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denotday · 3 years

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Maybel Rhodes: Protectress

Itchy arms. My armbumps bumps take over life and chew my head off like a black mother. Even the sleeves of this sweater craddle these potholes as an english muffin craddles butter. But I'm more than my bumps and I'd make a quip on Fergie, but I'm no Joan Rivers. I'm small, meager. At eighteen, trying to find myself, live my own life. Typical teen drama, boring narrative, sob story. bored already. But know what isn't boring? I like strawberry shortcake and cheeseless pizzas. I have hopes of becoming a journalist and actually leading a career as moreof a Clark Kent than a Mary Jane or whatever the fuck that bitch's name is. Mary Anne? That used to be the name of one of my teachers. Going off; just thinking these thoughts while skateboarding to highschool.

Stay on the sides, away from cars, on the sidewalk, not too close to the white kids. White kids mean white mess, white messes mean cops who sweep the streets and take all the black kids with them in the process. I'm not a racist, just a black kid trying to stay alive in white america. Thank god I'm a weak bitch, one who cries for black men, one who doesn't face real issues like projected aggression. I'm a butterfly, something that men swat away and don't care about until MeToo movements. Gotta be careful but not too careful, kind but not too kind, firm but not a bitch, bitch but not a faggot. faggots suck.

No one thinks to ask these questions, here this thoughts. They see a black woman, better yet, a black female child. Worse thing to live in a ghetto. Sike; I say that I'm black and in a ghetto and get sob points. Fucking racist. I'm skating to one of those Fresh Prince schools. Didn't move on up, I'm simply moving; parents are mid class well grounded and guess what? My parents are still together. Probably breaking up soon but still breaking barriors of broke baby daddies and black slutty whore mothers who don't believe in abortion.

That's humor in of itself. A black kid skates into a white neighborhood with white sidewalks and doesn't have a nigger daddy and nigger mommy. What can be said by those PTA suburban soccer moms who want to demonise me and my own? Or am I palatable and a token black?

Making good grades, going to class on time. Only thing is, I don't have any friends to call. Even if I had one of those top quality iPhone 411s, I still wouldn't want to burden myself with filling up those high-techy contact lists. It's all bullshit after all, just capitalistic bilge. Something to fill the void without actually trying to let the public know that the void they're filling chalks up to capitalism. But again, those little tangents? "What does this have to do with having friends?" Everything. I don't give a shit, I accept shit. I tell things like it is, speak with lisps or change it up by sounding like an oxford professor.Not going to just abandon stream of consciousness 'cause class just started. This aint sims 4 and life ain't something that can be controlled; sped up or slowed down for the sake of an other's pleasure. I'm learning about shit that I'll never use like economics. That's shit that the government gives the state to teach, a little but not enough for highschoolers to overwhelm the system and decide "fuck student loans".

Not too bad here, though. Not all just "fuck hyschool" and teenaged angst. I go to the library, read books, go on my computer, listening to some Biggie and MFDoom and Tribe. Guess I am a nigger. Nigger-me and my nigger music. Even tththough it's they inspiration for they cracker music. Hate on us enough to keep us down but keep us up enough to steal from us. Today I'm reading some teen dystopian fantasy novel that I don't feel inclined to share with you guys. And no, it's not Hunger Games. It's Gunger Hames, the cousin of the franchise. Whoops just gave ya'll the name sorry. Either way I'm into that. Idea of a not-so-distant-future; humans making mistakes that fuck up the planet---disregarding that fact long enough so that the white main character can get it on with someone from the other side. Modern day Romeo and Juliett.

End of lunch, going back to class. It's back to back all day; boring teen shit that nobody cares about. Raising hands, answering questions, not understanding anything by the end of the day. Getting by is my motto. Long enough to get an A in the class and be on those ivy league watchlists. Even if I have to bust my ass to pay for student loans. Leaving highschool after all that non-work---no friends to lie to, no one to walk with, just me and my skateboard. These white paths not dirtied by brown except for my dirt body moving at the speed that a skateboard will go. Shift right here and there. Move away from rocks so that I don't fall headfirst. It's good shit. Here and there there are stone pebbles, blunts from---ironically enough--- the white kids and sharp object that I can't identify. FUCK. I don't have time to move around it and I can't just run offf. My leg'll get cut by it. Gotta just build up enough speed to roll over. Rolling...rolling...here it comes. Crouch down, focus, focus, pump speed anddddd....it stops my speed and loosens one of my bearings. Now I gotta walk the rest of the way back to my white little house with a white picket fence. Man screw--haha pun---this object. I have to use my 20/20 vision to find some small silver bolt that'll practically blend in with this bright ass sidewalk. Fuck white America.

In a little patch of weeds growing like black fists raising in the air I see the bolt and the responsible party for tossing me off the board. I raise my foot to crush this sonnofabiscuit like a bug so that some white kid's bike tire doesn't get licked---mind you this should be considered community service---and I figure that I won't ruin my rubber soles on the glass, so I'll just pick it up and toss it into the sewer. I put the bolt in my sweatpants pocket to keep it safe. I bend over again to peer at the crack in the sidewalk that I'll punt to the other side of the street where the other half of the street lives. It has tribal markings on it and must be, gasp, an ancient arcane ruin that'll give me superpowers. Kidding, you dumb bitch. "Why am I talking to myself this way? Jeez, some self-improvement classes would be nice". It's a bracelet made of some sort of beads. Kindof pretty but caked up with dirt and sand like no-one's business. I'm no Rocket Racoon so I just leave it. Even if I felt that it was interesting enough, I'd have to clean it off and disinfect it. It would just ruin the material underneath. Hm. Hm. Hm. Hm. Hm. Hm. Lemme stop; for real, in this white bread neighborhood, I might be able to get it appraised and pawn it off for some money or at the very least, see if it's worth keeping. I know; "this is the start of every horror movie", every tv show. I get it, but I'll cleanse the jewelry before wearing it. It's fine. It's fine. Hope it's fine. Jeez.

I put the bracelet in my other pocket away from the bolt and walk back home. The soles of my feet hit the white pavement and my feet move in the fashion of jubillee ferris wheels. Slowly rise in a circle, fall in perfect arch. Walking is divine poetry in of itself. Not too long now. A little further. Feels like the day is stretching. Still light outside and the summer-brink of fall--air is warming my rectum. "Oh god, what's with gays and their rectums". You know your g-spot is in your ass, men. It feels good for us too you know. Nice coolness for the butthole----rectum is for men, butthole is for women. I think. See? Not a Cliff Huxtable type; don't know everything. Not an Urkle. Conversations with myself like this are truly golden (ponyboy).

Fondle the silver piece, twist it in lock, get somewhere new. Novel design, simple concept. My rubber soles give me cat-walking abilities and I edge up the stairs. Hear shuffling downstairs in the kitchen. But the smell of musky forest wood with a hint of olive tells me that it's just my father. I'd announce my presence but this isn't a sitcom and I have a phone that I can use to text. Who talks nowadays?

On the table near the keyrack, I scoop into my pockets in search of the goods. The warm cotton touches the cool silver bolt. Set it aside to attach it to the skateboard later. "Why not now?" That'll be a problem for me to solve tomorrow. "Procrastination isn't good" Yeah I know. I've read the same 1990's health pamphlet that the health teachers give out. I hug my side to reach around for the other pocket. Same warmth, same feeling of comfort except...it's a new sensation. Hollow and porous. It's either bone carved into beads or plastic. Hope to...Well, not God, maybe I hope to goodness? Goodness? What am I? A preacher? Maybe that's why I like 16 year old boys. Anyway. It's too white over here for it to be bone. Unless it's some cracker who brought over some hoodoo shit and dropped it somewere. Great. Gonna burn some incense to cleanse it. Then gonna toss it somewhere so that it can't hurt anyone. Wait. It doesn't FEEL menacing. No darkness, no coldness, there's a comfort to be had. I don't see any visible engravings, no bite marks no arcane symbols. It may be safe. Just to be sure, I'm keeping it downstairs for it to curse someone else in the house. I rise up the stairs into the wide landing. Step, rise, step, rise, step, rise. Before I get to the top, I feel funny. Not sick funny or CURSED funny, but someone-is-in-my-presence funny. Strech my neck to look over my shoulder. Not too far to show interest but far enough to see what's going on---it's my dad handling the bracelet.

I whip my body around and I suppose this gives him a start.

"Hey, just got back from school. I'm pretty tired which is why I didn't want to talk. Found that bracelet in the sidewalk cracks before my skateboard broke. I wouldn't touch it if I were you. Don't know if it's cursed or not."

"Cursed? Bee, this is a genuine Sudanese artifact."

"Huh? When'd you turn into a archeologist? Or are you just nerding out about a 'special interest'"

"Har har. Nothing like that. This area used to be an auction town for slaves shipped from Sudan. Martinsville, Pennsylvania wasn't necessarily known for it's 'clean hands' you know. Gentrification made the area look nicer but its history is still pretty shit-covered."

"Ah, I remember now. I heard about this in history class" No I haven't. I don't even have history. Just want to stop talking to him about some dumb bracelet. "Can it sell for big bucks at a pawnshop?"

"I mean, sure if you'd like to get rid of it. Better to give it to the local museum though! It looks to me like it's made out of elephant tusks. Pretty well preserved too! The wearer must've been some warrior. They only wear these types of jewelry if they're the village's protectors. That's what I've read online anyway. You know how the interweb is though. Could be false."

"Oh wow. Ivory? That's a pretty dirty trade. Don't want to give something like that up to white people who continue to promote the trade. This'll just make the ivory market worse. I may keep it; I just wonder if it's cursed or something. I'll ask a local witchcraft practitioner to check it out tomorrow. Can I have thirty bucks for an appraisal along with an after-school snack?"

"Thirty? What're you going to buy? A salmon dinner with asparagus and steak? I'm not giving you Carabbas money. I can do 18. Enough for some street food."

"Not enough for the appraisal!"

"I'm sure the person will be able to work something out for you. You look twelve. You can play the 'Uwu I'm a baby who has no money, please help me out adult!' card. Or, how about this: pretend to be doing a research project for school on Sudanese slaves in the area. Just act like the school lent you the bracelet for the project"

"So lie?"

"I call it embellishment."

"I see"

I reached into his calloused palm and stole its contents, As a thief, I ran upstairs away from the site of the crime, away from the demons that lurked beneath the stairs. That's customary practice when going up stairs, right? To haul ass like there's no tomorrow like we're that black chick from Scary Movie? Sounds about right. I heaved and ho'd swinging my body back and forth up the stairs. Snaking my way into my room where I burrow for my after-school nap. That's what I tell my parents anyway. What I really do is blaze up in my room and turn on the fan. Gotta keep the smoke minimal. "Such a typical teen". Yeah, whatever. Like your generation wasn't popping ass and drinking bathtub wine when ya'll were young, Get outta here.

It's a good high. Kind where you'd listen to lofi and eat peanuts just for the fun of it. Another bong hit. Satisfying. I'm just leaning back on my sofa; it's firm and uncomfy but when I'm blazed, don't none of it matter. I could lose all of my words...give up....let....go.....

"...."

"What is this energy I'm feeling? So warm and electric. Is this love? Am I so sexually frustrated that I'm in love with a bong? Shit, I fuck with that. That's pretty words. 'I'm in love with my bong'. Such nice love. haha."

I'm hungry and it's four am. The weed has worn off. So tired man. Gotta go downstairs for some chips or something. Hungry to the max. Munchies munchies munchies for the weed monster. What a drug.

I creep down the stairs and up once more. My bare footpads cling to the hardwood and leave sweat prints in the shape of my stompers. During my ascent I leave crumbs. Have the house feeling like a Brother's Grimm story. I satisfy my snack desires as I prepare for school in the next hour.

Running water on my arms. Three passes of lotion on arms and legs. Can't be the ashy black kid that look like they an African living in a dirt house. Ain't able to help the rough patches that coat my body but I can help keep my skin moisturized.

A'ight. Got my fit got my board. Just have to screw the bolt back on and find the bracelet. Shit. Left it upstairs. I'm already late as hell. Rushing up the stairs. Search for the bracelet, find it, get out house. Objectives objectives. I spot it from afar and gravitating toward it, put it gingerly in my pocket. Kindof like someone would with a used tissue. Aren't humans gross? I mean, snot? Bacteria-filled snot? Nasty. Thoughts gone, make brain go from thinking to doing. descending now. Board in arm, door opens with the flick of the wrist and just like that, I'm outty. Deck on ground I put my best foot forward and ram it onto the hard cement to push myself forward. Sorry foot, betrayals sure do suck.

School begins, in class siting in a chair. All day, several hours. Ah, the beloved system at work. Great to know that there are adults who "work" all day by keeping kids seated in a chair. Very progressive, America. Library break? I think so. On my laptop, I pull out webpages on the pocketed---the word reminds me of 'closeted---bracelet. NOW I'm imagining a gay bracelet. hilarious. Great. Typing 'Gay Bracelet' into the search bar and am getting rainbow plastic bands. Ya know, the ones that they sell at Hot Topic during pride month.

"Damn, I'm getting sidetracked" She mutters to herself. Imagine if life were a story being told by some omnipotent force? omnipresent? Think that's the word.

With a bit of typing and a bit of focus. Swift movement of hunched fingers. All is complete, then some. Ogdle: "common of the Azande warriors were pieces to signify their status such as septum tusks, mouth disks, necklaces and other adornments. Bones and tusks were common materials of such articles."

Crazy how this history is hidden. Power was taken from us and buried so deep. We're the originals but every piece of history buried underground. Hidden, secretive Big Bad America. Tale fit for young people all over. Democracy, boo yah.

Train whistle blowing through the air. No train nearby, just the sound of a change in the block. I put it all away, sweep it into my bag. Everything is so messy, so fast. On schooldays like this, it feels hard to even take time to breathe. But I get by since the system wants me to. Think I'm going to skip. Not that the next two classes even matter in the long run. "Such a poor black baby, representing her race so poorly". Yeah yeah. Not the black chick that highschools would put on a recruiting card.

Just another push....door after door falling at my fingertips. The same once that touch the coarse sandpaper of my board. Foot on, foot off. kick once, twice, thrice, now we surf the cement. Now it's time to visit good the kind old black woman who practices witchcraft on dolls. That's what you'd think right? No, they're native and keep old customs within the community. Everyone calls them---agender--- Sage. Nonbinary native americans are actually more common than people think.

Before selling the bracelet to some old rich white drudge of society, I wanna be sure that the bracelet can be cleansed first. I mean. To give away black history to the white man? Hellll no with multiple "l's". It is a pretty long ride there, even on a board. Rumbly road. Pebbles everywhere. Thousands of little rocks acting as smaller wheels vying to fling me off. It's too much.

Mumbling of my own. "Where's gentrification when you need it?" Alright, yes I get it. It's a bad joke. Of course gentrification is bad. Blah blah. Time to pick up my skateboard I guess. Walking on this ground feels just as bad as suicide. Feaful of getting my ass flung into the afterlife. Few yards left....or at least fifty feet. Forty eight, forty five, forty-however-long.

Ended up reaching it after twenty minutes. This trip better be worth it.

"Hi there, Miss Sage. Mind checking out this bracelet for me? I need to check it for a curse or evil energy. My cheap father didn't give me enough for a full appraisal but what can you do with nine dollars?"

"For nine? Not much, doll? What was your name again? You look young, do you have an adult's approval for this?"

"Oh, right. You've got me. It's for a school project. School each student a historical object to research. I figured you'd be able to help me get an 'A' on the project, you know?"

"Your manners are lacking but you seem young, so I'll let you pass. Allow me to take a look at it, if you please?"

God. Full-fledged adults really are something else. I'm only eighteen, not eight. Guess I look younger than I am----

Sage starts burning this wood that's tied with string. Incense maybe?

"That incense?"

"It's a closed practice really, so I don't want to expose anything. But it is a form of incense that I prefer to use to cleanse the spirit of objects and areas."

"Ah, didn't mean to intrude. I'm glad that there are still practices that you keep to yourself. Nothing like the White Man stripping us of our culture."

I got a soft chuckle out of them. Glad that they're able to lighten up a bit.

"..."

"OK, so here's what I've found. There's immense energy here; the power coming off of this thing is tremendous. There's nothing negative about this piece. How'd you ever come across it, again? School, you said? Shame that you'll have to give it back. Something like this would provide a large power surge to spirituals. I'd pay a pretty penny for this."

"Mhm"

"Wonder how the school even came across this. I tell you what. Ask your school where I can find something like this and perhaps I'll give you a little something for your intel, huh?"

"Oh. Sure. I'll just--uh---"

"Right, right, right. The bracelet, I'm sorry. Really, it's more an anklet truly, but--ya know what? I'm sorry. Here ya go"

"...take it from ya. Thanks."

"No problem. Come back with more info on the anklet. That'll be your payment for my time"

Got 'caught in a lie it seems. Don't know how I'll snake my way out of this one.

"Brrrrrzzzzz"

Shit, it's five. My dad's probably looking for me.

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

Chapter two:

" You skipped class? Bee, I know that you're better than this."

God moms bitch too much. Must be the nursing job coupled with her daily acting gigs that make her so aggro.

"I hear ya, mom. I just had some research to conduct after school..."

"Research? Which kind---?"

"The school kind. I don't know what else you want me to say. I'm sorry for skipping lasses. I got too overzealous and went in over my head. It won't happen again."

"Tskk. Better not. I know that I'm gone almost every hour of the day, but please give me a break, baby. Please just listen to your father and follow the rules. All I ask."

"Mhm, even though he-----you know what, nevermind. Am I dismissed? I have to write up today's school report to type"

Phew. Gonna hit the bong now to calm down from this encounter.

Fuck homework. .... ..... Mhm.

Five minutes passs. Fifteen, twenty. Maybe not minutes. hours? seconds? Time is too funny. With LEDs on, the vibe is fatallll. Still have to open a window to let out the smoke but gosh is this magical.

Mhm magic. Does it even exist? Doubt it. It's all science, right? ....

.....

Right. Like, this anklet. Not real power. Not real magic. Just something people believe in. Like God. It's all faith.

"So, theoretically, I could even put it on my person and nothing would even happen"

"And, so it begins"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT VOICE" and why am I screaming?

Get off, get off, get off! Something's dripping on me.

"Tears, they're tears"

Oh god, I fucked up. I knew that I shouldn't have smoked that much. Knew it'd bite me in the ass one day. Now I'm fear-crying. I NEVER FEAR CRY.

It's all a dream maybe. Go to sleep, Bee. Just take a weed nap.

"Ba ba bang"

A booming voice raspy from coffee withdrawal.

"Everything OK in there Bee? You're about to be late for school."

Shit!

No time for conversation. Move it move it move it.

"'Cmon Bee. I'll drop you off at school on my way to the college".

Bookbag? Check. Board? Check.

I feel the rush of air against my cheeks as I fly out the door and jump into the getaway car. Fast, but atleast I'm not Furious. Dad and I chat it up all the way until the tires cross the smooth pavement of school grounds. Departing words are exchanged along with "I love you's" and "knock 'em deads".

That familiar sound. Principal as the school conductor. "Chooo". Just as it drones, my body moves to the steps of teens dragging their feet toward their dreaded first classes of the day. The light of morning cradles the marble arches of the school entrance until the sun starts to suck in the morning cold to blow out midday warmth.

"So, who are you, voice? What's your angle? Typing ensues. The screen watches my fleeting pupils; left, right, side, side. Wouldn't be surprised if the computer got whiplash from me. One scroll, two, three. Read a page. Nothing. Another website. Up and down; my fingers are cramped now. Nada. New Oogdle search: "Can I hear voices with weed smoking." Now I have a hit; "yes weed can have you seeing voices. Many aren't even your own. Maybe lay off the TV for a while."

"Thanks 'BouncyNina29'. Quora is one hell of a place." Guess it must've just been the drugs then. Hilarious, me hearing some voice. "Gotta lay off the bong smoking".

"Shhh!!" Some nerd in a striped beanie raised a finger to pursed lips.

Sorry, sorry....Jeez. "My bad" You know what? Maybe I can visit----

the train whistle interrupts my 11pm "ball" with myself. "Dammit". OK. Maybe I can bribe one of the delinquents behind the school to take my place in English. Teacher's not there anyway; the sub won't know the difference. Time to go pay someone off.

"..."

"Here ya go, five dollars."

"A'ight and you said what room that English class in?"

"301 B man. It's at the end of the third floor, right wing. Hard to miss and---remember---my name is Maybel Rhodes. Just fake like you're doing some work and no one will even notice that you're not me. I'm a loner, so, that'll work."

"Mhm hmm. I hear ya Maple"

"MayBEL"

"Yeah, that's what I said"

Scoff. In a smooth curvular motion, I plant my feet on the board and race to Sage's before their store closes.

As I approach, they're putting a silver key in a lock. Gah! The store closed.

"Miss Sage---"

"Gah! Don't do that!! Scaring me and sh--I mean, 'crap'. Scaring me and crap. Look kid, I'm closed right now but we open tomorrow. By then, I'll have the energy to discuss your school's anklet with you. Actually, about that. Do you have intel on where the-----"

"Yes, yes. About that, see...I lied. I didn't really get it from the school. I found it on the ground somewhere."

"'Found it on the ground somewhere' is code for 'I don't have money to pay nor do I have anything else to provide'? Am I getting warmer?"

"Look Miss Sage, I'm really sorry. Hey---look at it this way. I'm in debt to you. If you'll just help me with one teensy little thing, I'll ask my dad for some food money and will give you every cent he gives, alright?"

"Kid, that's not how an adult runs a business. Call what I gave you yesterday a 'freebie'. You're banned from the store. Good night."

Wait. "Wait" Their stride is aimed toward their silver camry. Yeah, I know a camry. Did you expect them to be riding a horse? Racist. Sage acts as though they don't hear and gets into their seat, key in ignition. One twist away before exiting the rocky parking area.

"IT SPOKE TO ME" Yup. That is how I yelled it. All caps, woke some birds up even. Just like in those Loony Toon cartoons. Is that why they're called "Loony Toons" 'cause they're loony cart----

Now they exit their car, slamming the heavy metal door. "What did you say? It...SPOKE...to you? What do you mean 'it'?"

Mhm Mhm. Just prepping my throat. "I wore it on my ankle and I heard a voice that has never existed before in the chasms----"

"Stop the theatrics"

"....Chasms of my mind. It was a male. Around your age in old-timey-ness."

"Har har."

"But it's the truth!" Why won't they believe a magical voice but insist that sage, a random plant, purifies the air?

Their chest contracts and expands in a sigh. Sage closes their eyes for a second. I could practically smell the gears turning. Need some WD-40, really. "Fine. Come by the store Saturday. That way, no one will be in to eavesdrop."

"Deal!"

"And bring actual MULA this time or else we won't have our little discussion". Crud.

"...."

"What are you thinking Sage?" No response. I paid one hundred fifty dollars for this after BEGGING both my folks (who think I'm using it to enroll in some after school sport) to slide me some cash so that I can 'better myself as an individual and actually do something with my time as well'. Lies are no good.

"Shh! Let me think, please!" Sage subverts their attention from me back onto the tarot cards laid in front of them----exactly where the bone anklet (bonklet) lay in silence

Ten minutes pass before Sage gives me the break down. "So, as I've said before. The anklet carries some heavy energy, something similar to passion and justice. Very potent stuff. That's what the spirit realm is saying, anyway. When you were---ahem--- HIGH----"

At this point I look away

"...You honed into that energy and that's why you heard the voice"

"Hm. So, how do I hone in on that energy now? Is it something I can control conscious?"

"Look, I dunno kid. Just, be safe. Meditate beforehand so that you are actually able to chime into the anklet's power source. Don't want to darken the talisman's power or anything."

"Sure, sure" I am literally out the door before Sage utters the second part of their sentence. I buzz with excitement at the opportunity and the best part is? I'm basically a super! Hoo ho. This is awesome.

There's an empty industrial facility near by Hawesome Li Cosmetics. It went bankrupt several decads ago. I'm pretty much the only one who knows about the place. Excellent ground to skate on---smooth as butter. Either way, it's empty and no harm will come to anything or anyone nearby. Any damage that I do will be to the building nearby, which no one cares about anyway. "So, it's just me and you buddy." Blunt in hand, I blaze it up. "Time for the magic to happen."

It's a slow high. The high takes as long as a flame reaching the wooden stick of an incense rod for the high to hit. Upwards of thirty minutes. So I wait. It feels like time warps. So I meditate. So I clear my thinking and reach out to the anklet.

"Mhm, Anklet, tell me who you are?"

"What?? You can hear me?"

"Yeah man. Who are you, why you speaking to me?"

"Why would I tell you? I don't even know yer name"

Tiring. It's like talking to a wall.

"Hey, I heard that!"

"Maybel. My name's Maybel. What's yours? Let's start there."

"Nat."

"Like Nat Turner? The rebel slave?"

"Don't know who that is, this 'Nat Turner'. Just knew my master gave me the name." How progressive. "So...I suspect that I'm dead."

It's not easy news. I get it. But hey, the north won. That's something, right?

"Well, I guess it is....you know, I had a name before all of this...."

"......"

"......??"

"......."

So, are you going to tell me?

"You may call me 'Asim'."

"I'll call you Ase."

Don't call me 'Ase'. Too late, Ase. Hey, how old are you anyway? 12? 11? My name is ASIM, nothing else. Fine, grumpy. ASIM. I'll call you Asim, Asim. Where'd that name come from anyway? What does it mean?

"Let's find out, shall we?"

"...It feels electric! (Boogy woogy woogy). Such power, this wade in...glory."

Are you a God?

"Blasphemy!" Then what are you? How are you able to lay such energy unto me?

Look, I don't know either, alright? But what I do know is...we're both negr---

Black. We don't say that word anymore.

"Black, then... Perhaps I'm connected with you due to our shared skin?" We stopped being related millenia ago. Millenia? Not familar with that word.

"Long, long ago. We don't share any common ancestors. It was all a lie." A lie? You don't believe in a God? I'm moreso spiritual; creation is a possibility not something I'm invested in. I believe in forces of the universe. "But not a God? So, this can't be some spiritual connection. We're too different." So perhaps a soul connection? A link between our spirits.... What else do we have in common? A slave and a black kid?

"Hatred of the white man? Wanting justice against them?"

"War. Destruction"

"Yes."

"No, I don't want that. I'd prefer peace." There may be no PEACE without WAR.

"A lie. Violence is not the answer. Kindness is."

"'Kindness' doesn't resolve problems. 'Kindness' doesn't end racism. 'KINDNESS' was the one that slept at my feet while I was lashed! "

"..."

Asim?

"..."

Andddd you're gone. Great. Well, I'm going to head back home, then. We can hang out again tomorrow. "Head back" means leave. All right, see you.

#fiction #original story #writer #writing #tumblr #writers on tumblr #BLM #Politics #Teenagedom #Teen angst #superhero #comicbook writing

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denotday · 3 years

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OctoLads: Half man half octopus

Chapter one: Life on Mars You never got to see where I live. But my planet, March. It may be all that I've ever known, but it's the most beautiful place I've ever seen. The water is clear and clean of debris. As I stare out of my castle window, I catch a wide glimpse of the ever-expanding ocean. It’s the only ocean, really. It doesn't have a name, everyone just calls it "it". The big it. The it that everyone recognizes and doesn't need a name for as identification. But what does need a name is my race. There's been past activity above the surface by these beings in white. They ressembled our bright corals, the fat, soft ones covered in their squishy hairs. I was too nervous to reach out to those strangers but if I could , the first thing I'd do is touch their bodies. Their white, gelatinous skin looked so soft. The king is thankful that I never got a chance to meet one. He said that I may be a half breed, one who comes from one of them, but I am not one of them. They're evil, he said. They were the ones who took my mother from me. . None of my fellow OctoLads---octopus tentacles with a stranger’s face----have ever made it to the void where those Strangers came from. We don't rise up to the surface much to see...I'm the only one. The only mutt who wishes to connect with the dirt walkers who occasionally come here.

I put my soft, brown, human nose against the smooth glass. I can see my face. Though the ocean makes it look green, I can see what I look like. I have a brown face, a face of no natural color. At least, not on March. Maybe the Strangers have those with my face. I wonder if their homes, their land, their world, has my face ? If the brown of my face could be a natural color there? Oh, to belong somewhere. Even here, though the King’s my flesh and blood, he tells stories of my roots, stories of humans as a plague. The most horrid stories of my deceased mother’s people. But king assures me that although a human, my mother was one of the "good" ones. But how can all humans be bad if mother was good? It's a question that he never gets around to answering. Today is a birthday of mine, a time which marks my twenty first year of being miserable. I will be given the next week to come to the decision of whether I will rule in my king's place. It's something not to take lightly. It's something each male in my king's line has done since the dawn of time. And...I am male, so my time has come. It's too early though for any celebration to be had. There’s no activity outside and the castle staff are long gone. The void's light has not illuminated the ocean yet. The water is a deep crimson blue, untainted by the light of morning. I’m getting restless now and need something to do. Something personal, that no one will interrupt me for. I think of my next destination and decide upon the throne room. The Octolads won’t be able to visit the room, so right now is the perfect opportunity. I move across my room to my clothing drawers and when I turn my head to the right I can see an opening to the other wing of my room. It’s a large space to occupy, but it’s all mine. Actually, no one would dare come up here, as it’s emptied of water, full of oxygen. I am half Octolad half Stranger after all. I lift my arms to check out my muscles and under my arms are these glands that open when underwater, they allow me to breath while I swim. From time to time, I desire to feel water pass along those glands, so I swim through the castle halls or go outside to swim in the ocean. Ah, to swim! It’s a feeling akin to having skin stroked, something nice in small, infrequent quantities. Now’s the time to have those glands put to work. I’m about to enter the water-entrance that’s situated an arm’s below the floor of my bedroom. It’s kindof like a pool, if pool’s were portals to another world. I dip both feet into the water below and submerge my bottom half. When I look down again, I can see that my two legs, the ones which used to be stiff and hold me up, are now flaccid tentacles that have split into four long limbs. I go into a dive position and now fully underwater, start making my way toward the throne room. I look to the left to see several pictures of my king in all of his glory: pictured beside his OctoLads citizens and to the right, there is one picture of my king with my mother. Both are underwater, yet my mom is wearing some sort of breathing tube. They looked happy. Everytime I pass this photo, I take in my mother’s appearence. Everytime, there’s something new. A small mole on her nose. Her complexion, the same as mine. She has--or had---- the smallest eyelashes but large, hopeful eyes that seem to be smiling all on their own. And her face has the most perfect heart shape. It’s not perfectly symmetrical as her left cheek is a big smaller than the right. But I have all of my good looks from her, it seems. I look nothing like my king, Gorgon. I don’t have his sharp eyes , his mean glare. Though all of these features were gone in this picture. Here, he looked happy and his eyes were moreso interested and loving than sharp and deadly. I notice the water around me is getting lighter. Time is wasting and I’d like to check out the throne room before my butler serves me lunch and gives me my birthday attire. I proceed toward the throne room as quickly as my tentacles can propel me. I approach the double doors and feel for the handles with my tentacles. I pull on them. No luck. I try with my arms and the door opens forcefully, revealing deep-water lantern fish which light up the room with ambiance lighting. I approach the throne, with a frame made of above-water crystals. Ones that my mother found when she was exploring the surface years ago. The cushions of the throne seat are made out of long-dead sea sponges, the soft,quality kind that only grows every hundred years. I’ve wanted to sit here for so long. All of my youth, all of my teenaged years. All leading up to this. I swim slightly above the crystal part of the throne, aligning my bottom with the sea sponge seat. I land perfectly. Andd...... It’s less comforting than I thought it would be. Over time, it seems as though the sponge has stiffened up. It’ll have to be changed out soon, I bet. Disregarding this, I hover down onto the seat, putting both of my arms on the armests. Looking forward, I practice my kingly gaze. A little bit of sternness? No that doesn’t suit me. Kindness? Better, but looks too friendly. Gazing forward but looking through the OctoLads instead of at them? Suitable. For now, anyway. In the distance I hear a creak. I tell myself it’s probably just some nearby sharks getting into a kerfuffle so I dismiss it. Though a minute later, I can hear someone try to pull the doors open. That familiar creak is something that makes my blood go frigid.The only person who’d enter at such an hour is either a person of the castle staff, or the king himself. But, it’s way too early for the castle staff’s rounds. I mean, the water isn’t even a bright blue crimson yet. And if it’s my father.... oh God. In a panic, I freeze in the chair, making steady eye contact with the door. . The mystery continues as the door slowly opens in a manner that tells me that someone anticipated my being here and didn’t want to interrupt. The figure emerges from the shadow of the door. It’s a large figure with a wide chest and giant tentacles that would rival that of our deep sea octopuses. It is my king in all of his “kingly glory”. Today, he wears a crystal crown on his head and golden accents on his tentacles. No doubt sea sponge glitter, to mark my birthday I bet. For a moment, we just stare at eachother. I cross my tentacles anxiously in anticipation of what is to escape from his mouth. That’s all that I can do, as I’m still frozen. I greet him in a friendly tone and shift my body toward the edge of the throne to show respect. The king, Gorgon, raises a hand in a way of gesturing that it’s OK for me to stay. His gruff, tired voice bellows that I will be king soon, so my occupation of the throne is appropriate. I provide a gruff reply----rather, a a mumble conveying thanks----and with that I slip off the throne and I inch out of the room, making sure to not bump into the King. As I make this motion, I say that I must get back to my chambers, for all of my underwater submersion has made me dizzy, which is a lie. But what does it matter to him? My human flesh makes me weak after all, according to him. As i walk away i can feel his eyes at the back of my head, sizing me up no doubt. This doesn’t matter, because soon, I may have more status than him. And so I return to my chambers, awaiting for the morning light to rouse me from sleep.

Chapter two: A crown to rule them all, a corwn to bind them I can see myself outside of my body. I’m in the throne room and everything looks...beautiful. Light hits everywhere, and my OctoLad subjects are there, standing up, staring at something farther away. I look in the direction of where they’re staring but I blink out of habit. Though it’s just one blink, the room gets dark and when I reopen my eyes, I can see a new picture, a new environment. Everyone is on their right knees in a bowing position. But something is different. I choose not to blink for a few seconds and can now see what they’re bowing to, now that their bodies are crouched. Or rather, it’s less a “what” and more of a “who”. The “who” is seated on the throne and has a Stranger’s silhouette, no tentacles either. This isn’t right. Only my king has the right to sit on the throne. So, if it isn’t my king, then........?? Before I could answer my own question, my vision turns dark and the last thing I can smell is breakfast. Breakfast? My nostrils fill with the smell of kelp fritters and lava-charred shark. I shift my body to sit up in bed and my axolotl butler scurries away before I may pat his head with thanks. As the axolotl leaves, Octavion, the new castle maid, raises her head from my room’s water pool. I nod my head at her and with a full mouth, tell her to come in. Some food escapes my mouth, but I can’t really help it, it’s too good! With a smile on her face, she speaks no words; she instead reaches into her fish scale satchel for something that appears rigid. I set aside my food and curiously approach the pool for her offering. It’s a crown made from the most ornate lava crystals. The crystals are unique, in that they’re a deep blue, the color of the deep ocean, as opposed to the deep obsidian that they’re normally colored. I’m fixated to the color and I lightly grasp the sides of the crown with cupped hands. In a reflective surface, I adorn the crown on my person and the results are stunning. This deep blue crown complements my deep skin, skin that has made me feel different for so long. But a crown of this color, this caliber, can only be worn by someone with my skin, and I take pride in that. I’m elated and Octavion asks me to make different facial expressions in the mirror to see how the crown would accent my face. I do as she instructs and make the faces, of which was a constipated octopus, another the king, and funnily enough, an emotionless clownfish. For each face, we hollar and we laugh so hard that we can’t breath. We settle down eventually and in the mirrow, watching the crown, I wonder if it’s a gift. Octavion must perceive this, as she responds that it is indeed mine to keep indefinitely; that it had been foraged for and welded together by the local lava-craftsmen. In a surprise movement that’s fast enough to startle me, Octavion holds up a finger signalling for me to wait, and beckons for someone behind to come to her. The large form of a great white shark emerges from behind her and its snoot breaks though the surface of the pool balancing on it a soft, mesh bodysuit decorated with black fishscales for the lower chest and tentacle area. I thank the shark and scratch it under the snoot. Both the shark and the girl look at me expectantly. I find it a bit of an awkward situation, dressing in front of them, but as a soon to be king, I have to shove the feeling off, I suppose. Either way, it all fits perfectly. Though I’m unsure how it looks with my tentacles, it sure does make my legs and groin sparkly. Octavion compliments my appearence, saying things along the lines of me looking sharp or being handsomer in appearance than the king. A joke of course, for the king is very handsome, but I appreciate it all the while. The shark nudges at Octavion’s side in a mild panic, so remembring what today is for me and the importance of being on time to my ceremony, she rushes me to hurry....indicating that my attending the ceremony is of the utmost importance. With that, her head returns underwater and she swims toward the throne room. So while she’s gone, I scarf down the rest of my food, literally stuffing my mouth with as much food as I can, and with a look back into the mirror, I can see myself smirk at my appearance. With that I dive in the water pool for the start of the ceremony. After all, it wouldn’t be a good look for me to be late to my own celebration.

#submission

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denotday · 3 years

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Exactly. It's poor writing. I wish the writers could've written Loki better, in a way that didn't undo all of his personality in the past movies. This is a new MCU Loki which doesn't adhere to the previous Thor movies (which sucks!). This Loki has feelings, this Loki loves, this Loki is kind and sensitive. The writers had a good idea with making Loki more of a "loveable" character but they basically made him into an antihero moreso and I don't like that about the character. It is extreme queerbating, saying that Loki would have two love interests. Loki had no sort of romantic relationship with Mobius and I'd argue that he didn't have one with Sylvie either. It was so sudden and left me asking "what happened" after the kiss. Build up is supposed to make a romance obvious but buildup isn't even evident in the show. Loki was nice towards Sylvie but I definitely don't think this should've turned into a romantic relationship. A friendship would've been better, simpler. Not to mention that Loki never got a chance with Mobius 😭

When people are mad that the Loki show gave us bad rep it isn’t biphobic, what’s biphobic is the fact that marvel decided to do something problematic and tried to distract people by making a character come out just for marvel themselves to say they don’t plan on bringing it up ever again. the Loki show turned a characters identity into a throw away line and then fed into the stereotype of Bi and Genderfluid people dating themselves and the fact that the only queer character is in a relationship that is very similar to a step sibling type relationship, which is also a very fetishized queer stereotype.

also Loki shouldn’t have gotten a love interest in the first season to begin with, it’s so incredibly rushed, Male or Female, shouldn’t have happened in season 1.

#loki #loki series #loki slander #loki show #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #mcu loki #genderfluid loki #wisewords #couldnt have said it better myself

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denotday · 3 years

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Im so excited! I'm writing a fictitious story about this guy with the supernatural ability of creating fire with his hands. For this ability, his name is The Crucible and he hunts witches in the 1650s.

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denotday · 3 years

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"you can feel that way and I can feel differently" is a perfectly healthy way to end a disagreement. And the affirmation "My beliefs don't have to change just because you believe something different" is something to keep in mind as well.

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denotday · 3 years

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Fuck everyone in my life whose prayed for my downfall. None of you deserve my time or happiness

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denotday · 3 years

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So, had a realization just now. Tom Hiddleston fans need to understand something.

1. If Tom is single, that means you have less than a fraction of a chance with him. But, hey, still a chance

2. If Tom IS in fact dating someone, dating may lead to kids, and do you know what that'd make Tom? A DILF.

Win win.

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denotday · 3 years

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My headcannon for Loki

Author’s note: I dislike that plotline of Loki being in love with Sylvie. I’d greatly prefer for Loki to have a friendship blossom with Sylvie which then opens him up to a casual relationship with one or two people. In the end, I think that this relationship will lead to Loki becoming father material. This is intended to be a romance, not a loki x reader fic.

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Chapter one:

“Oh that explains it. You were having romantic feelings for Sylvie. Of couse an event like such would trigger a Nexus-level event. How on brand! You falling in love with yourself, such a narcissist!”

Mobius was rude to say that. Loki may be a narcissist, but to insinuate that he had romantic feelings for Sylvie is a grave mistake. I mean, from Loki’s point of view, he can understand how that female acquaintance could develope such lust for a person with his visage, but for Loki to reciprocate those sexual, human tendencies? That’d be absurd! Who does Mobius think Loki is? THOR? Psh, He could assure you himself that he’s NOTHING like that human-dwelling, beard-stubbled hero who lusts for those of the likes of that Jane person. There’d be no honor in slumming it with Sylvie in a romantic way, anyway.

“Sylvie, this is pretty new to me, but I have to tell you that I—–”

Have feelings for you? Want to bear your children (however that would work)? Desire to pursue a sexual fantasy with you involving you wearing hooves and authentic deer antlers? A weird fetish for Loki to have, yes, but the point still stands. Though Loki does have feelings for his Sylvie, none of those feelings are sexual. Anything but.

“……wonder if you’d consider me to a friend of yours.” Right on the nose. How curious. A GOD to have feelings for one who is cruel and lacking in social skills? Never! But a friendship with a person who’d allow him to come out of his own shell and pursue a path of inner discovery? Yes. Dear reader, viewer, whoever the hell you are. As one who lives in the mind of THE God of Mischief (side note: MARVEL’s God of Mischief), I can assure you that Loki doesn’t care about anyone but himself.

“Mmmh HMM.”

All right, Fine. What I meant to say was that Loki has high self esteem for himself and values all of his faculties. Adding sexual attraction to this mix would just complicate his inner mechanisms.

“They’re right. This genderless voice in my head. I—-actually don’t know who you are. I should kill you for trespassing, shouldn’t I?”

Hhhhhh. Moving on…..After Loki was pruned by the TVA, he later met up with Syvlie when she travelled to that realm by getting herself pruned.

But here is where stories diverge.

With Mobius travelling back to the TVA, Sylvie and Loki share a few friendly moments catching up with eachother. A promise was made by Sylvie to stick with Loki and allow him to accompany her on her mission to destroy the TVA; but at last minute, when faced with the doom of impending mortal death, there was a change of heart.

There were two sets of footsteps and two sets of feet scraping at dirt, until it all came to a halt. “…….Loki, errr, still weird. Wish you had a different name than me. I’m thinking….I value you as a friend, and if I’m correct, friends don’t get their buddies killed. So….I don’t want you to come with me”

Loki pauses.

A few thoughts cross his mind briefly, “how could a friend betray me” and “I should kill this conniving quim” come to mind but beneath these thoughts, beneath this outer shell, was a feeling of sadness. The thought “I’ll always be lonely, never escaping the cycle of being pushed away.”

In compassion along with understanding of Loki’s quietness, Sylvie slowly shifts her body to look at Loki’s profile. His face is clenched and the muscles of his jaw are made tight, tighter than they usually are. The happiness that was once smeared on his face—marked with a wide smile—-was gone. Loki’s happy eye wrinkles also had retreated back into the tautness of his soft face. Eyes that were so dark and piercing became focused.

Until those dark eyes started to cloud over with a wetness.

“Hey. I get it. I like you too.”

Loki wouldn’t turn to her.

“—-But, I know where this ends for me and don’t want the same ending for you.”

His eyes shift to Sylvie’s worried face.

“ You’ve retreated within yourself for so long that you forgot how to love. For so long, you haven’t had a friendship or a person to be vulnerable with.”

A sniffle now.

“And I wanted you to know that there’s more to the world for you. Lokis don’t have to be ‘failures’ or secondary characters in the story of the 'true’ hero. I want—–need—-you to live for both of us. Find your destiny. Live a different life, face a more positive ending than your death at the hands of the titan. Find someone, anyone, to fall in love with. And more importantly, I want you to open yourself up. Allow yourself to feel worthy of friendship.”

Syvlie reaches upward to lay her hands on Loki’s shoulder. She turns him gently toward her.

“Because you are the best friend that I’ve never had in all of my years on asgard or anywhere. You are special Loki and you possess so much personality, so much magical potential…..”

Loki waits.

“…..Despite being a jerk who doesn’t deserve it”

The left corner of Loki’s mouth picks up in a smirk. A small chuckle rises from his chest.

“This is goodbye, Loki. It is my destiny to fight this monster, discovering the secrets of the TVA. THIS is my glorious purpose and I believe that you should receive another chance at finding yours.”

Although awkward, Sylvie reaches around Loki’s sides for a low hug. Loki is uncomfortable with this, but in an effort to make the moment nicer, he strokes Sylvie’s hair for a few minutes, even when she starts tearing up and heaving tear-ridden gasps into his chest.

“….This is a setback, I feel, Sylvie. But I understand your decision. You were the only real friend that I’ve had in a while.” And with that, Loki steps away from her and starts to walk away in the opposite direction.

“Wait”

Loki stops.

“I still want to do one last thing for you, before I go. Here’s this temppad. I want to give you a choice. You may go back to your own timeline and reset things, if you feel like these new feelings…new emotions….are too much for you. Resetting the timeline will wipe your memory of me….of our time together. Alternatively, you can choose to go back and make a different destiny for yourself. One that involves you pursuing the path of purpose and determination. Maybe you’ll be your own hero for the first time. I have faith that you’ll make the right decision.”

Taking the temppad, Loki rushes toward Sylvie with a hug and a quick “thank you my friend.”

Syvlie runs toward the belly of the beast in true Loki fashion and as she looks back, she gives Loki a salute while mouthing “glorious purpose”.

Alone and in the literal dark, Loki looks down at the hands which grasp the temppad. He thinks about his impending decision; “Do I choose a destiny where I give in to mischief….ultimately leading to my demise, or shall I choose to be the person that Sylvie wanted me to be, the kind person who has a positive destiny…a good ending for once. A destiny where I don’t have to be the villain anymore???”

After making his decision, Loki releases a big sigh and steps into the orange door of the temppad back into his timeline.

He’s back. The tessaract slides on the floor, landing at Loki’s feet. Here, he makes the choice…..the choice that settles what his “glorious purpose” will be. Amidst all of the hysteria that the hulk had created, hysteria of Avenger’s Stark having a heart attack, Loki conjures a copy of the tesseract’s briefcase and using his palms and fingers, reaches down to put the tessaract within the case, using magic to place it back near Avenger’s Tony Stark.

Emotions take a halt as the hulk is calmed back into Bruce Banner and the Hydra agents allow Stark to recover from the brief heart attack.

Thor approaches his brother, amazed that Loki’s just standing to the side, simply watching everything happening.

“What, did you think that I’d make some daring escape, brother? I thought you knew me better than that!”

There’s a shine in Thor’s eyes that turns into skepticism quickly; why did my brother not escape? What’s his motive?

“Let’s go back to Asgard, Loki”

And Loki’s destiny changes for the better.

#comic #humor #comedy #love #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #loki #marvel #thor #norsemyth #Norse mythology #tomh #tom hiddelson #fantasy #fiction

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denotday · 3 years

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denotday · 3 years

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My headcannon for Loki

Author's note: I dislike that plotline of Loki being in love with Sylvie. I'd greatly prefer for Loki to have a friendship blossom with Sylvie which then opens him up to a casual relationship with one or two people. In the end, I think that this relationship will lead to Loki becoming father material. This is intended to be a romance, not a loki x reader fic.

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Chapter one:

"Oh that explains it. You were having romantic feelings for Sylvie. Of couse an event like such would trigger a Nexus-level event. How on brand! You falling in love with yourself, such a narcissist!"

Mobius was rude to say that. Loki may be a narcissist, but to insinuate that he had romantic feelings for Sylvie is a grave mistake. I mean, from Loki's point of view, he can understand how that female acquaintance could develope such lust for a person with his visage, but for Loki to reciprocate those sexual, human tendencies? That'd be absurd! Who does Mobius think Loki is? THOR? Psh, He could assure you himself that he's NOTHING like that human-dwelling, beard-stubbled hero who lusts for those of the likes of that Jane person. There'd be no honor in slumming it with Sylvie in a romantic way, anyway.

"Sylvie, this is pretty new to me, but I have to tell you that I-----"

"......wonder if you'd consider me to a friend of yours." Right on the nose. How curious. A GOD to have feelings for one who is cruel and lacking in social skills? Never! But a friendship with a person who'd allow him to come out of his own shell and pursue a path of inner discovery? Yes. Dear reader, viewer, whoever the hell you are. As one who lives in the mind of THE God of Mischief (side note: MARVEL's God of Mischief), I can assure you that Loki doesn't care about anyone but himself.

"Mmmh HMM."

All right, Fine. What I meant to say was that Loki has high self esteem for himself and values all of his faculties. Adding sexual attraction to this mix would just complicate his inner mechanisms.

"They're right. This genderless voice in my head. I----actually don't know who you are. I should kill you for trespassing, shouldn't I?"

Hhhhhh. Moving on.....After Loki was pruned by the TVA, he later met up with Syvlie when she travelled to that realm by getting herself pruned.

But here is where stories diverge.

There were two sets of footsteps and two sets of feet scraping at dirt, until it all came to a halt. ".......Loki, errr, still weird. Wish you had a different name than me. I'm thinking....I value you as a friend, and if I'm correct, friends don't get their buddies killed. So....I don't want you to come with me"

Loki pauses.

A few thoughts cross his mind briefly, "how could a friend betray me" and "I should kill this conniving quim" come to mind but beneath these thoughts, beneath this outer shell, was a feeling of sadness. The thought "I'll always be lonely, never escaping the cycle of being pushed away."

In compassion along with understanding of Loki's quietness, Sylvie slowly shifts her body to look at Loki's profile. His face is clenched and the muscles of his jaw are made tight, tighter than they usually are. The happiness that was once smeared on his face---marked with a wide smile----was gone. Loki's happy eye wrinkles also had retreated back into the tautness of his soft face. Eyes that were so dark and piercing became focused.

Until those dark eyes started to cloud over with a wetness.

"Hey. I get it. I like you too."

Loki wouldn't turn to her.

"----But, I know where this ends for me and don't want the same ending for you."

His eyes shift to Sylvie's worried face.

" You've retreated within yourself for so long that you forgot how to love. For so long, you haven't had a friendship or a person to be vulnerable with."

A sniffle now.

"And I wanted you to know that there's more to the world for you. Lokis don't have to be 'failures' or secondary characters in the story of the 'true' hero. I want-----need----you to live for both of us. Find your destiny. Live a different life, face a more positive ending than your death at the hands of the titan. Find someone, anyone, to fall in love with. And more importantly, I want you to open yourself up. Allow yourself to feel worthy of friendship."

Syvlie reaches upward to lay her hands on Loki's shoulder. She turns him gently toward her.

"Because you are the best friend that I've never had in all of my years on asgard or anywhere. You are special Loki and you possess so much personality, so much magical potential....."

Loki waits.

".....Despite being a jerk who doesn't deserve it"

The left corner of Loki's mouth picks up in a smirk. A small chuckle rises from his chest.

"This is goodbye, Loki. It is my destiny to fight this monster, discovering the secrets of the TVA. THIS is my glorious purpose and I believe that you should receive another chance at finding yours."

Although awkward, Sylvie reaches around Loki's sides for a low hug. Loki is uncomfortable with this, but in an effort to make the moment nicer, he strokes Sylvie's hair for a few minutes, even when she starts tearing up and heaving tear-ridden gasps into his chest.

"....This is a setback, I feel, Sylvie. But I understand your decision. You were the only real friend that I've had in a while." And with that, Loki steps away from her and starts to walk away in the opposite direction.

"Wait"

Loki stops.

"I still want to do one last thing for you, before I go. Here's this temppad. I want to give you a choice. You may go back to your own timeline and reset things, if you feel like these new feelings...new emotions....are too much for you. Resetting the timeline will wipe your memory of me....of our time together. Alternatively, you can choose to go back and make a different destiny for yourself. One that involves you pursuing the path of purpose and determination. Maybe you'll be your own hero for the first time. I have faith that you'll make the right decision."

Taking the temppad, Loki rushes toward Sylvie with a hug and a quick "thank you my friend."

Syvlie runs toward the belly of the beast in true Loki fashion and as she looks back, she gives Loki a salute while mouthing "glorious purpose".

Alone and in the literal dark, Loki looks down at the hands which grasp the temppad. He thinks about his impending decision; "Do I choose a destiny where I give in to mischief....ultimately leading to my demise, or shall I choose to be the person that Sylvie wanted me to be, the kind person who has a positive destiny...a good ending for once. A destiny where I don't have to be the villain anymore???"

After making his decision, Loki releases a big sigh and steps into the orange door of the temppad back into his timeline.

He's back. The tessaract slides on the floor, landing at Loki's feet. Here, he makes the choice.....the choice that settles what his "glorious purpose" will be. Amidst all of the hysteria that the hulk had created, hysteria of Avenger's Stark having a heart attack, Loki conjures a copy of the tesseract's briefcase and using his palms and fingers, reaches down to put the tessaract within the case, using magic to place it back near Avenger's Tony Stark.

Emotions take a halt as the hulk is calmed back into Bruce Banner and the Hydra agents allow Stark to recover from the brief heart attack.

Thor approaches his brother, amazed that Loki's just standing to the side, simply watching everything happening.

"What, did you think that I'd make some daring escape, brother? I thought you knew me better than that!"

There's a shine in Thor's eyes that turns into skepticism quickly; why did my brother not escape? What's his motive?

"Let's go back to Asgard, Loki"

And Loki's destiny changes for the better.

#submission #comic #humor #humour #comedy #love #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #loki #marvel #thor #norsemyth #Norse mythology #tomh #tom hiddelson #fantasy #fiction

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