug as if he wouldn’t know. He didn’t even flinch at the revelation that his alternate knew Sir Pentious’s real name... although he was certainly going to ask Telly about it later.

And his alternate had given him room to wiggle around with his answer. How very polite. They’d dance around it a bit. “*If she hadn’t been panicking.*” He scoffed. “That’s quite a big ‘if,’ isn’t it! Sure, I could have wasted three minutes of my time talking her down, and then twiddled my thumbs while waiting to see what she’d do—waste even more time trying to talk down the both of you? Join the fight herself and cause even more property damage? Or, I could resolve the whole thing with no further trouble in a mere fifteen seconds.”

usedhearts

Leclerq leaned in, propping his elbow on the table, chin in his hand. His head tilted at an odd angle and he picked up his coffee and took a drink.

"Yes, that's probably how it would've gone. But why stop it in the first place? Not like either of us can actually kill the other. Surely you weren't worried about _me_. If it had been me, I would've shown up with popcorn and a lawn chair. Fights between demons are free entertainment after all."

He sat back, arms crossing over his chest. "So, I'll ask again. _Why_ did you interfere?"

dontasktheradiodemon

“I have a question for *you* first.” He sat forward, lacing his hands under his chin, fixing his alternate with a keen, genuinely curious look. “It’s relevant, I assure you—but why fight him at all? It can’t be because he’s a challenging opponent—without his tin cans, there’s nothing stopping you from tying him in knots. And I don’t know about *your* policies, but *I* don’t tend to attack the physically weak unless I’m starving and don’t think a total stranger will miss a few pounds of meat—*or,* they’ve done something so outrageously offensive as to earn it. Now, he’s clearly no stranger, so the first explanation doesn’t apply—but for the life of me I can’t imagine *what* he could have done to warrant that kind of response? Or what *you* did to make *him* attack first, if that’s how it happened—but that seems even less likely to me, I can’t see him picking a fight without a dozen lasers at the ready.”

usedhearts

"He _does_ start it sometimes," Leclerq said, immediately. His smile twitched and his eyes narrowed again, before he gave a small huff and looked away.

"I suppose I knew it would come to this eventually, what with the both of us making friends in the same circles." He moved his monocle, taking it off to clean the lens, or so it seemed. "We used to be friends. When I first dropped in, he was an Overlord, and my massacre helped him gain some more ground, inadvertently. I started getting invited to all the big Overlord parties, and I went because I was still new to Hell and all. We met and hit it off, became friends and whatnot. About a decade later, we hardly spoke, and then V[BEEP]x dropped in and started his rise to power. Pentell was already washed up by that point, desperate, so he..."

Leclerq sighed and shook his head, putting his monocle back on, his smile turning wane. "He helped V[BEEP]x secretly convert some of the old radio stations to broadcast tv instead-- I don't know if it's the same for you, but for me, it felt like someone was tearing out pieces of my soul and roasting them with ten thousand volts. I don't know why or what V[BEEP]x promised him, but obviously he never got it, considering his standing hasn't changed since then."

Leclerq shrugged, feigning nonchalance again. "That's why I hate him."

dontasktheradiodemon

Alastor’s eyebrows shot up. “And a fair reason to hate him!” He himself didn’t hold any radio stations—had *never* held any—but just *imagining* stations slaughtered like sacrificial animals on the altar of network television made his heart squeeze in pain.

That long ago, stations had often broadcasted both radio and TV simultaneously. Hell, well into the seventies Alastor had considered a smattering of TV stations under his own protection because they shared a roof with a radio station. For the stations to be converted to broadcast TV in a way that *killed* their potential to broadcast radio—that wasn’t just the new guy in Hell wanting to increase his own power; that was a deliberate effort to decrease the Radio Demon’s. That was far worse than simply trying to get in good with two different overlords and accidentally screwing over one in the process.

“You said you hardly spoke—had you had some falling out...? Not that it’s any sort of mitigating factor, not for an action on *that* scale, but—well, nothing of the sort ever happened *here,* so I’m simply trying to understand the narrative! The treachery is self-evident, but depending on if it was motivated by hot vengeance or cold ambition... well, it certainly changes the *flavor* of the treachery, doesn’t it?”

usedhearts

He hadn't expected sympathy, or understanding, but then again, this was himself. If anyone would understand his pain, it was another version of himself. Leclerq felt himself relax, at least fractionally, and he picked up his cup for another sip of coffee.

"Yes, there was. Around, oh, '45 or so, Pentell was gearing up for a big push to conquer more territory-- he had a whole plan and everything, you know how he is, prepared every meticulous detail. _I_ was one of those details, of course. He was counting on my support when he set things into motion and I....well, I didn't show." He shrugged a bit, taking another sip.

"I'd gotten bored of waiting, I was still relatively new to Hell, and a decade still seemed like a long time-- especially for one such as us, you know how it is, don't you?-- and so I'd picked up some other hobbies, started doing other things. And I just didn't want to help anymore. I was _bored_, I never wanted to conquer Hell! But Pentell had been banking on my power backing him, and when I didn't arrive, well...."

His smile twisted a bit before he sighed. "It all sort of blew up in his face. He lost almost all of his territory and his Overlord title was stripped-- he became a laughing stock overnight. So, I suppose I betrayed him first, but this IS Hell. Who can you trust in Hell, except yourself?" His smile twitched into something wry for a moment as he met his alternate's eyes, then looked away.

dontasktheradiodemon

And his eyebrows twitched higher. He’d gotten *bored*? Bored of Sir Pentious, of all people? How in the world was that possible? How does one get *bored* of having a front-row seat to the greatest drama in Hell since whatever the hell happened in *Paradise Lost*?

Would he himself have left as quickly and carelessly if he’d gotten bored? Even if he couldn’t understand how *that person* in *particular* had bored his alternate—yes, if he *did* get bored of someone, he’d leave like that. Would he himself have stayed long enough to get as enthralled as he did if he’d met Sir Pentious in, what, the ‘30s, rather than in ‘51? He didn’t know. He didn’t think he’d have lost interest, but he didn’t know. Learning to exist in Hell had been a process. Maybe those eighteen years had made a difference.

“Well! If I were him, I’d want to hit you where it hurts too!” He laughed wryly. “And if I were *you*, I’d never forgive him for it, either.”

usedhearts

Leclerq took drained his coffee the rest of the way, holding his cup out for a refill-- which a staff member came over to give him as quickly as demonly possible. He set the new cup on the table, holding it between his hands.

"Yes, so, as you can see neither of us can forgive the other, and now we're expecting to exist near one another more regularly and tempers flare at the slightest provocation, etcetera, etcertera." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, his smile tight and close lipped.

"I know that many of you are now mutual friends with the both of us, and I've been trying to be on my best behavior when at the Hotel, as we've a truce there, but the old resentments bubble up and we go at it. Generally, it's me blowing up his ship but since we've been seeing one another in person, it's just gotten to basic brawls." A small growl slipped out and he clenched his hand, cracking the cup and spilling hot coffee all over, though he didn't seem to care.

"I should have better control, but with him I just-- I see red--" A snort. "Or more red than usual at least-- and then we're tumbling around like feral animals."

dontasktheradiodemon

Alastor watched without a twitch of his expression as his alternate’s cup cracked. Yes, he certainly could comprehend the anger.

But when he tried to imagine the anger behind that shattering grip turned on Telly—his blood boiled.

“Yes, well. That’s a problem, isn’t it?”

usedhearts

Leclerq grabbed some napkins, wiping off his gloved hand and sitting back, watching the coffee spread across the table. He put some more napkins between him and the coffee puddle-- no use letting it get on him-- and sighed.

"That's the problem, yes." He looked over at him and arched a brow. "And you still haven't answered my question-- why did you intervene?"

dontasktheradiodemon

His smile tightened. “Well, like you said—quite a few people are mutual friends with the both of you now! And while it’s an utter delight to watch *strangers* fight, there’s nothing pleasant about it when it involves friends! Particularly if one friend is at risk of being reduced to bone toothpicks and flesh confetti. And that’s even *more* the case when, from my perspective, the fight simply came out of nowhere! Who knows what will happen in a fight like that?” He shrugged broadly. “Now, typically if a friend’s in a fight, I’m happy to lend a hand—but it’s tricky if I’m on good terms with both combatants. The best thing I can do then is ensure they’re separated.”

usedhearts

Leclerq hummed, the noise droning in his static, his arms crossing again. His finger began to tap against his upper arm, and his foot tapped again-- fidgeting tics that were showing themselves in his alternate's presence.

"I suppose you're right. Fine, I accept that explanation." His cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing a fraction. "But I don't know how Pentell and I are going to co-exist when we're at each others' throats. The Hotel's been a test run and we've had at least three fights since he started making repairs and renovations there. Any bright ideas in that big bulb of yours?"

dontasktheradiodemon

*Three fights.* He tilted his head as he thought. “No, not yet.” Maybe he could persuade Telly to stop helping with the hotel upkeep. There were so many more important things he could be spending that time and effort on, anyway. Sure, Alastor was at the hotel, but only because he *wanted* to watch a train wreck happen in action—but there was no reason for Sir Pentious to waste his time tightening the bolts on the locomotive engine when it was chugging toward a fiery crash. “But I’m sure we both agree that this can’t keep happening, don’t we?”

usedhearts

"Yes, I agree. Especially if people are going to get in the middle now-- I can't even think if it was Valera next time, while she's, well..." He motioned with his hands to pantomime a pregnant belly. "I don't want her trying to get between us while we go at it-- we're both vicious in the moment."

His foot tapped a little faster and he huffed. "Perhaps I can just avoid him for now...and I'll try to doubly make sure I have a tight leash on myself if he is around. And perhaps you could talk to him, you two are chummy now, aren't you? We just need to learn to....keep our heads better."

dontasktheradiodemon

Oh right, this alternate had been getting chummy with Valera, hadn’t he? About every alternate but himself was. Just his rotten luck, wasn’t it.

“If you haven’t *already* been trying to avoid him, yes, I recommend it.” He scooted his unfinished coffee over to his alternate. Here, you look anxious, have a little more caffeine and calm down. “No promises, I haven’t the foggiest idea what he’s going to say about *you*—but I’ll see what I can do.”

usedhearts

He took the cup gratefully and downed it, taking a breath after. "Probably something along the lines of--" His own voice cut out and then, in a perfect imitation of Sir Pentious's voice, he said. "HE DESSSERVED IT!"

Leclerq snorted and his own voice was back when he spoke again. "I may have cast the first stone, but teaming up with V[beep]x is just.....scummy."

dontasktheradiodemon

Alastor huffed. “Not to defend the unforgivable—but ol’ blockhead had only just died, hadn’t he? In my neck of the woods, it took until the seventies before he started showing his true colors. Taking down stations, sure, Sir Pentious should have known better—but doing it with *him*? There was no way to know what kinds of things he’d do *before* he started doing them.”

And who knew what promises Vox might have made? No doubt the sort of promises he made to every business and network he added to his growing mega-corporation. Fame, wealth, power, a treasured and valued position in his inner circle.

Alastor thought he was beginning to detect a pattern, here. Pentell, lonely and unappreciated; and then one man after another, charismatic and compelling, telling Pentell how much they adored his brilliant inventions; each of them using him—for sex, for entertainment, for power—before losing interest and casting him aside.

It was only when he heard something crack that he realized he’d started squeezing one of his fists in the other like a stress ball. He stretched his fingers and surreptitiously repaired the damage. But in his head, over and over, all he could hear were the words *how dare—how dare—how dare—*

usedhearts

"Yes, he had, and he's a cunning rat even moreso than that boyfriend of his." Leclerq sneered at the thought of the VVVs, and held the empty coffee cup, just to have something to hold on to. "Though he started being really ruthless once he found Valentino-- that was in the 80s here, I'm not sure when it happened for you. They really bring out the worst in each other, and not in the fun way."

His eyebrows shot up at the sound of the crack, looking down at his alternate's hands. "You alright there?" He asked, a little quieter than before.

dontasktheradiodemon

“About the same time, late seventies or early eighties. I wasn’t paying attention to celebrity gossip at the time. All I know is they’d made it into the toxic end of things by the mid-eighties.”

He held up a hand and wiggled his fingers, all fine. “So sorry, I know, knuckle-cracking, nasty habit to get into. Mother would be scolding me.”

usedhearts

"I only know because I was friends with Madame by that point and Valentino started out as one of her's." He tapped his fingers against the cup, still fidgety despite the caffeine.

"Well, since we hashed that out, is that it? Or did you want to brainstorm ways to get me and Pentell able to coexist in the same space without biting each other's heads off?"

dontasktheradiodemon

And Alastor only knew because he’d witnessed the results of their toxic sides up close and in person. He decided to keep that to himself. As much as he hated Vox, that wasn’t his dirt to dish.

“I’m not sure what there is to brainstorm,” Alastor said wryly. “If you’re in the same space, don’t be; if you have to be, don’t interact. If you haven’t been doing even *that* much before, I’d say that’s a good starting point, don’t you?”

usedhearts

"We have, since we made the truce, at least when inside the Hotel. But the second one of us steps outside, it's on." He leaned back in his seat a bit.

"We never made an official deal for our truce, but I gave my word, and I keep it, to the letter. We never fight inside the Hotel now-- we take it outside. Though the lawn isn't much better. I suppose I can try to keep the truce up outside the Hotel. If I think about it like that, perhaps it'll be easier to keep myself in check..."

dontasktheradiodemon

He fights a grimace. “Well. ‘Do what you’re already doing, except even more so, and hope sheer willpower makes up the difference’ doesn’t exactly sound to me like a winning strategy. Especially when what you’re already doing has resulted in three fights.”

usedhearts

"I'm not sure what other options we have, at least for now. Avoidance and sheer willpower will have to do for the time being." He closed his eyes and took a breath.

"Talk to Pentell, I'm sure he's got insight from his side of things for you. Perhaps there's...something that can be done, to at least make things less hostile between us. You can tell him I'd be open to negotiations-- for the sake of our mutual friends. But for now, I think I need to go-- I need to kill something."

He stood, dusting off his jacket. "Is there anything else, my dear other?"

dontasktheradiodemon

He stood as well. “Yes, one thing—who’s going to pick up the bill?” Studio laughter. “Hah! No, nothing I can think of. Just try not to start any more brawls. I don’t want to make a hobby out of refereeing.”

usedhearts

"That'd be terrible! You'd look horrendous in horizontal stripes!" His own studio kicked in with their laughs, and Leclerq reached a hand to pat his alternate's shoulder.

"Speak again, soon, my dear me! So long!" And with that he faded into the shadows.

dontasktheradiodemon

He offered his other a half-bow in farewell—and then headed for the exit the more conventional way. Seemed like he needed to go have another conversation.

#usedhearts #chat log

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justjessame · 5 years ago

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A Little Ass and A Lotta Sass Chapter One: Unimpressed Doesn’t Begin to Cover It

"Little pig, little pig-let me in," I heard a gruff voice call from the gates with an accompanying metallic clang and rattle, as I was taking my little sister Judith out for a walk. Rolling my eyes, I let out a huff of breath and started back to our house.

I passed Dad as he was rushing to the gates, he paused long enough to kiss my forehead and hers. I smiled at him in encouragement and continued toward the house. Negan. The murderous psycho that killed two of ours wasn't supposed to come by for another couple of days. I wasn't surprised. Clearly he was an asshole.

I hadn't been with the others during the mission to flatten the Saviors. Dad had decided that I was more helpful to them if I stayed in Alexandria and kept morale up, while also taking care of Judith. That was fine with me. Not that I was afraid of standing up for our people, but honestly, usually my mouth tended to get ALL of us in more trouble then we started with. My only excuse, and one I was careful not to use too often, was that I'd been an only child for my first six years of life. Dad and Mom had spoiled me rotten, and by the time Carl came along, well it was way too late to reign me in. My mouth at least. Mom had called me "Sassy Pants".

Bouncing Judith in my arms, kissing her silky blonde curls, I considered whether I should rush inside and stay far away from Negan and his minions, or settle on the porch in one of the white rocking chairs and watch. Dad would probably want me to hide, with Judith, inside. Unfortunately, I rarely considered what Dad would want. I mean, I kind of wanted to see how horrific this dickhead was for myself. But I didn't want him or his people to see Judith. I rushed into the house, carrying her upstairs, and was happy to see that she was clearly ready for a nap. I grabbed one of the baby monitor's receivers and pushed it into the pocket of my skinny jeans. I had it turned loud enough to feel the vibrations, just in case she woke up in the middle of the unannounced visit.

Rushing back downstairs, I opened the front door and sat down on the top step. This would give me more options to run, if I chose the chair, jumping over the banister might break my damn leg. As I sat, I considered what Carl had told me about the night Abe and Glenn had died. The night Negan stole Daryl away. The night he nearly forced Dad to cut my baby brother's arm off. I'd felt so much rage and pain since that night. Losing so much, especially when I saw how fucking broken he'd made Dad. Nothing had hurt him so much that he lost sight of what was important, but now? Now he was almost a husk.

Things had been tense, not just in the community, but in our house. Michonne and Dad seemed almost on pins and needles around one another. Carl looked like he'd rather do nothing other than storm the gates and take Negan's head himself. And little Judith was picking up on the entire mess and making her sleep less restful. Me? I felt like I had when we first learned that the dead walked. Like nothing could get fucking worse, but then God laughed and considered that thought a fucking challenge.

I heard that same gruff voice give an order that made little sense, until I caught a glimpse of Dad walking beside a tall man in a leather jacket, barbed wire baseball bat on his shoulder. Negan, I thought, and then my eyes caught the reason for the order. "You don't look at him, you don't talk to him, and I don't make you chop anything off of him." Daryl was creeping alongside one of the minions. He was dressed in the dingiest sweats I'd ever seen, looking far worse than I'd ever seen him look before. Saviors? I snorted to myself. Sure.

I watched, trying to decide if Negan looked as scary as everyone felt he was. He came closer and more in focus, and I tilted my head. Dark hair, slicked back like an old fashioned greaser, a little gray brushing here and there. His face was far more salt than pepper, but his scruff looked too perfect, deliberately careless. The leather jacket was more fitted than I'd imagined. The bat was less intimidating, but then again, he wasn't playing a disturbing game of "Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe" with me. The rest of him looked like most of the men in my life, just far cleaner than I thought he'd be.

"And what do we have here?" He whistled and I saw my dad flinch. Shit, guess I'd been too far inside my own head to realize they'd grown closer and now the asshole had his attention focused on me. "Shit, Rick, who the fuck is this little beauty?"

I rolled my eyes and stood, crossing my arms across my semi loose wine colored v-neck t-shirt. I really hoped he didn't think I was going to fucking kneel like he'd made my family before he killed two of them, because that shit was NOT going to happen. He'd asked Dad to tell him who I was, so I didn't feel the need to answer. Dad was looking at me like he'd wished I'd gone all the way inside, but I could also tell he was happy that Judith wasn't with me.

"My daughter," I wanted to scream at the quiet defeat I heard in Dad's voice. "This is my daughter, Callie."

"Fuck, Rick, if you'd brought her along to negotiate, you'd made it out far fucking better than you did." Negan hadn't taken his eyes off of me, rather off of my body, since he'd caught sight of me. "Your wife must have been fucking gorgeous." He walked closer to me and I stood my ground. "And shit, she's lookin' at me like she doesn't fuckin' care who I am." His dimples grew deeper as he shot me a smile that might have been charming if it wasn't attached to a fucking psychopath. "Damn, darlin', you gonna say 'hello' to your new leader?"

I raised an eyebrow and smiled just as deeply. "Sure," I looked at my dad and said, "hello, Dad!" And gave him a little wave.

Negan gave a bark of laughter and stared up at me from his position on the bottom step. It wasn't a far tilt of his head since I'm so goddamn short. "Fuck, you've got a fucking sassy ass attitude don't ya." I stared at him full on, refusing to be charmed or intimidated. "Shit, I swear to fuck your fucking mouth is making my dick hard." I rolled my eyes, breaking contact first, but honestly what the hell?

"That sounds like a very personal problem." I answered, and squinted at him. "Since, I'm guessing that bat on your shoulder is your compensation for the inadequate one in your pants, I don't think you'll have a problem working through it."

Another loud laugh and I could fucking swear his eyes were twinkling at me. Shit, was this fucking foreplay for him? "Hot damn, you got a firecracker here, Rick the Dick!" He winked at me and turned back to Dad. As they walked away, I moved into the house thinking that I could last a fucking lifetime before I had to deal with that dickhead again.

The visit was terrible for so many reasons. They took our weapons. They took comforts, like mattresses and furniture. They took so much, and for what? For power? Because they could? When Carl tried to fight back, I was upstairs holding Judith. She could sense the tension in the air, I swear, and she'd become fussy. When I heard the shots, I clutched at her tighter, wondering if today would be the day that everyone died.

It wasn't, but we weren't safe. Luckily they'd left the food. Apparently Negan wasn't as complementary to the other women, at least not poor Olivia. It was more than certainly better that I'd stayed inside. If I'd heard him make the obscene comments about her weight, I wouldn't have been able to hold my tongue. Or my knife, to be fair. I hated when anyone shamed someone else for a perceived shortcoming. Fat shaming, slut shaming, any type of shaming was fucking wrong.

I heard Dad and Michonne discussing retaliation. Numbers, Dad says, are the issue. Savior numbers are far more vast than they had planned for, and he completely shoots down her idea of utilizing Hilltop. He urges her, and all of us to just learn to live the way we have to now. It's our new reality.

A FEW DAYS LATER

I look all over for Carl, wondering where the hell the kid got to. Dad and Aaron are off trying to find supplies to satisfy their new overlord, and for once I cannot fucking believe that I've become Mom and lost Carl. Shit. Carrying Judith with me, I look from street to street, going all the way to the front gate and seeing nothing. I swear to fucking God, I think I am going to ring my brother's fucking neck.

Hours pass, with Olivia visiting me and helping me keep Judith occupied. We talk about the things we miss from before, something I try really hard not to do when the rest of my family are around. It's too painful, and it almost seems ungrateful seeing as we have all this.

"My cell phone," I nearly moaned. "I swear, I used to threaten to throw the fucking thing in a ditch, but I'd kill to have it back, along with the people I used to text and call." I sober at the thought.

She smiles at me. "Starbucks," her eyes closed thinking of her daily dose of overpriced caffeine clearly. "All the complicated orders and my name misspelled on the cup." We giggle, Judith starting to yawn.

"I'll be right back," I say, picking up the toddler and jogging upstairs to her room. I put her carefully in her crib and smooth her curls. "Sleep tight, baby Jude." I whisper, kissing her forehead as she closes her eyes and drifts off.

I'm coming down the stairs when I heard voices. Thinking it's only Carl, I call out, "I swear to fucking God, I'm going to strangle you." As I clear the bottom step, I'm confronted with a leatherclad chest, and fuck, fuck, fuck more laughter.

"Strangle me?" Negan places his leather gloved hand over his chest as though I'd wounded him. "Fuck, I never thought I'd find a threat so fucking sexy." His voice was low and I rolled my eyes again.

"Not you," I growled, seeing my brother standing by Olivia, "him." Carl didn't have his bandage on and I returned my attention to the asshole blocking my path. "What the fuck did you do to him?"

Negan stepped back slightly, frowning at my tone. "Me? I didn't do shit to him. He came at me, shot more of my men. Fuck, your people, your fucking brother can't seem to get this shit through your fucking heads." He was leaning forward now, regaining the intimidating image that may make someone else cower, but he clearly didn't fucking know me.

I brushed past the overbearing asshole and pulled Carl to me. "Are you alright?" I asked, cupping his face in my hands, even if he was taller than me. "Where's your bandage?"

"Why does he need it?" Negan's voice demanded behind me. "He looks more badass now than he did with the fucking gun he tried to shoot me with." I rolled my eyes and then focused on the terror in Olivia's face. Oh for fuck's sake.

"And her?" I asked, releasing Carl from my grasp and turning to face Negan with my hands on my hips. "What did Olivia do to make you upset her?"

He grinned, dimples trying to distract me by coming into play. "I may have teased her a little. I apologized and even offered to fuck her after she slapped me."

I had to fight against rolling my eyes again. More time spent around him and I'd know what my own fucking brain looked like, enough to detail all the fucking wrinkles. "Do you think that's charming- or?" I squinted up at him and watched him process what I was insinuating about his desirability.

"I'm Prince Motherfucking Charming, darlin'." He winked at me and leaned closer. "For you? For you I'll be anything you want."

I lost the fight against rolling my eyes. "I suppose I should thank you for bringing my brother home. Dad isn't here, he's on a run to get you and your savages more supplies." I make it sound cheery, waiting to see if he noticed that I should thank him, but I didn't.

"Yeah, uh," he looked toward Olivia and I could see he was confused about her name. "She told me about Rick. I think I'll wait for him."

I glared up at him. "Fine. There's a porch right outside, make yourself at home there." Southern hospitality it wasn't, but I was trying to keep him far away from Judith.

He shook his head and started to wander through our house. I shot a look at Carl, televising that I was going to totally fucking ream him over coals for this. He had common sense to look a little bit ashamed.

"Olivia," I said, looking at the woman that Negan had been so rude to. "Why don't you head back?" I walked her to the door, once out of his earshot, I grinned at her. "You really fucking slapped him?" She nodded, a smile forming on her own face. "Way to fucking go, girl!" I hugged her goodbye and walked back into the living room.

Negan was taking in what was left of our luxuries. "Making yourself at home?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. "Don't get too comfortable, I'm sure your minions will be around to collect you, after all you have complete power over everything. They probably can't go potty without your approval."

He turned to me, dimples in full bloom. "Darlin', what the fuck did I do to you to get your panties in such a fuckin' twist?" I noticed he'd placed the bat down, near enough for him to reach it, but down as thought he really was at home. "Your dad did all this, sweetheart, not me. Why don't you be a lamb and make a little lemonade?"

"What?" I asked, looking at him like he'd lost his fucking mind. "Before the world went to shit, did someone give you a proper diagnosis? I mean, you're fucking insane, right? Like hard to pronounce, long latin worded, diagnostic insanity." He was still grinning. "Does being insulted and smacked turn you on?" For fuck's sake, what the fuck was wrong with him?

"No." He answered, sitting on the couch and putting his feet up on the coffee table. Boots still on his fucking feet. "I'm not certifiable." He turned his head to stare up at me. "And as for turning me on? Oh, sweetheart, that's gonna be a LONG conversation for you and me real fuckin' soon." His dimples mocked me and I glared at him. "Now about that lemonade-"

"Get your fucking boots off the furniture," I demanded, glare still firmly in place. "As for the lemonade? We'll see." I pointed at his feet.

He was there for HOURS. He did take his fucking boots off, then he moaned at the feel of the carpet on his bare feet. Moaned indecently, by the way, as though he thought that would somehow make me swoon. I made his fucking lemonade, only because we had the supplies for it readily available. Not because he requested it. He wasn't my God for fuck's sake.

Carl had disappeared upstairs, I hoped he was keeping Judith company because I didn't want the idiot to see her. But of course, he wanted a fucking tour. And he found her nursery. He'd picked her up with more tenderness than I expected him to be capable of, glancing at me as he kissed her head and talked quietly to her.

"What?" I asked, as he alternated looks between the two of us. "Seriously, what are you doing?" I was about to reach for her and take her away from his grubby paws, but he just held her gently and actually fucking rocked her in his arms.

Another kiss on her head and he smiled at me. "You two look nothin' alike." I sighed, I was NOT going to explain Judith's parentage to this idiot, no more ammo for him against my dad. "Course, you don't look like your little brother either."

I smirked, no I didn't. I looked like my paternal grandmother. The auburn hair, the green eyes, my tiny stature, and from what Dad told me, my sass had come directly from her. "So?"

He shrugged and started toward the door with Judith still in his arms. "Nothing." He answered, walking away.

He drank so much lemonade that I thought he must want to have that sour taste on his tongue for days. Then, as though holding us hostage with his presence was his only goal, he took Judith out to sit in the rocking chairs and held fucking court waving to the neighbors like he owned the fucking place.

I heard him say something that made no sense to me, but Carl understood. Then he offered a chilling thought, and I wondered if he were serious, or if this was one of his games. "Maybe I should just bury you both down there in the flower beds, then me and your hot as fuck older sister and this sweet angel in my lap could settle in the suburbs." He chuckled and kissed Judith's nose, staring at her sweet face asking, "What do you think about that?"

#Negan/OFC #OriginalGrimesDaughter #smut

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syntaxeme · 5 years ago

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Giardino Segreto ch. 5

[Read on AO3] | [First Chapter] | [Next Chapter] Rating: T Chapter summary: As Angel and the Giardinos are coming into their own as a crime family, Alastor is having trouble reading the boss's feelings toward him--that is, whether he has any. Of course, the moment he lets his guard down, an old threat comes back into the picture. Just when things were going so well...

— — –

Venture, it turned out, was as good as her word. Within a month, the hotel was fully functional and attracting guests, in addition to the other more ‘traditional’ fields she and Angel were pursuing—drugs, guns, that sort of thing. As promised, Alastor had leveraged favors, paid bribes, made threats, and generally talked circles around other demons until they had a ‘family’ of a respectable size. Not the most wholesome bunch, maybe, but an effective one nonetheless!

“It’s been a week and a fuckin’ half and Cortez is still draggin’ his feet on this deal,” Angel grumbled from his desk as he looked over the report he’d just been handed. “Venn, we got any other options to get these ACPs shipped? I’m tired of waitin’ on this asshole.”

“I’m sure I could find someone else if you insist,” Venture answered, leaning against the edge of the desk. She had her own, of course, but Alastor wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her sit at it. Too much to do, he supposed. “But the Cortezes could be useful to us. Are you sure you want to burn that bridge so quickly?”

The boss let out a groan and dropped his head back while he thought the matter over. This sort of conversation had become typical of a day’s work, even comfortable. Early on in their operations, the hotel’s third floor had been converted into a sort of administration department, including a spacious joint office from which the two of them oversaw operations. Alastor spent most of his time in this office as well, ready to provide whatever assistance Angel might need of him.

The position of underboss still wasn’t entirely clear to him, but Angel had given him the title, so he accepted it. Well, I wasn’t planning to join the Mob, but why not? It wasn’t as if his legal record before now was entirely spotless. Besides, it gave him some legitimacy and authority when dealing with humans who didn’t understand the real reason it was stupid to challenge him.

“All right, I’ll give him ‘til the end of the week,” Angel decided. “After that, I’m takin’ my merchandise elsewhere. And make sure he knows it.”

“Will do.” And she was off to her desk to make a call.

Angel sat still for a moment, fidgeting with one of his pens and stealing very obvious glances in Alastor’s direction. Cute. Still, he pretended not to notice, remaining where he sat on the sofa against the wall until the boss finally called, “Hey, Al?”

“Hey, Angel.”

The boy smiled and rolled his eyes. “C’mere a minute.” So he did. Mercifully, over the past few weeks, his illness hadn’t gotten any worse—but it was certainly still present and not letting up. Much like Angel’s playful flirting. The boss hopped up from his chair to seat himself on the desk instead, crossing one leg over the other. His new wardrobe really did suit him (no pun intended). When Alastor got close enough, he reached out to slip his fingertips under the demon’s tie and lead him closer still. Whether the fluttering in Alastor’s chest was literal or figurative, it was difficult to say.

“Did you need something?” he asked, doing an admirable job of pretending Angel’s familiarity didn’t affect him. He sometimes got the feeling those efforts backfired, though, as Angel would often flirt harder because he seemed so indifferent, until he finally broke down and turned away or his smile faltered into uncertainty.

“I’m goin’ out with Cherri and a couple of the guys for drinks tonight,” Angel stated, watching closely for Alastor’s reaction.

“I see. Are you asking me to come along and keep an eye on you?” he asked, gently prying Angel’s fingers away from his tie. “Have I been demoted from underboss to bodyguard that quickly? I wasn’t even given a verbal citation.”

“Oh, shut up,” Angel laughed. “I’m asking you to come as you. Full stop.”

That was unexpected. He’d never invited Alastor along on his outings with Cherri—who had become an informant and supplier for the Giardinos—before.

“Are you sure that’s for the best?” Alastor asked. “Call me crazy, but I get the feeling ‘the guys’ aren’t quite as comfortable around me as they are around you. I wouldn’t want to put a damper on your night out.”

“So what’re you sayin’? You’d rather it just be the two of us?” Angel teased.

“I think it’s safe to say most men would prefer your company over mine.” He managed to keep his voice level despite nearing the limits of his tolerance. Much more exposure to that smile on Angel’s face and he was sure to get short of breath soon.

“C’mon, is it because of the Overlord thing? Venn’s going!”

“No I’m not,” Venture interjected without looking up from her work.

“You are if I say you are, Cleopatra,” Angel shot right back. “Hell, you need a night off more than anyone.” Alastor’s policy of ‘I can get you whatever you want’ may have spoiled him a bit. Or maybe it was the power that came with being boss. Yet she still seemed amused by his pushy attitude and smiled regardless.

“What the don says goes,” she conceded with a shrug.

“Exactly. So are you onboard or what?” he asked Alastor, raising his eyebrows. Realistically, Alastor wasn’t likely to enjoy the outing, especially when Angel’s attention would probably be elsewhere. He didn’t often say no to any request the boss— “Alastor.” When the boy got to his feet, it left just inches between them. Crossing his arms, leaning a little closer with the slightest curve on his lips belying his innocent tone, he purred, “Tell me you’re gonna go.”

Despite Alastor’s efforts to hide it, it was a fact that he couldn’t stand against Angel’s charm indefinitely. And, foolishly, he had allowed Angel to pick up on that fact. It wasn’t that he disliked the persuasion. It was gratifying to know that his presence was something the boss was willing to push for. But he would’ve much preferred if agreeing were a choice on his part. Instead, his illness flared up again, tension and pain making it that much harder to argue.

Turning away, unable to handle the hopeful look in those big brown eyes, he forced out, “Whatever you want, Angel.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” the boy said with a grin. “Eclipse Lounge. Eight o’clock. Better get there on time if you want a seat next to me.” With a last satisfied smirk, he left the room, snatching his hat off the desk as he went. Alastor remained where he stood and watched him go, waiting for his symptoms to subside.

It was becoming more and more difficult, if not impossible, to tell whether all the flirtation and teasing Angel showered on him was just a method of manipulating him or…something else. After all, it was simply a part of Angel’s personality to make suggestive comments and use his looks to his advantage. That was the reason Alastor tried so hard to respond to it neutrally; if he were to take it too seriously and answer with his honest thoughts on the matter, it might easily put Angel off or scare him away.

“Hmmm~, you two are quite a pair,” Venture mused from where she stood in the far corner of the room.

“There are two of us, so yes, technically.”

“You know your one-liners get a little less snappy when you’re distracted?” She sauntered her way to his side and re-aligned the tie that Angel had skewed. “I’m sure if you told him how you feel about sex, he’d tone down the flirting tout de suite.”

“He hasn’t said anything to me on the subject, so I have no reason to discuss it with him.” Observing Venture cautiously, he noted, “You two seem to be getting along well. Has he said something to you?”

“Oh no, I’m not here to play Mafia Matchmaker,” she said, raising both hands as she stepped back to seat herself in the boss’s chair and give it a spin. “But I will say you’re taking this much more seriously than usual. Why, I’ve never seen you so serious, in fact.”

“My friend, I haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean. Levity is my middle name.”

“Is that so?” Leaning back in the chair, she crossed her ankles on the desk in front of her and watched his reaction. As if something in his posture or expression were proving her point, she continued curiously, “See? Even this. It’s bothering you. It’s almost as if you really think of that boy as your superior, but I’m sure I know you better than that.” The way she looked at him said she wasn’t sure at all.

“Do you know what your problem is, Venture?” He bent at the waist to be at eye-level with her and said cheerfully, “You think too much. You really should learn to take a step back, smell the roses—you are working in a garden these days, after all.”

“Careful what you wish for. Snakes and gardens, historically, don’t mix well.”

“And if anyone under this roof were concerned with salvation, that might just be an issue. As it is, you fit into our merry band of misfits quite nicely—so stop trying so hard to maintain your distance. We both know it won’t last forever.”

“Hm.” Her expression remained placid for the most part, but there was a slight furrow in her brow. All things considered, Venture was the last demon on Earth who had any right to judge Alastor’s investment in Angel. And she must have realized it as well. With an exaggeratedly nonchalant shrug, she sat up properly and started organizing the many file folders that cluttered the boss’s desk. “Well? You heard the man. Don’t be late.”

— — —

As bidden, Alastor showed up at the Eclipse Lounge at 7:54. The room was softly lit, low-ceilinged, with a light haze of cigar smoke and a low murmur of chatter from its guests. The word ‘intimate’ came to mind. Fitting for a place where crime lords often gathered and all sorts of illicit deals were made. In the center of the room was a bar forming a continuous ring, so one could approach it from any side. And on his left, seated in the very center of a circular, leather-upholstered booth, was Angel. Spotting him, the boy grinned and waved him over, so he took the place where he felt he belonged: right at Angel’s side.

“I knew you were gonna be the first one here.” The boss looked as smug as ever, fully relaxed in his seat and sipping a John Collins. (Well, how could Alastor not know his go-to cocktail of choice?)

“How’s that?”

“Cuz of what I said about sitting by me. I know you don’t like lettin’ me outta your sight. Maybe you think I’m gonna get fucked up again like that night with Cherri. Am I right?”

“To think that I want to keep an eye on you? Absolutely.”

“Besides,” Angel added casually, “I told everybody else eight-fifteen.”

“So you were the one who wanted it to be just the two of us.” Something about that knowledge was immensely satisfying. “Why, Angel, I’m flattered.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get a big head about it. I just wanted us to have a minute outside the office. Been tryin’ to make it happen for a week now and kept chickenin’ out, so I figured it’d be easier if it was a group thing.” The boy stirred his drink slowly without looking at Alastor. Interesting that he would admit to a strategy like this so openly. Doubly interesting that he would bother making such plans in the first place.

“You already know you have my attention whenever you want it,” Alastor pointed out. “You could have just asked.”

“I guess. It’s a lot easier givin’ orders than makin’ requests, though. Anyway, that’s what we’re here for. That’s what all this”—he gestured to the room—“was about. Me askin’ for your attention.”

With the way Angel was watching him, so thoughtful, so intent, Alastor’s mouth went dry all of a sudden. There was nothing playful or teasing in the boy’s tone. For once, it didn’t come with a wink and a smirk. Instead, he was just waiting, as if he’d expected Alastor might need a moment to consider.

“What sort of attention,” the demon managed, “exactly?”

“Hm. Ask me again once we get back to the hotel.”

All signs were pointing in a very positive direction, but Alastor still tried to fight the surge of excitement and hope that rushed through him. “Angel—”

“Wow, it’s a fuckin’ snoozefest in here.” Cherri had appeared and now scooted into the booth on Angel’s other side, speaking a bit louder than necessary. As usual. “Who picked this dump, anyway? I bet it was you, old man.” She jerked her chin at Alastor.

“Hey, c’mon, it ain’t that bad,” Angel said, nudging her with his elbow. “Besides, once you get a couple drinks in ya, you won’t even notice anymore.”

And so their few minutes of alone time were brushed aside to be replaced with ‘family bonding activities.’ As Angel had said, a few Giardino capos showed up soon after Cherri, and as Alastor had predicted, they seemed a bit uneasy with his presence. But after a round and a half of drinks, they relaxed enough to chat comfortably with the boss, which was nice to see. Venture waltzed in a little after 9 o’clock, and a somewhat tipsy Angel berated her for being late while she waved him off and told him to be happy she’d come at all.

Alastor wasn’t much of a drinker himself and so sat sipping sparkling water while the others had their fun. Angel, he noticed, seemed to be pacing himself intentionally—but he was still drunk enough to giggle excessively at his capos’ jokes. He didn’t go any further than that in terms of flirting, not with them or with Alastor. He did, however, consistently toy with Alastor’s hand under the table, fingertips tracing his knuckles and down the lines of his fingers, sneaking up to brush against his wrist, and generally making it very difficult to focus on conversation. He couldn’t imagine a better distraction.

The outing wasn’t as bad as expected, Alastor supposed. He himself had always had difficulty forming attachments to those around him or close interpersonal relationships, but there was a certain sense of camaraderie among the rest of the group, which was positive. Familiarity could translate to loyalty, and when dealing with demons, any extra measure to assure loyalty should be taken. More than anything, it was nice to see Angel comfortable and confident, assured of himself as he should always—

A sharp baritone rang out across the room: “Antonia?”

Merde.

#RadioDust #Giardino Segreto #Hazbin Angel Dust #Hazbin Alastor #Angel Dust x Alastor #Alastor x Angel Dust #hopefully it'll show up in the tag this time.....

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spectrumscribe · 5 years ago

Text

the kids aren’t alright

A nudge in the spacetime continuum, a shift in storylines, and it’s April O’Neil who descends once again into the hidden city of yokai... but in this world, she’s on her own... until she meets a few unexpected (but fated) allies.

(It’s the Baron Draxum Raises the Turtles AU everyone, I told ya I’d get to writing it eventually.)

-///-

April rips a legging as she lands, she just knows she does, feeling the awful sensation of skinning her knees as she rolls. It’s by virtue of pure instinct that she dives to the side to hide behind a stone pillar right after, not even pausing to catch her breath. The wackos with their killer dogs are so close nearby that she’s not really sure how she managed to escape detection.

Probably because her little cat-dog friend is screeching their head off inside their bubble prison. For such a small creature, they’re sure loud.

April, hidden from sight for the moment, sucks in a breath and takes in her surroundings. What she sees steals her breath all over again.

Craggy cliffs are dotted with ancient looking buildings- torchlight flickering in windows and tangled roots clutching roofs. A city sprawls in the distance, made up of those, and even from far away April can see that the residents walking and flying and climbing around that city are definitively not human.

“Ohhhhh my god,” she whispers in awe to herself. Her first impulse is to grab her phone- no one will ever believe- but the heavy, scraping steps moving away from her hiding spot remind her of her priorities.

Right. Rescue her little friend, avoid getting caught, and get the hell out of dodge. Real simple plan in theory, but probably not in practice.

April is a lot of things- socially awkward, a bad employee, kinda lonely- but she’s anything but a coward. Squaring her courage, April slips out from behind the pillar and hides behind the next, trailing the freaky dudes and their massive dogs... right up to a veritable castle tower, with a vibe that screams danger.

Well, April didn’t get her Gryffindor sorting on that buzzfeed quiz for nothing.

April rushes (sneakily) inside.

-/-

The honest to god secret passageways in this place are pretty easy to navigate. April thinks they should be more complex, or maybe boobytrapped at least, so intruders can’t just waltz around like she is. Not that she’s complaining about the waltzing, the waltzing has been very convenient.

It’s just not as excitingly challenging? Kind of anticlimactic.

She finds her lil friend within the first ten minutes of poking around. They’re caged by a scary guy that looks like a cross between a goat and a wrestler, whose monologueing masks April’s footfalls as she skirts around the room. There are two small gargoyles flying around goatman- Baron? Uh uh, she’s not calling him a title, pompous asshole. All of them are speaking plain English, which is the least weird thing in this situation, but still. It’s weird.

April studies the layout of the room- she can make the jump no problem- but the rescue mission won’t work if she doesn’t have an escape plan following her initial assault. She needs a weapon, and possibly a distraction to get the monsters away from her friend.

April is very pleased that with the next secret tunnel she takes- seriously, such a security hazard- she finds a whole atrium of weapons.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” she says to herself, grinning as she advances on the first rack.

Does she know how to use any of these? Nope. They don’t cover sword fighting or melee or magical items in public schools. But it can’t be that hard, right? Keep the stabby end aimed at her enemy, don’t stab herself in the process, etc.

As she examines the stock of deadly arms, April wonders if she’s taking this all in stride too easily. In books and movies, people tend to freak out way more when they find out magic and monsters are real. Then again, she thinks as she admires a hefty club glowing acid green, I always thought those people were wimps.

Besides, this is New York. She’s seen plenty scarier things on the A-train than goatman and his sidekicks.

Absorbed in her pep talk with herself, April doesn’t hear a soft landing on the stone floor behind her. She does, however, hear the whisk of wire being extended.

Swinging with her full strength, April spins and aims for the head of the person creeping up on her. She gets nothing but air and a startled noise as her target disappears.

The person behind her is headless.

April screams once and tries to hit it again, only for the headless body to jump out of the way.

“Jesus, girl! I’m just trying to-” April swings a third and fourth time, ignoring the voice coming from inside its torso. The green-skinned headless monster abruptly dives downwards and somersaults away, it’s shell curve aiding the maneuver. As it comes to a stop and turns to face her again, a head pops out of the space between its shoulders.

April stops, meeting the glare of the monster. It’s grimacing, crouching low and twining the sturdy wire of its weapon around its few fingers.

“You really, really shouldn’t be here,” it- he?- says gravely, voice young and nervous. He has a mask over his eyes, black, and a loincloth-shorts combo like goatman was wearing. Rows of small blades and unidentifiable weapons are strapped to him, going over one shoulder. In the monochrome grey and black of everything else, the bright orange spots that pattern his limbs and shell stand out.

He stands slowly, not attacking, but not putting down his bladed wire-weapon either. “D’you even know what happens to humans brought here? What Draxum does to intruders?”

April skips her shock at yet another talking monster- the novelty is wearing off at this point. She keeps her club raised and firmly replies, “I don’t care. Goatman’s got my friend and I’m not leaving here without them.”

“You mean the-?” He shakes his head, short mask tails flicking. “It doesn’t matter, you gotta go before it’s too late. You can’t help your friend now.”

“And if I say hell no?”

“Then- then I’ll have to knock you out and take you to him!” he declares, but April can hear his heart’s not in it.

“So why give me a chance to escape,” April asks carefully, “if you’d turn me in anyway?”

The turtle monster’s momentary fierceness fades, dark eyes averted. He chews his lip, conflict in his expression, before answering, “I'm not gonna turn an intruder in if she’s gone before I can catch her. Please? It’s super not fun to be a mutation experiment, trust me. Go back up to- to above, okay? I won’t say anything if you leave now.”

The desperate undertone to his words makes April pause, reconsidering. But she shakes that off a second later.

“I’m not going back. Not until I have my friend.”

The turtle monster stares at her for a beat, and then tosses his head back and makes a supremely annoyed groan. April lowers her weapon slowly as he stomps in a small circle, muttering to himself. Huh. The air of danger he’d had at first is totally dispelled; he reminds her of neighborhood kids more than anything, now.

Weird choice of bad guy sidekick. A little fucked up, maybe, if the monster is really as young as he acts.

“Ugh god FINE,” says the turtle, stopping his pacing and pointing a finger at her. “This is the last time I ever do this, I swear.”

“Do what?” April questions, eyebrow raised.

“Help you humans!”

“Uh, I've never been here before-?”

“Not you! Just- ugh, c’mon, let’s go before anyone else finds you.”

April is bemused, now, by the turtle monster. So he’s done this before? Trusting him to help her is probably a bad idea, but that fact gives her some hope it’ll turn out alright in the end. One more bad decision is no big deal with the night she’s had.

“Sure, let’s go,” April agrees finally, swinging her club up to rest against her shoulder. She sticks out a hand to the turtle- who flinches minutely at the gesture. April continues without commenting. “I’m April by the way. Thanks for not taking me to your evil overlord, I guess?”

“I’m f- I'm, um, Mikey. You can call me Mikey.” He gingerly takes her hand, eyeing it and her like it might be a sneak attack. “And he’s a Baron, not an overlord. Baron Draxum.”

“Could’a fooled me,” April says with a shrug, dropping Mikey’s hand. “Y’all got hella evil mad scientist vibes.”

“Haha, yeah, kinda...” Mikey glances around awkwardly, before nodding a direction. “C’mon, someone’s gonna miss me sooner or later. Let’s just- get this over with.”

“What kinda plan you got?” April asks as they start moving. Mikey takes her over to a different corner of the room, far from where April entered.

“Uh, distraction, maybe? Or I could- no, he’ll notice, ugh- fuck, I don’t know.” He sighs as he presses on a trigger disguised as a stone, the wall grinding open gradually. “You wouldn’t happen to be a kunoichi by any chance?”

“A kuno what now.”

“Guess not.”

April rolls her eyes, underwhelmed by Mikey’s evil henchman skills. He sees her do so and he scowls, sticking out his tongue. April lets out a gigglesnort in surprise, caught off-guard by the childish annoyance.

Her laughter dies as she sees a figure looming in the newly opened passageway. At April’s sharp intake of breath, Mikey spins and makes a strangled squeak.

“Shit,” April says, getting her club ready.

“Uh, hi, I was- we were- it’s not what it looks like?” Mikey says in a rush.

The huge monster steps partially out of the passageway, towering over both of them. Clothes like Mikey’s, but with ragged tears in spots, and none of the hin knives the smaller monster has. And with the scars dotting his rough scales, his shit brickhouse form, the snaggled-tooth fangs he has- he’s lot more imposing than Mikey had been.

The much more threatening looking turtle stares at them both with yellow sclera for a long moment. Then, he sighs.

“Mike... please, not again.”

-/-

“Sorry?” Mikey says in a tight voice, one Raph has heard more times than he can remember.

Things had been looking up, what with the agent being returned and the first experiments taking place- Raph had been hoping they get some downtime, enjoy the Baron’s good mood for a few days. If Draxum is happy, they get to be happy.

The human girl glaring daggers at him right now throws that all into jeapordy.

But Mikey picked her- he’s decided to try and save her, which counts for something- so there’s nothing for it. Raph isn’t going to even try convincing Mikey to change his mind; either Raph helps, or he steps back and watches Mikey face the punishment he’ll get all alone.

God, Raph is so tired. He misses winter, when he’s allowed to just sleep for days in a row.

But that’s months away and Mikey needs him right now. Moving his eyes to the human girl, Raph sizes her up. Just from how she’s meeting his gaze and standing her ground, he can tell she’s a fighter. Hell, he can’t even tell if she’s scared or not. That’s serious guts right there.

“We’ll talk later,” Raph says softly, looking around them. He’s the only one who noticed Mikey slipping away from the big breakthrough celebration. He’s hoping that lasts. “Crazy girl, you ready to haul ass once we get you outside?”

Mikey’s face lights up, a smile following. He doesn’t smile anywhere near as much as he should, in Raph’s opinion. This is going to bite him later, but right now, making his littlest brother happy is worth it.

But then crazy girl says, “Oh hell no, I told the same thing to your buddy here. I ain’t leaving without my friend.”

He frowns at her. Of course she isn’t going to go easy. “What, the delivery guy?” Raph asks. “He’s already imitation crab bits, dude. If you hurry you’ll catch him.”

“Not him,” Mikey says, same time as the girl says, “The white guy? You should let him go, too, but I’m here for the little guy.”

The little guy? Oh, she’s not- nope, Raph sees her expression and knows she’s a hundred percent serious. Damn it. She had to want the most difficult to retrieve prisoner.

Raph counts to ten and bites down on his temper before it rises. Damn it, damn it, damn it. “Oh, of course, yeah that’s great. Love it. Let’s do this before Don finds out and uses crazy girl as his newest project.”

“I got a name, dude.”

“Does it matter?” She opens her mouth. “Don’t answer that. It doesn’t.”

“She’s April,” Mikey says, winding his kusarifundo’s wire around his fingers, a habit of nervousness. “She almost took my head off with that club.”

The last part is said in an admiring sort of way and Raph feels exasperated. No matter how many times he’s told otherwise, Mikey can’t quite get that yes, all humans are bad, not just most of them.

...But maybe that’s because part of Raph hasn’t ever really gotten that, either; he’s the one setting the example, after all.

“Sorry, you spooked me,” April says, and the apology is almost sincere sounding. Raph side-eyes her, mildly surprised. Humans always scream or run when they see them, they don’t say sorry for defending themselves.

He shakes off the interest he’s developing in the human girl. At least one of them has to have his head on right, which means he can’t indulge in thinking of April as anything but a potential threat.

(He privately looks at her sharp red glasses, her sharper stare, the fearless attitude she’s taken with stealing from one of the Underground’s most powerful figures- and he thinks she’s, maybe, just a little bit really cool.)

Raph ushers both of them into the passage, eager to just get on with the dangerous endeavor.

-/-

With three party members, it’s not too hard. The snarling yokai in their cage isn’t useful any longer to Draxum, so Raph just has to direct attention to the other side of the room. It’s simple until Raph sees Leo come back from wherever he’d been. It’s simple until he sees April and Mikey doing something with the controls of the lab core. It’s simple until he sees Leo noticing the duo, until the warning lights on the core start flashing without noise, alarms disabled.

Raph locks eyes with Leo, who holds his gaze for a long, long moment. Raph silently begs please, let this go, I won’t say anything about you letting it go just PLEASE, Leo-

And Leo cocks his head, giving a lazy hooded stare. He looks between his options, cradling his arm close in its sling. A bad fall, last training session. When it’s better, Draxum’s promised to double Leo’s workload to get rid of that weakness.

Leo’s blank expression becomes a leery smile, shrugging. He doesn’t care about this, same as he never cares about anything other than staying in good graces and slacking off chores. The look he shoots over his shoulder, as he walks back out, says I won’t forget this. Oh well, better Raph owe his brother a favor than Mikey get in trouble.

In his distraction, Draxum has lost interest in the bullshit plans Raph threw together, in danger of turning around and seeing. But Donnie jabs a spider leg into the paper and says, “Ra- subject one is wrong. We should hit the figureheads of the population before we move onto the masses. Wall Street is the best starting point based on my calculation of how to induce swift widespread panic.”

“Hm, you make a good point, subject two,” Draxum says thoughtfully, refocusing on the plans.

“Of course I do,” Donnie scoffs derisively, the only one of them so bold to take that tone with the Baron. Raph doesn’t even care he’s been showed up, Mikey and April are safe (for the moment).

And then the alarms finally kick in, the vine tree and the ooze and the mosquitos all lighting up bright neon, and it all goes to hell.

-/-

Mikey probably should have known April wouldn’t be okay with the whole ‘conquer humanity via mass mutation’.

Still, she didn’t have to blow up their home.

The last thing he sees of her is the human clutching her tiny friend close- the upwards curled fangs of the creature makes Mikey think dragons and sends a shiver through his shell- and the two of them looking to him.

April mouths something lost in the noise of the room collapsing around them, but Mikey thinks she’s saying thank you as her furry ball of mayhem teleports them away.

From his hiding place, Mikey sighs. At least they got out. At least he wasn’t anywhere close by when the alarms started. At least their dorms weren’t caught in the destruction...?

Ah, shit. He sees Baron Draxum clawing his way out from under a slab of concrete. Raph is helping as much as he’s able and getting yelled at for it. Leo is leaning in a lab doorway, looking on in languid amusement. Donnie has lifted himself up on his extra legs and is poking through the rubble of their ‘greatest triumph’.

Mikey decides he should make an appearance and creeps out of the alcove he’d shoved himself into, nimbly gripping with his hands and feet both as he lowers himself. Scampering to ground level, he puts on his best clueless/panicked expression and lies about having gone for refreshments.

Later, perched up on the edge of the roof, Mikey stares at the dome ceiling of the Underground and wonders how he got away with it all. He’d been expecting at any second to get caught. Somehow, against the odds, on such an important night no less... he pulled it off.

Mikey feels a wave of heavy relief all at once and lets out a loud sigh, flopping over. Boy, what a night, what a freaking night.

He lays with his eyes closed for a while, legs dangling over thin air and a seven story drop. The city near and distant is noisy, but muted, and the air smells like acridic burning vines. Draxum is still storming around downstairs, furiously trying to salvage his projects, and Mikey is good out here, thanks. He wasn’t implicated by what happened at all, so he doesn’t plan to stick around and catch the brunt of that frustrated ranting.

Sometime later, the sound of mechanical joints moving together approaches him. Mikey opens his eyes to see Donnie standing over him, having climbed up the side of the tower.

“Sup,” Mikey says, not flinching as Donnie’s spider legs lift him over his body.

“Hey,” Donnie says tonelessly, which is an unusually subdued greeting, even for him.

“Somethin’ up?”

“Not really. Just our, you know, creator and owner violently grieving the ruination of his life’s work. I put out some fires, salvaged a few samples of mutagen, the like, just fun family bonding stuff.”

Mikey doesn’t let his unease show. Donnie’s words are flippant, but he still has no inflection or emotion. “That’s... sucky,” Mikey says, forcing away his need to fidget with his ‘fundo. “I mean, jeez, talk about a setback. Who knows how long it’ll take to catch all those skeetos, eh?”

“Mhm,” Donnie replies, lowering himself onto the stone roof beside Mikey, legs folded in a cross. “He’ll probably have to take completely new samples of our DNA to synthesize everything all over again, if we don’t catch them all.”

Mikey’s arms feel itchy just thinking about it. He scratches at the pockmark scars in his elbow, trying to not remember the biotech vines sucking pints of blood from his veins.

“Yeah,” Mikey says sullenly, “guess he probably will.”

They sit silently for a beat. Mikey stews in guilt and trepidation, knowing it’s his fault they’ll be going through this because he let himself be weak. He should’ve captured April and dragged her down to the Baron, shouldn’t have faltered at how brave and kind she was, trying to save her friend, he shouldn’t have-

“She got home safe.”

Mikey’s thoughts derail. He sits up a little too quickly to be casual, staring at Donnie. His brother, who doesn’t care about humans, who wears hints of purple like Draxum, who has happily combined his body with biotech to make it stronger- he has a carefully emotionless mask in place, Mikey sees that now. Donnie feels, just as much as any of them. He just never admits it.

He’s scared. Donnie is scared of something.

“...Really?” Mikey asks after a too-long pause.

“I had a drone follow up on the profile I found online. She’s home with her new pet.” Donnie makes an aborted motion with his hands, and then goes through with it and takes off his mask, rubbing his face and scalp. Without the near-black purple bandana, Donnie looks as tired as Raph often does.

“How badly did you want her to escape?” Donnie asks in a quiet mumble, eyes fixed elsewhere. “Badly enough for this? To risk-?”

“Yes,” Mikey says without hesitation.

That makes Donnie stutter, mouth twisting in a scowl. He recovers, hissing, “It’s inevitable, Mikey. Draxum is going to beat humanity, and we’re going to help him, this setback is just that. A setback. We’ll get the carriers back, or- or make more, and it will happen. You’ve just prolonged it all, this didn’t change anything.”

“It changed things for her!” Mikey snaps without meaning to. Donnie glares, but he doesn’t cower. “...It changed things for her,” he repeats, calmer. “She got to go home, her friend got to go with her. Humans don’t have to get wiped out for another few months at least.”

Donnie pulls a face, scoffing. “Why do you care about some random human girl? They keep us down here Mikey, it’s their fault Draxum made us and- uses us.”

“Her name is April,” Mikey says plainly, fingers finding his kusarifundo and winding it’s wire tight around his thumb.

“...‘Her name is April’,” Donnie mimics, disgusted. But he doesn’t say anything more, just sitting and glaring and being his typical prickly self. Mikey winds his wires tighter, tighter, tighter; thinking about faint memories of Donnie being softer and letting them closer, somewhere warm and safe. Somewhere not here.

But that’s a dream, unreal in his earliest memories, conjured by wanting for comfort when he didn’t get any.

“I hope this was worth it for you,” Donnie says eventually, back to his toneless voice. “We’re covering, but... this can’t happen again, okay? None of us can do this anymore, we’re too close to the finish line.”

Mikey nods, unwinding his wire from throbbing fingers. “I know. Um, thanks.”

“Mm,” Donnie says, not acknowledging he’s done anything. Mikey slides his bruised fingers over to lightly poke his brother’s, invitation unspoken.

A moment of decision, whether he’s pissed off still or having a no-touching day Mikey isn’t sure, Donnie moves his hand and links their fingers together. It’s apology and forgiveness in a single, wordless gesture.

-/-

Pacing the length of his cell, pink clawed toes clacking on the stone, someone bides his time impatiently. His sentence is near completion, he’s been given recommendation for early release for good behavior. It’ll be simple to ditch his parole officier’s watch, even after nearly ten years out of the game.

A former man and current mutant prisoner, in situation and body both, looks to the small window of his cell, and swears not for the first time that Draxum will pay for what he’s done, and for what he plans to do.

(He wonders, also, whatever happened to his children. He worries, nightly, daily, constantly. What did Draxum do to his four sons, the unexpected saving grace he’d hidden away for almost five years? Are they alive? Do they know he’s alive?)

Lou paces his cell faster, tail lashing, barely keeping the splinters inside himself from cutting deeper still.

-/-

Somewhere in an ordinary New York neighborhood, in an ordinary apartment complex, an ordinary girl lays on her bed with her new fuzzy friend and thinks to herself, hey, what the fuck was that.

She has no answers for herself. Well. If nothing else, she got her parents to let her little pal stay. After the insanity said pal got her into tonight, April is deeply relieved to have something go according to plan. (Is ‘insanity’ a good pet name? Maybe ‘chaos’? Ugh, she’ll keep workshopping it.)

When she goes to bed, much later on, and sleeps fitfully and shallowly, April somehow thinks that’s the end of it. She has a new roommate, there’s an underground city full of monsters and magic, and there’s a history test tomorrow that she didn’t study for. The only next step she has is go back to normal, pretend it didn’t happen.

So, she does. And nothing else weird happens for a few days, other than Mayhem teleporting into her school bag despite her telling them they should be at home, jesus, she doesn’t need detention on top of her homework pile and job searches,

Things resume normalcy, almost mind-numbingly so... until there’s a knock on her window about a week after it all, and a freckled scaly face peering through it.

-/-

“Uh, hi?”

“...Hi.”

“Sorry to- I was just passing through so I thought- I’m, uh, glad you’re doing okay! I’ll go now I’m sorry I shouldn’t’ve-”

“Hey, hey, no, just hold on.”

“What?”

“...You wanna come say hi to Mayhem, too? They’re, um. They’re doing okay, too.”

“I’d... yeah! Yeah, I’d, yes, I’d love to. Thanks. Could you just, um, move sideways a little-?”

A window on a third story apartment home slides shut. Behind its hastily shut curtains, a cautious friendship is born.

My ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/A3022DE7

My AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werepirechick

#will this be continued? Probably! But not rn #rottmnt #BDR AU #Baron Draxum raises the turtles au #April O'Neil #michelangelo #raphael #leonardo #donatello #found family trope increases power by 100% with this au hell yeahhhhh #tw: child neglect #tw: implied abuse #this was written on iPad so forgive its meh quality #I’m on vacation! Kind of!#i hate being overheated and this was my only distraction today ugh #my writing #not dark turtles per say but like #kinda close to the mark #🐢🐢🐢🐢 + 🐁 + 👩🏾‍🏫 = perf found family

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medea10 · 5 years ago

Text

My Review of The Rising of the Shield Hero

VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!

Yeah, this warning because apparently I curse more than normal here. That should give you a fun indicator of what you’re in for.

Is this a joke? Is Medea really going to watch a recent Isekai anime?

No joke. I am. Yeah, since just about every Isekai I’ve ever watched was made before the year 2012, I thought it was time. And in case you’re not hip to the lingo, Isekai is where a random person is transported to a strange world (different from their’s) and go on an adventure. Things like Escaflowne, InuYasha, Fushigi Yugi, Kyou Kara Maou, and to a far-lesser extent, Sword Art Online! But because I haven’t watched anything made past 2012, and haven’t watched things like Konosuba, ReZero, or Overlord, my knowledge is shit and I should be ashamed.

So I’m going to start with one of 2019’s best animes, The Rising of the Shield Hero.

Naofumi Iwatani was checking out light novels when he was transported into another world. But unlike many other Isekais with this similar setup, Naofumi isn’t alone.

He and three other boys (from alternate timelines of Japan) are transported as well to the kingdom of Melromarc. These four boys are going to be the saviors of the kingdom as the “Four Cardinal Heroes” where they must combat against these entities known as “waves”. However, Naofumi is seen as the weakling from the very beginning due to being the holder of the shield (and is now known as the “Shield Hero”). But it goes even further than that! The king of Melromarc immediately shows his disdain for the shield hero due to the previous shield hero doing something to him. I don’t know what, just fuck the king. The kingdom, the other heroes, and the people of the kingdom did just about everything to Naofumi to make him feel like trash. If he was on fire, they wouldn’t even spit on him to put him out!

Being the lowest-level weapon user, no one will join his team and even if they did…they would swindle him, set him up for failure, and spread the worst lie you could ever lie about. But Naofumi can’t return home due to all four weapon users must be there until they defeat the waves. So Naofumi is stuck in a new world where literally everyone hates him or fears him.

That is until he buys a slave (named Raphtalia) and their EXP points can grow. Along the way, he obtains an egg that hatches into a filolial (later named Filo) who has the ability of turning into a human female. And every now and then, the second princess of Melromarc (named Melty) will come along with Naofumi. Trust me, she’s the nice one in that family.

Let’s watch the struggles and rising of the Shield Hero!

BETWEEN THE SUB AND THE DUB: So this is licensed by Crunchyroll (but I think FUNimation dipped it’s cookie in this milk). I know these two companies divorced some time ago, but FUNimation sees no problem piggy-backing off of Crunchyroll when they get a hit. And yes, this got an English dub and because of that, YES I watched the whole thing dubbed! Done by the good folks in L.A.! I gotta say this was a well-done dub. Well, they did one thing right by hiring Erica Mendez to play Raphtalia. Just about everything Mendez plays is friggin’ gold! Here’s what you might recognize these folks from.

JAPANESE CAST: *Naofumi is played by Kaito Ishikawa (known for Kiawe on Pokemon SM, Genos on One Punch Man, Mitsuo on Golden Time, Urui on Tokyo Ghoul :re, Sakakibara on Assassination Classroom, and Rinne on Kyokai no Rinne)

*Raphtalia is played by Asami Seto (known for Officer Jenny on Pokemon SM, Mado on Tokyo Ghoul, Young Yukiatsu on Anohana, and Shizu Delta on Overlord)

*Filo is played by Rina Hidaka (known for Last Order on Index/Railgun, Ririchiyo on Inu x Boku SS, Kohane on xxxHOLiC, Silica on SAO, Nemesis on To Love Ru: Darkness, and Urara on Food Wars)

*Melty is played by Maaya Uchida (known for Norman on The Promised Neverland, Rikka on Chunibyo, Rui on Domestic Girlfriend, Frenda on Railgun, Yoshino on Food Wars, Irina on High School DxD, and Yusa on Charlotte)

ENGLISH CAST: *Naofumi is played by Billy Kametz (known for Jousuke/JoJo on Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Part IV, Osomatsu on Mr. Osomatsu, Metal Lee on Boruto, and Galo on Promare)

*Raphtalia is played by Erica Mendez (known for Ryuko on Kill la Kill, Haruka/Uranus on Sailor Moon redub, Emma on The Promised Neverland, Nico on Love Live, Yuuki on SAO II, and Tsubaki on Your Lie in April)

*Filo is played by Brianna Knickerbocker (known for Rem on Re:Zero, Akane on Durarara x2, Arisa on Love Live, Anna on The Promised Neverland, Iori on Charlotte, and Erica on Berserk 2016)

*Melty is played by Jackie Lastra (known for Conny on The Promised Neverland and Selka on SAO: Alicization)

FAVORITE CHARACTER: I know I’m gonna have fun with the next category, but I think I spent most of this series hating on several people where I forgot to pick a character I liked.

Well folks, I gotta say that I loved Raphtalia. And after her, Filo! Then Elhart, Queen Melromarc, Melty, and Fitoria! With the exception of Elhart, it’s all women! That’s rare! Don’t worry, there’s one woman that has received a restraining order from this category. On with the worst!

VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!

Y’all know what’s coming!

DISLIKED CHARACTER: Prior to watching this series, I have gotten several warnings about one particular character! Princess Malty or Myne, whatever people call her. This woman is despised throughout the anime community and even going so far as to say she’s on “horrible character” status left only to infamous characters like Griffith, Makoto Itou, and Shou Tucker. And I’m like, “WOW, what did she do, kill a pope?” I mean seriously, how bad could she possibly…?!

*one episode later*

FUCK THIS BITCH: Oh this bitch can burn at the stake for all I care! Yes, everyone else who treated Naofumi like shit can go jump off a bridge. Because I hold no sympathy for towns-idiots that treat a hero with no respect (as I’ve said before with One Punch Man and Dragon Ball Z)! But Myne just took that zero respect and pushed it to a crispy 425 degrees of fuck-roast! In the first episode, she seemed genuine with pitying Naofumi because no one would join his team. That didn’t even last a whole day. Myne ends up faking a rape by lying to the kingdom that Naofumi sexually assaulted her.

Faking a RAPE!

Faking a FUCKING RAPE!

Bitch, this is 2019 (I KNOW IT AIN’T THAT IN THIS KINGDOM, I’M JUST FUCKING PISSED). Faking a rape is a big, fat, NO-NO!

After he spends the little money he had on her to buy equipment, she double-crosses him by setting him up for immediate trouble and switches to the Spear-Hero side. Well fuck you too, you skank! Have fun with your dickhead Spear Hero. And may that be the last time I ever see you!

*several episodes later*

WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?! You cheating, lying, slut! Just when you think she can’t possibly get any worse, this bitch takes worse and shoves it off a fucking cliff. As if faking an assault wasn’t bad enough, screwing townspeople for your own gain is another story. She would take over a whole town and give no fucks if it’s destroyed by her or her fuck-face spear-hero. Add to that fuck-cake, every time you run into Naofumi, you find some way to screw him over time and time again. This bitch tampered with a fight between the shield and spear hero so that Naofumi could fail and they could steal his only team member away from him! You have your father, the church, your dickhead boy-toy of yours, and the royals wrapped around your little finger. Myne just continues to be worse than tainted peanut butter. I wish she would catch the worst STD imaginable and die a painful death!

*several more episodes later*

AAAAAAAH gabba da da ffuuuu worble BITCH FACE gararba fruznuss SET FIRE plskay adkkin aidnnlwjsnda UP DONALD TRUMP’S ASS galidamdh amoiejwm wwwaasosoh A POPCICLE! FUCK! AAkajrriaja DIDIA LEJHE KLHAEHAE FYUEEajejioqih3hv SSLLSHE3V ADKDKDDHEI333!!!!

Oh, you do not want a translation from my…whatever the fuck I just wrote. Just know that Princess Malty or Myne is worse than hemroids up the ass. I can’t believe this woman is still around, breathing and shit. Also, I’m tempted in re-writing my Top 10 Least Favorite Anime Character list because Myne would definitely be at #4 after Griffith from Berserk.

Okay…Okay…I think I’m calm now.

WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE CUT THIS FUCKING CUNT’S HEAD OFF LIKE A CHICKEN IN CHINA TOWN?!

Now I’m calm! Now then…

ANYONE ELSE WHO NEEDS TO DIE IN THIS SERIES?: So obviously I hate Bitch and Trash (Myne and the King). And I have the same kind of respect for the townspeople who treat Naofumi like shit. I ain’t got time to be dealing with townsidiots again. But if there was anyone else that should get a mention of how much I want for them to be set on fire and I’ll just sit there drinking my ginger ale, it would be Motoyasu.

Now by no means do I hate him more than Miss Bitch over here. But I hate him on the same level as Shinji from the Fate series (which is now teetering on my top 10). I question why he’s still alive and why no one has introduced his face to a jagged boulder. Unlike the other heroes Ren and Itsuki, this guy has got a vendetta against Naofumi from the get-go. And this was like before the sexual alligations came about. After that incident, this fuckturd tries at every turn to make Naofumi’s life worse than it already is by stealing away his crew and challenging him every chance he gets. And when he’s not doing that, he’s screwing over the townspeople and doing very little to be a “hero” (which is his freakin’ title). Then again, Ren and Itsuki aren’t great heroes either, it’s just I really need to lay into Spear-Dick for the shit he’s done.

SHIPPING: Hmm…aaaaahhhh….eeeeee…urrrrggggh…

Naofumi x Raphtalia: I know Naofumi doesn’t see Raphtalia as a romantic partner and more as a partner on his team, but Raphtalia doesn’t see it that way. She is 100% loyal to Master Naofumi. Who could blame her? Naofumi saved her from a lifetime of enslavement and cured her from an illness she’s had for years. She’s grateful and every other hero is crap in her eyes! She’s worshipped the shield hero since she was younger when she would hear stories about the shield hero. So imagine her worry every time Naofumi talks about going back to his home world, she gets horribly upset. Me being very skeptical here, I can’t really imagine this going any further than team partners. I can’t see at the end of the day Naofumi staying in Melromarc forever or Raphtalia somehow returning to Naofumi’s world when all of this ends. So for now, I’m just going to see where this takes us.

FUNNIEST MOMENT: Whenever Motoyasu gets conked in his frank-and-two-beans by Filo! If anyone deserves to be whammed in the nuts, it’s Motoyasu.

SADDEST MOMENT: I don’t usually mention sad moments in anime anymore, but one moment touched me and that was episode 15 where we learned a little more about Raphtalia’s past. Raphtalia, even after losing her parents in a wave attack, she tries her best to keep a smile on her face. But shortly after that, she and many other demi-humans were taken away from their homes and sold off to a nobleman. This is when we see some pretty inhumane moments where Raphtalia and many of her friends are whipped for the fun of it, starved to death, and sold off to traders.

In this episode, we learn about a few of Raphtalia’s friends (Keel and Rifana) from her younger days. The day Raphtalia got sold off, it looked like Rifana was teetering towards death. When the Shield Hero’s party came to rescue the surviving demi-humans (like Keel), Raphtalia went to see if Rifana could possibly be alive. And if the disturbing picture of Rifana’s skeleton doesn’t churn your stomach, I really don’t know what will. God damn, that was just messed up!

I CANNOT TELL A LIE, THIS ANIME HURT: I know I have sadistic tendencies and take joy in the misery of others. But I seriously cannot enjoy any second of the humiliation and degredation given to Naofumi. And it was because of the abuse put on the Shield Hero that made me feel sick to my stomach just watching all this happen to this guy. I thought it would last for a few episodes at the most, but it carried on a lot further than I imagined. Almost to the very end! And every episode you put on, you just wish for some kind of karma to kick in or for one more person to be nice to Naofumi or something, anything to happen!

But because the king has a vendetta against the previous Shield Hero, Naofumi has had to pay a heavy toll by having every horrible crime or offense thrown at him including rape, murder, attempted murder, cheating, witchcraft, and treason. AND HE COMMITTED NONE OF THESE OFFENSES! So you spend just about 20 episodes watching this poor boy having to go through this hell. I can’t even imagine having to go through this kind of torment and some of these moments make me ill in my stomach and quite pissed off. So like I said, this anime hurts to watch.

ENDING: As it turns out, the kingdom is corrupt under the rule of the king and his daughter, Princess Cunt (yeah, BIG shocker there). How corrupt? Well, they were in cahoots with the church that had their own religion praising only 3 of the Heroes (guess which one they don’t praise)! That was until the pope decided that everything must be wiped away because they are “unclean”. That includes the monarchy, the heroes, and their crew! Thankfully, they were able to put an end to this cult, with a little help from the true leader of Melromarc, Queen Mirelia of Melromarc. She finally shows herself and her powers on the battlefield. And now ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the moment everyone and their mama have been waiting for.

JUSTICE IS SERVED: With the queen’s return, come some harsh sentences to her own family. Her husband, the king and her daughter, Princess Malty! I gotta tell you, seeing these two in chains makes my heart so happy. The king was guilty of summoning the four heroes prematurely and causing a lot of harm to the kingdom of Melromarc with the church. Then the queen puts a seal on Myne’s chest, giving her unimaginable pain whenever she lied. That still didn’t stop the bitch from lying! In one swoop, it’s proven that Naofumi was innocent the whole time and that the king and princess were worse than period cramps. And for their crimes, THEY ARE SENTENCED TO DEATH BY GUILLOTINE!

FUCK YEAH! BRING IT ON!

CUT THEIR FUCKING HEADS OFF!

Yeah…unfortunately for my blood-lust self, that didn’t happen. Instead, Naofumi stopped the queen seconds before blood was to splatter. Claiming that the princess and king should be stripped from their titles and must go through life with new names! The king will be named “Trash” and Malty/Myne will be named “Bitch” (or “Whore” when she’s traveling). Okay, I guess it’s all good. With that, the church of the three heroes is abolished and handled a lot better than I thought.

But seriously Queenie, was it really, REALLY a good idea to keep your daughter alive? I know she’s your own daughter and you felt severe hesitation (in the anime) before calling for her execution. But for fuck’s sake, literally a day after she’s spared from the guillotine, she’s poisoning food meant for her sister Melty, Naofumi, and his friends!

IN THIS AFTERMATH: Now has Naofumi finally obtained acceptance throughout the kingdom? Yes and no! Yes, it’s true that the people of the land respected Naofumi after all he’s done. It’s just that some of the other heroes and castle men who still treat Naofumi with such disrespect. The queen wishes for all four heroes to be treated equally and to get along so that maybe they can defeat the waves without too much trouble. Hell, the queen of the filolials also said the same thing! I think Ren and Itsuki have kinda been on board with this for a while (even if they are kinda dickish about it). It’s just that Motoyasu’s still a condescending dick to Naofumi! Sigh!

FINAL WAVE ATTACK: Final one for now! On their way to another land, Naofumi ends up getting chummy with two travelers (L’Arc and Therese).

We meet these fuckers three episodes before the finale.

They’re bad guys, aren’t they?!

Something like that! Yeah, the next wave attack was coming up real quick. And the heroes have to go up against Glass again (the woman who caused a lot of trouble in the midway point of the series). But it turns out L’Arc and Therese are in cahoots with Glass. But it gets really…complicated here!

Glass and L’Arc are both fan and scythe heroes from another world. And they’re destroying the waves on this side along with destroying the people of this world to prevent catastrophy in their world. Yeah, finale time guys! How many parallel worlds and heroes are there?

READ THE LIGHT NOVEL!

Fuck me! Well, Naofumi and the other hammy heroes were able to stop the wave attack once more. And we even get to watch Queen Melromarc in action again! In this aftermath, Naofumi gets a new member on his team. Yes, it’s another female, but at least this one is older than all the other girls that hang with him (making this a little less ewwwie). Rishia was abandoned by Itsuki’s team for…reasons. So she’s going to join Naofumi after she helped in the last wave attack. And we get some last-moment hopeful scenes as we see things that give me hope for people in this series. Raphtalia’s old friends and homeland is getting back into the swing of things and Naofumi will take control over the land. And we wait for this promoted second and third season Crunchyroll swears by. Seriously guys, when are we getting more Shield Hero?

DON’T KNOW! READ THE LIGHT NOVEL AND STOP ASKING STUPID QUESTIONS!

If you can’t already tell, I liked this series! Yes it was unbelievably painful to watch certain things where all of these people gang up on Naofumi and screw him eight ways from Sunday, but I guess good stories have a little struggle. Except here, it’s a lot of struggling! It was an interesting tale and is giving me a little hope for the Isekai genre as a whole. Will I get into all the other recent ones so I can one day watch Isekai Quartet? Don’t get too cocky! I’ll stick to this and maybe head on over to Konosuba later on.

Rising of the Shield Hero was definitely a tale and I highly recommend it. It’s just that if you’re prone to anger when it comes to absolute injustice, half of this series might be a little unbearable to handle. But there were several great moments (particularly from Raphtalia) that kept me going with this series.

Especially episode 4! Best episode of the series! Her undying devotion for Naofumi was definitely one to behold! I can’t wait to learn more about these different kinds of worlds, kingdoms, and heroes in the upcoming stories. In the meantime I will await for these seasons two and three Crunchyroll assures us are coming…They are coming right? You guys weren’t just blowing smoke up our asses in the last CRX convention, right?

READ THE FUCKING LIGHT NOVEL, YOU AUTISTIC TWAT!

I can’t do it! There are too many chapters!

Currently, both FUNimation and Crunchyroll have the entire series subbed and dubbed.

Okay, great stuff! What’s next on my Amazon/Netflix…or Crunchyroll licensed anime!

Magical Girl Site?

Oh fuck. I heard about that first episode. This is gonna hurt.

#the rising of the shield hero #anime review #raphtalia #naofumi iwatani #motoyasu kitamura #malty melromarc #myne #filo #melty melromarc

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its-jwang2017 · 5 years ago

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Part 4: In My Feelings - Mark Tuan Edition

“Good evening everyone. Happy Friday! The time is now 7:00 pm and we will begin with the daily announcements.

It has now officially been a week since Project J and Dark Soul seized command of the Chicagoland area. With their cunning skills and extraordinary foresight, our supreme leaders were finally able to deceive and eviscerate the menace that was Red Dragon. As per their orders, all facilities that were previously run by the incapable city government will henceforth be seized and shut down as our overlords remake the city into something that we can all be proud of. Schools will be shut down in order for the new curriculum to be set up. The boundaries of the city are still closed off and guarded by the robots, built and created by the genius Project J. This technological protege is continuing to uphold the outside communication ban, but has been merciful enough to grant us the ability to keep our Chicago radio stations and news broadcast so that we may keep up to date on the whereabouts, new policies, and warnings from our saviors. In turn, Dark Soul has also provided us with the working electricity we need to power everything from water purification systems to charging our phones. For these things, and many others, we thank our new leaders.

In other news, people are advised to stay inside for their own protection as Dark Soul and Project J supporters seize various properties. These groups will soon become the protectors, leaders, and givers of the communities they possess, as promised. Soon enough, the city that was once a corrupt mass of incompitent city officials will become a new utopia that all Chicagoans can enjoy equally.

There have bee-”

Mark Tuan sighed and turned the TV off, slumping even further down into the soft, well-worn beige couch. He threw the remote carelessly to the side, not even blinking as the remote came apart (again), sending the protective cap and batteries flying in all directions. He grabbed his hood and flipped it over his face, pulling the strings until all you could see was his nose peeking out from inside the bright orange hoodie. Collapsing sideways onto the couch, Mark let himself sprawl out completely as he let himself regret his most recent life choices.

Mark blindly reached behind himself, searching for the comfortable “stress-blanket” that he and Jackson bought on a whim years before. The blanket was made of a fleece-like, pale blue material and had a cute, cartoon-ish koala bear eating bamboo on it with big, soft pink bubble letters underneath exclaiming “You’re more than koala-fied!”. Jackson said the blanket made him feel validated from the instant he saw it. Mark just agreed because he thought the Koala looked sort of cute.

Once his hand felt the familiar material, wedged inside of the couch, he gave a strong tug and freed the blanket from in between the cushions. He immediately covered his entire body by curling up into a ball underneath and finally let out a yell of frustration he had been pushing down for the past couple of days. Holding his knees against his chest, Mark started to think about the repercussions of his “heat of the moment” decision to let the villains have control of the city.

In all honesty, he expected his plan to go a hell of a lot better. Mark always had a weird, niggling feeling in his gut every time he fought against his “arch-rivals”. During every battle, Mark always noticed that they fought in areas away from crowded parts of the city, like over the water or in large parks. There were usually very little casualties or injuries to civilians, and even when the villains kidnapped Jackson, it was never done maliciously or with the intent to harm. At first, Mark attributed that to his own superhero abilities, using his power responsibly in a way that protected the civilians and his best friend from all harm. But if he thought about it, it was usually the villains who chose the battleground and Mark would just meet their challenge head on, no matter the location. The latest battle went against the norm, which Mark noticed a little while later than he should of, and his gut instinctively told him something was off about the entire thing.

While he was “trapped”in the Planetarium, Mark had some time to think about what all of these collected data points meant. Even while Project J was threatening to obliterate the hero, Mark thought it still felt… wrong somehow. Project J and Dark Soul had to have known that by telling Mark their plan, they were giving Mark enough time to escape. After a cursory glance to his surroundings, he noticed that there was literally nothing keeping him trapped in the place. Project J’s bots were probably nearby, but Mark’s fire had melted them once before and he knew he could do it again if he wanted to.

At that moment, Mark decided to try his riskiest plan yet. He was tired of fighting, tired of going home with bruises and lacerations. The villains never seemed to take it easy on him, and he was tired of being the punching bag all the time. He was especially done with seeing Jackson kidnapped every week. Jackson was his best friend, his bro for life, and even though he had never really been hurt before, the image of Jackson’s bruised and bloody face would be an image Mark would be seeing every time he closed his eyes. He wouldn’t let his friend be hurt any more because of him, even if it might not have been intentional.

He had logical reasoning on his side, too; If the villains were truly evil, and if they had no hero to stop them, they would do what they have always claimed to do and mercilessly take over the city for power and wealth. If this was the case, Mark’s “sudden death” could be reversed, and he’d take them down once and for all. He’d finally put a stop to everything.

But something in his gut told him that this wouldn’t be the case.

So he made a quick decision, pretended to be dead, and had a tearful reunion with his best friend, filling Jackson in on all of the details. Mark could tell Jackson didn’t fully agree with him, still scarred with the front-row view of Mark’s death at the hands of the villains, but he gave his support nonetheless and didn’t argue with Mark’s reasoning.

Now, a week later, Mark wish Jackson would have smacked some sense into him.

Usually, at this time of day, the two friends could be found either celebrating Jackson’s latest win or out exploring the city. Ever since the villains took over the city, however, JYP International Prep decided it was in the students’ best interest to remain indoors in their dorms until it was deemed” safe to leave”. All classes, extracurriculars and athletics were canceled along with every other school in the area, for an undetermined amount of time. It had only taken three days for the two boys to become bored out of their minds.

In the beginning, they hung out with their floor mates and tried to pass the time by playing games, throwing parties, or even cleaning. Since outside communications were banned, cell phones stopped working and access to social media was denied. The students could still send messages to one another but not to anyone outside the Chicagoland area. In a fit of boredom, each student tried their best to prank call one another. That didn’t last long.

After the third day, students began to give up on finding any kind of stimulating activity to partake in and started staying in their rooms more and more often.

Which leads us to today. The seventh day.

Jackson Wang and Mark Tuan were roommates their freshman year at JYP International, and have kept up the tradition ever since. With two high-ride beds on opposite walls, a single window on the far end, dresser drawers under each bed and a desk located at the foot of each bed, their room looked like a typical dorm room that you could find at any American school. That’s where the resemblance ends, however, as the two roommates were anything but ordinary. With Mark coming from a wealthy family, he had the money and the resources to make their room as unique as possible. For starters, a flatscreen TV was hung up right over the doorway of their room, with video game consoles connected to the media center placed haphazardly in the corner of their room. Their room was one of the few that were located on the third floor of the dorm, which gave them extra ceiling height and access to the roof through their window.

Mark’s side of the room was filled with different musical artists he admired as well as a few newspaper clippings of the funnier rescues he’s had to do with Jackson (the picture of Jackson covered in glue and feathers with Mark in full costume holding Jackson in a bridal carry was probably Mark’s favorite). His closet consisted of his favorite clothing items, ranging from Target to designer, all ordered and put away nicely.

Jackson’s side of the room was more vibrant than Mark’s minimalistic, neat style. He hung up pictures of cars, artists, Pokemon cards he somehow always found, movie ticket stubs, flyers of events he participated in, polaroids of his friends and family, and anything else that he deemed “important”. His bed contained multiple plushies, all gifts from his “friends”, and about four different kinds of pillows from when he couldn’t decide which one was fluffier (then subsequently forgot to return when he found his answer). His desk proudly displayed the multiple trophies, ribbons, and prizes he had won in various fencing competitions, with homework and other papers caught up in the fray. His closet contained a lot more workout-type materials than Mark’s as well as a box of snapbacks during his “wild-and-sexy” phase.

They had enough in their rooms to have been theoretically entertained for weeks. But Mark, being an enhanced being, could feel himself starting to become stir crazy. Using his powers usually helped him work off the excess energy his body created, but since no one was allowed outside and Red Dragon was dead, Mark had no way to relieve his energy. All he could do was watch TV and see how miserably his plan has been going so far.

Jackson tried to help cheer him up at the beginning, forcing him to walk around and join him in various activities with his friends. But Jackson’s personality also demanded that he help others and alleviate their concerns about the takeover as well. So instead of getting Jackson all to himself, Mark had to share him with all of the other students in their dorm as Jackson did his best to provide a positive atmosphere in the otherwise dreary city.

The rational part of Mark’s brain was overwhelmingly proud to be called Jackson’s best friend; only a true-hearted, kind person would be able to put other’s well-being in front of their own to provide some semblance of normalcy as the world around them fell apart. Mark was grateful for Jackson’s unwavering support, never making him feel guilty or demanding he step up as they watched the city descend into hell. Mark knew that Jackson trusted him unconditionally and his loyalty meant more to Mark than anything else in the universe.

However, Mark was human. Meaning he was also extremely jealous and angry that Jackson’s time wasn’t fully devoted towards helping Mark figure out their current problem. Mark reasoned that, now that Jackson knew what the plan was, he should at least bare some responsibility into figuring out when their little experiment should be put to an end.

He also knew that Jackson was also spending more time with Yugyeom , which left Mark feeling out-of-place and (he hated to admit it) lonely. As Jackson’s best friend, shouldn’t he get more time with the other than Yugyeom, some one-night-stand with no prior history with Jackson?!

Before he could further spiral into a pit of self-deprecation, the blanket was snatched away from him. Knowing that Jackson was the only person that could be in their shared dorm, Mark just turned to face towards the couch, content to ignore his best friend.

“Man, you look like a hermit. That sweatpants-hoodie outfit you’ve got going on screams I’ve given up on everything .”

Mark knew Jackson was right, but he preferred not to inflate the other’s ego more than he had to. Instead, he just shrugged and tried to make himself become one with the couch.

Mark could feel Jackson still standing over him on his place on the couch and reluctantly turned onto his back, loosening the hood a little so he could peek out at his roommate. Upon seeing Jackson’s determined glare, he knew that he would be receiving another one of Jackson’s lectures and tried to roll back. Before he could get far, he felt Jackson grab his arm and roughly tug him up into a seated position, the hoodie unceremoniously yanked off of his face with Jackson’s other hand. A little shocked at Jackson’s forceful move, but not willing to let himself be manhandled, Mark yanked his arm from Jackson’s grip and stood toe to toe with the other male, feeling his irrational anger and jealousy uncontrollably rise with each passing second.

“Jackson, what the hell was that for?!” Even though Mark was only three inches taller than the other, he used the height in his favor to tower over Jackson in an attempt to make the other relent.

Jackson stood up straight and met Mark’s fierce glower evenly, apparently not perturbed by the size different. “You’re wallowing in your own misery again, Mark. It isn’t a good look for a newly retired superhero.”

Mark scoffed and glanced away,not willing to meet his friend’s eyes because of how accurate the description was. Shoving his hands into his sweatpants pockets, Mark tried to project an uncaring attitude to protect himself from Jackson’s searching looks. “I am not retired, I am undercover. I was not wallowing in my own misery, I was just frustrated by having been abandoned by my closest friend since he apparently believes that his relationship with Yugyeom is more important than ours.”

Mark felt a pang of regret as he saw the hurt flare up in Jackson’s eyes but the need to lash out was stronger than the need to comfort his friend in that moment.

Similarly, Jackson saw the uncertainty and agony clearly displayed in Mark’s expression. When he walked into the room, the image of Mark’s unmoving form underneath their stress blanket provided a clear indication of Mark’s mental state. Jackson had to sit by and watch as Mark scoured the news reports daily in order to find any truth to his hypothesis about the villains. However, with each passing day the crime rates skyrocketed and the villains gave no indication that they were anything other than pure evil, causing Mark to slowly lose hope and submit to the self-imposed guilt that his fake death caused. Jackson hated to see his friend in such a state and while he might not fully agree with Mark's idea, he had to give his friend credit; Mark’s intuition was usually right and, being the greatest bestie in the world, Jackson did his best to push aside his ill-feelings towards the villains that almost killed his best friend in order to become Mark’s personal cheerleader and support system. Even if Mark didn’t necessarily see it that way.

With all this in mind, Jackson took a deep, calming breath and pushed down his own desire to put Mark in his place. Taking a slow, steady breath, Jackson continued in a tone that he hoped was even and calm.

“You know fully well that our friendship means more to me than the world itself. We’ve just been cramped up in the dorm for a while and I thought that you might want some space so I went to try and see how Yugyeom AND Bambam are doing.”

“I never said I wanted space. YOU were the one who ASSUMED that you knew what was best for ME. But you were wrong, AS ALWAYS. I know you just wanted to get away from me, Jackson! I could see it every time you went out to hang out in somebody else’s room. I’m probably not WORTHY enough in your eyes since I’m not your personal bodyguard anymore to save you from whatever STUPID scenario you had gotten yourself caught up in! I mean seriously, who in their right mind allows themselves to be kidnapped EVERY. SINGLE. WEEK?”

Mark’s tone rose with each word, face becoming red with anger with his hands balled into fists at his side. Jackson wrapped his arms around himself unconsciously as he did his best to ignore the hurtful words spewing out of his friend’s mouth and took a step back from the other.

“Mark, you are literally the only person in the world that I think would be worthy enough to have these amazing superpowers. Even if you never got them, I would think you were worthy enough to get to know and become friends with! You’re inspiring, funny, kind and have always been there for me even when I’m not at my best. And I’m trying to do the same for you, right now. I know you feel guilty and struck down because you’re losing hope in your idea, but just give it a couple more days and I’m sure-”

Deep down, Mark knew that Jackson had only the best intentions at heart. If he told anyone else his crazy plan, he knew he would be met with angry individuals demanding that he take action against the villains. But Jackson took Mark’s words in stride and made a noticeable effort to support Mark even though he knew that Jackson would never forgive Dark Soul or Project J for trying to kill him. He loved Jackson like he was his own brother and made a promise to himself that he would protect him with everything he had. Which is why Mark will never forget the look on Jackson’s face when the need to hurt something caused Mark to say this:

“JACKSON! You are the most DIM-WITTED person I know when it comes to ANYTHING even VAGUELY emotional. How can you be sure that my gut-feelings is a SURE THING when you can’t even DISTINGUISH any other feeling out there? I’M not even sure I’m right anymore, which SHOULD tell you that this whole plan was a fluke and that YOU are a complete IDIOT for ever trusting me! Of course, you’ll always support me and follow me, yada yada yada, but can’t you get your OWN life instead of always inserting yourself into MINE? Why don’t you run on back to YUGYEOM. Anybody can see that he wants more than the one night you gave him. Maybe he’ll fuck some feelings into you and boy, has he got A LOT of feelings for you. But you wouldn’t know that now would you? You’ll just string him along and act completely obtuse as the fool throws lovesick glances your way whenever you give him even the SLIGHTEST BIT of attention and only use him for a convenient lay. I know you too, Jackson, and I know that you CRAVE attention and validity and when I couldn’t give it to you, when I REJECTED you all those months ago, you RAN towards whatever source would fill the hole that I LEFT.”

By the end of his whirlwind speech, Mark was almost screaming at Jackson and for a second, he felt a twinge of victory at having shut the other up. The short lived moment was immediately washed away as he noticed the hurt, shock and fear in the other’s eyes. During his blind rage, Mark had unwittingly caged Jackson against his bed, Mark’s hands gripping the bed frame on either sides of Jackson’s waist. Mark quickly released his hold and scrambled back as much as he could to give Jackson his space. To his dismay and utter horror, Mark saw that his hands were glowing a faint red and had turned the wooden bed frame black where he had touched it, the smell of burnt wood rising in the air.

Feeling completely sick with guilt, Mark dropped to his knees and looked up at Jackson with wet eyes. “Oh god… Jackson… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it, you know I would never hurt you and there was absolutely NO TRUTH to anything I said!”

Mark saw Jackson starting to completely shut down, his emotional walls going up to protect him from Mark. Desperate to take his words back and get rid of the glazed look in Jackson’s eyes, Mark tentatively reached out to Jackson’s ankle to try and provide a grounding presence before Jackson completely closed off. Before he could even touch the other, Jackson launched himself over Mark’s outstretched hand and sprinted towards the closet, grabbing the first hoodie he saw, and throwing the door open, desperate to escape the hurtful words still ringing in his ears.

“JACKSON! WAIT-” Mark screamed out, but the sound of the slamming door cut off the rest of his sentence, leaving him sprawled out on the floor with his hand outstretched and a sense of loss as he watched one of the most important people in his life run away from him. For a moment, it all felt like a dream. Mark laid down on the couch, accidentally fell asleep and was currently having a nightmare that he’d wake up from any moment. But as he turned to look at Jackson’s bed with the scorch marks deeply imbedded into the wood, he knew that he had royally fucked up.

________________________________________________________________

I don realized I forgot to post this chapter to tumbler.... literally gag me with a spoon I can’t believe I done this....

#markson #jackbum #jaeson #jackson wang #mark tuan #fanfic #lololol he really went off #jackgyeom

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lazilymysticalzombie · 6 years ago

Text

Thank God it’s Friday

Daily Writing Challenge by @sdavid09 - Prompt #3:

Prompt: TGIF! Thank God It’s Friday! Why does your character feel that way?

Pairing: Tony Stark/reader, mention of Loki/reader

Author’s note: I just realized that I could have played a joke on the word Friday, and instead of the day of the week write a story about Tony’s AI. I feel silly now O_o

MASTERLIST

_____________________________________________________________

Thank God it’s Friday

Monday was a deceptively easy affair.

Tony woke up well rested, with no nightmares haunting him throughout the night and a cuddly sleeping partner, who happily returned his good-morning kisses. He ate breakfast (blueberry pancakes made by Steve who decided to take proper care of his team and breakfast was The Most Important Meal of The Day, Tony), drunk piping hot coffee and left for SI. After boring meetings with the board, he was allowed by Pepper to show off a bit in the labs for the amusement of the young men and women working to better the world, and then went home. He found Y/N waiting for him with a home-made dinner and a movie, for which he repaid her with some fun times behind the closed door.

Unfortunately, that was the end of his well-earned peace and quiet.

Tuesday started with an alarm going off in the distance, informing the Avengers of a new threat in the glorious city of New York. It turned out that a new evil overlord named The Nemesis decided it was the time the Avengers learned about his might and power. The Nemesis, also known as John McCullen - one of the young doctors of Tony’s own facility – was not only highly intelligent, well prepared and magically skilled; he was also always three steps ahead of them in every sense.

Having incapacitated the Hulk by sending him to another dimension, he tore down Bucky’s new arm, stole Cap’s shield and revealed some secrets to Natasha, that made the redhead decline working with Clint altogether. And then he disappeared. Like a mist.

The shit finally hit the fan on Wednesday.

Steve decided that since the Nemesis comes from SI, it must have been something Tony has done that made the young scientist turn evil. Bucky took Tony’s side, which only made Cap angrier. He refused to leave the workshop, instead insisting on keeping an eye on the progress Tony was making.

While Tony and Strange were desperately looking for any sights of Bruce and trying to contact Thor who once again was off Odin only knows where, Natasha and Clint had a massive fight. Tony was not sure what has exactly transpired between those two. Suffice to say that they destroyed half of the common room with his collection of vinyl discs and, in the end, had to be divided by two very angry super soldiers. Clint had a split lip and carried in his hand a broken bow Tony just finished upgrading, while Natasha lost all her knives and, surprisingly, shoes.

Bucky, who had to take down the Black Widow without his biggest advantage, supported a black eye and tore his favourite pants. Steve was positively fuming – the Captain, who had nothing else to do now but wait - kept asking Tony in a very dry voice if he had finally found Bruce.

At least Y/N was an oasis of peace and tried her best to comfort the team and keep Tony sane.

Well, until Thursday.

On Thursday night Thor finally came back – together with his slimy brother, the god of Mischief and All that is Crazy. With all that was going on, no one felt easy having him here. No one, but apparently Y/N, who developed a weird fascination with Asgardian magic and couldn’t stop asking him quiet questions and, to put it frankly, flirt with the brat.

Loki turned out to be at least useful during the fight with the Nemesis. While the young man was clearly very talented, Loki had thousands of years to hone his craft and thanks to that he was able to restrain him long enough for Tony to search his lair. He found Cap’s shield, some stolen blueprints and a tiny hedgehog that was unnervingly familiar. Together with Thor, Loki, Clint and Natasha (who decided to bury the proverbial hatchet for a moment to save the people of New York) Tony and happily wielding his shield Cap were able to take down their foe and bring him to justice.

‘Thank god it’s Friday’ - Tony thought bitterly, hidden in his workshop. He retreated here in the late morning, after Loki finally manged to transform Bruce back to human. It turned out that the Nemesis didn’t actually send the Hulk into another dimension, but magically turned him into a hedgehog and kept as a pet. No wonder they couldn't pick up Bruce’s DNA signature in any of the places they tried – the DNA signature was simply different. Of course, not now, Tony grunted to himself, Loki fixed that and then proceeded to help the other Avengers.

- Loki the Saint – mumbled Tony, working on the new arm he promised Bucky. He knew he was being unfair, that Loki did help a lot and without him no one knows how long it would take them to defeat this new villain. He even took some time talking with Nat, after which Nat decided at least talk things through with Clint.

It really wasn’t about that, he knew. It was the burning jealousy he felt every time he thought about Y/N and Loki. After the battle, after everything was cleaned up and all the forms had been signed at SHIELD, he spied them talking quietly in a corner of the room. Loki gave her something which made her smile like a thousand tiny suns and then he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. For which she blushed and punched him playfully on the arm.

The tablet Tony was holding in his hand snapped in half. He looked down on it, sighed and put it on the table, making a mental note to reinforce the glass structure. A delicate knock on the door made him pause.

- Tony – said Y/N, smiling at him bashfully. - Tony, baby, I was looking for you.

He didn’t answer, just opened a new project. Nat broke Clint’s bow, maybe he could make a new one, use some new materials, hide some darts maybe...

- Tony? Has something happened? - there was a slight worry in her voice now. Tony gritted his teeth. - You disappeared so quickly, Thor and Loki have already left...

- And you didn’t go with him? - Tony asked sarcastically. He rubbed his eyes; the tiredness and all this week’s troubles was making him crankier and more prone to arguing.

- With Thor? Why would I leave with Thor? - she asked with consternation.

- Not with him. With Loki. I saw you two getting cosy with each other, I thought...

- What, that I would cheat on you? - she exclaimed with more astonishment and disappointment than anger. - That I’d leave you? After all you have done this week? And through all the time we know each other?

- I – Tony lost his voice for a moment. - I did nothing. I couldn’t stop my own employee from going crazy, I couldn’t find Bruce, I couldn’t make Nat and Clint work things out peacefully, I couldn’t...

- Oh, you idiot – she whispered, touching his face lightly. He didn’t notice her getting so close. - You did everything you could. You worked through Steve’s moods, you were working tirelessly to find Bruce, you were worried about Natasha and Clint. You managed to get everyone work together to bring down the threat, that had nothing to do with you. And even now you don’t stop, but immediately look to rebuild and make everything better. - She sneaked her arms around him, hugging him tightly. - How could I love anyone but you?

- What about... - he cleared his throat. - What about Loki in the office then? He kissed you.

She started to move away and for a moment he was terrified. He fucked up. He should have kept silent, she was here, she was his and now she’ll leave...

- Loki was helping me with something. - She took two silver bracelets out of her pocket and showed him the engraved inscription. ‘You are my favourite, now and always’. - I had it made here, in New York, but I asked Loki to make it a bit more... you know, magicky. - She smiled shyly. - You see, he put a spell on them. If you touch it here – she took his hand and placed his finger on a hidden button he didn’t see at first. - the other bracelet vibrates and turns arc blue.

Tony was speechless. He was looking at her like an idiot, with his mouth open and his hand still in her palms.

- And... – he croaked after a moment. - And the kiss he gave you?

- It wasn’t a kiss, silly! - she started laughing now. Tony was absolutely lost. - He just said something... well, something dirty. - she looked at him flirtatiously. - He said that if I want other vibrating gifts for you, he’ll be happy to provide.

Oh god, he made an absolute idiot of himself. He thought... He just thought...

- Anyway, that’s my gift for you. Now, let’s order and eat something and then we’ll watch a move, maybe? With all this week’s drama and action, I think we deserve some down-time. Thank God it’s Friday...

- Yeah, - Tony said quietly, following his girlfriend out of the workshop, a ridiculous smile on his face. - Thank god it’s Friday.

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novaimpactgenerator-blog · 6 years ago

Note

First things first: Hello! Second: May I say your recent work on a request tugged my heartstrings so much that it inspired me to think of my own request of where the Lost Light's female human (giant sized thanks to Brainstorm's idea of sizing them up), Rung, Whirl are dealing with the Fort Max hostage situation, though this time the human is trying to calm Max down, but of course Whirl is trying to make sure Max doesn’t hurt Rung or her by making jabs at him so he could hurt him instead. (1/2)

A Hostage Situation:

“Wow! This is amazing, Brainstorm!” You examined yourself in the mirror with the teal and white scientist standing next to you. You were now able to stand up to his elbow joints and looked down at the device responsible for your new found size attached to your wrist. I reminded you of a digital watch except the time was replaced with height measurements and the side rim was a dial you could turn to adjust said measurements. However, it seemed like the current setting was the tallest.

“I really have outdone myself this time, haven’t I,” he stated smugly. “It was a bit difficult to figure out to expand your body since its made of flesh and not metal. Nothing I couldn’t handle though!”

“Well, thanks. I mean it. This will make living here with you guys a lot easier.” You then began to look over the bodysuit that Brainstorm had also made. It was able to change sizes with you. It was even in your three favorite colors! But the weapon specialist did say it could turn nearly invisible so you could wear other clothes over it.

“I have to go show everyone!” You then ran out of the lab to do just that. The entire crew was completely shocked since you had managed to keep this little project a secret. What could you, you wanted it to be a surprise. In total, it took about a few hours to find everyone. Well, almost everyone. You had yet to find Rung, Whirl, and, hell, even Fortress Maximus had managed to elude you. And he wasn’t exactly what you would call subtle.

You decided that you’d start with Rung, and made your way to the most obvious option. His office.

The walk was filled with the occasional exchange of pleasantries among those you passed, but mostly silence. You finally made it. His office was located near the end of the ship to it took a while.

You had just knocked on the door when a deep voice startled you.

“Y/n!? Is that you?” You whipped around to find one of the bots you were looking for, Fortress Maximus. You immediately placed your hand over your rapidly beating heart to calm it.

“Max! Oh, you scared me.” You gave a nervous grin as you looked up to meet his optics. But something was… off. He seemed nervous and kept glancing around as if someone was going to attack him. “Is everything all right, Max? You seem-”

“What are you doing here?” He said cutting you off, but you didn’t take it personally since he looked so shaken up.

“I came to see if Rung was here. I’ve been looking for him. You too, actually.”

“Listen, you need to leave now!” Fort Max bent down and whisper-yelled at you.

“What? Why?”

But the door behind you opened before Fort Max had the chance to respond, and you turned around the face whoever opened it. It was Rung. He looked at you and was utterly shocked that he could look straight ahead and lock gazes with you.

“Brainstorm,” you said absentmindedly.

“Oh, I see. That’s very extraordinary, but I’m actually in the middle of a session right now.” Rung said gesturing to the last bot you were looking for.

The helicopter gave a little wave with his claws. “Yo. Nice upgrade, Y/n. Now I don’t have to worry about stepping on you.”

You were about to laugh when Fort Max snarled in frustration behind you. Before you could turn around to see what was wrong the barrel of a very large gun was suddenly next to your head and pointing at Rung’s terrified face.

“M-Max! What are yo-” you tried to question, but he cut you off again. This time with a real yell.

“IN! NOW!” He shoved the barrel into Rung’s cheek to emphasize that he meant business.

Both you and Rung began to slowly back into the room and you heard Fort Max close the door behind him. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed that Whirl was crouched down and quietly making his way closer. And it seemed you weren’t the only one who noticed.

Fort Max jerked his gun to point it at the former Wrecker, who immediately threw stealth to the wind and charged at the armed bot with a battle cry. Fort Max fired a few shots at Whirl fully intent on blowing him away, but the blue chopper was nibble and dodged. “BRING IT, GLITCH!”

Whirl jumped over both you and Rung and tackled Fort Max into the door he had just closed. You two made a break for it to the furthest part of the room by the window. You wanted to help but knew you couldn’t.

You watched in horror as your two friends battled it out, and once Fort Max snapped out of his daze it was almost immediately over. What started as a fight turned into a beating for the smaller of the two, but he refused to fall even after his frame was wrecked to hell. Whirl was still struggling when the red-eyed Autobot ripped off his guns and wrapped his entire servo around his helm but went limp when the larger smashed the side of his helm into the wall.

“Whirl!” You cupped your mouth as you feared the worst. You were only slightly relieved when the ex-Wrecker groaned in pain, but Fort Max crushed that relief when he threw him to the middle of the room, beaten and broken and leaking energon. You couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. You knew Cybertronians could survive a lot more than a human, but you didn’t know how much.

The huge grounder then stomped his way over to the two of you and you began to shiver in fear. You slammed your eyes shut when he started reaching out but instantly reopened them when you heard Rung cry out. He had him by the neck as the therapist tried to get away from his assailant.

“No!” You quickly grabbed the large black digits around Rung’s neck and tried to pry them off, but it didn’t deter him in the slightest. Fort Max pulled Rung closer and used his other hand to push you off. You could tell he didn’t put any real force behind his push but it was still able to knock you to the ground as he turned away.

“Max please!”

“Quiet, Y/n.” Max walked past Whirl and sat Rung down on the lounging chair. He then pulled a long reinforced cable from the subspace in his shoulder and began to tie down Rung.

“You don’t need to do this!”

“Yes. I do.”

“Why!?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me understand!… Please.” You made your way to Whirl to check on him. “Why are you doing this?”

“I said. Be. Quiet!” Fort Max then ripped a piece of pipe from the ceiling and speared it through Whirl’s abdomen as he attempted to get up. You couldn’t stop the shriek of terror as energon spattered across your face and body.

Whirl cried out in agony as Fort Max twisted the jagged metal through his delicate circuitry. You pounded your fists against the kibble around his shin while you pleaded and begged for him to quit harming the blue chopper.

Whirl groaned before he rebooted his vox, “Listen, Max. In the hope that this can still have a happy ending- and speaking as someone who appreciates the challenges of adjusting to postwar life- I just wanna say that there’s still time to do the decent thing and kill yourself.”

“W-Whirl, please stop. Don’t push him to hurt you mo-” You whispered to the injured Cybertronian, who only cut you off in return.

“Come on! Blow yourself away! Let’s see a spark-spasm up close!”

“Max! Please don’t listen to him! You can still fix thi-” Whirl interrupted you again.

“Fix this!? Don’t make me laugh! Unless he’s got some kind of time machine hidden under all that armor, I think the frag not! He can’t even fix himself, let alone this mess!” Whirl’s outburst made a growl escape Fort Max’s derma and he looked as though he were about to strike him before a look of realization spread across his faceplates.

“Clever. Trying to get me to lose my cool so you can get the chance to overpower me.”

Rung finally decided to speak up, “Actually, I think you might be crediting him with too much-”

“Seriously, all of this is a bit pathetic, isn’t it? Even for an epic, epic failure like you. I mean not only did you practically beg the Decepticons to take G9 off your hands, but you curled up into a ball the moment Overlor-” KUNCH

Fort Max smashed the barrel of his gun against Whirl’s face denting and crushing the metal around his optic.

“STOP!” You yelled, catching the grounder’s attention. However, it seemed that Fort Max shifting his attention away from Whirl only caused to the ex-Wrecker to vex his assailant more.

“Wow. If I’d known that was the best you’ve got, I would have said something genuinely offensive.” KUNCH “Ugh!”

“PLEASE, STOP IT!!!” You threw yourself at Fort Max’s stabilizer again and slammed your fists weakly against him while tears streamed down your face.

“Anything else?”

You thanked whatever self-preservation instincts Whirl had when he didn’t reply. You then glanced over to Rung to see him looking up. You followed his field of vision to see a small camera blinking in the corner. You slowly got up and stepped closer to Fort Max.

“Max. Please just listen to me. Whatever you’re doing this for, I’m sure there’s another way. You can stop this now and explain yourself and I’m sure everything will be okay.” You tried to sooth the metal giant by gently placing your hand over the servo that wasn’t holding a cannon at Whirl.

“You wanna know why I’m doing this, Y/n? YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY!?” You flinched away when he leaned down to shout in your face, which seemed to make him calm down enough to lower his voice. “Fine… I’ll tell you why…”

Fortress Maximus then proceeded to tell all of you about Garrus 9, about Overlord, and about what he and his crew went through. All the torture and death. You finally understood.

“Oh, Max. You said you didn’t remember. Why didn’t you tell anyone the truth?” You stroked his servo while you looked up at him.

“Because, Y/n, I’m Fortress Maximus. I couldn’t just-”

“No one, and I mean no one, would have held it against you. What you went through wasn’t your fault and would affect even the strongest of bots. It’s okay to be mad. It’s okay to be scared. You have a right to be. And you have a right to want answers. But not like this.” You gestured to the other two bots in the room. “Not by hurting others.” You put your hand on top of the cannon and Max allowed you to slowly push it to point at the ground and away from Whirl, while his guilty optics stared into your gentle eyes. “Like how you were.”

Just as Fort Max’s grip was loosening to drop the weapon he snapped out of his trance. “No. It’s too late to go back now.”

Both you and Rung saw the darkness that took over his optics. “No, dON’T!” Rung tried to reason with him, but he ignored his therapist and grabbed you by the arm and flung you across the room.

Your scream was cut off when your spine collided with the wall next to Rung, who screamed your name. Your ears were ringing, so you felt more than heard the pounding of pede steps getting closer to you. You did, however, manage to make out the sound of Whirl yelling curses at the Autobot who threw you.

“YOU FRAGGER!!! YOU KNOW WHAT!?! SHE’S SO WRONG!!! ANYONE that could be beaten into submission by OVERLORD is nothing but a WEAK, SAD EXCUSE FOR A PATHETIC WASTE OF SPACE!!!”

By Primus, if Fort Max wasn’t pissed off already he sure was now. Your vision came back just in time to see the enraged look on Fort Max’s faceplates and you knew that was the last straw. Max whipped around and stomped back up to Whirl. He pointed the cannon directly at Whirl’s face and the barrel began to light up as it prepared to be fired.

“That’s ENOUGH out of you!” Fort Max moved his digit over the trigger, and in a burst of adrenaline, you lept to your feet and tackled the gun.

When Fort Max saw you, his optics widened in horror and he tried to let go of the weapon, but when you pulled it down with you his digit caught the trigger.

And the gun fired.

Your grip immediately fell from the smoking cannon and you stumbled back a few steps. Every bot in the room stared at you with wide optics. They could only watch in horrible awe as you looked down to see a large hole through your shoulder that was bleeding profusely.

With all the adrenaline pumping through your veins you could barely register the pain you were in. You slowly glance over at Whirl and Rung and gave a weary smile as they trembled in shock and horror.

“It’s going to be okay.” You mouthed silently at the two before return your attention to Fort Max. He trembled as he gaped at your bleeding shoulder and he dropped his gun and fell to his knees.

“What have I done?” Max clutched at his head as he began degrading himself.

“It’s okay, Max.” You started taking shaky steps as you kept the best smile you possibly could.

“No, stop. Don’t come any closer, Y/n.” He shook his head as he tried to shy away from you.

“I won’t leave you, Max. I’ll never leave you to deal with your demon alone ever again.” When you finally got close enough you fell forward and wrapped your arms around his neck as best as you could.

“Please… I don’t want to hurt you anymore.” Fort Max kept his servos hovering around you as his plating rattled.

“I’m here for you. And I care for you too much to turn away from you. I love you, Max. We all do. We’re here for you. In our own ways.”

Once your slurred words sunk in, Fortress Maximus finally broke down and wrapped his servos around you as he began to sob.

You smiled gently while rubbing the back of his helm. Your mind and your body were quickly becoming more fatigued and your inner temperature was dropping from blood loss and you could feel yourself begin to lose consciousness. Using the last of your energy, you looked up at the camera, and even though you had no idea that Rodimus, Ultra Magnus, Drift, and the entire crew were watching, you whispered, “I love you guys.”

And then you drifted into a cold, dark, dreamless void.

#request #sorry it took so long #my laptop wasn't working for 4 days #also I know that some of the quotes from the comic aren't exact #hope you like this!#still taking requests

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