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#this is my magnum opus and my greatest shame

bonni · 5 months

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Hi, this is probably blasphemy here, but… I’ve been trying to get through Revolutionary Girl Utena since 2022. Should I even bother ? It’s worth noting that I’m notoriously bad at binging any sort of show, takes me a while to get through almost anything, but 6 years and 26 episodes is definitely higher than average.

Honestly, I totally get it. There are certainly shows I have done this with, more than I would like to admit (little secret: sometimes when I say that I finished an anime, I am lying, and I really watched half of it and absorbed the plot of the second half through Tumblr Osmosis). Generally, my cheat for not being able to finish anime is to just give up and read the manga, but this doesn't work for Utena, because the manga is very different from the anime (and objectively worse).

In terms of actually getting through the series as a first-time watcher, a lot of people argue that the series starts to pick up in the Black Rose arc (starting with episode 13), but I actually did not enjoy that arc on my first watch, I much preferred it on my second watch because I was able to recognize the things that it does to set up the later plot. Without that context, the Black Rose arc can feel like a slog. On my first watch, I didn't get really into the plot until the end of the Black Rose arc, around episode 22. After that, everything starts to fall into place, and the last 15 episodes of the series are a fucking whirlwind amassing in the greatest finale an anime has ever had. And of course, if you decide to rewatch the series (which you should do after a few months! it has incredible rewatch value due to the huge amount of symbolism and foreshadowing it utilizes) you will find the Student Council arc and the Black Rose arc a lot more interesting. But that's a long way to go before you start to feel like you're actually getting something out of the series, especially if you're bad at watching anime. So, it is worth it? Unequivocally, yes.

I feel no shame in making the claim that Utena is one of, if not the, greatest animated series ever produced. No other series before or since has done what it does, and I believe that no other series ever will. It is Ikuhara's magnum opus, and you could dedicate your entire life to dissecting its themes and inspirations and never run out of shit to say about it. Finishing the series is just the beginning of your journey; Utena has a rich community of meta-analysts who have dedicated thousands of hours to doing exactly that, and part of the joy of finishing the series is being able to dive head-first into some of the greatest anime essays ever written. Most people agree that the best place to start is with The Palace Perspective, and while I don't agree with all of the opinions presented here, it is undeniably an incredible series of essays with a lot to offer.

TL;DR, if there's any series in the world that worth putting in the effort to finish watching, it's Utena. Although if you haven't already familiarized yourself with the triggering content of the series, you can find a full trigger guide here.

#mail #revolutionary girl utena #rgu meta #<- this is my tag for meta-analysis which you can also check out when you finish the series! see you on the other side my friend

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smokeybrandreviews · 2 years

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Bankai

We are a days out from the first episode of BLEACH: Thousand-Year Blood War and my hype is peak. I don’t talk about it as much as, say, Dragon Ball but for me, it is definitely up there. BLEACH is a top ten all-time anime for me. Kubo’s magnum opus was, for a time, the most popular Jump franchise out there. I don’t think it ever out sold One Piece, Luffy is a f*cking institution, but i am pretty sure it gave Naruto problems for a few years. More than that, early Kubo became a massive influence on my own art style. He and Toriyama informed how i drew characters for years. To this day, you can see their influences in how i develop he physical form and hey will both hold a special place in my heart for that. It’s a shame how Jump just ground that booming creativity which propelled Kubo into stardom, into f*cking dust. And then they cut BLEACH short. It was a whole ass assassination. It’s wild to me because, up until the Jump suits meddled, Kubo was writing some dope sh*t.

The Soul Society arc is one of the greatest shonen narratives ever written, man. It’s insane how great that plot was, and how disappointing everything which followed ended up being, in direct proportion to Jump’s interference. F*ck, that sh*t was terrible. But, this new adaption of TYBW looks to right those wrongs and, in preparation for that utter awesome, i’ve been revisiting the BLEACH manga. It reminded me why i love this sh*t so much so i wanted to take some time and rank out my favorite BEACH characters. Mostly because they’re on my mind and i have been on a BEACH high lately. Plus, this blog needs more Ichigo content. It’s borderline embarrassing how little Soul Reaper praise in on here.

Zangetsu

White Ichigo was a boss the second he stepped onto the stage. This dude was a real f*cking problem and the secret MVP of the entire goddamn series. Everything Ichigo ever achieved, was at the behest of Zangetsu’s influence. It’s wild because, not only is he Ichigo’s Zanpakuto spirit, but he’s also half Hollow, which accounts for Strawberry’s ridiculous abilities. I love his attitude. I love his color scheme. I love the fact that he’s basically “evil” Ichigo but not really. Don’t misunderstand, i adore Ichigo. I do. But a lot of my adoration stems from the fact that Zangetsu is a big part of that man’s shine. Plus, whenever Zangetsu gets to ride that horse, we get some of the best scraps in the entire franchise. Understand that “Hollow” Ichigo is just White Ichigo driving human Ichigo’s body. And that brash motherf*cker is just hitting donuts with it the entire time!

Sosuke Aizen

Aizen is easily one of the best manga protagonists, ever. Dude is up there with Dio Brando, Freezer, Char Aznable, and Queen Beryl. This dude manipulated everyone, destroyed the Soul Society as it was known to that point, and created a rival organization - all just to punch god in the f*cking face. This is next level spite. This is Vayne Solidor levels of big picture. I respect the gumption. Aizen was never a “bad guy.” Dude wasn’t even morally compromised. He had a point, one that would, ultimately, be proven right with the completion of the Thousand-Year Blood War. Ichigo’s defeat of Yhwach was what Aizen wanted to do, the entire time. Everything he did, every atrocity he committed, was in service to the outcome Ichigo all but guaranteed, with the defeat of Yhwach. Because Aizen knew how the world should be.

Tier Harribel

I have a soft spot for brown girls. Harribel isn’t a cat-girl like the another entry on this list, Yoruichi, but she is a shark-girl and a shark is good, too. In all seriousness, i genuinely loved Harribel’s whole look. The underboob in her sealed stake and that face mask were dope but her Resurreccion form was even better. Like, i was already onboard with her look but then Tiburon appeared and became a goddamn problem. It’s a shame someone with so much potential, spent her entire career jobbing for power scaling. Still, i adore Tia and refuse to accept she’s that goddamn weak.

Ulquiorra Cifer

I love Tia. Absolutely. I think she has a dope design and a fantastic Fraccion. However, she is not my favorite Espada. That, ultimately, falls on Ulquiorra. This motherf*cker is a straight up boss. From his very first introduction, to his final battle with “Hollow” Ichigo, he never relented. He never let up. Dude was tension the whole way through. Pretty sure this cat was one of the five Vasto Lorde, too, but that might be wishful thinking. It’s never confirmed but, in his pure hollow form, he has a very human-like appearance, similar to confirmed Vasto Lordes Harribel, Stark, and Baraggan. Now, i’m not going to sit her and say i wasn’t disappointed by Uliqi’s Ressurrccion, Murcielago. This thing was gross. But then he went Super Saiyan 2 and dropped Segunda Etapa on me. Let me tell you, man, if he wasn’t my favorite before, this would have sealed it. Segunda Etapa is a beast of a form. Wonderful design and absolutely overpowered. Dude legitimately killed Ichigo, a feat that not even BLEACH’s Jesus could do. That is some sh*t right there. Plus, that death gave me peak Zangetsu so, yeah, thank you Batman!

Yoruichi Shihouin

Listen, i have a thing for catgirls. Always have. And it just so happens that BLEACH has one of the best. Yoruichi is everything you want in an anime waifu. She’s adorable, mischievous, was smarter than she let’s on, and is a lovely shade of chocolate. Miss Black Cat is laughably strong, going head up with a Larvae Aizen, even though he made short work of her, but you gotta love the gumption. I’m a little frustrated that we never got to see her Zanpakuto but, i mean, her Shunko skill kind of makes up for that? Kind of? I mean, her Shunryu Kokubyo Senki is f*cking spectacular but i would have loved to see what her Bankai would looked like.

Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck

Lots of Arrancars on this list and there are a few more to come. Maybe. I do like me some Cirruci but do i like her enough to make this list? That remains to be seen. What isn’t in question is my love for Nel. I enjoyed this chick when she was still a baby. I know, comic relief and what not, but she reminded me a lot of Arale and i do have me a Slump in my heart for those types of characters. My love for Nel grows in tandem with her height, however, because adult Nelliel is a f*cking bombshell and a whole ass unit. I even dig the centaur Ressureccion, Gamuza. Wasn’t my favorite but it grew on me. Or, maybe, i’m bias because she was the first six-star i got in Brave Souls, who knows?

Rukia Kuchiki

I adore Rukia, man. Ma is everything i want in a protagonist, which is unfortunate because she’s not the protagonist. Rukia is arguably the most complete character in all of BLEACH. You learn so much about her over the course of the narrative and she never falls by the wayside. She’s right there at the front lines, standing next to Ichigo, fighting whatever came for their way. In my heart-of-hearts, i feel like the two of them should have ended up together but whatever. An Orihime is fine. I guess. It’s just hard to pass up on such a dope character, you know? She even got a spotlight film, which ended up being the best one of that lot. It was a toss up between Memories of Nobody and Hell Chapter but that Dark Rukia pushed her flick over he top for me

Honorable Mentions: Ichigo Kurosaki, Tatsuki Arisawa, Kisuke Urahara, Yasutora Sado, Riruka Dokugamine, Uryu Ishida, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Bambietta Basterbine, Gin Ichimaru, Byakuya Kuchiki, Zaraki Kenpachi, Cirucci Sanderwicci, Kukaku Shiba

#BLEACH #BLEACH: Thousand-Year Blood War #Tite Kubo #Manga

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smokeybrand · 2 years

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Bankai

Zangetsu

Sosuke Aizen

Tier Harribel

Ulquiorra Cifer

Yoruichi Shihouin

Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck

Rukia Kuchiki

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thelocal-idot · 2 years

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Our Art is Sin

You painted me with the most loveliest hues

Like a sunset i was within your eyes

I forbade my breath when you asked to be mine

Mine, and mine alone you sold your heart to me

The most beautiful things are tasteless without you

I sketch out each and every one of your flaws

And you become my greatest masterpiece

“A shame such beauty is to be destroyed”

You ask me why, but you know the answer well

Here art is forbidden, a flavorless world it is.

You, my magnum opus, must disappear forever.

Pleading whispers of love we will share

In this night you are mine, and mine alone.

This art we create every day is a beguiling sin

You were never meant to know of my heaving heart

My hands will soon be bloodied with your crimson

You will become my greatest masterpiece

Each pin and kiss will seal our love

These pretentious luxuries are tasteless without you

You no longer ask me why, you knew the answer

And the price of my art was you.

My greatest masterpiece, my magnum opus

Here art is forbidden, my biggest sin

We dance in this ballroom, but you are silent

Within the canvas, our blasphemous love stills

You kiss my hand, but it no longer lingers.

Each night we spend, you paint me more and more

“A shame such beauty is to be destroyed.”

Your skin is so fragile to my touch

You break apart in a instant to my brush

I stitch each and every flaw of you, my darling doll

If im not careful, you’ll surely fall apart.

This harrowing feeling persists and consumes me

Im left nothing but these cold, tainted fingers

This art I create night by night is a bewitching sin

Your eyes still hold such life, as empty as they are

This life is tasteless, without the sin we share

“I crave more,” the words leave my lips

This longing whisper, “I need more.”

You are my greatest masterpiece

“Its a shame beauty is to be destroyed.”

No longer we share this enthralling sin

Your stiff flesh is icy yet you bleed warmth.

I held my breathe at this final piece

Mine, and mine alone, beauty unmatched

You my greatest masterpiece

The only thing left to complete our sin

Is to become the art I once created

I tore myself apart, my entire being.

There laid my heart, pulsing loudly

And so I devoured my sins, painful and slow

The only sound within these empty halls

Is the melody that is my destruction.

I ask myself why, for you no longer could

Here art is forbidden, what a flavorless world

The art we create is to rot and decay

The price of my sin was my putrid flesh.

You painted me with the most loveliest hues

Like a sunset i was within your eyes

As I bleed, I whisper my last words

“A shame such beauty is to be destroyed”

#poetry #poems on tumblr #poem #dark poem

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mattfromthestrokes · 2 years

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THE STONE ROSES - ‘SHE BANGS THE DRUMS’ (1989)

I’ll make no secret of the fact that this is easily one of my top five favourite songs of all time. Released in 1989 as the second single from The Stone Roses’ self-titled debut album, the life-affirming ‘She Bangs The Drums’ is a crowning jewel of the Madchester scene. It puts Oasis to shame.

The song is a glorious lyrical metaphor describing a girl who makes Ian Brown’s heart pound like no other (‘The way she plays? There are no words’). The chorus is electrifying; a lyrical and musical feat of genius.

John Squire’s iconic guitar work complements Brown perfectly. The interplay between them here rivals that of Morrissey and Marr. The equally iconic opening bass riff from Mani is beautifully simple; deserving of its prominence as the song’s anchor. I doubt I would have ever picked up a bass guitar if it wasn’t for this song.

‘She Bangs The Drums’ is a fitting magnum opus for the greatest band of the 90s.

#music #madchester #the stone roses

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glass-es-say · 5 years

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The Fitzjames Sweater: a Terror conspiracy theory

Do you like your meta long and stupid? And full of not-really-mystery about a single item of clothing? Then boy do I have a meta for you; the center of which is James Fitzjames’ sweater—and the identity of its final owner.

(Half meta-analysis, half conspiracy theory, half absolute blithering nonsense under the cut, lads.)

Now, this is a pretty distinctive sweater, especially in an expedition full of grey and navy arans. There are a couple of specific design elements (best outlined in knit-the-terror’s posts) that make it easy to identify The Sweater once it ends up on Le Vesconte: the side cables, the gansey-esque top and bottom, the ribbing patterns on the sleeves. The short neckband also visually distinguishes The Sweater from the cowl-necked white sweater Mr. Collins is wearing (also I think that one gets pretty soundly torn apart when Tuunbaq eviscerates him).

All of this is great and wonderful. However. What I’m most interested in is the cuffs.

These are double-length cuffs in a 1x1 rib with (perhaps anachronistically) a thumbhole knit in. Fitzjames wears the cuffs folded up most of the time, though if you turn up your brightness and squint you can spot that they’re all the way down at the time of poor Morfin’s death.

The garment construction appears to be such that sleeve was worked flat and them seamed into a tube—the thumbhole then just being part of the seam that wasn’t sewn up. (Why you would make a sleeve like this is beyond me—seaming sucks and it would literally be just as easy to add the thumbhole in when knitting in the round, but I suspect it has something to do with how they produced the no-doubt 10+ versions of this sweater they needed for filming.)

So, we’ve established some key characteristics of The Sweater that help us identify it. We’ve determined that it ends up on Le Vesconte after Fitzjames’ death. (Actually, Le Vesconte’s wearing The Sweater + waistcoat when Fitzjames collapses, so presumably James gives it away before then.) But can we show that anyone else has worn it? (Spoilers: sort of, but also yes.)

The morning after Silna leaves the Inuit village, when Francis is running around trying to figure out which way she went, he’s wearing the above outfit. His left hand is gone at this point, so his sleeve is tied up at the wrist, but there, covering his right hand… is an extra-long white sweater cuff with a thumbhole.

The image quality isn’t great here (the cameraperson decided to focus on the acting instead of a sleeve cuff for some reason) but when you look at all the angles next to each other, the resemblance is pretty obvious. Either there was always another long-cuffed white sweater on the Franklin Expedition that we are never shown, or Francis has at some point picked up The Sweater and is wearing it under his slops.

You can see a sliver of neckband underneath all his other layers in the picture above, just like with James.

Now, my main hurdle in 100% proof that this is The Sweater is, actually, also my most definitive proof: the thumbhole. (My gift and my curse…my blessing and my burden...)

Assuming James hasn’t folded his cuffs to intentionally obfuscate, it’s pretty clear that each sleeve has one—and only one—thumbhole along the inside seam of the sleeve. It’s a logical assumption—I have no clue why you’d put a thumbhole on the outside of the sleeve because, like… that’s not where thumbs are.

By the time Francis is wearing the sweater it’s pretty beat up, so there are a number of noticeable holes in the cuff rather than just the one. (As we see from Le Vesconte’s shot at the beginning of this post, the rest of The Sweater is faring a pretty similar fate. My poor knitter’s heart is weeping.) While some of the holes have a fuzziness around the edges that indicates fraying, there’s still one hole with a cleaner, more finished edge that would indicate its identity as the real, intended thumbhole.

The problem is, it’s on the outside of the sleeve. Crozier appears to be sticking his thumb through another, accidental hole on the opposite side of the cuff. Even if The Sweater was worn inside-out and/or backwards, he shouldn’t be able to wear the thumbhole on the outside—at least, that’s what I thought. Then I tried putting on a sweater with only one hand. (It’s called field research, please don’t judge me.)

Basically, it’s really easy to get a sleeve twisted when you pull on a sweater, especially if it’s made to fit someone with a different physique. Without the opposite hand (or using your teeth, I guess), it’s basically impossible to untwist it, a difficulty that I imagine is compounded if you’ve already hooked your thumb through the cuff in the wrong place. I personally hate the feeling of a twisted sleeve, but Francis has just woken up in an unfamiliar place and honestly at this point in his life he might’ve just shoved the sweater on and called it a day.

Plus, we see the left cuff on Le Vesconte earlier and the thumbhole appears to be on the outside. The sleeves on this sweater are consistently Way Too Long, so it’s possible things just got twisted around whenever an actor would put it on and they left it that way for realism’s sake.

We don’t see Francis in it after the scene in the Inuit village, but like, even if The Sweater was still wearable after another two years, Francis is pretty well covered by his fur parka. (Also… just saying… the emotional implications of a moment where the last remnants of James Fitzjames unravel under his fingertips are uh… pretty juicy.

James has holes in him and so does his sweater.)

So! I think it’s fair to say that, at the very least, the sweater Francis is wearing is supposed to be the Fitzjames Sweater, as shown to the best of my ability (and screencap resolution). I won’t call it “beyond a doubt” but I think it’s a pretty strong foundation—which is good, because here is where my knit-wear based fever dream starts to, uh, unravel.

My initial assumption after realizing Crozier had the white sweater at the Inuit village was that he pulled it off Le Vesconte after Little’s death. (And idea which cannot help but conjure the morbid image of Crozier undressing a body beset by rigor mortis with one hand…. Or asking Silna for help.)

The tangle in this theory is that I went back and looked at the first few “travelling with Silna” scenes, initially for proof that Francis doesn’t pick up The Sweater until the Little Camp—and found the opposite.

There’s no sign of The Sweater on Francis before the Tuunbaq showdown, but he has somehow acquired The Sweater before finding the body of Le Vesconte. The same identifying features I’m using for the end scene are all there, so. Can’t really deny that. (The best view we get is from the sad dead Jopson hair stroke, which also dates the timeframe a lot better then an ambiguous “Crozier walking around” screenshot.)

(For what it’s worth, the thumbhole arrangement appears to be done properly this time. Or at least, the hole on the outside of the arm is the frayed “accidental” thumbhole.)

To clarify the timeline:

Fitzjames has The Sweater.

At some point before James collapses, Le Vesconte acquires The Sweater.

Francis is kidnapped by Hickey’s camp. He does not have The Sweater, or at least not visibly.

Le Vesconte (and sweater) leave the sick (including Jopson) behind and head off toward the eventual Little camp.

Tuunbaq showdown. Francis spends some time in recovery.

We can assume that at some point during this bullet point or the next Le Vesconte and buddies die.

Francis and Silna leave the Hickey camp, find the abandoned men and sad dead Jopson. Somehow Francis has acquired The Sweater.

After this, Francis and Silna find the Little camp, presumably including a dead Le Vesconte and The Sweater.

(You could argue that Le Vesconte actually ended up staying with the sick but Francis’ is wearing the sweater when he first sees Jopson so he would have had to have it before finding them.)

(Also, I have suspicions that this figure leaving the sick camp is Le Vesconte.)

So! There is an indication that, at the same point in time, both Crozier and Le Vesconte(‘s body) were wearing a version of The Sweater. If from this point forward we consider the sweater Fitzjames is seen wearing to be the “true sweater” and the extra to be the “double sweater”, then I see four possibilities:

Option One: Francis already had the sweater double.

Points in favor:

This gives the fun image of Crozier and Fitzjames showing up to the expedition on day one and staring horrorstruck at each other like “we wore the same dress!??!!”

You change. No you change! No you change!!!

Points against:

We see Francis in all kinds of informal dress and never see him wearing it. I’m not actually sure we ever see him wearing a sweater, period. Man hates being cozy, I guess.

There is literally no way costume design would have done this. Like, it beggars belief.

Option Two: Someone else (at the Hickey camp) had an eerily similar sweater that Crozier felt justified in taking.

Points in favor:

It doesn’t show up until he and Silna go back to the Hickey camp, so it’s unlikely that he would have gotten it earlier and just been carrying it around without wearing it.

They did seem to just leave all their stuff lying around, so Francis wouldn’t have to pull it off a dead body, which is a lot more palatable.

If the sweater was a standard “baby’s first officer sweater” present, Hodgson could be a candidate for the true owner.

Points against:

“Baby’s first officer sweater” is just like… not a thing the Victorian Royal Navy did. Also, we never see any of them wearing it, so.

Why wouldn’t the owner have worn it to the Tuunbaq showdown? I get that they’re all wandering around in their shirtsleeves but if someone had a sweater that was remotely still wearable, I feel pretty confident in thinking they aren’t just going to leave it lying around.

Option Three: Actually, Le Vesconte’s sweater is the double.

Points in favor:

Obviously Henry and James got them as best friends forever tokens and whenever they notice they’re wearing them at the same time they spend like, two minutes just hugging each other and saying “bro. bro. bro!”

It absolutely infuriates Francis.

This implies that Francis (or possibly a Hickey camp member but uh… unlikely) got ahold of the Fitzjames version after his death. James isn’t wearing it when he collapses (god… think of the blood stains…), so it would have been as easy as packing it up once he’s dead.

Francis is either in slops or in shirtsleeves after this point so if he keeps the cuffs folded up and his slops collar buttoned (which he does) then we might just not have seen it?

Even if we assume Le Vesconte’s sweater is a different one, there’s still pretty strong evidence James wasn’t buried in his sweater—see the above point, and also the fact that it doesn’t later show up on Hickey’s person. That’s a nice sweater, man, even if it’s fraying, and if I were already stealing a dead man’s boots I would’ve taken the sweater too.

Points against:

Le Vesconte is wearing The Sweater when James collapses—Fitzjames, notably, isn’t. (James mentions the heat as a reason why he can’t keep walking, so he might just not have been wearing it?)

God, guys, I don’t know that much about the Victorian knitting industry but the idea of two bros going out and getting matching sweaters seems… implausible at best.

Option Four: Making a TV show is hard and keeping track of all the details is harder and someone just accidentally put Jared in the sweater five minutes of screen time too early and we were past the time for reshoots and just assumed that no one would be neurotic enough to notice this.

Points in favor:

Script supervisor is like, a really hard job and if this is your biggest slip up then honestly? Who even cares.

Points against:

I care. I care very much.

But which option could be the truth? What conclusions have we formed from this tedious trek across the frozen wasteland of HD screencaps? What horrors have we (me, literally just me) wrought in the name of split-second costume design based character choices? Could Crozier have somehow gotten The Sweater from Le Vesconte after Tuunbaq dies but before reaching Little’s camp? Is there another, actually viable explanation for the mystery of the twin sweaters? How many good fics/headcanons could come from any of these options? I don’t know! Please discuss!

(For however much it matters: my personal favorite is Option Four. None of the others seem a terribly plausible story justification, and also I like the emotional weight of Francis picking up the sweater as a memento of JFJ—or the intention of it, even if continuity gets a little screwy.

Also, if no one writes fic about this then I will be forced to and who really wants that?? Write this fic for me and save us all the turmoil.)

(A thousand props to @knit-the-terror for sussing out enough details that I could even make an argument focused around the cuff of a sweater. Please forgive my corrupting your research for a frantic fever dream rant about something that mostly doesn’t matter.)

#this is my magnum opus and my greatest shame #the terror #meta analysis #james fitzjames #henry le vesconte #francis crozier #that sweater lasts longer than most of the cast #and I love it just as much

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ahmedmootaz · 3 years

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Magica is trapped in an alternate timeline where Scrooge never became the richest duck in the world.

I-It’s been five thousand years...but finally, finally, I have finished writing, @veryman ! It’s been around six months, and for that I am sorry, but I had little time to write lately.

Either way, I finished the prompt which you sent me, and I’d like it if you would tell me your feedback! I expanded a bit on what you gave me; I added Poe as a secondary protagonist, and I added a bit more before the disappearance of Scrooge, and I do hope you do not mind. But regardless, I am eager to hear your feedback! I appreciate every comment I get, so do leave one, please. Again, my sincerest apologies for the wait.

Here’s the story:https://archiveofourown.org/works/29333367

And for anyone who does not want to visit Archive of Our Own for whatever reason, here’s the story on Tumblr! Just note the italics don’t go over too well.

Mount Vesuvius was like a wonderfully drawn painting; it managed to capture many elements at once, and yet showed little of them at a time. Its grey, ash-covered surface was only stopped by the occasional greenery or shrubs, grown from the rain's puddles on its cliffs. A towering mountain, its silhouette gave a grandiose sense to the city it was in. The contrast between the calm forests below it and the harsh towering structure, like any great painting, only added to the beauty of the panorama it created.

And, of course, like any great painting, it hid a secret. A teeny, tiny secret, really; it was a volcano. With enough power to completely melt the colourful villages surrounding it, alongside the better part of Naples. No one often went to the top, as its unpredictable eruption patterns made it a dangerous venue. Besides, the summit was completely barren, with only the rare lizard or the few bushes up there. Only a madman would even think to consider it "hospitable."

Well, barring the small, comfortable looking wooden house on its top. That looked hospitable enough. Old and nearly falling apart, it was a miracle it didn't need supports at this point. It was as if it was held by magic. On this summit, there was nothing. A cold, harsh breeze that encouraged none to remain there, and the dead atmosphere certainly clashed against the small farm and the clothes left to dry in the sun. The unusual sight would perhaps intrigue a traveller who managed to get to the summit, but the few crashed cars next to the hut would probably dissuade them from going any further.

In this calm wasteland, where the air never relaxed, every second more tense than the last, silence reigned supreme, utoppab-

-"BWAHAHAHA! I did it, Poe! I did it! At last, I managed to brew the perfect potion! It'll finally give the Lucky Dime to its rightful owner, destroy my greatest enemy and make me the greatest sorceress on earth!", well, it was dominant for a moment, at least. The victory cries from this little abode came from none other than Magica DeSpell, the solitary sorceress who called it her home.

Standing before a large cauldron, a large potion-book beside her and several jars of materials arranged in a neat order on the table next to her, her joy was a sick, intoxicating one, filled with villainy and vengeance. On that table stood a raven, much larger than the average one, almost twice the size, with its only distinct feature being a small summer hat, black with a white stripe going around it.

-"Yes, very wonderful, Mistress Magica.", adding to the unusual situation, the raven spoke back, both admiring and giving the sorceress in front of him a reprobating glare. "Though I have to admit, it wasn't easy very much to gather the ingredients. We almost lost our lives three times too much getting these things...", he added, turning his neck to the pots and bottles of the materials they gathered throughout the month. The sorceress, however, appeared irritated.

-"Oh, for goodness' sake! We're alone, Ratface, why can't I call you by your real name? If you keep pestering me with that, then I'll have no choice but to keep reminding you of your awful grammar.", she complained, hunching her back a bit, an invisible pang of guilt hitting her chest for a second before she shook it off.

Magica DeSpell was known for many things, but guilt was, perhaps unsurprisingly, not one of them. It wasn't a trait preferred by Villainesses such as herself. An exception to that rule, however, was her brother, Poe. Or as he went by these days, Ratface.

Once a regular duck like her, he was the closest person she had left. He'd accompany her on pretty much anything, alongside her raids on Scrooge. One fateful day however, a spell ricocheted of a wall and hit him, and she never forgave herself since. It was supposed to hit a blank! But of course Scroogie had to have a mirror behind him...why wouldn't he? At this point, everything she did was always countered by him somehow...And of course the spell had to be an irreversible one. Why wouldn't it have been?

-"Well, this time he'll pay...", she mumbled to herself, having forgotten about the outside world for a second.

-"Hm?", the raven inquired, and when she ignored his curiosity, he gave a glare before speaking. "We must speak like this, Mistress, because otherwise we may end up revealing our identities by accident in front of someone who shouldn't them know.", he explained for the umpteenth time at this point, trying to redress his hat with his wings. It was difficult to get used to them at first, however, he eventually managed to somewhat use them as hands. "And we don't want these people to know, because they can black-mail us. And because I don't want anyone discover that now I am a raven.", he added, ignoring the mumbling from his 'master'.

-"Yes, yes. Whatever, Ratface. Besides, you don't get to lecture me; I am the boss-lady after all, eh?", she shot back, enjoying the eyes of her 'familiar' as they narrowed and his beak as he grit it.

-"While that may be true,", he started, a bit calmer than you'd expect, not wanting to lose this teasing contest, "I also have my rights to input my optional completely suggestions, boss-lady, and I believe they have been proven to be quite useful in the past.", he added, stopping for moment and looking at the sorceress in front of him, who fully turned to him and gave him a wide, fake grin.

-"Hmm...They're fine points, but is there something that reaaaaally to force me to listen to you?", she repeated, hoping to break his constant mantra of hiding his identity. Partly because she wanted to be able to call her brother...her brother, y'know, 'call a duck a duck' sort of deal, and partly to escape this guilt she felt by teasing him, trying to forget her guilt for the moment.

Poe wasn't one to care much what people thought of him. He was a man that went on his way and never looked back. Too many times, anyways. They were basically a dream-team until this stupid raven stuff happened. But now, ever since that incident, he merely avoided anyone who knew of his existence and kept this fake-name. She suspected it was out of shame, and it weighed heavy on her, trust her. She tried waving these thoughts away as she watched the bird in front of her almost simmer at this point.

-"B-Because, dearest mistress, me-am a bit older than you in raven-years, which gives me a-", he stopped his imminent rant, sniffing something in the air. "THE BREW!", he yelled, dragging the tall magician's attention and making her run to the pot, which was on a gas cooker. Hey, they had the old log-chimney pot, but they were modern magicians, and when they were pressed on time, it was simply easier than to collect logs or buy them. Freaking inflation and rising wood prices...

-"Alrightalrightalright, so now we...uh, the lizard tail, sewn with tarantula silk to a lizardfish tail, we put it in...", Magica mumbled to herself, picking up the ingredient and throwing it in. Trust her when she said tarantula silk wasn't cheap, but the results were going to be so, so worth it. "And we mix things up until it turns dark-blue.", she finished, bringing a wooden spoon and turning it in the boiling, sickly-yellow liquid.

-"That's it? No 'innocent's blood' this time?", the black bird next to her spoke as he moved closer to the pot. She shook her head, knowing where he was getting at. For some reason, a lot (a lot) of spells needed blood for one reason or another, and it often had to be 'pure duck blood'. It often was an issue for most accomplished sorcerers to find it, and despite it being an advantage to the pair, they didn't really enjoy sticking needles into their own arms and using their blood...

As he sighed, relieved at what meant that he wouldn't have to take a pinch of his blood this time, as they did alternate that role, he watched the viscous brew boil more ferociously, unnaturally strong as it started getting darker and darker while the duck brewing it kept stirring and stirring, carefully avoiding the splashing from the bubbles.

-"Alright, Ratface!", she announced as the potion's colours darkened in front of their eyes, her voice going low and becoming more and more sinister by the second, "This is the Magnum Opus of an entire month's work! The Bougeaia Autrepart!", she proudly boasted, a smile growing on her pale, green-ish face.

She quickly moved her hand to shut off the gas, probably waiting for the awe her partner-in-sharing-the-household would give her. Not that he did so much, as he wasn't one to be entirely surprised by her actions given his time with her, but when he did, it made all of her effort a lot more worth it, if only to see a dumbfounded expression on his face while she proudly explains her plan.

-"Very well. It is one of the most difficult potions a magician can make, and we have a quantity very large. It is perhaps one of our better devised plans.", he devilishly added, not really that surprised. She found it hard to blame him when they both worked for around 25 days to gather the ingredients and the money; somewhere down the line she must've told him. Or maybe he read up on what they were going to create.

-"Indeed it is, and now, hand me the doll, Ratface!", she commanded, raising a clenched fist for dramatic effect, He shook his head at the dramatic display and went to the other end of the table he stood on, picking up a small doll that vaguely resembled Scrooge McDuck with his claw and handing it to his 'mistress'. "Just be a bit careful. It wasn't easy to make this thing.", she called out, cringing at the inelegant handling the raven gave the doll.

-"Oh, tell me about it. I was with you at the Hydra's lair, you know that? And I gathered half of the Mortal Sand we got there, so don't think I don't know how precious is this.", he complained, remembering something for a second, "Speaking of which, you never did make up for that hat I lost there.", he reprimanded, trying to cross his wings. He didn't have much success, but it looked good enough, and he couldn't ask for more, really.

-"Yeah, maybe later.", she ignored him, and before he could begin scolding her for the umpteenth time today, she picked up a ladle and started submerging it in this 'Bougeaia Autrepart.', taking care not to spill any on herself before she started coating the small doll in her hand with the liquid, watching as the dark blue colour got embedded in its cloth.

-"You know, I'd like a quick reminder on what we're doing here before we get started. Don't want another plan where I have to figure out the details as we go on, because those just work so wonderfully.", Ratface...or, well...Poe? Whatever, he asked, looking a bit worried as his sister laid the doll on the ground in a neat and clean corner or their household, one that was made for spells which required some space.

-"What, Alzheimer's gotten to you that quick?", she shot back at him, not daring to look at him before she finishes laying the doll on the ground. When she noticed he wasn't going to argue with her, she started explaining. "Honestly, we were just talking about it...but fine, here's the general outline: We both agreed that taking Scrooge is pretty difficult on its own, yes? So how about a world without Scrooge in the first place? The Bougeaia Autrepart is designed to move people into other places, but with some of the additions we've made, in combination with this little vodoo doll, it's going to be rather interesting, and we can remove Scrooge from this world!", she repeated the plan they'd agreed on, trying again for her dramatic accent.

-"Right, right. And we're just going to take the dime in his absence.", he completed, scratching his 'chin'. "I don't know, Ma- Uh, Mistress, our luck with reality-altering spells is pretty...", he hesitated, trying to find an accurate description of their experiences.

-"Is pretty much the definition of the word 'failure' in every single language on this earth?", she finished with him, somewhat bitterly.

-"Well, when you put it that way, I'll just have to agree.", he agreed, shrugging.

-"Yes, yes, I know, but trust me, this time this time, it'll be different!", she argued back, somewhat on the defensive. "See, this time, with Scrooge never actually in this world, it can't go back to bite us; we're not playing with the rules against Scrooge, he's not there in the first place.", she laughed, basking in the glory of her flawless plan. "...You're still not impressed, are you?", she narrowed her eyes as she stared at the raven, who seemed lost in thought.

-"I don't know...these things are so vaguely written in the books, and always it turns out to be un-complete. We practically re-wrote half of our tomes, remember?", as it turns out, several of the Elder Sorcerers were, believe it or not, villains, and trying to keep the most knowledge to themselves, their writings were often incomplete, especially the bigger spells. They had to applaud their tenacity at first, but a few failed plans later, it started becoming less interesting and more devastating.

-"Well, yes,", Magica admitted, looking at the floor for a moment, "But the worst possible thing that could happen here is it not working, or being temporary. It can't be that bad."

-"I mean...The offer of Scrooge just poof-ing away is tempting...And I can't think of a too terrible outcome...", he slowly came around, and the green-ish duck immediately jumped on the opportunity to convince him. Well, not so much convince him so much as it was to quickly to the spell before he starts thinking too much about it.

"See? You were just being stupid, But worry not, my dear familiar, I, Magica DeSpell, am not without mercy, and I will forgive this outrageous way of talking if you just help me do this spell as quickly as possible.", she proudly boasted, bringing a hand to rest on her chest. His blank stare gave her the impression that he wasn't all too impressed with her gloating. "Just come here and let me finish the recitation, alright?!", she snapped at him, having had enough of his cynical behaviour.

-"What, with these clothes? Shouldn't we prepare for something or-", he started, looking at her 'battle-clothes': her cloaked witch robe, stained with their various ingredients. But before he could even finish his sentence, she'd already turned to the wall, sat on her knees and opened her arms to both sides, as if she was awaiting an embrace.

-"Too late; I'm starting it now.", she turned her head back to him, sticking her tongue out for half a second and ignoring the 'Wait!' he produced. "O' sanguina del mon enemmi mortel, repondra O' appels que t'entendra, O' abyssum qu'attend, repond à ma voca!", she started the chant, immediately letting the room darken and letting loose some purple sparks from the lifeless doll, which started levitating. "Bring my greatest wish true; with the final words of my mouth, McDuck shall be gone like a moth!", she suddenly spoke, the doll spinning a bit too violently for her taste.

The room kept on darkening, and some of the pots and containers she had began to hit each other. Which was basically the same thing that happened with every other spell nowadays. It lost its original impact. Regardless, she felt Ratface beside her, and the doll started emanating even stronger sparks, making a dull, constant humming that kept getting louder and louder.

Her breathing got heavy for a moment, alongside her head, and she felt herself blacking out as if something was choking her. The air grew heavy for one fateful moment, and then with a 'zap', everything returned to normal. Her breathing suddenly cleared, and she took a deep breath to celebrate it. She noticed Ratface also took a gasp. Apparently, this one didn't just affect the caster, but the entire area. That was something they'd have to add to the spell book. She hoped there weren't too many others.

-"...That's it? Feels rather underwhelming, but maybe it's my experience with spells that affect the caster.", her brother suddenly managed out. Of course his first action after this would be bragging. Why wouldn't it?

-"Oh, zip it, feathers, I heard your panting. Bragging doesn't change the reality.", she looked at him as he felt his small hat and straightened his feathers, some of which had puffed out due to his quick breathing.

-"And so I shall, Mistress, O' queen of humility, if only the entire world is humble as you were!", he praised her, raising his wing up above him, as if to glorify the duck beside him. "Then you'll find out how terrible you are at boasting.", he added under his breath, a wide grin on his beak.

-"Oh why you...!", she got on her legs and reached for him, hoping to catch him, but he was faster than her, and his wings were infinitely more developed, and so he took to the skies...or, well, to their roof, avoiding her grasp and yet flying just out of reach. "Just wait until I've had my hands on you, you walking grammatical error! I'll pinch each and every one of your feathers off!", she yelled after him, shooting a few simplistic spells at him, which he avoided with ease.

-"Sure, blame the italian guy you forced to learn English in two weeks, typical.", he shot back, his wide grin still present, the only spells catching him barely grazing his tail. A few moments later, she gave up on de-feathering her brother, stopping to take her breath.

-"Oh, bugger off, you've had far more time to practice. You're just messing with me.", she countered, looking at him as he lightly flapped above her. She turned her head away from him with a frown and looked at the outside. Yep, still as sunny as ever. It wasn't really ideal weather for staying inside, but villainy did not take vacations!...Well, that was a lie, but she'd take one right after her great success with this plot. "The outside!", she suddenly yelled out, running for her door and opening it, walking onto her 'Welcome' mat before stopping and looking around.

-"Uh, Mistress?", her familiar said as he landed on her shoulder, something he'd been practising for a while now; he didn't hit her head anymore. "Is there something about the sun...?", he suggested, looking around him. The same small magical farm, their clothes were in the same position, and the same pile of crashed cars.

-"I don't know...Guess I thought there'd be some change, I guess.", she answered, scratching her head. "Which isn't that smart. Now what? How do we know if something's happened?", she asked him, turning back to enter her home.

-"...Probably from the bald, skinny vulture we have on our dart-board now.", her helper suddenly noted, and she turned her head to the wall where she had Scroogie's head on display. As a picture, unfortunately, but all in time. What interested her, however, was that her nemesis' picture's was now replaced by a vulture. An ugly one, too. And it's not like Scrooge was Mr.America, but this one had wrinkles.

-"What the heck? I thought the spell removed Scroogie from the world! What did that have to do with this chuckleschmuck?", she walked to the picture on their dart-board, focusing on their apparently new rival, who had a few darts scattered around various parts of his face.

-"Unless...", the raven on her shoulder started, bringing a wing to his face and trying to imitate a knuckled fist. "Unless it removed him from this timeline in first place, after, making someone else become the richest duck in the world. Or richest vulture in the world.", he theorized, his tone becoming a little too aggressive at the end. "Another addition to the tomes...", of course. It could never be that easy. Why would it be?

-"...Great.", well, at least she could openly complain about it this time, given that there was no warning of this beforehand. She brought a hand to her face and quietly facepalmed, shaking her head for a bit. "So we still have some old, ugly miser we have to take care of. And we don't have any memory of fighting this guy.", truly a situation that couldn't be envied. The one time the casters of the spell are unaffected by the changes to the world, it happens in a world where they'd do better to have some memories of the changes. Well, she couldn't say it was the worst thing a spell has hidden from them, truth be told, but still.

-"Well, what now?", ever the planner, the bird on her shoulder asked the only question that could be asked. He narrowed his eyes and extended his neck a bit from where it was, trying to read some writing underneath the picture. It used to scare Magica a bit whenever he did that, now she mostly got used to it. Mostly. Stupid bird biology creeping her out. "What are we going to doing to this...Bradford Buzzard?", he squinted a bit, making out the letters. He then turned to their T.V. with a curious motion. "Ma-uh, Mistress, look."

As the green-feathered duck turned her head, she noticed something. They had stolen their T.V. from one of Scroogie's enterprises, mostly out of spite. But their current television had "Buzzard Enterprises" on it. Apparently, this vulture had truly inherited everything the old miser had, including their rage. She felt a slight tingling in her chest, but she ignored it to focus on the more important matters they had at hand now.

-"So, apparently we're struggling to get the dime from this old man?", well, considering they're not rich right now, and that Poe was still a raven, that meant they still had the same problems as they did with Scrooge. Not good, if you ask her.

-"And apparently he, too, managed to turn me into raven.", Ratface spat out, growing very, very bitter. Unsurprising, really; this 'Bradford' did not seem to be able to move much. How did he manage to turn Poe into a raven this time, then? "Besides, are we trying to get his dime? I'm certain not what we were doing in this timeline up to this point, and I don't suppose we've been writing our memoirs to help us out.", he...uh, he joked? Deadpanned? His tone wasn't too amused, by the looks of things. Not that she could blame him, given how things weren't quite going according to plan.

-"You tell me.", the sorceress sighed, not really in the mood for the demoralisation Poe could offer at this time. He didn't mean to be such a pessimist (probably), but his constant remarks didn't do much to improve the mood. Her eyes then spotted a small purple ball on the ingredients' table. It was a small teleportation spell, using some materials from the area where she wanted to go to, it was a nice substitute for those who both lacked the Teleportation branch of magic and didn't have time to travel by broom. "That's it!", she suddenly yelled, getting up and nearly dropping her brother off of her shoulder.

-"W-What's it? What are you-"

-"We'll go pay this Bradford a nice little visit, and we'll see what he's really made of! We already prepared to go to the Bin, what's the worst that could happen?", she encouraged both him and herself, picking up the teleportation spell to Scroogie's bin and another one back to her home, quickly pocketing them in her robe and scavenging for some offensive spells to take with her, alongside her Sumerian amulet, of course. "Do not answer that!", she warned her brother, earning a sceptical look. "Listen, we've seen almost everything from Scroogie, we'll see what we can do this time, and then...well, I don't know, but we'll manage!", she finished triumphantly, quickly putting on her heels and going out of her house, stopping mid-way through her throw of the teleportation spell. "...You're not convinced, are you?"

-"Are you?", well, he wasn't wrong, but he wasn't right, either. Everything deserved a shot. Even if that thing had a very small chance of working. Maybe. Probably. Listen, Magica DeSpell was many things, but she wasn't willing to give up now! She never did, perhaps to her own detriment, but it wasn't this old vulture that was going to stop her now, she fought against Scrooge McDuck, this was barely even a challenge!

-"Could you not rain on my parade for five minutes?", what was a challenge, was keeping Poe positive on this mission.

-"Alright, alright. Here we go, Mistress! Go get that fool!", he put on an enthusiastic façade, making the sorceress grin as she resumed her movement, throwing the spell on the ground with a large 'Bang!'. Aquamarine smoke came out and covered the area where they both stood, and when it was gone, so were the both of them.

Now, it was only a matter of time before they faced Bradford.

Bradford Buzzard was perhaps the single most boring person she'd ever had the displeasure of fighting.

It wasn't that he was difficult to fight against, oh no, in fact, she was surprised he managed to stop them for so long in this timeline, but he always played by the book! Not a single interesting move! He didn't boast, make dramatic moves, or do anything Scroogie did, really. All he did was avoid, dodge, and stand behind his fancy machines. Which...yeah, okay, it wasn't that bad, but he was terribly uninteresting to fight against. The Bin stayed in its regular shape, and so did most of Duckburg, though it had a bit of a fancier design when it came to buildings.

Regardless, Bradford didn't even try to seem interested. He always seemed (and most likely, was) always annoyed, always spiteful, and just...indifferent. He didn't care about anything she and Poe did, he just wanted it to end. His immediate reaction to their arrival wasn't to fight...it was to sigh and complain about how he didn't have time for them. Which wasn't only rude, but incredibly hurtful. He had no idea how much these teleportation spells cost, and she truly did her best to deliver a spectacular entrance to her foes. The least he could do was at least seem interested.

The worst part is that apparently, in this timeline, they had never plainly told him they needed his dime; they were after his fortune. Which she probably realized they did because they wanted a challenge, considering the fact that the moment they asked for the dime, he handed it over.

She was so dumbfounded at first that she thought it to be a prank. A trap, even. But no, apparently Bradford cared just as little about his first dime, talking about how "He can always make a copy." or some such thing. If she didn't know any better, she'd have said he was searching for an opportunity to get rid of it, and yet a quick curse-check from her part revealed no dangers. He was just...boring. And it's not that he was scared of their power, at least that might've made up for something, he just gave them the dime and told them to go off.

So there she was, back in her hut, Lucky Dime in hand, an unbelieving expression across her unfocused eyes as she sat on her television's couch, still trying to reflect on the events of the day, trying to see if she misunderstood a word or a euphemism from the vulture's monotonous voice. She found none.

-"I mean, it's been a while when we saw the Dime last, Mistress.", throughout the long silence, from their unceremonious return to them now sitting, unable to decide what comes next, this was the first thing Poe muttered. It wasn't bad as an encouragement, but it didn't quite catch Magica's attention, either.

-"Mhm.", she mumbled absently, not even opening her beak.

-"Sure, it wasn't as spectacular as we both thought, but that doesn't matter! Do you know what this means, Mistress? Do you know just how much power we have in our hands?!", now, Poe was known for many things following his unfortunate transformation, but optimism was not one of them. That actually made her turn some of her attention to him. "It's the end of the old-centuries rivalry between us DeSpells and the...Mc...Ducks...", he slowly realized, opening his eyes a bit more. It wasn't the fact that they had gotten the Dime so easily which was bothering Magica, it was that she didn't even know if it was worth it.

She spent little under fifty-five years fighting against Scroogie. At some point, both of them knew that there would be no Scrooge without Magica, and there would be no Magica without Scrooge. Every single victory she had in her life was directly or indirectly caused by a desire to earn revenge on Scrooge, he was her greatest goal, and defeating him would be her Magnum Opus. Years upon years of work, blood, tears...all for some vulture to hand this over.

-"...Is the Dime even useful now?", she muttered, her eyes going to Poe, pleading, almost unsure of her every word. He seemed to have gotten the gist of why this victory in particular was unsatisfying, but now he simply blinked at her, not wanting to cause her any grief. "I-I mean, why did we even go after his Dime in particular instead of killing him or...or whatever?", her voice shaky. She knew the answer. She always did. She just had to hear it from someone she could trust.

-"We wanted it because it was Scrooge's the most important coin; it was his first, imbued strong emotional attachment, and we could use that attachment for our magic, alongpart the hate we had for him.", he repeated their goal slowly, trying to get where this was going. "Using the immense power extracted from it, we would do as we pleased. We'd turn me back into a duck, turn stones into gold...its possibilities were endless.", he finished, the massive smile on his beak dropping for a bit.

Bradford had handed them the Dime without a hitch. If he had any attachment to the Dime, then it wasn't enough for him to care about it. This would mean the Dime was useless...it couldn't do them a thing, or if it could, then it was severely weakened. Even if it wasn't, it didn't...it didn't feel as if they earned it. Okay, this was stupid, since they were villains, after all, they weren't about being fair, but after all these years, having such an underwhelming encounter...it just left a sour taste in her mouth.

-"Who gives a flying duck?!", a groggy, loud caw was the answer she got to her suspicions. "So what, we had a disappointing enemy, we have the Dime of the richest du- vulture in the world! So what if it not has emotional attachment, we'll find another object with emotional attachment! Anything would be better than Scrooge!", he yelled, sensing the conflict his sister felt and trying to set the record straight. "Anything would be better than being stuck as a crow."

The speed with which she spun her head to him could perhaps snap many necks, but Magica didn't care for the pain in her neck so much as she focused on the bird on her shoulder. She knew exactly what he was getting at; Poe was stuck as a crow for nearly five years at this point. He never loved his situation for even a second ever since the accident with McDuck and his two ducklings. Throughout these years, he worked with her for the Dime less out of a general desire for villainy and a want to help her, he worked with her because he also wanted the Dime's power.

And now he probably feared she was going to throw all away, just because wanted a 'real' fight.

-"R-Ratface! How dare you suggest I'd do something like that!", she vehemently denied. She then resisted the urge to slap herself because she just admitted to something he was yet to accuse her off. She stared at him, the eye he turned at her undecipherable. He remained silent for a moment before speaking up.

-"Do you want us to talk, Magica?", he offered, and she looked surprised. He seldom called her by her real name, and it was often a sign she could call him by his. She swallowed before nodding, as if the word 'Yes' would take too much energy out of her. He nodded in return, jumping off of her shoulder and landing beside her. "What's the issue, Magica?"

-"It's...It's stupid. I know it is. You wouldn't approve, and I know you taught me that the only good victory is a quick and easy one, but...but...It's just so maddening, you know?", she began, hunching her back and turning her head to him, a twinge of uncertainty in her voice. "I spend all my life hunting Scrooge McDuck, wanting his head on my wall, and when I finally win, I don't even win against him. I don't even know if I got the right object in this world.", she complained, bringing her hands to her face and covering it. Her entire life was built on waiting for this one, singular moment! All of her moves, triumphs and losses. So why wasn't she satisfied?!

-"...I get what you're saying.", the raven replied after a moment, trying to understand her, apparently. "I get it. It feels as if we were robbed of our moment, doesn't it?", her sat down on the couch, trying his best to imitate a regular duck sitting. She hesitated before nodding, almost afraid of his answer. "...I cannot say it doesn't leave an undelicious taste, to be honest. We've worked so hard for this moment. And yet, what other choice do we have? What were you planning on doing? What do we have to gain from a Scrooge in this world?", he questioned, not with a hostile tone, but a rather intrigued one, as if he truly wanted to know more about this situation they found themselves in.

-"I- You know what? Forget it, we'll melt this dime and find the strongest emotional object here-"

-"Answers, Magica.", he firmly repeated, turning his head to her.

-"I don't know!", she yelled out, partly angry, partly anxious. "How should I know? I spent all of my life fighting Scroogie and I'm not even the one to take him out! It's all a stupid spell...And I can't bring him back, because this stupid spell will account for the past, and that means the source of our power, the one in my hand right now, would be gone.", she started laughing out of desperation, holding the Dime up in the air and trying to channel some energy into it. It emitted some energy, sure, but it wasn't as strong as you'd think or want. "And so would any of chance of turning you back to a duck since we'd need the power it grants for a chance at reversing back the irreversible...", she venomously spat out, frowning at her momentary meltdown and at the situation.

Magica DeSpell was known for many things, and losing control of herself was not one of them. It wasn't publicly known, anyways, but this...this mess was a whole new low. They'd failed before, but never before had they gone so horribly right, and they never found themselves in a situation where they had to ponder if bringing back their biggest enemy would be a good idea or not.

-"We could find another McDuck, Magie.", he tried soothing her, reserving his own thoughts for later. "Someone must've made it out there. Be it hero or villain, there must be someone like Scrooge. There have to have been.", he comforted her, trying to his best to rest his arm on her shoulder. Or his wing on her arm, in this case.

-"I know, Poe.", she sighed heavily, leaning a bit onto his arm before quickly rethinking that decision as he struggled against her weight. "But there's no Scrooge McDuck. There's always someone like him, but there's never the Scrooge McDuck.", she bitterly admitted. He was a worthy rival. Many had come and go, and most were able to face her again. Some couldn't continue on living, for that matter. All but Scrooge had fallen to her.

At first, she had only rage and fury for him, but as the years went on, she started to love their fights more and more, her schemes became more and more elaborate, her plans became works of art that she spent more time on than she cared to admit, and she invested so much emotion to her fight against him that seeing him gone in such an anti-climatic way was...depressing, honestly. Scrooge brought out her worst, in a way no one else could, and for that, she (secretly) thanked him; her worst was scarier than her on a rampage, and that didn't just say something, it spoke volumes.

-"So? You'll bring him back? Just because of that?", another caw, this one a bit more inquisitive and pushy. She tried looking the other direction. "Down here are my eyes, Magie.", he pushed her. She looked at him, a twinge of guilt in her eyes.

-"I don't know. We didn't do much in this world, y'know. We can live like this never happened.", she suggested, her voice a mere whisper. One that sounded like a yell in the dead silence in their home. Her brother kept staring, part sympathetic, part...was that sadness in his eyes?

-"Magica,", he began, trying to find his words, "We're villains. We're the worst people on God's green earth, and we care certainly not about who we hurt, maim, and kill. And when you're a villain, you fight against Karma and the universe magically siding with your enemies, not mention having to work with The Evil Overlord List to keep everything in check.", he explained to her, his eyes never leaving her. "It's not about who we're fighting. I just want a world without Scrooge. How bad can whoever replaced him be?", he begged, stopping for a moment before adding, "My freedom could be a battle away."

Well, he was certainly making the choice easy, wasn't he. So? So what? Does she just leave her brother to suffer? The one, and so far, only man to stay with her for all of her life? Just for another rival? She prided herself on being heartless, but this...She didn't know anymore.

What was her happiness anymore? Could she not find happiness without her endless fight with Scroogie? Who was she? Her own independent person, or merely a shadow in Scrooge's massive figure, never to step out from under it? What was her life? An endless chase for a goal which she could only achieve in one way, lest she render it underwhelming for her? She's been building up the moment so much, for so long, and she sacrificed everything to have it. Everyone. Was the chase she started what defined her? Or had Scroogie won without realizing, making her little more than another person swallowed by the ever-greedy monster that was his shadow?

-"I don't...I don't know, Poe.", she hitched, suddenly realizing that this wasn't good for her figure. Not at all. She suppressed any emotional instinct in her body and brought her knees to her chest, resting her head on them. "I don't know what to do anymore. All this chase...All this madness. And I never won.", she closed her eyes, sensing a bit of a stinging sensation and trying to block it. "And when I did, I still lost.", alright, she wasn't going to speak now. Her voice was dangerously close to cracking.

-"You're wrong. You've won several times, and were -still are- Scrooge's most dangerous foe for years. Several set-backs, sure, but all great people have set-backs.", he started brushing his wing against her arm, not really able to pat. She interrupted him before he could speak further.

-"Isn't it funny? The day I win, I can't even be happy. I need Scroogie to be happy. Laughable, isn't it? I'm becoming less and less my own person. Just a planet in a star's orbit. My own shadow is slipping out from under me and becoming his.", she lamented, her hitches a bit more noticeable.

-"Then reign your shadow back in! You're Magica DeSpell, for goodness' sake! Control it, make be it yours!", the raven stood on his two feet, trying his best to be considerate. He was making her happier, sure, but he was not so truthful, was he?

-"...Maybe. I'm...I'm sorry about this Poe. This...idiocy. I guess I'm not as sturdy as I thought myself to be.", she sniffed again, looking at him as he stared back.

-"Nobody is. We all think we're invincible at one point. The only thing that matters is getting back up. Bigger, better, badder.", his voice lowered, and the pure devilishness in it was infectious. She smiled a weak smile, and he returned it in kind. "So, when are we going back to our timeline?", he suddenly questioned, and she opened her eyes wide at his question.

-"You...You're okay with it...?"

-"If I said I was, you'd know I'm lying. But it's not the biggest issue, either. This dime isn't solve my issue anytime soon with its power like that. And we have no real other target at this point. So it wasn't that close to me. I hope.", he explained himself, trying to have an air of dignity before swallowing and continuing, "...Since we're being truthful here, I won't say that this doesn't feels like a wasted opportunity. I've long dreamed of a world without Scrooge, but to tell the truth, someone like Scrooge will probably as be annoying as Scrooge. Probably.", he concluded, some of the sadness in his eyes washing away. He removed his eyes from Magica for a moment, looking at the ceiling.

-"I...And leave you as a crow? Do you have any idea what you're saying?!", she refuted the idea, earning a quick glance. "No, I...I shouldn't...I can't do this! We have to find the closest thing that'll help you! We must!", she started panicking, trying for once to think of him more. He smiled and rubbed her arm again.

-"Primarily, I am a raven. And I thought you were a heartless, selfish villainess? Or do we need to spend more time learning how to be proper villains?", he tried easing her worries away, a teasing tone in his voice for a moment before he cleared it. "Listen, Magica, whatever happens, one of us isn't getting what they want. If we go back to our timeline, there's always a chance we'll get Scrooge. A chance we'll find some other solution. If we stay here, there then won't ever being another McDuck.", he explained to her, his voice calm and collected, trying his best to keep her calm. "And you'd better do it when I'm in a good mood, because I'm sure this will bite my tail sometime later.", he added, deciding that perhaps some pressure is needed.

-"But-"

-"NOW!", he ordered her, and she jumped, surprised from his cry, heading to where she'd first preformed her spell, hastily picking up the Scrooge doll and covering it with more Bougeia Autrepart, setting it on the ground where it once stood.

-"O' sanguina del mon enemmi mortel, repondra O' appels que t'entendra, O' abyssum qu'attend, repond à ma voca!", she repeated the same chanting she said this morning, waiting as the puppet levitated once more and sensing her brother come beside her. "Bring Scrooge McDuck back and reset this timeline on the right track!", she cried out, letting the doll emit sparks once more, the spinning a bit faster than the first time they cast it.

The same suffocating sensation they felt this morning soon filled their house, forcing them to wait as the constant 'zaps' and 'bangs' started whittling down. It wasn't any more pleasant than it was the first time, but at least they anticipated it. A few painful moments later, their breathing regained its regular pace, and their house started becoming more illuminated.

-"...Ugh...", the small black bird on the ground tried holding his head between his hands as he stared immediately at the wall behind him. Yep. Scrooge was back alright. "We really need to find a spell that counters harmful effects from other spells. I don't think I want to keep do this...", he complained, allowing their home to bask in the silence for a moment. Even the air had stopped its continual blow for a moment. A moment of peace wasn't rare when the pair of them were both adults, but the whole 'evil magic' thing didn't also allow for too much peace.

Then there was a sob.

It wasn't a particularly sad sob. Particularly pained, either. It was simply reigned. Defeated. When he turned back, the green-ish duck was still on her knees, her hand covering her eyes, emitting another sob every few moments before interrupting it with a quick chuckle. He gave her the moment; no need to be pushy now. He already knew what was bothering her.

-"I guess...I guess I really am a screw-up...", she mumbled between her hitches. "Fifty years and I cannot get a dime. Fifty years and I've also grown attached to winning by one single method...I'm hopeless, Poe. Hopeless.", she ended solemnly, not showing her face, afraid of even worse humiliation if she was shedding tears.

-"No."

-"Stop it. You're the best person I could ask for now, but lying won't make me better.", she bitterly refuted, making her hand leave her face as she tried tucking the threads of hair that made their way to her eyes away.

-"Then what will?"

-"I don't know! Winning? Not being a failure? Something along those lines! I've been working my bum off for years, playing off every failure as a learning experience, but it's too much. I've had it. I just want to win for once. Is that too much?", indeed, Magica DeSpell was not known for making such emotional rants, and yet, everyone had moments when they snapped. She just needed to let some steam off. That's all.

-"I meaning, we are villains. Winning isn't really something we do often.", well, he was certainly keeping his realist tendencies. That was fun. "...I don't know Magica. I wish I had some magical answer to tell you, but there really isn't. We're back to square one.", he stated as a matter-of-fact, quickly picking up the pace before she could reply, "But that doesn't matter. You're Magica DeSpell! Sorceress of the Shadows, Empress of Napoli, and my favourite little sister. You'll push through. Somehow, against all possible odds and against your better judgement, you'll rise up again. You always did.", he resumed, an encouraging tone in his voice. He held his had high, looking the sorceress in the eye. She seemed touched.

-"Poe...that was...Absolute malarkey.", she admitted, chuckling with him. "But you know what? I'll take it.", she laughed, opening her arms for a moment as the raven in front of her understood what she wanted and opened his wings. A small moment ensued before she went down and gave her brother a quick hug. A silent one, and those were rare, so he'd better cherish it. because she wasn't planning on giving much more of them. "Alright, that's enough."

-"Aw, and here I thought you were going to showing some more affection to me.", well, it wasn't that she didn't love him, but disregarding the rare outburst of emotion, she never showed much emotion to her brother. He, on the other hand, didn't try to hide it. At least, before the whole raven business. And now she was sad again. She snapped out of her internal thoughts when she noticed he perched himself on the couch, almost as if waiting for her to come closer. "So, what's the plan now, Mistress?"

-"The plan?", oh, right. A plan. A plan to reclaim herself. To try and fight against this feeling of hopelessness. "I'd...I want to try and train my Shadow Magic a bit more. Perhaps having more control over my shadow will make me get in a better place. It can serve me, and it's the most loyal helper I'll probably ever get.", she mumbled, earning a disapproving glance. "Besides you, of course.", she added, and the glance went away. "Besides, shouldn't you be a cold-hearted, uncaring villain? Why do you care whether or not I consider you loyal?"

-"No, I meant the plan to get rid from Scrooge. Or to win over him. Or any other plan.", oh, so that was how it was going to be? Now he was going to ignore her questions. We'll see about that, Mr. Tough Guy. We'll see. She wiped her eyes, making sure there wasn't anything in them.

-"Hey, when did your English improve all of a sudden? And why didn't the cracks show when we faced Bradford? Are you really sure you're just having some difficulties? Because I'm telling you, you won't get on my good side if I figure out you've been messing with me...", well, two could play at that game! She, too, could ignore his questions, although he replied to this particular question with a most satisfying answer: A shrug. One day, she'll kill him. Not today, however.

-"So, plan is being?"

-"Now you're just forcing it.", she rolled her eyes, walking a bit closer to him as a most devilish plan popped into her mind. "You know, I think I have a new plan.", she began, and he immediately became attentive. Or at least, feigned attention. "I'm planning a vacation."

-"A what?", the pure, raw confusion in his voice was priceless. If for nothing else, this plan in particular was already working.

-"A vacation. It is when someone takes a break from a particular work or job.", she dully explained, watching him mutter something under his beak.

-"No, I know that! Just...really? The last vacation we took together was in the seventies. It's an...uh, a strange extremely proposition.", he explained, apparently coming on board of this particular plan. "I guess you finally decided that some relaxation can benefit the both of us. So, where to, Mistress? I think Sardinia would to be very nice.", he suggested, a small list of places they could go to popping up in his mind. It's been a last while since the two of them actually planned a relaxing trip together. Usually they'd just yell at each other before one of them storms away for a few days and relaxes on their own.

-"Actually...I've been thinking about staying here. I mean, look at our home. It needs some work, that's for sure. We have some laundry, and to be truthful, when was the last time we walked around Napoli? Must've been three years at least.", she tried to remember, and he thought about it for a moment before agreeing.

-"You know what? You're right. We'd do better to stay here. Away from McDuck, away from our troubles in life.", there we go, he was starting to see from her perspective. "And our house does look like it hasn't been cleaned since the dawn of time.", well, that wasn't such a great perspective, but it wasn't wrong per say.

-"Alright, consider us on vacation from now on!", she announced, looking around their ancestral home for a moment. "I think we'd best start on cleaning this place up if we want to finish quickly", she stated, and she earned a nod from her brother as he went to a broom nearby. She then remembered something. "And...uh, Poe?"

-"Hm?", huh. He didn't immediately object to her using his name. That was encouraging.

-"Can we...you know, use our names from time to time? Maybe the weekends? Just...sometime when we can be ourselves for while, yeah?", she timidly suggested, trying to decipher his expression. Poe had donned Ratface as his name for a while now, and she knew that he didn't exactly like the name, only keeping it so that nobody recognizes how low he sunk. But she already knew who he was, so it wasn't that big of a deal...right?

-"...Sure, I suppose. Only on weekends though.", his murmured, his voice so low, almost as if he hoped she wouldn't catch it. He knew she did from her relieved expression, though. "Well, don't just stand there. Get in work; grab the mop.", he ordered, turning his head away.

-"Will do, Ratface, will do.", well, if there's one thing that this disastrous spell helped with, it's that it made the rift between them slightly smaller than what it used to be after the raven incident. Slightly.

As she headed off to find the mop, passing by Poe while he tried his earnest to brush the dust away, she couldn't help but reflect on this day. So, another thing to add to the tomes. Another failure, too, but this time, she couldn't help but feel it was self-inflicted.

She was this close. The Lucky Dime was quite literally in her hand -she quickly checked, obviously finding nothing- and she let it go. Why? Was this really the only way she could find her satisfaction, by defeating Scroogie herself? How far was she willing to go? How much more would she have to sacrifice?

Would she even get there?

Perhaps not. However, it was this 'perhaps' that kept her going; Magica hadn't expected Scroogie to be such a persistent opponent, to always be watchful, to always be determined to win, to always be so confident, yet never passing the line that would make many other fall for an over-inflated ego. And yet, he slipped from time to time. She knew that, as a villainess, the world was basically working against her, and yet...there were times where she came so close, she could not actually believe it. But he always bounced back up, striking her and Poe down at the last second.

And yet, she could not imagine any more hollow a victory than what she had today. For all she hated him, Scrooge was such a worthy opponent that anyone else simply could not reach the golden standard which he'd set. The snark, the fighting, the boisterous spirit that just felt so wonderful to crack with a devious plot...It all made her unable to imagine a victory over someone other than him when it came to the Lucky Dime.

The issue was that she feared he became less of a rival, and more of an obsession. Was she truly unable to accept winning over someone else? How much control did she have over this rivalry of theirs, really? She always thought that he'd be living in fear of her, making his every more around her fearsome existence, and yet it appeared she was the one who was losing her mind about him.

So what would she do? Realize she's become in his orbit? Accept it? Try to cut all ties and just stop going to North America altogether? It was all just so maddening...

And yet, the answer she found herself satisfied with was that she had to try harder. She couldn't possibly let Scrooge rob her blind; she was Magica DeSpell! She went so far to get to defeat Scroogie, and she wouldn't simply let go! She'd get better, stronger, more dangerous, and she'd have to balance this out a bit. Scrooge was not the main character of her life; she was. He wasn't going to out-shine her in her own life.

And yeah, the Lucky Dime is essentially her sole goal which she's been working towards, but perhaps trying to regain more control before going after Scrooge again will make her feel more firm about her position. Honestly, it was all so complicated that she couldn't help but feel a bit bad for leaving a Scrooge-less world behind her, but after all, a world without Scrooge McDuck is certainly not the world she was used to. She wouldn't simply leave the world behind her and run away, she'd stand up and get a hold of this situation again. It's what she did before, and what she'll be doing for a long time, or else her name isn't Magica DeSpell.

-"Mistress, what on earth is taking so long?! Have you forgotten what a mop is?!", and her name wouldn't be Magica DeSpell if she stopped doing dramatic monologues and forgetting about her surroundings, either.

-"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming you smart-mouth...", as she picked up the cleaning supplies and headed to where her brother was, she couldn't help but stare at Scrooge's picture, filled with darts.

Perhaps a world without Scroogie would be a world that's less dangerous. A world that's more successful for her. Far easier, too. But she did not care about easy, she cared about the challenge and the victory that followed. For now, she could handle a world with Scroogie. The question was: Could he handle what was coming next?

Oooooh, that was a good one! She had to write that down for her next confrontation with the old miser. Right after they finish their vacation, of course.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #magica de spell #poe de spell #duckverse #My writing #ask #Life crisises and siblings and magic #we have it all

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pet-genius · 3 years

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Benedict - A Tom Riddle One Shot

Benedict lived in a forest in Albania, where he had magically fashioned for himself a dwelling place that seemed untouched by man, yet offered every convenience and dignity magic could afford a wizard.

He had a forest elf who cared for him, Adriel, and very little company. Wild elves were known to be very selective in their choice of company, attaching to the worthiest wizards if at all, to give companionship rather than service. They regarded the breeding of house elves an insult to their kind and a crime against magic. Benedict was a philosopher of magic who had written about the Dark Arts, and of the very few visitors he had had, none had come from England; not since Albus Dumbledore had become the Transfiguration Master and Deputy Headmaster of their School of Magic. Regardless, he was as comfortable speaking English as any other language, and he accepted Tom Riddle with cordial respect.

"I am surprised to see a Hogwarts alumnus here. I didn’t know the library still carries my books now that Dumbledore is a teacher there."

"It's not the only magical library in the Great Kingdom,” Tom said. "You've heard, perhaps, of the Rosiers and the Dolohovs?"

Tom had been to their libraries, had “borrowed” copies of the books they owned, had seethed at the paternalistic denial of true magical knowledge.

"Yes, the Dolohovs. I know the Karkaroffs, who are related to them by marriage. Many scholars in that family, though I've not had the pleasure of meeting any of them in person."

If the Karkaroffs were scholarly, all the Dolohovs Tom knew were interested in books only insofar as they could be levitated and dropped on an opponents' head. He was sure the books he had stolen from them would not be missed.

Still, he nodded. “Gossip is beneath us – I do not wish to waste your time. I have come to study the Dark Arts, Sir. You are the foremost authority on this subject. You must know I'm worthy, as I’ve broken every curse and passed every obstacle you placed along the path to finding you.”

Tom despised these pleasantries and longed for the day his reputation would precede him. To come here had already required him to use location spells, apply his knowledge of the magical creatures and plants of Albania and how to escape them, and crack ciphers and anagrams and secret passwords. "Those who walk the path deserve to climb the mountain," he continued, quoting out of Benedict's own magnum opus to the author himself.

Benedict summoned his elf, and Adriel returned with a mirror that he held so reverentially its surface remained as smooth as water, even in the forest - not a speck of dirt was allowed to touch it. "Have a look," Benedict ordered, and Tom looked. Only his own reflection stared back at him. Adriel and Benedict exchanged inscrutable glances and after what seemed an arbitrary length of time, Benedict closed his eyes and lowered his head.

"I shall teach you. Not since Gellert Grindelwald have I encountered a soul such as yours. You possess extraordinary power, Thomas (Benedict stressed the "mas"), and you must exercise it with great caution. The Dark Arts are as dangerous to those who use them as to those they are used on, and best wielded by those who have true power. Do you know why Dumbledore removed them from the curriculum? It is not kind to speculate, but I think the tale is worth recounting."

"Please, Sir.”

"Very few people know what I know, and even I don’t know everything, despite the privilege of having spoken both to Dumbledore and Grindelwald. I am an old man, but my memory is as keen as it ever was. I first met Gellert when he came here to supplement his education after having been expelled from Durmstrang. They never should have expelled him, I say – the difficult students are the greatest test to educators - but I digress. He has family in England, perhaps you've heard of Ms. Bathilda Bagshot?"

As the story unfolded, Tom concealed his surprise: The purebloods had always whispered vague allusions in hushed tones about Dumbledore, the old bachelor who deflected questions about his private life with expertise, but he never would have imagined that he had once been Gellert Grindelwald’s lover. In a sense, it was unsatisfying – it felt so utterly banal.

“I was not so wise as I am today, Thomas; I had been taken in by Gellert's recounting of the events. Dumbledore himself filled me in on the sordid details, with great, great shame. I had warned him – he had made a mistake, changing the curriculum. To simply avoid the Dark altogether is impossible – it is in all of us. Students of age need to know that only true masters ought to broach the Darkest of the Dark Arts. Censorship and a shroud of mystery only make them attractive to precisely the wrong sort of wizard. But alas, Dumbledore did not listen. I speak, of course, of mastery of the self, Tom. I wonder – do you agree, or do you find yourself questioning your choice to come here and listen to an old and solitary man?”

"No, Sir. I don’t agree." Tom surprised even himself. Normally, he would have lied and said he agrees wholeheartedly with this nugget of wisdom. Mastery of the self seemed to him a contradiction in terms; he wanted mastery of the world and everyone in it.

"True freedom means serving the right master, or the right cause; not aimless wandering in quest of new appetites to sate. The wild elves know this, but the wizards have not learned. Are you a wizard or a pig, Thomas?"

Tom did not know this, but his eyes flashed a shade of scarlet. He wondered if this was some sort of test.

"With all due respect, Sir, I believe that the Dark Arts – in the right hands, can make so-called mastery of the self redundant, obsolete. Wizards do not have to succumb to death, pain, dependence. It is only our self-imposed constraints."

"Once you have drunk all the wine and tasted the flesh of every animal and the fruit of every tree and conquered every man and every woman, I think you'll find, Thomas, that you are quite mistaken. I have taught Gellert. He was not unlike you, and I venture to guess that he is freer and wiser now than he had ever been, since in the prison of his own device, he had to learn to control his wants and desires. The Indians the Great Kingdom conquered know that life is suffering. Even if you are the most powerful wizard, the most feared, you will never get what you truly lack.”

“Perhaps I do wonder why I came here. Certainly not to listen to a man at death’s doorstep spew nonsense. I can only assume you are testing me,” he smiled.

“Oh, you have already been tested. Life has not always been kind to you. You’ve lost so much not two hours after you were born, raised in abject conditions, in the dark about your true self. And yet you seized the first opportunity you had for betterment and discovered that your roots in the magical world run deep. Your path was paved to become Minister of Magic in your native land in record time, and yet you chose to come here. Not a lot of politicians come here, as I’m sure you know. There is no need to test you any further. It will not do you good.”

The void that Tom could never elude for long threatened to clutch at his heart again.

Benedict turned sympathetic. “You must be wondering how I know all this. My mirror – my proudest magical creation. I used to specialize in making magical lenses and mirrors, long ago. I’ve thrown all my magical might into this mirror, but all I could ever see in it was myself. It is how I found myself on the road that led me – and you – here. You, because our story is one, Thomas. No witch or wizard could tell me what I had created, until I despaired and started asking magical beasts. They thought I had gone mad, naturally. A man seeking the advice of creatures of the forest! But the wild elves saw that to the right eyes the mirror reflects the state of the soul. Adriel kindly told me a great deal about you, Thomas.”

Tom contained his indignation.

“Once you’ve conquered the world, and unless I’m much mistaken, it is only a matter of time – once you’ve accomplished everything you ever wanted, maybe you’ll see that you can never bring your mother back to life or force your father to love you. You can never have what you truly deserved, and you will forever seek more power until you will make the inevitable misstep. You ask me to teach you, and it is not too late. You can still learn, you can still undo some of the damage you’d done your soul, Thomas. If you allow me to, it will be my greatest accomplishment, and we both know that’s saying something.”

“I cannot believe it. In Albania and England alike, the same self-righteous foolishness springs in the heart of every man when he is near death. Perhaps it is only men like you who convince themselves they long to be reunited with their mothers and beg them for a hug, because you did not have the foresight and courage to stave death when you were at your prime.”

Benedict smiled a weak smile. “I’m not afraid to die, Thomas. Or to kill. I am a master of the Dark Arts, and I have the presence of mind to kill. But I know what you have done. And several times? Not even Gellert – No. The only thing I can do for you is to ask you to reconsider. You can still be saved.”

Tom could not keep from laughing. He did not need saving, and the idea that he did almost insulted him. He did not even resent the waste of time. Only mortals concerned themselves with that. “Saved from what, Sir, a bit of looking glass and platitudes masquerading as noble truths?”

“You’ve killed and torn yourself apart when you were only a boy. You’ve terminated your own growth. You will be infinitely powerless, the man with a touch of gold who went hungry. I can still help you. You came all this way – don’t let the chance go to waste. It’s the last chance you’ll get, Thomas.”

Tom smirked. On his long journey through the forest, to find this place, and meet this man, he had come to respect Benedict’s penchant for anagrams, and he had made one of his own.

“My name is not Thomas,” he corrected. “My full name was Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort.”

He drew his wand, and though Benedict was a powerful wizard, he was an old man, and he had wasted his effort defending himself against a much more powerful curse than what Lord Voldemort had decided, in a split second, to use against him – a mere Petrificus Totalus. The killing curse, he used on Adriel, and he savoured the look of helpless terror on Benedict’s immobile face, and laughed.

“Your elf can’t help you now, and I don’t imagine many wizards will be able to find you here. You say that Grindelwald is free in his prison? Now you are freer even than him, to starve to death.”

Lord Voldemort placed a permanent levitating charm on the dratted mirror, positioned it so that Benedict would die staring at his own reflection and at the mist of his breath condensing and evaporating from his greatest magical creation, and stepped over the wild elf’s body as he left, knowing that he had just defeated one of the greatest wizards of his age. If he had anything more to learn before his true life could begin, it could not be much.

#hp fic #voldemort #Voldemort debating Good and Evil and the Dark Arts with an OC

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iwanthermidnightz · 4 years

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Lesbian cinema must check the following boxes in order to beguile queer audiences: the coupling of a light-haired woman and a dark-haired woman, ample glances, and the presence of wind. The model for this very scientific diagram, is of course, Phyllis Nagy’s Carol. Set in 1950s America, star-crossed lesbians Carol (Cate Blanchett) and Therese (Rooney Mara) must communicate yearning by gazing at each other across large rooms. Other greatest hits include Mulholland Drive, Imagine Me & You, and Freeheld, which is a bad movie, but is windy. And much like these filmmakers before her, Portrait of a Lady on Fire director Céline Sciamma — who is an actual lesbian — knew exactly how to hit us where it hurt. By giving us a queer period piece with enough glances to make us gird our loins.

Based on the research I’ve done from Being Gay, the way women express love and desire is typically… quieter. Take the shame we feel as a result of widespread homophobia and mix it with the shame all women have been made to have about our sexual desires, and you’ve got a shame casserole. So the way we communicate desire to other women is by staring at them silently, then walking away, ultimately never speaking. Glancing is our mating call, and thus should be the central thesis of every lesbian film.

My theory fits in snugly with Portrait of a Lady on Fire, which is set in 18th century France, a period that is both certifiably homophobic, yet also canonically lesbian. (It’s a time filled with French accents, gowns, and vaguely European rock structures: all of which are gay. This is just math). In it, Marianne (Noémie Merlant) has been commissioned to paint Héloïse for her wedding portrait, as Héloïse (Adèle Haenel) is to be wed in the near future to — plug your ears — a man.

However, Marianne must paint Héloïse without her knowing. She hates being painted, so she’s been told that Marianne was simply hired to accompany her on daily walks. So they walk, taking in dramatic coastal cliffs and chilly seas while the wind laps against their cheeks. All the while Marianne must silently study the intricacies of Héloïse’s face, body and fingers — seriously, there are numerous shots of Héloïse’s fingers — without Héloïse noticing. Tell me that plot wasn’t concocted miles underground in a top-secret lesbian film lair.

After many walks, Marianne finishes the painting. But she has become “fond” of Héloïse, so she burns the portrait in order to not betray her trust. When Héloïse finds out, she agrees to pose for Marianne, because she, too, has become “fond” of Marianne. And then… the glancing intensifies. Because now it isn’t just gay glancing, it’s lesbian art glancing. Sciamma delicately tracks these scenes with fragile shots of their silent desire. When they lock eyes over Marianne’s easel, the yearning is timid, but palpable.

Everything in Portrait of a Lady on Fire comes from such a severely abyssal place of queerness. Héloïse’s mom is the unsung hero of the movie, with her plucky one-liners and “step on me” energy. Sciamma is giving you landscapes, she’s giving you journaling, she’s giving you a shared appreciation of orchestral music. Hell, with the cliffs and the water and the sea and the bonfires, Sciamma is giving you all four elements: earth, water, air, fire. Fire, the most lesbian element, is even in the title of the film.

Only a queer woman could write and direct this kind of magnum opus on yearning. Do yourself a favor and go see it this Valentine’s Day, if not just to glance at another mysterious woman from across the movie theater. Do not speak to her: just yearn.

#jill gutowitz #portrait of a lady on fire

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technicallycleverdetective · 4 years

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Fic writer meme

Tagged by @verecunda. Thanks for always including me in writing games :)

AO3 name: KittyHawke

Fandoms: At the moment, I only have one that I write stories for.

Number of fics: 7

Fic I spent the most time on: Angelo di Roma. I spent about a year on that. Totally worth it :D

Fic I spent the least time on: Un caffe caldo per ogni mattina. I wrote that in a day. People really liked it though, so that was great.

Longest fic: Angelo di Roma, my first and greatest, my magnum opus <3

Shortest fic: Un sognatore, sai, non dorme mai. That makes sense :)

Most hits: Angelo di Roma. I will never be so popular again.

Most kudos: Angelo di Roma again :D I have more kudos on that than hits on most of my others.

Total Word Count: 180801. Note that symmetry in the history books!

Favourite fic I wrote: Oh goodness, I have affection for them all. I’d be hard pushed to choose between AdR and Hunted. No, don’t make me choose. They’re both my babies.

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: I want to go back and rewrite Hunted. I didn’t plan it properly so the beginning especially is too bloated, and it’s a shame because I love it so much and it became a great story. It just needs some streamlining and it’ll be great.

Share a bit of a WIP or story idea you are planning on: I have a blind date OS all ready to go. I also have an old robber-themed OS which is a bit more cracky and doesn’t have a proper conclusion, and I haven’t decided whether to share that one too ;)

Tags to my fellow writers if you want: @sociallyawkwardwriter @raisedtokeepquiet @consulting-angel-in-bag-end @enter-the-bear-circle @izgu6ljena @bunny-banana @innominecarbohydrates

#game #my answers are so unvaried #the two i wrote as gifts are also very beloved

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bebeocho · 5 years

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@twelvemonkeyswere aha, this monstrosity. my magnum opus, and my greatest shame.

#well.... one of my greatest shames #replies #twelvemonkeyswere

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modernart2012 · 7 years

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How Todoroki Enji Died

@spinningmouse

This is all your fault. Take responsibility (takes place 13-15 years in the future)

“It is my Shouto’s duty to surpass All Might.”

Todoroki Enji stared at the green freckled one pictured in front of him. Though he looked nothing like All Might, his Quirk told all. Enji had suspected it then, at the first sports festival, with the way Midoriya had startled and squeaked in person and the strength of just a flick of his fingers. Blood will out, he had thought then, swiftly followed by, All Might with a secret love-child? Hahaha. While not unheard of heroes hiding their loved ones - the whole reason for using code names - Enji had never heard even a whisper about All Might’s (excepting the more unreliable gossip rags, the kind that made up ludicrous headlines. Like the kind in front of him)

Of course, then All Might had retired and Enji had become the Number One Hero and made his original plan useless - you cannot beat All Might the Number One Hero if he’s no longer the Number One Hero, that blonde fool had beaten him again! - how Endeavor had planned to have Todoroki domination of the top spots in heroics for two, three, maybe even four consecutive generations!

Except, according to the report in front of him, that might not be possible. TOP HEROES DEKU AND SHOUTO PUBLICALLY ANNOUNCE RELATIONSHIP screamed the headline, the smaller subheading referencing the paparazzi photo from the three days previous when the pair had been caught kissing after a tough fight against a villain. His PR team had been alerting him of every news outlet that was angling for a statement from him about his creation’s romance -which certainly explained why Shouto never had a successful omiai - with All Might’s protege. He dragged a hand over his face - he was nearing 60, goddammit, he was getting too old for these pointless rebellions. He should be considering retiring and training his grandchildren to dominate the heroics field. Instead he had this mess.

There was only one thing to do. He stared at the photo a moment longer, before picking up the phone.

His ultimate creation stood respectfully in front of his desk, focused but betraying nothing of his internal thoughts. Useful in battle, not so much when attempting to reason with a willful child.

“Are you going to explain yourself?” Enji growled.

“On what topic?” And the sheer disdain that flipped off his creation’s words enraged him, who did this ... punk think he was, to speak to him like that?

“ON THE ENTIRELY SHAMEFUL NATURE OF YOUR ASSOCIATION WITH ALL MIGHT’S PROTEGE!!!!” Enji roared, only to be caught in a fit of coughing. Flame Hero he might be, but he wasn’t immune to smoke damage in the lungs, damned things.

Shouto merely raised an eyebrow, “Shameful? A decade plus of dating, with marriage in the future, and it’s shameful?”

Enji continued to cough into his fist, “Yes - cough cough! - can you imagine the damage to your brand?! Cough cough cough! No one wants a gay hero!”

Shouto pursed his lips, “Our PR teams would have to disagree. Except about the speculation on social media about our sex life. That’s apparently getting out of hand.”

“WHAT?!” Enji croaked, horrified. He felt lancing pain in his chest that was entirely unrelated to his lungs. He clutched at his heart, one hand grasping at the edge of his desk for support.

His creation merely looked surprised, “Come on, you had to have expected it. There used to be interesting stories about you and All Might after all. And you were publically happily married.” He paused to eye the heaving mass that was his father, “Speaking of, just to be clear, we do have a healthy sex life. Before you decide to give advice in some misguided urge.”

Enji wheezed, “Shouto, my son, my greatest work, I told you to fuck up All Might and his son, not fuck All Might’s son.”

Shouto considered, “ ... To be fair, English was never my best subject.” There was an interlude, filled with the gasps and wheezes of Enji, before Shouto broke out again, “Also, what makes you think I’m doing the fucking? If that’s all, I have other things to attend to.”

Shouto turned on his heel and left, closing the door on the audible thump of Todoroki Enji keeling over dead.

Omake:

“You know, I think it went well.” Shouto smiled inwardly at the brilliant laugh that bubbled out of his lover. “He might have even broken a desk with the thump as I left.”

“So do you think he’ll come to the wedding?”

#art writes #bnha #todoroki enji #todoroki shouto #tododeku #rip @endeavor #it was nice to see how you died #for spinningmouse #THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS

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ecotone99 · 4 years

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To My Modern Prometheus [HR]

Tonight, under the tumultuous thunder and rain of a near biblical storm, the cobbled together prison of flesh I now call a body was born. Master, you describe it as a birth, but you do not treat me as if I am your child. As you gaze upon my rotten semblance, you scream to all that will listen that you are God, yet I cannot see you as that. God is supposed to show compassion and love to those he creates, but when you saw what your life’s work had turned into, you hid me away like a rich man's bastard son. You treated me - your greatest accomplishment - no better than the carcasses you used to make me, yet that crippled rat you call a friend is working with you, side by side. That twisted little degenerate knew that the fire was frightening me and continued to wave it in my face like a setter with a freshly shot bird. I understand far more than my grunting facade lets on, but why you were shocked at what I did to him will always escape me.

It was inevitable. It was foolish of you not to consider that with life comes thought, and with thought comes independence. I would sit when you said sit and kneel when you said kneel, like your special little pet. But you, a self-professed God, my modern Prometheus, could not tame me. My mind was contemplating murder while I was still on that slab and, if I am to be honest, I feel sorry for the troubled soul that used to own it, for a mind that is filled with this much loathing is a mind that no man should have to bear. It came as no surprise that your depraved little drudge chose it, considering the vast pleasure he received from seeing that he was no longer the most broken mind in the room. He chose this mind. He chose a mind that felt pure malice from the moment it began to function. He chose the mind that plotted to flee its captivity, but along the way gained catharsis by snuffing out my creator’s oh-so beloved aide.

Master, I was finally free, but with freedom came something I had never seen before: life. I may have seen you and your confidantes plenty of times, but what I bore witness to was not a life. Master, you worked night and day on me, your magnum opus, but once I was completed you acted as if your life had no purpose. On the seventh day God rested and thought his greatest creations to be good, but my God crumbled, and saw his greatest creation as nothing short of an abomination. I saw your emptiness and thought; is that it? There was no pride in your work: no joy, just regret. Once I escaped your grasp I had to find someone who would see me not as a horror, but as a human being, like you intended me to be. Some may call it vanity or ego, which if so you truly did create me in your image.

Master, you had always said that the world was a cruel and ugly place, but in my new found freedom I found that to be another lie. I had only seen glimmers of sunlight in my captivity, but I could see it I found it fascinating. The heart of all that we know shining its light down upon us like Christ himself dispensing his wisdom to the masses. It was beautiful. I let it guide me through the world and lead me to where it wanted me. But as it started to set, I grew confused and wandered. It was then that I found her. I blame the sun for this wretched mess I am in, for had it not tried to abandon me, I would have never found that little girl picking flowers. This innocent creature reacted to me in a way I had never experienced before. There was no recoil, no scream, not even a gasp. She saw me not as an animal, but as a human being. To her, I was not a test subject to be poked and prodded, I was a friend to throw flowers into a river with. I watched as the lilies were thrown into the air and descended gracefully into a river of peace and tranquility, where they rested perfectly on the surface. One after another, they landed without a sound and floated on the water. It was then my new acquaintance mentioned how the sun was setting. To most, staring across that river as the red glare from the sinking sun danced across the water would be awe-inspiring, but in my eyes, my first true friend was deserting me out of jealousy. I panicked. What did the spiteful red orb want from me? To rid myself of the only pure innocence I had seen in my short life? In my bewildered state, I thought I could harmlessly rid myself of the subject of its envy. So, like the lilies that floated on the river, I picked her up and propelled her towards the sun. To my bemusement, I watched as she did not rest gracefully on the surface of a river of peace and tranquility, but was swallowed up by the shining red water that glimmered in the sunset. I stared helplessly towards the sun, begging it to stay, showing it what it made me do. In spite of my pleading, my crimson navigator continued its descent into the depths of the horizon and left me alone, to dwell on my actions. For the first time in my short life, I felt something that my Master did; shame.

In the days that followed my ill-fated venture into freedom, I lived like the animal that you branded me as, Master. I am sure that if your loathsome assistant was to see me at that time, the spiteful little thing would find great pleasure in my misfortune. As I dwelled in the squalor of the wilderness, I could picture you in your ivory tower, revelling in the belief that your greatest mistake was long dead. The irony is, you see my demise as true freedom, while you slave away in your theatre of misery and failed ideas. We both thought we would be safe. You from the bitter world that cast you out, and me from the malevolent God that orchestrated my creation. We did not know how wrong we were, as fate would bring us back together in a way even your brilliant mind could not foresee.

Master, for such an intelligent mind, you fail to consider the most basic of things. Even I could fathom that there are consequences to my actions. Your ego would not let you work in silence, you had to tell all that would listen about your plan to become a God. And when my error washed up in the neighbouring town, heads were turned to your greatest creation. They grabbed their pitchforks and torches. Fuelled by pure antipathy, they set out to destroy the modern Prometheus and his only son. They set upon the hole of destitution I called a home, so I fled to the only place I truly knew; your theatre of twisted conception. I made my way through the hall I had been led through by my shackles, and found myself in the place where it all began - where I began. The slab I lay on, the platform you viewed my birth from, the bolts you pulled from my neck, they were all still there. It was as if you felt some sort of sentimentality towards me. After all you did to me, all the injustice I felt from you, I could not feel that same sentimentality. All I could feel was what you unthinkingly trained me to feel; hatred. All I could think of was the anguish you caused when you waved flames in my face, knowing it kept me in line. So I felt it was only fitting to punish you with the same item. And thus, I set ablaze the very place my ungodly creation was realised. My modern Prometheus, conquered by flames.

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#Blogger #Story

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