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elia-de-silentio · 3 years

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The overarching themes of Vanitas no Carte: Identity

The Case Study of Vanitas is a very good, too little known manga (I hope the anime changes something), with some central themes than are exposed in different ways through different characters. In this meta, I want to explore one that was brought to my attention pretty recently: here a little examination on the various ways to face one's own identity in The Case Study of Vanitas.

The Stable Identity( Noè)

Let's start off with the positives, shall we? Noè has probably the most secure personal identity of all the bunch.

And this is pretty amazing, considering everything he went through. He has no memory of his birth family, but gets adopted by some nice people - who die shortly afterwards. Right at their graves, he is kidnapped by slaves, in an accident that left him injured. Then he is bought by someone who actually treats him nicely and is a good mentor for him, he finds many friends his age - and then one of them, the one he was closest to, turns out to be a cursebearer, kills all of the others and then tries to kill him; he is saved by the mentor, who beheads the friend right in front of him. The most immediate emotion is relief for being alive, and he will always feel terrible for that. Then, he has to witness his surviving friend try to cope very badly with her mourning by repressing her identity and try to substitute it with that of her dead twin. That's a lot.

And Noé reacted to all of this by becoming a confident person, kind and attentive to others, but not to the point of being a pushover. I'm not saying he walked away unscathed from the events of his childhood: he regrets the way he handled things with Louis, the way he didn't understand him, and has developed quite the savior complex as a result.

What I'm saying is that he is probably one of the very few well-adjusted people in the psychiatric ward that is Vanitas no Carte. He is still questioning himself, but in a normal way for a nineteen-years-old that has just left a sheltered environment for the big wide world. He is aware of some of his strenghts (his naivete) and is realizing others (putting unfair expectations on other people, underestimating other people due to racial biases); but most importantly, when he realizes these mistakes, he doesn't run away from them or obsess over them believing they make him a horrible person: he recognizes them, apologizes to the wronged person if necessary, and works on improving them.

This isn't to say he's completely happy-go-lucky with no regrets; he feels guilty about being relieved that he lived while Louis died, and he has a lot of uncertainties regarding his identity as an Archiviste and the impact his powers can have on other people. But he managed not to tie his entire identity to that guilt; and as for the second point, Teacher helped him rationalise that and figure out a conduit that didn't undermine him and at the same time showed respect for others. Noè went through several traumas, but received one thing most of the cast didn't: guidance and support from his environment. Whatever Teacher's actual motives are, he shaped a well-balanced person.

The Group Identity (The dhamps, appearently 99% of vampirekind)

"Us dhams are only loyal to each other!" This is what Dante says in one of the first chapters, giving us the first clues to their status as outcasts.

The war between humans and vampires ended up with each deciding to keep to themselves, but dhampires are the living exception to that silent agreement. So, both societies decide to reject them, and they can't find a place in the world unless they stick to others of their own kind. This common history of traumatic experiences of abandonment and subsequent resentment of both human and vampire society for it goes on to create a very strong group identity: the only ones they give a damn about are those like them, everyone else is a potential enemy and is only good to be exploited.

Then, we have the vampire culture. I mean ... it might be because insofar we have met almost exclusively aristocrats obsessed with their respectability ... but they have a lot of prejudices.

You're born under a uncommon moon? You're a pariah. You're mixed race? You're a pariah. Your parents committed a crime? You're a pariah, and are used as a tool. You're born as part of a set of twins? Either you or your sibling are killed at birth, because of something that is SAID, not even a certified element of vampire biology. You're stuck with a curse? You're executed, no attempts to heal you.

Their society seems to run on an ideal model of person which depends on factors outside the individual's control, and whoever doesn't fit this description and deviates from the group in any shape or form gets ridiculously fierce punishment. They make the freaking Church look good by comparison, at least their repressive and racist side is composed of extremists instead of everymen.

The Clan Identity (Chloé, and partially Noé again)

Chloé identifies with a group of people too; but it's not a race, it's a family. The D'Apchier family, the nobles who are responsible for Gevaudan. Her father made sure she had this idea in her right from the start, and she interiorized it.

And this had mixed results: while on the one hand she was chained to self-loathing by the guilt of having accidentally caused the massacre of the family and was only saved by Jeanne and Jean-Jacques reclaiming her as part of theirs, on the other she was able to resist to Naenia because of the love and responsibility she felt towards the people of Gevaudan. Chloé is, at this point, the only curse-bearer who managed to trick and attempted to fight directly against Charlatan.

Then there is Noé in relation to his Archiviste identity. He seems to think of it mainly in negative terms, very conscious of the living invasion of privacy it turns him into ... and nothing else. We have never seen him wonder about who his birth parents were, ask himself why he doesn't remember anything, why was the clan exterminated, or how he feels about being a survivor, one of the only ones if not outright the only. He sees his heritage as a burden,and hasn't thought of it in any different term. I wonder how a change in perspective could impact the above 'stable identity'.

The Someone Else's Identity (Vanitas, Dominique)

I already dedicated a whole post to this trait they share, so I'll be short: both Vanitas and Dominique hate themselves and try to become something worthy by taking elements of people they admire: Louis for Dominique, a combination of his birth father and Luna for Vanitas.

The Object Identity (Jeanne)

The very first thing Jeanne was said in her whole life was that she was an object. A vessel for something (or someone?) else, who mustn't have feelings or desires of her own. Encouraging, isn't it?

Luckily, this wasn't all she got in life. Soon afterwards, she was adopted by Eric and Louise, who loved her a lot, received kindness by Ruthven, met Chloé who became an older sister to her. Unluckily, all of this was taken away from her in the most cruel way possible.

She couldn't make any sense of her parents's betrayal and death, and the way her life suddenly changed; she rationalised it by telling herself that it was her fault, if she had been just the good object everyone told her to be nothing would have happened. So she accepts the Object Identity: she is a tool, so she doesn't feel, she exists only to obey orders, and as long as she is nobody else will ever suffer. It gets even worse after she fails to kill Chloè: she couldn't fulfill her duties, and both her and her big sis suffered for it. This mindset traps her in a world of pain, but also prevents her from facing the fact that she is subject to a senseless injustice, one she has no control over.

Vanitas managed to help her with that. He validated her feelings, and showed her that nobody had to die if she had them, solving the situation with Chloé and Jean-Jacques. This gave her a nice confidence boost, returning her to the cheerful attitude she had as a young girl; the consequences of this change remain to be seen.

The Unknown Identity (Luna)

This one is interesting because Luna themselves is pretty explicit about it. They see themselves as something 'other', who is outside commonly used categorization; starting with 'male or female' (and here I am left wondering if they had specific sexual characteristics but didn't feel like they 'fit', or were intersex and nonbinary, or had an entirely different biology from both vampires and humans).

Luna doesn't like this condition: they said they tried to figure out what they were, to understand themselves, and they regret doing so now. Why? Maybe they didn't find any answer and were left perpetually unsatisfied, or they found an answer, and they found it to be awful?

Still, this indicates Luna has never been particularly happy with themselves, and this found no resolution. And then they died. Nice, uh?

Well, I think this was all. There are other characters I would like to know more about in regard to this, like Ruthven, Marquis Machina, and Mikhail, but there is still time.

All in all, I'd say Vanitas no Carte explores the theme of identity pretty throughly; many character arcs are still in progress, and I'm interested about how things will develope especially for Vanitas, Dominique and Jeanne.

Thanks to anyone who bothered to read my ramblings!

#vnc #vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #vnc meta #vnc analysis #vnc noe #vnc chloé #vnc vanitas #vnc dominique #vnc jeanne #vnc luna #elia's recaps

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batsandbugs · 3 years

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Bats Bugs and Boomerangs Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone, coming at you with another series! This is actually for a late secret santa gift exchange! My recipient was @m3owww! Her fandoms were Maribat and Avatar the Last Airbender, so I thought: Why not both? She already had a Maribat characters in the show type fic, so I created a fic where they watched the show. It slowly spiraled out of control though, so this is Chapter 1. I’ll eventually have the batfam (and Marinette) react to the whole series, so comment here and on ao3 what you want to see. So Phi, this is kinda like the gift that will keep on giving? Maybe? I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy!

Our story begins on a frosty winter evening, outside Gotham at Wayne Manor. Marinette sat in the library working on an assignment for her History of Fashion class. She was alone, because Damian, Dick, Tim, and Bruce were out on patrol, with Barbara on comms. Tikki, unless eating or involved with a transformation, spent her time sleeping due to the freezing weather. While the other Kwami either resided in the box or roamed the grounds, and generally stayed out of the human's way.

Marinette gazed out the window, snow falling softly through the air, covering the ground and the tree branches. A crackling fire warmed the room. She shifted, and a painful ache shot through her leg. Marinette glared at the offending appendage, which was the reason she wasn’t out with the team tonight.

Her Miraculous could cure any injury sustained on the battlefield, it didn’t help her one bit when it came to her own natural clumsiness. She hadn’t paid attention as she’d walked out of class one evening. The dim lighting hid a black ice patch and she slipped and fell. Thankfully, her ankle was only sprained and not broken, but she would be out of commission for at least two weeks. Probably more if Alfred got his way.

Speaking of the elderly butler, he strode into the room carrying a tray of tea and cookies.

“Good evening Miss. Marinette. Need another refreshment?”

She sighed at the cold coffee dregs in her mug. “That would be nice, thank you, Alfred.”

He hummed, grabbing a teacup, and pouring her a serving. “How does your leg feel today? I notice you were leaning heavily on Master Damian after supper.” He handed the cup to her and the warmth was a welcome sensation for her chilled hands.

“Yeah, he’s been nice helping me around.” Nice was a misnomer, more like extremely overprotective. He point-blank refused for her to stay at her own apartment, mostly due to its location on the fourth floor with no elevator access. He all but forced her to watch him pack her essentials to bring to the manor while she recovered. Since then, his attentiveness in ensuring she had what she needed within reach and helping her to class had grown. It was a tad smothering considering his usual aloofness, but she enjoyed his actions for the affection it implied.

“It’s throbbing and hot and feels worse than it did three days ago.” She took a tiny sip of the tea and relaxed into its spiced aroma. Alfred made the best tea.

He nodded. “It will feel uncomfortable for a while until it starts to mend. Just continue to rest and remain off it and you will be back to carousing around the city like the rest of them in no time.” He poured his own tea and seated himself in the plush armchair across from her spot on the couch.

“Oh, Alfred you say that as if you would not be right there along with us if age allowed,” said Marinette with a grin. The stories Dusu could recount about the elderly miraculous holder were nothing short of entertaining, and she knew damn well Alfred had the same need for action as the rest of the Waynes and their assorted allies.

“I’d do nothing of the sort,” he said primly, taking a sip of his tea to hide the tiny smirk on his face. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh.

The rest of the evening was spent in pleasant silence. Despite the pain in her leg Marinette pushed through it and finished her assignment, while Alfred read until it neared time when patrol ended. He bustled up the remains of the tea and promise her a fresh cup when he finished seeing everyone arrive safely.

Later, although she could not say how long, she was buried deep in a book and didn’t notice when Damian entered the room until he sat next to her on the couch.

“Good evening angel.” His hair flopped in his eyes, loose and damp from the shower. In his hands, he held a tray with two cups of steaming tea.

“Thanks.” She took the proffered cup of tea with a smile. “How was patrol?”

“Boring,” he sighed. “You certainly are not missing anything.” If he wouldn’t have taken offense to it, Marinette would have described the look on his face as a pout.

“What about the drug seller Tim tracked to the lower docks?”

Damian shrugged. “Gone silent after we busted the last shipment. Seventeen years in and maybe the criminals finally figured out committing crimes in the same city as a relentless vigilante team is a bad idea,” he said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Marinette couldn’t stop herself from giggling. It was a common joke among the family that Gotham’s criminals never learned.

“I think it means we’re doing our job right,” said Tim walking in with a steaming mug. Marinette opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Don’t worry, it’s decaf.”

“Like Pennyworth would let him drink anything else this time of night,” scoffed Damian, while taking a sip of his tea.

“I’m perfectly capable of monitoring my own caffeine intake, thanks,” Tim said in offense, seating himself across from the couch in the reading chair previously abandoned by Alfred.

“No, you’re not,” called a voice from the hallway. Dick walked in with a large mug of what was undoubtedly hot chocolate. “The last time he didn’t check your drink after patrol, you used coffee instead of water to brew another pot, and then added four whole bottles of five-hour energy. You didn’t sleep for three days.”

“I also solved five crimes, figured out where the Penguin was hiding, and streamlined the dropbox submission system for Wayne Industries. Life requires tradeoffs.”

“No that’s just you, ignoring basic human necessities. Anyway, besides Tim’s caffeine addiction, what are we talking about?” asked Dick.

“The reason for the lack of crime,” offered Marinette.

Dick shrugged, “Happens every year because of the weather. Even criminals get cold. They’ll return to their usual transgressions once the weather warms.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Tt. Weak,” muttered Damian.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Not everyone receives extreme weather training under threat of dismemberment, demon brat. We should take the opportunity to enjoy the break.”

“Tim, your version of a “break” involves paperwork,” chided Dick.

“It’s not my fault the rest of you people don’t have lives. I’m a remarkably busy person. And what is this, the-criticize-Tim-hour?”

“Oh, only an hour?” smirked Damian. “I thought it was a continuous event, one could choose to participate in whenever the mood struck. I will have to file all my complaints immediately.”

Tim pouted. “Marinette,” he whined. “Can’t you control him?”

She shrugged, “What do you expect me to do? I’m his girlfriend, not his minder. Besides, they criticize because they care.” She laughed when all three boys snarled their noses at the prospect of feelings.

“Marinette, angel, please; never say that again. I criticize because I am right, and they should know it. Not because of any high-minded ideals such as genuine affection.”

“Okay, okay, enough,” said Dick. “If we have a bit of a break, we should do something! Together, as a family. I think Cass and Steph come back in two days.”

“Grayson, just because your girlfriend is off-world visiting family and you have nothing to do does not mean it holds true for the rest of us.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Tim, “Except not quite, because I don’t have a girlfriend, but I just said I’m busy. R&D is rolling out a new prototype next week, and I have two board meetings scheduled and-”

“Not to mention,” Marinette cut Tim off. He could talk about his schedule forever because he just had that many events. “I can’t move around, what would we even do? Play games?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “The list of games officially banned in our family includes, but is not limited to; Monopoly, Uno, Checkers, Risk, Risk: Legacy, Twister, Jenga, Clue, Guess Who, Poker, Chess, and Go Fish.”

“Oh…” muttered Marinette.

“And that doesn’t even include videogames.”

“After the Wii Bowling incident of 2013, the media room wall was never the same,” Dick said, shaking his head in despair.

“I actually apologized for that, okay?” exclaimed Damian. “Why do you always have to bring it up?”

Marinette fully intended to ask about the incident later. “Okay, so games are out.”

“Ooh,” Dick’s eyes lit up, “How about we call a Family T.V. Event?”

Tim groaned, “The last time we did that we blew up the shed, and got the police called.”

“Well, we won’t watch a crime show.” Dick turned to Marinette. “Jason picked; we watched Breaking Bad.”

“I can see how that would spiral out of control.”

“The time before that, we set fire to the media room and started a familial feud,” Damian pointed out. “Game of Thrones,” he added when Marinette looked to him for clarification.

“Even worse.”

“Okay, fine, so we don’t have the best track record picking shows. But I swear I have a good one this time.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Avatar: The Last Airbender.”

Tim snorted. “What? Like the kid’s show?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Really Grayson, a cartoon? I know you are developmentally stuck at five, but not all of us are.”

“I’ve never watched it, but I’ve heard good things about it,” said Marinette. She knew there was a French translation of the show, but she preferred to watch media in its original language. Before moving to America, before dating Damian, her English had not been strong enough to confidently watch a show and understand all of it.

“Perfect!” exclaimed Dick. “I know you three and Cass haven’t seen it, and neither has Bruce or Alfred. I would bet Jason’s seen some of it, but I’ll have to check. Barbara and I have, but that’s fine, she loves the show. We’ll have to see about Steph too, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy it regardless. There are awesome characters, battles, suspense, comedy, and it’s not likely going to inspire us to blow up the shed or tear each other to pieces!”

“I have in no way agreed to this Grayson. Drake back me up.”

Tim paused for a moment, stuck between his need to disagree with Damian and the need to get out of Dick’s crazy plan. Unfortunately for Damian, the former won out. “Actually, you know what, a show could be fun. The episodes are what, thirty minutes? Shorter than Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones.”

Damian groaned while Dick responded happily, ignoring his brother’s distress, “Around twenty minutes actually. We could have the whole show finished in about a week or so.”

Damian turned to her, eyes wide and hopeful. “Marinette, please tell me you are on my side?”

She patted her boyfriend’s arm, “Sorry, mon amour, I’m stuck either way. Might as well watch a show.”

Damian flopped against the couch with a pout. “Betrayed. I have been grievously betrayed by my own brothers and girlfriend. What is this world coming to?”

“Woo!” exclaimed Dick, a wide grin splitting his face. “This is going to be great.”

“This is going to be awful,” moaned Damian.

-0-0-

It took a bit of convincing on the part of Dick to get Bruce and Alfred to agree to the venture. Marinette, after learning the full details of the last two Family T.V. Events, was wholly unsurprised. She also did not know the full extent of what Dick did to get Jason to agree (apparently, he and Bruce were fighting, again, so this was expected.) although it probably involved a bribe. But by the week’s end, the entire family was together, all under strict orders (and puppy-dog eyes from Dick) to be on their best behavior.

Which, without a doubt, not a single one of them knew what that entailed.

The arguing started with seating placement, then about who controlled the remote, then over the distribution of snacks, drinks, blankets, and pillows. At one point Jason pulled a knife, which prompted Damian to pull his knife, suddenly Cass had two shurikens visible (where she even kept them while wearing a tank top and shorts, no one could say), and then everyone was yelling with sharp pointy objects in hand.

Once the argument was firmly under control, Alfred collected the weapons and placed them in a wicker basket, along with all the mobile devices, until the episodes for the night were finished. The only one allowed to have a phone was Barbara who was in charge of checking police scanners for any major trouble while the family took the evening off.

Marinette seated herself curled up against Damian on the edge of the couch. She set her foot propped up on an ottoman so it wouldn’t get jostled, and she could continue to ice it throughout the evening. Damian secured their own bowl of popcorn, so they didn’t have to share it with the others.

“Alright, here’s how we’re breaking this down,” announced Dick, who won the battle for the remote, and therefore the episode schedule. “The episodes are short, at least, much shorter than the last show we watched.” He directed a pointed look at Jason.

“I make no apologies.”

“We’ll watch half a season a day, ten episodes apiece. The closed captions will be on but try to keep the chatter to a minimum.” Marinette held back a laugh. Damian explained no one kept quiet during these nights. Watching the show wasn’t the point of these events; if that were the case then they would just watch it all on their own time. The point was the time spent together. This is why even Bruce, emotionally constipated and single-minded in his pursuits as he was, put away the suit for a few days to watch T.V. with the rest of his collected family. Talking was expected.

“We will, if you will,” called Stephanie.

“I take offense to that.”

“Aw just sit Dickie, let’s watch the show,” exclaimed Jason.

“Yes, Grayson you already wrapped us into this pointless venture; we might as well get it over with,” Damian grumbled. Marinette found his hand in the folds of their shared blanket and laced her fingers with his. He squeezed her hand, and, when he was sure no one else was looking gave her a small smile. Marinette smiled back, he pretended to be such a grouch, but deep down he was a giant softy at heart.

Dick frowned, saying “Fine, fine, you don’t have to be spoilsports about it.” And pointed the remote at the T.V. starting the first episode.

-0-0-

It didn’t take ten seconds before the commentary began.

“Four elements?” exclaimed Tim. “Are you serious? I could name at least a dozen off the top of my head. How are there only four nations? 0/10 completely unrealistic. Political infighting alone-”

“Ah, shut up, replacement.”

“Ruthless fire nation?” said Stephanie. “Methinks a little propaganda might be occurring here.”

“A hundred years!? What, has no one competent been born the entire time?”

Marinette shrugged. “The disadvantages of finite magic systems, Dami. It's learned indifference.”

“Honey, after a hundred years that’s not hoping, that’s naivety,” said Stephanie in response to Katara’s impassioned speech.

“She’s right!” exclaimed Dick.

“We know that, but she doesn’t.”

The show moved on to Katara and Sokka in a boat. Sokka held a spear above the water.

“Is he hunting that fish?” growled Damian.

“Ah yeah, I forgot you may hate the entirety of Sokka’s character,” said Dick with a grimace. “Whoops.”

“She’s not very good at the water moving, is she?” asked Marinette

“Waterbending,” Dick and Barbara said in unison.

Sokka chided Katara about her weird water magic. “Oh, he’s not going to be a dick for the whole show, is he?” asked Steph.

“He gets better.”

“They grew up here right?” asked Damian, as Katara and Sokka become caught in a rapid. “How did they not anticipate an event like this.”

“I knew I should have left you at home. Leave it to a girl to screw things up!”

“HEY!” shouted all the women in the room.

They watched as Katara’s fury built and broke the iceberg behind her.

“Good. Use anger, anger is alright,” Cass commented for the first time.

“Okay, you’ve gone from weird, to freakish.”

“This punk is just asking for a beating isn’t he,” growled Jason.

The beam of energy shot into the air after Katara and Sokka broke open the ice. “That’s not going to cause any trouble,” said Tim, rolling his eyes. “Nope, not suspicious or completely conspicuous at all.”

The scene switches to a metal ship.

“Finally! Uncle, do you realize what this means?”

“Oh, look, the bad guys,” deadpanned Tim. “I was right.”

Jason grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into his mouth “What happened to his fucked-up fa-”

“YOU’LL FIND OUT!”

The scene switched back to Katara and Sokka. The figure is revealed to be a hyperactive little kid.

Damian frowned“Oh, I won’t like him either, will I Grayson?”

Dick tilted his head, “Eh.”

Then Appa is introduced.

“Father, could we-”

“No, Damian.”

They watched the children depart, and the scene moved back to the Fire Nation ship.

“Even if you're right, and the Avatar is alive, you won't find him. Your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all tried and failed.”

“Well considering the Airbender child has been in an iceberg, it’s not surprising they failed.”

“Because their honor didn't hinge on the Avatar's capture. Mine does. This coward's hundred years in hiding are over.”

“Is it just me or does this angry, emo prince remind anyone of demon spawn?”

“Todd, shut your mouth before I remove your tongue.”

Marinette leaned in close, “Maybe just a little like you.” Damian looked at her with a betrayed pout.

The scene switched and they watched Aang lie to Katara about the Avatar.

“The air child is guilty. Will cause problems later.”

“Narrative Cass, it’s narrative.”

Damian scoffed. “Miscommunication is plot convenience, and it’s a sloppy one at that.”

They watched Aang’s dream of how he ended up in the iceberg, him waking up to Katara and his introduction to the village.

“Well, no one has seen an Airbender in a hundred years. We thought they were extinct until my granddaughter and grandson found you.”

“Extinct?”

“He went into the ice and woke up to find the world different. Anyone getting serious Captain America vibes here?” said Jason, tone-deaf to the clear horror on Aang's face.

“Jason, he just found out his people potentially went extinct!” chided Marinette.

“It's not for stabbing! It's for air bending.”

“Please tell me the main character is not a pacifist,” begged Damian.

“Well, he is a monk,” said Barbara with a sorry look.

“I sense he's filled with much wisdom,” Katara says as Aang sticks his tongue to his staff and it freezes.

“I switch back and forth between liking this girl and not. One second she’s got gumption, and the next she’s all starry-eyed and naïve,” grumbled Steph.

“I wonder who that reminds me of,” Damian whispered into Marinette’s ear. She felt her cheeks heat up.

"I'm not naive," she shot back.

He raised a hand with two fingers close but not touching, "You're a little naive." Marinette huffed, but silently admitted to her boyfriend's point. She had a tendency to believe the best in people; she saw it as a strength and appreciated it in this Katara character, but it was so far from how Damian viewed the world, it honestly confused his siblings when they first started dating.

Damian confided in her that he found it inspiring. She had been through so much, understood the cruelties of others, and still could see the good in people.

The scene switched to the Fire Nation ship again, and Iroh explained the concept of firebending to an irate Prince Zuko.

“Finally, a display of actual competence,” exclaimed Damian.

“Enough! I've been drilling this sequence all day. Teach me the next set! I'm more than ready!”

“My tutors would have skewered me if I dared to act in such a manner,” he commented again, softer than the first time. More so that only Marinette could hear. Damian’s family was more than aware of his childhood and what it entailed; Marinette slowly learned with comments like this. She squeezed his hand again and received a small smile.

The scene shifted back to the village where Sokka’s failed “warrior lesson” occurred, and then-

“We don't have time for fun and games with the War going on!”

“What war? What are you talking about?”

“Where have you been, frozen in ice for a hundred years?” joked Dick.

They watched Aang offer to take Katara to the North Pole to find a water bending master. The two children go and play with the penguin creatures, but the tone shifted when an old Fire Nation ship appeared on the screen.

“Bad ship” muttered Cass.

“If you want to be a bender, you have to let go of fear.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start,” said Tim.

They watch Aang and Katara enter the Fire Nation Ship and wander talking about the war.

“Aang, how long were you in that iceberg?”

“I don't know. A few days, maybe?”

“I think it was more like a hundred years!”

“Are you kidding me?” yelled Jason. “How are they just figuring this out now?”

On-screen Aang stepped on the line of wire, tripping the traps.

“Tt. Amateurs.”

"See, she told him it would be a bad idea!"

A flare rises through the air.

“That’s not going to cause any-”

“Oh, shut up Tim.”

The Fire Prince once again appeared on the screen.

“The last Airbender!”

“I was right,” he mumbled.

The screen faded to the credits, and Dick turned to the group.

“So? What do you think?”

“Slow.”

“Nobody has any sense.”

“Are any of the characters actually likable?”

He frowned. “Okay, okay, so the first episode isn’t the best. I swear it gets better. Back me up here Barb.”

Barbara nodded. “He’s right, it takes a few episodes to build the characters up and we see some genuine action. But by mid-season, I swear you’ll be hooked. And then we’ll get to season two and the best characters will arrive.”

“Hey,” Dick exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. “No spoilers.”

“I thought it was fun,” Marinette offered. “It’s very clearly a kid’s show, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” She wasn’t going to say each and every person in the room had childhood traumas, and a show full of lighthearted fun was probably just what they needed. She could think it, but she wouldn’t say it.

“Thank you, Marinette,” said Dick with a smile.

“I rather enjoyed the elderly tea drinker,” intoned Alfred. “He’s more than he appears to be.”

“Uncle Iroh? Yeah, he’s the best!” commented Barbara. "But everyone is great."

“Alright, episode one finished, nine more to go.”

“Let’s hope it’s more enjoyable than the last,” uttered Damian, a chorus of agreement followed his statement, but when the show started up everyone grew quiet again.

Marinette was sure whatever happened next, it was bound to be interesting.

Tag List (Although it is on ao3 too)

@m3owww @your-resident-chimken-nuggie @loveswifi @fusser90@animegirlweeb @ihavehomeworkbutistillhere

#damian x marinette #maribat #maridami #damimari #mlb crossover #ml x dc #marinette dupain cheng x damian wayne #marinette dupain-cheng x damian wayne #moodboard #damientte #damianette #marinnette dupain cheng x damian wayne #mlb x dc #characters watch the show #maribat watching atla

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rollychan · 3 years

Text

Okay, turns out I have more to say about the first Loki series episode already.

But first a preface/disclaimer: 1) I welcome all opinions if they’re stated respectfully / without any insulting of or jibing at others or other groups of fans (I mean it, any “some fans *rollyeyes*” will get you a swift block and Idgaf which side you’re on, I have no time for that bullshit) 2) I am a mere unintelligent trashcan of a person and also my native language isn’t English so excuse me if my thoughts here aren’t deep or intelligent enough or thought through. They are my own, though. 3) These thoughts will NOT be very organized. I apologize in advance.

Thoughts under the cut.

The TVA and Dystopian Themes

The first point I’d like to make is that the first episode gives me major classic dystopian vibes just set in a very bureaucratic world. I will explain why:

1) The fact that Loki is arrested for time crimes he wasn’t even aware he is committing and that are decided on by some mysterious few authorities nobody ever seems to see.

Let me expand on this. It feels very much like it’s another powerful dictator-like power, like Big Brother from 1984, like the ten world leaders from Brave New World. They dictate how things should be. They decide on exactly the one timeline that they allow to exist and any variance from that is punishable by death. In 1984, you had the Thought Police and an arbitrarily chosen enemy you had to hate that changed from time to time and everyone had to follow those changes, in Brave New World, it’s a bit trickier, but basically, people were genetically modified (was it before birth? I can’t quite remember that well the details of it) and pre-determined to be in one of three (or four? it’s been years if not a decade+ since I last read the book) classes by deciding on their intelligence and other factors. Pre-determination, rigid behavioral rules, no straying from the decided upon social norms. That’s what they all have in common. Not to mention the brainwashing. “War is Peace / Freedom is Slavery / Ignorance is Strength” anyone? The TVA might as well get such a slogan for themselves. The people working for the TVA all seem very brainwashed. The guy at the desk that stowed away the Tesseract grew up behind the desk, for godssake, he doesn’t even know what a fish is. Just like people in Brave New World are brainwashed from their birth.

“A really efficient totalitarian state would be one in which the all-powerful executive of political bosses and their army of managers control a population of slaves who do not have to be coerced, because they love their servitude.” (Brave New World)

The TVA, like the people in the Brave New World, want there to be no conflict (forced happiness is the thing in BNW). They believe in what they do, and Mobius is actually very much a product of that. He believes he is doing the right thing. He believes that getting a Loki variant on his side will solve the problem the TVA are facing with the other Loki variant they are chasing. He will do anything for this goal, but he does have a different idea from the other characters we have met so far. They don’t think a Loki variant will help, but they are still all working towards the same goal.

And, I mean:

“You will be lifted clean out from the stream of history. We shall turn you into gas and pour you into the stratosphere. Nothing will remain of you; not a name in a register, not a memory in a living brain. You will be annihilated in the past as well as in the future. You will never have existed.” (1984)

I get major 1984 vibes here.

(I do think that Mobius might change his stance towards the TVA throughout the course of the series and I think he’s an interesting character to follow. But in the beginning, he’s still wholly entrenched. Him having a different opinion from the rest of the TVA does look like some foreshadowing though.

I have seen some people say the TVA is framed positively, which I respect as their opinion, but I don’t agree. I have seen nothing that cements in stone they’re the good guys here (there are some scenes I view as neutral and Mobius’ introduction I view as framing him as not totally evil, not the whole TVA as good). If anything, I get the feeling they are very powerful dictators and Loki caved because he realized how powerless he truly is there. But I guess that could be just me.)

2) Nothing is explained to Loki. There is no instance that acts in Loki’s defense. In fact, from what we have seen, there is usually no way anyone accused of time crimes can influence the court verdict. It is entirely one-sided and pre-determined unless someone from the TVA wants them alive.

Like, that is a major indicator of something being very very fishy here. No one who has a shred of morality will think that is just. Everyone accused of a crime has the right to a fair process, to a defense, to an appeal. Nothing about this process is fair. Everything about this process screams dystopia to me.

Loki isn’t even treated with dignity like every fucking criminal still has a right to in democratic countries. Getting the clothes lasered off without a warning? Would be a major human rights violation. Getting dragged left and right and dropped through floors? Major human rights violation.

This is, partly, played for laughs, but also not entirely. Loki does realize how little power he holds in that place and that moment is played seriously. It’s dictatorian, it’s unjust, it’s rigid.

3) People are arbitrarily erased / killed (”reset” is the term they use, I believe? When they use those glowsticks?)

For things like refusing to take a ticket and then having no ticket. When nothing is explained to them before.

The court process is a joke. It’s a farce, they go through some (not even all) standard motions of court preceedings but there is 0 chance for the accused to win. It’s all an illusion, as Loki so correctly points out. Nobody questions it but him, but it very much is all an illusion, a mask for the dictatorship underneath.

I’m, like, 80% sure the ticket bs is there so they don’t have to deal with everyone and can get rid of the annoying variants before they ever reach the “court”.

Basically, I think the TVA are supposed to be dystopian. It fits right in. (There is so much more in my brain but currently I lack the words to express it)

Loki and Continuity

The first half of the episode feels very over-the-top. There is so much over-acting going on with Tom Hiddleston that I don’t understand. He feels incredibly OOC in that first half (save for a couple moments, perhaps). The panicky fumbling for the ticket after he saw another variant being “erased”? That’s so much NOT Loki it’s not funny. I can overlook the thing about signing the papers that are supposed to be “everything he ever said” but some things are so OOC they are not even in the same universe as Loki’s original characterisation (of the T1 & Avengers 1 Loki) is anymore. That ticket fumbling moment, for example.

They did go over basically all his life in that scene with Mobius (though Mobius was absent for a bunch of it). Those emotional moments were raw and IC, in my opinion (the way he reacts to his own death - btw, anyone reading this before watching the episode: they show the IW death scene and while the moment he dies happens while the camera shows Loki’s reaction to it, you can still hear the audio of it, so beware!) I think that moment he breaks down is well-done. And it’s in that vulnerable state that Mobius finds him and gives him the final manipulative push to tell Mobius what Mobius wants to hear.

If they pick up on these themes - the dystopian dictatorship that the TVA are in reality and Loki having to come to terms with never being able to turn back and freedom vs. determinism (chaos vs. rigid order?), it can turn out to be a decent show.

I have way more thoughts but I’ve already spent way too much time on this so here you go.

#random #loki series #loki series spoilers #loki series review #sort of?#not tagging this one with the negativity tag since it's not really negative

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spencersmagic · 3 years

Text

A blessing in disguise

Summary: in which y/n is struggling with her classes, Reid is a nervous mess and my teacher is a fucking weirdo.

Couple: Non Male-Identifying Reader X Season 2! Spencer Reid

Category: blurb, fluff

Warnings: abuse of power, men being clueless, mentions of a serial rapist (but that’s as far as it goes - no cases or specifics are mentioned), player! Derek, brief mentions of fingering, brief mentions of dumbification, brief innocence kink, brief descriptions of anxiety attacks.

Word count: 2.4k

A/N I wrote this during my algorithms class after my teacher flirted with me lmaoo enjoy !!

“Enums were introduced in Java 5.0. Enums restrict a variable to have one of only a few predefined values. The values in this enumerated list are called enums” you read silently, adjusting your earbuds to drown out chattering that was emerging from around Derek’s desk. Prentiss, Spencer, Penelope and, of course, Morgan were discussing the latter’s love life.

You were all done for the day, having a heavy day of paper work, and Hotch had asked you to stay in for a few hours as he checked for any other cases with JJ. They quickly mentioned something about a serial rapist in Georgia and had quickly left to see if they could convince local PD to invite them in.

You had heard some of the comment before deciding to focus on your Algorithms and Data Structure class – comments regarding Morgan’s commitment issues and sexual endeavors. You looked at Derek and took note of his body language: he sat tall on his chair, eyebrows relaxed and a small smug painting his face. Everything about him screamed “yeah?, and what about it?”.

As of right now, you wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off of his face. To curse him for being proud of the long line of broken hearts he probably left behind. But you also knew it wasn’t true. Derek would never hurt a fly, unless it somehow committed a crime. He was always paying you a nice compliment after a case, or giving you one of his famous pep talks when you needed a little push. He was probably the most attentive man you had ever met. Well, excluding Spencer.

Doctor Spencer Reid. How to even begin to explain anything about this man. He was complex in ways you could never imagine. He seemed to know everything there was to know, yet he was completely oblivious of what is going on around him. Yes, he can solve cases like a motherfucker, but when it came to the feelings of people around him, he still struggled.

Yes, you were completely and utterly enamored by the man. I mean, how could you not? Anybody who paid a little attention to him would completely fall for him - you were sure of that. The way he would knit his eyebrows together and lick his lips when he was having trouble understanding something, the way he would ramble on about any and all subjects, no matter how trivial they might be, the shape his fingers would follow when he quickly followed his sight when reading a book… He was an incredibly attractive man.

You could also not help but imagine him wrapped around your finger, looking at you like a desperate, innocent boy, whining as you fucked him dumb.

You tried not to think about it, instead submerging yourself into the book that was in front of you.

“Can’t fail, can’t fail” you mumbled to yourself, as you continued trying to make sense of the seemingly impossible subject you were currently working on. You continued reading for not more than 15 minutes before Penelope placed her hand on your back softly, still making you jump, the contrast between the suddenness of her touch and the ethereal Satie pieces softly grazing your soul as you tried to make sense of the books in front of you has startled more than it should.

You took off one of your earbuds to listen to what they were saying, somewhat annoyed. “What?” you said with a tone that shouldn’t’ve been as harsh as it came out to be. You quickly mumbled a “sorry” at their shocked looks before changing your demeanor. Pen smiled down at you.

“Oh, that’s alright, dear! Do not even mention it. Do you want us to leave you to your work?” she asked, sweet as ever. You smiled gratefully. “No, but thank you for offering. Having you here helps me work harder” you explained. “What did you want?” you asked, shifting your gaze to meet Spencer’s, who was looking at you with concern. It was one thing to have you lash out the people around you, which he could attribute to your anxiety over finals, but it was a whole different thing to have direct access to the sight of the dark marks that grazed your under eyes, showing just how much you were wearing yourself out.

You quickly looked at Pen as she said “Well, we just wanted you to scold at Derek for being a total man whore” she said, turning with an accusatory tone, to which the whole team laughed at. Even Spencer chuckled a little at her words, however still wary of you, his eyes never leaving your own. You smirked, making sure to enjoy every single second of your little break.

“Well, I think… perhaps our little chocolate sculpture of perfection should be a bit of a man whore…” you said, tentatively. “Who are we to deprive the world of having Derek Morgan in their beds?” you said, nonchalantly, earning yourself the laughter of your teammates and a “Ready when you are, y/l/n” from Morgan, to which you winked.

You turned back to put your earbuds on before you were interrupted once again, this time by the resident genius. “Hey y/l/n, are you ok?” he looked at you with the same concerned look as you had seen mere minutes ago. You nodded, letting out a soft “mhm” before going back into your book.

You noticed how Spencer’s body tensed slightly at the idea of you not feeling comfortable enough to tell him something. After all, you guys were best friends, at least from his point of view, and he didn’t like the idea of you hiding something if it was bothering you. He wanted to help.

And right now, you really did need his help, no matter how stubborn you were about it. You felt like your chest was compressing at the sight of the amount exercises under your fingers which you would have to master in such a short period of time. Your heart felt heavy, and your body felt completely empty and numb. You knew the feeling. Of course you did. You had been having anxiety attacks since you could remember, the pressure of your parents into having “the perfect daughter” weighing in on you too much.

Suddenly, everything felt cold, and you felt as if your soul had been expelled from your body, only leaving a corpse. Your vision went blurry and you shut your eyes harshly, trying to focus on the words that filled the pages in front of you. But you couldn’t.

You tried burying yourself back into the books in front of you, knowing an anxiety attack in front of the team was probably the worst thing that could happen to you today. What you didn’t realize, however, was that Spencer had decided to move away from the conversation momentarily and stalk over your desk, making you jump at his shadow.

“Gosh Spence! You scared me” you said, looking up to him. He narrowed his eyes for a few seconds before bringing a chair around and sitting down. Without saying a word, he began skimming through the page you were in. You waited patiently for him to speak.

“I have a PhD in engineering, Y/N. I can help you if you need it” he said, chuckling nervously before licking his lips. Your heart swelled at his words. Something about having Spencer helping you made your heart soar. ‘He cares’, you thought momentarily.

Of course he cares, you always knew this. But the anxiety you were experiencing over finals week brought all kinds of other insecurities into your life. “Isolation has proven to reduce effectiveness in other aspects of your life like work and overall mental health”, you remembered Spencer’s words from a few weeks back when you were discussing how different prison systems could benefit or harm a prisoners chance of being able to be reinstated into society.

To be completely frank, the idea of having Spencer explaining different Java modules to you as you bounced on his cock was one that went straight to your head and, subsequently, between your legs where you needed him the most.

You rid yourself of the dirty thoughts you were having about the resident genius before clearing your throat to talk to him.

“Yeah, I know. But I didn’t want to interrupt you. You looked like you were having a lot of fun” you said, not wanting to tell him the truth. But, after all, you guys were best friends. He knew everything about you, which included knowing when you were lying.

“Hey” he said, feeling compelled to grab your chin to turn you to look at him. However, he refrained from doing so, knowing it would earn the team at least a teasing comment. You weren’t up for that right now and, honestly, he wouldn’t be able to conceal the blush that always crept up to his cheeks at the thought of being something more with you. He continued, but not before licking his lips again. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” he asked you with the softest voice. You might not even have heard him, he thought.

You cleared your throat before continuing.

“My teacher asked me out” you let out, not wanting to explain the rest. However, Spencer’s heart fell to his feet. ‘She probably said yes. Fuck, I’ve lost any chance I might’ve had with her he mentally cursed his shyness.

Penelope, however, of course, heard what you had said (having a sixth sense for gossip). “Oooh!! Your teacher asked you out?? Is he hot?” she squealed before turning her face to a look of disgust. “Wait aren’t you in college?? Please tell me he isn’t all old and wrinkly” she shuddered.

You chuckled lightly, “No! He’s young-ish… maybe 30? 35? I don’t really know” you explained, but Penelope wanted more.

You didn’t even realize how Spencer’s face had completely fallen, looking at you now with glossy, puppy dog eyes.

He’s completely wrapped around your finger.

“How can you not know his age? You went out on a date with him!” she exclaimed, teasing your apparent lack of memory.

“Nono, I never went out with him.” You quickly clarified, to which Spencer stood a little taller, no longer cursing the man that was supposed to teach you Java instead of having to do it himself.

Thoughts like “if he is so amazing why does she find herself at a little over 11pm hunched over her books instead of spending her time with her team?” disappeared from his mind.

Pen looked at you with confusion written all over her face before Prentiss clarified for you, clearly knowing what had happened. She was, after all, one of the sharpest agents you had ever met.

“She refused the date, and now she has to make up for it.” she stated, understanding. You nodded.

“I can’t afford to fail. If I give him a reason to fail me, he will. He was furious, Pen” you said, gaze shifting around to the worried faces that were part of the conversation. All but one.

Penelope’s hand found itself to your back again before stroking it supportively. Prentiss nodded, too. “Tell us if you need any help, alright babe?” she said, before turning back to Morgan , whose face only showed pure anger.

“No, nah nah” he denied. “This is alright? You’re all fine with this?” he said, not understanding. Spencer joined. “There must be somebody you can tell right? Maybe a tutor? Or the dean, maybe?”, to which Prentiss and you snorted in unison.

Prentiss sighed. “Men…” she mumbled, clearly astonished at their reactions. You laughed again.

“It’s different for us, guys. If I complain about it then I “shouldn’t’ve given him the impression that I was interested”. If I had said yes, which I didn’t want, I would be “using my body to get a good grade’” If I hadn’t talked to him at all I would be “acting difficult to get his attention”. There’s literally no way out of it” you explained softly. Morgan nodded warily, still trying to figure a way out of it.

Spencer’s blood boiled. Never mind the fact that he found you delightful and wanted to spend the rest of his life next to you. The fact that your teacher was taking advantage of your in this way was completely disgusting.

Before knowing what he was doing, he exclaimed “well that’s just bullshit, isn’t it?” as he stood up, the back of his knees pushing against the chair, which flew backwards with the force of his movement. He blushed slightly and continued.

“There must be something you can do. You can’t be beating yourself up with this subject. You have other things to do! I could talk to him or something. If you want to, of course“ he brought a hand to his face, rubbing it. “I just- I don’t understand how somebody could be so fucking despisable” he ranted but stopped quickly as he looked at the surprised reactions of the team.

He was way angrier than anybody else, including yourself – who had, for some reason, completely accepted this outcome. To be honest, he was fucking pissed, but there were other emotions coursing through his veins. He was jealous.

He didn’t want to be, of course. Jealousy is an ugly emotion. But the thought of you having something with such a despisable man such as himself made him want to hold you and never, ever, let you go.

He blushed for the third time that day before sitting down again. Everybody watched attentively as he grabbed your hand, yielding a newfound motivation. “I’ll help you, Y/N. You’re going to ace that test. You don’t need him, Y/N. You are so much more than that scumbag” he admitted. Something had overcome him, but you weren’t mad about it. You like this side of Spencer and, even though you rarely got to see it, it was a sight for sore eyes indeed. The way his hands ran through his hair anxiously, the way he would stand a bit taller… He was always pretty, but he looked absolutely gorgous like this.

Pen chuckled awkwardly before turning back to talk to Derek and Prentiss. You didn’t notice, though, the world instead turning around Spencer’s warm touch on your hands.

You nodded gratefully. “I would love it if you could help me with this subject. I don’t want to pry, though. If you have other things to do you can definitely do those. You’re probably a busy ma-“ he interrupted you. “You have all my time, Y/N” he blurted out, eyes widening at what he just said. Your eyes locked with his nervous orbs, and you smiled.

Maybe this is a blessing in disguise, after all.

________

I hate everything about this but I worked way too hard of it lmaoo

Also why did I chose to studying engineering?? im gay, I can’t do math

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queen-bunnyears · 3 years

Text

Murder on your mind ~ Tom Holland

Pairing: DCI!Tom Holland x DI!reader

Summary: Inspired by my love for B99, and my guilty pleasures Silent Witness and Luther. What more can I say.

Wordcount: 5,4k+

Warnings: This is about a serial murder investigation, so it does discuss murder, violence, a chase, guns and shotwounds, a caraccident, unconciousness. They swear. Mentions of alcohol. A small kiss.

Okay if you need help understanding uk police ranks, (I did) I looked it up. So we have a chief inspector who in this case is the highest rank. Directly under him come the DCI’s (Detective Chief Inspector). Then a DI, (Detective inspector) and for today the only other rank I use is an officer, which is lower in rank than the others.

“And then the remaining time of today's briefing is for DCI Osterfield, he has a case he would like to discuss,” your boss says. Harrison stands up from his seat, and picks up the clicker for the screen.

“Thank you, Miss Carter. So, anyone who likes to take a guess about the crime?” he asks, and immediately hands fly up. “It was committed just an hour ago. Janssen?”

“Money laundering,” Janssens confident voice thunders through the room. He often wins these betting games, but mostly because nine out of ten times it is indeed money laundering. Harrison shakes his head.

“Too bad, it is definitely a big break in,” Claire says next to you. You shake your head. For a break in he would be talking with the uniform officers, he wouldn’t have needed to discuss it. Unless the stolen items are over a million, but then the news would surely have spread across the city already, and the new apps hadn’t put anything online yet.

“Hostage situation?” Jimmy shouts from the desk behind you. Jimmy always wants it to be hostages, because he is the only negotiator at the station. But hostages are way too uncommon, the chief would have told you about it. You know what it is the moment Harrison points at you.

“Too bad, you are all wrong. Y/n, like to take a last guess?”

“Murder,” you say, clicking your pen and closing your notebook. You cock your head to the side, “And it must be real nasty if you wanna discuss it,”

“Bingo! So we have a big ol’ murder on our hands,” Harrison says, clicking to the next powerpoint slide. A photograph of a bloody crime scene comes up. “And it is not just on our hands,” he clicks and points dramatically to the man who comes up on the screen, “This is Tom Holland, DCI in Southwest London. He is gonna be helping me because,” the next slide shows three almost identical scenes. “It’s a serial!”

“Ohh Tom is a handsome colleague. I would love to do a stake-out with him, if you know what I mean,” Jimmy bends over his desk and whispers to you. You shake your head laughing.

“Jimmy, you have a problem in need of fixing. Have you tried going on a date?” you whisper back. You don’t move quickly enough, and his playful slap hits you on the back of your head.

“For the record, you are way too excited about this,” Claire says, and DCI Osterfield blushes slightly.

“I just want to catch him, and not be a total mood ruiner while informing you,” he replies, clicking to the end of the slideshow.

“Does anyone recognise something from an old case? He works really neat, so Holland thinks it might be someone who has done it before,” The briefing room stays quiet as no one answers. You shrug your shoulders.

“Well please dig in your memory today, anything you remember might help. We have to solve this. I will need assistance, and chief told me detective Y/l/n has just closed her last case. Wanna help me?”

“Yeah sure,” you say, folding your hands underneath your head. The pictures look awful, and nothing like you have ever dealt with.

“Great, we leave for the crime scene after this,” Harrison says, and you nod at him, “Okay, that concludes the discussion. If press asks you about it, direct them to me or to the PR people, don’t tell them anything,” he walks back to his desk while Carter stands up.

“Good luck today, don’t forget to apply for the training day next week,”

“Okay so what is the deal Haz?” you ask. You sit in the car, on your way to the crime scene. He drives, and you drink from the Starbucks cup in your hand, trying to get them to warm up. Police cars are always terribly cold.

“There were three murders last week in Southwest, and tonight one on our area. As you saw in the pictures, it is all done almost precisely the same. So naturally we have to go there, because it’s our area, but the DCI from Southwest will be joining us as well, because he has worked this case for days now,”

“Do you know him?”

“Tom and I were together in high school, and at the Academy. We are good friends. He is an excellent detective,” Harrison tells you. Harrison was in the year above you at the academy, but you never really interacted with classes other than your own. You fall silent, not having much else to say. Your mind goes to the slide show of the victims. All the same position, almost the same place of impact. The photograph of this morning's victim flashes before your eyes.

“Any info on the victim already?”

“Sally Stars, 33, she is a tourist from the US,” you see the image of her again. Small woman wearing a yellow raincoat, lying on her back. Her shoes next to her body, no bag or anything. A big red spot on her chest where the bullet pierced her skin. One shot, quick kill.

“Where in the US?”

“Phoenix, Arizona,” That tells you precisely nothing. Although you don’t know what you hoped for.

“Other similarities between this case and the others, beside how they look?”

“All of them are tourists. It is a drama, working together with all the embassies,” he sounds bitter. The happy, teasing Harrison is gone now. At the station you can joke around, but as soon as you go out it becomes serious business. You hope this case can be solved quickly.

“DCI Holland, please let me through,” you hear a voice say. You look up to see the man from the photograph walking up to you. Removing your gloves you come up from your crouching position next to the victim.

“Goodmorning DCI Holland,” you extend your hand and he shakes it. You put your globes back on while you introduce yourself, “I am detective inspector Y/n Y/l/n. I will be helping you and DCI Osterfield with the case,”

“Great,” he says, before turning away to Harrison. “Please tell me there is anything different on this one,”

“Not as far as I can see Tom,” Harrison says, a thoughtful look in his eyes, “but you know more of the case, does anything seem different to you?” Tom takes his time inspecting the crime scene. He lifts things, ruffles through the bagged evidence and asks for some extra pictures. When he returns to Harrison and you his face looks almost angry.

“It seems like everything is the same,’ he says, suddenly he slams his hands down, “the fucker did it again. No fucking mistakes, how does he do it?”

“Something will come up,” Harrison says. You look around you, staring at the forensic experts who were bagging the evidence. The answer had to be here somewhere. Then you see a young man bag something a few metres from the body, at the edge of the scene.

“Hey, wait!” you scream, and you walk over to him, carefully stepping on the cleared ground. You almost smiled at what you saw, “Is that a,-”

“A phone,” DCI Holland says and he hurries over to where you are standing. You grab the bag from the stunned mans hands, and take out the phone. It feels icy cold through your gloves, and you see water drops on the side.

“It is soaked from dew and the rain this morning, I hope the lab can get something out of this,” you say, handing it over to Harrison, “It’s turned off, please keep it that way. If they dry it properly it might still work and that makes everything much easier.”

“This is new, the other bodies didn’t have a phone on them,”

“It’s his first mistake,” Harrisons says. You frown.

“Why do you think it is a man?”

“A wild guess, wanna bet on it?” he replies absently. Then he gives you the phone back, “what do you think of this? Does it tell you anything?”

“Old iphone, not a special model, Iphone 5. The case suggests that she is a big Harry Potter fan, that could explain why she was in Londen,” you take the case off the phone and grab the wet piece of paper that sits behind it, “And I wager she has a room in a hotel near Victoria's station. These are directions from there. To the right, past Victoria theatre, and so on. Call the station, they should be able to find the hotel,”

“That’s not right,” Tom says. His mouth is a thin stripe, and his forehead is wrinkled in a frown.

“Sorry what?”

“They already found her hotel room, near Covent Garden,”

“Then were would this lead to?” you wonder, inspecting the note closer.

“That is a very good question.” DCI Holland says, and he walks away. You stare at the piece of paper, as if it would start speaking if you look at it enough.

“Well, let’s go to this adress then,” Harrison says. You take a photograph of the paper and carefully put the phone back in the evidence bag. The ride is quiet, both you and Harrison deep in thoughts about the murder.

“Hello, I am detective inspector Y/l/n, and this is my colleague DCI Osterfield,” you show your badge to the man at the front desk. “We have some questions for you, regarding an ongoing case. Have you seen this woman?”

He inspects the photograph carefully and looks at Harrison. “Yes sir, I saw her yesterday. She came in to rent a safety box for a week. I can show you, although you need her permission to open it, or an official order.”

Harrison looks at you, and you shrug. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Can we see the box please?” he asks, putting his badge back in his pocket.

“Of course sir, follow me.”

“Nothing interesting in the locker, nothing in her hotel room. The first conversations with her family shows nothing of interest. There is no connection between them. Just the tourist thing. So based on that we have to assume he is killing at random,” Harrison is on the phone. He has big blue circles underneath his eyes. Probably matching yours. The second day on a murdur case is always heavy, as most of the evidence is processed, and the first results from the lab come in. You hear some murmurs on the other side and Harrison ends the call. He looks at you.

“Tom is on his way to us. He will bring his map of evidence and everything he gathered with the old cases,” you nod absently, looking at the giant board filled with photos, and the map. Red dots and lines all over the place, but it doesn’t make sense yet.

“Tourists don’t know the city well, so he might be able to guide them somewhere under false pretenses,” you say, “So maybe a cabbie? Who else moves anonymously through the city like that? I wanna see the CCTV,”

“There was no CCTV in the other cases,” Harrison tells you while typing on his laptop, “But we are lucky, they just placed a new camera at the shop across from the entrance of the park. They might have something. The officer should have sent,-” his voice trails off when he opens his mail and sees the file. Behind Harrison you see the door open and DCI Holland walks into the room. Harrison looks up.

“Tom, great, we were just going to watch the CCTV I texted about,” he starts the recording. The street on the screen is empty. “This is 21:00. Forensics guess she died around midnight,”

The screen stays empty as the video goes on to 21:00. At 22:38 a man walks through the screen with his dog. The small clock in the corner ticks through, 23:00, 23:30, 00:00. Just as Harrison wants to stop it you see something move in the corner.

“There,” you point at the bicycle that comes into view. A man is riding it, and when he turns into the park you and Tom see it at the same time. You shoot up, pausing the screen. 01:04.

“That’s her,” Tom says. Limp, on the back of the bicycle sits a woman, “is she conscious?”

“I don't think so, see here, he hits a bump and she doesn’t react at all,” Harrison says, playing the shot again.

“Does he return later?” you watch the remainder of the video three times, but nothing appears.

“He is smart, uses another exit. Who knows what happened after this, we need more on him,” you say, noting the times and details in your book.

“First we need to know who he is. Did they run facial recognition already?” Tom asks, turning to look at Harrison, who shakes his head.

“No, we are the first to see this material. Get the boss, I want to run this man through the system immediately.”

“I know him,” Carter says. She sits up straight in her chair and starts the tape again. She pauses it right as the mans face is in view. “Jason Sanders, ex police officer. He used to work for me back in the 90’s. He has grown older, but I am like 99% sure it’s him.”

“If he is an ex copper his face should be in the system,” Tom says. You just nod, noting down the name, and opening your laptop to start a google search. Two clicks and you are on his facebook profile.

“Yes he is a perfect match. Look at these pictures,”

“Okay, I want Claire to run a background check,” Harrison says, pointing at her. “Names, friends, family, address, possible gun registration, workplace. I want to know everything you can find. First, run his face through the system, I want to be sure it's him,”

“Sure, that should take about an hour,” she immediately opens her laptop and starts typing. Tom clears his throat.

“So, two of us have to go to the lab and talk with the forensic experts. And one needs to go through the three cases, see if we can find a new link. I have stared at the cases for hours now so I think it’s best if one of you takes a fresh look.”

“I will do it,” Harrison replies just a second quicker than you, “Y/n can go with you to the lab. I believe Henry will do the post-mortem, so she is probably happy to go with you.”

“I will tell you one more time Haz, no funny business between me and Henry,” you say with a stern look on your face, but you smile afterwards. Harrison always jokes about the doctor at the lab who has a small crush on you. In return you tease him endlessly about the defense attorney who is just a bit too sweet and open to Harrison for it to be professional.

“Well if the two of you are done wasting time can we leave, Y/l/n?” Tom is at the door quickly walking outside, but his harsh look doesn’t go unnoticed by you and Harrison. Harrisons shrugs his shoulders and you follow Tom through the door.

“Can you tell us anything interesting?” you ask Henry who is standing in front of a big window that shows the postmortem room. You look inside, shivering at the sight of the body on the table with all it’s organs stashed neatly beside it.

“There are so many interesting things to tell,” he laughs at Tom’s annoyed face, “Let’s get to business,”

“Please,’ Tom sighs, causing you to roll your eyes at Henry behind his back. Henry points to the large body bag on a table in the far corner of the room.

“That’s her. Full postmortem will be done tomorrow, it’s busy, but here is what we already can confirm. Victim is female, nothing weird about her body or anything like that. He probably killed her with that one clean shot. She has been drugged, we found alcohol and ketamine in her blood,”

“Just like the others,” you add. Henry nods and walks through the lab to a screen. He clicks on some buttons. A file opens, and you see a tinder profile and some messages.

“But Jackie ran tests on her phone, and there was a damned good reason he kept the other two.” You look up interested at those words, nodding to Henry to continue, “She was on Tinder, trying to make friends to go out with during her stay. She has texts with a man whom she had a date with last night. He called himself James, and had a random model photo on his profile,”

“Did you run that profile through the computer? Anything?”

“We can’t track the phone that belongs to the profile. We are waiting for access to the profile so we can see his other messages, that should be here later this afternoon. There is a possibility this is the way he finds and contacts his victims,”

“Shit” you say. Tom looks at the text chain unmoving. “Holland, are you okay? This could be a breakthrough.”

“Yes, could be. But we know nothing yet. Nothing is sure,” he says curtly. He walks to the door. “You let us know when the rest of the data is in,” he opens the door, gesturing for you to come after him. You stretch slowly, and smile at Henry.

“Thank you so much for your hard work, this could really mean much for the case,” you say, sending a provoking look towards Tom, “And I am sure my colleague here is just as thankful, don’t mind him, he has a bad day.”

“No problem Y/n, see you later,” Henry replies, sending a broad smile your way. You nod one last time before following Tom outside.

“What was that?” the anger in his voice is apparent. You smile sweetly and pat him on the shoulder.

“That, DCI Holland,” you pause shortly and look him in the eye, “was common decency. Be kind to the lab, and they will be kind to you. That applies to more things actually,”

“Don’t tell me what to do,”

“Don’t be unkind then,” you say, smiling at him, ignoring the irritation that burns within you. Damn that man. But you have dealt with a lot of unkind, bitchy police officers in your days, you won’t let him bring you down. You walk towards the car, grabbing the key from Holland's hand. “I’ll drive,”

Stakeouts are your least favourite part of being a detective. Nothing is worse than sitting the entire day, hoping for something to happen. You always called it the most boring aspect of your job. Even paperwork was more exciting. Problem was, you were very good at stakeouts. You somehow always noticed the change in a pattern that pointed to whatever you were looking for.

You sit across Harrison, your teacups on the table between you. The cafe is extremely busy, but you barely hear the noise around you. Your head is in filter modus. Tinder hadn’t yet given access to the account, so you and Harrison went to the place “James” had met up with Sally. You have been sitting here all day, going over some paperwork to pass the time, and with every hour your hope of seeing the person who pretended to be “James” dies a bit.

“What do you think will happen if tinder James is not Jason?” you wonder, stirring in your tea. Harrison looks up at your words.

“Well I am sure it has to be him. All the clues point to him,” he says, taking a sip of his tea. “The CCTV, suspects report, psychology sketch, background. His clean kills, any good copper knows how to clean up after himself. And we can’t find him at his home, because his wife kicked him out,”

“Good for her,” you mumble. Harrison chuckles, chugs the remainder of his tea and puts his papers in his bag. “Wait where are you going?”

“To the office. Tom is here to do the rest of the day with you. It’s only two hours.” he says. He gets up and stands up. He walks away, then turns around. He puts his hand on your shoulder. “Try not to kill him please,”

“Ha ha. I will try,” you say,

The hours with Tom are absolutely boring. He doesn’t even really look at you, let alone talk to you. And again, no one shows up. When the cafe closes you and Tom pack up your stuff, and walk outside. Then you feel your phone buzz. The screen flashes; Henry.

“Hey Henry”

“Are you in a car?”

“Almost, why?”

“Get in there and drive to Borough Market,” you turn to Tom and start walking faster.

“Get in the car Tom!” you almost shout as you run towards the driver side. Your emergency senses kick in, adrenaline courses through your body.

“We got to his profile, he has a meeting there in less than 10 minutes. Seventeen year old Canadian girl,”

“Shit,” you curse, and you slam the car door behind you. Your fingers fumble to get the key in the lock, but when you have it you immediately drive away. Tom hasn’t even closed his door properly. You put Henry on speaker and push on the button you put your sirens on. In front of you the cars make way for you.

“We’re driving, tell me everything,”

“We just got access to his profile, and we saw the meeting. At Borough market, 6 PM by the fudge stand. Harrison is at the station, he won’t make it in time. Look for Jason, and the girl has blonde hair, blue eyes. Her Tinder says she is nineteen, but we looked her up and she is seventeen. Harrison told me you two are closer, so hopefully you’ll be on time. He is on his way. I have to go,” you hear the beep that signals Henry has ended the call, and you take a quick left.

“Do you need me to navigate?” Tom asks. He is checking his gun, and picks a weapon stick from the glove compartment. You start to shake your head, but then you nod.

“It’s rush hour, could you check the streets I need to avoid?” you are calm now, your initial surge of energy is slowly leaving your body, making room for your more rational side. Tom is looking through his maps, and reassures you that you’ll be fine with the usual route. No detours.

“Could you check my gun Tom?” you ask, and you lean forward so he can grab it from your belt. He hesitates. “Come on I ask you to. You won’t even touch me. Quickly now ‘cause we are almost there,” He grabs the gun and starts to check it. You see you are getting closer to your destination, so you switch off the sirens. No need to alert everyone you are coming. Two minutes later you see Borough Market appear.

“Okay we both get out and walk to the stand. Do you know where it is?” Tom shakes his head. You park the car, put your gun back in your belt and cover it with your coat. “Luckily I do. Follow me, stay close, we don’t want to attract attention.” You walk towards him and he wraps his arm around you so you are close to him. It is an old tactic, one you have done about a million times with Harrison. You look like an uninteresting couple, and your heads are close, so whispering is easy. Perfect cover. But you feel Tom’s arm burning through your coat. That never happens with Harrison.

“Okay, lead the way,” he says, you shake your head to get rid of your thoughts and you start walking towards the market. You see the fudge stand, but no one suspicious around there. It’s busy, the market is closing soon, and the sellers are trying to sell their last bits.

“Do you see anything?” Tom asks, and you shake your head. You see a plate with testers for fudge and you walk over there. With the fudge in your hand you seize the opportunity to stand still and observe the whole market. Then you feel Tom shake your shoulder.

“There, at six.” you slowly look to your six o’clock, and you see a young girl. “She matches the description. We ought to approach her,” Tom says. You nod and step towards the girl, but then you freeze. At the other side of the market, close to your car, you see a man. Jason. You are sure, and then you see him dragging another young girl with him.

“Tom it's not her, there he is,” you don’t realise you are running until you feel yourself push people out of the way. Jason and the girl are about 50 metres away from you, but there are many people between you. Jason pushes the young girl in the back seat of a car, and you hear yourself shouting.

“Stop! Stop!” You run as fast as you can, but you feel your gut sinking. You are too late. As you see Jason step into his car you memorise his number plate. You try to throw yourself before the car, but you are too late to stop him from driving away. You pull your gun out, but you realise it is of no use in this busy street. You could hit his tires, but then he might swerve and hit some bystanders. You curse loudly.

“In the car, now!” you hear Tom shout from behind you. You start to run again, and launch yourself into the driver's seat. Your sirens blare, your tires screech, but you have him in vision. As you are driving you recollect your breath, and next to you you see Tom fastening his seat belt.

He calls Harrison, who says he can already see your car. Without looking away from the road you ramble the number plate to Tom, who repeats it for Harrison. You hardly hear their conversation, but you do feel the blood pumping in your ears. The car before you is driving unsteady, as if Jason is not yet sure what he is going to do.

“Where is he going to go? It is rush hour, traffic is awful! And he drives towards the city centre,” it doesn’t make sense to you. Until you see him diving towards a bridge over the Thames. Then it clicks.

“Shit, he is going to drive off the bridge!” you shout. You look to your side, and in Tom's eyes you see the same conclusion you just came to. Your mind races, searching for a solution. You see the car before you change lanes. You push the gas harder, accelerating and you also turn to the left lane, “I am gonna block him!”

“Are you sure? We might get hurt,” Tom panics. His hands are gripping on the side of his seat, his eyes wide from the adrenaline. Or fear, you don't know. Before you the car goes to the left, heading straight towards the rather fragile looking railing of the bridge.

“He will hit the seat behind me, not us,” you say, changing lanes, “I am like 75% sure this won’t end up getting us hurt. Badly.”

“That is not very comforting, Won’t he push us off?”

“No I don’t think so, trust me Tom!” you are driving faster now, and his car is almost near the edge. The last seconds before the hit seem like ages. With a bang the car hits the side of yours, precisely in the backseat of the driver side, as you predicted. You moan in pain as you feel the impact.

“Get out Tom! Catch him.” you scream, trying to cover up the fact that you are in pain. Getting your own door open appears impossible, and you use your gun to smash the window to get out. You feel adrenaline rush through your body, your mind blank, nerves numb. Your moves are by instinct, and when you see Jason run towards you, you throw your body towards him, blocking his way and bringing him to the ground.

“Jason Sanders, you are arrested on the suspicion of triple murder and attempted murder. Anything you say now can be used later in court,” you say as Tom gets the handcuffs on him. Behind you the other police cars all stop, and you hear Harrisons voice as you shakily get up.

“What was that!?! Y/n that was not safe!” you ignore his worries. First you need to see the girl. You stand beside Jason's car opening his backdoor, and you try to lift the unconscious girl out. Another officer takes it from your hands. “Are you hurt?” Harrison continues as he comes to a halt next to you.

“No I normally leak blood out of my side,” your adrenaline rush slowly comes to an end, and you feel the pain now. Your head feels heavy. “Probably cut it when I climbed out of the window. Also, I might have a concussion from the hit,”

Ten minutes later you sit in the open back of the ambulance. The victim is in the bed inside, and you were relieved to hear she had only passed out from the shock, but furthermore she was fine. After they checked on her a medic found time to stitch the scratch on your side. After their close examination your injuries are deemed minor. A deep scratch that looks fine after it is nicely stitched up and wrapped in bandage. After careful inspection of your head, they conclude you don’t even have a concussion.

But after that, you catch some faint whispers about shock and mental damage as they sneakily look at you. A blanket is wrapped around your body, and a few moments later, you also receive a cup of tea. And another blanket. You are about to run away when Harrison walks up to you. He clears his throat when he sees you, and gives you a quick hug.

“I have a lot of things to say, but none of them matter now. Well done on getting him,”

“Harrison, they keep putting blankets on me, I don’t want the blankets,” you say, shrugging them off and giving them to him.

“You’re in shock” he says, putting the blanket back over your shoulders. You shrug it off again.

“Yeah, not really. And even if, that wouldn’t mean I need blankets, I need booze,”

“Booze and a concussion are a terrible combination,” Harrison shakes his head at your comment.

“I don’t even have a concussion or pain meds. Really, I am fine. Where is Tom? I probably have to say sorry for risking his life.”

“Only if I file a complaint with HR,” Tom's voice makes you sit up straight and look around you. He walks around the corner of the ambulance. “Something I won’t do,”

“Oh great. Well I am sorry anyways. It was way too risky.”

“You executed it perfectly,” he says, a hint of a smile on his face, “Now I believe you said something about a drink, didn't you?”

Harrison laughs with you, but then excuses himself.

“You two go have that drink, I need to fill in all the paperwork. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,”

“Your loss,” Tom says, before turning to you. “Let’s go?”

“Lets go.” You say, smiling as he offers his hand to help you up. You think of slapping it away, but then you feel the stitches pulling in your side and you decide to take up his offer. Just this once.

~ One year later ~

“I can’t believe you had to almost kill him before he dropped his bitchy act,” Claire says laughing as she gives you the paper back. You and Tom shine on the cover of The Guardian, a press photograph taken on the night of Sanders' arrest. “J. Sanders locked up, evidence overload in serial killer case” the headline says.

After the arrest things moved slowly, Sanders his lawyer was a very persistent man. But now, months later the court case was wrapped, Sanders' guilt proven, and the judge ruled for the maximum sentence.

“Yes, his resting bitch face was a pain during that investigation,” you chime in, taking a sip from your beer.

“I am glad I dropped it though,” Tom says next to you, his arm wrapped around you. You smile, pressing a kiss on his cheek. So much has changed.

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x reader #harrison osterfield #my writing #queen-bunnyears

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sleep-i-ness · 4 years

Text

Therapy (Bucky Barnes x reader)

For @just-trying-to-survive-marvel‘s 500 writing challenge

Prompt: “I don’t need your help. You’ve already done enough”

A/N: Is it bad to say how much I hated writing the end of this? It’s not edited because I just finished it but I hope you enjoy (please leave feedback) <3

Bucky had adopted the habit of carrying around a small black moleskin notebook on his regular walks spent exploring the ins and outs of New York City. Having spent so much of his life in and out of the cryochambers, brainwashed and mindless, nothing made sense in this strange new world. Some days he forgot where he was, thinking he was back in the 1930s with small, fragile Steve, who he needed to look after. Others, nothing made sense anymore, fragments of half-coherent thoughts flitting through his mind as he stared blankly at the wall in his dimly lit room. Those days he didn’t get out of bed until Steve dragged him out, sighing as he saw the brooding confusion brewing in Bucky’s mind. The rest, which lay few and far in-between, yet had been more frequent of late, were the only days where the modern world made any sense and he grabbed those opportunities with both hands. This meant he often ended up returning to the Tower many hours into the early morning, eyes shining with the day’s results as he discovered New York and how it had changed.

Steve often worried about him; the horrors of the past still haunted Bucky, and he never lost the ghosts from the past that hid behind his eyes. On his good days, Steve felt the hope inside him rekindle. Maybe one day he could have his best friend back, not the soulless husk that wandered around aimlessly nor the one stuck firmly in the past. The way Bucky’s eyes sparkled as he recounted the tall tales of the crazy trouble he had got himself caught up in reminded Steve of Bucky’s boxing days back in the ‘30s, where he would be wrapped up in his stories of the ring, adding elaborations wherever he could to make his adventures seem more interesting. Nearly always, they ended up with him victoriously defeating his opponent after a long and arduous struggle. Bucky had enjoyed painting himself to be the hero in these situations. Steve couldn’t ignore the irony, considering the unspeakable horrors HYDRA had put him through and terrible crimes he had been forced to commit. On Bucky’s bad days, Steve felt despair curl into its familiar spot in his heart.

Some part of him couldn’t let go of the image he had in his mind of his best friend and this new version just didn’t live up to what he expected him to be. Steve knew that was messed up. Of course, Buck was different. Being a brainwashed assassin for 70 years would do that. But thanks to the help of their friends in Wakanda, he’d been assured that all the brainwashing had been removed. Therefore, he’d hoped that the Bucky he’d known would return. And that all would go back to how it had been; him and Buck together through everything.

When he hadn’t, Steve could barely bear to be around him. Bucky hated to admit it, but it hurt. Knowing that his best friend was constantly disappointed in who he was. Seeing the corny smile slip off his face and his brow furrow when he thought Bucky wasn’t looking. Hence, Bucky tried to stay out for as long as possible, roam as far away from the Tower before Steve’s helicopter parent instincts kicked in. It was almost ironic that little Steve, well, not so little anymore, was the one looking out for him.

It should have been the other way round.

Therapy had been a word that Steve had offered up one day, accompanied with a shy smile. The team had a great one and Steve had been sure that no one would mind if Bucky booked a slot with her, he’d assured firmly. And thus, Bucky had instantly agreed, if not only to keep that smile on Steve’s face for a bit longer. To offer him hope that maybe one day he’d become the man Steve so desperately wanted him to be. The beaming grin in response had made the decision worthwhile; he wasn’t sure if he’d seen Steve that happy since regaining some sort of control over his brain again. He just hoped that he’d achieve whatever high expectation Steve held for this session.

Which was why Bucky was here. Opposite you, wearing a thick sweater in the summer sun to cover up his arm and lessen any fears you may have in response to seeing him. He had to remind himself that although you were a therapist, you were still just a civilian. And the media had not been kind to him.

“So, Mr Barnes, would you like a drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?” Your question takes him by surprise, that much is obvious in the small movement of his eyebrows, although the rest of him stays perfectly composed. He didn’t know what to expect from therapy, maybe something a bit more Good Will Hunting-esque. Or simply some talking, a Eureka-like moment and all problems instantly solved.

“Um, coffee would be nice… thank you. Black, no sugar.” When you got up to make it, he was even more confused. Why wouldn’t you just have a pot ready? Surely it would detract from the time with the client to have to fiddle around with the pot and sorting out the coffee granules.

The silence as they both waited for the pot to boil was deafening and Bucky soon found himself looking around the tiny yellow room with its monochromatic knick-knacks. Everything in here was sleek, almost succinct in its manner of serving a purpose and nothing more. The plain blue and white clock on the wall was geometric and placed directly next to three perfectly straight wooden shelves, each one painted a cool white.

Once the pot had boiled, Bucky found himself holding a steaming mug with a soppy depiction of a cartoon duckling on it. I Love Ducks More Than Humans, it loudly proclaimed. It felt out of place in this impersonal room, filled with items of purpose not decoration.

“Mr Barnes-”

“Please, call me Bucky.” He interrupted instinctively, smiling to ease the rudeness of his outburst. “Mr Barnes was my father and Lord knows how long he’s been dead.”

“Bucky, would you mind telling me what brought you to therapy?” Your grin is easy and genuine, putting him at ease as he leans back into the couch.

What had brought him to therapy? Bucky wasn’t sure of the answer himself; he didn’t have much of a reason except trying to change himself for Steve. But that wasn’t the answer you would be looking for, and there was no need to add another potential problem to his already mile-long list, starting with daddy issues, skimming over the numerous previous job-related traumas and now ending at fear of not being enough for his best friend. “I suppose it was Steve. He was worried for me and suggested therapy, so I wanted to give it a try.”

“But what do you want to get out of therapy? Not what your friend wants, you personally.”

Bucky hesitated. He knew that opening up would be good, and something about the simplicity of the place made it feel a lot easier to tell the whole truth to someone. “I don’t feel like myself, or who I used to be anymore. I’ve changed but people don’t seem able to see that.”

“I understand. It must be really difficult to not feel understood, can you tell me more?” Your voice was sweet, coaxing him to say more. It made his skin crawl, he felt like he was back at HYDRA with one of their ‘therapists’ who would coerce him into revealing information he wasn’t supposed to know and then they would wipe him, the excruciating pain reminding him that he couldn’t trust a therapist.

But these sessions were meant to help him. And so, he went back the next week, nodding with a fixed smile when Steve asked him how they were going. ‘Great.’ And the grin that Stevie gave him made it all seem like a good idea. Even though he felt like a cornered animal in the sessions.

It wasn’t your fault. You were lovely as far as he was concerned, but the way you spoke to him to get him to open up made him want to dive out the nearest window just to escape. And all this simmering frustration came to a head when you asked him a pointedly blunt question, nothing like the previous ones that had all danced around the topic.

“Bucky, I can tell that you’d rather not be here and we’re not making any progress unless you talk to me. What did HYDRA do to make you so afraid of what I’m asking you?”

Bucky froze, resentment bubbling up as he tried to regulate the words that were threatening to spit themselves out of his mouth. To attack her for not knowing. How could you know? How could you not? It was all over his file, the torture he’d undergone, and you had the audacity to ask what made him ‘so afraid’.

“You know what,” Bucky grimaced, biting down hard on his tongue.

“Bucky, please. I’m here to help. Please don’t shut me out because I haven’t understood you yet.” Her eyes pleaded with him to just give it a shot and he shuddered. He’d seen that expression before. It had usually twisted into a smirk as he was dragged away for yet another excruciating memory wipe.

“Maybe I don’t want your help. Maybe I’ve just been forced to come here but it’s turning out to be useless.” He bit back, hand clenching around the porcelain mug.

Your mouth opened and closed without a sound, face pulling into an awkward smile as you tried to soothe his raised temper. The longer you kept eye contact, the further your face fell and you gulped, throat clenching harshly.

Crash. The mug was crushed between his fingers and the tension was broken. You exhaled shakily, brushing your clammy palms against your long skirt. Bucky could hear your pounding heartrate from where he sat, a good few yards away. It filled him with remorse, like a splash of water to the face. He refused to be that person anymore

“I’ll grab a dustpan.” You smiled weakly, quickly moving out of his line of vision. Bucky didn’t move an inch, eyes staring blankly at where you’d sat. A shuffling noise by his feet startled him as you crouched down, scooping the shards up. He should be the one doing that, he realised.

“I’m afraid that’s the end of our session. But I do hope that you’ll come back next week, even if it feels like we’re getting nowhere.”

Guilt gnawed at Bucky as he nodded stiffly, making his way out the door without a single word. He turned round to say something to you, but when confronted with your face, he found he was unable to.

And the next week he was back. He would compare it to a drug, his inability to quit it, but that would imply that he enjoyed or craved therapy. He liked the way Steve seemed hopeful, less cautious around him. He liked your company, in a way. But he couldn’t stand the endless questions.

He was early, sat on one of the short armchairs stationed around her office. The person before him was loud, talking angrily about not being able to deal with it anymore and how he just couldn’t look at somebody. Was therapy meant to be that aggressive sounding? Your mild-mannered voice was much fainter and Bucky physically had to stop himself from leaning in to eavesdrop.

The door slammed open only moments later, Steve storming out and you hurriedly following him. When his eyes fell upon Bucky, he deflated, feet stuttering to a halt.

“I can’t do this.” His voice cracked as he spun round to look at you, eyes wild and frantic. Bucky frowned. “Buck, I can barely look at you without feeling like a failure. I thought once you’d had the brainwashing removed, you’d be back to normal. But you’re still not and…”

Bucky’s heartbeat was deafening in his ears, blood roaring as he drowned out the rest of Steve’s excuses. His eyes focused in on your face, patronizingly, mockingly sympathetic and he clenched a fist subconsciously. Some sort of exclamation from Steve at the sight of it caused him to forcibly relax all muscles, relieving any underlying tension that might still be visible. It did nothing to quell the sickening sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, throat clenching as he tried to swallow an invisible block.

“I’m going to go.” Steve brushed past him, not even looking back once.

Did he feel any remorse? Bucky wondered, a bitter taste on his tongue. Any sadness? Guilt? Anything about telling Bucky that he couldn’t deal with this PTSD-riddled version? He never thought that Steve, who stood up to every bully and against anything and everything morally wrong, would turn his back on him just for not being the man he once was.

“Bucky?” Your tentative voice broke him out of his reverie, your vibrant yellow skirt cheerily mocking him.

“You did this.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. There was only one person who could have twisted Steve’s mind, who could have turned the one person that Bucky always thought would have his back against him.

“No.” You were defensive, suspiciously so, your posture stiff. You sighed, turning back to head into your office. “Will you come in?”

“I don’t need your help. You’ve already done enough. Aren’t you sick of destroying lives by twisting people’s emotions? Do you enjoy playing the saviour in order to create chaos?”

Your face fell at his words and Bucky felt a vindictive joy at the sight. He knew that it was unfair to enjoy seeing your cheery façade slipping, but he couldn’t help it. It was as if something deep inside him was egging on the cruel remarks on the tip of his tongue, begging him to cut deep with his words.

“Bucky, I won’t force you to come in, but my office is always a safe space for you to enter. Always.”

You turned with a forced smile, although it was more of a grimace, shoulders slumping as the door swung shut in Bucky’s face. He could hear a muffled sob through the door and a towering wave of icy guilt crashed down upon him, clearing the red haze.

He hadn’t meant to make you cry; it was just that… he wanted someone else to feel the same as he did.

He wanted someone else to get punished for Steve’s actions.

Bucky raised a metal fist, sleeve slipping down over his wrist as he hovered in front of the door. He wanted to offer some sort of apology, and comfort, because it clearly wasn’t your fault. Bucky had easily overlooked the months of awkward silences and faked smiles between him and Steve, but something had been wrong for a while.

It wasn’t your fault Steve was unable to let go of the past.

“Just give me a sec,” your voice quavered with a sniffle. A sharp burst of shame startled Bucky and he wheezed quietly, clutching at his left shoulder. The door tentatively swung open in front of him, your puffy face forcing a watery smile. “Oh. Bucky.”

“I’m sorry.”

His abrupt sentence startled you, a flicker of confusion flashing across your face. Bucky didn’t know whether he should feel worse about the fact that his apology was such a surprise to you, or just accept the fact that he’d been a complete and utter dick to you.

“It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have just blamed you because you were there. I’ve been nothing but an asshole to you and I’m sorry.”

You blinked at him owlishly.

What else did you want him to say? Bucky shifted onto his left foot, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Do you want-“ “I’m just-“

Bucky shared a hesitant chuckle with you as your sentences tripped over each other’s. He gestured for you to continue speaking, unable to help the small smile that crept onto his face.

“Do you want to come in?”

Now, sat on the little white couch, steaming mug of coffee in his hands, Bucky looked at your hopeful face. You had assured him that you hadn’t meant to push last week and that you would go at the pace he felt comfortable with. This session you were starting off with his childhood and then, slowly, over time, trying to work your way to the present. Together.

Maybe therapy wasn’t so bad.

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honey-harper-official · 4 years

Text

Evander Wade Hate AU - Chapter 12

MasterList for Evander Wade Hate AU

Word Count: 2221

This is an au where Evander Wade is secretly a villain purely because I don’t like him. Also I fix my problems with canon and Danna gets a POV like she deserved.

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Danna stuck her tongue out at Adrian while he glared at her. She had won the blue controller and was proud of herself. She always got the blue controller even though she knew it was Adrian's favorite one and she always took it just because it was his favorite. He would probably give it to her if she asked politely. It was only a competition because she knew it was his favorite and made a point to take it because of that.

"Loser picks the game," Adrian said as he looked through their options.

"Am I not the guest?" Danna asked, kicking him.

"You're my sister so you don't count," he told her.

"Rude," she said. "I should count more. I have to put up with your little lovesick heart all the time. I deserve an elevated status."

"You asked about it!" Adrian exclaimed as he picked out Minecraft for them to play. In addition to the server that their whole friend group was on, the two of them shared their own world and had been working on it consistently for a while.

While Danna had chosen the desert biome to build a castle in, Adrian had his own house in the savanna. Usually they both hated the biome but the area Adrian had found was very cool with a lot of floating rocks and land masses and a ravine nearby.

Danna rolled her eyes at her brother.

"Whatever. You two disgust me. Love is gross."

"Danna let's think about all the times you've come to me and ranted about a pretty girl you saw like once and were crushing on."

Danna glared, cheeks growing hot. "SHUT UP!" She exclaimed, chucking a pillow at him as their game loaded.

As he said that, Narcissa came to mind. Immediately she shoved it down. It wasn't going to happen. The timing was bad and she was probably hung up on Nova. It would end disastrously and she couldn't afford for her feelings to distract her from the problems she and the team were dealing with. Maybe Nova and Adrian could afford it since they were what this was revolving around but Danna couldn't. She was leading this and for their sake, she couldn't be derailed.

"Something's on your mind," Adrian said as he looked at the TV ahead and maneuvered his controller.

"And what about it?" Danna asked. She wasn't going to hide her feelings from her brother but she also didn't feel like spilling her guts to him.

"Well what's bothering you?" Adrian asked, setting his controller aside to face her.

Danna sighed. Maybe it would be good to talk about it.

"So I like a girl but I'm pretty sure she doesn't like me back. Or at least if she does she still has feelings for her ex-girlfriend," Danna explained.

"Well you've been through that before. Is it different in some way? Is that why I was able to tell faster?" Adrian asked.

"I mean yeah a little. I guess I don't want to be hung up on a girl when we're trying to solve a murder case and have a full on heist."

Adrian laughed and shook his head.

"It's okay. You're allowed to have your own feelings outside of this and yeah it might be a distraction here and there but it's not like the rest of us aren't going to have that either. I mean Oscar is swooning over Ruby and Nova and I are still finding a way to date and spend time with one another through all of this," Adrian pointed out. "So it's perfectly okay if you've got a girl on your mind through this."

"Yeah but I'm the one who's leading this and I can't be distracted by a girl who's part of this," Danna said, frustrated. She then clamped a hand over her mouth realizing what she had said. She just admitted to having a crush on either Ruby, Nova, or Narcissa and it wasn't good for Adrian to know about either.

If it was Nova, his own girlfriend, Danna knew he wouldn't exactly be happy but knew that she wouldn't pursue and would leave it alone but she didn't want her brother upset with her, especially when she told him that her feelings for Nova dissolved the second she realized Adrian and her were pursuing one another. If he knew it was Ruby he would want to help set her up but he also wouldn't want to betray Oscar like that and personally, Danna wouldn't want to betray Oscar like that either. She was entitled to her own feelings of course but Oscar had liked Ruby for ages and was finally getting the confidence to ask her out and Danna didn't want to ruin that for him, especially since she knew about his crush on her after all these years.

And if it was Narcissa then Adrian would definitely try and set them up and it would cause a mess. She loved her brother but sometimes he could be so insistent on helping others that he caused more problems in the process. He was too caring for his own good. Him being the Sentinel was the prime example of that.

"Which girl?" Adrian asked.

"If I tell you then you have to promise not to do anything or interfere," Danna told him.

"Fine. Now tell me. You don't get to know all about my love life and pester me about it only to not tell me anything about yours."

"It's Narcissa and when you meet her you better not do anything stupid or I will-"

"It's Narcissa! As in the mirror walker?" Adrian asked, astonished.

Danna's cheeks burned.

"Yes now shut up before I set your stupid house on fire," she hissed, slamming a pillow down on his head.

"Okay! Okay!" He laughed, wrestling the pillow from her. "I won't do anything but you have to at least try."

"Now is not the time for-"

"Bullshit Danna. You have to try. It wouldn't be fair to yourself if you didn't," Adrian insisted. He then held up his hand and jutted out his pinky. "Promise."

Danna huffed but interlocked her finger with his. It was childish but she'd never break a pinky promise. That was something both her and her brother could agree on.

"If it backfires I blame you."

"I'm willing to take that risk," he said before turning back to the game.

Still, Danna was tense and on edge. Despite all the banter she shared with her brother and Nova and their friends, she was still not as lighthearted or friendly as she usually was. She was rather stressed by all of this since she had taken the lead on it all and she wasn't sure how Adrian and Nova were able to manage it.

But then again, this was probably way less stressful then the life Nova used to lead and Adrian must have found some way to deal with it since he was already leading a double life with the Sentinel.

Danna had also never done anything that was technically illegal and while Ruby and Oscar were aware of all that was happening, it wasn't like they were actively conspiring against the government and planning a break in. It was the right thing to do and Danna reassured that to herself all the time but it was still a lot to deal with when robbery and spying in on the government were the first and only crimes she would ever commit.

It was also the one thing she couldn't tell her dad. Danna was sure that her dad would listen and try to understand and he would never turn her into the Renegades but he certainly wouldn't let it continue and would ground her for a month at least. It was a new feeling to have to hide so much from her dad too.

"You sure nothing else is bothering you?" Adrian asked. "You seem off."

"It's all so stressful," Danna admitted to her brother. "I've never really kept secrets as big as this from people and it's weird the skirt around my dad so much. It's also weird to break laws and plan a break in even though it's for a good cause."

"Danna you don't have to be part of this if you don't want. And if you do want to help then you don't have to take the lead on it either. I'm sure Nova and I can handle it."

"If I left you and Nova in charge you two would just make out the whole time," Danna snorted as Adrian rolled his eyes. "Besides I don't want to put more on you and Nova's plates. You two already have a lot going on and I especially don't want to give Nova any more things to deal with."

"You're allowed to step down from this," Adrian told her. "I get where you're coming from but it'll be alright. You don't have to make yourself miserable to help us."

"It's not that. Nova and Narcissa make good points about the flaws in the Renegades that really should be fixed and they won't listen to her unless we can do something to prove that they should. And it's not like the planning itself is what makes me nervous it's just I've never done something that I would ever have to hide. I don't get how you and Nova do it," She explained.

Danna had no problems with what she was doing and didn't find anything morally wrong with it. Sometimes what was legal wasn't right and she was certainly willing to put everything aside to help her brother and her team. They were a family and family stuck together.

Danna just wished that she didn't get stressed out from keeping secrets and having to hide things from people.

"At this point I've adjusted to keeping secrets but usually when it gets too bad I just take a break from whatever I was doing that I had to hide and just try to do stuff that helps me relax. I'd like to say Nova does the same but I think she's numb to all of this by now and if not then she's really good at shoving it down," Adrian told her.

"Personally I think your girlfriend likes causing mischief and chaos for your dads too much to care about keeping more secrets," Danna joked.

Adrian snorted. "That sounds like her. She's polite and nice to them and I don't think she'll ever admit it to me but you're probably not wrong."

"Well that and she's already told our team about it so it probably doesn't feel like she's hiding anything anymore though I will take what you do into consideration."

"Maybe the whole team and even Narcissa should all have a game night. I'm sure Nova, Ruby, and you would love kicking everybody's asses," he said as he began cutting down trees in the game.

Danna finally turned back to the screen and actually played, having to turn her controller back on before she continued building her cathedral. She wasn't Christian at all but she had to admit that the architecture and the stained glass were stunning.

"I think a game night would result in Ruby, Nova, and I all just competing with one another and leaving the rest of you guys out."

"As I said. The three of you would just kick everybody's asses," Adrian said.

Danna elbowed him in the ribs, laughing as he grunted.

"You would love it if Nova kicked your ass at anything," she giggled, sticking her tongue out.

"Shut up," Adrian said, reaching over and shoving her.

It quickly turned into a full on war. The two of them took the little throw pillows on the couch and started beating one another with them. They tended to rough house often, especially when it was just the two of them and neither of them held back.

Danna burst into her swarm and then dropped on his bed, taking one of the big pillows and slamming it over his head. Adrian then grinned and she watched as his Minecraft character soared across the landscape and towards the cathedral she was building.

"NO NO NO NO NO!" Danna exclaimed, dropping the pillow and jumping over the back of the couch and onto the cushion. She grabbed the controller and started to chase him around with her sword while he placed a block of TNT in her cathedral.

"Apologize or say goodbye to your cathedral," Adrian threatened.

"Fine I'm sorry," Danna said. "Now stop being a jerk and leave my cathedral."

"Next time I want a better apology but a deal is a deal," he said before leaving.

Danna deleted the block. "You're such an ass."

"You love me."

"You wish I loved you," Danna said, turning her attention back to the cathedral she was building.

Already, she was beginning to feel less stressed out. Having taken her mind off of it all for a moment helped and it was always good to spend some quality time roughhousing with her baby brother. She just hoped that things calmed down soon so she was able to be more relaxed and mess around with her friends and family more without the back of her mind screaming at her.

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Tag List:

@thepurpledragon4444 @nova-artino @novas-tunnel-of-anxiety @princessselene126 @my-littlenightmare @anarchists-87 @plain-jane-mclain @emybain @renegadesnet @itsalittlebitchilly @justsomerandomficsforrenegades @jacihayle @creampuffqueen @alecjamesartino @blueraspberry-official @imnotfluffy @everhartartino @artino-nova @cosmicnovaflare @amiity-blight

#nevada fanfiction #nodrian #nova artino #adrian everhart #danna bell #narcissa cronin #danissa #oscar silva #ruby tucker #tuckva #osby #renegays #renegades trilogy #renegades #archenemies #supernova #supernova spoilers

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sgtrolandhills · 4 years

Text

Simple Kind of Man || Nicodemus & Roland

TIMING: Last week some time, before Regan does a loud PARTIES: @bountybossier & @sgtrolandhills SUMMARY: A weary Roland runs into Nic at a bar. The two chat and have some good life talks.

Normally, Roland could find comfort in his work. That had always been a constant in his life. It was why he had excelled in school and in his career, but now, he just wasn’t so sure. Now that it seemed like he was falling short at every corner in his career, he didn’t know where to find comfort. Most of the cases that came across his desk lead him to more questions than answers and that night spent in that abandoned house with Stryder still haunted him. Reading through case files wasn’t going to dull the lingering pain that maybe he wasn’t nearly as good at his job as he thought he was. He couldn’t help but think his father would have been able to figure all of this out. In his mind, his dad had always been this larger than life figure. Jim Hills had always dutiful and committed to honoring the city he served. His dedication motivated Roland much of his life, but even outside of work, it always seemed like his dad had the answers. When the road ahead looked dangerous or unclear, he’d always drove on and somehow knew the way. Roland would have given anything for some of his guidance right now. Instead, the only Jim in his life would have to be Jim Beam. He ordered his whiskey neat with a pint of Sam Adams to wash it down and let out a disgruntled sigh, not even realizing there was a man sitting next to him. “Sorry,” he grumbled, “It’s been a bit of a day-- week-- month.”

As fun as the idea of sitting at home and drinking alone in the dark was, Nicodemus needed some kinda noise to drown out his thoughts. Hell, when had he ever been so worried? Months later, he supposed accidental murder had that effect on a person. He stressed the word accidental and as a byproduct, stressed himself out. He wasn’t about to wallow. He feared the pull of the undertow if he did that shit. And fear had been the start of it all. Not to mention the crime gig Erin had taken to. He knew she could handle herself but hell if he didn’t consider the what ifs from time to time. It was hard to wallow in it when, instead, he could order a double whiskey neat and sit back while some soccer game played. The cheers of the patrons rang loud in his sensitive ears. Shit, he was at the Perfect Pint. Football. It was a football game. He grunted and took a long drink. Grit his teeth as the whiskey nearly burned the skin of his mouth. He had asked for the cheap shit and he could taste it. The crowd quieted for a second and the sigh that came from the man next to him just about startled him. But he held fast. Held tight to his drink as he glanced over. The man looked about how he felt and by any indication, it wasn’t fucking great. Nicodemus wasn’t a man of small talk. Nicodemus after a few whiskey neats, on the other hand, sure was. “Yeah, looks that way,” he commented, before he winced and waved a hand. “Shit. Sorry. Not what I--But, uh, yeah. Been a fuckin’ year. That drink you’re havin’ for the day or the month?” He snorted and shook his head. “Whichever one’s been worse, I reckon?”

How he’d ended up in a bar of all places, Roland wasn’t sure. Here his superiors probably thought transferring him to a small town would leave him bored and stagnant. He had stark determination when he first arrived, but now everything seemed to be spiraling further and further from his grasp. Every answer he reached for seemed to float away just past his reach, just where he couldn’t see it clearly. All it led to was an ever growing stack of half solved cases on his desk. Nearly getting himself and Stryder killed had been the icing on the metaphorical cake. Finding out how wrong he’d been about Erin was a last straw of sorts. At this point, he wasn’t even sure if his drink was for the day, month, or year. All had been weighing heavy on him. “Your guess is as good as mine. I’d have to say month,” he answered, perhaps more truthfully than he would have otherwise if there weren’t a fresh shot of bourbon in his system. “From the sounds of it, I’m not the only one getting my ass handed to me by this town. Care for a shot?”

“Hear that,” Nicodemus muttered out with a small, slow nod. “Months got a way of feelin’ like years here, don’t it?” The way White Crest could make a man feel older yet younger all at the same time, no wonder the town carried itself the way it did. All just about half awake, heads just above water. As long as there was a game on and a full fridge at home, what’d they have to worry about? But hell, they stayed. He certainly had and he had stopped trying to question why. He knew why. The hunter went to take another dry sip but snorted, lowered the glass back down. “Nah, definitely ain’t just you. Ain’t that nice,” he said with a slight lift of a brow. The humor in his tone withered as he sat up straighter and heaved a sigh. “Yeah, sure, deal me in. I’ll get the next.” He leaned into the bartop, arms slightly folded together. Before he spoke up, he laughed as he looked at the other man. “What happened, if’n you don’t mind some asshole askin’?”

“You got that right,” Roland agreed and took a gulp of the beer the bartender had set down in front of him. The time flew by, but so much happened so quickly that it felt longer, somehow. At this point, he barely felt like he was keeping his head above water, but there was still too much on the line to give up entirely. All of it had little to do with his own work ethic or sense of worth anymore, people were in danger. Mores so every single day. He’d made that his weight to carry and while he needed the night off mentally, tomorrow he’d be back at it again, trying his best to make this town even a little bit safer. “At least we’re not alone in this boat… or bar, rather,” he responded with a small chuckle. He was tired, but it felt better to be talking with someone who seemingly understood. He rested his elbows on the bar with his beer mug still in his hand. He looked down at the beer momentarily before he answered, “You hardly seem like an asshole. But yeah, I guess I could do with talking about it a bit. You ever used to feel like you were really good at something-- then all of a sudden you start to realize you’re not?” That was one way of putting it. The ever growing number of unsolved cases on his desk said it all. “I moved here a while back from Boston. Transferred from Boston PD. I used to think I was a good detective and leader and now… I guess this town’s just giving me a run for my money.”

In different bars in different towns, Nicodemus kept to the back corners. Kept to himself unless someone suddenly developed a problem or those in the know knew to ask something of him. He didn’t know how it happened or when it did, but in White Crest, he gravitated toward the bartop itself. Found himself in conversations with people he might even see the next day. He snorted. He had a strong feeling that he and the other guy wouldn’t be getting into any bar fights. A breath of relief followed after. “Sure ain’t,” he agreed, voice a tired whiskey drawl. He nodded. “You don’t seem like one either.” As the man continued, opened up, he sat up a little straighter. Weathered, he thought. That’s what they were. Weathered and continuing to weather. His eyes dropped from looking at the other man to the worn bartop. Being good at something. What did that even mean to him anymore? He had been good at what he did. Bounty hunting. Hell, he still was, but lately, he hesitated. The money said as much. And he couldn’t blame it on age. Wasn’t sure he could blame it on anything. It just was. No attribution necessary. The hunter tensed in his chair. Boston PD. A confessional with a cop, why the hell not. “Yeah...Yeah, I do,” he said after a beat. The shots slid across the bartop and he took his in hand. “I do the, uh, odd job here or there. People knew that I was reliable if they needed something done. But hell, lately...I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if I’m good for it anymore. That realization’s the worst part of it all, ain’t it?” He tossed the shot back. “Creeps in slow and fucks you right up. Town’s got a way of doin’ that too.” Erin had told him that once. That it wasn’t him, it was the town. Somehow, he got lost and understood the town more than he understood his own damn self. “Boston, huh? Ain’t too far from home then.”

Feeling a bit less alone in the world did help to an extent. The feeling of lead in his chest seemed to be dissipating at the very least. Roland wasn’t sure when or how things had gotten so out of control, but it was difficult for him to navigate. He thrived on order and found himself in a town ruled almost exclusively by chaos. Maybe one day all his efforts would pay off, but it was getting harder and harder to maintain the optimism he once possessed. He finally set his stein down and brought his shoulders back if only a little. Slouching indicated defeat and he wasn’t ready to reside himself to that yet. The people of this town were worth fighting for. He leaned back away from the bar top and looked to his new found friend. Understanding was a powerful thing. “You’re right. The realization hits like a ton of bricks. And then it’s a hell of a time trying to figure out when it even happened,” he responded a little more emphatically this time. He was feeling more comfortable with this… It dawned on him he didn’t know this man’s name. “Yeah, starts out so slowly, you don’t even know it’s happening. This town definitely has a way of it though. Let me tell you, gang violence has nothing on the strange crimes that happen in this town.” Mimes and eyeballs still haunted his nightmares. Now there were organs being sold and mutated animals. Nothing could just be simple. “Yep-- Born and raised. My dad was on the force there, too. I miss it sometimes, but this town has turned out to be a challenge at least.” One he wasn’t so sure he was up to facing anymore, but giving up was never an option. “What about you? You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

Nicodemus was so used to dealing with the children of White Crest finding new and inventive ways to achieve martyrdom that he damn near forgot what it was like to talk to someone a little more than reasonable. Even as the topic grew heavier, his shoulders didn’t. He didn’t feel as rusted over, as withered. Maybe it was the booze or maybe it was the strange ease of the conversation. Either way, he took well enough to it. Breathed a little easier. “Feels like half the time you’re just tryin’ to keep up with it all and shit, you’re still gettin’ lost somehow,” he said with a slightly furrowed brow. “It’s weird, y’know? I feel lost as shit in this town most of the time but the, uh, people sorta help with that.” Plenty of people had helped him and oddly enough, he thought as he glanced over, their numbers kept growing. Nothing like bar hospitality and the kindred nature of the weary. Strange crimes. The hunter had to wonder how much this man knew about White Crest’s strangeness. Had he seen one of those native wolves? Maybe the bloody aftermath of some vampire’s creation? Nicodemus frowned some as he moved the small shot glass between his hands. “Shit,” he said with lifted brows as he looked at him. “Take it you’ve been seein’ weird stuff ‘round these parts?” He gestured to the bartender to bring them a couple more drinks. This time on him. “So it’s a family kinda business for you? I know that one. You do the same stuff he did?” Air rushed out his nose. “Sure as hell can be a challenge. Don’t really know how we all keep survivin’ here but we do.” The more he drank, the heavier his drawl came. The more the bayou came through. A wry smile made an appearance. “Louisiana. Y’all got a couple seasons we don’t up here,” he said with a raspy laugh. “Do a lot of travelin’ but-- Hell, I think this is the longest I’ve stayed in one spot in about ten years.” As their drinks came by, he shifted some. “I’m, uh, Nicodemus. By the way. Nic works.”

In times like this, Roland always did his best to remember his father. There were so many ways in his mind that the man had always been larger than life. Even when the world around him seemed to be moving far too fast or in ways no one could have possibly understood, Jim Hills stood tall. It was the same energy he tried to emulate now. Letting some of it out helped keep his chin up. Did he live up to the man who raised him? These days he couldn’t be sure, but it was hard to be too torn up about it as the effects of the alcohol slowly kicked in. “That’s exactly it. Most days it feels hard enough just to tell up from down,” he agreed, “There are some good people here, though. Guess that’s what makes most things worth it at the end of the day.” There were also people who were only seemingly good. Erin and whoever in his department had disposed of her evidence were proof of that. Still, there were kind souls out there like the one sitting next to him, letting him get some worries off his chest. Even the crimes he had no explanation for. Maybe if he spoke his piece out loud, he’d have some sort of epiphany that brought this all together. “I think you’re on the nose with the weird shit part. Mimes, eyeballs, cults, diseased animals, you name it-- this town seems to have it.” Surely, there were probably run of the mill drug rings, too. The unbelievably high homicide rate just took precedence. “Oh yeah, Pops was a cop, too. Boston PD Captain before he passed. Always looked up to him though,” he answered. He nodded along with his note on survival. It seemed all he could do some days was just survive. “You got that right. Louisiana, now that’s a cool state. Only ever been to New Orleans there. Ex-Wife was very into the history of the town. I enjoyed the food.” He paused and took a sip from his fresh beer before asking, “What brought you to White Crest?” Now his mystery bar friend had a name. “Nic, it’s good to meet you. I’m Roland.”

It would take a great deal more for the hunter to start seeing double. Even so, Nicodemus slowed down. Took his time between sips as he just listened. It was funny, how he had honed that skill by listening to the details of bounties to get them just right. He almost laughed. Maybe Morgan had been right, Erin too. That he could do something else with it. Yet, the mornings and evenings went on the same. How could he end when he didn’t even know where to start? He hummed low to himself. “There are, yeah,” he admitted. He had to wonder if this man had that same crusted over optimism that he did. “Made more friends here than I have anywhere else. Maybe it’s that death rate, y’know? Got people eager to make friendly.” He shook his head, a slight smile of disbelief as he turned his drink in hand. A bit of dark humor to shadow over how fucking worried he was about everyone. “Shit, half the time it seems like they’re all in on it together. Group effort. Just...mimes?” He looked at Roland with his glass in hand, his face sour. “They ain’t right.” From time to time, he thought of how he had twisted the head off his own mime and then wondered why sometimes he didn’t sleep. The hunter went quiet for a moment. Father figures weren’t a familiar notion to him. He didn’t know his father. Only that he had his face and for that, he was troubled from the start. He was too busy having his grandfather look down at him to consider looking skyward. When the hell fires came for Samson, maybe Nicodemus could look down at him for once. The burn of his whiskey shook him out of it. “Sounds like he was a good man,” he finally said with a nod. “Could do with more of those.” What constituted a good man? He didn’t know. Didn’t think he had much to say on it. “New Orleans, Baton Rouge. Those are the real nice places, can’t go wrong with ‘em. But you wanna see the weird shit? Gotta get out to the middlin’ or upper parishes. Ain’t too different from here sometimes.” Hell, that was how he had spent most of his growing years. Dealing with the weird shit. “But, uh, work, mostly. Depends what people need. Handyman or pest control type stuff. Left home and just sorta kept moving. Make myself useful.” It sounded good enough in his head. “Likewise, likewise.” He held his glass over. “Well, Roland, to weird shit and alright people, huh?”

There was something to be said about trauma bringing people together. Roland agreed the death rate likely helped bring them all together. He knew even within the station, he felt more of a sense of comradery than he had back in Boston. Given, the competitive atmosphere in Boston’s department likely didn’t help, but here in White Crest, they’d all been through a lot. They’d all seen some shit. “Yeah, that must be it. Gotta be in this together to survive a place like this,” he pondered aloud. He slowed down with his drink. It wasn’t often that he indulged in drinking and it hit him more quickly than it would hit most other men his size because of this. While he had every intention of grabbing an Uber home, he didn’t love the idea of making a fool of himself in public. The mention of mimes working with the other crazy things in this town made his brow scrunch up. “God, I hope not,” he grumbled, “The mimes are bad enough on their own. I don’t want to see what happens if they team up with overly aggressive animals and cults… though maybe the mimes are a cult.” He really hated that thought though they did seem to have a cult following in this town. At least they weren’t stabbing people anymore as far as he could tell. All he knew was he could go the rest of his life without seeing or hearing about a mime and he’d be damn glad. “He was,” Roland agreed when Nic mentioned his father sounded like a good man. There wasn’t much more to say about that unless he wanted to go down memory lane and make himself sad. Seemed like he’d done enough of that tonight. Mentions of parts of New Orleans being like White Crest caused him to shake his head. “If I’m going on vacation, the last thing I’m looking for is more weird shit, but hey, guess it builds character.” He nodded along with the odd jobs, “Well, I’ll definitely keep you in mind if anything comes up.” He raised his stein and clinked it to Nic’s glass. “Cheers to weird shit and good people.” Maybe this wasn’t his normal scene, but after a good chat with Nic, he understood why people enjoyed it. He felt a lot less alone in this crazy world having found a kindred spirit.

#wickedswriting #simple kind of man #nicodemus #nic

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takonei · 4 years

Text

Beta AU - Main story, Chapter 3, deadly life (Part 7)

Note of the author: ... Damn this Deadly life is long. I know there were two deaths but still.

Chapter 3: What is beyond humans’ control - Deadly life

...

“Huh?” the girl blinked.

“I said...” Rantaro gripped his podium. “How do you know what a curare is?”

Shuichi was confused. What’s a ‘curare’ anyway?

“Um... I think I heard it once but don’t remember who said it...” she replied, tapping her cheek.

“... That’s a lie and you know it.” Rantaro became more and more nervous. “I never mentioned anything about curares. I never even said the word, and I don’t think anyone here knows what it even means.”

He turned to the rest of them to see if he was right.

And he was, since everyone glanced at each other to see if anyone knew.

“I mean, I do know but...” Tsumugi pondered. “I don’t remember mentioning it, but I could be wrong, since the past few days have been erased from my memory.”

“Still...” Rantaro turned back to the craftswoman. “Curare is the scientific name for what I described as ‘paralyzing product’ so that everyone would understand.”

“But you couldn’t have known that unless you read the label on the bottle.”

“I... Think I do remember now! I did see it when I checked the shelves in your lab once because I was looking for painkillers! But that was even before the disease!” she joyfully replied.

This looked incredibly suspicious anyway. And Rantaro seemed very skeptic.

“... Supposing this is true...” he turned to the rest of them. “This is the first and last time I want someone rummaging through painkillers. I want to be here if any of you want some painkillers, since I know it’s easy to take the wrong doses.”

... First time? Didn’t Kaito...

No, now wasn’t the time.

He nodded. The rest of the group agreed as well.

“I still have trouble believing you, Angie.” Tsumugi narrowed her eyes.

Ryoma sighed. “We said we would solve the murder, then accuse people. However...”

He turned to the girl. “We still have a suspect list with some of you more suspicious than others, and that includes you, Angie.”

She joyfully nodded. “I’m not the killer~ But we can continue the trial if you wish to!”

Shuichi didn’t know her that much, but that still looked strange.

Kokichi seemed to have an eye on her, but he didn’t look mad at her... For some reason.

What is he even thinking?

“There’s something that has been bothering me ever since I- no. Since we discovered it.” Kirumi glanced at the violinist.

Something they both discovered? Ah, is it...

“... You mean the missing plants in the shrine?” he perked up.

“The what now?” Miu was confused.

“Some bushes were missing in the shrine.” Kirumi explained. “We left it for a few minutes with Rantaro because Monokuma asked us to at the end of the investigation, and when we came back I’m positive they were replaced.”

Kiyo and Ryoma nodded to each other. “That’s what we noticed as well.”

“But what’s that supposed to mean?” Kaito frowned.

“Did any of you find the missing plants anyway?” Tsumugi asked the autopsy trio.

They glanced at each other to confirm that no, they didn’t.

“Does any of you have an idea on what they could have been used for?” Kiyo questioned.

Something they could have used the plants for...

The bushes, and not the flowers.

Perhaps for something that was worth taking off the bushes, yet not the flowers...

And for some reason the bushes disappeared without a trace.

It hit him.

“Did the killer... Burn them? That’s the only explanation I can find...” he suggested.

“Wouldn’t they have taken the flowers with it?” Kaito asked.

Tsumugi shook her head. “No. Flowers are not as flammable as bushes, so I can see where Shuichi comes from, and that’s the most plausible theory.”

“But to burn bushes? What’s the point?” Miu argued.

“My guess would be that they had something else to burn.” Kirumi said.

Something else to burn...

“What about the labels on the bottles? We didn’t find a single one of them in the shrine, but...” he trailed off. “Why would they burn the labels? We know which bottles are missing...”

“I think this has to do with which bottles we would find liquid around.” Rantaro answered. “So we couldn’t identify which ones were used then thrown, and which ones were thrown without being used.”

So this had to do with an already solved mystery.

“Perhaps there is something else we can add to the things they burned.” Kiyo declared. He turned to the medic. “Rantaro, you did the autopsy in its entirety, right?”

He hummed. “Yes, and I’ve given every information I found.”

“Was there a trace of a letter Himiko may have received inviting her to the shrine?”

Rantaro’s eyes widened in realization. “Now that I think about it, no. I didn’t find anything on her.”

“Then we can say that the letter burned with the labels and the bushes.” the therapist concluded.

“So the killer just used the bushes as a way to make fire?” Miu scratched her neck.

“Not just to make fire.” Tsumugi corrected. “To make a fire strong enough to burn both the letter and every single piece of label on the bottles.”

“Let’s not forget the fabric used as a bag.” Kirumi added.

“However there’s a huge contradiction with this entire theory.” Ryoma countered. “You see, I think I know enough by now considering how much time I spent in the warehouse and...”

“There isn’t a single lighter in this academy.”

Shuichi blinked. If there wasn’t any lighter, then there couldn’t have been any fire.

But that theory felt so right...

“You mean like, no way to burn stuff?” Kaito turned to him.

“Nope. Even the monomono machine doesn’t give anything like that, from what I’ve tested.”

Angie pondered. “That’s weird, I swear I have seen fire somewhere...”

She thought for a moment. “There were candles in the rooms of the fourth floor, right?”

That was... Right, actually. When they visited the rooms after they opened, and when they installed furniture for the ill ones.

“Yes, but we blew on them each night so the others could sleep.” Rantaro defended himself, knowing the accusations would be against him.

“Each night? What is that supposed to mean?” Tsumugi raised an eyebrow.

Shuichi forgot for a moment she didn’t remember the last few days.

“Monokuma relighted them each time, for some reason.” the medic replied.

“I remember waking up in a dark room this morning. They were extinguished.” Ryoma testified.

Tsumugi nodded. “I can confirm this.”

Shuichi barely heard Kokichi humming as he nodded, too.

"I went one last time in the rooms before actually eating my meal. You three asked me to turn off the lights, and so I did.” the medic explained.

He frowned. “I didn’t think much of it since you asked me the same the day before, but I should have guessed something was wrong.”

Shuichi could see Tsumugi glancing at Kokichi- the only one in the ill students group who remembered the last few days, to see if he reacted to a potential lie.

From his expression that wasn’t the case.

“But then how are you supposed to burn things without any sort of lighter?” Kaito questioned.

Either the theory was wrong, or they were missing something.

Think.

"Perhaps there wasn’t any fire in the first place?” Kiyo pondered.

Wait, what if...

“Rantaro, didn’t you show us a burned wooden stake?”

Kirumi nodded. “I remember now. There was a partially burned wooden stake on the crime scene.”

“Which means there was a fire after all.” Rantaro confirmed.

“But where does that get us? The thing was partially burned, right? There were no trace of burning anywhere else!” Miu exclaimed.

“But there has to be a way this burn mark was made.” Tsumugi declared.

A way to make fire with a wooden stake...

It hit him.

There was only one person who could have been able to do so.

“Angie...” Shuichi hesitantly turned to her. “You know how to make fire with wood, right?”

The girl innocently tilted her head to the side. “Hm?”

“Yes. You told me about your experiences on your island and told me that was one of the basic things to learn as an artisan.” Kiyo agreed.

“Oh... Did I say that?” she put a finger on her cheek.

Kiyo looked nervous, yet confident in his voice. “Yes Angie. You did.”

All eyes were on her now. her podium emitted a red light and went forward.

“Angie... You’re the culprit aren’t you?” Shuichi narrowed his eyes at her.

Upon a quick glance, Kokichi was still unreadable. It was like he wasn’t even caring about the situation and paying close attention at the same time.

"...”

The girl was silent.

Everyone was waiting an answer.

“... I was in my lab yesterday until 8:00 PM. I never moved from there, actually~”

“Angie.” Rantaro stared at her. “We need an answer. You’re the only one who could have done this.”

“Answer my question then!~” she span around to turn to the medic. “Did any of you see me leaving my lab and temper with the meals?”

The others glanced at each other, hoping to find an answer.

But nobody said anything.

“See? If I did so, one of you would have noticed me. However, since we’re talking about ‘fire’...”

She turned back to Kirumi.

“You’re a mercenary, right? You should have plenty of firearms to help you in your lab~”

“I never use firearms." she countered. “I only use knives and poisons. Nothing in my lab could have done anything of the sort.”

“Can we be sure?” Kaito hesitantly asked.

“I’ve looked at your profiles, several times actually.” Tsumugi argued. “And I remember seeing on Kirumi’s profile that she dislikes firearms. I doubt Monokuma would come up with a lie to defend one of us.”

“Besides...” Ryoma added. “Firearms is only the name. Unless you had gasoline you couldn’t have created fire. And it would have been way too loud to be an effective method.”

Shuichi stared at the craftswoman, hands strongly gripping the podium. “You’re the only one, Angie.”

“I still don’t have the answer to my previous question~” she wasn’t phased at all.

“None of you saw me put soporifics in the meals. And everyone can make fire if they try, it just takes some time~”

“No one saw you, it’s true.” Tsumugi glared at her, one hand placed on her podium. “But you are the only one who could have committed the murder, and that’s all that matters.”

Shuichi thought about the day Angie’s lab opened. Angie had specifically said that she could use all the tools with great skill.

That included the axe.

He felt a chill down his spine. Even though some of them were strong physically, it was an expert who used such a powerful tool on Himiko.

“It’s not like it matters anymore.” the prodigy continued. “Let’s just get to voting time already. The blackened is decided.”

“No they’re not!!!”

Kokichi slammed his hands on the table, startling Shuichi.

“I told you all! There is one blackened here and it’s me!” he put a hand on his chest, as if it would strengthen his argument.

“Kokichi-”

“Even if- Even if any of you really killed Himiko there is one person here who deserves to die, it’s me!” he yelled.

Convincing Kokichi was going to be a hard task.

“Besides, there’s not enough proof to tell it’s Angie! She never left her lab yesterday, you guys must have seen it on your monopads!”

Shuichi blinked. This was how he knew she was in her lab.

But what if...

“I’m the only blackened here! Just vote for me already!”

The violinist took a deep breath.

He has to convince him.

That he isn’t the blackened and Angie is.

It’s almost over. He has to.

Argument armament start!

“She isn’t the blackened, I am!”

“There’s one person

who deserves punishment,

it’s me!”

“I am the blackened!”

“You don’t have enough proof

she is the blackened!”

“She doesn’t deserve to be punished!”

“Just vote for me already!”

“It’s still my karma

that is responsible

for Himiko’s death!”

“The killer is just a small part!”

“I am the culprit here!”

“I’m responsible for her death!”

“I am the one you

have to execute!”

“You made so many theories incriminating her...”

“But Angie never left her lab, you should have seen it on your monopads!”

Mono pads tracking function

“The monopads...” Shuichi muttered.

“The monopads don’t track people, they track the other monopads!” he exclaimed.

Tsumugi bit her nail. “ Angie just left it in her lab so she could form an alibi...”

Kiyo looked at his monopad. “It’s never stated in the rules that you have to keep the monopad on you at all times, so she must have done this.”

“Satisfied now?” Rantaro stared at Angie.

“...”

There was a long silence.

"I think we should go through this one more time...” Shuichi glanced at everyone.

-Closing argument-

The plan started the night the motive was introduced. The ill students were placed in the rooms on the fourth floor, with Rantaro keeping an eye on them.

The culprit already had their plan prepared. So the first night, when Rantaro was sleeping on the fourth floor...

They went to his lab to look for soporifics. That was a major part of their plan.

Rantaro didn’t notice them missing since he never had the time to check because of his role as the medic for the ill ones.

The next day, the culprit waited until Kirumi started preparing dinner for the hospital team. And when she was out to ask the others their preference...

They went in and drugged the meals.

-A part of him knew the reverse karma was probably the reason why Angie managed to get to do this without being caught, but refrained from mentioning it.-

Of course, neither Miu, Kirumi nor I noticed anything, so we gave the plates without questioning anything.

Rantaro had asked us not to go visit too often because there was a risk we would get the disease, so no one noticed he fell unconscious in the stairs because of the soporifics in his meal.

After nighttime started, the culprit slipped a letter to Himiko inviting her to the shrine of judgement at a certain time, probably between 12 AM and 1 AM.

They began preparing the weapons for their crime.

The culprit cut off some fabric from Maki’s lab to make a bag and transport the weapons.

That included tools from their lab, darts from Kokichi’s lab, scissors from Maki’s lab, and finally, knives and poison from Kirumi’s lab.

Actually, the poisons were not necessary, since their plan was not to poison Himiko. They only made us think it was used to confuse us about their method.

And so, they completely destroyed Kirumi’s lab to make us think they desperately wanted poison.

There was one last thing they needed to retrieve from a lab.

Paralyzing products to use on Himiko so she wouldn’t fight back. They stole syringes as well so they could use it.

Before taking the weapons to the shrine, there was one last thing to do.

The culprit dragged Rantaro’s unconscious body to his lab, and retrieved a chair from Kirumi’s lab to make us think Rantaro was never drugged in the first place.

And so, they could finally make their way to the shrine.

Once Himiko arrived, the killer took her by surprise and drugged her with the paralyzing product so she wouldn’t fight back.

She was already not very strong, but that was important to our culprit.

I do not know how exactly things went from there... The killer... Used all the weapons they had taken on Himiko. They also drew angel wings behind the victim’s back, as shock value, I suppose.

The culprit now needed to dispose of the evidence. That included the labels on the bottles, the letter they sent to the victim, and the fabric they used as a bag.

Since there was no way to create fire in the academy, the killer had to use their own skills.

They snatched the bushes from the shrine, and used them as a base for the fire.

Since our culprit is the ultimate craftswoman, creating a fire was no big deal. They simply used wooden stakes.

Once the culprit was done with burning the evidence, they planted one of the stakes in Himiko’s chest, which was ironically the final evidence to guess the identity of our culprit.

After that they left the horrifying scene for us to see the next day.

And the culprit...

... Is you, Angie Yonaga, the ultimate craftswoman!

“...”

The girl stayed silent for a minute... Then smiled.

“Yep! You are correct!”

Her eyes looked devoid of regret.

“I am Himiko’s killer!”

The joy in her voice... It was terrifying. How could she be so happy about this?

Did she have the disease like Rantaro suspected?

Kokichi was speechless, staring at Angie, with pure horror in his eyes.

Himiko was finally getting her justice but...

This whole situation was atrocious.

“Let’s just end this already.” Rantaro spat, disgust written all over his face.

“Allllllrgihty then! It’s... Voting time!” Monokuma cheered.

Shuichi’s heart skipped a beat when he glanced at Kokichi. Was he going to-

Fortunately, he saw the boy looking down, but still pressing an icon on his tablet.

The violinist turned back to his podium, and pressed Angie’s icon.

“Now then, it seems the voting has finished. Let’s see the result.” Monokuma declared.

The giant screen turned on and everyone’s icons appeared.

9 votes for Angie Yonaga, and 1 vote for Kokichi Ouma.

Shuichi could barely hear Angie mutter “Hm? Weird, I voted for myself...”

Upon a quick glance, it was easy to guess who voted for Kokichi.

“Who’ll be chosen as the blackened? Will you make the right choice or the dreadfully wrong one!?” Monokuma continued his usual speech.

VERDICT

The wheel turned for a few seconds before slowing down… And landing on Angie.

The coin machine on the screen made its distinct jingle, and coins rolled out of it.

Angie was unreadable.

“Wow! Seriously!? You’re correct again! A-Amazing! This is the third correct verdict in a row!”

“The blackened who killed Himiko Yumeno is Angie Yonaga, the Ultimate craftswoman!”

#ndrv3 #danganronpa v3 #ndrv3 au #beta au #main story

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nestasgalpal · 3 years

Note

ACOSF 8 & 16

Hi anon!! Uhh I had never thought about question 16, but I think I got an idea

8) What do you want to learn about Cassian?

I want to learn about his actual relationship with his culture. Because we know Azriel hates illyria and doesn’t like going unless it’s necessary, and Rhysand despises them, but Cassian doesn’t even want to own a house outside Illyria, spends most of his time there and for centuries he has dedicated his life to be “in charge” of them. And at the same time, he hasn’t defended illyrian people in front of the Inner Circle once.

We know he is a General Commander because he worked hard for it, which makes me think he has illyrian values deeply rooted in his ideology and actually appreciates their military way of life and traditions. But at the same time, at least by how Feyre has been describing the Inner Circle, his job is more to keep them in line for Rhysand, that to be a leader to them. When the armies and Rhysand disagree, Cassian is the one who has to make the illyrian Lords understand and take the orders, but he has never presented himself as a spokenperson for them or their needs in fron ot Rhysand unless is a logistic issue that needs solving to keep everything working.

So what does Cassian feel about that? Does he want them to accept him? Do they still treat him like that because he is a bastard, or because they see him as a delegate from the government instead of as their leader? I would like to explore how Cassian feels about his culture, what’s his relationship with his people, and what he would like it to become in the future.

16) What are your wishes for the fandom when acosf comes out?

I would love for this fandom to become less radical. Right now, it feels like you can only stand in one place, and if you like one aspect of the book or one character, you are “forbidden” from liking other specific thing that the fandom has decided to consider it’s opposite of the one you like. At least for me, it’s an “on my side or on my way” kind of feeling.

I have nothing against Eriel/Elucien stans or the ships, but I’m going to use them as an example. Lately, maybe becauseACOSF is closer now and everything intensifies, it feels like when one person is pro one of those, not ony have they to like thir ship, but also dislike the other one and try to tear it down for others. There are whole smear campains going on, because liking what you enjoy it’s not enough, you have to make it clear that it is the only option, because the other one is toxic, problematic, forced by one of the characters or forced by the readers, and if you like that, then you must be an abuser or toxic person yourself. For me, it’s out of hand becuase it’s not only about ships, it happens with characters too, and almost every detail. The hate is overwhelming. It’s just too much negativity, considering the whole point of being in a fandom is to enjoy the comunity built arround a piece of media.

I know it might seem hypocritical because I don’t like Rhysand, Feyre most of the time, and I’m always complaining about the IC’s dynamics, but I’m not perfect either and not liking things is perfectly fine. The problem for me comes when the only way you can enjoy what brings you jow is by trying to make people who don’t share the same feeling like they are commiting a crime.

So yeah, once the book comes out, Nesta being a character that devides the fandom and the main characters for the next book being Elain/Lucien/Azriel, who are starting to feel the same way, I hope we can learn from it and become a little les polarized.

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3aris · 4 years

Text

“nothing will work unless you do” - Maya Angelou

BLACK LIVES MATTER

WE KNOW ALL LIVES MATTER

BUT RIGHT NOW BLACK LIVES ARE THE ONES IN DANGER!

RACISM:

a complex system of beliefs and institutions that elevates whites at the expense of non-whites.

we all exist in and benefit from this system, whether we notice it or not.

WHITE PEOPLE CANNOT EXPERIENCE RACISM!

- discrimination is not racism

- our society prioritizes and caters to the experiences and benefits of white people.

- white people hold the power in society. the ones in power cannot be the victims

* IT’S A PRIVILEGE TO EDUCATE YOURSELF ON RACISM INSTEAD OF EXPERIENCING IT *

HOW THE F*CK DOES RACISM STILL EXIST? [@cicelyblaincolsulting]

1. Racism Is Upheld By:

- Systems (media, education, law, healthcare...)

- History (our society is informed by centuries-old habit, biases, & disparities)

- Privilege (difficult to notice, address, and sacrifice. as long as one group benefits from the oppression of another, racism will still exist)

- Micro-Aggressions (everyday slights, comments, & actions uphold racist power structures)

2.The Formation Of Anti-Blackness

- Capitalism (Black bodies have been used as the means of production (worker labor, tools, machinery) to create wealth for Europeans.)

- Slavery (Black people were stripped of autonomy, citizenship, rights, and treated as objects for over 300 years)

- Colonialism (the land we occupy was stolen from indigineous peoples and continues to be pillaged for raw material, natural resources, and human capital for white gain first and foremost.

3. EVEN THE SMALLEST ACTS OF RACISM UPHOLD DOMINANT POWER STRUCTURES

4. Racism Is An Iceberg

- Tip / Visible Part (KKK, neo-nazis, police brutality, racial slurs, hate crimes)

- Majority / Hidden Part (all lives matter, your English is so good, you’re so pretty for a Black girl, what about Black on Black crime, can I touch your hair, where are you really from?)

ANTI-RACISM:

the active process of identifying and eliminating racism by changing systems, policies, practices, and attitudes in order to redistribute and share power. [NAC International Perspectives: Women and Global Solidarity]

WHITE PRIVILEGE:

white privilege doesn’t mean your life hasn’t been hard, it means that the color of your skin isn’t one of the things making it harder

WHAT’S WRONG WITH POLICE [@leftnortheast]

1. Origins of Police in America

- slave patrols of armed white men to enforce slavery & chase down runaway slaves

- after slavery, these same patrols continued to enforce segregation & reinforce violence against Black ppl perpetrated by the KKK

- during the 19th century, the ultra-rich business owners relied on police to stop workers and immigrants from organizing labor unions

- LA’s “thin blue line” enforced segregation in the 1950s. look up “Black Wall Street”

- HISTORICALLY THE MAIN FUNCTION OF THE POLICE IS TO PROTECT WEALTH & ASSETS BY PRESERVING INSTITUTIONAL RACISM

2. Police Today

- when police commit crimes, the investigations are performed by the police themselves (union officials & internal affairs departments)

- only 33% of investigations end in police being convicted, compared to 68% in general pop.

- at least 40% of police families have experienced domestic violence, compared to 10% in the general population

3. ACAB: What It Means

- all cops are bastards

- it does NOT mean that individual cops are incapable of doing good things, but that the institution of policing is harmful and beyond saving

- the laws that “good” cops enforce work to uphold a harmful status quo that keeps working class and POC socially disadvantaged. therefore, there are no “good” cops

- EX: the three other officers who stood and watched Derek Chauvin kill George Floyd. they may be “good” because they didn’t kill Floyd, but they did nothing to prevent Chauvin from doing so.

THINGS TO DO INSTEAD OF CALLING THE COPS [@freedomtothrive]

1. Don’t Feel Obligated To Defend Property

- is someone being actively hurt or endangered by property “theft” or damage?

- if “no,” let it be

2. If Something Of Yours Is Stolen...

- consider going to the police station instead of bringing cops into your community, you may be inadvertently putting someone art risk by calling the cops

3. If You See Someone Exhibiting “Odd” Behavior...

- don’t assume they are intoxicated

- ask if they are ok, if they have a medical condition, and if they need help

4. If You See Someone Pulled Over With Car Trouble...

- stop & ask if they need help or if you can call a tow truck for them

- calling police may result in unnecessary ticketing, target undocumented ppl, etc.

5. Keep A Contact List Of Community Resources

- EX: suicide hotlines, mental health assistance, etc.

- ppl with mental illnesses are 16x more likely to be killed by police

6. Check Your Impulse To Call The Police On “Suspicious” People

- is their race, gender, ethnicity, class, or housing situation influencing your action?

- calling the cops on such people can be death sentences (EX: Trayvon Martin)

HOW WILL WE STAY SAFE WITHOUT POLICE? [@mpd_150] [@wretched_flowers_]

1. Community Members

- mental health service providers, social workers, victim/survivor advocates, religious leaders, neighbors & friends need to look out for one another

- not armed strangers with guns who likely don’t live in the communities they patrol (police)

- society expects police to do too much: violent crimes, traffic stops, chasing loose dogs, etc.

2. What About Violence?

- crime isn’t random, it happens because ppl are unable to meet their needs EX: money, food, rent, etc.

- this problem can be solved with an emphasis on jobs, education, community centers, mental health resources.

- cops don’t prevent violence, they invite it through constant violent disruption of our communities

3. It’s Not Impossible

- look at the abolition of slavery, the 40hr work week, etc. those were accomplished through gradual progress

- redirect funds away from the police department toward those community-based alternatives listed above. LOOK UP HOW MUCH YOUR CITY / STATE SPENDS ON POLICING.

14 WAYS WHITE PPL CAN MAKE LIFE LESS FRUSTRATING FOR p.o.c. [@privtoprog]

1. trust / listen to POC assessment of a situation

2. don’t assume all POC have same views

3. don’t guess / assume ppl’s race

4. read & share articles relating to daily POC experiences

5. just because you have a POC friend / relative / partner doesn’t mean you can’t be racist. if anything, it means you should be more critical of your actions / words & how they affect those around you

6. don’t play devil’s advocate on race conversations. JUST. LISTEN.

7. understand that America has what it has because it stole land from indigenous people and stole people from Africa to build America

8. care about race on the other 364 days that aren’t MLK Day

9. don’t assume you know what it’s like to experience racism. you don’t & can’t. that’s the point.

10. nothing in your life has been untouched by your whiteness. everything you have would have been harder to come by if you had not been born white.

11. don’t get defensive when someone calls you out on racism, be grateful. it’s a learning moment.

12. move past white guilt. guilt it’s unproductive. just BE BETTER.

13. fighting racism isn’t about you. it’s about liberating POC from a racist world / system.

14. being an ALLY is a verb, not a noun. you can’t be an ally just because you say you are. actions are louder than words.

WHAT WHITE PPL CAN DO OVER TIME [@prettydecent]

1. Research & Learn In Public

- identify, name, & challenge the norms, patterns, traditions, structures,and institutions that keep racism & white supremacy in place

- TALK TO & EDUCATE OTHER WHITE PEOPLE. it’s YOUR job, not POC, to teach white ppl how to fight racism

- let people you care about know this is something you care about

2. Open Your Eyes To Anti-Blackness

- there are no race-neutral spaces, “colorblindness” does not exist.

- Anti-Blackness is the way in which Black ppl have been targeted & stripped of their humanity

- pay attention to CODED LANGUAGE. what do we mean by “good” neighborhoods & “good” schools?

- who starts trends? who gets credit for them? EX: rock & roll

3. Pay Attention To Your White Experience

- we will never full understand Black ppl’s experiences

- look at how your whiteness has impacted your life: encounters with police, airport security? job interviews?

- what are you “good at” and how might your race have affected that?

- white experiences are the social “default,” EX: “Is The Country Ready For Its First White President?”

4. Speak Up & Argue With White People

- silence is a privilege & acts in directly upholding the system of white supremacy

- look at how movies, TV, and other media treats Black and POC, and call it out when you see it.

- hold other white ppl accountable, THERE IS NO GROWTH WITHOUT DISCOMFORT. we make mistakes but that does not mean we can’t learn & grow from them.

HOW TO TALK TO YOUR FAMILY ABOUT RACISM [@jenerous]

1. Intent & Impact

- white ppl say that we don’t INTEND to be racist.

- intent doesn’t matter if the IMPACT of our actions harms someone and/or upholds a racist system

2. Watch Your Tone

- we don’t get to tell Black ppl how to talk about their own oppression (“tone policing”)

- when we talk to other white ppl about race, we need to speak in a way that best conveys the information, feelings aside

3. Tell Stories Of Your Own Privilege

- tell your family members a specific way your white privilege has protected you

- this is also a great opportunity for you to reflect on & better understand your own privilege

- WE LEARN BY TEACHING

4. Share Some Of Your Own F*ck Ups

- admitting you’ve been wrong before helps normalize personal growth

- makes it easier for your family to reflect on their own failures & move on

- vulnerability is strength

5. Make It Okay To Ask Questions

- ask your family if they have questions about racism

- this may bring up stuff you don’t know either, a great opportunity to learn together!

6. Keep Asking “Why Do You Think That Is?”

- find a race-related statistic that you both agree on (EX: “Black ppl are jailed for weed more than white ppl are”)

- ask your family member why they think that statistic is true until there’s no answer that makes sense besides “racism”

7. Plant A Seed Of Doubt

- unlearning a racist system means flipping everything we know on its head.

- that requires small steps, such as getting your family members to question their existing logic around ONE topic (Black hair, cultural appropriation, affirmative action, etc.)

- when they say “hmm... i never thought about that,” you’re making progress!

8. Commit To The Idea That It Is Possible To Change Someone’s Mind

- your own anti-racism journey is proof!

QUESTIONS TO ASK YOURSELF [@is_siigii]

1. Who taught you about race & culture?

2. What can you do to support POC in your community?

3. What are you committed to doing outside of social media to fight racism?

4. How do you behave when you are confronted with racist behavior?

5. What do you want to learn more about?

6. What information could you teach people?

7. In what ways have you ignored this behavior in the past?

8. Why is it important for everyone to work toward ending this injustice?

9. How can you use anti-racist knowledge to change & progress?

10. Do you owe anyone an apology?

11. How do you handle conflicts?

#black lives matter #anti-racism #anti-racist #defundthepolice #defund the police

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unpopularly-opinionated · 4 years

Text

This is going to be a bit of a long post so apologies, I’ll try to keep it brief and of course include a hider.

The TL;DR of it is: Some insane self-proclaimed SJW on Twitter made a ‘chart’ outlining how Men’s Rights and Gaming are responsible for neo-Nazis, and every website in existence is to be held responsible should anyone using their website ever commit a crime.

So, in essence, stupid people on Twitter.

To start off with, before we get onto the words, let’s discuss the Venn Diagram and how that’s immediately flawed:

Right off the bat, we have complete misrepresentations of the Men’s Rights Movement, and Gamer Culture. Men’s Rights has nothing inherently to do with Feminism, and it never has. While yes, it is typical that a Men’s Rights Activist might oppose Feminism, it’s only because Feminism has done plenty in the past to disenfranchise the movement, not the men, the movement. Very clear and important distinction. No, Feminism hasn’t “taken rights away from men”, and no one is claiming that they are, but it is also quite clearly not helping men either, despite openly claiming to be in favor of equality among the sexes and in fact they do more to inhibit the Men’s Rights Movement from trying to help men.

As for Gamer Culture, the definition here is only half-right and entirely disingenuous. It’s true that technically-speaking, men make up most gaming, but it’s still disingenuous to imply that it’s “overwhelmingly male”. We’re not talking about a 99:1 ratio here, not even a 75:25. It’s far closer to 50:50 than people seem to realize. Even being generous to this assertion, I would say 60:40 is significantly closer, albeit still too low compared to reality.

As for the claim that video games ‘objectify women’, this is a topic that has been thoroughly addressed numerous times by others, but the short and sweet response is: “women are objectified, but so are men”, and again the split isn’t as wide as you might think, however the focus might be fairly skewed which could be the problem. There are plenty of objectified men in games, but (at least in my experience) objectified women are given more of a spotlight, likely due to the fact that, for whatever reason, men AND women prefer to see women naked than they do men (don’t ask my gay ass why, I don’t know either).

What’s interesting here, is that they clearly outline a distinction between Pick-Up Artistry and Men’s Rights yet somehow fail to see that they’re separate and distinct. Pick-Up Artists aren’t interested in Men’s Rights, and neither are Incels, they just want their dick sucked, and they’ll perform whatever scumbaggery they think will accomplish that, so the definition for that is apt, but the implication that there is cross-over with Men’s Rights is laughable.

Is it possible there are Pick-Up Artists and/or Incels out there interested in Men’s Rights? Of course, but this diagram suggests that Men’s Rights is the cause of Incels, even though that literally does not make any sense unless you have a significantly warped understanding of what Men’s Rights is, which this author seems to have.

Then, of course, we have the misrepresentation of GamerGate. Honestly, that’s a can-o-worms I’m not looking to open right now because it’ll add another 10-15 paragraphs to this. There’s plenty of resources out there that are available for you to do the research yourself if you don’t know enough about it already. I suggest you start with @gamergate-news and work your way from there.

“Cool Girlism” is, admittedly, a new term to me but the definition of it is recognizable. It’s essentially saying any girl who happens to A) disagree with Feminism, B) is a gamer, C) is “red-pilled” or not immediately Far-Left, or D) All of the above, is considered a “cool girl” and is clearly just putting on an act so she can get some of that sweet gamer dick.

OR, in simpler terms, it’s an example of how misogynistic the author of this diagram is because she refuses to accept that any women can possibly disagree with their point of view and have a unique thought of her own. We’ve seen this all before, nothing new.

“Nu-Misogyny” is also a new term, apparently coined by the author as far as my research shows and is meant to be defined by the culmination of the entire graph. Frankly, even if we suspend disbelief and pretend these are all salient points, I don’t see how any of this is ‘new’ misogyny, except perhaps in reference to the method in which it’s received, that being the digital space (internet, online video games, etc.). As a completely personal gripe, I hate this fad of using made up language to replace old language. Just say new, not “nu” or “neo”, just new.

Great, now that we’ve covered that mess, moving on:

“Milo and Breitbart also used Gamergate to recruit nu-misogynists and gamers to white nationalism.”

While I won’t pretend Milo or Breitbart are bastions of integrity, the simple fact is that whatever they might’ve been using to “recruit” people (which is still a hilarious concept to consider) it wasn’t Gamergate. Never mind the fact that there’s little to no significant overlap between Gamergate and White Nationalists, there’s no overlap between Gamergate and Breitbart OR Milo. The only reason they are misconstrued as being a part of Gamergate is, perhaps, because they didn’t disparage the movement like every other media outlet did.

“As these communities grew more violently extreme, they were increasingly relegated to fringe platforms, notably 8chan.”

Now, at a surface level I don’t see anything inherently wrong with this statement, but allow me to extrapolate a bit:

Given the misconceptions of many groups throughout this post, I’m not inclined to believe they’re being genuine about these so called “extremely violent communities”.

If we were genuinely talking about white supremacist neo-Nazis actively rising up, then I wouldn’t care, but because outside of “the media says so, so it must be true”, there’s little to no evidence of this actually happening, I’m instead inclined to believe they’re referring to people genuinely critical of their world view. You know, the imaginary people harassing Anita Sarkeesian or Zoe Quinn; the people who are just pointing out how these people are wrong who are then vilified by them and their media peers.

What’s also interesting to note here is, again, if we suspend our disbelief, we see here she’s actively admitting that they aren’t doing anything to solve the problem either, something which later in the post she criticizes the chan boards for doing.

“On 4chan and 8chan, pro-terror nazis mingled with pro-terror nu-misogynists.”

Remember when I pointed out that her Venn diagram that was meant to define her coined term “nu-misogyny” didn’t define anything other than just regular old misogyny? Well apparently, it was supposed to define it as “violent” or “pro-terror”. Now, I’ve never been on 4chan, 8chan, or any chan board really, so I can’t comment on the validity of there being white supremacists, neo-Nazis, misogynists, etc. From what I’ve been told it wouldn’t really surprise me.

“Nu-misogyny (especially incel-inflected nu-misogyny) was already explicitly pro-violence and obsessed with evolutionary/racial pseudo-science, and they cross-pollinated more and more.”

I’m not too familiar with many ‘Incels’, but frankly other than right after the Joker movie released, I had never once heard exclaimed that they were “explicitly pro-violence”, let alone “obsessed with evolutionary/racial pseudo-science”. That last part doesn’t even make sense. What does “racial pseudo-science” have to do with wanting to get your dick sucked? Is it like “Yeah I had my chance to have sex, but the chick was Asian so I couldn’t do it. Whites only, ya know?” Whatever, I’m not about to defend Incels.

“And, that’s the (very) short version of the story of how you get a new generation of nazis marked by an unusually high level of hatred for women and advocacy for gynocide.”

In summary, video games and men’s rights will apparently mark the rise of Hitler 2.0.

Credit where credit is due, the sheer fact that she’s outlined this with a neat little diagram, and everything only helps to further the point that she has no idea what she’s talking about. Her chart alone never refers to an overlap between gaming and men’s rights with white supremacy.

At the absolute best, she’s made a point (albeit an easily disproven one) that gamers are sexist, but not once does this diagram point to a significant overlap, or any overlap at all, with white supremacy. All of this boils down to an argument akin to “Nazis drink water so water must be bad”, which hopefully for obvious reasons, you can understand why that logic doesn’t hold up.

“If we’d booted 8chan from the web earlier, if Reddit and 4chan had shut down extremist communities when they first started advocating violence against women, that cross-pollination might never have happened.”

Now we’ve entered the full authoritarian-brand delusion. Never mind the fact that social media sites like Facebook and Twitter are far far worse at this very thing she’s accusing the chan boards of, or that Reddit is quite obviously in favor of doing exactly this since they ban communities at the drop of a hat, what she’s asking for is quite literally impossible.

If not 4chan, then 8chan. If not 8chan, then Twitter. If not Twitter, then Facebook. If not Facebook, then Tumblr. If not Tumblr, then literally anywhere else, repeat ad nauseum forever. Removing their platform doesn’t prohibit them from speaking, it just prohibits them from speaking there, where we can see them, where we can mock them, where we can discredit their views. I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather be able to see and know people are talking about killing me than pushing them to some fringe site where they can do it without my knowledge.

Earlier, she pointed out that they pushed these people to the chan boards, thereby admitting to ‘solving the problem’ by simply making it someone else’s problem, and here she is now openly criticizing the chan boards for not dealing with this problem that they themselves created for them.

“That online nazi/gynocidaire population boom wouldn’t have occurred.”

Again, removing their platform doesn’t prohibit them from speaking. They simply would’ve organized elsewhere. You aren’t solving any problem by banning them from a website, you’re simply making it someone else’s problem, and then you blame whoever’s problem you just made it.

“But the platforms were greedy. And now, there’s blood on their hands.”

This is by far the most egregious part about this entire post. “We pushed the bad people off onto you and you didn’t immediately push them off onto someone else so that means you are liable for the blood they spill.” Never mind the overarching implication this borderline psychotic statement has. Apparently, every single website ever is to be held responsible should anyone on their site ever commit a crime. Holy fuck, the delusions from this woman.

Apologies if there are any grammar/spelling mistakes. I wrote this in a Word Document and then transferred it over because Tumblr is notoriously terrible when it comes to these longer posts.

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