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cqlfeels · 3 years

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@lansplaining encouraged me to finish this random meta nobody asked for, so let's talk about Meng Yao, Meng Shi, and 孟母三遷 (mèng mǔ sān qiān), a proverb about good parenting.

A warning: this is super long (even for me!) and is less quality meta and more my ADHD brain jumping around a maze of loosely related ideas. Proceed with caution!

Let me start by briefly going through why I decided to write this, because it’s important. In haunting Meng Shi’s tag in my starvation for Meng Shi content, I’ve multiple times come across the idea that Meng Shi pushed Meng Yao too hard, that she should’ve been more careful with teaching him to seek his father’s approval at any cost, and that she was too naïve. I’ve never reblogged this kind of post because 1) I personally think it’s rude to go out of your way to ramble about how much you disagree with someone on their own post and 2) if this was an isolated incident I wouldn't care either way, so I didn’t want to direct this rant at anyone in particular. It’s more to do with a tendency, primarily (as far as I can tell) from fans who haven’t had much contact with Chinese culture, to oversimplify Meng Shi and make her relationship with Meng Yao slightly disturbing, and I think part of it is due to CQL basically cutting out her entire storyline (so fans simply don’t have info about her to assess her fairly) and part is due to misunderstanding what a good parent is supposed to act like in the context of Ancient China.

[Of course, Ancient China is not a very useful historical concept, not any more than “ye olde Europe” - things change a lot based on time and place - but you know. It’s fantasy. Extremely broad trends are okay in this case.]

Anyway, the idea behind the posts I mentioned is, basically, that Meng Shi (usually through no fault of her own) is to blame for Meng Yao’s obsession with power, since his desire for approval was inherited from lessons she taught him. Just to start with, I’d argue that Meng Yao isn’t power-hungry as much as he craves security and respect, but that’s a different meta. Let’s assume that she really did teach him to be Like That. Was she wrong to do so? I’m not looking for “does that make for a happy, well-adjusted childhood?” or “would you raise your own son as Meng Shi did?” - I’m trying to figure out, would she have been considered a bad mother in the context of the society she lived in? I don’t think she would’ve.

It is surprisingly hard to find texts about the obligations of parents in Ancient China. Their main obligation is to raise filial children, but I feel like that’s not very useful: whether or not parents are good parents, children are expected to be filial, so a child being filial really says more about the child than about the parent. Maybe the parent completely missed the mark and society at large was what taught the child to be filial!

We can assume, of course, that parents were to raise good people, and that by learning what a good person looked like, we could figure out whether the parent was successful, but once again, I feel like that’s pinning things on the outcome, not on the process - the best of parents can end up with an awful kid and vice versa.

While thinking about all this, it took me a frankly embarrassing amount of time to remember the story of Mother Meng and Meng Zi, but once I did, it wouldn’t leave my mind - in part because the Meng here is the exact same Meng of Meng Shi and Meng Yao (yay! fun if useless parallel!), and in part because this is a story about how a woman can successfully raise a son by herself.

Okay, so important note: one of the most influential ancient Chinese thinkers is Meng Zi (孟子 Mèng Zǐ), who is known in the West as Mencius. If you've never heard of him - he's perhaps second in importance only to Confucius. When Mencius was still a young child, his father died, so he was raised by his mother, who is usually known only as Mother Meng (in Chinese, 孟母 Mèng Mǔ.)

Mother Meng's story is told in Biographies of Exemplary Women (列女傳 Liènǚ Zhuàn), which for around 2000 years beginning around the 18th century BCE, was the most commonly used book used to educate women. The book is divided into sections, each one showing a different way women could be honorable and good. Mother Meng's story is told in the Maternal Models section (母儀傳 Mǔ Yí Zhuàn.) The story has a few parts, some of which I'll quote, always from Kinney's 2014 translation.

Before I go on to quote it, though, I'd like to establish that Mother Meng's story is so, so famous that even if Meng Shi had never read this particular book, I'm almost certain she would've been familiar with at least the outlines of Mother Meng's story. I'm not cherry picking a suitable chapter from the book, I'm literally going with the most famous story in it because Meng Shi would be most likely to know this one if she knew no other story.

Okay, the first part of the tale takes place when Mencius is a young boy and Mother Meng is a widow raising him.

The mother of Meng Ke of Zou [a different name for Mencius] was called Mother Meng. She lived near a graveyard. During Mencius’ youth, he enjoyed playing among the tombs, romping about pretending to prepare the ground for burials. Mother Meng said, “This is not the place to raise my son.” She therefore moved away and settled beside the marketplace. But there he liked to play at displaying and selling wares like a merchant. Again Mother Meng said, “This is not the place to raise my son,” and once more left and settled beside a school. There, however, he played at setting out sacrificial vessels, bowing, yielding, entering, and withdrawing. His mother said, “This, indeed, is where I can raise my son!” and settled there. When Mencius grew up, he studied the Six Arts, and finally became known as a great classicist. A man of discernment would say, “Mother Meng was good at gradual transformation.”

According to the translator's footnote, "gradual transformation" is "a childrearing technique, whereby a child is morally formed through daily exposure to correct models of behavior."

From this story comes the proverb 孟母三遷 (Mèng Mǔ sān qiān) - "Mother Meng moved three times." It's come to mean that a parent - especially the mother of a male child - should spare no efforts to provide an environment that will give their child a good education, paying particular attention to what models are surrounding them.

I'm sure I don't need to say if Meng Shi was at all familiar with this proverb (and she would probably be), she must have been very stressed out over literally raising her son in a brothel. (Here I must mention sex workers in ancient China were often essentially owned by the brothels, so literally "moving three times" wasn't really an option for Meng Shi even if she could miraculously pick up another trade.) Meng Shi did however at least try to surround Meng Yao with the accomplishments appropriate for the son of a cultivator:

Xiao-Meng, are you still learning those things lately? [...] The things your mom wants you to learn, things like calligraphy, etiquette, swordsmanship, meditation… How are those things going? [...] His mom’s raising him as a young master of a wealthy family. She taught him how to read and write, bought him all those swordsmanship pamphlets, and even wants to send him to school.

Meng Yao actually talks a little bit about “those swordsmanship pamphlets” in the only time in canon he directly shares memories about this mother:

Lan XiChen, “Your [guqin] skills are also considered quite fine outside of Gusu. Were they taught by your mother?”

Jin GuangYao, “No. I taught myself by watching others. She never taught me such things. She only taught me reading and writing, and bought a handful of expensive sword and cultivation guides for me to practice.”

Lan XiChen seemed surprised, “Sword and cultivation guides?”

Jin GuangYao, “Brother, you haven’t seen them before, have you? Those small booklets sold by the common folk. First jumbled sketches of human figures, then deliberately mystified captions.”

Lan XiChen shook his head, smiling. Jin GuangYao shook his head as well, “All of them are scams, especially to fool women like my mother and ignorant children. You won’t lose anything by practicing them, but you definitely won’t gain anything either.”

He sighed in a rueful way, “But how could my mother have known this? She bought them no matter how expensive they were, saying that if I returned to see my father in the future, I had to see him with as much competence as possible so that I don’t fall behind. All of the money was spent on this.”

See what’s happening? Meng Shi cannot physically take Meng Yao to cultivators, but she spares no efforts in giving him the closest thing she possibly can -- figuratively, we might say she moved three times.

Of course, these booklets don’t work, but as Meng Yao says, how could she have known this? The cultivation world is very closed off - think of how the entire Mo household gathers to see Lan juniors, and how Wei Wuxian mentions once that “Cultivation families, in the eyes of common folk, are like people favored by God, mysterious yet noble.” Not just noble, but mysterious. That tracks, too - I mean, they live in inaccessible households and mostly leave to night hunt or visit each other, neither of which is an activity that would allow commoners to get much more than an occasional glimpse of them.

Now, if Meng Shi doesn’t even know that a pearl for Jin Guangshan was just a trinket, if she doesn’t know even the wealth of a major sect, how can she read booklets and decide whether that’s genuine cultivation or not? All that she sees is a chance for Meng Yao to be surrounded by the ideas and skills of the people she wants him to emulate - cultivators - and therefore she does everything she can to get him that chance. Mother Meng moved three times.

Okay, but maybe the argument is not “Meng Shi shouldn’t have pushed Meng Yao to cultivation” but rather “she should’ve pushed him, just not too hard." To that, I present another tale from Mencius' childhood:

Once, when Mencius was young, he returned home after finishing his lessons and found his mother spinning. She asked him, “How far did you get in your studies today?” Mencius replied, “I’m in about the same place as I was before.” Mother Meng thereupon took up a knife and cut her weaving. Mencius was alarmed and asked her to explain. Mother Meng said, “Your abandoning your study is like my cutting this weaving. A man of discernment studies in order to establish a name and inquires to become broadly knowledgeable. By this means, when he is at rest, he can maintain tranquility and when he is active, he can keep trouble at a distance. If now you abandon your studies, you will not escape a life of menial servitude and will lack the means to keep yourself from misfortune. How is this different from weaving and spinning to eat? If one abandons these tasks midway, how can one clothe one’s husband and child and avoid being perpetually short of food? If a woman abandons that with which she nourishes others and a man is careless about cultivating his virtue, if they don’t become brigands or thieves, then they will end up as slaves or servants.” Mencius was afraid. Morning and evening he studied hard without ceasing. He served Zisi [a great scholar whose grandfather was Confucius] as his teacher and then became one of the most renowned classicists in the world.

Notice that Mother Meng moved three times to ensure Mencius would have the highest of aspirations - to become a scholar. But just aspiration isn’t enough. Not by any means. Now that Mencius is actually studying, Mother Meng is willing to take an extreme action to ensure he's taking it seriously. Mencius doesn't have a father to smooth his path to success. He has to learn that aspiring to greatness isn't enough. He'll have to put in the effort as if his life depended on it. And if he doesn't persist in his hard work, everything he's done thus far will be useless. Sounds like a lesson imparted on young Meng Yao, doesn’t it?

A lot of fandom rage towards Meng Shi would apply to China's Best Mom Contender, Mother Meng. She gives her son big dreams, and teaches him how to go about achieving them in a society where failing is easier than succeeding. Yes, it's fair to say that Meng Shi taught Meng Yao to refuse to settle for anything less than being “Jin Guangshan's son, a respected cultivator.” Yes, it's also fair to say that she probably didn't allow him much time to play like children his age did. But unfortunately, in the world of MDZS, poor children probably wouldn't get to play anyhow, the difference is that they'd usually be working, not studying. Studying is a privilege! It’s a privilege Meng Yao could not afford but was given to him anyway, through his mother’s many sacrifices. We can even say that while she was alive, Meng Shi was trying to ensure Meng Yao would one day have a better life, at the expense of a fun childhood - and that's very Mother Meng of her, whatever our modern Western sensibilities might have to say about that.

Finally, I’d skip other tales (which show Mother Meng and an adult Mencius) and go straight to the poem that ends the Mother Meng section:

The mother of Mencius

Was able to teach, transform, judge, and discriminate.

With skill she selected a place to raise her son,

Prompting him to accord with the great principles.

When her son’s studies did not advance,

She cut her weaving to illustrate her point.

Her son then perfected his virtue;

His achievements rank as the crowning glory of his generation.

I’d like to focus on the last verse - “His achievements rank as the crowning glory of his generation.” All that Mother Meng wanted was for Mencius to not completely ruin his life, but he became great. You can so very easily see a parallel with how Meng Shi hoped Meng Yao would be a cultivator but he became Jin Guangyao, Chief Cultivator, styled Lianfang-zun, one of the Three Venerable, hero of the Sunshot Campaign.

Of course you can say “Jin Guangyao did many Very Wrong Things to get there, though!” Which, sure, okay, fair point. How many and how wrong depends on which canon we're discussing, and your own interpretation, but there’s no version of the story in which Jin Guangyao is 100% an innocent child uwu. But blaming that on Meng Shi is just... straight up weird? I don’t see anyone going “If Jiang Fengmian hadn’t adopted Wei Wuxian, he’d never have dared become Yiling Laozu!” and that’s pretty much the same logic. Would street kid Wei Wuxian have invented a new type of cultivation if he had never been taken in by the Jiang? Probably not, but raising undead armies is very much not something Jiang Fengmian could’ve predicted. In the same way, how could Meng Shi have predicted that teaching her pre-adolescent son “You are the son of a cultivator, act like one and earn your place in society” would’ve ultimately resulted in innocent deaths? How could she predict “You’re not destined to having the same horrible life I did, you can get something better than this” was a bad thing to teach? I quite honestly don’t know.

Finally, I'd like to point towards a much flimsier evidence that Meng Shi did great as a parent. And that is Meng Yao’s love. Nie Huaisang at some point comments Meng Shi is someone who Meng Yao "cherishes more than his life," and I think his assessment is correct.

Even putting aside the fact he built a whole temple to get his mother to reincarnate into a better life, and even putting aside how he refuses to flee the country without her remains, there's still crystal clear evidence that Meng Shi must've done something right. Because a lifetime of people using his mother to bully him doesn't seem to have made Meng Yao resent her. Had their relationship not have been very strong, odds are he'd feel bitter and/or ashamed of her. That doesn't seem to be the case. He's attached to her even decades after her death.

I want to be very careful with equating mutual affection with good parenting, though. When I was a rather rebellious teenager, my mother (in typical Chinese fashion) used to say that parents and children don't have to love each other as long as they're dutiful to each other, by which she meant that a parent-child relationship isn't informed by warm and fuzzy feelings, but by whether you'd be willing to do anything for each other. Specific to my case, she meant "I don't care if it makes you hate me, you will do as you're told because that's what's best for you." (That may also be the reason why people more familiar with Chinese culture see the Jiang family less as outright abusive and more as #complicated, but that's another meta.)

Whether your kid wants to hug you every time they see you is of no consequence to traditional Chinese thought - raising them to be the best they can is all that matters, because at the end of the day, you won't be around forever, but you can definitely set up your kid's life so that it goes smoothly and virtuously. How that's accomplished varies depending on many factors, but to have the goal be "I want my child to love me" rather than "I want to raise my child right" would've been considered selfish as hell.

So even if all that Meng Shi had given Meng Yao had been stern lessons about the need to go get his birthright, she would've still have been considered a good mother!! In fact, she would've been doing everything she was supposed to do, under extremely difficult conditions! (Remember the importance of environment? That Meng Yao grew up to want to be a cultivator despite having probably never even met one speaks wonders about Meng Shi's childrearing powers!!)

But just based off how over the top Meng Yao's filal dutifulness is, I'd go a step further and say that even as she did the impossible, she was also loving enough to inspire genuine affection. This is complicated because children who have present fathers could expect their mothers to be tender with them. The first century BCE text 禮記 Lǐ Jì or The Classic of Rites says that:

Here now is the affection of a father for his sons - he loves the worthy among them, and places on a lower level those who do not show ability; but that of a mother for them is such, that while she loves the worthy, she pities those who do not show ability - the mother deals with them on the ground of affection and not of showing them honour; the father, on the ground of showing them honour and not of affection.

But when the father figure is lacking for any reason, the mother must abandon her tenderness because someone must guide the child, and without a father, the role falls to the mother. A single or widowed mother had to be very careful to not smother their children with affection and raise useless, spoiled kids, or so it was thought. (The presence of Qingheng-jun and Lan Qiren is why Madame Lan can be so affectionate with the Lan boys, by the way - if she was raising them by herself she would've been expected to be much more practical. AUs where she just gets her kids and runs away could do very cool things with this idea. But I digress!)

Where was I? Oh, okay. Because Meng Yao seems to not just respect, but actively miss her, it seems that Meng Shi somehow managed to deal with her son on the ground of both honor and affection, to paraphrase.

So basically, all things considered, it seems not only would Meng Shi have been considered a great mom (if people could look past her being a prostitute, anyway) but she also went above and beyond the bare minimum. She truly spared no efforts on any front to make sure her son had everything your average gongzi would have - someone to teach him and someone to love him, access to education and confidence in his birthright. That she couldn't actually make him a cultivator, that she couldn't actually raise him in a proper home with no one being cruel to herself or him - that's immaterial. Even Mother Meng couldn't control what her neighbors did, only what she taught her son! The key point is Meng Shi tried. She did everything she could to educate her son right. You couldn't ask more of her, and quite honestly, you should probably be asking less.

Of course we can't err on the other extreme and say she was Perfect. Given MXTX only ever writes flawed characters, we can safely assume that if we'd known more about Meng Shi, we would've seen many flaws. Indeed, just the fact she didn't teach Meng Yao the guqin when he apparently wanted to learn it might point to some conflict we don't know enough to speculate about (maybe she focused too much on cultivation when Meng Yao's interests lay elsewhere? Maybe she wasn't able to sufficiently shelter him and he felt it'd be a burden to ask her to teach him anything? Maybe maybe maybe, go wild with your fics.) Nevertheless, I would never hold a female character to a higher ideal than a male character - if the male cast of MDZS can be a hot mess and still be admirable for what they're trying to do, then so can Meng Shi.

At the end of the day, when I look at Meng Shi - and I've made myself a document with all the references to her in the novel canon so I could easily contemplate her life and character - all I see is a woman every bit as determined and resourceful as her son, willing to do everything it took to raise her little boy into the sophisticated and ambitious man he became.

Finally, here's a fun little parallel that I'm 100% sure was unintentional but I still love. I said Meng Shi couldn't have moved three times. She couldn't, but I think maybe she taught her son he was worth moving three times for. Qinghe Nie. Qishan Wen. Lanling Jin. Isn't that super fun to think about?

Alternatively, tl;dr: Oh My God I Can't Believe We're Blaming Women For The Actions Of Their Adult Children In The Year Of Our Lord 2k21, Meng Shi Was Doing Her Best, Chill!

#drinking game #take a shot every time i say 'finally'#this post refused to let me get to the end of it lol #i think because i'm extremely salty about fanon stage mom meng shi #(to not say tiger mom meng shi which crosses into outright racism. but i'm giving people the benefit of the doubt)

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imagine-nation20 · 3 years

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Sunshine and The Art of Picking Your Battles

Summary: “I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone today, but it looks like my plans just changed.”

Requested By: Anon

Request: “I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone today, but it looks like my plans just changed.” for Jason Todd (with the reader being kidnapped by any villain you want)

A/N: Jason Todd will forever and always be the best robin and I will not take criticism. Also I love writing established relationship with superheroes where one doesn’t know the other is a vigilante, so enjoy some reader having no sense of self preservation, and Jason outing himself as the red hood.

~~~

You hated Gotham. Or rather, you hated the criminal underbelly of Gotham, which wasn’t so much an underbelly as it was a very obvious toupee on the top of the head of the city. Gotham was built on crime, and it would probably crumble under the weight of crime. Most people who lived there were either involved in crime, or involved in the vigilante justice served by the masked crusaders.

Running a bar in Gotham was bad, running a bar in the crummy part of Gotham was worse. That is, if you could claim any part of Gotham wasn’t crummy.

Still, it was a better job than some of the other options. Who could blame the owner of the place appointing you manager and fucking off to his apartment in the only part of Gotham that could afford working deadbolts.

So it was no wonder that you got jumped on your way home after a particularly grueling shift.

Three men dressed in suits too nice for the area. It was pretty much common sense to learn some form of self defense if you were going to live in a city like Gotham, however, three against one wasn’t exactly fair odds.

They tied your wrists, dropped a bag over your head, and then hit you with something heavy and blunt that was probably going to leave permanent damage.

Waking up was a headache, to say the least. Your head pounded like a drum, the blood rushing through your ears sounding like the waves against the harbor. Or maybe that really was the harbor.

It didn’t really matter, because you had a bigger problem to worry about than whether or not the ‘whooshing’ in your ear was blood or water.

A man, dressed in an expensive suit, stood a few feet away. His head was covered in the dark, slightly shiny material of a mask, shaped like a skull. Beady eyes peered through, staring you down.

“So, what is a bartender like yourself doing associating with the Red Hood?” Roman Sionis was easily recognizable, and his identity was not a secret to the citizens of the city. He seemed almost proud to lord the fact that everyone knew who he was, but couldn’t put him away for anything tangible.

Unless of course that person was Batman or one of his many disciples.

“What the fuck are you on about?” You slurred. You cursed yourself internally for your inability to keep your mouth shut. Most of the time you were okay, but you were tired, and in pain, and this was the third time this week you had been assaulted, so you were over it. Criminals and crime lords were a dime a dozen, and despite his very intimidating reputation, you could not care less about Black Mask.

He laughed, and it almost sounded genuine, “I’m talking about the fact that I have on good word that Red Hood has been in your shitty little bar almost every night for the past week.”

You were going to kill Kallista.

You avoided associating with vigilantes, but your coworker, and the woman who worked most night to day shifts, was known for giving vigilantes free drinks when they dropped in. Now, it seemed you had been mistaken for her. Serves you right for having the audacity to pick up her shift when she was sick.

You had seen a few of them drop in on your way out, but never Red Hood. She probably told him not to catch you, since you would have reemed her for it. Red Hood wasn’t a criminal, but he was known for incurring their wrath like no one else, and that usually ended up in situations like this.

Yes, Kallista was going to die… so long as you made it out of this.

“Listen pal,” you started, glancing around the room for a way out. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You weren’t a bad friend, and you certainly weren’t going to sick Roman Sionis on your friend. Even if she did get you in this situation in the first place.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” He yelled, taking quick steps towards you. You winced back, hearing the flick of a switchblade, and feeling the cold press against your cheek.

“Listen, if I was associating with the Red Hood, I would have told you by now.”

“For some reason, I just don’t believe you.”

“Well well well, look what the cat dragged in,” A voice echoed through the warehouse. From above, you could see the familiar brown leather jacket, and bright red helmet of the Red Hood. He was reclined against a support beam, legs dangling off the one he was sitting on. “I’m going to be honest with you, I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone today, but it looks like my plans just changed.”

Hopping down from the beam, he landed, knees bent, feet light. It was almost impressive, the way he could silently drop. If you weren’t so tired, you might have taken the time to marvel at the way his pants bunched and stretched. Kallista was right after all, there was a certain appeal to the vigilantes in uniform.

Roman shifted around you, knife going to your neck. You took in a sharp breath, glaring at the Red Hood as he faltered in his pace.

“Take another step and she dies,”

“I was gonna say thanks for coming, Hood,” You glared, “but you’ve kinda made the situation worse.”

You could almost see the tick of annoyance through the mask. His fists clenching slightly, he grumbled, “This is the thanks I get?”

“I’ll thank you when I don’t have a knife to my jugular.”

Black Mask tightened his grip on you, knife digging in a slight bit. You didn’t think it had pierced skin yet, but you couldn’t be sure.

The next few seconds seemed to go by in an instant. The shattering of glass, the whizzing of something through the air, the knife nicked your neck, then was gone, and so was the grip of Roman Sionis.

Red Hood moved towards you, gloved hands untying the ropes that kept you bound to the chair. You looked to the side, seeing Black Mask passed out on the ground, a strange arrow sticking to the outside of his helmet. You could have sworn you saw little strings of electricity still moving over the black material.

The masked vigilante hoisted you from the chair, his arms slipping behind your back and beneath your knees.

“Seriously?” You deadpanned, “I can walk, you know. My legs aren’t broken.”

It didn’t seem like he cared, as he scoffed, “I still haven’t heard a thank you.”

“I didn’t think heroes were so egotistical.”

“Not really a hero, sunshine,” you could hear the smile in his voice, even through the strange effect his helmet gave off. You went stiff at the name.

Jason faltered mid step, and you knew you had him. Spewing a flurry of curses, you wriggled out of his hold and onto the gravel below. The rocks bit into your skin, and Jason moved to crouch and help, but you were already up and slapping at his arm.

“You son of a bitch, Jason,” you whisper shouted, “you’re so stupid. How long have you been the- no, I don’t want to know.”

“Sunshine-”

“Don’t you sunshine me, Todd,” you growled, “You didn’t think to tell me you were a fucking vigilante? And moreover, you were getting free drinks from my coworker while she ranted to me about your thighs?”

“What?” Jason asked, shaking his head. “No, no, I wasn’t… I was looking out for you! I was trying to make sure you got home safe! What about my thighs?”

You paused, mouth hanging open. You hadn’t known Jason for very long. He had come in during one of your shifts with a busted lip and a dazzling smile, and left with your number and the promise of a date. You should have guessed back then, if you were being honest, but you believed him when he said he had gotten jumped. Maybe he had been telling the truth, just not the whole truth.

Stalling so that you didn’t give in to his guilty look so easily, you glanced around. So it had been the ocean you were hearing. You turned back around, trying and failing to hold the vicious glare.

“You better have a ride back to my apartment, cause we are about to have a long talk about impulse control, honesty, and the art of picking battles.”

“You sound like my dad.”

Silence.

“OH MY GOD IS BRUCE WAYNE-”

#Jason Todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd oneshot #jason todd fanfiction #dc

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shoichee · 3 years

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okok hc or fic: reader was teiko’s “head” manager(?) and her talent was being a medic (if someone gets injured they’re back on the court in under a minute type thing) and training plans. suddenly momoi’s talent blooms, she starts working w/ everyone in the team (+ reader’s crush akashi) and people think she’s a better manager than reader. because of this, she overworks + collapses in front of her best friends kuroko + kise (don’t let akashi know yet i have plans for that 👀)

HELLO? YES OFFICER? I JUST FOUND A BANGER REQUEST RIGHT HERE? YOUR BRAIN IS SO BIG AND SEXY IVE BEEN DYING TO WRITE THIS🏃🏻‍♀️💨 part 2 here and part 3 here AND update: part 4 here

Akashi x Reader

[Teiko!manager Headcanons]

you had a knack of being a natural chiropractor in loosening up tense muscles instantly (for more fluid play) or easily putting in back dislocated joints

basically you have crackhands

in your free time as a hobby and a job as the “head manager” (that Akashi announced to the team himself), you’d often bury yourself in anatomy studies and gym plans on the internet and databases to review over Akashi’s team training routines to see if they were effective and safe; oftentimes, you’d return back with improved plans, and as time went on, Akashi entrusted you with creating the plans yourself completely

you took on the job so eagerly to impress the Teiko captain, if you were being honest to yourself

your enthusiasm even inspires Momoi, Teiko’s other manager, to work harder

no one in Teiko knows physiology better than you, and as expected, it was also your best subject along with health

Kise often looks at you in horror and respect at how you don’t cringe/flinch at the loud cracks resonating across the room or court when players come to you for instant relief (the origin story of how he came to call you (y/n)-cchi was the very fact that you manage to put back his dislocated shoulder in 3 seconds flat one game)

when Kuroko first joined the 1st-string, he was a walking magnet for injuries, and you ended up being there for him every single time… nosebleeds? check. sprained ankle? check. nausea from over exhaustion? check.

both you and Kuroko relish in the fact that everyone in the team can never understand how the both of you do some incredible things with your hands

both of you being quite dexterous, you both often teach each other your specialties for fun; it’s almost shocking to see Kuroko effortlessly loosening up a stress knot and you pulling off a well-done palm pass

you admit, you do juggle a lot of responsibilities… from being a makeshift nurse, to a chiropractor, to a budget gym coach, and even to being moral support

Momoi often reminds you to take breaks being the caring person that she is

you often showed her the ropes and tricks of being a manager, on top of your duties, and you find it really endearing that she’s so earnest in learning from you

even if you enjoyed doing what you do, part of the massive workload is to try to get into Akashi’s good graces

talking to him about basketball duties is easier to achieve than talking to him outside of the extracurricular

you might be a tad bit insecure about it; after all, what middle schooler is already so accomplished in academics, sports, and everything you could think of? wasn’t he also studying to take over his father’s company??

to you, who only starred as Teiko’s humble manager, it felt hard trying to establish common ground for conversation outside of basketball

so you stuck to working hard at your position, hoping that your work ethic would get his attention one day; you were a firm believer of actions over words, so you hoped your actions would come off as genuine

picture you and Momoi running across campus with stacks of papers for the team… it makes most of the teammates’ hearts melt at the sight

your work certainly got you praises from other teammates, but out of all players, Kise was the one who figured out your motive

you felt absolutely morbid; to think that Kise, of all people, would figure you out like the back of his hand

Kise being sweet as he is, offers to help you get with the captain but you merely prompted to threaten to break his arm if he spilled your crush to anyone else

“(y/n)-cchi… I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes, Kise?”

“It’s really cool that you’re working so tirelessly for the team, but I can’t help but wonder if there’s a reason why you work so hard.”

“O-Of course I do! I want to see you guys all succeed!”

“Then I’m curious as to why you always look at Akashicchi—o-ow, ow, ow!! (y/n)-cchi, I’m sorry! So can you please let go of my—ow!”

“H-How did you know?!”

“I-It was as obvious as day, (y/n)-cchi! I’m pretty sure even Kurokocchi found out about this before I did!”

“N-No way!!”

“Tell you what, I’m super duper knowledgeable in this stuff! You can count on me for this sort of advice—OW!”

spoiler alert: Kise was right in that Kuroko definitely noticed your attraction to Akashi before anyone else… he just never brought it up to you

one day, Kuroko comes up to you to whisper:

“(y/n)-san, have you realized that Akashi-kun has been observing you recently during practice?”

“W-Wait! Is he looking over here right now?”

“Not that I think. He’s occupied with the coach right now.”

“D-Do you think this is a good sign?”

Kuroko gives you a small smile before he replies, “I would like to think so. Keep working hard, (y/n)-san.”

and you do, you’re constantly on top of your game for the next season until Momoi suddenly gets more recognition for her “precognitive defense” skills

her newfound talent was extraordinary and never-before-seen, and her ability became more critical to Teiko’s victories than your own skills

you were happy and proud for her, because after all, her achievements were extremely deserving to be praised

it’s only when some 1st-string players started making offhand comments about how you weren’t really needed in the 1st-string and was more suited to the lower strings that placed seeds of doubt into you

these people would often compare you to Momoi in how she improved much more despite you being in the team for longer

there’s also talk about how your skills are more useful for 2nd-string and 3rd-string players because Momoi’s ability is already sufficient enough for Teiko’s starters

after all, how would a player even be injured if they can predict their opponents’ moves to avoid such incidents?

there’s also the fact that Akashi has been calling Momoi more frequently to research on upcoming teams for analytical data because her talent has become very useful to ensuring victory

the same peers and adults who gave you praise were the same people who began to ignore you or dismiss you; that being said, the collective change in attitude is definitely subtle enough that it would fly under most people’s radars

Kuroko was the first to notice and defend you against a small group of players who were bold enough to badmouth you in the gym

Kise would find out a little later about the somewhat unpleasant gossip about you and would pull the “no you” reverse card, returning back with MEANER underhanded comments that would send these shit talkers CRYING HOME (manga Kise strikes here unexpectedly eh?)

Murasakibara is someone who would be slightly uncomfortable with the gossip about you, especially since you’ve always been so helpful and kind to the team and himself; he’d either leave the room himself or easily scare them away with his looming height and presence without saying a single word when he enters the room “minding his own business”

Midorima is a bystander judging from how he’s reacted to the Teiko dynamic changes in the actual show // he, of course, wouldn’t like the nasty talk about you but would actually mind his own business, choosing to focus on himself and what he has to do to contribute to his team; he assumes that you would work hard the same way he is and let your contributions do the talking

now Akashi surprisingly wouldn’t hear much of the gossip, since his presence alone SHUTS them up and commit to their practices like normal; after all, it’s very clear that Akashi doesn’t tolerate this type of behavior in the team (example: Haizaki), and it’s more apparent that he wouldn’t hesitate to drop kick them out especially since he has a soft spot for you (which Kise never fails to bring this up to you, but you think he’s reaching too much into it) // TLDR; the teammates mostly have the common sense to not utter anything bad about you… maybe one kid would slip out and get punished for “bad sportsmanship,” but Akashi merely assumes that it’s just one bad apple and not necessarily… the many others as well

Aomine???? bro he ain’t even at practice wdym (HELPPP LMAOO) // jokes aside, if he catches wind of players shit-talking outside of the gym… say at the convenience store or when he’s walking home or something, well… they wouldn’t have a good time…

Momoi simply chastises the gossipers when they try to talk shit on you to make Momoi herself look good, and it leaves? such? a? horrible? taste? like, she wants to believe that they’re just really poor jokes and not what they really believe in, and the teammates merely reassure her that they’re just bad jokes and that they “wouldn’t do it again;” poor Momoi wholeheartedly believes them

the weird talks about Momoi being “the better manager” just signalled to you that you haven’t contributed enough to the team yet, and it motivated you to work even harder

oddly, you weren’t jealous of the fact that Momoi was receiving more positive attention than you

you were more afraid of the fact that you were going to get left behind, and this fear only tightened its hold on you when more teammates (who used to talk to you a lot) have changed their tunes when they speak with you now, compared to them talking to Momoi

and you felt that the Generation of Miracles would do the same too… including Akashi

it wasn’t an irrational fear for you because he’s already been calling Momoi a lot more frequently for help than you recently

so you even offered to mop the gym floors after practice, offered to stay later than usual to be the one to lock up the gym for anyone (cough, Kuroko) who wanted to practice whenever they wanted

at one point, you even tried to do what Momoi does: researching on upcoming teams and making your own predictions (that didn’t really work, and that cost you a few nights’ worth of sleep every single time)

not to mention that you still had regular school like any other student? you were the epitome of a mess

Kuroko was with you in the empty gym, you putting away the extra basketballs in the storage closet while he practiced his dribbling, until he heard a crash in there and a few basketballs rolled out the door

you collapsed right when you rolled in the basketball cart

POOR KUROKO HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO // he just tries to give you a piggyback ride as he abandons his plans of practice and tries to jog to the nearest local clinic

that’s where he bumped into Kise, who was heading home after an evening shoot when he saw the two of you

chaos ensue as Kise freaks out and Kuroko had to calm him down himself after answering the never-ending questions

at least the doctor there gave relieving news that you only collapsed from over-exhaustion and that the bruises from the fall were very faint

Kise makes a joke to Kuroko about, “What’s with you and (y/n)-cchi falling to the floor and fainting? You guys can’t be that alike.”

when you shortly regain consciousness, you were met with a… very stern Kuroko and Kise, who were both ready to hear your explanation and to scold you to oblivion

to your surprise, they were understanding; Kuroko understands the feeling of not being enough and working hard to meet other people’s expectations, and Kise understands the struggle of juggling multiple things in his schedule (come on, student, athlete, and model?)

they still scolded your ears off:

“(y/n)-san, you idiot. Why didn’t you ask anyone to help out?”

“That’s…”

“(y/n)-cchi, do you think we’re undependable?!”

“Er, no, that’s…”

you were still dizzy from the fall and the lack of proper sleep (and maybe nutrition if we’re being honest), and you were just a ball of stress

you kind of begged your best friends not to tell a SOUL to anyone about this incident, especially to Akashi… you didn’t want to look even more incapable in his eyes than you already were

they do agree on one condition: for you to take AT LEAST a day or two off school to completely recover and rest up (you reluctantly agree; besides how were you going to explain the bruises that can’t be covered to your peers?)

HELP WHY ARE KISE AND KUROKO THE BEST LIARS TOGETHER ON CAMPUS LITERALLY NO ONE SUSPECTS A THING… except Akashi, the ever sharp captain, felt something was amiss

especially since some Teiko players emanated a feeling of relief at the news of you not being here that day, or the next

Akashi would play detective sleuth and find out what’s really going on sooner or later

End Note: gonna cut this off here b/c I KNOW this anon got a juicy part two i FEEL IT

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sunlight-moonrise · 3 years

Text

The Law of Attraction (Reid Imagine)

Summary: Reader cannot understand how Spencer is in a relationship with someone who is his complete opposite.

A/N: Hello Everyone!!! Here’s another story from the secret-fic-swap in the Discord server. I tried my hand at a new genre and I like how it came out. A big thank you to @imagining-in-the-margins for helping me make this real nice for y’all (this story was also written to her). Enjoy!

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Content Warnings: If you’re a fan of Max or Maxcer, this may not be the story for you. Sacrifices needed to be made for this story to be told.

Word Count: 4.2K

Masterlist

The thought that the concept of ‘opposites attract’ was only true when it comes to physics. After all, the comparison of people to magnets doesn’t make any sense. If two people are together, there should be some similarities to build an established relationship, right? Without that foundation, the structure will surely crumble back into the fragmented pieces that created it, leaving them cracked and weaker for it.

Compatibility is necessary, yet there is none whenever I look at them. This is the fourth function that he has brought her to, and with each event, I find it harder to look their way. But when I do find them among the crowd, I can’t look away. Like a car crash or thunderstorm ripping tree roots from the ground.

It doesn’t make sense to me, why on earth would Spencer Reid be with a girl like her.

“If you keep staring at her, she might drop dead,” said a sarcastic voice, breaking me out of my reverie. I turned to see Tara with an amused smile occupying her face.

“I just don’t get it,” I mumbled, focusing my attention on the drink in my hand.

“What’s not to get?” she asked, glancing over at the couple in question. “They seem cute together.”

“They have nothing in common. He might as well be talking to some random person in this bar.”

I chugged the remainder of my beverage with desperate hope that the alcohol will somehow make things better in this situation. It didn’t.

“You sound bitter.”

“I am not bitter,” I bit back.

“I didn’t say you were, I said you sound.”

I didn’t respond to her because deep down I knew she was right. I just fiddled with the straw in my now empty glass as Tara continued, “Look, they both like coffee and going to the park, that’s something.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped my throat at the thought.

“So do half the people on the administration floor, he might as well have a harem if those are the main qualifications.”

“So what type of person should Spencer Reid have?” she asked, an eyebrow arching up as she focused her attention on me.

“I don’t know. Someone who is family-oriented and loves kids. Someone who doesn’t judge him for his idiosyncrasies. Someone who listens to his rambles and actually responds to them. Someone who he can escape to when things get too tough. Someone who understands when to give him space but will continue to support him unconditionally. Someone who can challenge him and make each day exciting and interesting. Someone who can ke—”

“Whoa there, I didn’t think you were going to give me a whole novel.” If she thought that was a novel, then the rest of what I wanted to say would be considered an encyclopedia. The only one that Spencer would never read.

“I just want him to be happy,” I relented.

It was the simple truth. Everyone deserves some sort of contentment in their life, but with everything that Spencer has gone through in the past, his happiness should be at the forefront. He always put others before himself. It was time that someone prioritizes his wants and needs for a change.

“And she doesn’t make him happy?”

Not in the slightest.

But I didn’t want to say that. I was sure half of the team already thought, or knew, that I was infatuated with him. But I didn’t need to give them the satisfaction of a confirmation by talking about this any further. The looks that Tara had been giving me the past few minutes validated my belief that I didn’t need to dig myself into a deeper hole.

“Maybe,” I said, hoping to put an end to the topic.

But just then, I heard a laugh despite how noisy the place was. I knew without a doubt that was Spencer’s laugh – it was the only sound that would demand my attention that quickly. It was the one he used when he felt uncomfortable.

“Excuse me, Tara.”

I didn’t give her a chance to reply before I hopped off the barstool and made my way to where Spencer and his girl were as casually as possible. Jennifer and Penelope were also with them, and it seems as if the three ladies were doing most of the talking.

“….like kids someday?” I heard Pen say. I didn’t need to hear the beginning of the sentence to know what it was about.

“Ehh, certainly not. My nephew is a handful as is, I don’t think I need any more than that one in my life,” she laughed. She, of course, being the ever loving, ever annoying, Max. A quick glance at Spencer's face confirmed that he was bothered by the subject being discussed. If the rest of the ladies were a bit more sober, they’d probably have seen it too.

“Hey guys,” I interrupted, taking my previous seat next to JJ, “I ordered some water for us and some appetizers. Tara is going to bring it over when it is ready.”

Cheers and thank you were shouted across the small table, but there was only one face I cared to pay attention to. Spencer’s mouth was quirked in a sad smile that was meant to hide the discomfort that had already taken root in his heart like an invasive vine.

“Did you place my fries order?” Max asked, garnering my attention. As much as I wanted to ignore her, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t openly be a bitch to her, no matter how much she irked me. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Other than stealing the affections of a man I’d never actually pursued, that is. But I couldn’t really blame her for that one, right? I should’ve jumped on the opportunity before. It was my fault.

“Yup,” I answered quickly with a small fake smile before focusing on the wooden décor of the bar.

“So any plans for Halloween? Assuming we don’t get called in for a case of course,” JJ asked the table.

“There is this pop-up haunted house coming that weekend.” Spencer said, his voice laced with that childlike excitement that made my heart race, “It is near the annual fair, so I’m going to try and do both.”

“Awww, that’s a cute date idea.”

The table was silent for a moment before Max announced, “I probably won’t go. I am not a big fan of anything spooky or… horror. I’ll leave all of that to this guy.”

The table shared an awkward laugh in a poor attempt to lighten the mood.

“Anyway,” I coughed out, attempting to save this poor conversation, “you guys need to hear this terrible joke the bartender told me. So basically, this screwdriver walks into a bar….” and just like that, the topic had been changed.

Tara joined us shortly after and the conversation remained lighthearted for the remainder of the evening. We later said our farewells and readied ourselves to go back home. While I should’ve been sad to leave him, I couldn’t help but feel a bitter joy from the fact that Spencer and Max didn’t talk directly to each other for the rest of the night.

●●●

It’s been a couple of weeks since the last team outing. Rossi must’ve missed us, because he decided to host a dinner at his place to celebrate the ending of a long and tough case. No one was going to pass up the opportunity of free food and wine, especially after dealing with a bunch of cops and detectives with entire tree trunks up their asses.

I was the last to arrive, which was not surprising since I live the furthest away from Rossi. Krystall welcomed and settled me in while informing me where everyone was. What I assumed was a team gathering turned out to be a whole party. There were definitely more than two dozen people occupying the space.

Good god.

“What’s all this?” I asked as I greeted Rossi in the, thankfully, empty kitchen. Because, of course, Rossi wouldn’t be Rossi if he didn’t take care of all the hors d'oeuvres himself.

“Krystall wanted to celebrate our anniversary,” he sighed, as if this ordeal was somehow troublesome. I had to roll my eyes; he wasn’t fooling anyone. We all knew that Rossi would move mountains for his wife.

Their love was pure and genuine, a perfect example of two people meeting again at the right time and sharing something wonderful with one another. As I reminisced on their beautiful wedding day, a thought came to my head.

“Isn’t your first anniversary coming up in a few months?”

“That’s for our second marriage, this is for the first.” Rossi simply stated with a proud smirk, as if it was standard to celebrate any and all anniversaries in life. I supposed that for him, it was.

“Why do I get the feeling that this was more your idea than Krystall’s?”

“Guilty.”

Classic. Well, I wasn’t going to tell a man what he should celebrate nor how to do so. I wasn’t going to ruin any opportunities to eat some fresh crostini.

Once I made my way back out into the main room, I was able to find my team within seconds. My eyes instantly landed on Spencer’s tall and lanky form. And I would’ve been excited for that, if it weren’t for the familiar woman standing beside him.

Max was there. Hooray.

Usually, I was able to properly prepare myself for seeing her. It actually, unfortunately, took a lot of effort to not be openly hostile to someone I dislike. It wasn’t something I was proud of, but it was true. Typically in a situation like this, I’d avoid the person all night. However, I wasn’t going to allow her presence to influence the night, much less stop me from spending time with one of my closest friends.

“Hey guys.”

“Ahh, you’re finally here,” squealed Penelope, “I already grabbed your favorite drink!” She stepped aside to make room for me in the small gathered circle before handing me the glass.

“So what did I miss?”

They all caught me up on the harmless gossip circulating around the office and the new happenings emerging in everyone’s lives. Everything was going well until I heard the next words from Max, words that felt like a bucket of ice water and lead being poured over my head.

“Well, Spencer and I are moving in together.”

Time slowed down, I was sure it had. Because I was able to gauge everything in a matter of seconds. Tara’s concerning glance my way, her hand reaching out and retreating as if to hold me. Penelope’s joyful appearance over the news, her arms rising quickly causing her wine to slightly spill on Rossi’s floor. Matt expressing congratulations as he roughly patted Spencer on the back.

And Spencer….

Spencer looked like he rather be anywhere but here. His lips were drawn in a too tight smile that I knew was far from authentic. He was tapping his heel against the floor and wringing his hands together.

If this was merry news from the two of them, why did he look like he swallowed a spiked fruit?

The loud clanging of metal against glass brought everyone’s attention to the noisy source. Time returned back to its normal pace at Rossi’s call, thanking everyone for joining in on the celebration and announcing that the food was ready in the dining room.

While everyone cheered and made their way towards the ornate display, I headed to the balcony. It was too hot, too stuffy, too loud inside the house. There was one too many people there.

As soon as I passed through the double doors, I took a deep breath of cool, refreshing air. Everything around me felt muffled. Like I had stumbled into a small pocket universe that only differed from ours by a few notches on the volume knob.

I was thinking too many things, and none of them adding up or making sense in my head. How do you move in with someone you’ve only known for such a short amount of time? What was he going to do with his apartment? With his personal belongings that were scattered and settled on crowded shelves? Why did he look so uncomfortable when she announced it? Did he not want us to know? Did he want to say it himself?

“What are you doing out here?”

As if being brought back to reality by the very same hypnotist who enchanted me in the first place, I became aware that I was not the only one on the balcony. I turned to look at Spencer, taking in his disheveled and tired appearance.

“I just needed some space. I was feeling a bit crowded.” It wasn’t a lie, but my companion and I both knew there was a lot more than just that. Trying to keep the attention off me, I asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you. I saw you come out here dressed like that and wondered what would drag you out into the freezing cold.”

Now that he mentioned it, the breeze was hitting hard. I didn’t notice my body trembling until now. It is funny how you can’t feel much when lost in your own thoughts. The pain was a welcome distraction, I supposed.

Spencer stood next to me and shrugged off the suit jacket he was wearing. I opened my mouth to refuse, but he gave me a pointed look before I could. Instead, I accepted the warm jacket over my body. The scent of cinnamon and spice immediately enveloped my form and I tried to hide the way my inhales grew deeper. Trying to keep him as close as I could for however long he would allow. He kept his hands on my arms, rubbing them up and down the sleeves of the jacket to instill some heat in me.

“So whatever happened to taking it slow?” I asked bluntly, keeping my eyes on the interesting speck of dirt that had ended up on my shoe. I didn’t feel bad about getting to the point -- There was no way I could subtly ask him what the deal was, and I’d rather not beat around the bush.

“Well, after the whole situation that happened, sh— we decided to pick up the pace of things,” he spoke lowly, as if he was unsure of the words coming out of his mouth.

“Has she even met Diana? Or know about her?” I instantly regretted asking, the angry look he shot my way had me feeling remorseful. But it also answered my question.

Max only knew the surface level of Spencer. She wasn’t aware of all the good, bad, beautiful, and ugly layers that comes with a man like him. She wasn’t the only one to blame, but I wondered how a profiler couldn’t tell that he was hiding those parts from her because he didn’t want to share them with her. He didn’t want her to know, because the knowing made it real.

“I just want the best for you.”

His irritated expression dissolved into a defeated one as he released the breath he was holding.

“I know, I know. It’s just…”

He stopped talking, appearing scared to share his opinions and feelings with me before he remembered that, unlike Max, he never had to hide things from me. He didn’t want to.

“It’s just…” I prodded, hoping he would continue with what he was going to say.

But he just stayed stuck there, opening and closing his mouth multiple times. I could practically see the cogs in his brain whirling as he properly tried to explain. “Well, the thing is that Ma—”

“Spencer?”

We sharply turned our heads to see Max and Tara staring at us. It wasn’t until that moment that I remembered our position. With Spencer’s hands rubbing tenderness heat onto my arms, his jacket over my shoulders and our bodies pressed together to keep warm.

It would be one thing if everything was settled, but this situation was anything but. Max had every reason to be angry. This wasn’t a new thing to her. So when she turned around, she stomped away fueled by the belief that she’d nearly caught her boyfriend committing adultery. Again.

“Fuck,” I heard the man in front of me whisper as he released me back into the cold night.

Still, as he left, he looked back at me. His eyes burned into mine up until he tore them away, making his final decision and hastily running from the balcony. Away from me. Towards her.

Tara and I shared the silence, but she looked at me with those inquisitive eyes, as if I was a client seeking out therapy from her.

“What?” I hissed, “We were just talking.” I refused to feel guilty over something that I didn’t do. If anyone had done anything, it was Spencer. But at the same time, I didn’t think he was entirely wrong, either.

“I didn’t say anything,” she muttered, holding her hands up high as a sign of surrender.

“You didn’t have to, I can feel the judgment from here.”

“Look, I’m not judging you. But I do want you to put yourself in Max’s shoes. You guys were gone for a while and she finds you two all over each other.”

“What are you talking about, Tara? Christ, it’s not like I was fucking him on the balcony!”

Although I didn’t intend for my words to be humorous, Tara laughed. I was conflicted on whether it was at me or with me, but it ended up amounting to nothing, anyway.

“Look, the night is young and you need to relax. Come back inside, enjoy the party, and don’t let them bring you down. At least for the next few hours.”

She was right, as she usually was. It was why I usually sought her out as the voice of reason; I knew that despite everything, she would always have my best interest at heart.

“Okay,” I agreed before following her back into the chaotic fray.

I heeded her advice and avoided the couple for the remainder of the night. Shockingly, it was pretty easy, but I was sure it was because they were avoiding me too. There were times, lots of times, where Spencer and I made eye contact, but we’d just as quickly look away, as if we were ashamed of what we have done.

All we did was talk. So why did it feel like something more?

There were also times when I made eye contact with Max, but instead of shame, there was anger and contempt. If looks could kill, like Tara had suggested, I was sure my heart would have given out.

It wasn’t until later in the evening that I saw Max take a cab home while Spencer was still inside the house. No one else but me noticed that they didn’t leave the party together.

●●●

I hadn’t seen Spencer since the incident at Rossi’s a few weeks ago. He had to take his mandatory sabbatical leave and I had to take an abrupt trip back home. What used to be almost daily texts between us became nonexistent in a matter of hours. It was a terrible predicament that I was hoping to fix soon.

As I arrived, I spotted him at his desk. For a long time, I stood there staring at him. If he wasn’t nose deep in a bunch of files, I was sure he would’ve seen me, too. I contemplated on how I should go up to him, but nothing I could think of was good enough to say.

Hey, I have your jacket, I took it to the dry cleaner’s, so it is all clean. Rid of me like you wanted to be.

Hi, how were the lectures this time around? Still have a bunch of teens crushing on you?

What’s up, it’s been a while, do you want to get lunch during the break?

I hated that things were awkward, even though I was pretty sure that I was the only one that was making it so. I should have just gone up to him, greeted him, and acted like everything was normal, because everything was normal. Right?

Just when I was about to do so, Emily called us in for a meeting. Impeccable timing.

We had a serial killer case in Louisville, Kentucky. My situation with Spencer was going to the backburner.

During our stay in Louisville, Spencer and I barely interacted. We exchanged notes and passed long messages, but that’s pretty much it. I wasn’t surprised. Our specialties don’t really correlate when we are working on a case. Anytime I did catch some free time, I’d look his way, longing for the opportunity to speak to him. He didn’t look back.

Then, just as the case ended, another chance presented itself. After five days of hardly any proper rest, we finally found the unsub. Everyone was in their respective room catching up on some much needed sleep. Except for Spencer, whose gangly body was tucked away at the bar by himself, a glass of what appeared to be soda in front of him.

Silently, I took the seat next to him, and for a few minutes, everything was quiet. But unlike the usual, comfortable quiet, it was torturous.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

I stared at him, letting the silent communication denote the fact that I knew he was lying to me. Spencer released a sigh and looked at me with eyes more intoxicating than any whiskey that shared their color.

“Actually, no, I’m not okay.”

I was going to ask him what was wrong or if there was anything I could do to help, but before I had the chance to do so, he hastily answered the question I hadn’t asked.

“Max and I broke up.”

I stared at him, my face and mind blank as I tried to comprehend what he’d said. That Max and Spencer broke up. They were no longer together. Spencer was single.

I thought that if this ever happened, I would be happy, elated, jumping at the chance to take her place by his side. But I felt none of those things.

“What happened?” I didn’t want to appear nosy or meddlesome, but I needed to know.

“We were fighting a lot, and I couldn’t take it.”

“Oh.”

“We were… actually fighting about you.”

I sharply turned my head at him, both intrigued and disturbed by the implication that I had anything to do with the failure of their relationship.

“What? What about me?”

“She thought I liked you,” he said while staring straight back at me, daring me to scan through each fleck of gold and green to ensure that he was telling the truth. But his hazel eyes expressed nothing but honesty as he continued, “and she was right. I do.”

“Y-you do?”

All he could do was nod his head, lifting his hand and catching a loose strand of hair before tucking it behind my ear.

“Can I try something?” Spencer shyly requested.

Once again, the universe felt different. I held my breath, trying to wake from the dream. Although he didn’t say it, I had an idea of what he wanted. If the hand on the side of my face and the staring at my lips were anything to go by, I knew what was going to happen next.

I nodded back and closed my eyes. A few seconds passed, the sweetest kind of anticipation. But then I felt the gentle pressure of his lips against my own, sweet and tender. He moved his head to get a better angle while I brought my hands up to cup his face. The roughness of his stubble against the tip of my fingers was a perfect contrast to the softness of him. I could taste the soda he was drinking on his tongue and breathed in the cinnamon scent that seemed sunken into his skin.

When we pulled away, it was full of hesitation. All it took was one look for us to know we couldn’t do this. Not now, not yet. He was still healing from the recent break up and I didn’t want to be a rebound. I didn’t want us to resent one another for jumping into a relationship so soon. We weren’t ready.

We sat there in relative silence, taking in everything that has happened.

“Maybe one day,” he paused “one day we can give it a chance.”

“Yes. I’d like that.” I beamed at him, “And I look forward to that day. Until then, we remain as friends.”

He returned my smile and I realized that it had been a while since I’ve seen his real smile. I missed it so much.

“Friends,” he confirmed.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt relief and comfort. Because I knew everything was going to be okay. I had hope that someday Spencer will get the happily ever after he deserves and he’ll get it with me by his side. One day.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid imagine #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid reader insert #reader insert #hurt/comfort #secret fic swap

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lovelyshawnn · 3 years

Text

Sick Little Games

George Weasley x Reader, Draco Malfoy x Reader

Y/N and Draco were known as the ultimate slytherin duo. When she catches him in the act of infidelity, she makes it a goal to hurt him back as much as he hurt her. What starts as nothing but a sick little game, turns into something more with another red headed boy.

“what would malfoy think if he knew i was fucking his girl right now?” george grunted in my ear, hips thrusting into mine while my back was pressed against the prefect bathroom’s cold stone wall. my legs were wrapped around his waist, sultry moans tumbling out of my mouth as he fucked me senseless. his words only intensified the pleasure as i gripped on to his biceps for support. he could feel my wet pussy clenching around his throbbing cock, signfying that i was close to coming.

“what would your little boyfriend think if he knew how well you take my cum?” i let out a whimper as his thick cock hit my gspot, making my vision go completely white. “fuck y/n,” he grunted as his pace quickened. i let out a string of curse words, toes curling in pleasure as he rubbed my clit with his long slender fingers as we reached our orgasms together.

his movements slowed and eventually halted, cock still balls deep in me as he placed loving kisses all over my face. he slowly released me from his hold, planting my feet back on the ground before completely removing himself from me. with our chests still heaving, we transitioned from standing by the bathroom’s windows, to the warm bubbly bath. this was common thing for us, so naturally we were able to establish a routine. sneaking out of the dorms late at night to see each other, satisfying our thirsts for each other before taking a dip in the bath to relax and cleanse ourselves of our sins.

george’s hands worked its way down my neck and shoulders, rubbing out any knots while he gave me little pecks on my forehead. i smiled my first genuine smile of the day. i was constantly dragging myself throughout the day, in and out of my classes, plastering a fake smile until the clock struck a certain time at night where i would meet up with george. “so why are you still with that git anyways?”

i rolled my eyes at his choice of words. i considered not even replying at all, but one glance at his concentrated face with that accusational eyebrow raise, and i knew this was something he wasnt going to drop again.

“he loves me,” i sighed, shrugging my shoulders.

“he loves you? is that why you caught him fucking pansy parkinson in the forbidden section of the library?” georges hostile tone rang in my ears.

it was supposed to be our date night. draco knew how stressed i had been with all our recent exams, and how much i needed a break. my sweet, loving boyfriend of almost 2 years proposed we have a date night full of snuggles and snacks to relieve my stress. after getting dolled up and waiting in our slytherin common room for over an hour, i came to terms with the fact that he wasn’t going to show up.

the silly thing was, i really tried to make excuses for him. blaise had strolled past on his way up to his dorm and asked why i was sitting there all alone. “just waiting on draco,” id say passively, in which he’d give me a pitiful smile before heading up. i thought, maybe he just got caught up on some of his prefect duties. or maybe he took a nap and overslept. or maybe he even got detention for the day, but he would never forget about me, right? surely he couldn’t forget about his own plans that he made.

i’d grown tired of sitting there all alone, letting my thoughts eat me alive. so i grabbed my book bag and decided to head to the library to get a head start on some homework. walking deeper and deeper into the dark library, thats when i heard it. the faint gasps and moans coming from a high pitched female voice. “ugh,” i thought, “who wouldn’t even have the decency to go to a private spot?”

i rounded the corner, my eyes almost bulging out of my skull as i took in the sight in front of me. a bright platinum head of hair stuffed into the crook of pansy parkinsons neck, as he fucked her on one of the library desks with her skirt hitched all the way up. they had been so into it that they didnt even see me. what gave it away was some stupid lamp falling over as i rushed out of the library, tears in my eyes. athough they stopped at the sound indicating someone was there, they never knew it was me.

my vision was blurry, tears streaming faster down my cheeks as i ran away. i wasnt sure where i was going, but i knew i had to be as far away as possible from that complete and utter asshole. from the second i saw him til now, a million feelings coursed through my body. i was devastated, devastated that the man i loved for 2 whole years had been lying to my face. how long was he unloyal for? was this the first time? these unanswered questions made me transition from grief to rage. i was infuriated that he took me as some kind of fool who would never find out about his cheating ways. i had been so caught up in my emotions that i didnt notice where i was going, smacking face first into a very toned chest.

“Woah! Y/N? You alright there, love?” George’s voice was impossible not to recognize. “Oh, I-I’m sorry,” I gasped before turning around to leave. His warm hand clasped around my wrist softly, tugging me back as one of his hands lifted my chin up so that he could inspect my face, and most importantly my blood shot eyes.

“You’re crying,” his voice was a lot softer than i’ve ever heard it before. with him being a gryffindor and me being a slytherin, i was used to the rude remarks he’d yell at us in the hallways. him and his lovely twin have always made my life here at hogwarts a living hell. as of recently, he went from constant bullying to the exact opposite. he was always throwing complements my way as loud and obnoxious as possible. and i knew he did it just to get a rise out of his most hated slytherin of all, draco. draco was always a possesive boyfriend, not wanting any guys to look at me. but having a weasley complement me out of everyone else would’ve drove him absolutely mad.

however, what started out as an excuse to piss off draco, had turned into something else. george couldn’t help but notice how my eyes were a lot browner than he remembered, a certain twinkle in them whenever i got excited talking to my housemates about something. he quickly found himself feeling jealous as malfoy walked through the halls with his arm around my shoulder.

of course, i was oblivious to all of this, which would’ve explained his soft tone. “I’m fine,” I sniffled, wiping my tears off with the sleeve of my sweater and avoiding direct eye contact. “Come with me,” he wasted no time, dragging me down the corridor before i could mutter a response. he led me to the prefect bathroom, opening the doors for me as i took in the beautiful mosaics.

“how did you even get the password?” i asked suspiciously to the troublesome boy.

he shrugged, “turned percy’s hair blue and wouldnt change it back until he’d tell me,”

i let out a snort, which i was quick to cover with a cough. only he could make me genuinely laugh after figuring out the man i had loved so deeply, didnt love me back enough to keep his dick in his pants. i turned away from his gaze, but he saw it. he took pride in being able to cause that gorgeous smile, but he was nice enough to not tease me about it tonight. he’d definitely bring it up another day, though.

“so, whats wrong?” he asked, arms crossed as he leaned against one of the porcelain sinks. i let out a sigh, debating on whether i should tell him at all. he was supposed to be our rival, afterall.

“draco cheated,” i stated. georges face softened, all traces of humor dissipating into thin air. “i’m sorry y/n,” he started, “that bloke doesn’t know what he’s got.”

for the first time that night, i looked up at him and saw the look he had in his eyes. the lingering gaze around my figure, the softness in his facial features, the way his eyes bored into mine with a sense of longing.

that was when a lightbulb when off in my head. ill admit that im not proud of what my next thought was, and it was definitely one of the most slytherin things i have ever done, but it was worth it. i wanted to hurt draco. i wanted him to feel as bad as i did, and i wanted revenge.

i strode over to his leaning frame, making it a point to swing my hips in the process. my lips formed a pout as i spoke to him in a low voice. “if he doesn’t know what hes got,” i trailed my fingers from his shoulders down to his chest, “who will?”

my lips got incredibly closer to the shell of his ear. “you?” i asked, cupping his buldge with my hand. he let out a barely audible whimper, eyes staring back at me like a deer in headlights.

i left a gentle kiss on his neck, “tell me if you want me to stop.” george shut his eyes for a split second, contemplating his morals. he weighed his options and outcomes. on one hand, he’d be able to piss off that spoiled brat malfoy, which would give him enough satisfaction to last him the rest of his life. on the other hand, he’d finally get to know what the taste of his crush’s lips were like. it was a win win situation. fuck it, he thought before closing the gap between us, lips moving in sync as the kiss became increasingly passionate. his hands roamed all over my body as i ran my fingers through his hair.

it was an amazing night, full of multiple orgasms that left me struggling to walk properly. george was certainly thicker than malfoy. the day after was when the feelings of sadness, regret, and confusion came sinking in. as soon as i woke up and left my dorm, there he was. in his perfect green uniform that perfectly matched his perfect porcelain skin. dracos head was held high, not a care in the world as it was obvious he completely forgot about our date night and had no idea i caught him and pansy red handed.

i walked past him, not even batting an eye in his direction as i made my way to the great hall. “y/n!” he called out, quickly catching up to me, “whats wrong?”

i rolled my eyes, “you forgot our date.” his eyes immediately widened as he realized his mistake, cheeks blushing like a tomato as he recalled where he was instead of the date. “darling, please forgive me. i’m so sorry, i just got caught up in my studi-“

i halted my steps, not wanting to listen to his bullshit excuse, “i forgive you.” he looked at me with bewilderment, “y-you forgive me?”

“of course,” i gave him the most convincingly sweet smile, “its not a big deal at all!”

his shoulders relaxed in relief at my words. oh, what a stupid boy. what a stupid, stupid boy. the only reason i was “forgiving him” was because i was going to hurt him back, a lot worse. he held my hand in his as we continued our stroll to the great hall, him lifting my hand up to plant a kiss on my knuckles.

right when he had done that, i locked eyes with a familiar red head from across the corridor. he smirked as he watched me, noticing the way my steps were slightly different than normal. it was the same shit eating smile he wore last night as he made me reach my 3rd orgasm, face buried between my legs and licking up my juices as if his life depended on it. i bit my lip as the flashback played in my head, instantly making me feel lightheaded again.

draco and i took our usual spots at the slytherin table, everything seemingly normal until the owls arrived. a letter had been dropped into my lap.

unravelling the parchment, there was a faint message scribbled across in black ink. “same time and place tonight?”

there was no name or any indication of identity, but i knew exactly who it was. luckily from where i was sitting at the table, i had a clear view of george. as i looked up from the letter, i instantly made eye contact with him, him giving me a sly wink before regurning to eat his mashed potatoes. he didnt need an answer, he knew id come back after the night we had togegher.

“whos that letter from?” a voice snapped me out of my haze. i jumped slightly before tucking the letter safely into my robe, “oh, it was just mum.”

“whatd she say?” draco questioned, slightly suspicious as he recognized me hiding the letter.

“she asked how you were, shes having dinner with your parents this weekend,” i said while gulping down my goblet of juice. draco seemed convinced at that answer, dropping his suspicions rather quickly, “oh thats right, mother was telling me about that.”

it was ironic, really. we were seen as the picture perfect duo. the slytherin prince with none other than his slytherin princess. we had the world in our hands, both coming from wealthy pureblood families. even our parents were over the moon at the news of our relationship blossoming, instantly talking about our plans for marriage in the future. but were we willing to throw that all away for these sick little games?

hi guys i know i usually write shawn fics but ive been into hp recently and wanted to give it a try! if u guys rlly like this one, id love to make a part 2 n finish the series (: pls lmk and give feedback! 🤍

#george weasley #george wealsey imagine #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #george weasley x reader #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter imagine

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arknights-imagines · 3 years

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GOD that mostima post had me FEELING things. I'm glad I'm not the only one who appreciates mostima a lot wahhh ; v ; i was wondering if maybe you could do a mostima/doctor after their established relationship when one of them has got injured or smth? :o I feel like with her belief that she can't hold warmth having to provide it in a dire situation would be an interesting challenge for mostima, and likewise being on the receiving end of it in a situation like that too for her!!

(It's good to be back!!! 😭🥳)

Aaaa tysm anon! 😭🥺 I'm glad you like my stuff on Mostima haha 👉👈 tbh she's grown a lot on me since I've started this blog!! 💕 She's very underappreciated 🥺 Anywho, thanks for the request and I hope I did Mostima justice here~ 🌸

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Easing Worry

Imagine format; no fixed perspective!

Contains: Mostima, reader as the Doctor, gender neutral Doctor/no gender mentioned, established relationship, a few background characters, very brief mentions of an explosions and injuries, fluff with the tiniest bit of angst, Mostima having to deal with her emotions 👉👈

Word count: just over 2k!

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“Mostima, come in! Mostima!!”

Static was all that came in reply despite the amount of times you called out into the communications link. Frustrated, you sighed sharply and watched the blink of the Caster’s tracker on the map of the ruins displayed on the screen before yourself, Amiya and Texas.

Mostima had been dispatched on an Operation to some old city ruins in Kazedel for a Mission; Unfortunately, you couldn’t accompany the Squad she was sent out with, and thanks to her lone wolf nature the Caster strayed from the other Operators who were with her. She must’ve run into trouble soon after, because when you had tried advising her to return to her Squad members through the comms-link, all that came in reply was a commotion and then silence.

“...That’s not good.” Texas’ tone wasn't very telling, but her furrowed brows and tight jaw read unease. From beside you, Amiya spoke up, “Doctor, what would you like to do?”

Mostima’s tracker was still active, which meant she must’ve been alive - still, the pit of worry in your stomach didn't fade in the slightest. When you didn't reply, Amiya decided to take the lead, “We should wait a little while longer. Maybe Ms. Mostima will get back to us…”

You had your rapt attention on the screen before you, and so when no protest from you came, everyone did as Amiya said. Even after some time passed, the tracker didn't move and nothing came through the communications link.

From her spot at another console nearby, Closure huffed loudly, “...our drones can't find her.” When you turned to look at her, she went on, “Doctor, Mostima is definitely alive down there but… we can't see her from up here, and I have no idea what happened.”

Your stomach dropped to the floor and you fell silent; within seconds the worry began eating at your insides, soon creating a suffocating tension around your heart. The thought of something happening to Mostima made you feel ill - more ill than any sickness had ever made you feel.

Amiya spoke in your place again, “P-Perhaps we should send someone. I’ll call one of our other Operators and we can create a plan-” “No, I’ll go.” Everyone's heads snapped to you right away, their faces filled with consternation and slight surprise. As was expected, Amiya shook her head right away, “Doctor, it isn't safe down there-” Though difficult, you shook your head and replied as calmly as you can manage; if it wasn't safe for you, then Mostima was in grave danger and needed to be extracted right away.

Amiya seemed conflicted - however, everyone was well aware of how much Mostima meant to you, and how much you meant to her. Your relationship was common knowledge around Rhodes Island by that point. And so, though she was worried for your safety, the Chimera nodded and stepped in front of the map displayed on the screen to take your place, “Alright, got it. I trust you, Doctor - bring Ms. Mostima back safe and sound!”

Not wishing to waste any time, you began heading straight towards the door of the aircraft; your heart pounded almost deafeningly in your ears as you outfitted yourself with proper protective care and a parachute. Closure opened the aircraft door, and you stepped close to the edge with one thought in your mind;

‘Please be okay, Mostima.’

…

The expanse of ruined land was silent; the heavy scent of sulfur and ash was carried in the air, and the dust from the building collapse was only just settling. Convinced that they had successfully killed any threat, the Reunion soldiers took their leave - the aircraft that was hovering over them couldn't mean good news on their end.

Unable to move, Mostima groaned quietly - she had only just regained consciousness, what happened? She didn't quite remember right then. Some sort of heavy weight is putting pressure on her whole body, especially her legs and chest. As she attempted to open her eyes, pain spread throughout her skull like a flood and forced her to screw them shut again. Somewhat paralyzed under whatever was holding her down, the Caster stayed lying on the ground, taking in shallow breaths.

When her ears began to stop ringing, the sound of footsteps followed by a voice calling her name caused Mostima to snap back into reality once more. ‘....Doctor?’; That was right, she was on an Operation you assigned her to, but something had gone wrong along the way. Had you come looking for her?

Finally, she found her strength; it wasn't much, however. Wincing as she moved her body, the Caster lifted her arms and began forcing up the rubble that was pinning her form down as best she could. Your voice tore through the air again - “Mostima!” - and your quickened footsteps neared her. You assisted her in lifting the remnants of the exploded building off her body, insisting that she tried to move as little as possible as you removed the rest of the rubble from her body.

Moaning a little in pain, Mostima shakily shifted her body until she was sat with her back against one of the pieces of debris you had helped lift off her. With the adrenaline now gone, pain began filling her body in so many places that even breathing began to sting; and yet, when you had given your attention to her, her usual soft smile played on the Caster’s lips.

You knelt beside her right away, hands hovering over her form, “Mostima, are you okay?” Grinning still, she managed a nod, “Doctor, hello to you too…” Though she tried, she was unable to bite back the pained wince she made as she lifted her arm to wave at you. Your eyebrows knitted together and your face twisted in a frown - and yet Mostima was smiling at you still.

“What happened?” Your hand had come to cup her cheek, but she shook her head before her fingers could rest on her skin; no matter how much time you two spent together, it seemed her instinct was still to reject any affection you wished to give her. Avoiding your gaze, she began to explain, “During the Operation, the Squad got ambushed. Hm, our guys were actually doing well, we had almost taken care of all of them.” A small sigh bridged her sentences, “But just as things were wrapping up, I saw a few of the Reunion trying to make an escape. I figured that was no good, so I went after them...haha, I guess I walked right into their trap, because the next thing I knew I was under all that rubble.”

While she had been talking, your hands were pressing and running over parts of her body checking for injuries; something seemed to be impeding your thoughts, however, because though you were supposed to be scanning for wounds, your eyes were staring at the ground. Were you upset?

Hoping to lighten the mood, Mostima spoke once again, This time a strained laugh left her, “Ahaha...sorry, I still really don’t get this whole ‘teamwork’ thing.” Immediately, you shook your head, “No… don’t worry, I’m not mad.” She lifted a bow at you.

Your eyes finally looked up from the ground and you reached into the bag you were carrying, unearthing bandages and a clean cloth. The Caster fell quiet as she allowed you to cover the scrapes and cuts on her arms - your touch was so gentle, you touched her as if she was made of precious glass. You took the cloth in your hand then lifted it to her face; this time, however, Mostima didn't shake you off or pull away. Instead, she met your gaze - and what she saw caused her heart to ache.

Your face was riven with worry, only some relief was on your features - probably due to the fact that she was still alive. Mostima’s calm grin faltered, “Doctor….” In all honesty, seeing you so worried over her caused the Caster more pain than any of her injuries did; this wasn't her intention, she didn't mean to panic you to the point that you came down to look for her.

She wasn't used to this, you were both acutely aware of that. Mostima worked alone, Mostima dealt with things alone; before you, every person she held dear was someone she also ended up pushing away. Close bonds - she didn't need them, the Caster told herself, there was no need for them in her line of work. And so she was never raring to work with others, and people she had relationships with barely ever saw her anymore.

But with you, her usual method of pushing away until the other person gave up didn't work. And soon, thanks to your persistence, warmth began blooming in her heart - and she was helpless to stop it.

Unfortunately, Mostima was just as helpless when it came to expressing all the warmth she held for you in her heart. You caused emotions she contended with, and so her first instinct was to pull away or push you back; and that usually just left both of you feeling hurt. The Caster didn't believe in her capacity to encompass love or warmth - but you did.

Finally, Mostima found her voice once more, “Doctor...angel.” She corrected herself, instead using the nickname you rarely ever heard from her. It was mushy, cheesy - and yet butterflies filled your stomach every time she used it. Once she was sure she had your attention, the Caster spoke, trying her absolute best and allowing all of her words to come from her heart, “I’m sorry, I know I must’ve scared you really bad. I didn't mean...to worry you.”

Your face softened at her words; placing the cloth down, your hand found its way to hers. When she interlaced her fingers with your own, you smiled gently. Relieved to see you more at ease, Mostima squeezed your hand as best she could considering her loss of strength before continuing, “Unfortunately - in case you haven't noticed - I’m terrible at this. Haha…you’re really unlucky to have fallen in love with someone like me. I push people away, I push everyone away.” Her smile had gone, and now her face was filled with serious, genuine sincerity. “But I don’t want you to go away, you’re the first person in a long time who I’ve wanted to stay with. And I know I’m not good at showing it…”

Gathering some of her strength, the Caster shut her eyes as she lifted your hand to her lips and placed a gentle kiss on your fingers. “But my dear Doctor, my sweet angel - I care so much about you. Actually, scratch that... I love you, I love you so much.” And she trailed off, relaxing with her lips on your hand and losing herself in the moment for just a second or two.

It felt indescribably warm to just shut her eyes and pretend it was just you and her in the entirety of Terra. While it was hard to take down all her walls, it was so much better than deflecting your affections and was worth it for the way her heart grew in her chest as she allowed herself and you to be compassionate towards one another.

When your hand moved to cup her cheek, Mostima leaned into your touch rather than pulling away. When her eyes fluttered open, her gaze fell upon your effusive smile; “I love you too, Mostima. I promise I’m not going anywhere, no matter what.” Your words prompted her to chime with a light laugh, “Hehe, I guess there’s no getting rid of you, huh~?” You shook your head in reply - when your grin widened, she couldn't help but mirror the expression.

Facial features softening and becoming sincere, she left another kiss on the inside of your palm, “I’ve never had anyone like you...Sorry if I’m not always cooperative. Thanks for looking after me, Doctor.” A warm, passionate grin came to your face as you replied, “Always, Mostima.”

The area that surrounded the two of you was in a ruinous state, that same heavy scent still hung in the air and injuries were still littered all over Mostima’s body. And yet; upon seeing your smile, her body filled with a heartened feeling.

#🥺🥺 mostima appreciation #arknights #arknights imagines #arknights mostima #arknights x reader #mostima arknights #arknights imagine #arknights fanfic #arknights fanfics #arknights writing #imagine #imagines #writing #mostima

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writing-in-april · 3 years

Text

The 5 Stages of Grief

Stage one: Denial (1/5)

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader (Spencer POV)

Summary: Spencer going through each of the stages of grief after the death of the reader. Stage one is denial.

A/N: Hi guys this is my new series!! I’ve been working on this for like the past two months and I’m excited to start sharing it with y’all! This is based off of my own recent experiences with how I acted in my grief and this fic is just based on one model of how grief can present itself. This story is gonna be sad throughout and there’ll be a lot of trigger warnings as a heads up. This is also written different from my other works and is very sporadic at times because of Spencer’s mind set. There’s a lot of repetitive thoughts by Spencer so some sentences are repeated two to three times. And, there’s lots of rhetorical questions. I’m going to post a chapter once a week and sprinkle in other fics in between- other chapters are gonna be longer this is just the establishing chapter. Also let me know if you want the playlist I used while writing this- some Billie eilish references definitely are in here...And thanks to @zhuzhubii for helping me with the original idea and inspiring me (they write amazing angst). Requests are open and thanks for reading!

Warnings ⚠️: Reader death, Gunshot wound, Unreliable narrator, Spencer spiraling, Spencer getting violent, Unhinged Spencer, Talks of schizophrenic break

Main Masterlist | 5 Stages of Grief Masterlist

Word count: 1.2k

This was not happening. There was no way this was happening. This was just some sort of alternative reality or maybe a dream. Maybe I’m having a psychotic break- those were common with people who have early signs of schizophrenia right?

I wasn’t sure of anything in the few minutes that had passed since I had seen the light go out from their eyes. I was still cradling their body covered in blood, they had been shot by the unsub they had been pursuing down a back alley. I didn’t really care where the unsub had gone all my mind was focusing on was the fact that they wouldn’t wake up.

“No no no… You’re fine- stay with me! Please!”

I hadn’t even had the privilege of hearing their last words, they had closed their eyes before I had even pulled them to my lap. They still had words left in the brain that I admired, it didn’t matter that they hadn’t said anything, that they didn’t get their ‘last words’ because they would awaken again. I had to believe that.

My breathing was heavy and shaky as I laid them down on the ground to start CPR. It was the only way they were going to survive the trip to the hospital once the rest of the team got here. I wonder if they could have understood the situation with how distraught I sounded on the phone. When I started the chest compressions my hands wouldn’t stop trembling, I could barely keep the compressions at a steady pace. My mental metronome was fracturing as I started to become more frightened for the love of my life.

“Fight, please! Don’t give up!”

I felt their ribs cracking as I tried to continue my steady pace of the CPR despite my alarm. I looked for a pulse, there was a faint fluttering heart beat. Right? Yes, there was a heartbeat, I was sure of it. My ears rang like there were church bells in my ears which were soon joined by faint sirens I could hear barely in the distance as I begged for them to stay with me. I wanted to tell them that it was gonna be alright and remind them of less painful times, but the only things I could manage to say in my distressing state were pleas.

A sharp cry of No! that sounded like it was my voice rang out in the air when I started to feel myself being pulled away by a set of hands. When the hands still refused to budge I fought hard, seeing only red. I thought it was the unsub coming back to finish me off. Another set of hands joined the original pair to try and haul me away from the one I loved. Did the unsub have a partner? How could we have missed that? I had to get back to them, what if they hurt them more? What if they killed them?

“Spencer! It’s me! It’s Morgan!” The words shouted at me by someone that sounded like Morgan seemed so far away. It felt like my head was underwater, drowning in the panic and sorrow that was filling up my lungs. Everything else fell away as unimportant with only one goal in my mind crawling to the forefront.

I had to help them.

“SPENCER!” A female voice shouted hoarsely, which made me focus somewhat. Why were they yelling at me? Why weren’t they helping them? I wasn’t the one that needed help.

My eyes unblurred as I forced my rage to dissipate slightly in an attempt to figure out what was going on, the figures of Morgan and Emily then became recognizable to me. I registered that it was actually their hands on me. Both of them were in defensive positions and Emily looked frightened of me? Why would she be frightened of me? Why weren’t they helping them?

I still wasn’t confident that this wasn’t some elaborate alternate reality concocted by my subconscious. There was no reason for Emily to be afraid of me, we were colleagues and more importantly friends. All I was trying to do was help and I seemed to be the only one who cared enough to help my injured partner.

But, I realized there was in fact a reason for Emily to be scared of me. She was trying to prevent me from helping the most important person in my life, who was bleeding out on the pavement, close to death. And, the whole team knew I would fight like hell to protect them, she’s lucky I didn’t fight her and Morgan off more. They were lucky they’d only get a possible faint bruise from my thrashing, rather than what I really wanted to do to them in retaliation for preventing me from helping them.

Though, I had now realized that the hands tugging me away from their hurt body did not in fact belong to two unsubs, I started to try and fight them off again.The paramedics would need to know their medical history- especially their blood type.

I had to help them. Why weren’t they helping them?

A soft voice filled with sorrow then joined the rest that I knew belonged to JJ, “Spencer, I know you want to help, but the paramedics are the best thing for them. I already gave them their medical history.”

My body relaxed some at JJ’s words, glad that the paramedics now had the proper tools to help them. However, my mind was still racing, analyzing everything that had happened so far at a rapid pace. My mind then fixated on JJ’s tone of voice- Why did it sound so resigned? Why did she sound like she was resigned to the fact that there was nothing the paramedics could feasibly do? I may not have been in the best mental state, but I could still read the underlying meaning in her voice.

No they couldn’t be gone.

I had to help them.

Why was nobody helping them?

One of the paramedics moved forward to check their pulse as was routine and I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, someone was helping them. My hope was dashed when I saw them shake their head to their colleague, panic rose even higher within me. I was sure I was going to drown to death soon myself, all breath had completely left my body at this point.

They couldn’t be gone, I refused to believe that.

I couldn’t believe it.

I couldn’t be left alone again. When I first met them they helped me from plunging into darkness, they had pulled me from the edges of the abyss. I would be weaker than ever before if they left me, I don’t think I could survive it. My mind begged for them to fight, maybe my reasons were selfish, but the water was going to drown me soon.

As I saw the bag zipped up that held their body my blood ran cold when reality hit me hard. Morgan and Emily both had to hold me back again from racing back over to their body that was being put into the coroner’s van. I screamed in desperation, begging and pleading for them to not give up, that there must be something that they could do. But, the cold harsh reality hung over me like a dark cloud that rained over my head, fully submerging me underwater.

There was no denying it anymore.

They were gone.

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss

5 stages of grief series:

@joonie-centric @tatesimper @half-blood-dork

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #5 stages of grief series #5 stages of grief

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toothyleech · 3 years

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𝐊𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐡𝐚 + 𝐊𝐨𝐤𝐨𝐦𝐢 | 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 (𝐂𝐖: 𝐌𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡)

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝟐𝟎𝟗

»»———————— ♔　———————-««

When Kazuha was a kid, he never imagined that he would experience death in any form. Until his best friend died, he never thought that he would go through the pain of seeing someone die in front of him. And after he died, he never wanted to experience that sort of pain again. It was gut wrenching, and it felt like his heart was being plucked from his chest and stomped on under the heel of the electro archon herself.

So when Kazuha was experiencing death himself, it was a little shocking. Needless to say, it was a little surreal to be the one dying this time. He hadn’t been expecting the arrow that was shot his way, lodging its way through his stomach. They say that when you realize that you’re dying, it brings back memories of your life. The phrase “I saw my life flash before my eyes” was not a phrase that Kazuha saw himself using until this very moment. He could tell that the arrow hit something vital. Not to mention that the arrow was charged with electro energy, which sent jolts of pain through his entire body every time he moved, trying to crawl his way to safety. He knew it was only a matter of time before the Shogun enacted her revenge on him, but he hadn’t been expecting it so soon. Not now. Not when he was beginning to feel happy for once in his life. For the first time since his best friend had died, he had felt some sort of happiness. And that happiness came in the form of Sangonomiya Kokomi.

Kokomi and him…they were just starting to get closer. Kazuha never thought that he would be friends with the leader of the resistance—not after what had happened after he opposed the Shogun for the first time, but nevertheless he found himself growing closer with Kokomi the more time he spent with her. The two had met through Beidou, who introduced them briefly when the Crux had docked in Watatsumi island for a few moments. Tensions were high in Inazuma, but they needed a place to stop and restock their ship, and Beidou knew that the Sangonomiya clan were welcoming. When they did stop, Kazuha was surprised to see the leader of the resistance herself. She was young, about his age, perhaps maybe a few years younger, but she had a defiant spark in her eyes that was wise way beyond her years. Despite her floaty and graceful appearance, Kokomi looked strong and agile. There was an air of power around her as well, and Kazuha knew full well why she was the leader of the resistance.

At first they hadn’t gotten along all that well. Sure, they exchanged pleasantries, but it was merely just that. The first time they had met, they hadn’t gotten to talk all that much as they were in a hurry, but the next few times they had seen each other…

Kazuha discovered that he had a lot in common with Kokomi the next few times they had met. They both enjoyed writing poetry and haikus though, and they had bonded over that enough to even agree to exchange letters and poems while Kazuha was away on his travels with the Crux crew. And Kokomi’s poetry was beautiful. As Kazuha’s eyes scanned the pages upon pages of beautiful strokes of ink, he found himself enraptured with the way she wrote. Not just her poetry, but the letters detailing her endeavors with the resistance. It captured his heart in an, admittedly, childish way. He found himself having almost a crush on the leader of the resistance, and the more letters they traded, the more he wondered if she felt the same about him.

They ended up meeting more frequently from then on. Beidou would go out of her way to make sure they made it back to Watatsumi island so he could see Kokomi and exchange letters with her, but things had been…tense lately. The Tenryou Commission had established a base on the island to crush the resistance, and now Kazuha had to be more careful than ever while visiting Kokomi. At one point, Kazuha had begged Beidou to stay away from the island; that they needed to be careful now that the Tenryou Commission was advancing. But Beidou was as stubborn as a mule, and she pushed on. She wasn’t afraid of the commission despite Kazuha’s pleas.

Now look at where that ended him.

With a letter clutched in hand, Kazuha collapsed onto the ground, letting out a grunt when the arrow was lodged further into his gut. He was bleeding out fast, and the electricity felt like it was coursing through his veins, lighting everything nerve ending on fire the more he moved. Even when he stayed still, the electricity from the arrow forcefully jolted his muscles, causing even more pain not only from the arrow, but from his muscles being forced to move. Blood gushed out from the wound, causing Kazuha to wheeze softly the more his body was jolted like a ragdoll. Now that he was dying, he was most definitely sure that he had many regrets in life.

The first being that he hadn't ever gotten to deliver Kokomi his confession.

The letter slipped from between his fingers. He had been loosely gripping it before he had gotten shot, and now the letter was getting doused by the gentle sprinkle of rain.

If he focused hard enough, he could almost imagine the sound of footsteps approaching him. He was beginning to lose consciousness, and his vision was blurring, but the more he strained his ears the more he realized that someone was, in fact, approaching. Kazuha hoped it wasn’t whoever had shot him.

Luckily, or unluckily, it was the person he had been dreading and anticipating to see the most.

Kokomi stood above him, her eyebrows furrowed gently as she looked down at his prone form. His breathing had begun to get shallow, but he could vaguely interpret what she was trying to say. Despite the clear worry in her voice, and the panic in her eyes, she seemed composed as ever, crouching down in front of him and cupping his face with her cool hands. Her hands were just as soft as he had imagined. If he were in a better state, his face would be flushed, but unfortunately he was dying.

Kazuha nudged his head towards the letter, mustering the strength to move his head. When Kokomi’s eyes followed where he was gesturing, she picked up the letter, smoothing it out from where the droplets of rain had ruined the paper. She tucked the letter into her clothing, one hand still cupping his face. He could see her mouthing his name, but he couldn’t hear her. His ears were starting to ring, his eyes starting to slide close, and his body starting to finally give out from the pain.

The last thing Kazuha saw was Kokomi’s lovely eyes, peering down at him with the most concerned expression.

And the last thing he felt before he slipped away was the gentle press of her soft lips in between his eyebrows, previously creased with pain, and now smoothing out to nothingness.

#genshin rarepair #genshin drabbles #Genshin impact #kazukomi #kazuha x kokomi #angst prompt #🦷—fanfic

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jyndor · 3 years

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I’m rewatching the Puppetmaster for ~research~ and ugh.This is such a good episode but I cannot stand the treatment of Hama and also Katara’s special bending ability. And I’m gonna talk about it because I can’t help myself. But I also want to offer a solution maybe something that the writers could have done instead. Granted I’m a white US American so while I am about to talk about imperialism, anti-indigenous racism and racialized misogyny, I am coming from a position of privilege here and ymmv. It’s important that we as fans (especially white fans) acknowledge the things that our favorite stories can do better so that we can make our fandoms safer for everyone.

And btw fans of color have been talking about this so I definitely am going to be quoting some phenomenal bits of critique I have read on here. Also you should follow @shewhotellsstories and @visibilityofcolor for anti-racist fandom commentary.

I am also going to talk about grooming, so just be aware if that is a trigger for you.

I. Hama as a Campfire Horror Story Monster

The episode starts out with the Gaang camping in a creepy forest telling ghost stories to each other. Set to spooky music, Katara tells a story about something that happened to Kya, a friend named Nini (likely) dying in a snowstorm and then haunting her family’s home as a ghost. Immediately after, Toph hears people screaming under the ground - and then Hama finds them and invites them to her inn.

Every so often, Hama says something spooky with the spooky music playing. Katara immediately takes to Hama, but the others (especially Sokka) find her pretty unnerving. Katara says she reminds her of Gran Gran before Sokka starts snooping around and finds a bunch of puppets and a comb from the Southern Water Tribe. It’s the standard horror movie fakeout.

Every so often we get an artfully placed hint about Hama’s agenda - pulling water out of thin air, showing Katara that “plants - and all living things” are made of water. And oh yeah, she makes herself ice claws. Cool skill, but in the context of the episode, a little more unnerving.

The “moon monster” that Old Man Ding mentions, the alleged Moon spirit, turns out to be Hama (of course) and the tension builds to a peak as the Gaang rush to save Katara from the “dark puppetmaster” that has imprisoned the villagers.

Meanwhile Hama and Katara stand under the full moon washed in spooky cool lighting with an ominous breeze around them. You see Hama practically transform into a monster in a way sort of reminiscent to a werewolf - her fingers become claw-like, her veins pop out. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say it’s a coincidence that as she reveals her true agenda, she becomes less human in appearance. Which... okay I’ll get to that later.

While I can’t say that Katara fits the Final Girl trope very well, I do think it’s interesting to note that horror movies often do feature women as heroes who defeat the monster/killer/whatever and usually the Final Girl is used to allow audiences to experience the full horror of the villain, which absolutely is how Katara is used here. Yes, her friends come to help, but she saves everyone in the end (my queen).

So here’s why that’s bullshit.

Framing Hama as a horror story monster make sense when you don’t think about the Implications of framing the indigenous woman POW living surrounded by people who have benefited from Fire Nation imperialism. It does - it’s a common trope: the reclusive witch who first seems kindly to some lost/wandering children before revealing her true intention - to use them for her own purposes. Yeah, I know they’re playing on Hansel and Gretel. But yeah, I’m gonna call bullshit on that too - drawing on a c*nnabalistic witch for inspiration when you’re writing an indigenous woman character is probably not the way to go.

II. Hama the Puppetmaster* and Groomer

A puppet master is obviously a puppeteer, and Hama has puppets (creepy though they may be). But in terms of the underlying meaning, she’s a chessmaster, an Emperor Palpatine/Dick Cheney kind of master manipulator who works mostly through other people. What most people would consider a psychopath (in layman’s terms). When her friendly mask falls, she is terrifying.

She is cold, calculating, manipulative as fuck - she isolates Katara almost immediately. Hama uses Katara’s desire to connect with her culture to groom her to become a weapon. It’s actually such a good example of grooming that it has to be purposeful:

Targeting a victim - Hama hears that Katara and Sokka are from the SWT. She also hears Katara tell a story about Kya. To Hama, a waterbender from her own culture is a hell of a target.

Gaining trust - Hama reaches out to Katara in particular, is especially kind to her, gives her individual attention that the others don’t get. She prepares a SWT feast for them and tells the Gaang about her heritage when they go snooping.

Filling a need - so once Hama has given Katara reason to trust her about waterbending, she promises Katara to pass on SWT waterbending heritage that only Hama knows. She fills a unique need of Katara’s.

Isolation - From then on out, we don’t see Katara with the rest of the Gaang until the end of the episode. Hama seems like a normal teacher but she does start to drop little hints, pushing Katara very gently to see how she will react to her real agenda and desensitizing Katara to what would otherwise seem unacceptable coming from someone else who hasn’t established that unique trust. “You’ve got to keep an open mind, Katara.”

So this would be the point at which Hama would make sexual contact but this is metaphorical so that obviously doesn’t happen. What does happen is Hama pushes Katara’s limits. She makes her pretty uncomfortable with the idea of killing the fire lilies for water, but when Hama appeals to their shared history of marginalization she gets over it.

Maintaining control: Hama makes her final move, which is obviously bloodbending, and reveals her true agenda - and when Katara refuses to manipulative living beings’ blood, Hama violates her bodily agency. And not only this, but she pushes Katara into bloodbending when she victimizes the Gaang, fully realizing her control.

Hama sees it as a victory, and telling Katara breaks down at the end in one of the most emotional scenes in the show. She feels like so many of us have felt at some point: violated, betrayed by someone we trusted. And then they never really deal with that.

I actually think that’s the point of The Puppetmaster, especially given ATLA being a show for children. I think it’s supposed to be a metaphor for csa.

And... okay.

Undoubtedly it is important to send these messages to kids. And yes, people usually are victimized by those closest to them, by those in their own communities. But not indigenous women. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, but according to the National Congress of American Indians, Native American women and girls are more likely to be sexually assaulted by non-NA men. 57% of cases are perpetrated by white men. Not the people in their communities.

Choosing to tell this story with an indigenous woman POW (who very likely would have been victimized herself lbr) is a choice that I find really aggravating. When writers tell stories with a Point, it is incredibly important for those writers to understand the implications of what they are saying about the characters who they are using to make that point.

Like I’m not saying don’t make that point, or don’t use Katara (who would in real life be at a higher risk of sexual violence than the others) to make it, but why make the perpetrator someone who is statistically unlikely to be Katara’s abuser? I’m not sure I have a good answer to that question. My guess is, like with making Hama animalistic and about as unsympathetic as it gets, the writers just had blinders on about the cultural implications of what they were saying.

Not even considering the whole victimizing-the-“innocents”-of-the-Fire-Nation-town plot, Hama’s not a good person. This is probably because she was driven mad by the need for revenge, which, eurgh okay, but still it’s very apparent that she is not interested in winning over Katara’s support directly or honestly.

* also the antisemitic history of this trope hmm.

III. Hama and The Victims of Genocide Victimizing Oppressors #NotAllFireNation

Okay. So this is the part that I think annoys me the most because it’s so bad. Like, imagine for a minute that you’re a white guy and you’re gonna tell a story about a victim of genocide who is completely divorced from her culture and homeland, and furthermore is an escaped prisoner of war who has radicalized in prison - okay it just hit me, I know what they MIGHT have been going for, like maybe some kind of anti-Gitmo statement? But that didn’t happen. People who were stolen away from Iraq and imprisoned illegally in Guantanamo Bay, and who were released after being detained illegally, haven’t really shown any real radicalization. They’re pissed at the US for victimizing them, but like that seems pretty fair considering so many of them did nothing wrong.

That’s been the US government’s excuse for not releasing innocent people who were detained illegally. The idea that prisoners of war radicalized in Gitmo so they can’t be released because they’ll attack the US is propaganda. I’m not saying it hasn’t happened, but that’s where it comes from.

Considering the time period ATLA was written, considering how much of it was inspired by the US wars of aggression and imperialism, considering how political ATLA is (and why it was so popular during its initial run - during the years that Bush lost a ton of popularity) I think if that’s what they were thinking about, that’s not great.

But for all of Avatar’s good messaging on imperialism and war, it’s still written from a white US American mindset. Well surely I’m not responsible, surely you shouldn’t imprison and abuse me, a random white girl in the States. It’s my government, which I cannot control because of two-party politics or some shit.

So first off, that’s shitty because oppression is often about systems, not individuals. Sure we need to always consider the individual experiences of people who are victimized, but the people who are benefiting from imperialism? Me? Fuck if I care if someone in El Salvador or Iraq or Chile or idk any of the countries we have meddled in, let alone from a marginalized community in the United States, hates white US Americans for what our government has done - and that’s even silly because white US citizens support our government. Like we think the institutions are sound, although sometimes we don’t support the guy in charge. We think the cops are going to help us, even though that isn’t really the case.

Why frame it about what she’s doing to the Fire Nation civilians at all? Why make Hama the villain? I don’t think they wanted her to be unsympathetic, I mean they tell her story and I don’t think anyone would conclude that it doesn’t justify her desire for revenge, but why tell this story through a victim of genocide?

Recently I saw a post by @sunkin-akh where they point out that Hama basically quotes Malcolm X:

I was literally just watching the Hama episode again and I just noticed for the first time that while forcing Katara to bloodbend she says that they must fight back against the Fire Nation (and she used this exact phrase) “by any means necessary”, which is Frantz Fanon’s phrase popularized by Malcolm X during the Civil Rights Movement (iirc). They directly compared Black liberation to Hama’s evil acts and it disgusted me.

The full context:

Hama: The choice [to use bloodbending] is not yours. The power exists. And it’s your duty to use the gifts you’ve been given to win this war. Katara, they tried to wipe us out, our entire culture, your mother.

Katara: I know.

Hama: Then you should understand what I’m talking about. We’re the last waterbenders of the Southern Tribe, we have to fight these people whenever we can, wherever they are, with any means necessary.

I find that so appalling because it is framing resistance, specifically anti-racist resistance, as barbaric and monstrous. And given the way that Hama is portrayed at this point, about as inhuman as anyone in ATLA, that is extra gross.

Finally, after Katara defeats Hama, she is lead away by the authorities in CHAINS.

So now the FN cops are the good authorities who we’re gonna trust a SWT waterbender with? I mean she’s a villain so we’re probably not supposed to feel bad for her, like yeah sure the FN is usually bad but she’s a criminal so it’s okay that they take a POW back into custody.

No, no, no.

I know I am reading into this far more than the writers intended - but that’s kind of the point of critically engaging with media. Because shockingly writers don’t always question their choices - they are people and have implicit biases just like all of us. When those writers come from a privileged culture that has colonized the culture they are using as “inspiration” for their story, they need to be extra mindful of how they represent those people.

IV: How To Write Hama

Well, I’m not gonna talk over indigenous fans on this one on specifics, and you should read this rewrite by @kispesan but my thoughts generally are:

lose the horror framing it’s just not right for this context and this character

don’t frame Malcolm X as a villain because that’s nasty and racist

have Katara learn to use bloodbending in ways that she is comfortable with (and not just like once in one episode where she’s extra vengeful and the hero of the show doesn’t approve of her actions JFC) and don’t make the dark-skinned girl the only character whose special bending skill is dubious (I know she also has healing but still)

bring Hama home

have indigenous people in the writers room

Anyway, I’ve gone on wayyy too long. Let me know if I am speaking out of turn please if you feel that I am. and I’m sure I had other thoughts but if you want to read some other good pieces of Hama meta, I’ve listed some below:

post and another post by @marsreds

this post and this post by @visibilityofcolor

this post by @shewhotellsstories

anyway katara is a queen and should have been allowed to heal, and hama never should have been irredeemable because if you can make iroh redeemable, if the show was going to redeem AZULA, you can make hama redeemable.

#hama #racism #atla fandom #fandom racism #katara #some amazing people on here who i hope don't get mad i mentioned them #grooming tw #racism tw #i sure hope i remembered everything i wanted to say butttt

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bailsscorner · 3 years

Text

So Far

Yandere! Various! Haikyuu x Black! Fem Reader

2-3-4 (coming soon)

TW//CW: reader smokes, possible trauma & ptsd, reader has a speech impediment, and usage of profanities.

Description:

As you start out college, your aunt asks of you to start attending therapy sessions to alleviate your negative experiences of the past. However, you start to realize that sometimes the past can be inescapable.

1.0k words

Taglist: @xetou

A/N: Hi! Please let me know if you’d like to be apart of the taglist. Thank you for reading ❤

"O--ONE PUMPKIN SPICE latte, p--please.” You felt your hands shake, you had a lecture in a few minutes and you were close to being late. The barista nodded, going off to the side to prepare your drink. You looked around the café, it was cozy and warm. You made a mind note to frequent here in the future.

The barista then handed you the drink, you giving her the right amount cash in return. You took a sip of it, taking in the bitter sweetness.

“(Y/n), how could you possibly drink this evil thing and not get sick?!”

You were walking with Aiko to lunch. You giggled, shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t know, I usually take it black but every once in a while I change it up.”

Aiko rolled her eyes at your playfulness. You were so busy paying attention to her that you didn’t realize that you bumped into a toned chest. Splash! Your sweet coffee spilt all over his shirt. Your eyes widened in realization, quickly grabbing some napkins from your backpack. You felt heat rush to your cheeks. “O--oh my gosh, I am so sorry--”

“It’s fine,” he grunted. You looked up at him for a second, he was tall and seemed to be one of those ‘no bullshit’ kind of guys. There was a noticeable red tint on his cheeks but his expression told a much different story.

You heard a laugh from behind him. It was that boy you asked Aiko about yesterday. “Uh oh, looks like Iwa-chan got coffee all over his uniform.”

“Shut up Shittykawa.”

Aiko grabbed your arm, giving you a ‘lets get out of here’ look and you anxiously nodded. The two boys watched you leave with curiosity, both of them were equally intrigued by you. "What the hell was that, (Y/n)?"

You frowned in embarrassment. "I--I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Well be careful next time, or you'll bump into one of those bastards again. They’re bad news.”

You chuckled, locking arms with her as the two of you continued to stroll through the hallway. “Oh come on Aiko, I think that Oikawa guy seems nice-ish. Do you have some sort of vendetta against the volleyball team?”

“Something like that,” The red-haired girl muttered. Your eyebrows raised, deciding to not tap into her conflict with them.

“Who was the cutie?” Oikawa asked as he and a few other guys changed into their jerseys.

Iwaizumi pulled off his stained shirt and placed it in his duffle bag. He instantly knew who what his friend was referring to. “Some third year transfer. Judging by her slightly mediocre Japanese, she’s American.”

“Ah, she's definitely not like everyone else around here." Oikawa smirked at his the light-green eyed boy. "You know Iwa-chan? Something tells me we'll be seeing her a lot more often."

“Mhm.”

And with that, they headed off to the gym for practice.

You took a drag out of your cigarette. The lecture was quite succinct, only lasting about 30 minutes. Most lessons were straight-forward and to-the-point, which was one of the several perks that came with your college experience.

Sometimes you wondered how you managed to push through after what had happened. It seemed like a never-ending hell, maybe that's why the admission team felt bad for you when you wrote that heartfelt essay. Your phone vibrated, indicating someone was trying to call you. It was your aunt. You sighed, swiping left to hear what she had to say. "..H--hello?"

"(Y/n)? Hi sweetheart, how are you doing?"

"F--fine Auntie, I just c--came from a lecture."

"I see. You know your friend Aiko stopped by yesterday to see if you were still here. Poor thing misses you like hell."

You once again sighed. A part of you did miss your old friends from high school, but sometimes you've got to leave the past in the past. Hell, you moved out of Miyagi for a god-damned reason. Thinking of the past made you want to take another hit of your cigarette. So you did, savoring the ethereal feeling of nicotine entering your lungs.

"..(Y/n)?"

No answer, she instantly knew why. Aunt Em was now becoming irritated with you. "(Y/n), are you smoking again?"

You groaned, hanging up the phone on her. It's not like you were trying to be rude or anything. You hated when she tried to intrude on your bad habits, like a child. And you weren't a fucking child anymore.

You tossed the cigarette, pressing it into the ground. You looked at the time and internally cussed. It was almost 4:30. You had some stupid study session with one of your classmates, he was pretty nice but seemed to be reserved and a no-bullshit kind of guy as well.

You walked to the library, which was like a common-place for the students to hang out it. You spotted him, you were only like 5 or six minutes late. But making an effort to be punctual would establish a better relationship between the two of you.

Your classmate had this studious dark academia-like nature to him, which you found to be pretty hot. It was also his familiarity, he reminded you of someone from the past. You also liked how he was patient with you, given your speech impediment and all. It was pretty rare especially since you hadn’t always been like that.

“(L/n), you’re late.” His non-chalant voice bringing a few shivers down your spine. Obviously, you had gotten over your boy-shyness but you sometimes felt like a part of it was still there.

You quickly bowed your head and played it off with a giggle. “S--sorry Akaashi, I ran into a few things on the way here. It won’t happen again.” He nod

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” His gunmetal blue eyes boring into your (e/c) ones. He gestured for you to sit next to him to which you immediately followed. Both of you had aspirations within the world of humanities, especially you, who was looking to write a book someday. “So what have you worked on so far?”

You pulled up a word document on your laptop of some drafting ideas for a possible story. Your professor is has assigned each student to write a memoir of the past. “I--I decided to write about the more positive moments of my past, y’know?”

Akaashi just stared, once again showing no emotion. You hadn’t opened up to him at all really. But you knew he somehow suspected, with your aloof and timid nature, that something happened to you.

“Honestly,” he said making eye-contact with the window behind you.

“H--hm?” You internally panicked. Oh no, is my idea too dull-

He then smiled, making your eyes widen. “Honestly I think it’s a great idea, (L/n).”

#yandere #yandere haikyuu #yandere x y/n #yandere x black!reader #yandere haikyuu x black!reader #horror #haikyuu x reader #yandere haikyuu various x reader #yandere x black! y/n #black reader #yandere x poc!reader

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galladerocksgamer · 3 years

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Okay so I love the Paranormal Liberation War arc, it does so much fantastic stuff, dang near perfect across the board. But I think it’s pretty widely felt that the pacing got a bit off the rails near the end, we had big reveals and character moments stacking up and half of them barely even felt relevant. And me being the person who just thinks about things in depth and for long periods, I’ve still been dwelling on it for months. And now as the manga has continued, I’m finally seeing how some of the aforementioned War moments could have been better executed in different situations, because honestly this latest arc seems like it would have been tailor-made to address them all. So lemme take a closer look at three different components here: Mirio/Eri, Bakugo, and Hawks.

1. Mirio and Eri

Probably the most random moment from the war’s climax, don’t think anyone was predicting the sudden return of Mirio to battle. I love Mirio, he’s one of my favorite characters, but it was a pretty anticlimactic way to bring him back into the fold. He doesn’t even really bring anything special to the battle, nothing uniquely Mirio. His role is just backing up Best Jeanist against the Nomu, and anyone could have done that. Burnin could’ve arrived sooner, or Manual and Rock Lock could’ve come back after getting the injured heroes to safety. Heck, if you still wanted the Nighteye agency to be involved, then Bubble Girl and Centipeder could’ve been the cavalry to help Jeanist. But instead Mirio returns unexpectedly and none too remarkably.

And on top of that, we’re basically just told “oh by the way Eri has some control of her power now.” Something that the series had been building up toward for awhile just … occurs off-screen with no forewarning. Really feels like a disservice to Eri and her development to not give that intense moment any real spotlight.

It felt extremely weird for me at the time, but I also kinda wanted to give it the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the coming arcs just couldn’t afford to place focus on Eri and Mirio, so their respective developments were tied together to lend an extra surprise to the war’s final bout. But instead this most recent arc has gone the opposite route … through the return of Chisaki.

The man once known as Overhaul, now thoroughly broken and wanting nothing more than to fix his one great regret. With Nagant’s defeat, he winds up back in custody, but having now once again met with Midoriya and made his wish known. So indeed, the opportunity arises for Eri and Mirio to be brought back to the forefront. I don’t doubt that we will indeed have at least a brief glimpse at Eri healing Chisaki’s boss as Midoriya promised, but the potential for that scene could really have been through the roof if it was the impetus for Eri to willingly use her power on a person for the first time.

Imagine Midoriya coming to Eri with that heavy request, of Eri deciding to offer this kindness toward Chisaki of all people, using her power to heal before the man who always told her that she could only destroy. Because really, I don’t think there’d be a question of that, we know the kind of kid Eri is, and she won’t let anyone suffer if there’s any way she could prevent it. Even if Chisaki was the person asking, there might be hesitation and fear, but is there any doubt she’d offer what aid she could in the end? And for Pops to be the first person she helps, to undo the harm carelessly inflicted by Chisaki … well, it’d certainly be poetic.

As for Mirio in this scenario, that could go a couple ways. Route 1: Eri is hesitant to help Chisaki with Pops because she would rather help Mirio get his Quirk back, and we know that her power seems to have a bit of a limit on it via the energy stored in her horn. So what if it did work, but she ran out of juice healing Pops and then made Mirio wait even longer? Well, of course that’s exactly what he’d insist on, he wouldn’t let himself take priority over another person in need of Eri’s help. And he’d take it all in good spirits as always. Or Route 2, if there was concern that Eri’s power could run wild while trying to help Pops, then they could go the complete opposite direction and have Mirio offer to go first, to be the guinea pig for Eri in case of emergency. But of course, he’d have full faith in her all along and coax her through, ensuring her of just how helpful and brave she always is.

So yes, can see how Eri and Mirio’s development could have taken a more satisfying route, and cap us off with some good ole Chisaki angst to boot (though at least we’ve still got a decent serving of that). Now moving on …

2. Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight

So Bakugo’s long and arduous journey of personal growth reached a new peak during the battle with Shigaraki, where his body moved without thinking and he underwent his true heroic awakening to protect Midoriya. Such a sacrifice seems like a perfect cap for his development for the War arc … and then a couple chapters later he forces himself right back into action to back up Best Jeanist, and as promised he reveals his over-the-top hero name to his mentor. In this case I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with the reveal, but in light of his preceding big heroic action, it really feels like a hat on a hat.

It’s not like Bakugo’s hero name heralded some major turning point for the battle; Jeanist’s arrival (and subsequently Mirio’s) had already assured that. And like Mirio, there wasn’t any real special reason for Bakugo to rejoin the fight with the Nomu, especially with Iida and Hado on the scene. After getting skewered by Shigaraki, it would have been pretty simple for Bakugo to just spend the rest of the fight bleeding unconscious on the ground, rather than complicating matters by shoving him back into the fray. And ultimately, the moment feels a bit anticlimactic. All the suspense waiting for Bakugo’s hero name, and then it’s revealed at a time where he barely even has the spotlight.

Of course, such a bombastic name as “Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight” doesn’t particularly lend itself to a quiet or emotional scene, so it wouldn’t be thematically fitting to move that revelation to Bakugo’s hospital bed or his somber apology to Midoriya. That said, given his decision to announce the name first to Jeanist, there would at least be precedent for him to have a “Dabi says secrets in a black speech bubble” moment in the hospital in which he talks to Jeanist but leaves the readers in the dark, before coming back to the actual audience reveal later on.

And there must certainly be other opportunities to present the name appropriately. Bakugo is a master of making an explosive entrance, after all. And when Class 1-A finally catches up to Midoriya, if Bakugo really wanted to make a big impact on his friend/rival before getting into the sentimental stuff, then it would be a prime chance to reveal his hero name in grandiose fashion, both to Midoriya and the audience.

Or if his hero name had been Kacchan, then that reveal would have fit right in with his apology to Midoriya, but that’s neither here nor there

This could be one scenario, of course, but it hardly feels like that would’ve been the only option. And compared to the crammed-in reveal in the final fight with the League, it’s easy to say that there could have been plenty of smoother roads to take. But setting that aside, moving onto the final touch:

3. Hawks

The long-awaited Hawks backstory doesn’t really disappoint. Admittedly, there weren’t really a lot of holes necessary to fill in there; we’d had enough bits and pieces provided before this point to pretty much put together the whole picture of his crummy childhood. But even without any really surprising turns, the flashback is welcome and hits some good emotional beats. But really, the glaring issue in this area is the timing.

We’re presented this backstory at an instance where Hawks is hardly the most relevant character. Shigaraki is undergoing a personal crisis as All For One seizes the reigns of his own body, Endeavor’s dark history has been exposed and the Todoroki family is in turmoil, escapees from Tartarus roam the streets, and Midoriya consults internally with the vestiges of One For All ... and the narrative decides to take a chapter to look at Hawks. Practically nothing from his flashback directly relates to present events, serving only to further emphasize his already well-established devotion to Endeavor and his (misguided) understanding of Twice’s feelings. The timing is just kind of baffling, especially with some other more appropriate places being readily apparent.

For instance, only a dozen chapters later, we’re properly introduced to Lady Nagant. As Hawks’s predecessor within the Hero Commission, the two have a lot in common, and the similarities and differences between the two could set up some interesting comparisons if Hawks’s backstory was saved to follow up Nagant’s. Two idealistic young children, handpicked by the Commission and groomed into assassins, yet whose outlooks in the present day are starkly opposed? Nagant's guilt driving her to turn on the Commission, while Hawks holds few regrets despite the blood on his hands, longing for freedom from the Commission’s grasp? That kind of parallel could really have built a more solid foundation for Hawks’s past to be laid upon.

That could be an effective setup, but there’s another approach I’d actually much rather have seen, one that brings Hawks’s backstory not later, but earlier: during the dramatic confrontation between Hawks and Dabi. The instant that Dabi reveals he knows Hawks’s real name, the story opens itself up perfectly to dive into his past. And the timing would be superb, showing Hawks at his worst as he murders Twice, then turning back the clock to look at the innocent child who just wants to save people. A little boy whose feathers tingle with the need to rescue those in need, superimposed against the man whose same feathers are used to deliver the killing blow to a victim of hero society’s ills. You want angst? Now that’s how you do angst. Placing the backstory there would play up the tragedy of both Hawks and Twice simultaneously: a “hero” raised by the Commission to cut threats to their control short at the root, and a “villain” who could have been a kindred spirit but instead suffers for their would-be friendship.

And that’s not even the icing on the cake. The real matter of interest here comes in Hawks’s view of Endeavor. By the time we get to Hawks’s backstory, all of Japan has already learned of Endeavor’s history from Dabi, and the result of the timing feels a smidge tone-deaf, and fails to realize the full potential resonance of the situation. The flashback to young Hawks as a victim of child abuse, who is rescued (unwittingly) when Endeavor arrests his father, is presented to us as the moment when Hawks realized that heroes are real, not merely a fantasy. We see why he developed such an ideal view of heroes, and why he is so specifically loyal to Endeavor ... so just imagine if all that was presented during his showdown with Dabi. Imagine if all that came before the tragic revelation of Toya Todoroki. The true terrible irony, that Hawks was rescued from his abusive father by someone secretly guilty of the same crimes, that Hawks’s whole epiphany of “real heroism” was founded upon one of the most corrupt enforcers of all.

The end result would be the same, I’m sure. After all, this is certainly the same thought process Hawks was going through all along, and his decision to maintain his faith in Endeavor’s personal growth would presumably remain unchanged. But presenting Hawks’s backstory before Dabi’s would have opened up a lot more room for us as the audience to actually see Hawks’s views be challenged. If there’s one real complaint I’ve got about Hawks’s character, it’s that we don’t really tend to see him questioning himself or his actions; whatever happens, he rolls with it and presses on, no matter how his ideals are brought into question. But this simple matter of timing could go a long ways to remedying that, granting the audience the chance to watch Hawks grapple with his personal image of and approach to heroism, and his relationship with Endeavor, rather than allowing most of that to pass unseen in the wake of the war’s end. Even if he would ultimately come to the same conclusion, at least such a narrative structure would provide a much more satisfying presentation of his struggle up to that point.

So, I’m not great at endings, but that brings us to the conclusion of my rambling though process here. To recap, the more I’ve thought about it, the more obvious it is that the backloaded War arc could be remedied, and the following arc only made that more obvious. Why force Mirio’s return so soon when he could be tied in later with Eri mastering her powers and the desperate pleas of Chisaki? Why shove in Bakugo’s hero name when the boy has already made a tremendous impact on the arc, and will be more open to further focus during the conflict with Deku in the next? And why throw in Hawks’s backstory as a standalone chapter at a time when it’s largely irrelevant, when there was such great potential to emotionally contrast him with the backstory of Nagant or Dabi? These are the kinds of things I think about. Little things, really, and honestly the whole reason they stand out to me is just that the rest of the arc around them is so dang fantastic. So … yes. This is the testament to my love for this manga, thanks for coming to my Ted Talk, byeeeeee

#mha #bnha #mha manga spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #paranormal liberation war

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jq37 · 3 years

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The Case File – Mice and Murder Ep 3

The Case of the Curious Clues

Before we start, a quick plea to Grant O’Brien: Please stop finding clues. I can only take notes so fast. You’re killing me Grant. Moving on...

We start off this episode with yet another flashback, this time to the final confrontation of Sly and his supposedly dead arch nemesis Fletcher Cottonbottom at Reichenbunny Falls (...Brennan please). Fletcher was using a local castle as a storage center for munitions but Sly tipped off the cops before they could be moved. They do some repartee back and forth before Fletcher, the madman, handcuffs them together and jumps off the edge. They hit the water but Sly is able to lockpick himself out and escape while Fletcher disappears beneath the waves.

You know what I got from that story? No body.

Anyway, we jump back to the present where there *is* a body, Squire Badger’s specifically. Everyone in the room who isn’t a PC thinks that this must either be the work of ghosts or Mrs. M who was the only person in the room when it happened (allegedly).

This is a crucial time for clue gathering and Brennan keeps everyone in initiative for investigative purposes. Now, *so much* stuff happens here that I’m not going to recap every single detail--just the major clues and the things that seem relevant. I’m serious, this is like the volume of info we usually get in the once per season later game lore dump ep but it’s episode THREE.

Daisy tries to find a secret door but critically fails. She clocks Gangie, a fellow criminal, and in the moment Rekha and Katie decide that they prob have worked together in the past even though they are very different kinds of criminals.

Buck, who is outside listening to what’s going on in the room notices that his ankle knife is missing which is Concerning considering a man was just knifed to death.

Sly has Lars guard the door (he opens it and Buck is discovered, whoops) and then rolls a NATURAL 20 plus NINE to investigate so Brennan just has to tell him literally everything. RIP to him and me. Anyway, here’s the rundown (along with some of the stuff other ppl got):

Mrs. M’s hands are covered in blood but she couldn’t have done it. Based on her personality for one and for other reasons we’ll get to.

The wound is much messier than it would be if a person stabbed themselves typically.

There is a note in Squire Badger’s handwriting that says “Sylvester Cross I am afraid” No indication of if that was the whole message or if he got interrupted (maybe Buck could figure it out with his handwriting checking skills). Daisy from across the room clocks that Sly’s name is written on the paper but can’t read the rest.

The knife is a hunting knife with a pronghorn handle--an animal not common in England but very common in Texas (and Buck is sweating obv).

There is a slight layer of charcoal type dust on everything on the big resolute desk in the room (which makes sense, ash from the fireplace) but there is parchment type dust on the bust of Barkus Aurelius (OK, that one’s good) on the table and that’s the only place that dust is. Ian later notices that the date on the bust is wrong.

Speaking of, the desk (which we learn later was put in and taken out of storage once Loan Hall was modernized) is bolted to the ground and a lot of stuff has been thrown off it as if by a powerful force but Sly notices that it’s just the metal stuff like things made of silver or with screws. Stone things like the bust and other non-metal things have stayed put. Plus he smells ozone. This was the work of magnets, not ghosts, he concludes. And, for the record, Grant figured this out himself!

Mrs. M’s eyes are rapidly dilating. She is questioned about what happened and she says that she was told she was fired and would receive a small pension.

(Not a part of Sly’s clue dump but Buck rolls a 24 with disadvantage to persuade everyone he didn’t do it but then 2 nat 1s in a row to see if Harding--who said he was standing outside the door--is suspect. Buck thinks he’s at most a stooge but he did roll a nat 1 so who knows?)

Anyway, back to Mrs. M. Gangie fully believes Mrs. M is innocent and scared. She doesn’t quite remember what happened for a couple of seconds in there and it’s clear this is not the first time she’s had missing time. Sly calls Longfoot (the bunny photographer) over to take a picture of Mrs. M which everyone is a little appalled at until they realize he’s making a point. When the flash goes off, she bugs out like she did in episode 1 and forgets that the picture was ever taken. Sly then has Dr. Magpie list the symptoms of epilepsy. It seems that Mrs. M had an episode triggered by the flash she mentioned seeing and then lost time. It’s possible that what she thought she saw after that she didn’t actually see.

[While Sly is monologuing this Rekha texts Brennan and gets a 17 to swipe the “I am afraid” note. Sly doesn’t notice.]

So if it wasn’t her, then who was it? There’s only one door into the study and anyone who walked in would have to have walked past Mr. Harding, Shellcrest, Calliope, and Tabitha (who is having a marvelous time being in the midst of so much drama). Ah, but who said there was only one door? Sly has Harding pull a sconce and a SECRET DOOR OPENS! Woo! Finally! It’s a classic bookshelf one that opens into the hallway and there is some extremely fine crushed glass under the door. Hmm.

Sly clocks that there is something under the desk but we don’t know what it is because Brennan texts it to him and it’s redacted. There are actually a couple of redacted texts that go around this ep so we are def missing information.

OK, that’s more or less everything.

Sly notices that the page is missing and Grant gasps while Rekha does an excellent job of pretending like she doesn’t even remember what paper is being talked about. Constance asks if it’s possible that Mrs. M totally made up the memory because of her epilepsy and between Dr. Magpie and Sly they determine that that’s uncommon but possible. Dr. Magpie says that everyone should leave so he and Sly can examine the body and Sly says that someone should watch Gangie at all times.

At this point, Harding and Gilfoyle (the butler) say they should establish where everyone was at the time of the murder. A lot of the staff and guests have solid alibis cause they were in big groups/cleaning up together. But the PCs were off alone (or with each other) and had reasons to want to guy dead so they’re prime suspects. Sly even admits that he’s one too. Also everyone dogpiles Ian because Raph makes it so fun.

Harding mentions the letter that was given to Buck (the one selling his shares in BB and giving voting writes to his rival Josiah) and asks him to read it. Buck reads it and gives a streamlined version of the truth, saying everything except for the part with the proxy vote. With a 26 he is able to allay everyone’s suspicions for now, but now he’s purposefully hidden the truth in a way that can be readily called out if anyone sees the letter or the contract which he resolves to find.

Buster distracts the group so Daisy can “check the body for a pulse” aka: check the body for the contract. She doesn’t find a it but does find a key attached to a piece of red silk--something that would be weird for him to be carrying around instead of his valet. She figures this must open whatever locked drawer the contract is in and swipes it but Sly clocks her stealing it (his perception ties her sleathiness but an earlier Bless from Ian tips him over the edge--poetic).

Calliope says that everyone is kinds suspect, including Sly, but *someone* has to solve this and Sly’s their best bet so everyone should just stay put and they can guard the exits. The butler says that, besides the front door, there are some towers that poke up above ground and a servant's exit/entrance by the elevator in the kitchen wing but they can lock down both and have someone guard the front doors.

The butler is like, lmao yeah Sly I know you didn’t do it and I’m not gonna stand guard here but you know, everyone is keeping an eye on y’all. And then he leaves the PCs, Mrs. M, Constance, and Dr. Magpie in the room with the body.

Lars is about to go watch the kitchen staff but, before he goes, Sly says to him that he saw Cottonbottom and is obviously quite scared. Gangie, who used to work for the guy, overhears and asks what’s going on. Sly assumes Gangie is playing coy but rolls high enough to know that he isn’t. He saw a starkly white Cottonbottom and one of his known conspirators doesn’t know he’s back? Perhaps it was a ghost after all.

Case Notes

My 2 fave bits of this episode were “bad to bad bad bad” (and the further riffing) and Daisy throwing increasingly bigger books at Sly.

Even with a Nat 1, Sly gets a 16 on Investigation. Wild.

I don’t think Rekha got enough props for her “Cross examination” line so I’m mentioning it here.

Brennan said the ozone question was still open--but I assumed it was like the electricity smell from an electromagnet. That would make sense, right? Maybe he meant they hadn’t found the source of it specifically yet?

Brennan says Buck’s knife is a pronghorn knife. I assume they’re made from the animal’s horns? Even if they’re the kind that fall off every season, is that weird? Or is it just like human hair wigs? Also, does this world have leather?

I love that the dice keep supporting the narrative that Daisy simply cannot get her shit together when she’s with Sly because he distracts her too much. Delicious. Their whole relationship is delicious.

OK, I am a tiny bit suspicious of Calliope. It’s partially the way she took control of the situation near the end and partially the fact that she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would be involved in this which would make her heel turn delicious. No hard evidence and obv she couldn’t be the person who actually stabbed a guy but idk. Just spitballing. I’m very curious about whether we’ve met everyone we’re going to meet more or less or if there are still outside people/hidden inside people. Because, in real life, a murderer could be literally anyone but in a story, you can’t just introduce a new villain all of a sudden at the end. Bad storytelling. Weak payoff. We’ll see how things start to pan out.

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #mice and murder #mice and murder spoilers #the case file

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toorusbaby · 3 years

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second choice, pt. 2

this part lowkey makes me cringe (probably because i’ve reread this entire fic about 10 times in order to edit) but i hope you like it <3

summary: being in love with hajime iwaizumi is like riding a rollercoaster of emotions. it’s thrilling as it is exciting, but you feel a little lightheaded... because he doesn’t know how you feel. the worst part? he thinks you’re in love with his best friend.

warnings: just pure fluff, oikawa cockblocks, slow burn, slight angst if you squint real hard

word count: 1,834

part three here

Three weeks had passed since you had gotten ramen with Oikawa and Iwaizumi. October turned to November in the blink of an eye and orange leaves that were once on trees were now scattered across the ground. Snow would be arriving in a week or two, but the weather wasn’t the only thing that had changed over the past few weeks.

Much to your surprise, you noticed that Oikawa’s flirty behavior towards you became practically nonexistent. You didn’t think much of it at first; you didn’t know what to make of it, even when it had been going on. It wasn’t until you and Matsukawa were walking to the school gym one afternoon, when the middle blocker had pointed out the lack of ‘romantic enthusiasm’ Oikawa usually displayed towards you. The raven haired boy’s words evoked realization within you and you began to recognize the signs of Oikawa’s sudden detachment after months of consistent flirting. The team captain had completely stopped asking you for hugs (which you never minded giving) and his habit of calling you his ‘pretty girl’ while slinging his arm over your shoulders suddenly vanished into thin air.

Despite his change of actions, or rather lack of, you sincerely doubted that Oikawa was upset with you. Even with his sudden shift in actions, Oikawa continued to eat lunch with you and Iwaizumi everyday under the tree the three of you ‘claimed’, and even cracked a horrible joke or two, snickering when you and his best friend would cringe at his attempts to make you both laugh. The setter’s usual cheerfulness with a hint of cockiness had remained much to your relief, although you’d never admit that you found his overconfidence endearing. Other than Oikawa’s decision to establish less flirty boundaries with you, everything in your life was still the same.

That was what bothered you.

The fact that no progression was being made and that you would be graduating from Aoba Johsai so soon, irritated you to no end. Progression with a certain green eyed boy, that was.

Your third and final year of high school was almost over, but you had spent the majority of your time at Seijoh completely smitten over Hajime, who was utterly clueless about your feelings. You weren’t hurt because he was unaware; you couldn’t blame the boy for not realizing it. Instead, you had blamed yourself for concealing any hint that you felt romantically towards the ace.

Whether Hajime viewed you in a romantic way was unbeknownst to you but you were desperate to find out regardless of the outcome. You weren’t entirely clueless when it came to you romantically attracting others. Multiple boys and girls have confessed to you before, only to be gently shot down; this gave you a small reputation at Aoba Johsai as a heartbreaker. Unbeknownst to you, this reputation slightly intimidated Iwaizumi. But when you took a closer look at the volleyball player’s actions, a flicker of hope burned in your chest.

Iwaizumi was reserved for the most part, usually keeping to his teammates or to himself. However, the occasional glances he’d sneak in your direction when you were with your female friends had caught your attention. The way his eyes would widen before quickly turning away when you would smile back at him must have meant something. Wasn’t this a common sign of attraction? Or did you just freak him out? Maybe it was the cold weather affecting his cheeks that would turn pink, but this wasn’t a possibility you even wanted to consider. It wasn’t as if you could directly ask him how he felt about you; asking Oikawa wouldn’t be any better.

It was Wednesday night when you found yourself tossing and turning in bed, wide awake and mind ablaze with thoughts of a certain wing spiker. It came as no surprise since it was the third time that week. Smothering your face into your pillow, you let out a frustrated groan. You knew that friendship would always remain friendship if you didn’t take a leap of faith. You couldn’t stay up late like this, questioning his feelings towards you for… well, forever. Iwaizumi wasn‘t the type to admit his feelings first, let alone display hints of romantic attraction, not that you were aware of.

The memory of Oikawa teasing Iwaizumi during practice months ago for refusing to ever make ‘the first move’ replayed itself in your mind. This earned the team captain a volleyball to the head and quiet chuckles from Kunimi, but the green eyed boy never denied the allegation, simply huffing and grumbling to himself.

The moment you saw the clock strike two, you came to a realization. Time would run out eventually and so would your patience; you didn’t want to drag things further. It was at that moment when you decided it was time to address your feelings for Iwaizumi. Sure, there was a likely possibility that the green eyed boy didn’t return your feelings. If he didn’t, it would most definitely hurt; after all, you were head over heels for.

Your arms moved to clutch the pillow to your chest. There was nothing that would change your mind; you were too stubborn for your own good. Something about your feelings towards Hajime Iwaizumi would have to be done when the timing was right.

You could only hope that it was soon.

༺♥༻

It was Saturday near noon when Iwaizumi found himself walking into the train station, hands in pockets, and a mind full of questions as he searched his surroundings to find you. When the volleyball player received a text from you the previous night asking if he was available the next day, he was quick to tell you his schedule was free. When you had asked him to meet you at the train station however, it definitely raised an eyebrow. Maybe you just wanted to meet at the station since it would be more convenient for everyone? Now that he thought about it, who else did you invite? Despite his curiosity, Iwaizumi didn’t ask any further questions, simply agreeing instead. He would just have to see what you needed him for when you two met up.

Iwaizumi’s eyes scanned the slightly busy station, only to easily spot you among the crowd of people. The sight of you never failed to make his heart race; he felt as if he had just finished an extended set, the way his palms began to sweat despite the cold weather. When he made his way over to you, a breath was stuck in Iwaizumi’s throat when he noticed that you looked a bit different than you did at school.

Your hair was styled in soft waves and you wore a bit more make up than usual, the brown eyeliner giving you a soft but refined look. Wearing only a cream turtleneck sweater paired with black jeans, Iwaizumi was afraid that you would get cold later in the day. Regardless, he thought you looked beautiful. Your tinted lips that were pursed together for a split second when you glanced at your phone immediately grabbed the ace’s attention. Lipgloss? Is she wearing fucking lipgloss? Without sparing them a second glance, Iwaizumi excused himself to strangers he accidentally bumped into on the way to greet you.

Relax, Hajime. Just fucking… breathe.

You on the other hand, were about to text Iwaizumi until you noticed a tall figure approaching from the side of your eye. When you looked up, you found yourself facing the only boy whose grinning face was enough to make you weak in the knees. There Iwaizumi stood, gloved hands shoved in the pockets of his black jeans, his signature navy blue scarf adorning his neck. He wore a grey sweater that fit him perfectly, the color complimenting his olive skin. Even though he cleaned up nicely, the way Iwaizumi smiled down at you made you swoon all over again. You couldn’t help but smile up at Iwaizumi’s towering figure.

“I was just about to call you. I was worried you wouldn’t show up for a minute. Let’s wait over here, yeah?” You greeted the boy, gesturing with a nod of your head for him to follow you away from the crowd. The boy followed suit.

“You know I’d never do that, Y/N,” Iwaizumi replied, the two of you now standing near passengers waiting to board the upcoming train. You simply smiled in response and guided him to the boarding area. The confused boy quickly looked around and then back at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Wait, are we going on the train? I thought we were—“

Seeing your pretty polished fingers holding up two train tickets to the neighboring city of Osaki brought Iwaizumi’s words to a halt, not to mention your awkward chuckle when you handed him a ticket.

“Well you see,” you mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You were sure that the breeze would mess your hair up throughout the day, refraining from rolling your eyes at the thought. “I sort of... bought us train tickets to Osaki. Surprise, I guess?” The widening of the boy’s eyes prompted you to continue, causing you to wave your hands in front of you in protest.

“If you don’t want to go though, that’s okay! I just wanted to check out a couple of places, that’s all...”

And spend time with you, was what you wanted to add. However, you couldn’t possibly utter such a bold statement. You didn’t want to freak Iwaizumi out even more than you probably did; a surprise hangout in another city was enough for one day.

Iwaizumi’s eyes flickered from your wavering eyes to the way your cheeks burned with embarrassment. It was obvious to the boy that you were self-conscious, but he didn’t think you had any reason to feel that way. It was one of the rare times, if not the only time, the two of you hung out alone; Iwaizumi definitely did not want to waste such an opportunity. Despite his heavy belief that you were interested in Oikawa, the green eyed boy was glad you had called him and only him instead.

To put it shortly, Hajime Iwaizumi was beyond thrilled.

With a soft chuckle and a gentle smile plastered on his lips, he opened his mouth to reassure you. “I’d be an idiot if I said no to this. We should probably get on, yeah? I wonder what you have planned.” With that, Iwaizumi boarded the train that had just arrived. Without another word, you quickly followed behind.

Even though your head was turned to face the moving train’s windows behind you, your mind was focused on the handsome boy sitting by your side. When you realized that it would be just the two of you for the entirety of the day, together alone in another city, your stomach churned with excitement. You couldn’t believe you were doing this; how did you end up alone with Iwaizumi on a Saturday afternoon?

If I tell him how I feel, would he even feel the same way?, you questioned.

Little did you know, the flustered volleyball player was asking himself the same question when he turned his head to admire you.

#haikyuu #haikyu x reader #iwaizumi #hajime iwaizumi #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x y/n #haikyuu fluff #aoba johsai #seijoh

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vislorrturlough · 3 years

Text

Scaramouche!

"Of course, this assumption of responsibility does not mean that we are not conditioned genetically, culturally, and socially. It means that we know ourselves to be conditioned but not determined. It means recognizing that History is time filled with possibility and not inexorably determined-that the future is problematic and not already decided, fatalistically."

- Paulo Friere

For as long as Loki can remember, tapestries have lined the walls of Asgard's palace.

When Loki was a child, the Allmother sat by his bed one night and explained the significance of the tapestries that lined the walls of their home.

“The Norns weave the tapestry that assigns our roles,” she told him. “So that we may fulfill our fate and serve Midgard as we are meant to.”

The tapestries stretched across all the walls of the palace, covering vast miles of golden wall with breathtaking imagery depicting life and death and love and hate and everything in between. They pictured Loki too, who moved from boy to tragedy to a vicious and cruel man.

“So I have a role too? And Thor?” he asked. She smiled at him with fondness. The Thor on the tapestries seemed brave and strong - Loki could never imagine his brother, still a boy himself, to become that hulk of a man someday.

“Of course, Loki,” she said. “We all have roles. I am a mother, and a magician. Thor will be a great hero. Your father, a beloved and wise king. This is what is sewn into our destiny, to be enacted until Ragnarok and again after that. In a cycle, unending and unwavering.”

He yawned, obscuring the nervousness bubbling in his chest and curling the silken covers around his shoulders. He knew what the tapestries said Loki would do. He had hoped that maybe - “What’s my fate, mother?” he asked quietly.

Her smile, previously relaxed, became firm and serious. His heart was racing, thinking of that man, and of the awful cruelty that was depicted to come at his hands. “We all have a part to play, my dear. And every story has a villain for a reason.”

Despite common misconception, Loki Laufeyson never lived in the moment. In fact, Loki found the moment particularly difficult to pin down. Once you begin to think “Hey, I think this is the moment!” it wasn’t the moment anymore, and Loki already had four tabs open on his phone about the relativity of time and he didn’t need anymore.

Loki lived in the future, which was why he was that very moment getting his fair share of serotonin from the Schrödinger’s Night Out with Sigurd and Lorelei he was planning.

“Sigurd definitely won’t come out if Lorelei isn’t,” he explained to Verity as he paced hurriedly around their absurdly fancy flat, which he paid for entirely and in return, Verity didn’t ask where he got all the money. “Which means I need Lorelei to agree first. One problem with that!”

“Lorelei hates you?” Verity asked, as she planted an orange tree in Stardew Valley.

“Lorelei hates me!” Loki agreed. “Which means I need to sweeten the pot.”

Verity glanced up at him suspiciously. “How are you going to do that?”

He grinned, and picked up a pen so he could start dramatically gesticulating. “Bisexual women! They’re always fascinated with me. And by the end of the evening, I’ll have established a system where I transport their attention from me to Lorelei and get her many dates. Like a Ford factory.”

She glared, turned back to her game. “You’re a walking hate crime.”

“Was that a lie, Verity?” he teased, collapsing on the couch and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She tried just barely to shrug him off. “Was it a lie when I said bi women are fascinated with me? Was it?”

Verity narrowed her eyes at him, but didn’t say anything, and in response he burst into cackles of laughter.

—

Lorelei claimed to be very insulted that Loki thought bisexual women liked him more than her, but he knew well that she knew well that she looked like the straightest girl alive and really, that was her own fault. Once Lorelei was a confirmed booking, Sigurd swiftly followed, because he’s nothing if not a simp, and thus Loki had now established the perfect evening. A pricey club, two people who could barely stand him, and himself.

Although he never really enjoyed it. He’d never planned to.

Anticipation was a drug, really. And as previously established, the moment was very boring indeed. And this moment, Loki found himself crammed against Sigurd, who while very attractive and an owner of some very firm abs, was covered in sweat, and only slept with Loki when he was desperate anyway. Loki squinted up at him, and tried to figure out if he was desperate tonight.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” Sigurd shouted over the music.

Loki smiled at him genially, and proceeded to turn quickly around and elbow his way to the smoking area.

The initial smack of fresh onto his face was divine. He closed his eyes and smiled in satisfaction, continuing to move forward. The music was more muted out here, and the sound of voices and laughter blurred into itself until nothing was anything anymore. Peace! The lights were all different shades of pink and green, and they cast an ethereal glow over the throngs of young people with cigarettes in their hands, all here, all living now.

Loki bumped into someone.

“Shit!” he yelped, watching in horror as her cocktail spilt down her crop top. “I’m so sorry! Oh my God!”

She’d flinched a bit during the incident itself, but the alcohol had seemingly tempered any stronger reaction than that. Lightly brushing at her (now soaked) top, she only laughed lightly and smiled at him. “No worries, dude!”

He pulled out his best prince charming grin (practiced in the mirror and finely tuned). “Please, let me at least buy you another drink.”

“I’m not going to say no to a drink!” she laughed shyly, and they traipsed inside to the bar. Sigurd seemed to have vanished, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Lorelei getting very close to the DJ, so maybe if Loki had any luck he was crying in the gents or something. Usual affair, really.

He bought them both mojitos, and they fought their way back through the crowd to return to the smoking area. “I like your necklace,” he said, because his mother had always said women liked having their jewelry complimented. Sif had later said that they didn’t, but Sif was as much a woman as Loki was a man, so her opinion didn’t count.

The girl giggled. “Thanks, it’s a crucifix.”

“Oh sorry!” Loki said. “I’m not from around here. That’s the catholic thing right?”

“Do you guys not have catholicism in Britain?”

Ugh, mentioning Asgard would dance a bit too close to the possibility of ‘Oh man, anyone ever told you you look like Thor’s evil brother?’. Loki chuckled instead and rolled his eyes. “I was pretty sheltered. It was like, a weird cult?”

“Oh wow! That’s so interesting.” She had a sympathetic sort of look on her face, and Loki quickly buried the irritation that bubbled up in his chest. The sympathy wasn’t for Loki anyway, just some fake man who grew up in a cult. Did he think Asgard was a cult? God, he was glad he didn’t have a therapist

“Yeah, I don’t really believe in it now, you know?” he lied easily, smiling at her. “It’s hard to have faith when it’s like, you never see any proof.”

She nodded understandingly. “Yeah, lots of people say that nowadays, what with superheroes and Asgard and all. I don’t know, I kind of think the fact I don’t have proof makes it more important.”

“Oh yes?” Loki asked. “What do you mean by that?”

She looked up at the lights, placed her free hand on the crook of the elbow of the hand holding her drink. For a second, Loki saw ancient and revered philosophers! He decided that they’d had it all wrong. Screw the forums, they should’ve done all their philosophising in smoking areas.

“It means something, you know?” she explained slowly. “Like, of course we believe in the ground and the sky and all. Those are right in front of us, we can’t deny that. Same with science, or aliens, or Asgardians. But believing in God requires a certain kind of faith. I’m going beyond seeing and believing. I’m just believing. God has a plan for me, and I believe in that.”

Loki nodded slowly. A fate? One set, but controlled by a benevolent creature and entirely unknown? It wasn’t true or real of course, but there was a beauty to it, that Loki, who’s path was clear and determined, appreciated. The alcohol (he and Lorelei made a habit of spiking drinks they bought on earth with Asgardian liqueur, so they’d, you know, work) was beginning to blur his awareness anyway. “That’s beautiful,” he said kindly.

She giggled, quickly touching her necklace and looking at the ground. “Haha, sorry! I study theology, it’s kind of a thing.”

“No, no!” Loki laughed, giving her a wide grin. “It was very interesting! Where do you study?”

They got into a long conversation about Sarah’s (her name, Loki found out eventually) degree, NYU dorms and a guy she hated in her seminars, before he noticed Lorelei making a beeline towards him, her hand around Sigurd’s wrist.

“Hey,” she said, before frowning at him and glancing at Sarah. “I’m going home with a girl named Angelica. She’s goth and plays bass. So you need to take Sig home.”

“I’m literally an ancient hero. Of legend,” Sigurd interjected.

Lorelei turned and glared at him instead. “Well, you need to take Loki home.”

“Oh well, come on then Sig!” Loki said loudly, ignoring his scowl. “Thank you for such a lovely conversation, Sarah darling. Have a nice night!”

“Thanks Luke!” she laughed, not being not obvious about checking Sigurd out. Oh God, she probably thought he was dating Loki. Yuck, how mortifying. “See you around!”

“Go get a taxi,” Lorelei told him, before wandering off to a girl with a septum piercing and docs, which Loki considered quite basic, especially for Lorelei.

They didn’t get a taxi. They walked five minutes until Loki ducked around a corner, ignored Sigurd saying “Aren’t we getting a taxi?” and grabbed his arm before dragging him through the spaces in between the universe and dropping him on the bean bag in his living room. A solitary pringles can rolled quietly and hit Loki’s foot.

“Ugh, you’re disgusting,” Loki muttered, kicking it away.

“I hate you,” Sigurd growled, pinching his nose and clearly trying not to throw up. Loki didn’t know why, it wouldn’t be any major downgrade from how the room was currently. “And I hate that. You’re such a fucking prick Loki.”

Time to make his exit before Sigurd regained enough strength to cause him bodily harm. “Bye honey!” he trilled, and Sigurd’s growl was cut off as he made his way to his own apartment. He didn’t wake up Verity, she had work tomorrow, so he just kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed, surrendering to unconsciousness.

Verity and Loki had moved in together for two reasons.

1) Loki spent most of his time at Verity’s. He had a separate shelf in her fridge for his energy drinks and his salsa, and a special place at the bottom of her spice cupboard for his snacks. He told Verity she had full ownership over all the snacks and could have them when he’d left, but she never did. Instead she got the little clip things she used and pinched the bags closed carefully, putting them to the side for the next time he came over. It was thoughtful, and Loki didn’t know what to do with it, so he never mentioned it. He got bored quite easily anyway, and most of his ‘friends’ had a very limited tolerance of him, so most days he found himself on Verity’s couch, playing Uno and eating Oreos.

2) Verity’s flat was bad and small and Loki’s was perfect and expensive, and if he spent all his time with Verity, they may as well hang out in his sketchily acquired penthouse. Plus, paying her rent made him feel useful. It was like a payment for all the little clips on his packets of Doritos.

He didn’t regret it. Except he thought that perhaps he might be as close as he could get to regretting it as he lay in bed listening to her pounding viciously at his door.

“Are you alive?” she yelled through the mahogany. He groaned just loudly enough to be heard, and she banged one more time for good measure before her footsteps quickly petered off towards the kitchen.

He sighed in frustration, rolling off his bed with just enough basic athletic ability to land on his feet. His vision blacked out for just a second, and his head very much rejected the idea of being on his feet. Had he shifted through space while drunk? That was so dangerous. He should have gotten like, a driving ticket. A magic driving ticket.

He stumbled into the kitchen and stared blearily at Verity. “What are you cooking?” he mumbled.

“Eggs,” she replied without turning. “Want some?”

“Hmm.” He stares at the clock. One in the afternoon? That wasn’t too bad. Verity must have just gotten in from work though, which made him feel bad. Oh, how he missed the days when he had no shame and also no friends. “No thanks, I don’t want to throw up.”

“I thought alcohol didn’t affect you?”

“Human alcohol doesn’t.” He sat down on one of the tall swivel chairs at their counter and spun around. Ow, oh fuck, that wasn’t a good idea. He grimaced and placed his pounding head in his hands. “Lorelei and I spiked our drinks with something we got from Asgard.”

“Huh.” Verity sat opposite him, eggs piled onto the plate she set down in front of her. She’d cooked the yokes, the heathen. “Did you have a good time?”

Loki stared at her. “I feel like I’m being interrogated by my mother.”

“Oh honey,” she teased, grinning through a mouthful of eggs. “Oh sweetie. Wear protection!”

Loki dramatically re-enacted retching, and she choked on her eggs. A just punishment for her crimes, he thought.

“Ew,” he moaned. “I had to see Sigurd’s flat last night. It was disgusting.”

“I wasn’t being serious?” she stared at him. “I didn’t know you actually slept with-”

“Ew, ew, no,” he interrupted. “I was just detailing how he’s far too disgusting to ever consider as a sexual object. I would probably sleep with Lorelei though.”

“As if she’d sleep with you.”

“I’m forever alone!” he cried “Like the meme!”

“If you think referencing memes from 2008 is going to help you get laid-” she got up, pulled the dishwasher open and put her plate in without washing it off. Awful dishwasher etiquette, and Loki was from a place where they washed dishes with magic, so she had no excuse. “-then I think you might be beyond help.”

“I’m waiting for the right person,” he mumbled, squinting in the light streaming in from their egregiously large windows. “Like America. I ship America and myself.”

“America’s a lesbian,” Verity said.

“I’m a woman sometimes!” He got up and opened the fridge. “It’d be perfectly possible if she could tolerate me.”

“Which she can’t.”

“Yeah,” Loki said in faux-disappointment. “Ergo, forever alone, I’m mister lonely, involuntarily celibate, and sent to the friendzone.”

He shut the fridge, no bacon in sight, and stared at the front of it trying to consider his next move. He could head down to the store, but also he couldn’t, because he couldn’t imagine bringing himself to put on something other than the shorts he was currently in that said ‘BAD WITCH’ in bright green, metallic lettering on the back (a gift from Kate) and also he was pretty certain a drink had been poured on him the night before, judging by the smell of lager and the way his fringe had congealed into a hard point overnight. He wasn’t in any fit state to walk down the street. He had standards to maintain.

Yes, he was an illusionist, but he was a hungover illusionist with a headache, thus he opened up DoorDash and ordered McDonald’s.

“Vee?” he called down the hall. “Do you want anything from McDonald’s?”

“Ew,” she called back. “No.”

He placed his order and looked back up at the fridge. They had a shared calendar printed out on that kind of slippy photo paper so they could use whiteboard markers on it and make sure to not double book having people over. Last time it had happened, Verity’s cousin had to top-and-tail with Thor on the couch, which was a weird experience for everyone, but mostly for Daniel. Currently, the calendar was pretty sparse, since it was early April, but Verity had written something in for Sunday. ‘Easter - Mom’s House’.

He stared at it, confused. He didn’t turn when he heard Verity’s feet pattering back into the kitchen. “Hey, I didn’t know you were religious.”

“Huh?” Verity had flopped onto the couch and was fiddling with the remote control, probably trying to turn on Dr Phil. “Not really, what do you mean?”

“You’re going to your Mum’s for Easter?”

“Oh I guess.” The Judge Judy theme song streamed from the TV. Loki stood corrected. “I don’t believe in it or anything. It’s just tradition.”

“Huh.” He glanced out onto the street. It was lively. They were in pretty central Manhattan, and usually when you looked onto the road it was hard to see a part of the path that wasn’t covered in black throngs of city goers. He sometimes wondered where they were going, had they plans, or were they just wandering, aimless and free? Loki had always thought it would be night to wander off and see where his feet would take him if he didn’t walk with direction or intention. “Had an interesting conversation last night.”

“Yeah?” Verity responded mindlessly, staring at the TV.

“About religion. With a girl in the smoking area.”

“Dude.” Verity leaned over, effortlessly butch. “Conversations about religion in a smoking area? I’m putting my foot down. Either you download Grindr or find a therapist.”

“Both of those options are severely limited by the fact that I am a divine being and a world renowned criminal,” he replied. “Do you think guys on Grindr are into my evil vibes, actually?”

“Guys on Grindr are definitely into your evil vibes.”

“Thanks Verity,” he said, turning and heading towards the door. “You always have my back. Maybe I’ll find a bae after all.”

He grinned at her sounds of indignation and headed to his room to sleep his headache away.

Loki had always been rather a superior child. He had no need for childish matters of ‘bravery’ and ‘heroics’, instead favouring his intellect and insight. His mother said he was a bright young man, thank you. So he cared little about Thor informing him he was too small and weak to spar with him and his friends. However, he had in return let Thor know that he would be instead spending some time with his very close friends, who Thor did not have an acquaintance with and who thought Loki was very cool and interesting indeed. Thus, appearances had to be upheld.

He peered around the corner of the great, awning entrance to the Bifröst control room. Lord Heimdall had his back turned, but Loki was not a fool. A child, but not a fool.

“Your Highness,” the Watcher called out, turning to face him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He inched forward, the tips of his fingers trailing the chilly gold-plated walls of the gate. “I was bored,” he lied.

“Very well.” Heimdall set down the Key and sat heavily down onto its platform. “Would you be able to keep me company during my break?”

Loki lifted his chin, glanced around himself and headed to sit beside him. “I suppose I can grace you with my presence, for some time at least.”

“Have you a full schedule, your Highness?”

Anger and indignation built in his chest. Loki whipped around and scowled at him. “I’m very busy.”

Heimdall’s playful expression sunk with practiced ease into something serious. “My apologies. Of course you are, my prince.”

Loki crossed his arms. He knew that Lord Heimdall knew all his business, all of everyone’s business, but it struck him like a spear to his chest to have been mocked over his… lack of desirability. How dare he? Loki may be a boy, but he was his prince. It was not Heimdall’s place to mock him.

He struggled to think of something dignified to reply, and the pressure of the silence between them built into a garotte that tightened around his neck. He daren’t look at Heimdall, imagining a mocking grin staring down at him. It was unlikely, and would be utterly out of place on the man’s face, but Loki would rather avoid the possibility altogether.

“How is your brother, your Highness?” Heimdall said to break the silence.

In a fit of rage, Loki slammed his palm against the platform. His eyes watered with the pain of it. “Why does everyone only care about what Thor is doing? How Thor is? I am not a vessel through which people may be updated about my brother’s status!”

In his anger he’d turned to glare at Heimdall, and was horrified to find the man’s face transformed by pity. Loki scowled in disgust, and stared at the wall in the opposite direction.

“I did not mean to imply anything as such, your Highness,” Heimdall explained carefully. “I merely asked out of having nothing else very interesting to say. Perhaps I should have asked how you are?”

Loki hesitated, glanced back up. “I’m well,” he mumbled shortly.

“That’s good to hear,” Heimdall replied, staring ahead, out the gates and down the Bifröst. Loki wondered if he saw that which lay in front of him with more clarity, or if what his tangible eyes caught was nothing different to everything else he saw. “Is there anything in particular you would like to speak about?”

Loki was silent for a moment. A topic had been weighing on his mind, one he hesitated to bring to his mother. A heavy topic indeed. “Heimdall?” he asked. “Why am I destined to be a monster?”

It had been a burden to bear, acknowledging what was written upon the tapestries spun deep in Nornheim. When mother had first told him of his destiny years ago, it had seemed like a childhood game, but everyday the gravity of his situation held him just a little firmer to the ground. All has its place, his mother had told him, and your place is important. It is against you that others will shine.

It coloured everything he did, and how others treated him. Thor still loved him as a brother, but everyday his pride in his own journey grew and Loki could only stand and watch as he looked on his brother with a little more suspicion, held him at a slightly further distance. Loki’s cruelty had been encouraged, not in a direct way, but in the ways in which his parents and carers were cruel towards him. Like a knife being sharpened.

Heimdall did not move. “Everything has its duty. Our world is not much but an elaborate play, and we act according to our roles so that the other realms may live in our image.”

“But why me?” Loki pressed. “Why can’t I be the hero?”

Neither mentioned what lay between them. A man and a child and a destiny for two corpses, having slain one another, to lie in the middle of their world as it burned.

“I’m sorry, my prince,” Heimdall said quietly. “Perhaps take some relief in the fact that you needn’t worry over who you will be. The Midgardians in particular struggle with virtue.”

“Really?” Loki muttered, head in his hands. “Isn’t it very freeing for them?”

“Not as such,” he replied. “In return for their agency, they are burdened with the duty to be ever kind and charitable to one another, or be damned for their failure to do so. It's simpler for us. Our fate is predetermined, and while you may be the villain, you are doing your duty as such and can rest easy knowing that it is a moral and just thing for you to be.”

Loki was silent for a second, staring morosely ahead. “But I don’t want to be the villain.”

“I’m sorry, Prince Loki,” Heimdall replied, resting a hand on his shoulder. “But the tapestries have already been spun.”

The Allmothers, in their omnipowetful ability to be incredibly annoying, always called him when he was in the middle of doing things. In this case, a lovely girl named Amelia who had told him he looked like Timotheé Chalamet.

She screamed, causing Loki to whip around with a curse only to find Gaia staring at him through his mirror, disgust on her face and her right eye covered by Loki’s Blondie postcard that Verity had bought him from some emo shop.

Gritting his teeth, he looked down at Amelia, who seemed to be sinking into some form of shock. “Oh man,” he said. “I’m so fucking sorry. Uh, I kind of have to take this. Another time maybe?”

She looked up at him in speechless horror before turning quickly and climbing out from under him. Before he could even look up at her he heard the slam of the door. He glanced up. Huh, at least she’d taken her shirt with her. Loki was a feminist after all.

With a sigh, he turned to face Gaia. “My Lady!” He greeted with gritted teeth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She held his gaze for a few awkward seconds.

“Okay,” he said. “I would say, if anything it’s your fault that you decided to just turn up in my mirror without any prior warning. Really? You can’t expect me to be celibate. I’m Loki.”

She graced him with a performatively regal sigh and a significantly less regal eye roll. “The Allmothers have a task for you to complete, Loki.”

“Don’t you always?” He grumbled, pulling a hoodie on to cover up some of his nudity. Amelia may have only lost a shirt, but Loki was already down to his boxers. He was a feminist, after all.

“There is a great treasure in the belonging of one of our own, one who dwells in the realm of Midgard.”

“In English?”

The Allmother paused. Her eyebrows furrowed. “Your first language is the tongue of Jötunheim.”

“It’s just a-, it’s just a phrase, okay? Anyway, can you get to the crux of it? I was busy.”

“You aren’t busy anymore.”

He threw his arms out dramatically, making sure his irritation was painted clear on his face. “Thanks for that, by the way!”

“We would like-,” she continued, gathering her composure. “-for you to retrieve the ancient sword, Gram. It’s power is too great for us to allow it to remain out of our grasp. We have waited too long already, and time is of the essence.”

“Gram?” Loki asked. “You mean Sigurd’s sword?”

“The legendary sword Gram does indeed lie in the hands of the hero Sigurd-”

“But Sig loves his sword,” he interrupted. “He’s going to hate me if I take it for you. That’s narc behaviour.”

“This is your duty, Prince Loki, to your people,” Gaia said sternly. “You are, and have always been, a narc.”

“Hey, fuck you-”

She was gone in the next second, and Loki was left staring at his face in the mirror, and the way the skin underneath his eyes was grey and sunken, which made his eyes pop in a sort of consumption-chic. He looked a bit like Maleficent, he thought in an attempt to distract himself from the dread of the task that now lay before him and the inevitable broken friendship (he didn’t have many to break left).

But without all the milf energy. Loki didn’t have any milf energy, which was probably the source of most of his problems

Often, Loki found the easiest way to avoid all of his issues was to pretend he was a funny, quirky little guy living a funny, quirky little life. Oh Loki, he’s the token evil teammate, the funny comic relief in stories about other people, relegated to side character (but hot enough that all the fan art and fic was going to centre him). This allowed him to get away with his faults, which were many and numerous, by playing them off as the work of that darned scamp, Loki. This situation however, was one that worried Loki, as Sigurd was nothing if he wasn’t two things; 1) absolutely unenamoured by Loki and everything Loki had going for himself, and 2) in love with that fucking sword.

Loki sat down cross-legged on his bed and contemplated the choices he could make here. He could take the sword, and try to manipulate the situation to make Sigurd look like he was overreacting. Take the sword to the flat and mess around while he showed it to Verity. But, he knew, Verity wouldn’t play along, because her moral compass was ever on the straight and narrow and anyway, she’d know he was lying.

Lorelei would side with Sigurd over him, because she didn’t trust the Asgardian establishment and they all knew that the tentative little bit of control that let them languish in something resembling a real life on Midgard rested on Sigurd having enough power that Asgardia would rather leave him alone than bother. Losing Gram would put that in jeopardy, and Lorelei wouldn’t trade a shoelace for Loki, nevermind her happy ending. He knew well enough that this theft would be unjust, would put all of the power into the hands of the already powerful. He knew this, and he knew that Sig and Lorelei? Wouldn’t hurt a fly, really. For all the three of them pretended to hate each other, Loki knew they were good people, and they just wanted to live their lives in peace.

He could simply refuse. Not take the sword, let the Allmothers deal with it some other way. He could say it was above his pay grade, which it was.

Except, he couldn’t. Not really. He had duties that Sigurd and Lorelei couldn’t possibly understand. That idea couldn’t push its way forward from the back of his mind, as if constrained by something, writhing back and forth to break free. Or was it? Or was that an excuse, a claim to someone that he was trying, still, to do the right thing, and that it wasn’t his fault when he failed to.

He sighed, and stood up. His wardrobe was a mess, but it was an organised mess, and anyway it was a bright, sunny day outside and he could find his dragon scale armour easily from the way it glinted in the light at the back of his slogan t-shirts.

Sig had moved all the dirty washing from his desk chair. Loki didn’t have high hopes that it was for any reason other than playing PC games though. Sig was really into, like, Call of Duty and Halo. Were they PC? Loki didn’t know. He preferred superior gaming experiences, like Professor Layton.

Lo and behold, Loki found the mysteriously disappeared dirty clothing on Sig’s couch. For a guy whose feats and adventures were written down in legend, he really had some drab taste in furnishings.

Loki moved silently through the flat, letting just a little bit of his seidr seep into his steps to cushion the noise. He didn’t turn on any lights, instead relying on a little bit of patience to let his eyes adjust to the dark. His Jotunn heritage, dare he say it, came in handy at times like this due to the Jotnär having pretty decent night vision. This was in order to do crimes and eat children, his nursemaid had informed him when he was small. Well, Loki was doing crimes, but the jury was out on the eating children bit.

Loki was an expert catburglar, tales of his stealthiness were scribbled on the walls of ancient Midgardian caves, the remnants of long extinct societies, all of which he had outlived. Thus, he cleverly noticed the Guitar Hero™ plastic guitar and stepped over it.

Loki knew one thing about Sigurd. He was paranoid. Thus, Loki had a suspicion about where he would put Gram, and if he was correct he knew this job wouldn’t be easy.

He eased open the bedroom door, and watched as the hero of the stories he had been told as a babe snored while laying on his front. Huh, great ass.

Loki mentally smacked himself. Bad!

His attention was then quickly snatched by the gleaming sword that lay against the left bedpost. Ding ding, we have a winner! Sigurd both expected his sword to be stolen and expected to have to fight off home invaders, and so he kept his greatest asset (other than his ass) right next to him in his most vulnerable times. Loki was his worst nightmare, well usually, but even more so at this moment.

He crept forward, stepping carefully over strewn clothes. Wait, was that Lorelei’s blouse? Ugh, he didn’t want to think about that. He’d much rather they remain entirely celibate in his mind.

Loki crept closer, and reached out to grasp the hilt of the sword silently.

“...What the fuck? Loki?”

He should have run, probably. Teleported, gone invisible, maybe should have even jumped through the window. That might have thrown Sigurd off the scent right? Prince Loki, God of Trickery and Harbinger of Ragnarök wouldn’t have just leapt through a window. Well, the window was seventeen floors up actually, so maybe a regular burglar wouldn’t have either.

Anyway, what happened was he stood stock still, unable to move a muscle or turn to face Sigurd, as if he were labouring under the delusion that Sigurd was a creature that tracked prey by movement. He looked like something out of Looney Tunes, which wasn’t fantastic for his dignity.

“Loki,” Sigurd snapped again.

He turned, and winced at the look of outrage on his friend’s face. Sigurd was sat up on his elbow, his other arm on his comforter. He looked like he was ready to attack someone. Loki was pretty sure he hadn’t expected it to be - well, Loki.

“What the fuck were you doing?” he said. “Were you stealing Gram? Why? For who?”

Ouch, that hurt. He may have been stealing it for someone else, but it was a bit upsetting that Sigurd had immediately disregarded the idea he was working in his own interest.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. “The Allmothers send their regards,” he finally admitted drily.

If anything, Sigurd’s outrage grew. “How- How could you?”

A bit dramatic, Loki thought. Sigurd leapt out of his bed, and Loki didn’t have the chance to step back before his shoulders were in Sigurd’s bruising grip and his back pushed hard against the wall. “You know what this means,” Sigurd said, his disgust evident. “You aren’t stupid, Loki. You know what you’re doing.”

Oh, that was it, wasn’t it? Loki wasn’t evil because he did evil things. He was evil because he knew they were wrong before he did them, and he did them anyway.

“I have to,” he mumbled weakly. Was that a lie? Verity would know. “I have no choice.”

“Yes you do,” Sigurd said, releasing his grip and stepping back, “Yes you do, you’re just too much of a coward to admit it. You’re so desperate to play happy families. I can see it in you, and so can Lorelei. All you want is to be useful to people, even if it’s for the Allmothers, who treat you like shit. You do their fucking dirty work and they kick you around and you love it, because you get to be part of their rotten little story.”

Loki stared at him, suddenly feeling utterly, entirely tired beyond belief. Sigurd could not tell him anything that he did not tell himself.

“You’re a coward. You’re a fucking coward who does everything the Allmothers ask of you. One moment you sneer at them up there, in Asgard, and pretend that you and me and Lorelei are all in the same boat, but the next moment you bare your neck to them. One day they’re going to ask you to hurt someone you really care about, and you know what? You’ll do it. They’ll ask you to hurt Thor, or Verity, and you’ll do it without a second thought because you’re a coward, Loki, and you always will be.”

His breath caught in his throat. “I wouldn’t hurt Verity.”

“Yes, you would. If someone put it on a tapestry you’d do it in a fucking heartbeat.”

“I see, well,” he paused, looked to his right to avoid Sigurd’s gaze. “I’ll let you get back to sleep I suppose.”

Sigurd reached out to grab him, but he was gone before he had a chance.

—

Received FRI 2:08

Verity: hey u coming back tonight or what

Verity: im assuming ur working

Verity: if u are there’s leftover pasta bake in the fridge. Ik you hate leftovers but its on offer. Im off to bed, night!

Received FRI 11:02

Verity: hey called lorelei to check in on you and she says you and sig aren’t talking. She didnt seem thrilled w you either. U ok?

Verity: call me if you get the chance ok

Received MON 15:47

Verity: yh ok this is cringe but please call. Im worried

Verity: you usually lmk when youre gone this long and sig was being suspicious

Verity: i asked him if hed seen you and he like laughed

Verity: idk maybe hed be more concerned if something had happened but u guys dont exactly have a normal expectation for health and safety in the workplace

Received WED 23:21

Verity: please call i’m worried

Verity: please

Received THU 18:54

Verity: you’re a fucking idiot

Verity: I hate you

Received THU 19:02

Verity: i didn’t mean that

Verity: sorry.

Verity: please do call. please

Verity wasn’t the only one texting him, which would have done wonders for his ego if it had been anywhere near still intact, but she was the only one who’s texts he kept re reading, scanning them obsessively and trying to convince himself he was doing the right thing.

The thing that nagged him though, was how would he know what the right thing was?

All his life, the right thing was whatever was in stride with where he was determined to end up. The path had been laid out for him - all he had to do was walk it. But, though the Norns had written out his beginning, his end, his great misdeeds and stories, they hadn’t written about things like whether he should get KFC or not, whether he’d be good at Mario Party or what dog breed was his favourite (alsatian). They had never had the name Verity Lewis brush their lips.

Because this world was untethered. It simply wasn’t important enough for the Norns to have seen. Did that mean that they were free, here? Was that bad or good? To Loki, who despite everything had spent an eternity comfortable in the knowledge that he knew what would happen, and that the future was clear to him as long as he could stand in the halls he’d grown up in and stare at the tapestries on the walls, the idea of absolute undetermined fate was deeply terrifying. It caught in his throat, wrapped around his heart, squeezed the warmth out of his chest.

But Sigurd was right, and so he had a decision to make.

There were people walking around under him, where he sat perched on the roof of a Soviet era apartment building in Brno. They didn’t know what would happen to them, how many kids they’d have, whether they’d marry or how they’d die. They didn’t know any of that, and that meant they could decide.

Huh.

He stumbled when he flashed in, and his hand reached out steady himself against the wall. The lights were off, but after a couple of seconds he heard a slight clutter from Verity’s room. Taking a deep breath he made his way to the kitchen and sat down at the bar. He didn’t bother to switch the light on, instead just collapsed into the chair and placed his head in his hands.

The lights switched on. “Loki?”

He peeked at her from between his fingers. Verity stared at him as if she couldn’t quite decide whether to be angry or happy. She was squinting (she wasn’t wearing glasses - she must have been asleep). He must have looked suitably miserable because instead of launching into a tirade she narrowed her eyes and slowly moved to sit opposite him, as if trying to tame some vicious creature. Apt, perhaps.

Their silence hung very heavily. “I’m sorry,” Loki eventually said, mortified to hear a crack in his voice from disuse.

She watched him carefully. “I forgive you,” she replied. Not ‘it’s okay’, because Verity found lying, even unconsciously, very difficult. “Can you tell me what’s up?”

By ‘can’, Loki knew that Verity was asking as if this was something related to his work for the Allmothers, but he found that even though this wasn’t any secret mission detail he was forbidden from sharing, he still found it hard to describe.

“I mean,” he muttered, breaking away from her stare. “Where would you like me to start?”

“Wherever you want to?”

He swallowed. “I had to steal something from Sigurd. Gram-” She opened her mouth and he jerked his shoulders defensively. “Please let me just explain. The Allmothers asked me too. I knew that if I did it it would put Sig and Lorelei’s relative safety at a significant risk. But,” he paused, bit his lip, horrified by the lump in his throat. “Even though I knew it was the wrong thing to do, and that all of you, all of my friends, would think less of me because of it, I had to do it. I had to do it because if I don’t do things that are wrong, that are bad, I am not filling the role that I am set out to fill, that I have always been set out to fill.

“There are tapestries, in Asgard,” he explained, a wobble entering his tone. “They’ve been there since before me, before my parents, before anyone. They were woven by the Norns, who see all of the past, the present and the future. They were woven so that we, who will be images of all the people of the Nine Realms and who will serve as a reflection of their large and varied communion, could know where we fit and what roles we are to play. And I’m a villain, Verity. I am the bad guy, because someone has got to be. There are people who actively choose to be bad and evil and selfish all over the shop, and someone has to represent them in the grand scheme of things. And, mainly, I have to keep everyone’s hands clean by making mine dirty.”

Her hands reached steadily out, grabbed one of his and held it between them. They were tears threatening to fall now, and they choked up his voice.

“So I do what the Allmothers ask me to, and I antagonise Thor, and I play my part as the bad guy of the story so that one day that story may be told to children as they are tucked into bed, so that they know that immorality causes you nothing but strife. I am supposed to have that strife, and through this my immorality is good and right, because I am an example.”

He paused. “Sigurd said I would hurt you, if they asked me to.”

“Would you?” she asked.

A second passed. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’d rather not risk it, but I thought you at least deserved an explanation for my sudden disappearance.”

She leaned back then, stared out their windows and onto the road beneath them, still busy despite the hour. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“Dare I ask?” he chuckled wetly.

Her voice was firm. “I think that’s bullshit. I know you’re telling the truth, that you might hurt me if your Moms asked you. But I think you don’t know that that’s not true, which is why it’s registering as right to me.”

He squinted at her in confusion.

“You believe it,” she explained. “Which is why it’s registering as true to me. But that doesn’t mean you would, it just means you don’t think you’re a good person, and that’s not news.

“You see yourself as some kind of cut-out character with one trait, a yin to Thor’s yang or some shit, but you only think that’s all real because people have told you it is. Who’s to say those tapestries are anything? I think that you - all of you Asgardians - are terrified of being unmoored, so you make up shit like this so that you don’t have to grapple with morality.”

He tried to interrupt, but Verity continued. “You’re all terrified of life, so you pretend it’s one big play you’re putting on for our benefit, with roles and lines so that you needn’t make ‘em up. But you know what? Why don’t you just try? Try to improvise. Break away from it all. Maybe those tapestries do mean something, but maybe they just come true because you all keep doing what they say.

“You’re not the bad guy in a play, Loki,” she told him, her voice full of emotion and her hand rubbing his. It was just enough to keep him tethered to reality, he thought. “You’re my friend. You’re funny, and flippant. You don’t like to talk about your emotions. You don’t have great self-esteem and you kick ass at Jenga. You’re playing a part, but you know the thing about actors? They have lives when they get off the stage, and you could too.”

His boots echoed across the ground as he climbed the short hill to his destination. It was dust, not dirt, that he trod on, and the air was stale and cloyed in his lungs. It was the kind of air that felt like it didn’t blow, but just hung in the air for eternity, older than you by indescribable amounts.

No one went here. It was unplottable by some working laid down long before even the beginning of Asgardian history. It had taken Loki four days to crack, because 1) he’d spent all of his non-eating, non-sleeping time in the last couple of days focused on it, 2) he’d already made a groundwork as a teenager before his mother had told him off for meddling in things he shouldn’t have been and 3) he was pretty fucking good. Really, the only reason he hadn’t touched it before was because as he became a man, he grew to respect the Norns. Things had changed.

“Hello!” he called, not surprised to find the three women staring at him, likely well aware of his arrival for at least eternity, or something.

“Liesmith,” Lady Verdandi spoke in a low, powerful voice. “You have come to rattle the chains that you feel resting upon your shoulders.”

“Yep,” he responded, popping the ‘p’.

“These chains,” Skuld said in a tight voice. “Are imaginary.”

“No actually,” he said, beginning to pace around the room. “You see, I don’t really care if they’re ‘imaginary’ or whatever. I actually am just here to let you know that I’m just going to be kind of doing my own thing from now on.”

“Your ‘own thing’?” Urd sneered. “ You do not have your ‘own thing’. The fate we have laid out for you is everything you are.”

“Everything I am is just a mask. A mask that you put on me!”

“Oh? That implies something on which a mask can be put. Is there anything under your mask, Loki? Do you even know?”

“Well, I guess I’m going to find out,” he ground out. They were sat down, staring up at him, and he felt unnervingly like he was still a child who had been summoned to his father’s study to receive an admonishment for troublemaking.

“You will find out,” Verdandi explained calmly. “That you are mistaken, and that you will play your part in the fate that will become and will end and will begin again, whether you try to fight against it or not.”

“So that’s it then?” Loki said softly, although his voice still echoed across the ancient walls that enclosed him. “There’s no path to grace for me. I’m your villainous fool, cast in this grand play so that your heroes may show their virtue in my vanquishment. I’m good when I’m bad, and I’m bad when I’m good.”

He paused, and stared her down.

“Well, I’m afraid I’d rather be bad on my own terms, actually.”

Verdandi had opened her mouth to say something else, probably something even more patronising, but before she had the chance Loki had stepped between reality and left Nornheim and its frigid, stale air behind him.

“Saw you coming,” the Watcher said when Loki stepped out in front of him.

Loki smiled. “Naturally,”

Heimdall sat tiredly on the Bifröst’s lock. Loki noticed with a sort of jolt that Heimdall was getting old. Maybe they all were. “What is it you would like from me, my prince?”

“Oh nothing really,” he answered. “I just thought I should let someone know that I will be unable to complete the most recent mission that the Allmothers have given me. In fact, perhaps you could let them know that I’m putting in my two week’s notice, so to speak? Although I’m not really giving them any notice, let alone two weeks.”

“Oh? Might I ask what has brought this on, your highness?”

Loki crossed his arms. “I’m trying this new thing called ‘making your own destiny’. All the cool kids are doing it.”

Heimdall nodded. He wouldn’t have been able to have viewed Loki’s conversation with the Norns, but he would have seen what Verity had said. “I wish you luck, dear child,” he said softly.

Loki’s smile turned quiet and genuine for just a moment, before he turned away and took a few steps. Wait! He had something else to mention.

He looked back at Heimdall.

“By the way, maybe I am going to kill you someday,” he said. “”But I promise that I’m going to try my damndest not to.”

With that, he stepped back into New York, and headed towards Dominoes to pick up their pizza. They were doing movie night, he and Verity. They were going to watch Legally Blonde. Loki thought about - What was her name? Susie? Sarah? He thought maybe she was right, in the end. Maybe it was a gift to believe in what can’t be seen, and thus a gift to follow darkened paths. But the path that brought him home felt warm and reliable, just like it always did.

#this is nothing #really its just an attempt to see if i can write something 5k+#so its not good #but hey #loki #loki agent of asgard #agent of asgard #verity lewis #loki fic

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