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snowbellewells · 5 years

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Self Promo Sunday: “Scaling the Walls”

Originally, I started this one before the season four finale actually aired, though the idea and set-up were based on the promos, and I didn’t finish it until that episode had shown. Still, this is more my own idea of how the “Emma being trapped in a tower and needing a rescue” plot could have played out. I revisited it the other day and thought that someone else might also enjoy it on Self-Promo Sunday!

"Scaling the Walls”

By: @snowbellewells

Wave upon wave of pain racks her body, radiating through unendingly, nearly rocking Emma Swan off her feet. The only thing keeping her from falling to the floor in an unconscious heap are the chains binding her hand and foot to the stone wall of her tower prison. Her eyes slam shut, and she tries fruitlessly to press her hands to her brow, only to have the motion arrested halfway through by the shortness of her bonds. It feels as if her head may split in two if she cannot exert some pressure to keep her senses together, but all her efforts are for naught. She is trapped and will remain so, no end to her agony in sight.

A strangled scream rises from her throat, pouring past her lips out the window into the trackless woods surrounding her cell and reverberating off its walls. She feels her heart wrenching and shattering as this psychotically unrecognizable version of Snow White plunges her hand once more into Emma's chest and grasps, squeezing and trying to pull out her own daughter's heart. The fact that this is her mother, made bloodthirsty and malicious by some wretched curse, only makes the torture worse, as the face whose kindness Emma has always treasured grins wickedly and Snow throws back her head with an evil laugh. "Oh darling! If you think you will ever defeat me, you're living in a dream world. You as the uprising’s pathetic hope?!? Their promised Savior?" The words are hissed right in Emma's face as the clawed fingers squeeze her pounding organ tighter and jerk at it again, "It’s almost laughable. I am the Queen, and you will rot in this tower, unless you relinquish your lovely heart, and your magic, and submit to my control."

Emma is practically trembling with pain and exertion, sweat running down her forehead and stinging in her eyes, fists clenched at the effort it takes merely to retain awareness through this newest onslaught, petrified by what might happen to her if she slips away. She bites almost through her lower lip, trying not to scream or cry anymore – knowing it only brings this twisted version of Snow pleasure. She has also long since ceased trying to remind her mother of the truth, as it also brought only pain at previous attempts. It hardly bears mentioning that her magic is either not working or no longer accessible to her. She is certain that this Snow won't take that for an answer. Still, can't the other woman see that if Emma had control of her powers she wouldn't stay here at their mercy? Tears fall from Emma's eyes silently at the cruel, unknowing stare focused on her, but she holds back any sound.

The new Evil Queen twists her hand within Emma's chest, and Emma is sure she must be dying. A howl of agony tears from her throat against her will and echoes in horrible crescendo. The sounds of abject despair and torment go winging out the lone window of the tower to be heard for miles around by those who ignore the cries of a rumored hero supposedly suffering at the Queen's hand.

The heartless slave version of Prince Charming steps forward from where he waits in the shadows, hand outstretched in supplication as he urges his Queen. "Your Majesty!" he pleads fervently. "Stop, please! You'll kill her at this rate and never harness her magic for yourself!"

His dark haired mistress darts a dangerous, crackling, narrow-eyed look over her shoulder at him against the far wall, pausing only an instant before her hand shoots out and throws him against the solid stone, where he falls incapacitated. "Silence!" Snow White orders needlessly as he seems completely stunned into submission.

Her shuttered, emotionless eyes, venomous and sharp as any serpent's, flick back to her prisoner and gleam with cold intent. "You're going nowhere, Princess," she purrs, the title cruel and mocking with the inflection she gives it. "You'll die a prisoner either way. But how much more you suffer before I can gain your heart and your power is entirely up to you. Tell me now how I can accomplish this, and put yourself out of your misery."

Emma trembles helplessly where she stands; her abused, aching muscles stretched beyond endurance but unable to gain relief. She wants to cry out to Snow that she is not this monster; they need to fight together to escape whatever alternate reality Gold and the Author have plunged them into - despite knowing her plea will do no good. Though she senses she will need her magic before all is said and done, though she knows she must hang onto what strength and sanity she has left, Emma thinks that in this awful moment, if she knew how to give up her powers, she would allow the Queen to have them. She doesn't know where Killian or Henry, or any of the other people she has come to know and care about, are – if they have been brought along in this nightmare as well, if they know themselves, or if they have been changed. All she has seen is the inside of these stone walls and these horrific mockeries that should never be called her parents.

However, Snow White seems to take her quiet helplessness as defiance and she shrieks in wild rage. "Have it your way!" she yells. An almost electric pulse of energy erupts from the other woman's palm, and Emma feels it crawling through her veins, burning and scorching unbearably.

Her howls of helpless agony as she quivers in her restraints overlap on each other in desperate, unending climax, until she finally slumps, boneless and insensate in her chains, lost to the world.

~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~~

Killian Jones does not know how he got himself roped into such a ridiculous venture. He shakes his head in disbelief once more as he looks behind him to the skinny, bedraggled youth with brown hair flopping in his eyes who follows him through the thick undergrowth at the forest's edge – 'more a fool's errand than a hero's journey' his mind insinuates as he recalls the words of the boy on his heels as he had looked up at Killian with a wide open expression of hope.

What had he been thinking, letting his sense of duty move him to follow this child off his ship, away from the harbor, and on this – what had the lad called it? Operation? Yes, that was it…Operation Swan's Rescue. He had thought himself long past dreams of being a dashing hero and undertaking courageous missions for the good of his people. That was all burned away in the ashes of a Pegasus sail and sunk to the depths with Liam's body long ago, when he was another man. Yet, he has never claimed to be wise or cautious, to do what makes reasonable sense, and he was not able to resist this ragamuffin's precocious grin or the somehow familiar twinkle in his big, trusting eyes, and so here they were, quite possibly chasing a mirage, a dream: a princess in a tower needing a champion to save her.

The lad certainly weaves a compelling tale, Killian thinks to himself as he pushes further into the trees and bracken, keeping well off the beaten path. Of course, he has heard the stories; everyone in this section of the kingdom – where the tower is supposed to reside – has heard of the Savior, the lovely being of hope and light magic, somehow born to the Evil Queen and her favorite plaything, then imprisoned by said mother in fear of her daughter's magical power someday overthrowing her reign of terror. Killian himself had always thought them mere fables – fireside tales to charm and entertain. However, this boy seems so sincere, and so desperate, that he finds himself believing the youth's words.

Beyond that hunch, the sense of trust, his mind cannot help but whisper, 'What if?" If there is truly a Savior, a being of Light and Good, who could restore this land to what it once was, to the beautiful, peaceful kingdom of his youth where he remembers running wild in the fields with Liam chasing him laughingly, where he wove daisy chains to take home to his mother and he could still bask in the love of her pleased, quiet smile. If the Evil Queen's rule can be brought to an end, doesn't he owe it to his people, his country, and Liam's memory, to explore every possibility? Isn't it only good form for one in his post to venture forth and make sure? Not only that, but if such a pure innocent is being held captive, if everyone knows and merely leaves her to such a fate…it twists knots of tension in his gut, not letting his mind rest. A fool he may be. He may be walking directly to his death, but his conscience will let him pursue no other course.

They have come to a stop at a running brook – refilling their canteens, slaking their thirst, catching their breaths – when a wretched wail of agony rings out in the air, silencing the birds and echoing off the trees in harsh, violent waves. Killian's eyes meet the lad Henry's, and they both freeze, horrified by the sound of such suffering. The anguish he hears in that cry lets Killian know for certain he was right to follow this quest. He must stop whatever is being done to this prisoner.

They take off at a run, unheeding of their safety or what they may find. Crashing through thorn bushes and grasping vines, panting with exertion, they both nearly go tumbling headlong to the ground when Killian skids to a sudden halt and Henry plows right into his back.

They have dashed into a deserted clearing, and there before them, rising dark and foreboding into the clouds, stands the tower. The grey stones are cracked and jutting, looking as dark and unwelcoming as must have been intended, and though his eyes search frantically along the base, Killian can see no way in.

Both pirate and youth stand frozen in uncertainty for a long stretch, until abruptly the cries of suffering halt, all goes silent, and Killian finds himself desperately jolted forward. He does not know if this will work, but he simply must take action. The imprisoned woman – according to Henry, their last chance – cannot be dead. They cannot be too late. Grasping at the rugged wall as best he can with his one working hand, he wedges his hook into a crack between stones. With one last glance to make sure his young compatriot is still with him, Killian begins to climb the tower.

~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~~

Awareness trickles back to Emma with the scrabbling, scratching sounds of metal scraping along stone. Blinking her eyes blearily and raising her head from where it had slumped awkwardly on her chest, she vaguely determines that the strange scuffling is coming from just outside her prison's single window.

Emma scrunches her brow in confusion, trying to determine what new threat could be coming for her now. She knows that the tower is high, high enough that no fully sane person would attempt to scale its walls. For the few fleeting instants she has been free of her chains in the years it seems she has been held captive here, she was able to see out over the entire forest, well over the tops of the tallest trees.

Just as she is looking fruitlessly around the barren room for something she can defend herself with against this intruder, a metal hook and strong forearm fling themselves in the window and clutch tightly, soon pulling a messily wind-ruffled head of black hair and a belovedly familiar face over with them. Her pirate, whom she had begun to fear herself lost from forever, practically hauls himself though the opening, flopping onto the stone floor, chest heaving with exertion.

"Killian!" she cries out plaintively, so glad to see him that she doesn't even care how girlish and helpless it might make her sound. "You found me!" She begins to run to him, momentarily forgetting her bonds, until the chains jerk her back.

His head shoots up at the sound of her voice, startled blue eyes meeting her gaze. He looks unsure, as if he doesn't know what to make of her awe-filled greeting. Turning quickly in the next moment to stand and return to the window again, he surprises her once more by reaching out his hand to pull someone else up and into the window after him.

Emma's heart swells at the sight of Henry. Both her son and the man she loves are here at last, safe and sound and come to rescue her. Henry doesn't seem to suffer the same confusion that Killian does. Once the man has stopped brushing him off, asking if he is okay, and lets him go, Henry rushes to her with a joyfully relieved shout of "Mom!" and wraps his arms around her – literally bringing warmth and hope back into her cold, lonely false existence.

"You found me," she repeats, a dazed whisper this time, overwhelmed by the belief and determination her son has shown to get here, and the bravery he has exhibited in climbing a tower guarded by the Evil Queen's men, at the risk of his own life – for her sake. She squeezes him tighter, wishing more than she has in all the rest of her time here to be free of the chains so that she can really take her little boy – well, young man now – fully in her arms.

She can only chuckle and shake her head when he grins at her and says exactly what she should have been expecting, "Did you really doubt we would?"

Emma's gaze flicks to Killian again, where he stands back awkwardly watching the reunion. He scratches the spot behind his ear uncertainly, but then he meets her curious, searching glance. She is frozen when their eyes make contact, breath catching with emotion. Not only is he here helping Henry, but he came to her aid even without remembering who she is or what they mean to each other. She wants so badly for him to hold her, for the sort of passionate kiss they have only recently begun to allow themselves to set everything back to rights.

Surprisingly, as the moment stretches on, Emma can see something come over Killian's face. She holds her breath, hoping against hope that somehow what they have, the connection between them, has survived this reboot of their history and who they are in this fictional reality. As she has suffered here alone, afraid she would never see his face, hear his beautiful, lilting voice, or feel his gentle but inflaming touch again, she had come to realize the truth. She loves him with a depth that scares her. She has for a long time, but could never find the words to say it aloud.

Killian tilts his head to the side, beautiful ocean eyes squinting in concentration as he studies her face, almost seeming to look beneath her skin, into her soul. Taking a tentative step forward, he reaches out, taking her hand in his one, gently rubbing soothing fingers over her skin reddened from the heavy shackle. Reaching out with his hook, he smoothes her wild, tangled hair back from her face and over her shoulder; a familiar, intimate gesture he has made several times, whether he realizes it or not. "I know you, Lass. Do I not?" he finally murmurs, eyes searching hers for an answer.

It is as though he has stolen the very breath from her lungs and the words right off her lips. All Emma can do is stare at him, amazed by his unbelievable, inexplicable faith, and nod in affirmation. She can still see wonder and adoration shining from his face, directed at her, even if he isn't sure why. Can he still somehow see what he means to her in her face? Still feel what they have – or echoes of it – despite everything that has been altered? Emma finds herself willing to hope as never before.

Unfortunately, at that moment they are interrupted by the sound of several pairs of booted feet pounding up the steps to her cell, harsh voices calling about intruders and securing the 'mad princess'. All three of them whirl to stare at the heavy door of Emma's cell in alarm, knowing the pirate and young prince can climb back out, but that they have no way to release her from her chains. She can't escape with them.

"Go!" she urges desperately, trying to spur both Henry and Killian on. She cannot bear to think what may happen to them if they are discovered here trying to free her. The guards are getting closer all the time and her heartbeat is pulsing in her throat at the danger to her two most precious loves. "You can't be found here! Please!"

Henry's eyes show understanding beyond his years as he nods his assent. Clasping her hand tightly for a split second, he vows, "We'll be back for you, Mom," before he moves toward the window, swinging one leg over the ledge and preparing to go.

Killian's face shows no such resignation. His look is desperate, frantic to save her. "What happens to you when we go, Love? I cannot leave you to them!"

"You have to, Killian…for now…I'll be alright." She gives him a brave, if tremulous, smile, needing him to be safe, even if she is not.

"No," he breathes, shaking his head and not moving an inch, even when Emma hears the running footsteps halt and instead the dreadful sound of a key turning in the ancient, rusty lock.

Whirling to face the door as it swings open, Emma prays that somehow Killian will slip out the window after Henry in the nick of time, or that some echo of the magic she possesses in their real world will shield him from their malevolent foes. Of course, as they have been ever since she opened her eyes in this parallel universe, her wishes are ignored, and with cries of attack four of the Queen's armed black guards charge forward.

Killian steps in front of Emma swiftly, easily shielding her in a single movement. He pulls the cutlass from his belt and strikes down the first assailant with deadly grace; the movement a slash as quick and sharp as a jagged finger of lightning. The second opponent meets his hook and falls motionless at their feet.

For several tense moments, Emma's breath is stolen watching the lethal accuracy Killian employs, protecting them both flawlessly and without hesitation. He ducks the third attacker's strike, and the guard overshoots, running past them, stumbling and falling just in time for the pirate to parry a fourth henchman's blow. They engage for only the briefest flurry of sword passes before Killian has bested this one as well and kicked the unconscious man away. He turns sharply, on guard with the knowledge that one last aggressor is still waiting.

Emma wants to call out to warn him, spare him the shocked pain she sees flare in his eyes when he finds his last foe, but she can't – not with the guard's hand gripping her throat, cutting off her air and her voice. She shakes her head at her sailor, knowing he won't protect his own safety but merely lunge forward to save her. She puts out a hand in an effort to wave him back, urging him to think for a moment, fight as smart as he has been, but somehow Killian misconstrues her motion and lets his eyes follow her gesture. Perhaps he thought she was reaching out for him in fear, but he is distracted one second too long.

The guard stabs forward, arm pushing stealthily from under Emma's outstretched one. He catches Killian in the side, under his ribs, and then drags the sword blade across and up, slicing a long path through leather and flesh with sickening depth.

Those fathomless blue eyes snap wide in shock and pain and a gasp flies from his lips as Killian's forward stride draws up short. Having achieved his goal, the final guard releases his grip on Emma and flings her away. Emma registers that she is screaming, crying out for Killian, but he doesn't answer, falling to his knees and bringing his hands up disbelievingly to the blood flowing from his side.

"Let that be a lesson to you before considering future attempts at escape," the guard growls roughly. "I'll leave him with you, to be sure you understand the price of crossing our Queen."

The heavy door slams shut again behind him, and Emma stumbles forward, clanking chains and all, to fall beside her pirate, sobbing out his name and pulling his head into her lap, cradling him protectively the best she can with her limited movement, tears falling from her eyes to his cheeks as she bends her head over him, fearing he is already gone, the wound is so bad. "Please…Killian…I'm so sorry…" she murmurs frantically, brushing his dark hair off his forehead, trying to ease his pain and keep him with her.

It isn't long before she feels smaller hands on her shoulders, pulling her into a hug from behind, trying to offer comfort before crouching next to her and attempting to staunch the blood still pouring from Killian's wound.

"Henry?" she questions blearily, confused.

He shrugs, "I just held onto the outside wall right below the window. Luckily they didn't check for anyone else. When the fighting stopped, I crawled back in."

She shakes her head at his daring, but her eyes quickly fly back to her pirate. To her shock, he is also chuckling at her son, though the sound is rough and choking. "There's a lad," he manages teasingly to Henry, before a horrible wracking cough interrupts and she sees blood at the corners of his mouth when he pulls his hand away afterwards.

Emma's tears still fall and she begins whispering apologies in his ear once more. He only shakes his head, "No, Lass…don't….be sorry. You are worth it. You and Henry….will find… a way out…I'm…glad I was…part of it…" His eyes flutter closed and his chest heaves mightily to keep moving up and down.

"Killian?...No!" she cries out when his eyes fail to reopen.

"Mom!" Henry breaks into her panic, his hand on her upper arm pulling her back to her senses. "Mom, you have to kiss him. True Love's Kiss! It'll save him. It has to!"

It seems so farfetched that she hardly dares to hope, but Emma is out of options and desperate not to have Killian slip away in front of her. Tracing a hand along his jaw, she lets her eyes slide shut and leans even closer to his mouth. Just before she presses her lips to his, she whispers as she did once before, "Killian, come back to me."

A disconcerting pull in her stomach and a spinning feeling makes it seem for a minute as if the world has turned upside down and the floor has dropped from under her. Blinking her eyes to look around once the whirling sensation eases, Emma is stunned to find them back in Storybrooke, sprawled inelegantly on the pavement in the middle of Main Street. Her fingers are somehow miraculously twined with Killian's as he sits up beside her, whole and unharmed from the sword wound still fresh in her memory, and her other arm is wrapped tightly around Henry. The chains and her tower prison are gone, and she gapes like a newborn baby at her surroundings. Killian turns to her, a rakish grin on his face, and she knows both realities are in his mind too. "It would appear you saved me, Swan," he teases lightly, but real affection brims in his eyes.

"What would I do without you, Pirate?" she whispers, holding on tighter and trying to keep the quaver from her voice as she burrows into his embrace. It is long past time he heard the words, and suddenly so simple for her to add in a whisper against his heart, "I love you."

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @searchingwardrobes @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @jennjenn615 @bmbbcs4evr @resident-of-storybrooke @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @laschatzi @ilovemesomekillianjones @gingerchangeling @blackwidownat2814

#captain swan ff #self promo sunday #season four finale divergent fic #cs one shot #captain cobra #swan believer #canon divergent

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ko-chan-the-blueberry-donut · 6 years

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Quiescis Chapter 4 (Deaf Akko AU) Little Witch Academia Fanfiction

@witch19

“We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”

—Martin Luther King Jr.

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Chapter Four:

Akko blinked, wondering why the blonde-haired girl was so shocked at the appearance of the Shiny Rod. Maybe it’s because she expected it to be with Chariot? Akko knew that what she was wondering herself.

“Why do you have the Shiny Rod?” the girl pointed at her. Akko tilted her head. She pointed to herself, mouthing ‘me?’ and the girl narrowed her eyes, becoming exasperated with her. “Yes! You!”

“Well, I didn’t steal it if that’s what you mean.” Akko signed feeling offended, and Lotte translated.

“Hey, watch it, you defect!” the redhead girl Akko recognized from when arriving at the Leyline terminal snapped, her face contorting into an angry expression. “Don’t you know who’re you’re talking too?!”

Sucy and Lotte narrowed their eyes at what Hannah called Akko. Sucy readied a potion behind her back and Lotte grasped her wand tightly. As for Akko, she clicked her tongue at the address, but didn’t lash out yet. She encountered ignorant people before—she knew this wouldn’t be the last time either.

“Of course, she doesn’t!” Barbara laughed. “She can barely speak English! She wouldn’t be cultured enough to know who the Cavendish family is!”

“Hannah! Barbara! That’s enough!” Diana chided them, uncomfortable with the way they were talking about Akko like she wasn’t even a person. She turned to Akko and bowed her head in apology. “I’m sorry. May I ask where you got that wand?”

“Come on, Diana! It’s just a toy! Chariot disappeared ten years ago!” Barbara said. Akko’s eyes widened when she read Barbara’s lips.

“Chariot’s missing?!” Akko signed.

“Ugh, she’s doing that dumb hand stuff again!” Hannah sneered. However, she yelped when Lotte seized the front of her uniform, pulling her closer, eyes alit in wraith.

“If you continue to insult my friend…” Lotte said calmly, “I will make sure you are haunted by malicious spirits for the next three years.” Hannah squirmed, sweating. Akko and Sucy’s eyes were wide with shock.

“Y-yes, ma’am!” Hannah squeaked. Lotte released her, Akko rubbing her back and Sucy giving her a thumbs up. Diana didn’t take her eyes off of Akko nevertheless through the whole exchange.

“Chariot is a disgrace to the magical world. It would be best to get rid of that wand.” Diana told her. Akko glared, a ferocity rising within her at the statement that her idol was being insulted. Birdy-san flapped angrily as Akko signed, Lotte verbally translating.

“’Chariot is the best witch in the world! Who are you to say she’s a disgrace when she made so many people smile? Chariot inspired me!’” Lotte recited as Akko vigorously signed. Diana sighed.

“For your own sake, you should get a new inspiration unless you want to fail like Chariot. It’s clear you have the odds stacked against you—don’t be stupid like she was.” Diana advised. Nonetheless, her eyes widened when Akko stomped towards her and pinched Diana’s cheeks. What the—

“Take back! Daiyana a meanie!” Akko growled, butchering her name. Diana just gaped while Hannah and Barbara gasped at the fact that Akko dared touch Diana like that.

“I—I beg your pardon?” Diana spluttered. Akko let go of her cheeks, Diana feeling a sting, and placed her hands on her hips.

“Meanie! Stupid! Chariot best witch!” Akko criticized, Hannah and Barbara still in disbelief how Akko was addressing the famous witch prodigy. She went over and retrieved the Shiny Rod, handing Birdy-san to Lotte. She readied the wand. “Will show!”

Akko took a deep breath, concentrating. She then waved the wand.

“Rux!” she commanded, everyone wincing at her pronunciation. Nothing happened. She grew frustrated, waving it violently. “Rux!”

Seeing that Akko was all talk, Hannah and Barbara smirked while Diana tried to compose herself from Akko’s brashness. Diana took out her own wand, demonstrating.

“Lux!” she commanded, the wand glowing brightly. Akko shielded herself from the light. Satisfied, Diana snuffed out the light, giving her a stern look.

“Take my advice—quit while you’re ahead. It’s clear you’re at a disadvantage with your poor communication skills. Maybe you should think of another path instead of being a witch.” With that, Diana, Hannah, and Barbara left them standing there. Sucy narrowed her eyes as they walked away.

“Somebody’s getting a contagious fungus in their food tomorrow…” she muttered. Lotte was worriedly watching Akko, who was looking down at the ground, her hair shadowing her expression from view. Birdy-san bounced to Akko’s head, peering at her in concern. Lotte walked forward, grasping one of Akko’s hands, intertwining their fingers. Akko glanced up, biting her lip. Lotte gave her a comforting smile, making sure Akko could read her lips.

“They don’t know what we know. You were able to do magic without incantations. You can do it again.” Lotte assured with confidence. Akko looked unsure, and Lotte squeezed Akko’s hand in a soothing manner before releasing her hand, signing. “I believe in you.”

“Let’s keep going.” Sucy told them, and they agreed, traveling further into the trees to prevent others from seeing them. They found themselves seated near a creek in a clearing between the trees. “Where do we start?”

“Let’s see…” Lotte opened a spellbook, scanning the text. “It is probably best to try something simple. Akko, is there anything in particular you want to try?”

Akko shrugged, not really picky. She examined the Shiny Rod, pondering if maybe it was a dud after all.

‘Or perhaps you’re the dud.’ Her mind chimed in mournfully. Akko growled, tensing up. She didn’t want what Diana to have said get to her, but it felt like an enormous elephant in the room inside her mind. What if Diana is right and she can’t become a witch due to her deafness? She never factored speech into her plans. Her Japanese was fine, but when she was learning English, it was exceptionally difficult to pronounce sounds from just reading it. Her parents and her didn’t really worry much about it because they had thought Luna Nova was proficient in signing, so she concentrated her efforts further into learning Sign Supported English. Seeing they were vastly wrong, however, presented to Akko an even further dilemma: if she sucked with her English, how was so supposed to even begin to comprehend pronunciation of spells? She can’t even say her “L”s right!

Birdy-san pecked her in the eye. Yelping, Akko glared up to find Sucy was holding Birdy-san out to her.

“I didn’t peg you for a quitter.” Sucy stated. Akko looked surprised, reading her lips. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’ve already done spells—you just have a different way of doing things.”

“Sucy’s right, Akko.” Lotte spoke as she signed. “Just because you can’t do something the normal way doesn’t mean it’s the only way to do things. It’s like math—there’s multiple ways of solving a problem—we just haven’t found the way that best fits you.”

Akko stared at them, registering what they said. She felt tears come to her eyes, smiling wide, as she spoke and signed.

“Thank you.” Akko said, gratitude overwhelming her. She appreciated how much Lotte and Sucy had so much faith in her despite only knowing each other for two days. She took Birdy-san from Sucy and plopped him on top of her head. Birdy-san pecked her forehead in thanks. She went over and hugged both Sucy and Lotte, the former patting her back awkwardly while Lotte embraced her snuggly. Akko released them, holding Chariot’s wand close, determination rising within her.

“Let’s do the light spell.” Akko signed. Lotte translated and Sucy and her nodded in agreement. They took out their wands and they each took a stance.

“How did you do it before Akko?” Lotte asked the brown-haired girl. Akko pondered hard, trying to remember the circumstances to non-verbal casting.

“I just repeated the words in my mind, imagining a poral to take us somewhere safe.” Akko answered with gestures.

“How did you know the words?” Sucy asked.

“A voice reminded me of the words spoken at Chariot’s show when I was a kid.”

“A voice?” Lotte questioned. Sucy sighed.

“She claims she heard a voice in her head even though she can’t hear.” Sucy explained. Lotte looked interested.

“How mysterious…” Lotte said. “We should try to find research into the Shiny Rod. See if it has any connections with strong magic…”

“Enough talking—I wanna try out this non-verbal magic.” Sucy said, readying her wand. Akko and Lotte nodded, readying their wands, and taking a deep breath.

They waved their wands, thinking the spell, but nothing happened. They tried again several times, but no results.

“Maybe we’re not doing something right…” Akko signed.

“It could be cause of lack of medium. Oral incantation is used to help a spell to become physical form—maybe just thinking the word isn’t enough to create a medium.” Lotte said.

“Let’s keep trying.” Sucy suggested.

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Diana, Barbara, and Hannah journeyed towards where the Jennifer Memorial Tree was being held. They had caught wind of the tree’s condition from a staff member who had implored Diana to help. The Cavendish heiress immediately set forth to the Jennifer Memorial Tree, Hannah and Barbara tagging along, continuing to make fun of Akko.

“I don’t get why Headmistress Holbrooke let her come in the first place. It’s clear she has no magical prowess.” Barbara said to Hannah. Hannah snickered.

“Did you hear her accent? She can’t even say certain things right!” Hannah goaded.

“I know right? Daiyana? Imagine when we do actual spellwork! She’ll be a disaster!” Barbara mocked.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll get kicked out for failure.” Hannah said. Diana stopped walking and turned towards them, giving them a look. They flinched at her glare. “E-eh? Diana?”

Diana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She remembered Akko shouting at her, pinching her cheeks, calling her a meanie, and Diana felt something stir within her. She wasn’t used to such abrasiveness, nor was she accustomed to someone disagreeing with her so violently. Nonetheless, it needed to be said to the girl that she was at a clear disadvantage—someone like that couldn’t be coddled when they were pursuing magic. It was good she set Akko straight to look into other options. Being a witch wasn’t for the disabled.

‘Yet why do I feel like such a jerk?’ she wondered, guilt swirling in her stomach.

“Let’s focus on fixing the Jennifer Memorial Tree, shall we?” Diana suggested, and the two nodded. As they entered the sanctuary, they caught sight of Professor Finnelan, Professor Ursula, and Headmistress Holbrooke.

“I’d like to study it more.” They heard Professor Ursula say. Headmistress Holbrooke nodded.

“Please get to the bottom of this.” The headmistress ordered. Diana addressed the headmistress.

“Headmistress!” she announced their presence. “I can’t believe the Jennifer Memorial Tree has weakened like this.”

“Yes, Diana. Unfortunately, the tree is very old.” Holbrooke replied. She glanced at the rotting tree. “I’m afraid it might be getting close to its time. We must go now to see what can be done.”

With that, the professors departed, leaving Diana, Hannah, and Barbara to examine the tree. Diana had a pensive expression on her face, crossing her arms.

“This tree has been said to inherit the great witch Jennifer’s spirit.” Diana mused. “It is the tree of life of Luna Nova.”

“Let’s get started!” Hannah said excited. The girls began setting out stones around the tree in multiple rows. Barbara peeked around the tree to address Diana.

“I’ve finished this side.” She said.

“I’m going to try to use revitalization magic on this tree.” Diana explained. “It will give this large tree strong nutrients and revitalize it. This has been secret magic that has been handed down for generations by my family.”

Barbara and Hannah took a step back while Diana prepared her wand, the tip glowing as she readied her magic.

“Louperial Ral!” she shouted. Magic sprung forth, lighting all the stones, and igniting throughout the tree. Hannah and Barbara gazed upon the display of magic in awe. The tree’s branches perked up, the rotting wood repairing itself. Diana smirked, proud of herself.

“The nutrients must’ve been absorbed.”

“Amazing, Diana!” Hannah praised.

“Let’s go tell the professors!” Barbara suggested, the two racing off to find the headmistress, Finnelan, and Ursula. Diana pocketed her wand, smiling in relief. However, the relief was short-lived when she noticed something rising from the ground. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

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

Ursula searched for information in the library, relieved to be doing something instead of listening to Finnelan’s screaming from before about how Holbrooke accepted a deaf student.

“Headmistress! What were you thinking when you told Atsuko Kagari yes to coming to Luna Nova?!” Professor Finnelan demanded. The other professors looked like they wanted answers as well.

“The girl could barely keep up in my class. She looked like she was giving herself a headache trying to read my lips all the time.” Professor Badcock chimed in. Lukic nodded.

“They have a point. No potion’s going to fix that mess.” Lukic said. Ursula felt bad for the poor girl. It’s clear she was here because she wanted to learn, but none of the teachers had any idea on how to accommodate her nor did they understand the headmistress’s decision to accept a student that would obviously struggle to the point of failure off the bat.

“Exactly! Headmistress Holbrooke, it goes against tradition! What can a witch do if she can’t hear how she is reciting her incantations? Not to mention she has no magical background on top of it! She’s useless in the classroom.” Finnelan complained. Holbrooke pursed her lip and gave the woman a stern glare.

“Careful, Finnelan. My father was deaf and nonmagical and was just as capable as anyone who could hear.” Holbrooke chastised the red-haired woman. Finnelan flushed, embarrassed by being called out.

“Is that why you accepted her? Because your father was also deaf? That doesn’t really seem like a good reason.” Badcock crossed her arms.

“This doesn’t really seem fair to the kid.” Nelson said.

“But we have a mute student—what’s the problem of having a deaf one?” Ursula decided to speak up for the girl. Finnelan scoffed.

“And she has resorted to magitek because she also has trouble with incantations! It goes against traditional spellcasting!” Finnelan said. Ursula bit her lip, narrowing her eyes at Finnelan, but didn’t speak against her. The other teachers were murmuring in agreement to Finnelan’s statement.

“Enough!” Holbrooke commanded. “Listen to yourselves! You’re acting like Miss Kagari has the plague! She is just like any other student who has come here to learn! Are we the ones to decide who can learn magic and who can’t based on our own bias?” Silence answered her. Holbrooke sighed, smiling tiredly. “I admit fault in not preparing any of my staff for this dilemma. In my arrogance, I did not realize that Miss Kagari would need extra accommodations or struggle. I was simply captivated by her spirit—her desire to learn. It exceeded anyone’s enthusiasm here, and I refused to tell her no just because of something she can’t control. I had thought many would think like myself.”

“But what can we do?” Professor Pisces asked. “We can’t pass her out of pity or favor with her. It won’t be fair to our other students or to Miss Kagari.”

“I have faith in Miss Kagari to succeed.” Holbrooke replied. She gave them a whimsical smile. “Those who are given the deepest despairs are those who shine with hope the brightest.”

Ursula smiled, glad that Miss Kagari was being given a chance by the headmistress. After all, Holbrooke was right—they couldn’t decide who could and could not learn magic based on their own bias towards disability.

‘I should offer to help the girl at least.’ Ursula told herself. ‘I’m sure she would appreciate it.’

Ursula turned the page of the giant tome, eyes widening when she caught sight of an illustration—the evidence she was looking for.

“It seems the miracle will be happening soon.”

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

“What interesting cards! How were you able to collect them all?” Lotte signed. The three witches were taking a break, eating snacks and playing with Akko’s Shiny Chariot card collection. Akko was grinning happily as she signed her reply.

“Yes! When I was a kid, Chariot was so popular they made a card game! Everyone I knew was collecting cards!”

She remembered when she was a little girl, excitedly buying booster packs to collect the whole set. She would often display them to her black cat, ‘Suppi’ Spinel Sun, and other classmates. Akko still kept her binder in good condition, making sure her cards were safe. Her mother and father encouraged her collection—happy their daughter was no longer despondent since the onset of her deafness.

“I just couldn’t find one of the premium cards, even though I really wanted it.” Akko continued to sign to her friends. Sucy picked up a card

“This mushroom card is supposed to reawaken romantic feelings.” She noted. Lotte examined another card.

“Ah! This one is a unicorn!”

“An eternal holy animal that protects the happiness of young women.” Akko signed.

“You memorized it?” Lotte asked, hand gesturing. Akko nodded.

“Of course.” Akko smiled. “I remembered everything! I am just not good with pronunciation of spells.” She hand gestured.

“I know this card—it’s a butterfly.” Lotte signed, speaking for Sucy to be kept in the conversation. Akko nodded, grinning with enthusiasm.

“P-A-P-P-I-L-I-O-D-Y-A.” Akko finger spelled, then demonstrated the sign made for the name. “It’s a butterfly that can fly across five continents! It hatches every 120 years and is said to give hope to anyone who sees it.” She explained, signing.

Suddenly, roots from the ground burst forth, scattering the cards. They scrambled up, avoiding being hit. Akko hurriedly collected her cards, securing them. Lotte pointed towards where the commotion was happening, and Akko turned to see a trail of branches leading somewhere.

“Let’s go!” Akko signed, gripping the Shiny Rod, and pointing to where the roots were bursting forth. Sucy and Lotte nodded, grabbing Birdy-san and leaving the clearing.

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

Diana gasped as the Jennifer Tree became ashen. The ground was shaking violently, roots bursting forth all around her. However, she stood her ground.

“What is happening?!” she exclaimed. She heard footsteps running towards her. Her blue eyes enlarged when she saw it was Akko, Sucy, and Lotte. A root sprung forth, stopping them in their tracks. “Stay back!” she ordered the three.

“What’s going on?!” Akko signed. Diana was confused—she had no idea what Akko was saying and was frustrated she couldn’t understand her. Lotte grabbed Akko by the shoulder, pointing to something she saw.

“Look there!” she said to everyone else. The four witches were shocked to see glowing cocoons on the roots of the tree. There were hundreds of them!

“Looks like pupae.” Sucy said.

“Pupae?!” Lotte exclaimed. Sucy nodded.

“And they’re not ordinary pupae.”

“They were parasites in the roots!” Diana shouted. “My spell gave the nutrients to these vermin instead of the tree!”

The pupae continued to grow in size, the tree’s life being seeped away. Diana glared.

Meanwhile, Akko was ignoring the chaos around her, examining the cocoons. She furrowed her brow, pondering hard. She’s seen these before…

A shot of magic burst forth, cutting off her thoughts. She jumped away from the injured cocoon, pivoting around to see Diana shooting spells at the things. Akko resumed her thought process, examining one of the dead specimens.

‘I wonder… is it really?’

She looked towards Diana again, and realization hit her where exactly she has seen these things before. She ran forward, blocking Diana from eliminating all the cocoons.

“Wait! I think I know what these are! Don’t shoot any more of them!” Akko signed. Diana growled, flicking her wand.

“Get out of my way! I don’t understand what you’re saying, nor do I care!” Diana made gestures, hoping the dumb girl got the hint to leave. Akko stood her ground, spreading her arms wide.

“Wait! Diana, Akko’s trying to tell you they’re not parasites!” Lotte shouted, realizing what Akko had signed. Sucy surveyed curiously, wondering what was going on in her friend’s mind.

“I don’t care! She obviously doesn’t know what she’s talking about! I’ll show you.” Diana turned towards another glowing cocoon, getting ready to cast a spell. Akko felt her world slow down.

She needed to stop Diana! If this was she thought it was then Diana was making a huge mistake! Desperation clung to her, seizing her heart. She needed Diana to stop this! Diana had to stop!

“STOP!” Akko signed.

Diana felt her entire body freeze, locking into place. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Why couldn’t she move?!

She tried to break whatever was holding her in place, but nothing worked. She couldn’t even move her mouth! What happened?!

“Akko!” Lotte cried, Sucy and her staring at their friend in awe. Akko was panting, gazing at Diana’s frozen form in amazement. She fell to her knees, her friends and Birdy-san running towards her, steadying her.

“Woah—that’s some paralyzing charm you did.” Sucy whistled. Akko turned to them, frantically signing.

“It’s the Pappiliodya! That’s their cocoons!” Akko told them. Lotte gasped, understanding what Akko was saying. Sucy looked confused.

“These are the Pappiliodya cocoons!” Lotte shouted. Diana was shocked. Pappiliodya? This girl knew about the Pappiliodya?!

Suddenly, the Shiny Rod began to glow, and Diana felt herself be flooded with even more disbelief.

‘What’s going on? That wand didn’t work before!’

“Akko! You gotta cast the spell to save them!” Lotte signed. Akko nodded, grabbing the Shiny Rod, her friends holding her up from her weakness earlier. She took a deep breath. She then blinked, realizing if she couldn’t even pronounce a simple light spell, how can she sound out a complicated one like that?

“Papillio Fillio Nymphodya.” A voice sounded in her head. Akko’s eyes widened.

‘It’s you! That voice from before! How can I hear you?’

“Don’t worry about that right now. Do your thing, kid.”

‘My thing?’

“How you made the portal before! Jeeze, do I have to do everything?”

‘Oh!’ Akko realized, and concentrated on imagining the Pappiliodya being safe—being born and free so everyone can see them. Hope rose within her—she wanted to see them! She wanted to feel what only legends foretold!

‘Papillio Fillio Nymphodya!’ she and the voice shouted in her mind.

A tidal wave of light erupted forth—reviving the cocoons anew. The cocoons cracked, and the Pappiliodya emerged rejuvenated, their gold wings spreading.

The whole garden was surrounded by lights of gold. Akko, Sucy, Lotte, Diana, and Birdy-san watched in wonder at the sight. The Pappiliodya left the Jennifer tree, soaring off into the sky for the whole campus to see.

“Go see!” Akko exclaimed, bouncing up and down with eagerness. Nevertheless, she wilted, the energy leaving her. Sucy supported her.

“What about her?” Lotte spoke and signed, gesturing towards the frozen Diana. Sucy gave Akko to Lotte before going over to Dian and poked her cheek.

“Meh, she’ll unfreeze soon. I’m not really inclined to help her after what she said today.” Sucy shrugged. She then walked forward, grasping Akko from the other side, leading them away from the frozen Diana.

‘Wait—they’re just going to leave me here?’ Diana thought. She then recalled Sucy’s words of her actions and sighed. ‘I suppose to them I do deserve it…’

As she waited for herself to thaw, Diana let her thoughts about Akko Kagari run wild. How did Akko freeze her? She didn’t remember any incantation was said from the girl’s mouth, and how could she even accomplish such a high-level spell when she could even pronounce simple ones. And how did she come into possession of the Shiny Rod? None of this makes sense!

‘Her friends didn’t even question how she did it! They know something!’ Diana concluded. The more Diana pondered on one Akko Kagari, the more mysterious the girl was. She wanted to know the girl’s secrets. ‘Those three are hiding something!’

But yet… the more Diana thought of any likely explanation, the more confused she became. It just wasn’t possible to do what Akko did—especially the girl’s circumstances. But here she was, frozen, and her earlier treatment of the girl smacking her in the face, and the fact that she let Hannah and Barbara treat another human being like that was appalling.

‘I thought she couldn’t do any magic—that she was just admitted here out of pity.’ Diana mused, remorse seeping into her body. ‘I was proven wrong. No wonder they left me here…’

Feeling came back into Diana’s body, causing her to sigh in relief that the enchantment was wearing off. Once she was able to move her mouth and arm again, she undid the spell, still standing at the foot of the Jennifer tree.

‘Next time I see her, I will apologize.’ Diana promised.

“The memorial tree! How splendid!” Headmistress Holbrooke exclaimed. Diana jumped, pivoting to see the headmistress, Hannah, Barbara and Finnelan.

“Diana cast a spell on the tree to make it better!” Hannah explained.

“Thank you, Diana.” The headmistress said in gratitude. Akko’s face popped into Diana’s mind and she shook her head.

“No! I didn’t do this!”

“Who else could possibly do this other than you?” Finnelan praised. Diana stared at all their proud faces and felt sick inside.

“Excuse me.” Diana bidded farewell, not bothering to stay to hear a reply. She exited the garden house, looking up towards the sky. The glow of the Pappiliodya was still strong. “Is that…?”

And there was Sucy, Lotte, and Akko, flying in the air with all the Pappiliodya. An exhausted Akko was in between Sucy and Lotte as Lotte flew them through the orange sky. Diana gazed upon their expressions of contentment, and a sense of longing filled her.

‘I’m the best student at Luna Nova…’ Diana thought, smiling bitterly. ‘And yet those three have achieved something I’ll probably never have…’

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

There is Chapter 4! Please let me know what you think.

#lwa #akko kagari #atsuko kagari #lotte yanson #sucy manbavaran #diana cavendish #little witch academia #sukko #diakko #ankko #deaf akko #deaf au #deaf witch

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7r0773r · 3 years

Text

A Little Devil in America: Notes in Praise of Black Performance by Hanif Abdurraqib

There were no Black people who clowned me or any of my pals for listening to so-called "alternative" music, because the people who introduced us to that music were Black people. Of course, there were the hip-hop stalwarts, just like there were the overly devoted punk kids or metalheads who didn't really have much interest in crossing genres up. But these were not a malicious bunch—one simply respected the territory as needed. Keep a wide range of cassettes in a bag, so that if the fate of school bus seating shook you out next to the devoted rap heads, you'd have something to pass around and collectively nod to. And if you found yourself with a committed Black goth, you could pull the dubbed tape of Cure songs out of your back pocket. I first learned to code-switch through the musical movements of my people, and done among my people in this way, it didn't feel like a shameful burden. It felt like a generosity—a celebration of the many modes we could all fit into.

I think of this particular part of my upbringing when I hear other Black people reference what they grew up listenIng to or watching in an attempt to distance themselves from other Black people, or to make their experience exceptional or unique. A better and more interesting conversation to have, I think, is the one about how we are all outside the borders of someone else's idea of what Blackness is. To someone else Black, I am either too much of something or not enough of something else. The impulse when confronted with these facts, it seems, is to either attempt to assert whatever ness you claim and know well, or punish or deride those who might dare question your identity.

But if Blackness and the varied performance of it are to be embraced, then what also has to be embraced is the flawed fluidity of it. How the performance is sometimes regional, sometimes ancestral, often partially forged out of a need to survive some place, or some history, or some other people who didn't wish you or your kinfolk well. And yes, sometimes forged out of an ambition to appeal to the limited imagination of whiteness. The problem is that there is no way to prove oneself Black enough for every type of Black identity in the States, let alone the world. There is not always a way to prove (and possibly no way to trace) the how and why of your personal performance, until it becomes calculated. And in trying, high-profile figures often spiral further into being scrutinized by their doubters. I am thinking often on how crucial it is to love Black people even when feeling indicted by them. Even when that indictment is not out of love (which of course it sometimes is), but out of them clocking you for a standard you are not capable of rising to. I don't have any solution for this, but it has often seemed to me that even nodding and keeping it moving is an act of love when faced with the alternative of publicly debating the small or large nuances of specific modes of Blackness. And to not, in turn, make yourself a victim of Black people for the sympathy of a white audience. (On the Certain and Uncertain Movement of Limbs, pp. 103-04)

***

A country is something that happens to you. History is a series of thefts, or migrations, or escapes, and along the way, new bodies are added to a lineage. Someone finds a place where they think themselves meant to be, and they stop moving. Had the first job my father interviewed for come through at the start of the '80s, I would have been born in Providence, Rhode Island, instead of Columbus, Ohio, where work at the time was more plentiful. A city adorned with the name of a violent colonizer, his statue looming over the center of the downtown, his history a happening unto itself. I never asked to be in this country, or this city, of course. But what we end up with in the earliest moments of our lives can be beyond asking. I think now about the story of my two pals sitting down with their three-year-old only child and telling her that she was soon going to be the older sister to a new, younger child—the introduction of whom would require a halving of attention. The child took all of this information in, sat quietly for a moment, and then plainly replied, "No, thank you." (The Josephine Baker Monument Can Never Be Large Enough, p. 142)

***

Merry Clayton never gave birth to the baby she showed up to the studio pregnant with. Shortly after getting home from the session, she miscarried. There are those who say that the physical strain Clayton exerted in the studio contributed to the miscarriage, though she herself has never blamed the song or the Stones or the studio, which may be her way of keeping her grief her business and not aligning it with another piece of rock 'n' roll mythology. I don't know anything about what it is to carry or give life, but I know that when Merry Clayton's voice cracks in "Gimme Shelter," a part of me wants to jump as if it is the shot that begins the war itself. A part of me hears Mick shout and wants to know what he saw in that moment. A pregnant Black woman balancing on a stool, summoning all she had in order to leave behind something memorable. The backup singers, man. They get to be memorable for a few minutes at a time and forgotten in all of the minutes in between. I want to know if Mick saw every wretched tooth in the mouth of the world's most wretched beasts trembling and falling to the ground. There is some awful reckoning to be had in a song like that. Some awful things to be lived with. (I Would Like to Give Merry Clayton Her Roses, pp. 200-01)

***

I would like to give Merry Clayton her roses. I would like roses to burst forth from the walls of every room Merry Clayton is in. I would like to give roses to every singer who had a name tied up in liner notes and not on the tongues of people who sang along to their pristine vocals. I would like to bring roses to the doorstep of the house Merry Clayton walked out of at midnight in 1969 and I would like to lay roses on the stool where she sat, her pregnant belly hanging over the edge while she sang murder, murder, murder. I would like roses to come out of the ground somewhere any time a person's voice cracks under the weight of what it has been asked to carry, I would like to do this while the living are still the living, and I don't want to hear from any motherfucker who isn't with the program. I would like roses for Merry Clayton to fall from the sky whenever a gunshot echoes above and I would like roses for Merry Clayton in the hands of whoever could throw the first punch but doesn't. I want the small red fists to come from the earth and slowly open wherever Meredith Hunter's body is, or wherever his body had been. I want Merry Clayton to be as big as the Rolling Stones. I want teenagers to wear her face on T-shirts, and I mean her good face with her good afro and her fur coat and her father's eyes. I want record stores to stock the solo records of Merry Clayton in the front case and I want them to play all of the songs she sang alone, with no one else. I want enough roses to build headstones for everyone I love. I want the moment when the drums kick in on any version of "Gimme Shelter." I want that feeling in my chest to always remind me what I'd miss if it were taken from me. I want shelter, and I don't even know what that means anymore. I want nowhere, nothing sacred. (I Would Like to Give Merry Clayton Her Roses, pp. 203-04)

***

Late in 2016, after the election results had come back and the demographic voting breakdowns began to circulate, the most jarring of all the stats was that white women voted for Donald Trump over Hillary Clinton at a 52 percent to 43 percent clip. Resting underneath that, however, was that Black women overwhelmingly voted Clinton, at 93 percent. A lot of the conversation centered on the intersection of gender and power, and how white women will vote in the interest of the latter if it means ignoring all else. But what also began was a groundswell of appreciation for Black women that read as disturbing to me, largely because it was rooted primarily in their ability to fix the country, or labor on behalf of a mess many of them didn't ask for. The discomfort was most visceral because a majority of people engaging in this narrative in its early stages were white, and potentially "well-meaning," but not considering what the building of those ideas might be doing. Or not considering the motives behind these actions. To shout "Black women are going to save us all!" might feel good to type out to send in a tweet, but it reads as less good when one stops to consider that Black people—specifically Black women in this case—are not here in this country as vessels to drag it closer to some moral competence. The American obsession with immorality and a willingness to push its hardest labor off on its most marginalized is integral to the Black American experience, and so it occurred to me that maybe Black women were simply attempting to save themselves. That many Black people in the country have to go to jobs they don't love, or deal with waves of microaggressions at work or at the coffee shop or at the gym, and still know that voting won't save or stop any of this but did it anyway because the bet was already bad but the dealer had the cards in his hand to make it worse, and so many of us knew it. (Beyoncé Performs at the Super Bowl and I Think About All of the Jobs I've Hated, pp. 215-16)

***

Friends, I come to you very plainly afraid that I am losing faith in the idea that grief can become anything but grief. The way old neighborhoods are torn to the ground and new ones sprout from that same ground, it feels, most days, like my grief is simply being rebuilt and restructured along my own interior landscape. There is not enough distance between tragedies for my sadness to mature into anything else but another new monument obscuring the last new monument. When the interviewers asked Buster Douglas what his plan was in 1990, days before the fight, he responded I'll just hit him, I guess. And trust, I have dragged myself back to the walls of my fears and thrown my fists into them, hoping a crack might open for the sunlight to gallop through. But it turns out I'm not the fighter I once was, and I was never much of a fighter in the first place. It turns out all of my fears have become immovable.

I am afraid not of death itself, but of the unknown that comes after. I am afraid not of leaving, but of being forgotten. I am in love today but am afraid that I might not be tomorrow. And that is to say nothing of the bullets, the bombs, the waters rising, and the potential for an apocalypse. People ask me to offer them hope, but I'd rather offer them honesty. Black people get asked to perform hope when white people are afraid, but it doesn't always serve reality. Hope is the small hole cut into the honest machinery. The milk crate is still a milk crate, but with the right opening, a basketball can make its way through. If I am going to be afraid, I might as well do it honest. Arm in arm with everyone I love, adorned in blood and bruises, singing jokes on our way to a grave. (Fear: A Crown, pp. 248-49)

***

August 2016

Young Thug is wearing a dress on the cover of his mixtape Jeffery and the Internet wants to argue about what it all means for the future of masculinity and I need a haircut tomorrow but I'm not going to the shop to hear them talk about this shit and I go because it's the only shop in town but I hate their politics but I gotta stay fly because I don't feel like myself without a fresh cut. Let me try this again. I don't feel like myself without something that makes me desirable to people I don't know, and to know this is to know that the future of masculinity is probably not in the shape people want it to be. But Young Thug is wearing an expensive dress on the cover of his mixtape, and on the Internet, there are people insisting that this will be the thing that pushes the conversation forward. Someone shares a video of Young Thug flashing guns and this is the juxtaposition: You can still be hard and wear a dress is the sentiment. I scroll through comments and see variations on this theme, but I don't see anyone mention the idea that perhaps one problem is the public's concept that the masculine antithesis to wearing a dress is showing that you are willing to enact violence. Within an hour of the cover art's release, outlets write about it, labeling the art as controversial. No one suggests that the very idea of gender norms themselves are controversial, or that any binary aggressively enforcing itself through rigid definitions is controversial. Young Thug wore a dress on the cover for a mixtape that had some good songs about that same shit Thug had been rapping about forever and no one I know really listened to it all that much because the talk about the dress eclipsed all else. About a month later, a man walked out of the train station near my apartment wearing a crop top, a full face of makeup, and tight jeans that flared wide at the bottom. The papers say he was chased by another group of men until they caught him on a corner two blocks from where I lived. He was beaten bloody by one man while the others stood over him, mocking the way he curled up in a ball while being kicked. This story made the last five minutes of the local news. I wonder what clothing masculinity could cloak itself in that might drive it further away from an obsession with dominance through violence. I don't get my hair cut for three weeks. (On the Performance of Softness, pp. 252-53)

#hanif abdurraqib #book quotes

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mafiabosstsuna · 7 years

Note

hcs on how Enma,, Hibari and Mukuro would treat Tsuna's sO

COMPLETE

As Tsuna’s claimed significant other you will be treated to all kinds of scrutiny from enemies and allies alike. As a don Tsuna would put little to no thought to the opinions of other people but the people around him would be a different matter. His chosen significant other could, after all, influence the future of the Vongola through your relationship with its Boss. Empires have fallen for the sake of a beautiful face more than once, after all so they knew not to underestimate someone chosen by the Decimo.

admin Adelheid

Enma

Polite Wariness

You may or may not beaware of the Simon’s history. Their Famiglia was almost destroyed because ofone man’s love for a woman that had gone mad when she died. As a result, Enmawill treat you like you’re glass when you’re near him. Can’t afford to let you get hurt under his watch.

He will go out of hisway to cater to your every wish and get you whatever it was you wanted. Whetheror not you treat him like a friend or a dog, the way he treats you will notchange. But that is in the beginning only because he doesn’t trust you yet.

Underneath hissubservience he is biding time. Testing out your kindness and the strength ofyour relationship with Tsuna and judging what to do from there.

If he determinesyou’re a witch disguised as an angel he will plot your downfall. He will makeit appear that the Vongola was victimizing the Simon once again through you andhe will take steps to make sure your treatment was made public.

It’s a risk, he knewit. What the Vongola says goes in the underworld, after all. It is also his wayof testing how far his friendship with Tsuna will be taken under consideration.

If Tsuna sides withyou despite your evil Enma will take the Simon and go underground again but notbefore planting the seed of doubt in the other allies and show them they couldall end up like the Simon if you continue to exist by Tsuna’s side. If the Vongola Bosssides with him then Enma will quietlyremind him in private that you are gaining too much influence.

However if you proveto be a person who has no malicious streak then Enma will become a stalwartfriend.

He will be there whenyou need him, supporting you openly and protecting you.

He’ll treat you like hetreats Tsuna. With trust and friendship and loyalty. Probably even have a little crush on you.

All in all, if you gainhis loyalty then it is yours for life. No matter what happens between you andTsuna in the future he will stand by you. Whether your relationship with his best friend ends up in marriage or parting ways, his bond with you will never besevered.

Hibari

IndifferentCondescension

It’s not as bad as itsounds, really. He’ll mostly just pretend you’re not there. Which is actuallypretty gentlemanly for him. At least he’s not beating you into a pulp, right?

He will avoid any andall interactions with you as much as possible but that does not mean you are not under his radar. Hewill stay unattached to you while you are under his probation. Unsurprising forhim to have an eye on you documenting your movements and noting yourinteractions round the clock.

Depending on theresults of your evaluation he will act accordingly.

If you’re a petty person andyour behavior and influence over Tsuna is a risk to the Family he will dodamage control covertly and swiftly.

You insulted thedaughter of an ally through sheer pettiness and endangered an importantpartnership? Hibari will come in once you leave and fix the problem bycharming that daughter back to the Vongola’s side before she could run to herfather. Got someone killed out of sheer spite using Tsuna’s name and influence?Hibari will make sure the Vongola does not take the fall.

He will keep Tsuna inthe know about all of your shenanigans and let him decide about what to do withhis lover. He will openly advise dropping you, unafraid of retaliation. IfTsuna responds favorably to you despite your wicked ways he will allow theissues you create to mount and stand back, waiting to see what will become of the Family from a distance. The Vongola is after all Tsuna’s so it would be up to the Decimo to decide whether ornot the Family should rise or fall.

If he finds you are agood person, though, he will interact with you more often, even give you a nodof greeting when you’re in the same room together and not mind staying there with you.

If you express adesire to help Tsuna out he will be the one you should consult and he will give yousuggestions about how to act like a consort that will enhance Tsuna’s influence orsafety. He will also give you all the means to execute these suggestions andsee them to fruition.

Unsure of yourselfaround other Mafia women? He will pop by and remind you to lift your chin upand remember just who it was that loved you. That you are consort to the Bossof all Bosses and that Tsuna has chosen you because he knew your actual selfwill make him proud.

Hibari will make sureyou are safe around the clock without intruding on your life. Your safety willbe priority to him. Messing with you will be literally messing with him.Harming you will be the last thing anyone will ever do with a Cloud like that hanging over you.

Mukuro

Barely Veiled Malice.

Prepare for lots orbaiting and malicious innuendos.

Baiting you will behis new favorite past time. Mukuro has always been a rebel and he will not careif you were offended or not. He will test your patience and tolerance for hissnide and smooth mockery and insults.

It may seem offensive but in his own way he willbe testing the sharpness of your mind and your resistance to temptations. It didn’tmatter if it made him look like the bad guy in the situation. He’s used to the part.

If you try to match him, success will earn you an amused smirk followed by a series of events that will remove you from Tsuna’s side and failurewill secure you a condescending sneer with his respect latched onto it from behind.

If you are a malicious, petty person you willeither try to take him down using intrigue and conspiracies or get so turned onand horny you’ll seduce him into your bed.

The former you will neverbeat him in and he will make sure Chrome knows what’s going on so she has hisback in case things go south and she could bail him out of it. The latter hewould treat with amusement and fan your attraction for him until he can stage ascenario where Tsuna will catch you in the act of trying to get him into bed.Mukuro will make sure Tsuna finds outyou were the one carrying on with him and have you cast out of Tsuna’ssight.

If you are, however, agood person who truly loves his Don and rises in righteous indignation to hisbaits and insinuations then eventually he will be forced to respect you. Yes, he will make it known to all and sundry that he is being forced to do this because it is not in his nature to be honest. Not that you would notice the difference since he loves playing cat and mouse with you too much but then the very observant would be able to notice how the Mist user would become violent when someone else tries to play the same game with you.

He will demand thatyou be respected in his presence from outsiders and ignorant allies who daretry to insult you by using those same baiting tactics on those offendingpeople.

He will make it thoroughlyclear that you are under Vongola’sprotection by flashing that red eye on your enemies.

He will also actively but subtly raise your influence and personal power among the Famiglia and the Mafia. He had never trusted the Vongola’s Inner Circle so with a few subtle urges and machinations, he makes you an indispensable member of the Vongola. With or without your permission and uncaring if it put you in a lot of hot water.

He will be the bane of your existence but your most possessive protector who will not think twice about killing anyone who tries to take away his new favorite plaything. A plaything he would not hesitate to shield from any harm.

No one else can spar with your mind other than him.

#khr headcanons #enma kozato #hibari kyoya #rokudo mukuro #admin adelheid #hc #s/o treatment tw

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