#now the writers just bully him for mere AMUSEMENT!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iyumeu · 3 years

Text

spirit guardian

You call forth spirits to protect you. They flit around you to a distance of 15 feet for the duration. If you are good or neutral, their spectral form appears angelic or fey (your choice). If you are evil, they appear fiendish.

summary: you've been trying to keep things under wraps but when the bullying escalated and you find your life in danger, your demon finds out and the results are... not pretty. warnings: gore, blood, violence, body horror, self-mutilation, the boys are a little dark in this one, i would say hints of yandere, im not that good of a gore writer though so like if you're super into gore please dont expect much, but please read the warnings before each segment thank you.

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You didn't want to admit it, but you were being bullied.

You had always known that the demon brothers had their own responsibilities to deal with and couldn't be with you all the time. The sentiment stretched over to your problems as well. They definitely had better things to concern themselves with and you weren't about to bother them with your insignificant issues, especially petty issues that surfaced from demons' general dislike of humans.

It wasn't anything you couldn't handle, really; acidic words spat at you in whispers, torn books here and there, a subtle exclusion from classroom activities... Small, inconsequential things that made you amused on a good day and irritated on a bad one. Harmless.

Or so you thought.

When the foot swung into your stomach, you swore you heard a sickening crack and you were flung into the wall behind you. Blood gurgled in your mouth and you spat it out on the ground in front of you.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. After spending an entire year in the Devildom and making a pact with all of the demon brothers, you had gotten complacent. Believing your bullies to be merely harmless schoolyard types, you had followed them to a shady and secluded part of the R.A.D. because they wanted to "talk".

You had paid dearly for carelessness, completely caught off guard when one of them pierced you with a sharp jab of their arm. You remember feeling nothing but winded at first, shock numbing your nerves until you saw red trailing down their hand, dripping off the sharpened claws of their nails.

It was then that a scorching pain spread out from the gored out hole in your abdomen, spreading out to the rest of your body.

In hindsight, everything happened so fast. Before you knew it, you were slumped over on the floor and bleeding out. Even through your blurry vision the demons' malicious glee was clear as day.

"Not so proud now, are you?" one of them spat out. "Always looking down on us just because you were hanging off the arms of the Lords of Hell. Guess we're the ones looking down on you now!"

You were starting to shiver from the cold as blood soaked through your clothes, watching the demons advance while wondering if you were really going to die from as something as petty as this.

And then, one of your pact marks flared to life.

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Lucifer

cw: body horror

A single black feather slowly drifted down onto the ground before you. The rest of the world turned hazy as your gaze focused onto the feather, long and elegant and delicate, watching as it fell into a pool of your blood. A pair of polished black shoes entered your line of sight before their owner crouched down in front of you, uncaring of the blood seeping into and staining his clothes.

A gloved hand reached out to cup your cheek, a gentle touch against your skin, and you sluggishly moved your gaze up to Lucifer's face.

"MC," he sighed. His eyes were dark, a complete contrast to the tender look on his face. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

His wings stretched out behind him, a dark expanse of feathers that curled around the both of you, separating you from the world... and the world from you.

"Lucifer," you began, but he was quick to press his thumb against your bottom lip, halting your words.

"This isn't a one-off, I assume?" he asked despite already knowing the answer. You avert your gaze and he sighs again. "Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to bother you," you said.

"I see." Lucifer's hand moved to pull out a black silk handkerchief, using it to clean the blood off your face. "Then it seems that I have failed you, if you believe that relying on me was not an option at all."

"That's not true...!" You were interrupted by Lucifer gathering you in his arms, while he took care to avoid your wounds as much as possible. With a gentle hand, he guided you to rest your head against his shoulder as he slowly shifted to a standing position, ready to bring you back to the House of Lamentations. His arms were warm around you, a comforting presence that made you feel safe and secure. You felt that, if you were by his side, you would never run into harm again.

It was then that you finally remembered your bullies, the ones who had put you in this state in the first place. Had they left the area, running off at the sight of Lucifer? That was most likely the case, you thought, but you still couldn't help but peer over Lucifer's shoulder and through the gaps of his wings, to check.

Your breath caught in your throat. Lucifer immediately placed a hand over your eyes.

"Shhh," he said. "Don't dirty your eyes with such a disgusting sight."

It was now that you were finally aware of a strange and disturbing cracking sound coming from behind Lucifer. A brand new chill settled down upon you, your body seizing up with fear. Suddenly, you wanted nothing but to put space between Lucifer and yourself.

As if he were aware of your thoughts, Lucifer shifted his hand from your eye to the back of your head, cradling you close to his body as he started to walk away from the scene. His wings were properly positioned this time and you were unable to peer through them.

Lucifer Morningstar. The First-Born. One of the strongest Lords of Hell. These titles hadn't meant anything to you before, but now they were are the forefront of your mind. The glimpse you had stolen before Lucifer turned your gaze away was now burnt into your retinas.

Your bullies' bodies hovered in the air with their limbs stretched impossibly long, curled up and tangled around their twisted bodies like a grotesque ball of yarn. Their mouths were torn open, jaws dislodged and handing horrible from their skull, eyes wide as they screamed silently for someone, anyone to put them out of their misery.

You knew that they would not die, not until someone found them and decided to kill them. And, considering the area they were in, it would take an extremely long time before someone were to chance upon them.

They had planned to use the remoteness of the location against you. They never could have thought that it would be used against them in the same way. This was something Lucifer had definitely taken into consideration.

Lucifer's arms were a cage around you; what was once comforting now felt suffocating.

"Lucifer," you managed to force out. You felt him lean down and press a kiss against your hair.

"It seems that I have to teach you how to be more reliant on me," Lucifer said in a tone as if he were speaking about the weather. "It wouldn't do for something like this to happen again."

"It won't," you were quick to say. "It won't happen again, I promise."

Lucifer looked down at you. You were the only thing reflected in his eyes as he gave a small, gentle smile that gave you a sense of dread that went down to your very bones.

"Don't worry, little lamb. For you, I will be a very forgiving master."

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Mammon

cw: violence and a lil bit of gore

The sudden caw of a crow drew the attention of your bullies. You tried to take the chance to stand up and run but merely shifting in place caused the pain in your abdomen to flare up, white hot and blinding. You hiss through your teeth, swallowing your yelp of pain.

There is a second caw. You look up and see at least a dozen crows perched up on windowsills and tree branches, their heads tilted in the direction of your bullies and their dark eyes glinting with something that invoked a sense of unease within you.

"Why are y'all distracted by a bunch of birds?" the lead demon barked out. They were not doing a good job of masking their apprehension. "We're here to teach this pathetic human a lesson, not gawk at crows!"

"But aren't those..." another student began.

The flutter of wings echo all around. More crows land on nearby fixtures; ten, fifteen, twenty. You slowly look up and see more black shapes flying in the sky above, circling the area like vultures to their prey. You hear the sound of wings flapping once again, closer this time, and Mammon lands in front of you, wings spread and in his demon form.

"...aren't those Lord Mammon's crows?" the student finished weakly. The demons were looking pale now, realizing just what they had done. You paid their expression no notice, filled with relief now that your guardian demon is here. Mammon, who despite his reputation, was always your reliable protector. Mammon, who always went out of his way to ensure your safety in the Devildom. Mammon, who... who was holding one of the demons up by their skull, uncaring of their struggles and pleas as their hands scramble against Mammon's, their toes skimming the ground. The other two demons were already running off, uncaring of their companion but Mammon didn't seem to notice, his attention on the demon in front of him.

In the back of your mind, you noticed that the demon was the one who had stabbed you with their hand.

"Mammon?" your voice came out in a whisper. The demon's pleas turn into screams of agony as Mammon tightened his grip. "Mammon!"

Mammon turned to you, eyes bright and feverish.

"Don't worry, MC," Mammon chirped. "I'll be quick!"

Mammon didn't lie. Immediately after his words, there was a frenzy of feathers and caws and screams. Just as quickly as it happened, the crows dispersed and the body dropped to the ground with a sickening thump, an unrecognizable, bloodied version of itself.

Mammon was holding something in his hands and, after he made his way back to you, he placed it in your lap. The blood-soaked wallet seemed to weigh a ton, its blood further staining your uniform. Mammon was beaming, standing in front of you like a dog waiting to be praised.

"That's compensation!" he said in his usual, nonchalant tone. "You deserve it after what they put ya through!"

Another caw sounded out and you couldn't help but flinch violently. Mammon was immediately kneeling beside you, soothing you with his bloodied hands. The sickening smell of bloodrust grew stronger with his proximity and you fought the urge to lean away.

A few crows hopped towards you, dropping more bloodied items onto the ground beside you. Staring blankly at those items, you recognize them as the necklace one of the other demons had on, a ring one of the demons who had fled the scene had worn, a earring, a tooth, bits of gold-tipped fingernails...

You lurched to the side, uncaring of the pain that bloomed in your abdomen, and started heaving. Mammon gently pat your back, trying to comfort you. It only made you more nauseous, the scent of blood overwhelming your senses once again.

For the first time since you arrived in Devildom, Mammon's presence invoked a sense of fear within you.

"I should've stayed by your side," you heard Mammon mutter. "Shouldn't have allowed those bastards to get to ya."

"Mammon..." You could predict the trajectory of his thoughts and desperately wished you were wrong. "It's not your fault," you choked out. Please, please, please—

"But it was!" Mammon argued. "If I were always by your side, they wouldn't have had the chance to even touch you!"

"It was my fault," you begged. "I didn't want to bother you so I didn't say anything!"

Mammon frowned. "I didn't think you needed protecting even from yourself."

oh. oh no.

Mammon carefully scooped you up into his arms. This time you could not help your flinch, but Mammon didn't seem to notice.

"It's okay!" Mammon said cheerfully. "If you can't take care of yourself, I'll take care of ya! I'm your guardian demon, after all!"

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Leviathan

cw: drowning, but u watch it happen. doesn't happen to u

The demon suddenly froze in their step, their hands coming up to grab their throat. They curled over and started coughing, started heaving, out long and stringy bits of black and green matter.

No matter how much the demon vomited out it never seemed to end and soon it was strewn all over the ground, accompanied with the pungent scent of rotten fish and the salty tang of the sea.

You blink and Leviathan was suddenly standing beside you, sharp teeth bared in a snarl and long black tail whipping around in agitation.

"Levi...?" you spoke slowly. You had never seen him this agitated before

"They hurt you," Leviathan said. His voice was low with an eerie quality to it; it was like a reverb, an echo, and it brought to your mind stories of hallucinatory voices sailors often heard at sea, beckoning them overboard.

The demons were frozen in place as Leviathan stalked towards them, slowly circling around them like a shark around prey. Then, another demon started choking, doubling over and throwing up the same black and green mess the first one did. The smell of fish and the sea grew stronger and you suddenly realize that they were vomiting out seaweed.

"I was wondering what was so important to you that you forgot that we were going to talk home together but I see now."

The third demon fell to their knees, clawing at their throat as they started throwing up seaweed as well.

"All this time I thought that you finally realized that I was just a no-good loser otaku... but that wasn't the case, was it?"

Levithan's voice was smooth, calm, and still retaining that ethereal quality to it. It felt like it was being spoken directly into your head rather than coming from in front of you. It made goosebumps rise up on your skin.

"Levi—" you tried again but you were interrupted.

"I should have known better!" Leviathan laughed. "My Henry wouldn't do that to me! No, the fault lies with these interlopers, trying to take you away! Trying to kill you!"

The first demon's face was turning pale. They tried to gasp for air but a strange froth poured out of their mouth instead, followed by water, copious amounts of seawater splashing violently onto the floor.

"But it's okay!" Leviathan turned to you, smiling brightly. It was the same smile he gave when he got a new high score on the game and was eagerly awaiting your reaction, it was the same smile he gave when he ran up to you with a drink in hand while you were queuing for him in C.S., it was the same smile he gave when he managed to get two tickets to an event and brought you along as his plus one. "I'll protect you! And I'll get revenge for you too, just like the Lord of Shadows does for Henry! Like in Volume 17, when Henry was kidnapped by the Lord of Lechery's jealous ex-paramours, the Lord of Shadows showed up and summoned his familiar to rip them apart..."

Leviathan glanced back at the demons for a moment. All three of them were coughing out seawater now and turning shades of blue. Long, red gashes left behind by desperate nails ran down their necks as they tried, in vain, to claw for air. Seawater was also dripping from this nostrils, bubbling from the horrible breaths of air they were trying to take. There was a sneer on Leviathan's face but it was quick to disappear when he looked back at you. When he stepped closer, you noticed that the pupils of his eyes had turned to sharp slits.

"I can't summon Lotan here to punish them; Lucifer would be mad and more importantly you might get hurt! So I did the next best thing! I know that drowning is a very slow and painful way to die, especially if you fight against it, so I thought that it would be a suitable alternative for a punishment!"

He looked so pleased with himself. It was like killing people for revenge was on the same level of enjoyment for him as getting merch of a character he liked.

Without a care for the demons behind him, Leviathan quickly made his way up to you, making sure to be careful as he picked you up off the ground.

"See?" he grumbled, "this is why I say that staying in my room is so much better." He paused. "Ah, do you want to see them drown the entire way?" You quickly shook your head no. "Yeah, you're right. That'll take too much time. I'll bring you to Satan to get you wounds healed. Afterwards, don't think of even taking a step out of my room, alright! You've already seen how dangerous the outside world is!"

With that last sentence, he carried you away. You desperately hope that Leviathan was joking about it but something about the way his tail curled possessively around your ankle made you think otherwise.

In your periphery vision, you notice the demons lying on the floor, some of them twitching and some of them writhing around. You close your eyes, and look away.

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Satan

cw: just. loads of violence and gore

There was a large, gaping hole in one of the demon's abdomens, directly mirroring yours. Except it was larger, more brutal, and much more horrible than the one they inflicted on you.

Satan removed his hand from the demon's abdomen with a loud, wet shlick. The demon fell to their knees, clutching at their open abdomen. Satan smiled a bright, close-eyed smile. For once his spiked tail wasn't curled around his leg, instead gently swaying back and forth as he reached forward to yank the demon's intestines from the hole.

Perhaps it was due to the manner of the wound or the force Satan used but it didn't take long for the intestine to snap and for Satan to hurl it to the side in annoyance.

"Can't even do one thing right," he sneered. He raised his foot only to harshly stomp down on the demon's back. It landed with a sickening crack and the demon collapsed onto the floor, spine bent at an irregular angle. They were still screaming in pain. They were still alive.

Your voice was trapped in your chest, your eyes wide open and unable to be torn from the horrific scene happening in front of you.

Satan moved onto the next demon, grabbing them by the hair and pulling sharply to the side. When the third demon tried to scramble away, Satan froze them in place with a simple flick of his fingers and an uttered spell.

With his attention now turned back to the demon in his grasp, Satan used his other hand to hold the demon's head in place as he slowly pulled at their hair until it started peeling off, a thin layer of skin attached to the base of the strands and holding them together. That wasn't enough for Satan, though, and he inserted his long fingernails into the demon's eyes, scooping them out with barely contained glee.

"This is what you get for thinking that you can even look at MC," Satan told the demon. He then dropped that one onto the ground as well, kicking them in the stomach and sending them skidding across the rough earth.

It was at this moment that you realized that this was the demon who had kicked you into the wall... and the earlier demon was the one who had stabbed you with their nails. The last demon, the one Satan was dragging towards you now, was the one who had called you out in the first place. The one who had put the entire bullying thing into motion.

Satan kicked the back of their legs, making them drop onto their knees in front of you. Now that you had a much closer, unwanted look at them, you notice that their lips had been stapled shut, the dull metal gleaming slightly in the limited light.

"Sorry for taking so long, kitten," Satan apologized to you in his usual, gentlemanly tone. "I might have gone a little bit overboard." When he directed his words to the demon trembling in front of you, he was much harsher. "What are you waiting for? Not going to apologize?!"

The demon made some muffled cries, completely unintelligible from behind his cruel gag. A nasty smile spread across Satan's face. "Oh, I forgot. You can't speak, can you? Well, it seems like you'll have to apologize in another manner."

Satan reached around and ran a finger down from the center of the demon's collarbone to their sternum. From this close you could see the sweat dripping down the demon's face, hear the whimpers from their throat, feel their agony as Satan peeled off the left side of the demon's skin, revealing their rib cage and organs.

"You can still apologize with your heart," Satan told the demon. "Can't you?"

"S... Satan." Somehow, you managed to muster up the willpower to speak. "Satan, I can't do this."

Satan's green eyes were on you now. He was confused for a moment before clarity entered them. You waited for him to move the demon away, but he never did. Instead, he dug his fingers into the demon's rib cage and pulled it out, like one would with a closet door.

The demon screamed from behind his gag.

"Of course, silly me. You wouldn't be able to reach his heart due to his rib being in the way! Well it should be easier now, yes?"

You were going to be sick.

"I don't... I don't want this, Satan," you forced out through gritted teeth. Satan frowned, but it was directed to the demon.

"Hear that? MC doesn't accept your apology." He discarded the demon to the side before kneeling down in front of you, offering blood-soaked hand for you to take. "I'd love to torture them for you some more, MC," he said gently, "but I don't think now's a good time. You need to get your wounds cleaned and healed."

You closed your eyes and looked away. Even though you were trying your best to block it out, the scent of blood was still strong in the air.

You heard Satan chuckle in front of you. "I know," he said in an indulgent tone, "but I'm serious. I read that humans are a lot more fragile than demons so I need to disinfect your wounds at the very least. We can always come back later; it's not like they'll be running away any time soon."

You tried to tell Satan that there was nothing more you wanted than to never see this sight again, but you couldn't open your mouth without throwing up.

"If you don't stop throwing a tantrum, I'll get angry," despite his words, his voice was more amused than anything. You forced yourself to speak.

"It... hurts," you ground out. "I can't... move."

"Oh." His voice was deeper now. Your eyes flew open to see him trembling with rage as he glared towards one of the nearby demons. "I see. It appears that I've been too lenient with them." His gaze went back to you and softened. "Don't worry, I'll make them pay their dues. Now, this might hurt but I'll try my best to be gentle."

Without giving you a chance to react, Satan scooped you up into his arms taking care not to aggravate any of your wounds.

"We'll return to the House of Lamentations first," Satan told you. "When I'm sure you're fine, I'll bring demons to you instead. How does that sound?"

Instead of answering, you leaned your head against his chest and pretended to sleep. You hoped the demons died before Satan came back to get them... for their sake.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━(=🝦 ༝ 🝦=)━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

sorry things are short from here on out. im tire. d

Asmodeus

cw: suicide

You hear Asmodeus gasp before he quickly placed himself between you and the demons. Relief flooded you at the sight of your friend.

"Darling! What happened to you?!" he bemoaned, reaching forward to wipe a smear of blood off of your face. You smile weakly at him.

"I just got a little hurt, that's all. Can you bring me home?" you asked. Behind him, you can see the demons backing away.

"Hurt...?" Asmodeus's eyes trailed down and landed on the horrid wound in your abdomen. You blink and suddenly found him in his demon form, wings twitching with agitation.

"Asmo...?"

Asmodeus abruptly stood up and turned to face the demons. You see them freeze in place and an eerie blankness washed over their faces.

"My darling is hurt," he whined. "Do you know who was the one who did it?"

The demons pointed at each other, neither of them willing to take the blame. You see Asmodeus cock his hip and rest his cheek against the palm of his hand.

"There's so many conflicting answers that I'm soo confused. Ah! I just had a great idea! I want you to kill that horrible, horrible person who harmed by darling. You can do that, right?"

In a blink of an eye, the demons turned on each other, ripping each other to shreds with the utmost of ferocity. Meanwhile, Asmodeus stood in front of them, calmly watching them tear each other apart whilst humming a cheerful melody. Soon, only one demon was left, bloodied and bruised, and they collapsed in front of Asmodeus.

"Wow!" Asmodeus cheered superficially. "Now, I want you to kill yourself!"

The demon faltered. Asmodeus grabbed them by the chin, long nails leaving angry red lines on their skin as he forced them to look into his eyes.

"I want you," he repeated slowly, "to kill yourself."

The demon's expression was completely blank and open as they nodded at Asmodeus before placing their hands around their neck and squeezing.

Asmodeus stepped back to stand by your side as the demon slowly suffocated themselves to death.

"Isn't it great!" Asmodeus asked you. You turned to look at him and noticed that his eyes were bright and feverish. "How obedient they are! They all do what I want them to do without question..." Asmodeus trailed off, disdain in his eyes as he watched the demon die in front of him.

"No it isn't!"

Asmodeus blinked. Confusion was clear in his eyes. "Why not?" he questioned. "I didn't have to dirty my hands, you didn't have to dirty your hands, and they all got what they deserved!"

"Death? Was death what they deserved?" You searched his eyes for any signs of remorse but you found none. Asmodeus was one of the gentlest demons you knew... you supposed that the keyword there that you had been ignoring the entire time was 'demon'.

"They hurt you, my dear. They sullied your beautiful form with their ugly selves, of course they deserved death! If I weren't worried about getting blood on my outfit, I'd have them draw it out, too!"

"This is wrong," you muttered to yourself. "This isn't right."

"Wrong? Not right? Honey, you're in the Devildom," Asmodeus cooed. He gently carded his fingers through your hair as he spoke. "Unfortunately, might is right here."

You shiver and curl into yourself. A frown graced Asmodeus' features and he was quick to try and comfort you.

"You'll get used to it soon," he said. "And even if you don't, you shouldn't worry! I won't let it happen again. How could I allow those tear stains on your pretty little face?"

His eyes were glowing eerily.

"Just... introduce all of the people you meet to me, alright? Then you'll never have to worry about anyone hurting you ever again♡"

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Beelzebub

cw: you know that thing in the mummy (1999) where the scarab beetles crawl under the person's skin and then eat them from the inside out? yeah.

You had never seen Beelzebub so furious before.

He held you in his arms as the demons before you paled at the sight of the sixth Lord of Hell.

"MC, you're hurt," he said slowly. His grip on you tightened for a brief moment before they loosened, Beelzebub clearly trying his best to control his strength so that you wouldn't get hurt.

There was a strange buzzing sound in the air. You assumed that it was coming from Beelzebub's wings.

"I'll be fine Beel," you try to comfort him. "It's just a flesh wound."

Beelzebub shook his head. "You're not fine," he insisted. "They tried to hurt you. They hurt you."

The buzzing was getting louder now. You touched Beelzebub's cheek and a warm fuzziness made itself known in your chest as Beelzebub leaned into your touch. "I'll be fine," you repeated. "I just need to get to the hospital, or a demon equivalent of it, and then rest up."

"I'll bring you to Satan," Beelzebub said. "But first, you need to see."

"See what, Beel?"

"Punishment," he said solemnly, directing your gaze towards the demons who were busy clawing at themselves. At first you couldn't tell what was going on but you soon managed to discern small little bumps moving around under the demons' skin.

The buzzing sound was louder, now.

One of the demons finally opened their mouth to scream and, to your absolutely disgust and horror, small black beetles crawled out of their mouth. As if it were a signal, insects started crawling out of the other demons' orifices as well, centipedes and ants and little white larvae, wiggling their way out before burrowing themselves into the demon's flesh once again.

The few seconds it took for the insects to eat away the demons felt like a lifetime, your eyes fixed onto the absolutely hellish sight in front of you. When the bones of the demons fell onto the ground, most of the insects scattered but some still dug into the bones, feasting on the bone marrow. You slapped your hand over your mouth, trying your hardest not to throw up while you were still being carried by Beelzebub.

"They hurt you," Beelzebub said. His voice felt so far away. "So I hurt them back."

You squeezed your eyes shut. The buzzing hum of insects did not allow itself to be tuned out.

"So... you have to tell me if people want to hurt you, okay? I'll protect you."

Beelzebub was no longer in his demon form, but the buzzing sound did not go away for a long, long time.

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Belphegor

cw: just violence i guess

The demon froze in their tracks, eyes staring straight ahead at something you could not see.

"What's wrong?" one of the other demons asked. They didn't seem to hear them as fear dawned on their face and they started backing away.

"Get away from me!" the demon screamed. They tripped over themselves and fell flat onto the floor, but they did not pause in their attempts to scramble away. "Get away from me! No! No! No!!"

"What's going on? Why're you acting like..." Another demon suddenly stared down at their feet for a moment before they started to heave. The last demon had a moment of sanity before they, too, suddenly started looking around them in fear.

"Ahhh! It's on me, it's in me, get it off, get it out!" they screamed, violently scratching at their skin. The first demon had stopped moving back and instead started waving their arms above them, fighting off an unseen assailant while the second demon was attempting to shove their entire hand down their throat. The third demon was scratching at their eyes, uncaring of how blood was now running down their body.

The first demon started clawing at themselves. The second demon slit open their stomach. The third demon clawed out their eyes.

Before you could see any more, a pair of cold hands wrapped around your shoulders, effectively drawing your attention away from the scene in front of you. A tail brushed against your face, blocking your vision entirely as Belphegor snuggled up to you from behind, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"MC... Are you okay?" he asked.

"I... I'm fine, but those demons, they—"

"—hurt you, right? That's why they're getting punished right now." You felt his self-satisfied grin against your neck and realized that whatever they were going through right now was the work of the demon behind you.

"Belphie, what did you do?!"

"It's nothing much, really." He was proud of what he did. "I just gave him some nightmares. Or hallucinations, as some people call it."

You opened your mouth, to plead, to beg, you didn't know, but Belphie interrupted you before you could speak.

"Anyway, they're not important. You need to go to Satan, right? He has some healing spells that would be of use..." Belphegor slowly untangled himself from you. "Can you walk on your own? Or do you need my help?"

You didn't want his help but, when you tried to stand up, the pain rendered you immobile. Belphegor caught sight of the wound in your abdomen and flattened his lips. For a moment, you were transported back to the entrance of the attic, Belphegor looking down at you with loathing and rage in his eyes, but the moment quickly vanished and Belphegor reached out to pick you up.

"I'm normally the one being carried but I can make an exception for you," he said in a faux, lighthearted tone.

The demons' screams became louder. More terrified.

"You'll have to make it up to me, though," Belphegor continued, already walking towards the House of Lamentations. "When you recover, I expect lots of cuddles. I won't accept any rejections~"

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━ʕ -ᴥ-ʔ━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh this thing got away from me. well as the tags say i want to do a follow up to this but idk what sort of follow up it'll be. def yandere though. speaking of yandere, watch this space for the next yandere thing that gets churned out, because i like yandere a lot, anyway it's going to be yandere brothers x mc. all of them, at the same time. will mc survive? probably! will they be happy they did? probably not. :) anyway i hope to be able to do more yandere content in the future

edit: SORRY I FORGOT THE CONTENT WARNINGS FOR THE FIRST 3

edit2: inserted one (1) instance of satan calling u kitten for a friend

#obey me #obey me x reader #yandere obey me #anyway i want to write a follow up to this #but what kind of follow up would it be... hm #sorry for the shortness of the last 3... i swear i love them it's just like 4am and i have an early day tomorrow #obey me fanfic #iyumeu writes om #obey me shall we date #obey me x mc #sigh tags #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #satan x reader #asmodeus x reader #beelzebub x reader #belphegor x reader

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dotthings · 4 years

Text

The gaslighting needs to stop. Systemic power imbalanced in the tv industry are real. Network interference is real. Erasure and unkindness towards marginalized characters is real.

I’m more on the canon analysis end of things personally, but I assure you the fans trying to figure out WTF happened here and account for stuff that objectively, even the people more skeptical acknowledge is weird and points back towards network interference, try to debunk their own theories. They are telling you that, they are transparent about their information, if you don’t feel like playing detailed murder wall, then don’t, but to deny there is a very very real power imbalance behind the scenes that hurt marginalized characters and fans, and hurt the story, is toxic. Stop it.

Things like the Spanish dub and people who have worked on the show coming out of the woodwork to support Destiel should be a clue. Latin America believes it’s a mutually requited love story, canon confirmed from both sides, because that is what aired on a big tv network there. And watch out for that US-centric thinking that somehow thinks this doesn’t count. (Also plot twist: the US is the restrictive market. Wake up).

My wheelhouse is more canon analysis so I’m going to say now that the gaslighting about canon, about aired canon, about confirmed canon, about implied canon, seems to me a whole lot of toxic detached-from-reality hand waving so hard to still, STILL!!--try to deny the validity of Destiel. I’m glad some of y’all think this is merely hilarious, and after not showing up and not being supportive and not sticking your neck out at all to protect Destiel shippers from bullying, you came back just to eat the popcorn because it amuses you and I’m supposed to think that’s pro-Destiel supportive or something, or it’s people who have no horse in the race who just want fandom entertainment so everything’s a joke while they reinforce the exact attitudes that let this kind of systemic oppression perpetuate and get away with erasing marginalized voices in the tv industry, in fandom, in stories. Nice work, people. Your holier-than-thou attitude is real convincing.

Then there’s the people trying to convince everyone it’s convincing to play false equivalency cha-cha and as if people only see this as canon due to a) 1 slash joke b) they stared at each other that one time c) drapes. Because old school fans are so proud that in their day, nobody wanted their queer ships to be canon and Destiel is just like *insert whatever slash ship of the past that had about 1/10th of the loud textual material and canon development Destiel has*. You want to try to argue against the epic nature of the text on Dean and Cas, hey give it your all, but it’s not going to hold up. If I started listing off the immensity, things that are textual plot points, it would be a 3,000 word essay. Stop playing false equivalency. Stop trying to artificially yank this back into the past because you can’t handle the textual validity of Destiel.

Deal with the fact that this is not an easily classifiable situation.

Even if in the end the same old systemic crap stifled its full due, and that’s the part that is tiresome, Dean and Cas deserve better than have their actual canon content demeaned.

After the story we have seen. After 12 seasons of deep-dive development. After Cas was finally openly confirmed as queer, and in love with Dean, in the final season, 2 episodes from the end, and Misha echoed it, and from Dean’s side, because full confirmation on Dean’s side is being held down, Jensen protected a romantic reading, protected people’s right to see Dean as in love with Cas not having a chance to speak his heart. Protected the right to that reading within the ambiguity that he knows is as far as the canon was able to take it. After the ship became canon confirmed as at least unrequited love story. Whether Jensen ships it or not, he has been very loudly and openly protective of fan readings and has been very openly excited about 15.18 and the handprint, he knows this is a great story and he’s been openly excited about how excited and joyful fans were about that episode.

But what we have seen on our screens, what the story told us, transcends the muzzles placed on it. What we have seen is a mutually requited love story. We already saw in action how Dean loves Cas. We are left with, in the end, the silencing of Dean Winchester. Gosh I wonder why the silencing of Dean Winchester. Why was it necessary. Why was he not even permitted to speak at all, to anyone, to confide about how he even felt about Cas’s love confession. Why did Jensen have to do the heavy lifting to meta it for us. Why did Cas have to be left fully out of the series finale on a show he was so key on for 12 seasons, as a 3rd lead. Why is that? Because the only thing the creative team would ever be allowed to do by corporate is friendzone it and they didn’t want to friendzone it.

So we are cursed with ambiguity from Dean’s side. And if the series finale had done better by Dean’s story, including his death, and by Cas’s story (instead of shoving him out of sight), if it hadn’t erased Eileen and Saileen, if it hadn’t failed Sam’s story, if it hadn’t been a regressive, awkward mess, most shippers would have accepted ambiguity if Dean and Cas has been given at least the respect of a reunion, if Dean had at least been given the chance to partially speak even if it couldn’t be removed from ambiguity. But the system was too scared of it. It had to be held down and muffled hard.

It was yanked out of the story artificially in ways that don’t match Destiel’s narrative importance before the series finale and don’t match 12 seasons of storytelling. It’s artificial. It is a silencing. And it shows.

That sudden silence was a scream.

"The writers” were for it. “The writers” wanted to tell that story even if network interference prevented it. Some of us were gaslighted and smeared and bashed just for pointing it out, and we turned out to be right.

DESTIEL IS CANON. And the parts where fans still have to rely on interpretation for have ample, AMPLE, story evidence and external evidence--that has nothing to do with deeper dive murder walls, it has to do with support shown, and confirmed information--all point to a mutually reciprocated love story.

How many more times do shippers have to be proven right before people stop this. I was bullied for several seasons just for saying Destiel was a purposefully crafted a valid textual reading, by my own lane. For asserting it was a love story designed to dodge under network radar. I was bullied for years before that by antis, who didn’t like seeing people love this ship too much, who didn’t like that I refused to get down on my knees and label myself as delusional just for seeing it, for refusing to bow down and say “it’s only about 2 brothers so I am wrong to say Destiel matters too.”

The unkindness in this fandom over all this continues to be overwhelming. Get your shit together. You worship your favorite actors and then they show you up every time by being kinder and more open and understanding than fans manage to be. Jensen and Misha are showing you how to roll and people are ignoring it in favor of continuing to try to silence and demean Destiel shippers.

For Destiel shippers, don’t let all this gaslighting and shaming nonsense and the systemic corporate nonsense that wants Destiel silenced knock you off from your reading of canon. It was valid. It was real. Thanks to the magic of bleedback effect, now it was always textual, the subtextual has been transformed retroactively, and it’s from both Dean and Cas’s end. If you still feel doubt on Dean’s side, because we didn’t get the same loud explicit confirmation, go back to the text itself. If you believed it already for Cas, if Cas’s confession to Dean only validated what you already knew, why can’t you see it for Dean, because it’s already there.

#Jensen Ackles #Misha Collins #Destiel #The 15 Year Show #Castiel #Dean Winchester #i'm not burying this behind a wank tag #i need people to pay attention and not dismiss it as mere 'fandom drama' please

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

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The crossover fic + learning he's a favorite of yours has me curious: do you think it would be possible to tell a satisfactory Shadow vs. Mr. Mxyzptlk story? I think he'd fit surprisingly well in that milieu as a credible threat: he's something of an older, mistier, shadowy world, kin to fairies and elves and imps, pixies and sprites and genies, bound by old laws and dressed like a parody of 20s/30s class, beyond The Shadow's usual powers and yet...THAT. There a thematic in to this throwdown?

I had never actually thought of Mxy in that light, even though it's very much in line with what he is, because Mxy is one of those characters I don't tend to think about much. He's one of those ready-made perfect villains who pretty much guarantees a fun and creative time whenever he pops up uninvented. Like The Ventriloquist for Batman, he is so uniquely a product of how Superman works and what his stories allow for, that I can't say I ever thought of taking him for a spin outside of them. But there's definitely stuff to work with in putting him and The Shadow together.

Come to think of it, if there's a Superman villain I think Walter Gibson would have liked to play around with, it would be Mxyzptlk. Mxy stories are fundamentally about Superman being thrust into a position where his only way out is to solve puzzles and turn the tables using nothing but his wits, and Gibson spent the majority of his career before and after The Shadow as a writer of books on magic and puzzles, both of which show up a lot in The Shadow stories. You see it even in several covers which contained clues for the stories within.

To an extent, you could argue that The Shadow might figure out quicker a way to trick Mxy, because The Shadow's already has to utilize a constant amount of trickery and deceit and puzzle-solving in his daily adventures, it comprises almost the majority of what his stories are about under Gibson. The usual Mxyzptlk narrative is one that's well within The Shadow's domain.

But on the other hand, it's definitely some extremely unusual territory for The Shadow, villain-wise. A villain who eclipses his powers and scope to such an extent is completely unheard of. The one time I can think of where he fought a villain this weird and who he was completely powerless against was when he met Suven The Clown King of Venus (who's definitely a character that could show up in this meeting), and even then Suven was just a weird alien who looked gigantic next to the shrunken Shadow. Even on the few occasions where The Shadow encountered other aliens or eldritch monsters, he was able to find a way to stop the threat for the moment or even kill it, which is definitely not happening here, because Mxy is a whole other level.

Superman has the strength and endurance and superpowers to roll with whatever mayhem Mxy throws his way. If Mxy decides that The Shadow’s looking too pale so he's gonna give him a tan by throwing him in the sun, what the hell is he gonna do to stop him? I imagine that Mxy would likely take a different approach to messing with The Shadow, since he can't tank nukes like Supes and he's not really a good sport about the game.

Fine, whatever, Mxy's a creative sort, he's got a couple of ideas for messing around with Mr Grim-n-Serious over there, show him what an Eldritch Monster looks like past the squid monsters and dragons he may have met.

The idea I'm getting here is, on one hand, Mxy attacking The Shadow with the usual goofiness he brings with him. And on the other, him realizing that messing with The Shadow's dignity isn't as fun as he thought he'd be, so he instead goes full SCP Foundation/Awful Hospital/Ice Cream Man on The Shadow until he's stopped, trapping him in amusing and horrifying eldritch nightmares and situations that he has absolutely no way to escape until he solves the puzzle.

I mean, he's not fighting Superman here, he can kill this guy with a blink, even just stopping his heart with a thought. No fun in that. He's gotta beat the "Master of Darkness" at his own game. He's got a point to prove.

I imagine that much of the story would play out of The Shadow having to piece together what exactly has gone topsy-turvy in his reality, whether it's Commissioner Weston eating spiders for breakfest or the entirety of Manhattan sans him going blind and all lights going out across the country. And when Mxy comes out with that shrill SURPROISE!!!, assuming The Shadow already knows what he needs to do, then he falls for whatever gambit The Shadow's had to cook up to trick him.

At the end, Mxy is an arrogant bully who lords power over those that can't fight back, and The Shadow's a master of beating those by turning their arrogance against them. It's Duck Amuck, except Bugs is a mind-breaking sadist and Daffy has to fight back.

I imagine something akin to a particularly funny scene from a story called Face of Doom, where a gangster traps The Shadow in a room surrounded by armed henchman so he can enlist him into taking down the city's leading criminal, The Face. The Shadow unmasks himself as Cranston to gain his trust, and the two proceed to talk plans. I'll post the sequence below

Calmly, The Shadow was removing his slouch hat. His arms spread, the black cloak began to drop from his shoulders. Clipper's nervousness changed to elation. If ever a criminal fooled himself, Clipper did so at that moment.

Though The Shadow voiced no agreement to Clipper's offer, the crook was confident that it was sealed. The Shadow was taking a step that no other criminal had ever witnessed.

When Clipper's squinty eyes saw the hawkish features of Lamont Cranston, the crook displayed another of his downward grins. There wasn't any question about the prisoner really being The Shadow.

"A ritzy mug, ain't you?" voiced Clipper. "Well, that makes you the real McCoy. One thing we'd all figured, Shadow — we guessed you was a high-hat guy.

"'You don't get out of here until The Face is croaked! Say, though — maybe one of your ritzy friends could put up a good front with The Face."

"There are others, who might serve. I have agents, you know."

A shrewd gleam brought new ugliness to Clipper's eyes. He had heard of The Shadow's agents. It would be smart stuff—using them to get The Face, then disposing of them afterward. Clipper couldn't hide the eagerness that betrayed his new scheme.

"Good stuff," agreed Clipper. "But how am I going to reach those guys and get them to work with me? They only take orders from you, don't they?"

In reply, Clipper saw Cranston pick up the black cloak and hat. He handed the garments to the crook. For the moment, Clipper was puzzled; then he saw Cranston's hand extend the discarded gloves.

"I get it," chuckled Clipper. "You want me to rig up like I was you. Then the guys that work for you will listen to me. How do you handle them—with some password?"

"Usually," replied The Shadow. "Try on the cloak and hat first, Clipper. I must study the appearance that you make."

It seemed like a give-away of The Shadow's game. Any one could stage this Shadow stuff. All he had to do was masquerade in black, spring a shivery laugh, and shoot quick with his guns. If Cranston could pull it, Clipper could.

The Shadow spends a couple of paragraphs calmly walking Clipper through the steps necessary to pull off a convincing Shadow performance, almost like he's directing him. And then this happens:

The back of Clipper's neck was exposed. Though The Shadow's voice was still the leisurely tone of Cranston, his left hand had lost its laziness. Behind Clipper's back, that fist whipped an automatic from a shoulder holster. Clipper didn't scent the move until the muzzle of the .45 iced his neck.

"It won't work, Shadow," rasped Clipper. "You know it as well as I do! One pop from that gat of yours, the mob will pile in and croak you! There's a wicket in that door; they'll use it!"

The Shadow had shifted low behind Clipper's back. The crook could no longer observe the reflection of Cranston's face. He could still feel the pressure of the gun muzzle on his flesh. "Climb off my neck, Shadow," warned Clipper. "It ain't getting you nowhere!"

It was getting The Shadow further than Clipper guessed. The gun muzzle was actually gone from Clipper's neck. His impression that it rested there was merely an after effect, from former pressure.

Crouched low, The Shadow had now reached the door. Before Clipper guessed what was up, The Shadow twisted the door knob. Wrenching the door inward, he pulled himself behind it.

At the same moment, The Shadow snapped a quick command, in a rasp that resembled Clipper's own harsh tone:

"The Shadow's yours, gang! Croak him!"

It ends for Clipper about as well as you'd expect.

One of the things I like most about Mxy is that you can't take shortcuts with him. It's not like how it is with Riddler stories, where you can half-ass the riddles because you know Batman's gonna win once he touches Riddler and the story's gonna end in a punch-up, Mxyzptlk is completely invincible unless you solve the puzzle he presents, and you'd think of course that, surely, he can't fall for it this time.

He's a wise guy, see, he's seen all of Superman's tricks by now, and what's that dumb old Shadow gonna do that he can't see a mile away? This is almost too easy.

It's so easy, in fact, that The Shadow even agrees, he's lost it completely, and the way he could possibly beat Mxyzptlk is by calling one of his agents to save him, and he's prepared a list of some of his smartest, cleverest agents for this moment. But, no, he wouldn't dare put them in such danger against this invincible, immortal genius, someone has to take this list from him and run, but ZOINKS, Mxy's taken the list. So he's gonna start seeing who is it that the Shadda thinks is smart enough to take him.

Clyde BurKe? Like some dimestore journalist's gonna have a shot, just cause he solves crossword puzzles. Lamont Cranston, yeah, more like, LAMEONT CRANSTON. Harry VincenT, who, the dumb kid who tried jumping off a bridge once? Come on, you gotta give me a hand here, Shadda! Let's see, Pietro, what, some cook? Ya kidding? Moe ShrevnitZ...actually, Shrevy's allright, scratch that one. ShrevY, hey, come on, that's cheating, ya just put Shrevnitz's name again, ya dum-dum. Mr Xanadu, hmm, catchy name but probably not a real guy. And Margo Lane. Yeah, smart dame that one, she could probably figger something out. And ya keep writing everyone's name's weird - WAIT

I KNOW WHAT YER TRYING TO DO HERE.

I KNOW YOU GOT SOME CLEVER SCHEME HERE, I'D SEEN THIS BEFORE, IT'S AN OLD TRICK.

YOU EMPHASIZED THE LETTERS SO THE REAL SMARTEST GUY YOU KNOW WOULD BE HIDDEN WITHIN THEM, SO THAT SOMEONE ELSE COULD FIND HIM.

HAH, THAT'S RICH. THAT'S KID'S PLAY. WHAT, YOU THINK I CAN'T FIND THIS

KLTPZYXM

BY MYSELF?

aw crickets...

#replies tag #superman #the shadow #mr mxyzptlk #dc comics #comic books #pulp heroes #bogleech

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nightowlfandom · 3 years

Text

Yandere! Jeon Jungkook- You’re My Prey

Why Hello there! ANON ASKS

Greetings! I hope all is well with you! Could I please request a smutty angsty predator Jungkook x Prey Reader with sprinkle fluff at the end? like jk is the readers bully and realizes that he likes her but she avoids him like covid lmao. so he protects her from someone or something and she starts to trust him? oml that sounds like a lot🤣🤣 U are an amazing writer!!

BRUH YOU HAD ME AT ‘AVOIDS HIM LIKE COVID LOL’

Sooooo I didn’t touch on the smut part, and I’m very sorry! Tbh I was a bit overwhelmed writing this one and I kept getting stressed because I hated every draft I made before the final draft.

So this contains a bit of sensitive material, proceed with caution

CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!

Leggo!

...

You sat in front of the vanity as your mom styled your hair. She hummed as he took your strands in her hands.

“I saw this style in an issue of Vogue...I know you’ll love it.” she commented.

Tonight was perhaps the biggest event of your mom’s career. She has been a avid participant in the entertainment industry for years and she was invited to some crazy event with her celebrity friends and wanted you to come as her plus one. People knew she had a daughter, but they had never really seen you before. You stayed out of the spotlight when you could.

Except for tonight. Your mom had stared as the lead in a huge show, and a party was being thrown to celebrate it’s popularity and final episode. You were honored but nervous.

“Look at you!” she winked at you in the mirror. “Come on, we’re running fashionably early.” she ushered you out the chair.

...

Ugh, how much longer was this gonna last. Your feet were killing you! Your mom seemed to be having the time of her life though. She was drinking and dancing and carrying on as if she was a young college student.

“She seems to be having fun.” a voice said from behind you.

“Don’t get any ideas. That’s my mother.” you seethed. You were protective of your mom, going as far as to curse out anyone who set their sights on her whether it was positive or negative. While people didn’t know you as a celebrity, they knew you as the one who knocked the living daylights out of an ex idol who tried to touch your mother’s ass on a variety show backstage.

“Don’t worry, pet. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Once you recognized the voice, you froze. Of course he would be here! You slowly turned around, seeing Jungkook standing there with a sick smile on his face. “Missed me?”

“No!” you said a little to swiftly. You should have asked if anyone you knew was gonna be there. You felt like an idiot. Jungkook literally sang half the soundtrack for her show, of course he’d be here!

“Oh how rude.” he cooed. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.” he shrugged.

“You though wrong.” you looked him up and down. “I swear it’s like you’re following me sometimes.”

“You could say that...but just know I’ll always be there for you...watching.”

“J-just stay away from me!”

To say he had some sort of infatuation with you as an understatement. Everywhere you went, he somehow turned up. It was like he could smell you from miles away.

“Dear Y/N, don’t make a scene.” he stepped forward just so he could whisper in your ear. “Wouldn’t want to cause a disturbance.” you could feel the smirk on his face and all you wanted to do was slap it right off.

“Stay back.” you stepped away. “Leave me alone.” you pointed warningly. You attempted to walk away, only to feel him grab your hand.

Tingles shot up your spine as you touched. You shuddered, his skin was hot. You took one look at Jungkook. He seemed to be in a trance, he was staring at your hand, following it up your arm, passing over you shoulder and up your neck to stare at your face.

When you finally came to your senses, you yanked your arm back. “Don’t touch me.”

“Okay alright.” he rolled his eyes, seemingly going back to normal as well. “Just don’t get into any trouble, pet.” he scoffed. “By the way, you look good in that dress.” he drank you in. You felt exposed, very exposed. You could almost feel a draft. You glared at his back as he stalked off. That’s how it was, Jungkook was nothing more than an arrogant tease that made you wanna strangle somebody.

“Alright, I’m done.” you groaned, holding your head. You looked for your mom in the crowd. She was busy laughing with a whole bunch of her friends. You didn’t wanna leave without telling her. You’d just leave her a message.

From across the room, Jungkook watched you leave. He hated to see you leave, but watching you walk away was so gratifying. He knew you didn’t really hate it. In fact, it was amusing to watch you lie to yourself. You were lying about not wanting him, about hating him.

He knew you were lying because he would feel if you hated him. Just like he could feel the want dripping off your body. You were simply lying to yourself.

... (A few days later)

Your mom had left for another show, which left you home alone for a while. She would be filming in Japan, which meant you would have the house all to yourself. That meant you were left to your own devices when it came to fending for yourself. You hated calling your mothers assistant, he had his own family and your mom to worry about. You could handle going to the convenience store by yourself.

“Thank you for shopping with us!” the cashier waved you off as you left the store. You threw your trash in the nearby bin and began walking back. It was cold out, which prompted you to hug yourself.

What you didn’t know, is that you were being followed.

You were walking on the empty street. It was late and all the major shops had closed for the night. Your only source of light were the dimly lit tiny restaurants that were still open, and street lights that flickered as you passed.

You kept walking, ignoring that feeling in your stomach that told you you were in trouble. You just had to speed up, it was like something in you was screaming at you. A few seconds passed and you couldn’t help but turn around.

A man was standing a few feet behind you. It was way too dark to see.

“Wha-...” you began walking away, praying it was just a coincidence. You turned a corner, he followed. You turned another corner, he followed.

You were now certain he was following. You couldn’t help cut cut through the street to get to the other side, but he followed then and there. You couldn’t help but begin to run, now scared out of your mind.

You turned behind you one more time to see him speed-walking. In your haste you didn’t see Jungkook walking out of an alleyways. You rammed into him, only to scream bloody murder.

“Y/N?” Jungkook grabbed your shoulders. You were practically crying. This was the first time you were actually happy to see Jungkook of all people. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“Someone’s following me!” you pointed down the street. Jungkook took one look in the direction where you were pointing.

You were way too scared to see his gaze harden into a glare. His blood practically boiled.

“Stay here.” he grunted, storming in the direction towards the man. “Hey buddy!” he barked, strutting over.

Jungkook glared in the direction of the sorry idiot who dared try and apprehend his catch.

...

Jungkook took you back to his place, your home would be empty for the night and you didn’t wanna be alone in that moment. You sat on the sofa, hugging yourself.

If he hadn’t been there, something bad would have happened, you knew that much. It was the first time you were grateful.

Jungkook had to gather himself. Rage shot through his body in his attempt to protect you. His senses were still in overdrive and he was sure he looked crazy. He watched you as you got comfortable, still hugging yourself.

“T-thank you.” you said for maybe the third time that night.

“Y/N. You really don’t have to thank me.” he laughed. “I told you I’d be there for you every minute, or every day.” He walked over and sat down next to you.

You finally studied his face. His smile that never reached his eyes looked very different now than it ever did. His eyes were dark with something you couldn’t really read.

“Even after I’ve been so horrible to you?”

“You may think of it that way, but I don’t.”

“How do you think of it?” you tilted your head to the side. You were genuinely interested in how Jungkook perceived your declaration of hatred towards him.

“You shouldn’t make that face.” he giggled, glossing over the subject. “I might have to ruin your innocence.”

“Ruin my-” you trailed off. It was only then you realized how close he was. Jungkook towered over you, so it was easy for his body to cast a shadow over yours. “You’re really close.” you mumbled.

“Hm, isn’t that the point?” he winked. “Your skin is so soft.”

To Jungkook’s delight, you didn’t pull away when his lips ghosted over yours. You shuddered at the mere tickle of his touch. It was like a batch of pheromones had gone out into the air because all you wanted in that moment was him. In some way or another. However it surprised him when you were the one to go for it, pressing your lips gently against his.

A low growl ripped through his throat as he rested his hand on the side of your neck. He returned you affections just as quickly as you gave it.

You tasted better than he thought. Your innocence was like a drug. It was heavy. He hummed with delight as you reached your hands up to run through his hair. He was happy, you didn’t know it in that moment, but you were accepting it. Your fate as his. After tonight it would be set in stone.

As you pulled away from Jungkook, you inhaled sharply. “W-woah.”

“Surprised, babe?” he began crawling over you, sending you back against the plush surface. “I knew you’d fall for me sooner or later.”

You were too consumed by the sight of him above you. The lights casted a halo over him. He almost looked like an angel. “I could eat you up right now Y/N.” he whispered. “Your soul is exposed to me right now.”

He drew his tongue down your neck. Leaving opened mouth kisses along your skin. You were warmed up in an instant despite being cold moments earlier. You practically squeezed your legs together in an effort to ease what you were feeling, but Jungkook was no fool.

Finally he’d get what he’d been yearning for. After so long.

...

It was the dead of night when you woke up. Your naked body was flush against Jungkook’ in what you assumed was his bed. Jungkook was practically atop you, laying his head on your chest. You tried to shimmy out of his grip and when you successfully did, you sat up.

Aches and pains shot through your body as flashbacks of moments before flooded your body. You could hear his shallow breaths in your ear telling you how much he adored you. Every bite and scratch he had left burned, but in a good way.

Words couldn’t describe how it felt enough.

“You weren’t thinking of leaving me, were you?” You looked down at Jungkook who tiredly wiped his eyes. “Fuck.” He glossed over your naked body. You were practically marked from head to toe.

“No.” you replied. “My arm was falling asleep because you were laying on me.” you replied, laughing dryly. He sat up himself, only to trail his fingertips up your arm. He shifted behind you and began placing kisses along your shoulder. He wrapped his arms around you and practically pulled you back down onto the bed with him.

...

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artzychic27 · 4 years

Text

Painbow

The artwork was made by @lizzey-13, who asked if I could write this. Thanks again for asking me to write this! :)

—

“And so, the British...”

Nathaniel was trying not to fall asleep from the boring lecture. He usually stays up by sketching, but he’s already gone through three sketchbooks in just one month, now there was nothing keeping him from dozing off in the middle of class. He did have another sketchbook with him, but that was for the Ladybug comic.

He looked up at the clock sitting above the door... Just seven minutes left, he could do this. Why couldn’t his bangs have been even? Then he could fall asleep without anyone noticing

“And the war brought...”

Gotta stay up... Five more minutes... Nathaniel turned his head slightly and looked out the window. It had just stopped raining, little droplets were running down the glass window pane, and the sky looked a little grey. The only thing that stood out from the dreariness was the bright rainbow in the sky... It reminded him of Marc. The boy’s name was literally ‘Rainbow’! If you took out the M.

Now that was keeping him awake. How could he sleep when Marc was on his mind? His smile, his gentle voice, the graceful way his pencil moves whenever he was writing. The mere through of the boy brought a faint smile to Nathaniel’s usually stoic face.

RIIIIING!

At the sound of the bell, Nathaniel snapped out of his thoughts. Class was over

“Class dismissed. Have a good day, everyone.”

Nathaniel gathered his belongings and made his way down the stairs where Alix was waiting for him, “You goin’ to art club?” She asked, but the smirk on her face meant she already knew the answer

“Yeah I’m going.”

Once they left the classroom, Alix, with a smirk still on her face, turned around and mimicked kissing someone. Her hands went up and down her back, “Oh, Marc. I love you so much.” She said in a low voice, mimicking Nathaniel “I love you so much, babe.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes at his shorter friend’s antics and playfully slapped her arms, making her stop

“Okay! Okay! I’ll stop!” She said through her giggles, then she turned around and saw the familiar bright red hoodie coming down the hallway. “Go get him, Romeo.” She sends the redhead a wink before running off to the art classroom

Nathaniel fixed up his hair, straightened his blazer, and approached the writer. The closer he got, the more he noticed something off about Marc. His hair was a little more messier than usual, and he had a tired look in his eyes

“Marc?” The taller boy flinched, Nathaniel became worried, “Rainbow, are you okay?” Marc seemed less tense after hearing his nickname

“Y-yeah. I’m fine.” His eyes shifted as if he were looking for someone, “Let’s just go-”

“Marc, please tell me what’s wrong.” He took Marc’s hand in his, “You flinched when I said your name. What happened?”

“... Just the usual stuff.” He admitted, “They threw notes at me,” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out said notes, “telling me to die, calling me some stuff, something about conversion therapy, I look like a girl...”, He sounded so bored, like he’d done this a hundred times, “They’re not even being original anymore.” He crumpled up the notes and put them in a nearby trash can “Come on, let’s get to art club.”

Nathaniel’s mouth hung open slightly. He stayed like that for a moment until he finally found his words “Rainbow, how can you just let this go?”, he asked, “This isn’t right.”

“Nath, I’m used to it.” He admitted, “I-It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“But-”

“Please? For me?”

Nathaniel wanted to argue, but that smile made him give in, “Fine.” He grumbled, “But if this gets physical, I am getting involved.” Marc nodded sadly. Nathaniel leaned in and kissed Marc on the cheek, making his lips curl into a smile, “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

—

The next week at school went pretty smoothly. The new Ladybug comic was published, paperback and online, and everyone really seemed to enjoy it. Nathaniel wanted to be happy right now, but he just couldn’t stop thinking about what happened to Marc. No one should have to endure that kind of treatment, and just be used to it... But, he promised that he wouldn’t do anything unless Marc showed up covered in bruises.

So far it’s been nothing but cruel notes in his locker and unoriginal insults. Marc just let it go and threw the notes away, but Nathaniel was pissed and close to being akumatized many times. Fortunately, Marc always managed to calm him down before any akumas could appear

“Nath!” Alix called out as she ran over to him with the latest issue of the comic in her hand, “I am loving this comic, man!” She wraps an arm around him and winks, “And don’t think I didn’t see those background gay couples.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes, “Of course you would notice them.”

“Cuz I got gay-dar!” She exclaimed with a laugh, but that look soon faded when she saw the aggravated look in Nathaniel’s eye, “Are you okay? You’re looking a little ticked off.”

Nathaniel let out a sigh, “It’s Marc. Some guys have been messing with him, and he won’t let me do anything.”

Alix frowned, “What have they been doing?”

“What do you think?”

Alix kicked a wall in frustration, “God, that’s still happening?” Nathaniel nodded, “Well, we have to teach those asses a lesson! Make sure it doesn’t happen again!”

He shook his head, “No, I promised Marc that I wouldn’t do anything unless it got physical. So far it’s just been shitty notes and name-calling.”

He started walking to the classroom, Alix followed

“I-I don’t get it.” Nathaniel said, “He doesn’t even care. Or he does, but he doesn’t wanna admit it!”

“Well, why don’t you take it to Damocles?”

“I tried, but he won’t do anything unless I bring him evidence, and Marc keeps throwing the notes away!”, he exasperated, “And, I’m trying, I really am. But I can’t just sit back and watch-” Alix put a finger to his lips, “Alix?”

“Thought I heard something.”

‘Where’s your boyfriend, Anciel?’

‘Looks like he didn’t even want you.’

Nathaniel ran to the source of the cruel voices and found himself standing outside the locker room. He put his ear to the door and listened.

‘Stop it!’

That sounded like Marc

‘What are you gonna do, ya queer?’

Having heard enough, Nathaniel barged into the room and saw the scene before him. Marc was being pinned to the wall by Louis, the school bully. Nothing like Chloe though. She had the common decency to insult people out in the open while he cornered people and threatened them in private. Victor and Clement, his lackeys watched with amused looks as they vandalized Marc’s journal

“HEY!” The bullies were startled by the loud voice, but calmed down when they realized it was only Nathaniel

Louis sneered, “Look, guys. The queer’s boy toy came to save him.” he taunted

Ignoring him, Nathaniel stormed over to Louis and pushed him off of Marc, making him land on the floor. Nathaniel stormed over to Victor and Clement, and snatched Marc’s journal out of their hands. He took Marc’s hand and started pulling him out of the locker room, but he stopped on his tracks when he heard Louis mutter...

“Damn f*gs.”

“... Nath?”

Nathaniel scowled, but did nothing and proceeded to walk Marc out of the locker room while not saying a word. It was quiet up until Alix and Marinette approached them, both looking concerned

“Guys, what happened?!” Marinette asked

Neither of them said a word until...

“Nothing. I-it’s fine.” Marc said

Nathaniel sighed, handed Marc his defaced journal and walked away, leaving Marinette and Alix confused

—

“A boy who only wants to protect the one he loves, yet his lover chooses to suffer in silence.”

Hawkmoth held out his hand and beckoned for a butterfly to land in his palm. Once it perched itself, Hawkmoth covered it with his other hand and the power of the Miraculous filled the butterfly with dark magic, turning it into an Akuma

The Akuma flew out through the window

“Fly away my little Akuma! And evilize him!”

—

Nathaniel stormed down the hallway. He didn’t know where he was going, he just needed to think. He didn’t understand. Why wouldn’t Marc let him help? Why didn’t he care?... Why didn’t he knock out Louis? He knew Marc endured this kind of treatment constantly, but he wanted to help him... Protect him...

He was too wrapped up in his thoughts to hear the flapping of an Akuma’s wings. And he definitely didn’t notice the Akuma flying into his bisexual flag bracelet. The purple Akuma symbol appeared over his face. Hawkmoth spoke,

“Painbow, I am Hawkmoth. I understand the feeling of wanting to protect the one you love. Let me give you some assistant. All I ask in return is that you bring me Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculous.”

“I’ll protect you, Marc.” His whispered as dark purple magic bubbled up from the bracelet and surrounded him. Students standing in the hallway fled, not wanting to face the wrath of the newest Akuma. Some stayed, too paralyzed to move, which was a horrible mistake. Shooting from the Akuma’s hand was a multicolored energy ball. When hit, they felt something seize them, and they were suddenly puppeted by a strange force. Their irises took of the appearance of the color wheel, and they had wide smiles plastered on their faces

“Find my Rainbow, and Louis. NOW!”

—

Alix looked around the classroom, but Nathaniel was nowhere in sight. ‘He must’ve been really upset.’ She thought, and then turned her attention to Mme. Bustier

“Now, please open your books to-”

A flash of multicolored light beamed through the window, making the students shield their eyes

‘What is that?’

‘What’s going on?’

‘They got me!’

‘Sound the Akuma Alarm!’

‘Where are you my sweet Rainbow?!’

The class looked out the window but kept low so the Akuma wouldn’t see them. They watched in horror as the red-haired villain shot rainbow energy balls at random students. Each time he missed, the energy balls would cause a massive explosion. When he did hit a student, their eyes would become multicolored and they’d have alarmingly wide smiles.

“Rainbow, sweetie?!” He called out, “Come on out! We’re going to find you!”

“Rainbow?” Alix whispered to herself. Only Marc was called ‘Rainbow’. She then came to the conclusion, “That’s Nath!”

Nathaniel, now Painbow’s bangs were swooped to the side and dyed the colors of the rainbow, his eyes were blue with no iris or pupil, and they looked like crystals. He has on a white floor-length sleeveless trench coat with a rainbow sash going across the waist, a magenta tank top with blue pants, a purple belt, and black boots. He also has on white gloves, and a rainbow cuff bracelet on his left wrist

“Marc!~” He sang, “I can’t keep you safe if you’re not by my side!” With no response, he shrugged, “I’ll just destroy the whole school until I find you, or Louis!” With that, he fired another rainbow energy ball that created a hole in the wall

Mme. Bustier turned to the class, “While Nathaniel is distracted, you all need to run out of here.” Her students nodded, “And if you find Marc or Louis, make sure they get out.” She looked out the window and sees Painbow hurling lockers at panicked students who weren’t under his control

“NO ONE LEAVES UNTIL I HAVE MY RAINBOW!”

“Run!” Bustier ordered, and the class did not hesitate to run for the door, but when opened, they backed away when they saw the Akuma. The inhumanly wide smile plastered on his face was not easing their nerves

“I clearly said, no one leaves until I have my Rainbow.”

Alix cautiously approached her Akumatized friend, “Nath, whatever’s wrong, just-”

Before she could say another word, Painbow summoned several rainbow energy balls that he shot at the class. Marinette, Adrien, Alya, Nino, Mylene, and Alix managed to avoid them and run out the room, but the rest were now under his control

“Fine me Marc Anciel and Louis Kress! And if you see Ladybug and Chat Noir, take their Miraculous!”, he ordered, and the smiling multicolored eyed students ran out in search for the two

—

Looking through the window in Mme. Mendeleiev’s classroom, Marc watched in fear as the controlled students caused havoc in the school looking for him, while his akumatized boyfriend shouted his nickname and blasted rainbow energy balls from his hands

He sighed, “This is my fault.” He hid his face in his gloved hands

Aurore frowned and placed a hand on his shoulder, “Marc, don’t say that! You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“B-but he’s mad because I was getting bullied by Louis,” He explained “and I told him not to do anything.”

“It’s Louis’ fault, not yours.” Aurore said, then smirked, “And Nath’s probably only after you so he can kiss that cute face of yours.”, she joked, causing Marc’s lips to curl into a smile “Ladybug and Chat Noir will handle this. Nathaniel will be fine, and you two can talk it out, okay?” At Marc’s nod, she gives him a side hug

“Rainbow...” Painbow’s eerie voice called out

Mme. Mendeleiev signals for the students to get down so Painbow won’t see them. They crouch under the window as Painbow walks by the classroom

Marc let out a small whimper, making Mireille cover his mouth. They hear the Akuma’s footsteps fade away and let out sighs of relief

Mme. Mendeleiev stood, “Okay, he’s gone.”

Right as she said this, the door to the classroom exploded outwards in a cloud of splinters and rainbow dust, causing everyone to duck and cover. Looking up, Marc saw his villain boyfriend. His smile somehow became even more unnerving when his eyes landed on Marc

“Hello, My Rainbow.” He cooed as he approached him. Before he could get any closer, Mme. Mendeleiev stood in front of him, putting on a brave face in front of the Akuma

“You will not lay a finger on one of my students!” She said in a commanding tone

Painbow didn’t look threatened, and instead let out a laugh. Then with a flick of his wrist, an energy balls shot from his hand, hitting Mendeleiev, and putting her under his control. She stepped to the side, no longer blocking him. He looked around the classroom before honing in on Marc, who was backing into a corner with Aurore and Mireille

He gave a chilling smile, “Rainbow, please come here.” Seeing that Aurore and Mireille had no intentions of letting his love go, Painbow summoned two more energy balls that when thrown at the two weather girls, their eyes become multicolored. “Bring me my Rainbow.”, he commanded.

Aurore and Mireille complied as they dragged a struggling Marc over to the Akuma, and into his waiting arms, “I missed you!”

Marc tried to pry the Akuma’s arms off of him, but to no avail, “Nath! Stop this!” Painbow’s smile strained, “I told you, I don’t care about Louis, just-” Painbow put a finger to his lip, silencing him

“Sweetie, I don’t like your tone very much.” Instead of summoning an energy ball, Painbow kissed Marc’s forehead and the green of the writer’s irises faded and became multicolored. And instead of the creepily wide smiles the other students had, he had a look of bliss. He threw his arms around Painbow and kissed his cheeks affectionately

Seeing a crowd forming around them, Painbow summoned multiple energy balls that flew around the room, hitting each student and putting them under his control

—

Once Ladybug and Chat Noir ran out of their hiding spots after transforming, they found themselves in the courtyard being assaulted by their mind controlled school mates. The ones who weren’t under the Akuma’s control managed to evacuate with the heroes’ help. They spared a glance at Painbow, who had Marc settled in his arms before leaping out of the open roof of the school

“That’s gotta be Nathaniel!” Ladybug rounded up ten students with her yoyo before hurling, then locking them in a storage closet

“Can’t we deal with these guys later?!” Chat asked as he whacked two students away, “There’s too many of them!”

“Alright, let’s go!” Ladybug flung another student away before using her yoyo to zip out of the school, Chat followed, vaulting after her using his staff

As they leapt from roof to roof, Ladybug and Chat came across Alix, Nino, Mylene, Alya, and a few other students who have taken cover above ground. “Are you all okay?” Ladybug asked and received nods along with scattered ‘yes’ and ‘we’re okay’.

“Ladybug,” Alix said as she approached the two heroes, “Chat Noir! Nathaniel is looking for Louis Kress. I saw him running from our classmates! They’re probably still looking for him!”

Ladybug nodded before she opened up the phone setting on her yoyo and pulled up a live-stream, showing Nadja, also under Painbow’s control

“Don’t bemused! It’s just the news!” Nadja said in a cheery tone, “Louis Kress, our second in command’s offender, was recently spotted in the Louvre! Painbow’s loyal followers are doing everything in their power to find him keep him from escaping.”

Ladybug smiled then turned to the students, “Stay safe. We’ll handle this.”

“I’LL FIND YOU, KRESS! EVEN IF I HAVE TO TEAR DOWN THIS ENTIRE PLACE TO DO IT!”, Painbow yelled as he lifted a sarcophagus before throwing it away

Wake up!

He’s controlling you!

Your eyes are supposed to be green, stupid!

“Is something wrong, my Rainbow?”

Marc blinked his multicolored eyes as he looked at the Akuma punching a column. He smiled and shook his head, “I’m fine.”

Painbow gave a warm smile as he cupped Marc’s face in his hands, “Are you sure?” Marc nodded, “That’s good. You should be thrilled. Louis and everyone just like him will be out of our lives forever.”

What did he mean by the last part?!

Wake up, Anciel!

Your boyfriend is an Akuma!

He’s gonna kill Louis!

“I can’t wait.”

Painbow leaned in to give him a kiss, but then the glowing purple Akuma symbol appeared over his eyes and he clutched his head in pain.

“What is it?! What’s wrong?!”, Marc asked frantically

Hawkmoth spoke, “Don’t get distracted, Painbow! You had your chance to take the Miraculous, but didn’t seize your moment! Mess this up, or I’ll take away your powers!”

“Alright, just stop it!”, Painbow begged. The searing pain stopped, and he saw Marc looking at him with concern, “I’m fine. Someone is just a little impatient.”

Aurore ran up to the couple, “Painbow, we found him!”, she cheered

Painbow beamed at the news before gathering Marc in his arms, “Finally!”, Aurore lead them into the paintings gallery where they found Louis surrounded by a mob of controlled citizens and being restrained by Kim and Juleka, “Louis, what a pleasure.” He set Marc down and moved toward his victim, looking at him like a jungle cat that had caught its prey

“L-look man! I’ll leave Anciel alone! I swear!”, he pleaded, “I won’t bother you, o-or mess with that goth chick and her girlfriend!”

Painbow’s blue eyes widened at that last sentence, “Excuse me?”, he looked up at Juleka, “Jules, is this true?”

The goth girl nodded, the unnatural smile never leaving her face. Painbow grinded his teeth as he summoned another energy ball, only the colors were darker shades, “I’ve been DYING to use this one!” Louis closed his eye and turned away, knowing very well that this was the end for him. Suddenly, a familiar whizzing sound hit everyone’s ears as Ladybug’s yoyo wrapped around Painbow’s wrist. He lost his focus, and the energy ball bounced around the room before hitting a portrait, burning a hole in the center

Chat winced, “That would’ve been bad.”

“Nathaniel! Do you really want to do this?”, Ladybug asked, trying to reason with him, “What would Marc say?!”

Painbow folded his arms across his chest, “He doesn’t mind.”, he turns to Marc, “Do you, Rainbow?”

Yes! You just tried to murder him!

“Do whatever you think is best.”

“See? He’s fine with it.”

“LUCKY CHARM!”

What dropped in her hands was...

“A roll of tape?”

Using Marc, lead Painbow out of the museum, the others will follow

Have Chat Noir Cataclysm the security system, the bars will drop, trapping Painbow’s followers. He’ll be alone and defenseless

Deflect any of his blasts, then cause a distraction so he’s vulnerable. While vulnerable, wrap the tape around Painbow’s hands, he won’t be able to use his powers

Break his bracelet and free the Akuma

“Chat, go to the security system, and wait for my signal!” With a salute, Chat Noir made his way over to the security system. Using her yoyo, Ladybug wrapped it around Marc’s waist. With a yelp, he was pulled into her arms. “Come and get him, Painbow!”

Terror shone through his voice as he screamed, “SAVE HIM! SAVE MY RAINBOW! We’ll deal with Kress later!”

Ladybug hoisted Marc over her shoulder and ran as Painbow and his followers chased her. She was a few feet away from the gallery entrance when she yelled, “CHAT, NOW!”

“CATACLYSM!”

Chat touched the security system, making it short circuit before turning black and disintegrating into dust. Ladybug and Painbow managed to slide under the metal bars before they hit the floor. The rest were stuck in the gallery with no way out

“GIVE HIM BACK!”, Painbow yelled as he tried to blast the heroes, only to fail as they deflected each attack

“Chat! Cover me!”

“On it, M’Lady!” Chat got in front of Ladybug and blocked Painbow’s attacks by spinning his staff. While Painbow is focused on the leather-clad hero, Ladybug used the opportunity to wrap her yoyo around Painbow’s ankle, and yanked it so he’d trip

Painbow quickly got back up, but before he could attack again, he found his hands bound together by red duct-tape with black spots. He looked up and saw Ladybug reaching for his bracelet. “NO!”, she smashed the bracelet, releasing the Akuma

Catching it with her yoyo, Ladybug said, “No more evildoing for you, little Akuma. Time to de-evilize! Gotcha!” From the yoyo emerged a newly purified white butterfly, “Bye bye little butterfly.” She then tossed the tape roll into the air, “MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!”

Thousands of ladybugs burst from the tape and spread out all over the town, repairing all of the damages. The afflicted citizens returned to their normal selves, confused as to what they’re doing. The magic swept over the students who took shelter on the rooftop, and they were back at Dupont. The Akuma’s dark magic bubbled away, leaving Nathaniel Kurtzberg, confused as to what’s happening

The two heroes fist-bumped, “Pound it!”, while Nathaniel held his head, still very confused

“Nath?”

The redhead looked up as Marc ran over and threw his arms around him, whispering about how he was glad that he was okay, “... Marc, I-I’m so sorry!”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Marc murmured, “it’s okay.”

“No! I should’ve listened to you, but when I saw what Louis did, I-I just-”

Marc cupped Nathaniel’s face in his hands, then kissed his forehead, “You only wanted to protect me, Nath.”

Ladybug smiled, “Marc’s right, Nathaniel. This was Hawkmoth’s doing, not yours.” She wanted to say more, but hers’ and Chat’s Miraculous beeped. They only had three minutes left, “We gotta go now. Bug out!” She and Chat Noir ran out of the museum to find a place to detransform

—

“Well, if it isn’t Painbow.”

Don’t do anything. Don’t pay any attention to him. Nathaniel thought to himself, trying to stay calm, not wanting to become Akumatized again, “Is that supposed to upset me or something? Not the first time I’ve been Akumatized.”

“Well, look at you.” Louis said mockingly, “I guess without your precious Rainbow, you finally grew a spine.”

Don’t do anything. Don’t do anything.

“Screw off, Kress!” A familiar voice shouted. Nathaniel looked at saw Marc, standing behind Louis with his arms crossed, “Need I remind you that you’re part of the reason he got Akumatized?” He walked passed Louis, making sure to bump him with his shoulder, then he took Nathaniel’s hand in his and the two walked to art club

“Yeah, that’s right! Run away, ya pussies!”

“What do you think we’re doing?!”, Marc yelled back

“I’ll be waiting for you outside, Anciel! Your boy toy can’t protect you forever!”, he raised an eyebrow as someone tapped him on the shoulder

Ahem

He turned around, and was met with Alix’s fist nailing him in the face. He fell to the floor with a thud and held his hands over his face in pain as Alix and Marinette stood over him

Marinette glared down at him, “Next time you think about insulting someone for their preferences, remember this.”

“Totally worth the detention I’m getting.” Alix said with a smirk

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #Painbow #akuma nathaniel #Akuma #marcthaniel #marc x nathaniel #rainbow tomato #miraculous sugar #alix sugar #Alix ships it #Nathaniel calls Marc Rainbow #fanfic request #Akuma class

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

Note

Hello there, I don't know if your taking requests, if so I'm in desperate need of some mean Alfie, like the readers brother can't pay Alfie back what he owes so Alfie threatens him. So she storms into Alfie's house to give him a piece of her mind. And he is fuming first and basically tells her to get lost. But has a change of heart last minute and calls her back to make a deal. Maybe that she will go on a date with him😀 id love if you could include the date in the story but if not that's fine to. I think your a fantastic writer and I just wanted to let you know how much I love your work.

//Oh my lord I did NOT mean to get this carried away.

Jane’s younger brother was a nuisance. At least, that’s what the neighbors said. Jane would call him…troubled. He found himself in a group of unsavory young men who liked to cause trouble in the neighborhood.

Jane prayed that it was just a phase that he would grow out of. However, he was twenty, and she figured he ought to know better by then. She didn’t blame him for being so rebellious. Their parents had both died from the Spanish Flu. They left behind five children. Alex was the youngest, twelve at the time of their death, Lucille was sixteen, Bernard was twenty, Jane was twenty-two, and Isabella was twenty-four. They all tried their best to be a complete family after the tragedy, but it was so difficult. Especially when Isabella married just six months after, Lucille married two years after, and Bernard left for America four years after.

From then on, it was just Jane and Alex. She loved her younger brother dearly, but he was such a handful. His behavior escalated from getting in schoolyard fights to committing petty crimes. It was exhausting trying to keep up with him.

Finally, he made the ultimate mistake and came home with a black eye as a prize.

“What happened?” Jane gasped when she saw the state of her brother. He was hunched over, clutching his side, his face was swollen and bloodied.

“M’sorry.” He mumbled.

“Alex, tell me what happened. Who did this to you?” She demanded.

“Alfie Solomons, his men did it.” He winced in pain as he tried to sit down on the sofa. “I owe them some money. I can’t pay it though.”

Jane spent all her time working to provide for herself and her brother. She had no time to gossip or listen to people whisper about the famed gangster of Camden Town. So, she had little clue what sort of power the name held. “This is ending here and now.” She decided firmly. “I will settle this bet with Mr. Solomons if you go out and get a proper job and stay out of all this-this nonsense!” She snapped, finished with Alex’s behavior.

It seemed that the interaction with the Camden bakers had scared the young man well enough that he was willing to put that way of life behind and start on the straight and narrow. He nodded frantically. “But you can’t go to see him.” He warned. “Give the money to Richard, he’ll get the money to him.”

Jane wrinkled her nose in disgust at the mention of Alex’s friend. She had a sneaking suspicion that he was the one who lured Alex into a life of crime. “No, I’ll do it myself. I don’t trust him.” She decided with conviction. She began to go upstairs to get her savings that were hidden under the floorboard.

“No, Jane, listen to me!” Her brother urged. “Alfie Solomons is a fucking psychopath. He kills people for sport. I ain’t gonna let you go near him.”

“If he’s willing to kill someone over a couple of pounds, then that’s his problem. I’m not afraid of someone who will bully a twenty-year-old. Now go and put a cloth on your face to put down the swelling.” She ordered.

Alex looked worried but knew he wasn’t able to talk his sister out of anything. He could only hope that she would find Alfie on a good day.

~~~~~~~~~

Jane marched into Camden Town with fire in her eyes. She had two pounds in her pocket, almost two months of work for her, but her family came first. Alex could work back the debt he owed to her later. She would much rather this be a learning experience for him, something to shake him awake and put him on the right path finally.

She found the address where Alfie Solomons’ office supposedly was. There, a young man was keeping guard in front of double doors.

As she approached, he straightened up. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Solomons.” She replied.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“An appointment? What is he, the bloody king? No, I’m here to pay back my brother’s debt.”

“Hang on, stay here.” He went into the large building and left Jane waiting. As she waited, she felt people watching her. People passing by seemed to take notice of anyone unfamiliar to the area, especially someone who was lingering around the bakery of Alfie Solomons.

A few minutes later, the doors opened again and the man beckoned her inside. “You armed?”

“Armed? No, of course not.”

“Do you mind if I check?”

“Yes, I mind, keep your hands to yourself!” She snapped.

“Yeah, see now I know where your brother has got that attitude from.” A voice boomed across the hallway leading into the bakery.

Jane looked to see the man himself. Broad-shouldered and walking like a soldier, he came into view in the dimly lit area.

“Pardon?” She wasn’t used to such a brash greeting.

“You’re Alex’s sister, ain’t ya? Look a lot alike, you two. Act similarly too. Figures as much. Boy who can’t keep his mouth shut looking up to a woman who can’t keep her mouth shut.” He stopped in front of her.

At first glance, Jane didn’t see what all the fuss was. He looked and dressed pretty simply, nothing outstanding. But then she started to pick up on the small details that made him who he was. The gold rings, the bracelets, the tattoos, the scars.

“Here.” She pulled the money out to give to him. She wasn’t going to waste her time on this man.

He tutted as he took the money from her. Looking at the amount as if she were merely throwing a few coins his way. “Oh, dear, this ain’t enough, love.” He shook his head as if disappointed.

“That’s what my brother gave you. That’s what he owes you.” She insisted.

“Something called interest, sweetheart. S’been over two months since I loaned your brother the money. So, his debt has been racking up interest, m’fraid. Nearly double this by now.”

Jane’s blood boiled at his audacity. “How dare you?” She hissed. “Who are you to act like some big shot who owns the world, aye?”

“It’s just business, love. If you don’t like it then I’m not sure why you’re even here. This is your brother’s debt, not yours. Shows what sort of man he is, having a woman settle his debts.”

She was seething at his cool demeanor. “Because I look after my family. We care for each other even when one of our own has made a mistake. It’s a shame you don’t know that Mr. Solomons. That just means you have no love in your life. That’s quite sad actually.”

His relaxed façade began to melt right in front of her eyes. “Aye? Who the fuck do you think you are that you can come into me business and speak to me like that?” He stepped towards her, his hand gripping a slender wooden cane.

“You had my brother beaten because of a couple of pounds. It doesn’t look like you even need that money. You seem to be doing fine on your own. Or is that how you make your fortune? By threatening people’s lives so they’ll give you money?”

Alfie’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the way the world works. If you don’t like it, you can jog on. Let your brother handle it.”

“My brother will have no more dealings with you, Mr. Solomons. You can either take the money that I’ve given you or take nothing at all. My family isn’t giving you another cent.”

Alfie chuckled darkly. “So, you make the rules then, is that right? That’s funny that is. Little girl coming into my bakery to tell me what to do. That’s brave of you, innit?”

“I don’t hide behind other people. I’m not a coward like you.” She spat. “I don’t care who you are or what you’ve done. You’re going to leave me and my brother alone.” She went to turn around but Alfie’s voice chased her.

“And would you care if I had your brother shot in the street?”

Jane spun around with anger radiating off her. “You are a monster.” Her voice raised louder. “If you ever even want to think about hurting my brother, you’ll have to go through me first.” She snarled before finally taking her leave.

Alfie frowned to himself. What was this feeling? Sympathy? Empathy? Amusement? Here was this beautiful woman who came storming into his life, ready to fight for her brother. She wasn’t afraid of him in the slightest and was true to her values. “Hold it.” He yelled after her.

She stopped and turned with her arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t say anything, just waited for him to speak.

“Here.” He walked over to her and handed the money back. “What’s your name?”

“Jane.” She replied, eyeing the money suspiciously.

“Well, Jane, you must know that you’re much braver than most men I’ve met. Other people in your position would be shaking in their boots. None of them would talk to me the way that you just did.” He said with a gentler tone.

She was a bit unnerved by the sudden change in his demeanor. There was no telling what his motive was. “That sounds like a compliment.”

“It is.”

“So, because I stood up to you, you’re going to give me back the money?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Call it an appreciation of your courage.”

Jane glanced over her shoulder at the door then back to him. “What are you playing at?” She questioned.

“No game, love. But, figure you see the same type day in and day out, yeah? Men, well can’t really call them men, boys really, who come in and out of your office, whinging on about this and that. Shaking in their boots ‘cause they’re so fucking terrified of mean ‘ol Alfie Solomons.” He pointed to the door. “Then, in comes a woman who is ready to take up arms for her brother against someone like me. Refusing to compromise. Well, something you wish you could see a bit more, innit?”

Jane felt herself relaxing a bit. Behind the scary façade of a gangster was really an oddly charming man. “Well, I’m sorry to say but there isn’t anyone like me.”

That got a laugh out of Alfie. “Fucking hell, you really are something else. You’re right though, ‘bout a one in a million I’d guess.”

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Okay, well…if you ever see my brother again, tell him to trot on. I don’t want him to go down the same path as…”

“As me?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t mean to be rude.” Jane blinked. Why wasn’t she berating this man who had threatened her brother? Why was she staring back at him? Why was the way he was looking at her so endearing?

“And what am I meant to do if I run into you again?” He inquired as if it was just a casual question.

“Well…should we run into each other again, I should hope it’s because you’re trying to mend things. A gesture of condolence for your behavior.” She replied steadily although her heart was beating unnaturally fast in her chest.

The corner of Alfie’s lip turned up. “Well, that’s very good to know. This condolence, would dinner be good ‘nough?”

Oh, what a hypocrite she was. Admonishing her brother for dealing with lowlifes and now here she was entertaining the idea of going out with one of the most dangerous of them all. But there was something about him that was so alluring. “Perhaps. If you’re on your best behavior.”

“Well, I happen to think I clean up nicely. I can mingle with the toffs just as well as anyone. ‘Specially if it means making a beautiful woman happy.”

Jane felt her face go red. Things had taken such a drastic turn, she wondered if she was imagining it all. “Then I suppose it’ll be alright if you take me out.” She gave him a number to call.

But before she took her leave, she asked one more question. “Is it your charm that gets you out of trouble?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Love, I am trouble.”

#ugly crying asks

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relaxedmouse · 4 years

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Not Another Boy Meets Girl Scene

As far as “boy meets girl” scenes go, it’s hard to get a worse experience than the boy pressing his sword to a girl’s neck and threatening to kill her if she doesn’t tell him where to find the scroll of Plot Importance. That’s how Yumeko and Tatsumi first meet in Shadow of the Fox, a fantasy novel by Julie Kagawa. That description makes him sound evil, but this is actually one of my favorite “first meeting” scenes that I’ve read in any novel.

You see, I’ve read way too many books that went through this process: Boy meets girl. Boy is a huge jerk to the girl, for no apparent reason. Later in the story, when the girl is madly in love with the boy, I can’t relate to her at all because I still hate the boy.

First impressions matter. And I’ve frequently seen male leads give such terrible first impressions that I feel sour about him for the rest of the story. For a while, I thought that writing a romance with a “rough start” is just a bad idea, period. I thought that a couple has to get along immediately or else their love won’t be believable later on. But I was wrong about that, of course. After reading Shadow of the Fox, I discovered that it actually is possible to make the guy behave badly during his first meeting with his love interest, and not have me dislike him forever after.

This novel flips back and forth between the protagonists, who take turns telling the story in first person. Crucially, when Yumeko and Tatsumi meet for the first time, that chapter is in Tatsumi’s POV. In other words, we – the readers – are seeing the perspective of the “jerk”. We are in Tatsumi’s head, we know what he’s thinking, and we know what led him to that moment. This is very different from a story where the heroine encounters a strange dude who immediately harasses her, for no known reason.

Additionally, Yumeko and Tatsumi each get a few chapters to themselves before the two of them first meet. By the time we see Tatsumi threaten Yumeko with his blade, we have already spent a few chapters getting to know him. We know he’s on an extremely important mission. His clan leader has told him that he must get the scroll, or die trying. We also know some details about his background – mainly, that he is a trained assassin who thinks of himself as an emotionless weapon, and that his family has spent many years beating total obedience into him. All this means that his vicious behavior toward Yumeko is completely expected of him. It does not cause the reader to feel shock and confusion.

It also helps that Tatsumi is completely unemotional about his threats. To him, his cruelty is mere business. This contrasts with numerous other leading men, who seem to find it amusing to bully the heroine. (This is a strangely popular personality type on male love interests.)

Some stories will later give an explanation for why the male lead was so mean when we first saw him. On rare occasions, this explanation is good enough that I’m convinced to no longer hate him. Most of the time, I think his excuse is too weak. But certainly, any explanation is better than no explanation at all.

Because some stories don’t bother to explain. He was a jerk to the girl when they first met, and 400 pages later, this has never been brought up again. No explanation. No apology. No, “I’m sorry I said that harsh thing when we first met”. Nope, now the guy and girl are desperately in love, and I have no idea how they got to that point, and she’s focused on his good traits while I’m still unable to forget that his first words he ever said to her were that she’s uglier than his last girlfriend.

I’m not a mind reader, but if I had to guess . . . I think some writers believe that once we read further into a book, and get to know the male lead better, his many good traits will minimize his bad first impression. But the problem (at least for me) is that a character’s first impression is so powerful that it can’t be drowned out by his later actions. I think that’s why I have so much appreciation for the approach taken in Shadow of the Fox, which provides context for Tatsumi’s vicious behavior before we see him actually do it.

#shadow of the fox #julie kagawa #kage tatsumi #yumeko #novel #book #soul of the sword #night of the dragon #kitsune #essay #discussion #My writing #boy meets girl #romance #first impressions

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biscoopstroop · 5 years

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A TRUTH AND A LIE ⁠— S. HARRINGTON X READER

summary: in a world where soulmates feel each other’s pain, (f/n) meets her soulmate after a slut-shaming incident and decides that if he was her soulmate she wanted nothing to do with him. although, after two years people do seem to change.

pairing: steve harrington x reader

writer: ashley

set: the monster (s1e6) and the mall rats (s3e2)

a/n: ok so this has light light light hopper!reader. so light that i didn’t even add it to the reader above because there are no scenes with them together. and i hope you guys like this! this is the first one i’ve posted onto this blog.

‘Starring Nancy ‘the Slut’ Wheeler’ was spray-painted bright red on the Hawk’s marquee when (F/N) strolled up, her hands balled into the pockets of her jacket and a delicate shade of pink snapped from the bubblegum she was chewing. Turning on her heel from the theater, she moved to the alley. The idiot continued to shake the evidence, the ball clinking against the metal can.

When (F/N) reached the alley, she found not just one asshole, but a whole gaggle of them as three of them stood and watched the fourth continue to vandalize the town. If (F/N) was in town more often, she would probably know each of them by name and an extensive reputation, but with her mom living in Indianapolis, she only spent weekends and holidays in Hawkins with her dad.

Now, she stood close to the group, but far enough that they hadn’t registered her standing there. They were taking their sweet time to notice her as she dragged one neatly manicured hand out of its blue jean pocket and checked the time on her watch.

The spray can stopped rounding out the ‘b’ in bitch, and the gaggle of assholes turned to stare at the girl who seemed to just appear. (F/N) raised one arched eyebrow at them, popped another bubble and returned her hand to her pocket.

“Wanna tell me why you’re slut-shaming people?” (F/N) asked cooly, her words smooth like the October breeze, infesting their skin with goosebumps as she spoke. “Or have the fumes already gotten to your head?”

(F/N)’s words were slightly condescending, but her tone stayed crisp as she cocked her head to the side, waiting. It seemed that the fumes had gotten to them as they were slow to respond, and once they did, they all collectively turned to each other before one of them stepped up.

He had dark brown eyes and hair larger than life that didn’t move a strand from where he stood with his gaggle of assholes to squaring his shoulders in front of her. (F/N) couldn’t help but notice the one curl that dipped down perfectly and kissed his forehead. She wondered if it took a lot of effort to get that Superman curl just right.

“Am I supposed to know who you are?” the boy asked with a laugh, his cool facade radiating from him. A cool he wanted but was quickly broken when challenged by others. Especially with the queen of cool herself in his presence.

“No,” she assured him, furrowing her brow. “I’m just a local who would rather bust your chops then go see a movie. It’s not cool to be an asshole, lesson number one, Hairspray.”

Hairspray stared at (F/N) his hackles tense and his eyes turning from a collected annoyance to full-blown irritation by her.

(F/N) spat her gum out, her gaze leaving Hairspray’s without hesitation and she pulled a cigarette from her pocket. “I’m trying to quit,” she explained, lighting the bud and steadying her gaze back on him.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Hairspray told her, trying to make himself big and intimidating as he pushed her back slightly.

“Oh!” the red-haired girl cooed. “Hey there, princess!”

(F/N) looked back to the thin girl storming her way towards them. Her fists were clenched, and her eyes were narrowed in an attempt to keep herself from crying as her eyes focused on Hairspray.

“I’m gonna guess this concerns her,” (F/N) stated, whipping herself around to look back at Hairspray. “So, yes, this does concern me because people who are assholes being assholes need to shut up and listen for once,” she concluded with an unamused laugh.

Nancy Wheeler had her sights set on one thing, and one thing only, and that was Hairspray. (F/N) stepped out of her way as she pushed through like a bull and before any words were exchanged, Nancy had slapped him across the cheek. The teens on the sidelines crowed in amusement at Nancy’s sudden action.

“What is wrong with you, Steve?” Nancy asked Hairspray.

(F/N) noticed the odd tingling in her cheek, the buzzing sensation keeping her back from allowing herself into the argument between the couple.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? I was worried about you,” Steve turned back on her, his tone condescending and seemed like he was trying too hard to be emotionless. “I can’t believe I was actually worried about you,” he laughed, trying to distance himself but something in the way he was doing it showed his heart on his sleeve.

“What are you talking about?” Nancy asked, her spine straightening out as she glared at Steve.

(F/N) turned to the entrance as another boy walked in after Nancy, lanky and timid as he stood behind Nancy but didn’t say a word as the gaggle of assholes goaded the two of them. From the goading, (F/N) was able to get one side of the story, Steve’s story, as he had caught her with the timid boy in her bedroom while she was dating Steve.

Now, Steve slut-shaming Nancy without even talking to her was bullshit, and he should’ve known it. He even tried to pry out why Nancy had the timid boy in her room in the first place surrounded by his friends. She was silent, feeling their judgemental eyes on her and was silenced by them.

“Come on, Nancy. Let’s just leave,” the timid boy told her, taking her arm and tried to lead her out of the alley before tempers flared and stupid mistakes haunted them for years to come.

Steve strutted after them bent the wrong way by the timid boy, or who he called Byers. He had the same last name of Joyce Byers, the one her father had told her had gone downhill since her youngest son went missing. (F/N) couldn’t blame her, but for her oldest son, it must’ve been hard with his brother going missing, his mother going a little bit insane and every asshole within Hawkins bullying him on these accounts.

“Hey, Steve, stop it,” (F/N) told Steve sternly, pushing back on his chest as he had done to her earlier. He kept on moving though, pushing (F/N) backward with him, his eyes trained on Byers trying to spark a reaction out of him.

“You know what, Byers, I’m kind of impressed. I always took you for a queer—“

“Stop it, man,” (F/N) said again, able to push him two steps back but he was already pushing three steps forward. It was like all he could see was Jonathan and red as he picked and prodded at every sore wound the timid boy had.

“A screw up like your father. Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. I mean, there’s a ton of screw-ups in your family. Your mom. I’m not even surprised with what happened to your brother.”

“Steve!”

“I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you this, but the Byers’ their entire family is a disgrace—“

She could feel it, the crack in her jaw without getting hit as Jonathan swung around her and hit Steve right in the cheek without a second thought. Steve was on one side of the alley while Jonathan backed himself over to the other side, his chest pumping with adrenaline.

(F/N) sat on the ground, holding her cheek as she watched the two fight through blurred vision. The fight gaining more intensity as the gaggle chanted excitedly and Nancy was trying to get Jonathan to stop without getting too close. (F/N) wanted to throw up as their shouting made her head split and her ears ring and the familiar sound of getting caught came from around the corner.

Callahan had tried to pull Jonathan off Steve before getting knocked in the face, then Powell was able to take him into custody. Steve and his cool guy gang sped off while Callahan hustled after them. Powell had Jonathan against one of the cars and had him handcuffed. Nancy stood off to the side of the alley where (F/N) rested her gaze as she watched Nancy panic.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Callahan said quickly as he squatted and got into (F/N)’s headspace, his big head and dorky mustache swimming into her view as he took his flashlight and flung it between dilating pupils. “You okay? Did you get hit?”

(F/N) shook her head slowly, lifting her hand to her face to feel the only wound she had gotten was a thin ribbon of blood streaming from her nose.

“No,” she muttered, even as she sat there on the ground with her head leaning against the brick of the Hawk, her legs sprawled out in front of her and a cigarette edging closer to falling off her lip, (F/N) still appeared cool. “I think I just met my soulmate, and he’s an asshole.”

⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ

It had been three years since Steve met (F/N). Between her hopping between Indianapolis and Hawkins, the two never spoke more than snarky remarks to the other. (F/N) had never told Steve what she had come to conclude from the mere belief that through Steve’s high school years, he didn’t deserve to have her as a soulmate. His cocky, pretentious, fake cool guy attitude was bullshit and (F/N) wasn’t about to have herself broken up over him.

Only the police station knew the truth, and frankly, they all agreed with her when she said she’d like to keep away from the asshole who felt that vandalizing property was a better way to deal with a relationship than talk it out.

And then, Starcourt Mall opened, (F/N) had graduated and she was spending her summer in Hawkins with her dad since they hadn’t had a lot of time together lately. And the fact that he had adopted a girl with strange powers, but that was a story for another day.

El and (F/N) had become something close to sisters but not quite. They gave each other space and hadn’t quite started to grate each other’s nerves with their habits. Although El making out with Nancy Wheeler’s younger brother, Mike, did always rub her the wrong way. As it did her dad, especially when the door wasn’t propped open three inches.

Jim Hopper had barged in on El, believing Mike was inside, but instead found Max Mayfield with her reading magazines and doing girly things together. He stuttered out an apology and made his way out of their room. (F/N) had entered the room after them, telling the girls that she’d take them to Starcourt the following day so that Max could show El around the new mall and maybe get some new clothes.

The three stood in the mall the next day, (F/N) handing both girls a crisp dollar bill and let them go off on their own letting them know she would be waiting inside Scoops Ahoy. Crowds weren’t something (F/N) was a fan of so sitting in a cold ice cream shop by herself sounded like the best mall experience she could ask for. Plus, she had been to plenty of malls in Indianapolis with her old friends, and if you’ve been to one mall, you’ve been to them all.

(F/N) walked into Scoops with her thumbs rocked in her belt loops and a bright yellow tank top showed off the slight tan she had gotten from the summer sun. (F/N) looked to the counter before anything else and there at the counter stood an asshole. (F/N) almost turned around, but decided that with him pegged behind the counter it would allow her to torture him.

(F/N) stepped up to the counter, leaning her side against the counter as she hit the bell repeatedly to call someone else to the front as Steve glared at her.

“I’m right here,” Steve muttered, but she didn’t even make eye contact.

“I’m sorry, I don’t take orders from assholes or slut shamers or people who run away from the cops when their arrest is valid, (F/N) shrugged her shoulders, hoping someone would come out from the back rather than Steve Harrington.

(F/N) watched as Steve’s face turned red and she smirked at his stupid sailor’s uniform and couldn’t help but think of what a loser King Steve had turned into after graduation.

“Please stop, Robin’s not here to take your order,” Steve muttered, his shoulders hunched as he massaged his temple.

“Guess it’ll be a while,” (F/N) shrugged, tapping her hand on the bell still.

Steve looked like he was going to explode, his face red and stress sweat had started to pile on his forehead.

“Is Erica here?” a familiar face asked from behind the counter and into the backroom. “Oh! (F/N), y-you’re in town?”

“Yeah, I’m spending the summer with my dad and... enjoying Hawkins,” she laughed awkwardly, turning back to look at the customers inside and then to the two behind the counter. She caught Steve’s eye that held a knowing gaze that she wasn’t planning on saying Hawkins but a little girl no one was to know about.

(F/N) shuddered at the look he was giving her but returned to Robin with a small smile, pushing out of her head the thoughts of ‘why would Steve Harrington know?’

“How have you been?” (F/N) asked with a small smile.

“I’ve been working here,” Robin laughed nervously, her hands on the blockers and her knuckles turning white out of anxiety.

“Hold on,” Steve interrupted the two, whipping his head to look over at Robin. “You know here?”

“Yes,” Robin nodded, slowly nodding her head to ensure he caught her words.

“Cool people know cool people, Hairspray,” (F/N) explained with a small, huffy laugh.

“I’m cool,” Steve defended, straightening his shoulders but waiting for them to validate his coolness.

“You’re an asshole,” (F/N) pointed out.

“I’ve grown past that,” Steve explained with a loud sigh.

“He has,” Robin agreed like she didn’t want to but had to.

“Thanks, Robin,” Steve muttered, dejected by the two women berating him. The hand on his shoulder caught his attention finding (F/N) at the end of it and there was a small hope that she’d reassure him in his expression that (F/N) found funny.

“You’ve become a loser,” (F/N) laughed. “But I could be friends with a loser.”

Steve smiled lightly at her words. At the same time, a little girl with colorful beads in her hair pushed past (F/N) knocking her hips into the counter that rattled a stinging pain through her. She hunched over, Steve following suit although the girl hadn’t knocked into him.

(F/N) kept her head down waiting for Steve’s reaction but nothing came. Slowly, (F/N) looked up from her huddled position and through the strands covering her face to catch Steve’s eyes warmed from the thought that she was his soulmate. Maybe it was because of the heartbreak he had gotten from Nancy Wheeler, or perhaps it was because she was just so goddamn cool all of the time, but he’d never thought for a second he’d meet his soulmate. Especially someone he e had met before.

(F/N) smiled like a teeter-totter, one side going up and the other falling down in an awkward ‘yeah, I’ve known all along’ and somehow Steve caught that from just a glance at her guilty face, because now he was pointing one of his sticky fingers in her face, shouting, “You knew!”

“Of course, I knew, dipshit!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were an asshole! Why would I tell an asshole?”

“I’m not an asshole now.”

“No, you’re a loser now.”

“Would you go on a date with a loser?”

“Depends,” (F/N) said, a stupid smirk coming to her face. “On the loser.”

“I’ll pick you up tonight,” he winked, trying to lean on the counter but tripping over his two own feet and had to catch himself.

Behind her, she could feel the air shift, and there stood El and Max with shimmering eyes and shit-eating grins now with more fashionable choices of clothing. They stared at her, something lingering that felt like (F/N) had a sister again as the two sung, “Steve and (F/N) sitting in a tree!”

“Are you two children?” (F/N) asked, rolling her eyes at the two.

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

wanna request?

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things imagine #ashley's writing

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the-marx-brothers-will-live-on · 4 years

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Julius Henry "Groucho" Marx (October 2, 1890 – August 19, 1977) was an American comedian, actor, writer, stage, film, radio, and television star. A master of quick wit, he is generally considered to be one of America's greatest comedians.

Julius Henry Marx was born on October 2, 1890, in Manhattan, New York. Marx stated that he was born in a room above a butcher's shop on East 78th Street, "Between Lexington & 3rd", as he told Dick Cavett in a 1969 television interview. The Marx children grew up in a turn-of-the-century building on East 93rd Street off Lexington Avenue in a neighborhood now known as Carnegie Hill on the Upper East Side of the borough of Manhattan. His brother Harpo, in his memoir Harpo Speaks, called the building "the first real home they ever knew". It was populated with European immigrants, mostly artisans. Just across the street were the oldest brownstones in the area, owned by people such as the well-connected Loew Brothers and William Orth. The Marx family lived there "for about 14 years," Groucho also told Cavett.

Marx's family was Jewish.[7] His mother was Miene "Minnie" Schoenberg, whose family came from Dornum in northern Germany when she was 16 years old. His father was Simon "Sam" Marx, who changed his name from Marrix, and was called "Frenchie" by his sons throughout his life, because he and his family came from Alsace in France.[8] Minnie's brother was Al Schoenberg, who shortened his name to Al Shean when he went into show business as half of Gallagher and Shean, a noted vaudeville act of the early 20th century. According to Marx, when Shean visited, he would throw the local waifs a few coins so that when he knocked at the door he would be surrounded by adoring fans. Marx and his brothers respected his opinions and asked him on several occasions to write some material for them.

Minnie Marx did not have an entertainment industry career but had intense ambition for her sons to go on the stage like their uncle. While pushing her eldest son Leonard (Chico Marx) in piano lessons, she found that Julius had a pleasant soprano voice and the ability to remain on key. Julius's early career goal was to become a doctor, but the family's need for income forced him out of school at the age of twelve. By that time, young Julius had become a voracious reader, particularly fond of Horatio Alger. Marx would continue to overcome his lack of formal education by becoming well-read.

After a few stabs at entry-level office work and jobs suitable for adolescents, Julius took to the stage as a boy singer with the Gene Leroy Trio, debuting at the Ramona Theatre in Grand Rapids, MI, on July 16, 1905.[9] Marx reputedly claimed that he was "hopelessly average" as a vaudevillian, but this was typical Marx, wisecracking in his true form. By 1909, Minnie Marx had assembled her sons into an undistinguished vaudeville singing group billed as "The Four Nightingales". The brothers Julius, Milton (Gummo Marx) and Arthur (originally Adolph, but Harpo Marx from 1911) and another boy singer, Lou Levy, traveled the U.S. vaudeville circuits to little fanfare. After exhausting their prospects in the East, the family moved to La Grange, Illinois, to play the Midwest.

After a particularly dispiriting performance in Nacogdoches, Texas, Julius, Milton, and Arthur began cracking jokes onstage for their own amusement. Much to their surprise, the audience liked them better as comedians than as singers. They modified the then-popular Gus Edwards comedy skit "School Days" and renamed it "Fun In Hi Skule". The Marx Brothers would perform variations on this routine for the next seven years.

For a time in vaudeville, all the brothers performed using ethnic accents. Leonard, the oldest, developed the Italian accent he used as Chico Marx to convince some roving bullies that he was Italian, not Jewish. Arthur, the next oldest, donned a curly red wig and became "Patsy Brannigan", a stereotypical Irish character. His discomfort when speaking on stage led to his uncle Al Shean's suggestion that he stop speaking altogether and play the role in mime. Julius Marx's character from "Fun In Hi Skule" was an ethnic German, so Julius played him with a German accent. After the sinking of the RMS Lusitania in 1915, public anti-German sentiment was widespread, and Marx's German character was booed, so he quickly dropped the accent and developed the fast-talking wise-guy character that became his trademark.

The Marx Brothers became the biggest comedic stars of the Palace Theatre in New York, which billed itself as the "Valhalla of Vaudeville". Brother Chico's deal-making skills resulted in three hit plays on Broadway. No other comedy routine had ever so infected the Broadway circuit. All of this stage work predated their Hollywood career. By the time the Marxes made their first movie, they were already major stars with sharply honed skills; and by the time Groucho was relaunched to stardom on You Bet Your Life, he had been performing successfully for half a century.

Marx started his career in vaudeville in 1905 when he joined up with an act called The Leroy Trio. He was asked by a man named Robin Leroy to join the group as a singer, along with fellow vaudeville actor Johnny Morris. Through this act, Marx got his first taste of life as a vaudeville performer. In 1909, Marx and his brothers had become a group act, at first called The Three Nightingales and later The Four Nightingales. The brothers' mother, Minnie Marx, was the group's manager, putting them together and booking their shows. The group had a rocky start, performing in less than adequate venues and rarely, if ever, being paid for their performances. Eventually one of the brothers would leave to serve in World War I and was replaced by Herbert (Zeppo), and the group became known as the Marx Brothers. Their first successful show was Fun In Hi Skule (1910).

Marx made 26 movies, 13 of them with his brothers Chico and Harpo. Marx developed a routine as a wisecracking hustler with a distinctive chicken-walking lope, an exaggerated greasepaint mustache and eyebrows, and an ever-present cigar, improvising insults to stuffy dowagers (usually played by Margaret Dumont) and anyone else who stood in his way. As the Marx Brothers, he and his brothers starred in a series of popular stage shows and movies.

Their first movie was a silent film made in 1921 that was never released, and is believed to have been destroyed at the time. A decade later, the team made two of their Broadway hits—The Cocoanuts and Animal Crackers—into movies. Other successful films were Monkey Business, Horse Feathers, Duck Soup, and A Night at the Opera.[11] One quip from Marx concerned his response to Sam Wood, the director of A Night at the Opera. Furious with the Marx Brothers' ad-libs and antics on the set, Wood yelled in disgust: "You can't make an actor out of clay." Marx responded, "Nor a director out of Wood."

Marx also worked as a radio comedian and show host. One of his earliest stints was a short-lived series in 1932, Flywheel, Shyster, and Flywheel, costarring Chico. Though most of the scripts and discs were thought to have been destroyed, all but one of the scripts were found in 1988 in the Library of Congress. In 1947, Marx was asked to host a radio quiz program You Bet Your Life. It was broadcast by ABC and then CBS before moving to NBC. It moved from radio to television on October 5, 1950, and ran for eleven years. Filmed before an audience, the show consisted of Marx bantering with the contestants and ad-libbing jokes before briefly quizzing them. The show was responsible for popularizing the phrases "Say the secret word and the duck will come down and give you fifty dollars," "Who's buried in Grant's Tomb?" and "What color is the White House?" (asked to reward a losing contestant a consolation prize).

Throughout his career, Marx introduced a number of memorable songs in films, including "Hooray for Captain Spaulding" and "Hello, I Must Be Going", in Animal Crackers, "Whatever It Is, I'm Against It", "Everyone Says I Love You" and "Lydia the Tattooed Lady". Frank Sinatra, who once quipped that the only thing he could do better than Marx was sing, made a film with Marx and Jane Russell in 1951 entitled Double Dynamite.

In public and off-camera, Harpo and Chico were hard to recognize, without their wigs and costumes, and it was almost impossible for fans to recognize Groucho without his trademark eyeglasses, fake eyebrows, and mustache.

The greasepaint mustache and eyebrows originated spontaneously prior to a vaudeville performance in the early 1920s when he did not have time to apply the pasted-on mustache he had been using (or, according to his autobiography, simply did not enjoy the removal of the mustache because of the effects of tearing an adhesive bandage off the same patch of skin every night). After applying the greasepaint mustache, a quick glance in the mirror revealed his natural hair eyebrows were too undertoned and did not match the rest of his face, so Marx added the greasepaint to his eyebrows and headed for the stage. The absurdity of the greasepaint was never discussed on-screen, but in a famous scene in Duck Soup, where both Chicolini (Chico) and Pinky (Harpo) disguise themselves as Groucho, they are briefly seen applying the greasepaint, implicitly answering any question a viewer might have had about where he got his mustache and eyebrows.

Marx was asked to apply the greasepaint mustache once more for You Bet Your Life when it came to television, but he refused, opting instead to grow a real one, which he wore for the rest of his life. By this time, his eyesight had weakened enough for him to actually need corrective lenses; before then, his eyeglasses had merely been a stage prop. He debuted this new, and now much-older, appearance in Love Happy, the Marx Brothers's last film as a comedy team.

He did paint the old character mustache over his real one on a few rare occasions, including a TV sketch with Jackie Gleason on the latter's variety show in the 1960s (in which they performed a variation on the song "Mister Gallagher and Mister Shean," co-written by Marx's uncle Al Shean) and the 1968 Otto Preminger film Skidoo. In his late 70s at the time, Marx remarked on his appearance: "I looked like I was embalmed." He played a mob boss called "God" and, according to Marx, "both my performance and the film were God-awful!"

The exaggerated walk, with one hand on the small of his back and his torso bent almost 90 degrees at the waist was a parody of a fad from the 1880s and 1890s. Fashionable young men of the upper classes would affect a walk with their right hand held fast to the base of their spines, and with a slight lean forward at the waist and a very slight twist toward the right with the left shoulder, allowing the left hand to swing free with the gait. Edmund Morris, in his biography The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt, describes a young Roosevelt, newly elected to the State Assembly, walking into the House Chamber for the first time in this trendy, affected gait, somewhat to the amusement of the older and more rural members. Marx exaggerated this fad to a marked degree, and the comedy effect was enhanced by how out of date the fashion was by the 1940s and 1950s.

Marx's three marriages ended in divorce. His first wife was chorus girl Ruth Johnson (m. 1920-42). He was 29 and she was 19 at the time of their wedding. The couple had two children, Arthur Marx and Miriam Marx. His second wife was Kay Marvis (m. 1945–51), Catherine Dittig, ormer wife of Leo Gorcey. Marx was 54 and Kay was 21 at the time of their marriage. They had a daughter, Melinda Marx. His third wife was actress Eden Hartford (m. 1954-69). He was 64 and she was 24 at the time of their wedding.

During the early 1950s, Marx described his perfect woman: "Someone who looks like Marilyn Monroe and talks like George S. Kaufman."

Marx was denied membership in an informal symphonietta of friends (including Harpo) organized by Ben Hecht, because he could play only the mandolin. When the group began its first rehearsal at Hecht's home, Marx rushed in and demanded silence from the "lousy amateurs". The musicians discovered him conducting the Los Angeles Symphony Orchestra in a performance of the overture to Tannhäuser in Hecht's living room. Marx was allowed to join the symphonietta.

Later in life, Marx would sometimes note to talk show hosts, not entirely jokingly, that he was unable to actually insult anyone, because the target of his comment would assume that it was a Groucho-esque joke, and would laugh.

Despite his lack of formal education, he wrote many books, including his autobiography, Groucho and Me (1959) and Memoirs of a Mangy Lover (1963). He was a friend of such literary figures as Booth Tarkington, T. S. Eliot and Carl Sandburg. Much of his personal correspondence with those and other figures is featured in the book The Groucho Letters (1967) with an introduction and commentary on the letters written by Marx, who donated his letters to the Library of Congress. His daughter Miriam published a collection of his letters to her in 1992 titled Love, Groucho.

Marx made serious efforts to learn to play the guitar. In the 1932 film Horse Feathers, he performs the film's love theme "Everyone Says I Love You" for costar Thelma Todd on a Gibson L-5.

In July 1937, an America vs England pro-celebrity tennis doubles match was organized, featuring Marx and Ellsworth Vines playing against Charlie Chaplin and Fred Perry, to open the new clubhouse at the Beverly Hills Tennis Club. Marx appeared on court with 12 rackets and a suitcase, leaving Chaplin – who took tennis seriously – bemused, before he asked what was in it. Marx asked Chaplin what was in his, with Chaplin responding he didn't have one. Marx replied, "What kind of tennis player are you?" After playing only a few games, Marx sat on the court and unpacked an elaborate picnic lunch from his suitcase.

Irving Berlin quipped, "The world would not be in such a snarl, had Marx been Groucho instead of Karl". In his book The Groucho Phile, Marx says "I've been a liberal Democrat all my life", and "I frankly find Democrats a better, more sympathetic crowd.... I'll continue to believe that Democrats have a greater regard for the common man than Republicans do". However, just like some of the other Democrats of the time, Marx also said in a television interview that he disliked the women's liberation movement. On the July 7, 1967, Firing Line TV show, Marx said, "The whole political left is the Garden of Eden of incompetence."

Marx's radio career was not as successful as his work on stage and in film, though historians such as Gerald Nachman and Michael Barson suggest that, in the case of the single-season Flywheel, Shyster, and Flywheel (1932), the failure may have been a combination of a poor time slot and the Marx Brothers' returning to Hollywood to make another film.

In the mid-1940s, during a depressing lull in his career (his radio show Blue Ribbon Town had failed, he failed to sell his proposed sitcom The Flotsam Family only to see it become a huge hit as The Life of Riley with William Bendix in the title role, and the Marx Brothers as film performers were well past their prime), Marx was scheduled to appear on a radio show with Bob Hope. Annoyed that he was made to wait in the green room for 40 minutes, he went on the air in a foul mood.

Hope started by saying "Why, Groucho Marx! Groucho, what are you doing out here in the desert?" Marx retorted, "Huh, desert, I've been sitting in the dressing room for forty minutes! Some desert alright..." Marx continued to ignore the script, ad-libbing at length to take the scene well beyond its allotted time slot.

Listening in on the show was producer John Guedel, who had a brainstorm. He approached Marx about doing a quiz show, to which Marx derisively retorted, "A quiz show? Only actors who are completely washed up resort to a quiz show!" Undeterred, Guedel proposed that the quiz would be only a backdrop for Marx's interviews of people, and the storm of ad-libbing that they would elicit. Marx replied, "Well, I've had no success in radio, and I can't hold on to a sponsor. At this point, I'll try anything!"

You Bet Your Life debuted in October 1947 on ABC radio (which aired it from 1947 to 1949), sponsored by costume jewelry manufacturer Allen Gellman;[23] and then on CBS (1949–50), and finally NBC. The show was on radio only from 1947 to 1950; on both radio and television from 1950 to 1960; and on television only, from 1960 to 1961. The show proved a huge hit, being one of the most popular on television by the mid-1950s. With George Fenneman as his announcer and straight man, Marx entertained his audiences with improvised conversation with his guests. Since You Bet Your Life was mostly ad-libbed and unscripted—although writers did pre-interview the guests and feed Marx ready-made lines in advance—the producers insisted that the network prerecord it instead of it being broadcast live. There were two reasons for this: prerecording provided Marx with time to fish around for funny exchanges and any intervening dead spots to be edited out; and secondly to protect the network, since Marx was a notorious loose cannon and known to say almost anything. The television show ran for 11 seasons until it was canceled in 1961. Automobile marque DeSoto was a longtime major sponsor. For the DeSoto ads, Marx would sometimes say: "Tell 'em Groucho sent you", or "Try a DeSoto before you decide".

The program's theme music was an instrumental version of "Hooray for Captain Spaulding", which became increasingly identified as Marx's personal theme song. A recording of the song with Marx and the Ken Lane singers with an orchestra directed by Victor Young was released in 1952. Another recording made by Marx during this period was "The Funniest Song in the World", released on the Young People's Records label in 1949. It was a series of five original children's songs with a connecting narrative about a monkey and his fellow zoo creatures.

An apocryphal story relates Marx interviewing Charlotte Story, who had borne 20 children. When Marx asked why she had chosen to raise such a large family, Mrs. Story is said to have replied, "I love my husband"; to which Marx responded, "I love my cigar, but I take it out of my mouth once in a while." The remark was judged too risqué to be aired, according to the anecdote, and was edited out before broadcast. Charlotte Story and her husband Marion, indeed parents of 20 children, were real people who appeared on the program in 1950. Audio recordings of the interview exist, and a reference to cigars is made ("With each new kid, do you go around passing out cigars?"), but there is no evidence of the claimed remark. Marx and Fenneman both denied that the incident took place. "I get credit all the time for things I never said," Marx told Roger Ebert in 1972. "You know that line in You Bet Your Life? The guy says he has seventeen kids and I say, 'I smoke a cigar, but I take it out of my mouth occasionally'? I never said that." Marx's 1976 memoir recounts the episode as fact, but co-writer Hector Arce relied mostly on sources other than Marx himself—who was by then in his mid eighties, in ill health and mentally compromised—and was probably unaware that Marx had specifically denied making the observation. Another anecdote that may or may not be apocryphal recounts how Warner Brothers threatened to sue Groucho when they learned that the next Marx Brothers film was to be called "A Night in Casablanca", contending that that title was too similar to their own film Casablanca. Groucho is reported to have replied: "I'll sue you for using the word Brothers."

By the time You Bet Your Life debuted on TV on October 5, 1950, Marx had grown a real mustache (which he had already sported earlier in the films Copacabana and Love Happy).

During a tour of Germany in 1958, accompanied by then-wife Eden, daughter Melinda, Robert Dwan and Dwan's daughter Judith, he climbed a pile of rubble that marked the site of Adolf Hitler's bunker, the site of Hitler's death, and performed a two-minute Charleston. He later remarked to Richard J. Anobile in The Marx Brothers Scrapbook, "Not much satisfaction after he killed six million Jews!"

In 1960, Marx, a lifelong devotee of the comic operas of Gilbert and Sullivan, appeared as Ko-Ko, the Lord High Executioner, in a televised production of The Mikado on NBC's Bell Telephone Hour. A clip of this is in rotation on Classic Arts Showcase.

Another TV show, Tell It To Groucho, premiered January 11, 1962, on CBS, but only lasted five months. On October 1, 1962, Marx, after acting as occasional guest host of The Tonight Show during the six-month interval between Jack Paar and Johnny Carson, introduced Carson as the new host.

In 1964, Marx starred in the "Time for Elizabeth" episode of Bob Hope Presents the Chrysler Theatre, a truncated version of a play that he and Norman Krasna wrote in 1948.

In 1965, Marx starred in a weekly show for British TV titled Groucho, broadcast on ITV. The program was along similar lines to You Bet Your Life, with Keith Fordyce taking on the Fenneman role. However, it was poorly received and lasted only 11 weeks.

Marx appeared as a gangster named God in the movie Skidoo (1968), directed by Otto Preminger, and costarring Jackie Gleason and Carol Channing. It was released by the studio where the Marx Brothers began their film career, Paramount Pictures. The film received almost universally negative reviews. As a side note, writer Paul Krassner published a story in the February 1981 issue of High Times, relating how Marx prepared for the LSD-themed movie by taking a dose of the drug in Krassner's company, and had a moving, largely pleasant experience.

Marx developed friendships with rock star Alice Cooper—the two were photographed together for Rolling Stone magazine—and television host Dick Cavett, becoming a frequent guest on Cavett's late-night talk show, even appearing in a one-man, 90-minute interview. He befriended Elton John when the British singer was staying in California in 1972, insisting on calling him "John Elton." According to writer Philip Norman, when Marx jokingly pointed his index fingers as if holding a pair of six-shooters, Elton John put up his hands and said, "Don't shoot me, I'm only the piano player," thereby naming the album he had just completed. A film poster for the Marx Bros. movie Go West is visible on the album cover photograph as an homage to Marx. Elton John accompanied Marx to a performance of Jesus Christ Superstar. As the lights went down, Marx called out, "Does it have a happy ending?" And during the Crucifixion scene, he declared, "This is sure to offend the Jews."

Marx's previous work regained popularity; new books of transcribed conversations were published by Richard J. Anobile and Charlotte Chandler. In a BBC interview in 1975, Marx called his greatest achievement having a book selected for cultural preservation in the Library of Congress. In a Cavett interview in 1971, Marx said being published in The New Yorker under his own name, Julius Henry Marx, meant more than all the plays he appeared in. As a man who never had formal schooling, to have his writings declared culturally important was a point of great satisfaction. As he passed his 81st birthday in 1971, however, Marx became increasingly frail, physically and mentally, as a result of a succession of minor strokes and other health issues.

In 1972, largely at the behest of his companion Erin Fleming, Marx staged a live one-man show at Carnegie Hall that was later released as a double album, An Evening with Groucho, on A&M Records. He also made an appearance in 1973 on a short-lived variety show hosted by Bill Cosby. Fleming's influence on Marx was controversial. Some close to Marx believed that she did much to revive his popularity, and the relationship with a younger woman boosted his ego and vitality. Others described her as a Svengali, exploiting an increasingly senile Marx in pursuit of her own stardom. Marx's children, particularly Arthur, felt strongly that Fleming was pushing their weak father beyond his physical and mental limits. Writer Mark Evanier concurred.

On the 1974 Academy Awards telecast, Marx's final major public appearance, Jack Lemmon presented him with an honorary Academy Award to a standing ovation. The award honored Harpo, Chico, and Zeppo as well: "in recognition of his brilliant creativity and for the unequalled achievements of the Marx Brothers in the art of motion picture comedy.” Noticeably frail, Marx took a bow for his deceased brothers. "I wish that Harpo and Chico could be here to share with me this great honor," he said, naming the two deceased brothers (Zeppo, still alive, was in the audience). He also praised the late Margaret Dumont as a great straight woman who never understood any of his jokes. Marx's final appearance was a brief sketch with George Burns in the Bob Hope television special Joys (a parody of the 1975 movie Jaws) in March 1976. His health continued to decline the following year; when his younger brother Gummo died at age 83 on April 21, 1977, Marx was never told for fear of eliciting still further deterioration of his health.

Marx maintained his irrepressible sense of humor to the very end, however. George Fenneman, his radio and TV announcer, good-natured foil, and lifelong friend, often related a story of one of his final visits to Marx's home: When the time came to end the visit, Fenneman lifted Marx from his wheelchair, put his arms around his torso, and began to "walk" the frail comedian backwards across the room towards his bed. As he did, he heard a weak voice in his ear: "Fenneman," whispered Marx, "you always were a lousy dancer." When a nurse approached him with a thermometer during his final hospitalization, explaining that she wanted to see if he had a temperature, he responded, "Don't be silly — everybody has a temperature." Actor Elliott Gould recalled a similar incident: "I recall the last time I saw Groucho, he was in the hospital, and he had tubes in his nose and what have you," he said. "And when he saw me, he was weak, but he was there; and he put his fingers on the tubes and played them like it was a clarinet. Groucho played the tubes for me, which brings me to tears."

Marx was hospitalized at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center with pneumonia on June 22, 1977, and died there nearly two months later at the age of 86 on August 19, four months after Gummo's death.

Marx was cremated and the ashes are interred in the Eden Memorial Park Cemetery in Los Angeles. He was survived by his three children and younger brother Zeppo, who outlived him by two years. His gravestone bears no epitaph, but in one of his last interviews he suggested one: "Excuse me, I can't stand up."

Litigation over his estate lasted into the 1980s. Eventually, Arthur Marx and his sisters were awarded the bulk of the estate, and Erin Fleming was ordered to repay $472,000.

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et-in-cinerem-reverteris · 4 years

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Class of 1953 - Chapter 3 - Hand In Glove (5.3K)

"Phil looks back up at Dan. Despite the storm getting worse, they both remain motionless, looking at each other. Dan’s eyes are fascinatingly deep and dark; moody against the backdrop of a thunderstorm and the billowing leaves of the tree behind him and Phil just wants to shut his eyes and lean in and-"

When Dan bashfully asks Phil to come shopping with him one weekend, Phil takes the opportunity to do a bit of probing on Dan's mysterious exterior. With the help of Oscar Wilde and a nosy lesbian, he finds out a lot more than he had originally set out to.

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Or down below ;)

Phil looks down at the scrap of paper in his hand.

11a.m. 19 Nov (saturday!)

parks road plane tree

opposite big doors!!!

He checks his wristwatch for the umpteenth time. 10:55. The blue ink on the crumpled note is smudged and clumsily applied, which is fair, Phil thinks, considering the surface on which the writer placed his pen on that night just over a week ago.

“Are you seriously so forgetful that you need me to write it down?” Dan had teased, growing increasingly hysterical under a mask of playful exasperation. “Okay, fine. Fetch us a pen and I’ll write it down for you.”

Dan had asked Phil to turn around so that he could use his back to write on. The pen tickled and made Phil squirm like a child, which made both of them laugh so hard that they were sure they’d disturbed at least a hundred students. Before parting ways, Dan had timidly asked Phil whether he wanted to go out shopping with him the following weekend - but only because he was already going out, of course, and Phil had agreed in an instant but only because he was also already going out, of course, so he may as well… for convenience’s sake…

Of course.

Now, just over a week later, the pair of them are meeting up to hit the town to pick up various bits and bobs before the Christmas crowds get out of control.

Phil looks around at Keble’s eye-catching red brick facade - a refreshing change from Oxford’s trademark limestone walls. He squints as the sun shines out from behind the plane trees, raising his hand as he does so to shield his sensitive eyes from the glaring light. The different coloured stones are arranged into diamonds, dots and dashes, just like morse code. How curious.

He checks his wristwatch again. 10:57.

Punctuality is not normally one of Phil’s virtues, but another unexpectedly early awakening had led him to spontaneously leave the college gates at 10 o’clock to go for an early morning walk. Down Turl Street, left at All Saints Church, past Magdalen College and through to The Grove - a large, grassy park that had become Phil’s location of choice for when he needed to calm his nerves. He had tried to relax by admiring the deer and feeding them acorns, but all of his thoughts anxiously meandered back to the problem of his first out-of-college meeting with Daniel.

Ever since they had last said goodbye to each other, the young English student had been obsessively mulling over the meaning behind some of Dan’s more ambiguous lines from that night.

“...in the past people took the mickey out of me for being a “pouf”...”

Phil knows exactly what the word “pouf” means. Synonyms include “queer”, “gay” and “homosexual”, which are all terms he might use to describe himself, were he to be so brave. The real question lay in whether or not those derogatory statements had any deeper meaning than just fleeting insults, and this, he had decided, was something he would have to do some investigating on.

“Hullo!”

Phil’s daydreaming is cut short by his enigmatic companion striding toward him, and is struck by how smart he looks. Clad in a long, black, double-breasted coat, with a silk scarf tied around his neck in a jaunty knot, and a dark grey fedora, complete with a pheasant’s feather, sitting on top of his chestnut curls, he radiates elegance, class, and sophistication.

“Daniel! You’re looking very dapper today!”

“Hmm, well,” Dan starts, looking around with squinted eyes. “I thought I may as well get dressed up for the occasion.” After a second passes, he looks at Phil with a smirk. “So, where are we off to then?”

“Err, I thought you were the one who wanted to go shopping first?”

Dan raises an eyebrow, before quickly adopting a more neutral face. “Oh, I was going to, but nevermind about that. I um, I’m not anymore.”

“Right.”

The pair begin walking in silence down Park Lane, towards Oxford’s central shopping area.

“Anyway, where are we off to?”

“First of all I’d like to stop by Blackwell’s to collect a book that they’re holding for me.”

“Okay.”

“Then I need to see about buying a bicycle.”

“Oh, we can pop over to Cowley Road for that, Raleigh have a shop there at number three hundred and eighty-seven.”

“Perfect, that’s that one sorted. After that, I thought we could try a cafe for a spot of lunch. What do you think?”

“I think that sounds splendid,” he grins.

Parks Road is fairly long, giving them plenty of time to break the barrier of small talk and ease into a more meaningful conversation, which, on this occasion, has turned to the subject of going home for the holidays. Phil is able to glean that Dan is dreading going back to his family in Wokingham, which a small town just outside of Reading that he hates as it reminds him of the years he spent there at a Catholic boarding school called The Oratory. In Dan’s words, The Oratory was “hell”; full of “dickheads" who picked on him “constantly”, leaving him with a “deep seated anger” which “permanently resides” in him at a constant simmer. At first Phil feels upset to hear that Dan had such an unhappy childhood there, but quickly succumbs to the laughter invoked by the unrelenting stream of side-splitting anecdotes served alongside the tales of his youth.

As Dan narrates another amusing episode, Phil’s attention slips away from the stories and instead drifts towards the orator himself. Slowly, subtly, Phil starts to realise how charming Dan is, how witty and articulate his words are, how his natural sense of humour and great story-telling abilities could turn a book about drying paint into a Penguin Classic. While Dan laments about how the boys at his school made fun of him, Phil’s gut wrenches with anguish. How can a man so gentle and kind have been tormented by such heartless idiots? How can this poor soul have forgiven the beasts who were so mercilessly picking on him? How on earth could bullies take pleasure in beating down a boy who is so mild and agreeable that he likens himself to Winnie the Pooh? He looks on as the beaming boy laughs at his own stories. If Phil hadn’t been crying tears of laughter, he would have been weeping tears of sorrow.

After turning right at the Bodleian Library, the pair finally reach Broad Street. Blackwell’s Bookshop is easily recognisable by the cobalt blue exterior, guarding an attractive array of books, plays, letters and diaries for students to both ponder and argue over. As the pair step inside, a brass doorbell rings gaily.

“So, what is it you’re here to pick up then, Mr. English Literature?”

“It’s a 1890 copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray , posted all the way from America. I put in an order through a collector’s magazine and they’ve been holding it here for a few days.”

“Blimey. How much is that costing you?” Dan asks with a hint of ridicule in his voice.

Phil sighs as they navigate through the shop, passing by bookshelves that run from floor to ceiling. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Oooh no, I very much do,” he teases. “Go on then, out with it! How much?”

Phil turns back to face Dan, who can’t resist making a guess.

“Ten bob?”

He shakes his head.

“More? Christ! Twenty bob?”

“Up.”

“...Twenty-five?”

“Down.

“Twenty-two?”

The guilty party nods silently.

“ Twenty-two shillings? For a musty old book?” The corners of Dan’s mouth turn upwards with a mischievous smirk. “Well, I suppose it is Oscar Wilde.”

“Exactly,” replies Phil curtly as they approach the counter. “Now shush for a moment.”

Dan rolls his eyes at the shushing, skulking off while Phil hands over an inordinate amount of money for a rare book about 19th century homosexuals. When he has obtained his precious cargo, he finds his companion browsing the shelves of the fiction section. Now, he decides, is a good time for a bit of probing.

“Do you read much?”

The brunette continues to scan the bookshelves.

“Not that often unfortunately, but I have a few favourite authors I return to.”

“Such as…?”

A moment of silence.

“Lord Byron, for one.”

“Good choice! Great poetry, and a fascinating life too.”

“Mmmm. He definitely got up to some shenanigans on his Grand Tour.”

With lots of young men, Phil thinks. He decides to probe further.

“Anybody else?”

Dan slips him a quizzical look before picking up a random hardback and flicking through it.

“T. S. Eliot.”

“Another good choice!”

“How about you then?” Dan queries, seeming irritated. “Who’s your favourite author?”

Phil merely holds his recent purchase up to his face, peeping out from behind the cover.

“Ah,” Dan smiles, and Phil feels the tension melt away. “I suppose I should have guessed.”

After making their way through the maze of shelves they eventually locate the exit. As Phil walks through the door that Dan kindly holds open for him, he notices the other man take in a deep breath.

“So, on the subject of our friend Oscar. What do you make of his trial?”

Phil looks back at Dan with the panicked face of a deer in the headlights. Wilde’s trial, or trails , are still a risky topic sixty years later. Although he has a hunch about why Dan is asking about his opinions on Wilde, these are still untested waters. If Phil has read too much into Dan’s favourite authors, placed too much emphasis on the abuse hurled at him by the boys at The Oratory, focused too much on Dan’s meticulous sense of style and theatrical mannerisms and soft hand that felt surprisingly affectionate as it touched his, then this could all be over for him. This could be the start of rumours that destroy his life, exclusion that breaks his heart, and loneliness that turns it cold.

Phil’s hands are cold.

He’s starting to wish that a certain pair of palms would offer to warm them up.

Sod it. He may as well give it a try.

“I think it’s a crime,” he begins. “I don’t understand how somebody could be so... vindictive. To take a man to court for an act which hurts nobody, affects nobody, and is only the business of those who are involved, is utterly inhuman. Oscar Wilde was one of the greatest literary, classical and philosophical minds that this nation has ever seen, and yet he was put in prison and left to waste for what?! Gross indecency? It’s an outrage. So what if he had written books and poems about…,” he shrugs, “homosexual love? Those writings were works of art. It is stupid, ignorant and close-minded to take issue with it,” he finishes with a huff, having worked himself up a little bit too much. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to rant.”

As they turn left onto High Street Phil takes a nervous look at Dan, silently praying that he’s not about to be met with an icy stare. Instead his face is glowing, smiling feebly, eyes locked onto his in a state of awe.

There’s a short silence as they pass various shops.

“I dare say that I agree.”

“Hmmm.”

Silence falls again like a heavy blanket. The atmosphere isn’t uncomfortable, nor is is born out of having nothing left to say. Instead, it is the kind of serene and peaceful quietude that occurs when two individuals unexpectedly reveal a tender and intimate part of themselves, and are left to wordlessly contemplate their newfound solidarity.

“I’ve grown awfully hungry,” Dan pipes up, breaking the quiet. “I want to show you this adorable little cafe just down the road. Let me take you there, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. It’s ever so quaint.”

A minute or so later they arrive at a decadent-looking tea room. As they come into the warmth. Phil is immediately taken aback by the marble pillars, chandeliers and wood-panelled ceiling that decorate the large, luxurious venue. A bustling atmosphere is full of students neglecting their work in favour of an early lunch and retired couples sharing overpriced sandwiches. Following a short wait at the front of house, they are taken to a four-man table tucked into a corner with a view of the courtyard outside.

“Here’s a fact for you - this was the first coffee house in England,” Dan declares as he shucks his jacket and sets his fedora down onto the table. “Just popping to the little boy’s room, I won’t be a moment. Take a look at the menu, choose anything you fancy. It’s on me,” he announces, followed by a wink.

Phil watches Dan fondly as he snakes through the tables, observing the man’s heavy gait and sloped posture. Quite a juxtaposition between the eloquence of his articulation and gentle face, he decides. But before he can ease into his chair and relish the few minutes he has to process the day’s events thus far, a familiar voice suddenly cries out his name.

“Philip! Fancy seeing you here old chap.”

Bursting into view come John and Mary, who promptly set down bags copious bags of shopping on the now over-crowded table.

“Morning all” Phil beams, pulling out a chair as his friends sit down either side of him and shuffle up ridiculously close. “What brings you to The Grand Cafe this fine morning?”

John takes off his leather jacket and hangs it on the back of his chair. “We’ve just been out shopping, haven’t we?”

“Mmm, I can see that,” Phil retorts flatly. “But what for? Anything in particular?”

Mary opens her handbag to reveal a miniature tawny-coloured box, which she sets down on the wooden table before sliding it over towards Phil.

“It’s for the wife” Mary proclaims, holding her hands to her face as she smiles. “It’s our one-month anniversary next week, so I thought I may as well treat the old girl with something special.”

John sighs. “Mary, I’ve already told you that you can’t have a one month anniversary ! The word comes from the Latin ‘annus’, meaning year, and ‘versus’, meaning ‘return’. Get it wrong one more time and I’ll tell the Oxford dons to barr you from ever studying English again!”

Mary scoffs. “For God’s sake John, you’re starting to sound like your husband!” she jests, rolling her eyes towards Phil as she turns to him for a reaction. Preferring to avoid the conflict, Phil instead takes a look inside the box to see what could be for Mary’s “wife”.

The hinge of the top lid pops open, and concealed in the white satin lining is a gold ring. Adorned with a sizeable green stone surrounded by a cluster of several smaller, clear gems around the edge, it twinkles attractively under the dazzling lights of the cafe as he turns the bo from side to side. Phil doesn’t know much about gems and jewelry, but he has a feeling that this must have been fairly pricey. And such a pretty ring! But who for?

“Come on Lester, back me up here. You know how to speak Latin. I know I’m correct, aren’t I?”

“Uhh, yeah, you’re right,” he stutters, blinking in confusion. He examines the box again. “Who’s this ring for though?”

Mary and John exchange a look.

“I-It’s for Beth, obviously,” the black haired woman explains as if Phil were an idiot for not understanding. “What other special woman do I have in my life?”

Beth? Special woman?

“Come on Phil! Don’t tell me you had no idea!” she laughs, blushing as she folds her arms and scoots in further still. Phil can feel the embarrassment creep over him. Mary? In a relationship with...Beth?

“We’re the same, me and you.”

Mary’s words from secondary school come flooding back to him. So that’s what she meant! But that means she knows that Phil is-

The ring is quickly snatched away and pocketed by its owner, who has begun to look slightly sheepish.

“Anyway, enough about this old thing. So, what are you out and about for?”

“Oh, I’m just er, running some errands with Dan.”

“Ahhhh, Daniel! How charming. I’m glad you two are finally getting to know one another.” Mary locks her fingers together to use as a chin rest, which, over the years, has come to signify that somebody has suddenly become the object of great interest.

“W...what do you mean by that?”

Mary’s head sinks lower as she gives Phil ‘a look’.

“Darling, Daniel thinks you’re the bee’s knees . He hasn’t shut up about you ever since he first caught a glimpse of your pretty little face when we had our first ever lecture together.”

First ever lecture? But that was back in October. Dan , talking about him , and for over a month - before they even met?? Phil traces his mind back to the day where he emerged from a lecture hall talking to Mary about how nasal their new professor’s voice was - or was this the professor that kept sneezing? Regardless, Dan probably caught sight of him then. But to have noticed Phil so early on, and only have approached him a few weeks ago? Has he seriously been doting for that long?

Electric blood courses through Phil’s veins as his brain runs a hundred miles a minute. Dan. Talking about him. To Mary. Secretly. For weeks. Tempting theories flirt with Phil’s brain.

“...what do you make of Wilde’s trial?”

“Not that I’m... stalking you or anything”

“... come and sit down here with me…”

Phil has never been more bewildered in his entire life, despite everything now making perfect sense.

Mary and Beth are...together.

Bill and John are probably also together.

Mary is a... homosexual .

Mary has known that Phil was also a homosexual ever since they first met.

Dan and Mary have (somehow) become friends.

Dan has become... interested in him.

And Mary has known about it all this time.

He shifts absent-mindedly in his seat, still staring at the floor with a blank expression. Despite these revelations, Phil wishes - he wishes he was even allowed to wish - that everything about Dan was now leading itself to one alluring conclusion, down one inevitable path, but the path is twisted and covered in leaves and bracken, and the bracken , Phil remembers to the tune of Du Maurier’s Rebecca , “the bracken had entered into an alien marriage with a host of nameless shrubs, poor, bastard things that clung about their roots as though conscious of their spurious origin. A lilac had mated-”

He begins to imagine Dan and himself as vines interlaced around each other and-

“Phil? Hello?”

He stifles a choke.

“Are you alright? You went very pale, and then very red. I hope you’re not having hot flushes. You’re too early to be going through your menopause.”

“Menopause?”

Mary cackles. “Ah, my humour is lost on both you. Anyway, look sharp, Dan’s here.”

He raises his head to see Dan weaving his way through the tables once again. The sleeves on his white shirt have been rolled up, and his tie is loosened slightly. All Phil can do is sit and stare with his cheeks a shameful shade of scarlet.

“‘Ello ‘ello ello! What a pleasure to see you here!” he beams at Mary before turning to John. “Hullo there, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Daniel, pleased to make your acquaintance.” As the pair shake hands, Phil melts at the charm of Dan’s genteel formalities. This man, who is so handsome, so well educated, and so polite and witty and well dressed, thinks that he, Philip Michael Lester, is the “bees knees”? He’ll have to ask Mary for details later.

Lunch is a spectacle and a half. It emerges that Dan’s family is wealthy, very wealthy - more so than Phil’s, he is borderline aristocratic - and he offers to pay for every sandwich, cake, biscuit, every cup of exotic tea and coffee, and later every glass of expensive champagne that the waiters bring out on lavish trays. Dan woos their company with tale after tale, joke after joke, and by the time John checks his watch and reminds Mary that they really should get back to their dormitories before three o’clock, Phil finds himself fixated on Dan, eyes following him as if he were the second coming of Christ. Bills paid, jackets donned, bags arranged and door drunkenly stumbled out of, the quartet part ways as the sunshine dips behind the horizon and the temperature lulls itself back to freezing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After arriving at Raleigh on Cowley Road, the two students spend an hour or so wandering around the shop and making up characters for each of the bicycles by imitating their imagined personalities with various voices and poses. By the time they’re threatened with being locked inside as the shop closes for the day, the pair of them have finally decided on a bike for Phil to buy. Or, as it turns out, for Dan to buy for Phil. All £30 worth. The curly-haired boy had insisted, claiming that the Clubman Model 25 was the best bike in the entire shop, and that it would be an early birthday present, and that his parents had given him far too much money to spend over Michaelmas, and besides, he wanted to buy it for him, so that was that. Phil had first coyly protested, then seriously protested, until he let himself be spoiled by this increasingly confusing man who was now offering to pay for his expenses. Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it wasn’t. It was probably the champagne when Dan insisted they both sit on the bike and ride it home together.

“Dan, this is not going to work, I’m telling you.”

“Oh, don’t be such a bore! Hurry up, get on! It’ll be getting dark soon and it’s too far to walk. You have no choice” he announces, triumphant as he puts Phil’s book inside a leather bag attached to the back of the bike and swings a leg over the navy blue frame.

“I don’t see how I’m going to fit on here. This isn’t a tandem bicycle.”

“It’s easy!” he assures with a gratified smile. “My brother and I used to do it all the time when we were young. If you sit down on this part of the seat, put your feet on the lower frame here , and hold onto this bottom part of the handlebars, you’ll be absolutely fine.”

Remaining dubious, Phil shuffles over to his recent purchase before staring long and hard at it, trying to figure out how to avoid cracking his head open within thirty seconds of liftoff.

“Stop dilly-dallying you wet rag. Look, do you want some help getting on?” Dan reaches out a hand and touches Phil’s forearm reassuringly, causing his arm to seize up.

“No! No, I’ll be fine,” comes his embarrassingly sharp reply. Damnit. They’re going to have to sit very close for this to work without them both dying.

“Okay, how am I supposed to do this again?”

Dan shuffles back on the seat before patting the front part with his right hand. Trying to suppress his nerves, Phil swings his left leg over the bike and grips the bottom part of the handlebars as told, except perhaps slightly more firmly than need be.

“Like this?”

“Yes, except that you’re forgetting the most important part.”

“What?!” he cries a little too loudly as he starts to get impatient.

The intimacy of having Dan sit only a few centimetres behind him is starting to have an adverse effect.

“Bottom on seat! Then we can set off.”

Phil really has no reason to huff, but agitation makes him. God. If only he weren’t so awkward and obvious.

“Chocks away!” Dan cries, and suddenly he senses movement behind him as the boy begins to pedal up the pavement and across onto the road.

“Aagghhh!”

“Stay calm Philip! You’ll be safe in my hands,” Dan shouts against the howling wind. Hearing those words spoken so closely to his ear is enough for Phil to settle down and keep mum, gazing around at the empty streets that they cycle by. The sky’s blue hues have faded to a cool evening grey, with dark, speckled clouds stretching across it. Breaking the silvery sheet is crisp tangerine strip where the setting sun illuminates the horizon, peppered by bursts of soft, glowing clouds that streak across the skyline. Nostalgia bares its warm hug to him. It feels like the family holidays that Phil used to go on when he was a child, where each day came to a close in the back of the family motorcar, staring out of the window at the spectacular sunsets best observed on winding country lanes over endless fields. He feels at home. He feels safe.

Out of tiredness, or, dare he admit it, out of relaxation, Phil has subconsciously leaned backwards enough for his spine to be pressed up against Dan’s chest. He’s not sure quite how it happened... but it has. Earlier on in the day he might have leapt forward and apologised. But now? Now he’s too sleepy to react, and anyway, at this point he just can’t bring himself to worry about this sort of thing anymore. Dan’s not complaining, and there’s nobody around to see it happen.

They cycle past the empty shops and illuminated houses until they pass Magdalene College and reach the High Street again. This time it’s dark, and the Christmas lights decorating the shops have slowly begun to turn on.

“This is pretty isn’t it?” Dan hums behind him, voice surprisingly low and mellow in contrast to his comparative bellowing at the cafe earlier on.

“Mmmmm.”

“I love Christmas - it’s one of my favourite times of year. I love getting festive when December starts, with all the lights and mince pies and scented candles. I do find it stressful shopping for people though. I always feel like I’m going to put my foot in it. And of course there’s the part where everything begins to get horribly fake and commercial, but I don’t particularly want to think about that at the moment if I’m honest. Everything is all too perfect right now.”

“Mmm.” All too perfect.

“I’m considering joining the choir this year,” Dan continues. “I haven’t sung in a choir since I was about thirteen. I do miss it occasionally. Ah well. We’ll have to see.”

The shop displays sparkle as they sail past - newspaper vendors and tea rooms and tuck shops and travel agencies all closing in preparation for Sunday.

“So you can act and sing?”

Dan’s laugh is short and shaky. “I suppose I can. Luckily there’s no singing in this play that’s coming up though. God,” he exhales, “I don’t even want to think about the damned thing.”

“Why, has something gone wrong?”

“No. Well, not really.”

There’s a brief silence.

“The problem is is that I’m beginning to get rather stressed about it the whole ordeal. There’s only a couple of weeks left until we’re meant to be performing, but I’ve got a lot of work to complete for Music and rehearsals are starting to take up a lot of my time, and to make matters worse this sodding roommate that I’ve got keeps taking up my side of our study room and I’m not too sure that he really likes me anymore and I just…,” he sighs, “I don’t know. It’s an intense period, to say the least.”

“Hmmm.”

Phil turns his attention back towards the shops as they make their way towards his college. As they cruise down the High Street, the faint sound of music begins to waft through the cars and chatter. It gets louder as they cycle onwards, until they come up to a bakery where a small brass band stands outside in the cold, playing a tune that Phil knows well but can’t name. There’s a small crowd gathered outside, and as the song finishes, people cheer.

“Dan.”

“Mmm?”

“If you’re worrying about Christmas shopping, why don’t you come with me? I was planning on going on the first weekend of December. I’m a master at choosing presents for people, so I’m sure I’ll be able to help. And I’d be happy to. I owe you for today.”

“Oh...than-”

“And about getting work done for Music - you could always use my room. It’s not very large but it does have a lot of desk space, and I don’t have any pesky roommates that would get on your nerves. Just ask. I won’t say no, I mean, how could I? You’d be very welcome. Tell the porter you’re here to see Phil at room seventeen, staircase nine, and he’ll let you in.”

The other man doesn’t say a word. As they cycle down the narrow path into Catte Street, across the cobbled square host to the 18th-century Radcliffe Camera and down Brasenose Lane with its high walls, a soft drizzle begins to fall from the gloomy, blackening clouds. Dan clears his throat.

“Thank you, Phil,” he begins in a low voice. “Seriously. I shall have to take you up on that offer. When can I come over? Would next Friday be okay?”

“As I said, any time.”

“Are you sure I wouldn’t be disturbing you?”

“No, not at all. Dan, I’m offering. I wouldn’t have done so if I didn’t want to.”

“Okay,” he mutters, finally surrendering.

Turning onto Turl Street, Dan slows the pace to a halt as Phil disembarks. They walk in silence as they approach the gargantuan entrance to monumentous 14th-century college building.

“Well, here we are,” Dan announces.

Phil leans against the cold, carved, limestone walls that slant towards the dark wooden doors. He looks back at Dan, who holds the bike with one large, strong hand. The bike’s angle seems to have cornered him in this small nook, but Phil tries not to think about that. Instead, he looks up at Dan. The boy’s curls are slightly disheveled under his grey fedora, and his coat is covered with a haze of tiny raindrops. A satisfied smirk sits on his lips, and in the low light Phil can see that his dimpled cheeks glow a faint shade of pink.

“Thank you for today” Dan begins solemnly.

“It was my pleasure. Plus you paid for most of it anyway!”

“Hah! I guess did. Well, I suppose I should give this back to you and trot along back to Keble.” There’s a hint of resignation in his voice. “Come on, go inside. You’ll get soaked if you stand out here any longer.”

The frame is icy as Phil takes hold of it, raindrops spattering onto his wet hands as the downpour becomes stronger. Phil looks back up at Dan. Despite the storm getting worse, they both remain motionless, looking at each other. Dan’s eyes are fascinatingly deep and dark; moody against the backdrop of a thunderstorm and the billowing leaves of the tree behind him. Those eyes study him with equal interest, flitting over his neck and jaw, making Phil want to just shut his eyes and lean in and-

Dan, as if sensing the tension, closes his lids with a smile and takes two steps back.

“See you next week, Phil!”

Turning his shoulders away, he strides around the bike-wall alcove, exiting that little bubble that had just been created.

“Cheerio!” he cries, saluting as he marches off back to his own college.

Phil shivvers.

Ah well. Maybe next week.

#my writing #phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phandom #Dan and Phil #dnp #dan howell #phil lester #amazingphil #danisnotonfire #daniel howell

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mobius-prime · 5 years

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25. Sonic the Hedgehog #20

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Gee, has he finally beaten Sonic? We just don't know! Seriously, imagine if Sonic really did die in this issue and the rest of the comic was just called "Sonic the Hedgehog" for no reason even though its namesake was six feet under. What a twist that would be.

That's the Spirit!

Writer: Angelo DeCesare Pencils: Dave Manak Colors: Barry Grossman

Okay, this issue is pretty dang funny. Sonic and Sally are on a mission inside Robotnik's base to destroy an antimatter device he's got, which could potentially let him win the war. Sonic, like the doof he is, refuses to listen to Sally's warnings about a trap until he's caught directly in it. He makes one last attempt to destroy the antimatter device with his bomb while escaping, but trips a split second before the explosion, and winds up caught in it. And just like that… he's dead. No more Sonic, everybody! Also, despite the silly nature of the story, the panels of Sally's return to the rest of the Freedom Fighters are actually a bit disturbing - she's clearly badly injured from the excursion, sobbing and hugging herself as she relays the news.

However, of course, Sonic isn't actually dead, because this is his comic. He was simply caught in the effect of the antimatter explosion, and is now completely invisible and intangible, because that's how science works. Still, he's alive, so he decides to head home to let everyone know the good news, only to arrive at the unveiling of a truly amazing statue of himself.

Tails, being the loyal sidekick he is, refuses to admit that Sonic might be dead, even when Sonic himself gets disheartened trying to get everyone's attention. For a while, Sonic mopes about in the wilderness, believing himself to truly be dead and merely a ghost, and we have our second major instance of Sonic shedding tears. Again, kind of seems like a strange thing to point out, but as I've said before Sega put strict limits on this later, so every tear is worth noting, I think.

However, this doesn’t last very long, as he soon realizes that he can kick rocks around and make noise once more, some of the effects of the antimatter beginning to wear off. Confidence restored, he races back home to tell everyone the good news, only to find perhaps one of the greatest pieces of comedic writing this comic has ever seen. Seriously, please read this and tell me you didn't laugh. One thing you gotta admit about non-genius comic-Tails, his childlike cluelessness lends itself to some truly incredible moments of comedy.

Meanwhile, back at Robotropolis, Robotnik is having a freaking party! Sorry, I know I'm spamming panels, but this entire issue is just a gold mine.

Now that Sonic is supposedly gone, Robotnik's about to launch his final attack against the approaching Freedom Fighters to wipe out the resistance once and for all. However, Sonic has easily snuck aboard due to his invisibility. And thus, he decides to have a little fun.

After he's got Robotnik good and terrified, Sonic forces him and Snively to abandon the plane, finds the last of the antimatter effects wearing off, and makes a happy reunion with the Freedom Fighters now that he's visible again. Snively, meanwhile… is showing some very interesting behavior back home.

I take note of this because this is the first time we see Snively's slight rebellious streak. Throughout much of the comic, especially the early comic, he's portrayed as, well, a sniveling coward. I mean, it's right in his (nick)name. He's no hero, not even a true villain, isn't fit to stand up for himself but rather allies himself with whoever is most powerful and can allow himself to leech off a little power of his own. He's Robotnik's bullied underling for this very reason. And yet, here, he allows Robotnik to torture himself on the treadmill for just a liiiiittle while longer, for his own personal amusement. Seems perhaps he's not as loyal as he may have seemed at first…

Eh, we'll get more into that later.

Deadliest of the Species (Prologue)

Writers: Mike Kanterovich and Ken Penders Pencils: Art Mawhinney Colors: Barry Grossman

OH YES! OH YES OH YES! He's finally here! One of my all-time favorite Archie preboot characters!

This entire little bit at the end of this issue is quite cinematic, and almost entirely wordless for the first few pages, telling its story largely in pictures. Sally's on a solo mission into one of Robotnik's bases (well, solo unless you count Nicole), to blow it up. You can almost hear the tense infiltration-y spy music as she rappels her way inside, takes down a swatbot sentry, and sets the charges. Things go off without a hitch, until with seconds left on the clock, her escape is blocked by…

Hmm. He definitely gets more handsome later on. Anyway, it's Geoffrey St. John, leader of the rebel underground, an anti-Robotnik organization so secretive that not even Sally knew about it until now! Apparently, Geoffrey was head of the king's secret service until Robotnik's takeover, and is now happily at Sally's service. I wonder how much more we'll be seeing of him…

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #sth 20 #era 1 the early years #writer: angelo decesare #writer: mike kanterovich #writer: ken penders #pencils: dave manak #pencils: art mawhinney #colors: barry grossman

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wordsyoucantaste · 5 years

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Fandom: DC Comics

Pairing: Jon Kent/Damian Wayne

Notes: This was written based on an AU that was used in an rp setting; Jon is an aspiring musician, and it's capeless (hence the writers block). They had only just met about a few months before this point. It was written as a sort of character study to help me figure Jon out a bit. Anyway, enjoy!

- - - - - - - - - -

A frustrated growl escapes his throat and his brows knit together, throwing his pen clear across the room and watching as it shatters against the wall to pieces. He’d been stuck in a hellish state of writer’s block, the once blank page now filled with scribbles of nonsensical make-shift lyrics that were crossed out furiously. Hang in there, his mother would say. Work through it, just write whatever comes to mind. Except the only hanging Jon wanted to do was hang himself from the ceiling fan of his room, working through it no longer an option because the only thing that would come to mind now was images of someone who’d plagued his thoughts way too often these days. Honestly, who the hell can write like this? All dizzy, feeling an impossible weight in the pit of his stomach that elicited such a masochistic need to wallow in the lovesick feeling that took over him in moment like this. “Fuck this...” he said, to no one but the empty confines of his own room, slamming his notebook shut, vowing to either return to the project later or burn it all in a sacrificial bonfire. At this point, the bonfire sounded more productive.

The melody had come so easily to him. Like it was nothing really. The chords play on repeat in his head, mocking him now because for all the warmth and heart the notes had, he struggled to put the same emotions into words. Something that was almost never a problem for him. But there Jon sits, unable to express properly just how much this horribly exciting feeling had an effect on him. Unable to vent it, to allow any sort of release from the tension of what felt like an unrequited love.

Perhaps unrequited might not be the right word, Jon figures. He recalls the way green eyes would look over him once and then twice, like Damian was devouring him and spitting him back out all at once. Like all the insults and criticism were somehow subtle declarations of affection and yet... the words would still sting. Off-handed comments on his inability to shut the hell up, his simplistic behavior that was unrefined to compared to the grace of Damian Wayne. Still, Jon hopes that this behavior was no different than a bully on the playground unable to express their emotions for whatever reason. And on the one hand, the last thing Jon wanted to do was to potentially reward the idea that being an ass would get Damian somewhere. On the other hand, it was a game he liked to play far too much for personal comfort.

Kon would tell him the chase is the best part. And Jon couldn’t agree more, thriving in the midst of the teasing and subtle torture, getting high off the tension alone. It wasn’t much, like living on fumes really. But it was enough for him, who had felt so alone for so long now. Yeah he had Kon. But Kon had his own life, and Jon, for as much as he adored his older half-brother, felt like forcing his way into that wasn’t right for him. It wouldn’t cure him of his loneliness, it would only further put it on display. He needed his own life, and he hoped that maybe that would involve Damian.

It does involve Damian. On the surface, it looked like they were just arguing for the sake of arguing. Or at least, that’s what Jon thought. Courtney had said she could practically cut the unresolved sexual tension with a knife. And they had only just met. What would anyone else say? What has anyone else said? His cheeks heated up at the mere idea of it, creeping up around his ears and causing him to shake his head like that would help.

“Seeing you frustrated is oddly satisfying.” A voice cuts out and causes Jon to lose his balance in chair, falling as the legs gave out to the sound of Damian’s laughter. “An absolute mess.” He tacks on at the end, smiling as he leans on the door frame, ankles loosely crossed. Jon scrambles to his feet, frowning deeply.

“Yeah, because having a natural reaction to someone sneaking up on and scaring the shit out of me makes me an absolute mess.” Jon cocked back. “Not everyone is made of stone like you, ya know.” He sits back in his newly upright computer chair, watching as Damian pushes off the frame. “What are you even doing here amongst the peasants, you royal ass.”

“I thought it might be interesting to see what kind of repulsively cliché life you live at home. Honestly, the whole place stinks of Martha Stewart and Pinterest, Kent.” Damian shot effortlessly, knowing he hit his mark when Jon scoffed and rolled his eyes. He stepped forward, thumbing a motion that told Jon to get out of the chair because that’s where he wanted to sit. When Jon wordlessly listened, Damian made an internal note of how easy it was to boss him around.

“Hey, a lot of this stuff belonged to my grandma and grandpa. So go easy, yeah?” Jon only half meant it. He oddly enjoyed being dragged like this. “And anyway, at least my house doesn’t look like it’s from some victorian vampire romance novel. Seriously, your Mansion On The Hill looks like Dracula’s summer getaway house.”

“That was weak, even by your standards.” It wasn’t, Jon had hit the nail on the head, maintaining accuracy within his insult that followed Damian’s own set pattern. He was keeping up. “I’d rather live in Dracula’s castle than on the set of I Love Lucy.”

“What do you want, Damian.” Jon quipped to shut the older boy up.

“I already told you. I wanted to see what humdrum life you live.” I was lonely.

“Oh.” Jon accepted the answer this time, suddenly feeling guilty for assuming Damian had ulterior motives. “Um. I mean, you’re welcome to hang out I guess?” He said, sitting down on his bed finally as Damian had successfully stolen his desk chair.

“I know I am. Your mother seemed intent on keeping me here as long as possible. Not even sundown and already offering to include me in dinner tonight.” Damian watches with extreme amusement as Jon expectedly blushed at that bit of information. “Relax, I said it was a decision you had to make. But it is comforting to know that your mommy already likes me.”

That. That right there is what had Jon in such a tizzy so often as of late. The insult and humiliation laced the subtext of undeniable attraction. Jon felt like Damian was playing with him, like a child pushing around their potatoes on the plate before eating them. “I’m getting a soda.” He blurts, getting up from his spot and not even bothering to wait for Damian or ask if he wanted anything. He needed out of the room, a place away from knowing green eyes that pried and pulled him apart from the inside out.

#jondami #damijon #dc comics #jon kent #damian wayne

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altscifi · 6 years

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When a snake named "Slander" turns and bites its own tail: ending the online slander campaign against AltSciFi

Every conversation naturally reaches its end, when you realise that you're repeating what you've already said.

Now is that moment for the Twitter-based slander campaign against AltSciFi.

Since the facts have been revealed to show that their claims are nonsense, the campaign’s perpetrators are using desperate last-ditch attempts to distort the meanings of facts themselves.

Thankfully, those distortions are easy to spot, and that's what this blog entry is all about.

Beyond this blog entry, there's nothing else to say about the slander campaign. That snake can only continue to eat its own tail from here on.

One good outcome of this situation is that AltSciFi is now also dedicated to helping artists protect themselves against being taken advantage of online -- that includes dealing with copyright issues intelligently without harming other artists or fans, and protecting themselves against being slandered by malevolent groups of trolls. Both of those are major problems on the web and in social media especially. AltSciFi can now speak about both from the perspective of first-hand experience.

Distortion #0.

Distortion #0: "Your faux intellectualism is a continual self-perpetuating narrative stroking your overinflated ego."

Aside from being a tortuous sentence of near-gibberish, its creator barged into a conversation that was about helping another artist in order to post this little gem of muddled prose. Talk about an overinflated ego.

Here's the more insidious point, though. This frames any attempt at self-defense by AltSciFi as "a continual self-perpetuating narrative." Notice how it not only ignores the fact that this "narrative" exists to fight back against people like him who slandered AltSciFi -- it also pretends that any attempt by AltSciFi at defending itself is due to "overinflated ego". This is a classic tactic used by emotional abusers, called "gaslighting". The term gaslighting has also been distorted and misused in service of slander, as you’ll see below.

Distortion #1.

"Look, we all know you stole and tried to steal art...."

This is a rhetorical gang attack called an appeal to popularity. Whenever someone says "we all know that..." or "everybody knows..." without presenting any evidence, you know they're probably lying (or being manipulated, as someeone has lied to them and they chose to believe it).

Distortion #2.

"The facts were presented prima facie...”

This is an amusing attempt at legalistic jargon that backfired completely. “Prima facie“ means “at first glance, without further investigation“. Facts presented "prima facie" are not evidence until you discover the story surrounding the little bits of data visible at first glance.

Distortion #3.

“...you don't get to backpedal and cite them as rumor because it's convenient in painting your side as just."

The "facts" are detailed at length, here (click here). Read them yourself; that was the whole point of writing the blog entry.

Notice the tactic here: they can't disprove the facts, so they try to distort what the facts mean. AltSciFi has never needed to "backpedal" nor cite facts as rumours. Read the blog entry for yourself. These are the facts.

Distortion #3.

"There was so much evidence presented by multiple parties involved..."

Wrong. There was only one incomplete AltSciFi website, on a site for web development, with four pages that a few people mistakenly believed were "selling art". The rest of the slander story was based on a complete lack of "evidence" (because there was no "evidence" to be found, and never was any). This distortion unintentionally reveals the problem itself: no one knew what they were taking about before trying to slander a project that hadn't even started yet. Even worse, no one bothered to ask before jumping on the slander bandwagon. That was the scary part. Everyone swallowed the rumours and no one asked for the context surrounding the “evidence”. The excuse given was "it's not my job to find facts". Wrong again. That's always your job -- also known as basic adult critical thinking. Facts are meaningless without context.

Distortion #4.

"...and your interactions with them that the public lambasting your project received was justified."

Notice the grandiosity here. "The public lambasting" refers to a campaign that began with a few bored artists on Twitter, starting with one who manufactured a disingenuous "white knighting" campaign -- a borderline conspiracy theory to save the "The (Twitter) Artist Community!" -- that turned out to be factually false and full of nothing but mean-spirited trash-talk.

Distortion #5.

"Be careful what you post AltSciFi, the art community doesn't soon forget."

Yes, darling, thank you for the reminder that these blog posts were written and posted publicly for a reason. Nice little stalkerish implied threat, there, too.

Notice how the person impersonates "the art community" when in fact, his “community” is a few artists on Twitter who took the opportunity to loudly bully a group they knew nothing about. That phrase should read "the art community (of bored idiots on Twitter with deficient reading comprehension skills and too much time on their hands that would be better spent creating art)".

Distortion #6.

"The easy shortcut you could've done is to just say "hey, I was wrong, I'm sorry, I'll fix it." and then fix it. But that's not who you are and not what you did. Quite the opposite in fact. "

As usual, completely wrong. From the very first conversation on Twitter, even before the slander attack began, AltSciFi apologised for mistakes made -- but also held the artist accountable for her decision to send a mob of Twitter users instead of finding out the facts first.

The original tweet is timestamped 7:36am - 17 Jan 2018:

[Λ•]ltSciFi - @altscifi_ - Jan 16

Here's the grown-up perspective: We both made mistakes here. You made a dramatic mess for no reason. And the bit about a strawman is nonsense because you're just misusing the word, along with "gaslight" and "victim-blame" in a victimless situation.

Followed by:

[Λ•]ltSciFi - @altscifi_ - 7:41am - Jan 17 2018

Your reaction was valid, yes. As a professional, it makes you look like a bitter spoiled child to act like a Twitter bully, misleading hundreds of people, instead of simply finding out what was actually happening. Are you adult/professional enough to accept your responsibility?

And:

[Λ•]ltSciFi - @altscifi_ - 8:27am - Jan 17 2018

Don't pick a fight, and you'll get a very different response. When you talk about being a professional, does a professional send a Twitter mob against people? Or is that a juvenile thing to do? Ask yourself what response you intended to get.

Unsurprisingly, she gave no answer to these questions.

Since the perpetrator is a narcissist (and quite likely a sociopath, given recent events involving another artist), the mere possibility of her not being seen as "saviour of The (Twitter) Art Community" only enraged her further. She couldn’t admit her own mistake, and instead dug herself in deeper.

---

So now you see the tactics behind this game of rumours, distortions and lies.

For the artist being taken advantage of by the perpetrators of this slanderous mess, AltSciFi only has one note of caution. It applies equally to all indie sci-fi artists and writers, perhaps including you:

Be careful who you call "friends" -- especially if you paid them before they befriended you.

Beyond that, the slander campaign is now eating itself; AltSciFi will play no further role in it. There are more important things to do, and hopefully you'll join us. In the meantime, enjoy creating art. We’ll have more exciting news to share soon. :)

#respectartistspls #altscifi #online harassment #internet harassment #online bullying #internet bullying #independent art #indie art #indie scifi #independent science fiction #prima facie

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sugarcyanide · 7 years

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God Among Men

This was going to be a submission to an anthology. My life tumbled and changed and I never submitted. I am posting it here to share, for now.

A God Among Men By Sugar Cyanide

Sometimes you don’t choose your Gods they choose you…

I should preface this with a little background information about myself. I have always been a rebel without a cause and become more of a rebel when given a cause. When everyone is turning right I must go left, usually, the reason is arbitrary at best. The more someone pushes me to go with the herd the more I will fight them and I do enjoy a good fight.

Many moons ago when I was a young Gothling, a wannabe Baby Bat. I had just graduated from high school and was living on my own. While attending the local community college I fell into a group of outcasts. (As one social outcast can only find another.) I soon found what was affectionately called Freaks Corner a section of the cafeteria where all of us misfits hung out. We were there in between classes, during classes and some of us didn’t even attend school there anymore. It was here in Freaks Corner where I graduated from a research Pagan to a practicing Pagan. Freaks Corner was my Mecca, it was everything I always fantasized about in the French Revolution cafes, where writers like Victor Hugo and Alexandre Dumas met till the wee hours of the morning drinking and debating, right there in modern Suburbia. It was here that I met my first real-life Pagans. People who knew about the things I was just learning and not some faceless screen name half a world way via an internet connection.

They were some of the very worst kind of Pagans that I could have fallen in with. I learned much during my time there everything except what I was taking classes on. In between LARPing Vampire the Masquerade and playing Magic the Gathering was discussions on Nietzsche, Satanism, and Anarchy. This is also where I met my first Unofficial Teacher.

I say unofficial because she refused to teach me. She had taken many a student under her wing but always refused my requests. Finally, she told me that she only teaches those who are not naturally gifted. That she was the “Special Ed” teacher. I never fully accepted this flattering refusal and figured that there was another reason she would never tell me. As one who was never easily deterred, I learned much from her by simply watching and observing.

In this group of people, there were those who dabbled in things they shouldn’t. Soon their eyes started to gleam with a sheen that is a characteristic often associated with movie villains. Everyone in the group started to go off their hinges a bit and the rumors ran rampant. There was talk of demon summoning and animal sacrifice, none of which I was a part of nor saw. I shrugged most of it off as vicious gossip and did my best to not get involved.

My life took a turn as it does and I was pulled away from the group. I would not run into any of them until years later. I had just come out of the Broom Closet to my then husband and was looking for those of like mind that I could share my beliefs. I ran into the old group from Freaks Corner who had graduated to taking up space in a local coffee house. Upon running into my old mentor this time I was drawn into the web like that of a fly to a spider. She had a habit of holding court at a friend’s place around the corner where she would proceed to channel and let herself be ridden by the spirits of her choice, much to the awe and amusement to those in her audience.

At the time the things I experienced in that room was extremely convincing and scary. The things I took part of in my own ignorance. Looking back now I do wonder how much of it was real and how much of it was a great manipulation, an answer I shall never know.

It was during such a session that the name of Set was brought up. She had stated that someone in the group had caught his attention and that he would be watching them. At which point my eye was drawn upward and what did I see? It was like a great ripping of the fabric of reality someone one had pulled way the ceiling and was peering in. With big eyes and a Cheshire grin staring right at me.

Now understand I am not an Egyptian reconstructionist and never was. I did not know who Set was at the time and didn’t really know the Egyptian Pantheon. I was still searching and that was simply not a direction my quest had gone. While I am thankful for those who research and preserve the Egyptian traditions it was simply a path I had yet to cross.

That moment of meeting Set was in the fall. The following was a year of hell. Set was literally invoked into my life and he literally destroyed everything that was not needed. For those that read Tarot, it was like getting the Death card and the Tower card in the same reading. I was completely stripped bare of everything that I had built up from before that time and had to completely start over from scratch. I lost my home, my business, divorced my husband and became seriously ill. He was a sandstorm that came into my life and stripped me down to my bones. His only response to my pleas for mercy was. “I like my children strong you will survive or perish. Anything else matters not.”

I have learned that Set is the epitome of Tough Love. Sink or Swim. I do not regret that time. I learned so much in such a short time. While the learning process was painful one does not forget those lessons because the pain has etched them into your memory. And the rewards of survival the rewards of succeeding after such tribulations are great. My reward was Rocky.

Set is still apart of my life. Sometimes he visits and drops wisdom bombs into my life. Other times he just shows up for a chat.

My God comes to me at night. He whispers in my ear, “Come, you must tell my side of the story”. I pull my overly tired body from the warmth of my bed. Sitting down at my desk, I proceed to transcribe his words as they are dancing the air. He sits beside me on my beat up cat fur covered couch in a suit cut to fit like a glove. Dark royal blue with a soft slate gray pinstripe, a crisp white shirt underneath with the collar open at his throat. His carrot orange-red hair is swept off his face as his finely woven dreadlocks fall to his waist. He smiles at me with a big toothy grin. Chewing on his cigar the gold rings flash on his fingers. It is a cross between corporate executive and old school mobster. Just enough thug, as they say, to know he doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. “Write my story,” he says his voice a low rumble next to me, “tell my side.”

Today, I have a story to tell. My brother’s name has been known across the millennia and I with it, as his murderer. While his story has been told and retold across the centuries, mine has been lost. I have played my part and done my duty, but the world has changed and our names have become mere echoes of the past. My duty is over and now it is my turn to share my tale.

Several millennia ago when the world was a much simpler place, a Tribal King celebrated in the news that his Queen would give birth to twin sons. It was a joyous occasion indeed, for one son was a blessing but two was a gift from the Gods. The King was most joyous for He was a hardened man and had fought many battles. Life was difficult and many died young. Having two sons was a great boon indeed for Him and His kingdom.

The day of birth came and the Queen was in labor for hours. Eventually, Her first son arrived, he was small, smaller than normal. He barely fit across both of the King’s palms. The Midwife feared he would not make it through the night. Shortly thereafter, the next baby was born. He was significantly larger than his brother and his skin was as pale as fresh milk, his hair was bright reddish white and his eyes shone red as blood. The Midwife almost dropped the boy out pure shock after she pulled him from his mother. Seeing the mother passed out from exhaustion, the Midwife laid the babe down in his cradle and fled. She was afraid that the King would blame her for this Demon Child, (and rightfully so for that boy was me.)

It took the King’s men a matter of days to hunt her down. She gave herself away by sharing her knowledge of the King’s Demon Child. It was only natural for the King to blame her. He couldn’t blame Himself and certainly not his Lady Love. Someone had to take the blame. I wasn’t quite old enough to shoulder that responsibility, just yet.

Despite my Father’s distaste for me and my Mother’s horror, I grew up in the comfort of love that only one twin brother can have for another. We protected each other; him, me from Father’s wrath and I; him from all the larger boys that would dare bully him. We were polar opposites. I was overly large, pale, red-eyed and haired, sensitive to the sun while he was smaller, dark complected with skin as dark as night and loved to bask in the sun’s afternoon rays. Our differences didn’t matter, we loved each other. Until one day that all changed.

I always felt, that my place was at my brother’s side as his protector. I knew that he as the elder of the two would ascend the throne of our Tribal Kingdom. I felt him no envy. It’s a tedious job being King and much simpler being a soldier. I was willing to give him my life for he was the only one that loved me.

One day a Great Wise One came down out of the mountains. Upon arrival, He demanded to speak to the King. ( In my ignorance, I was surprised that such a meeting was allowed. ) He came bearing a tale of a great slithering beast that would devour us all. I merely thought he was a mad old man but my Father clearly knew better. When the Great Wise One produced a scale that was the size of a chariot and reflected the colors of dawn, I knew He told no madman’s tale. The Wise One demanded a tribute: my Father’s best soldiers to fight the beast. My Father said He would send aid under one condition. The Wise One must find a suitable wife for his eldest son. The Wise One chuckled, saying he would do better and bring wives for both his sons. At this, my Father exploded into a rage, denouncing me as his son, saying that a demon such as I could have never come from his seed. I had always known my Father’s disdain for me, but there is knowing and then there is displaying it for the whole world to see. My Father sent me with the Wise One saying he could spare no one else, fully expecting me not to return.

After having prepared for the journey; shoring off my waist-length locks, burning them as was custom. The Wise One and I set upon our journey and I said farewell to the only home I have ever known, in full acceptance of meeting my death. Alas, that was far from happening. Shortly into our journey, The Wise One revealed his true glimmering nature. He was no old and feeble wizard but a God. He told me that it was true that I was not my Father’s son and to my surprise nor my Mother’s child. Neither was my brother, he said with a toothy grin, " I created you both from Earth and Sky, my children, and implanted you both into your Mother’s womb. Come, my child, let us fight this beast like the Gods that we are."

We had walked miles and traversed much ground. We traveled in a way no human can truly fathom. As you put one foot in front of the other, the whole earth spins, traveling miles in one stride. At the time I was so in awe of my new situation, I was quite dumbfounded and could not properly begin to take in everything that was happening. We eventually arrived at a place in-between. It was neither of the heavens nor of the earth and yet as above so below, so the landscape mirrored what was known to me. We had journeyed into the Underworld and boarded a sailing barge.

The Shining One had said we would find the One That Slithers in the deepest of waters. So I stood at the prow of the barge with my spear ready. At the first sign of the large iridescent scales, I struck without hesitation. The battle ensued for what seemed like hours. As I became covered in the beast’s gore, my muscles grew sore and the ship rocked in the mighty turbulence of the waters. ( I felt myself growing weaker and started to fear I would fail when the Shining One cast his light upon me giving me a strength I never dreamed possible. )

When I thought all was lost, with one final blow, a great sound was released from the beast and the waters trembled no more. I had won, I had defeated the beast. The Shining One looked at me with a sadness in his eyes, “You have defeated the Great Evil and have saved the world of man for yet another day but this victory comes at a price,” as a tear slid down his cheek.

I took the head of the Great Serpent as my victory trophy. We returned as we came, the light of dawn’s first rays lighting our way. I carried the head of the Great Serpent received much attention. When we had returned to my home we had a great entourage with us creating a spectacle upon my Father’s doorstep. My Father came out to investigate what all the excitement was about. Upon seeing the head of the Beast in my hands I saw pride for me in his eyes for the very first time. “Son,” he said loudly, "you do our family a great honor.”

It was in that moment that I had gained my Father’s love that I had lost my brother’s. The Wise Shining One kept his word and brought twin sisters from the Kingdom in the lower lands. Shortly thereafter, we were wedded. After a short while of peace and celebration, I was once again called upon to defeat the Great Slithering Beast. I parted sadly with my new bride, unsure if I were to return.

Alas, duty called and I was the only one with the strength to do what was needed. This soon became an endless cycle, for this beast was of no earthly making. It would soon recover from its most grievous injuries and I would be called away yet again. My wife grew tired of my absences and she started looking for companionship elsewhere.

My brother, having never forgotten how I replaced him in my Fathers eyes, plotted to replace me in my wife’s. I never blamed my sweet wife nor her calculating sister. I had been gone a particularly long time and my wife was fat with child. I was tired when I returned, but seeing her full of life made my heart soar.

It wasn’t until later that I learned that I wasn’t the only possible father. After a while, it began to eat at me that my brother had taken the only thing that had ever meant anything to me. I still continued to battle the beast, for it was a never-ending war. In time, our Father passed and my brother took his place. I realized one day that the Battle Of The Beast was the only thing I had that my brother hadn’t taken from me. After a while, I could not bear to touch my wife, which drove her even more into the arms of my brother. As my son grew I could not see myself in him.

I came to a place where I didn’t want to fight the Demon Beast anymore and the Demon spoke to me during one of our many battles. He told me to build a vessel fit for one person and bring my brother to him. The Beast will take it as a sacrifice and I would be free of my brother and his greediness.

I was weak, I was hurt and when I came home and found my brother in bed with my wife, I did as the Beast spoke. I crafted the finest vessel, gloating how it was made for me. When my brother sought to take it, as he had taken everything else, he was trapped. I gave him to the demon serpent, who drowned him and rent him to bits. I was free from my brother or so I thought…

The Beast did take my brother to the Underworld, where he eventually rose to be King, while I united the upper and lower Kingdoms and created peace in our land. Until my brother’s son wanted revenge for the loss of his father and the cycle started all over again.

For I am Set, and this is my story of how I became a God among men.

#set #egyptian #kemetic #upg #pagan #spirituality #witch #personal path

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fanficimagery · 7 years

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@l-tay said: Okay, so remember when Zach said he was disappointed he didn't have any compliments in his bag? May I request one where Y/N overheard that and noticed he actually seemed Down about it so she decided to slip meaningful compliments into his bag and he goes out of his way to figure out who it was?

ZACH X READER

Peer Communications class was a bit of a nerve wracking class. No topic was off limits and anything said was allowed, as long as you weren't bullying a fellow student or just being plain hateful. But then there was the Compliment Bag rack. Every student had a bag where others could drop anonymous notes in them to brighten one's day. And while it was meant to be a kind gesture, it also gave others a bit of anxiety when no compliments were dropped in theirs.

Take Zach, for example. Cute, tall and adorable Zach Dempsey. One would think he would have numerous compliments in his bag given his jock status, but after overhearing a brief conversation with another student you find out the popular boy doesn't get a single one. Which is a shame, really, so you decide to take matters into your own hands.

"Dempsey? Really?" Tony chuckles. "I did not think he was your type."

Laughing nervously, you shrug. "He’s.. cute. And nice. He's nothing like Monty or Justin or even Bryce." You shiver, Walker's name leaving your lips with such distaste. "And honestly, you don't see him after he checks his compliment's bag only to find it empty. It's such a heartbreaking expression."

"I'll take your word for it."

"So you'll do it?"

"I'll," Tony hesitates, weighing his options, but eventually sighs. "Yeah. I'll do it." You smile triumphantly, but he shakes his head at you in amusement. "But if I get caught dropping a note in his bag, I will throw you under the bus."

"That's why you'll drop them in at the end of the school day. He'll be heading to the gym for practice and he won't get the note until the following day. Easy peasy," you grin.

You should smile more often. It's a good look on you, is the first note dropped in Zach's bag. Tony had taken one look at what you'd written, laughed until you punched his shoulder and told him to quit his shit, and then dropped the note in at the end of the day because true to your word, Zach had headed straight for the gym as soon as the final bell rang which left Tony all the time in the world to slip into the class and leave the note.

So the following day, you sit in class with your right knee nervously bouncing. It's just an average day in class, the teacher reading aloud confessions dropped in her Topics box and students offering advice to the anonymous writers.

Then the end of the period comes and you pack up slowly when you spot Zach heading towards the Compliment Bags. His friends are ragging on him for checking each and every day, and you hold your breath as he reaches in and shock suddenly colors his features.

By now his friends have moved on and you watch him without drawing attention to yourself as he unfolds the note to read. He huffs a laugh and smiles, and when he glances up to peer around the room you quickly avert your gaze and act casual.

You're really tall. How's the weather up there? is left as the second note and though it's not really a compliment, you hope he gets a kick out of it. Tony did, but Tony also thinks you're chicken shit for not telling Zach to his face what you really think about him, so his opinion doesn't count.

"You know he's looking for you, right?"

You jerk in surprise, elbow banging on the edge of table. "Ow! What?" You then ask, looking at none other than Jessica Davis.

She grins at you and takes a seat. "Zach," she says and your eyes immediately go wide. "Compliment bag. He's looking for the person dropping them off."

"How did you-"

"English, Y/N. You forget we edit each other's papers and Zach's so happy about his compliments that he's showing everyone the notes to see if we recognize the handwriting."

"But- but it's only been two compliments! One, actually. The other one was a joke."

"A joke he couldn't stop smiling about," Jessica tells you. "Seriously, you've made his day. Twice. I hope you gave him a note today."

Rubbing your elbow, you grimace and shrug. "I have someone drop them off at the end of the school day, so yeah. There's already one waiting for him." She chuckles. "But please, Jessica, you can't tell him."

"I'm not. I just wanted to give you a head's up." Jessica then stands, her piece already said. "But for what it's worth? I think he'd actually like you if he knew it was you."

You gape as Jessica walks away, her words replaying in your mind. She wasn't the type of friend you hung out with, but she did go out of her way to greet you in the halls or in class. And for her to say that you and Zach would probably hit it off, you're a little shaken.

Could I let him know it's me?

Nah. Not yet.

As the days pass, you continue to pass notes to Tony who drops them in Zach's compliment bag for you. Not every one is a compliment, you deciding to drop in a few height jokes as well, but they do what they're meant to do.

Zach now looks forward to Peer Communications, a smile always present as the class nears it's end. Sometimes you wait around to see his reaction, but other times you leave before. Jessica now gives you a knowing smile, but she's kept her word so far and hasn't said anything to Zach.

But what really makes your crush a little more real on Zach Dempsey is one day when you were standing behind him in the lunch line. Justin had asked Zach for some money to pay for his lunch and Zach obliged, so when he retrieved his wallet to pull out a couple of bills.. a few of the anonymous notes you'd written him fell out, too. You were nervous Justin would make fun of Zach for holding onto them, but the fellow jock merely picked them up and handed them back to Zach to carefully tuck away once more.

"You know, you always wait around to see Dempsey check his bag or bolt beforehand, so when do you ever check yours?" Tony asks one day.

"I don't." You shrug. "I got a couple in the beginning, but it was the usual friendly compliment. Now.. nothing."

"Well you wouldn't know for sure," he says. "Like I said, you bolt before even checking."

You sigh, trying to concentrate on your note taking. "Just.. shut up, Tones. Shoo."

He laughs. "All I'm saying, Y/N, is to check your bag. You might be surprised."

"Mhm." Tony gets up and leaves your table, and it's seconds later that his words register. "Wait, what?" You look around for your friend, but he's already gone.

Oh no. What has he done?

Peer Communications class comes around and you're suddenly really nervous. You keep eyeing the Compliment Bags like they're rigged to explode, and you keep zoning in and out during class. But then the bell rings and you see Zach immediately make a beeline for the door instead of the rack. Frowning, you eye the rack and Tony's earlier words suddenly come back.

You're sure there's nothing in your bag, but you can't shake the feeling of wanting to check it. So biting the bullet, you get up from your desk and head over to the rack you know your bag hangs from. And reaching in, you gasp in surprise when you feel a note in there.

Shakily pulling out the note, you unfold it and.. your heart soars, but your stomach sinks at the same time. Because on the note is a cartoon-ish bus with a stick figure being ran over and the words on it say you've been thrown under the bus. Was it really that hard to compliment me fact to face?

Oh fu- "Was it?" You look up, startled and your eyes go wide at Zach standing next to you. His thumbs are hooked behind the straps of his backpack as he looks down upon, sheepishly. "I, uh, I caught Tony slipping a note into my bag. For a moment I kind of freaked because I'm not into dudes, but he laughed it off and threw you under the bus."

You're still too shocked for words, but your eyes narrow in annoyance. Tony was dead.

"And, uh, I asked around about you after I got a name and Jessica threw you under the bus, too. Said you were cute and fun, and that if I hurt your feelings she'd sit on Justin's shoulders and throat punch me."

The joke gets a reaction out of you and Zach beams. You snort and bite your bottom lip to keep from laughing too much, and then shake your head in amusement. "Tony and Jessica are dead. So, so dead."

"Aw, come on. It worked out well, don't you think? Now you can compliment me or make fun of my height to my face."

"I wasn't.. really making fun you," you huff. "I just wanted to make you smile."

"Mission accomplished."

His smile brightens as he continues to stare and you start blush. "Can you.. not stare?

"Sure. But only if you agree to meet me at Monet's after school."

"I- I," you stammer.

"Don't give me answer right now," Zach then says. "Think about it and then get Tony to tell me."

You nervously laugh, scuffing your show on the floor. "Okay." Your lips twitch, but you try your hardest to not show too much happiness. "I'll- I'll tell Tony."

As Zach sheepishly makes his exit, he glances at you one last time before exiting the classroom.

Tony and Jessica were definitely dead. But, you know, maybe after you thanked them for pointing Zach in your direction.

#imagine #zach dempsey #zach x reader #th1rteen r3asons why #13RW #fanficimagery

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