#anyway nobody cares I'm just rambling to avoid writing

[filet-o-feelings]

for everyone who voted in my poll like two full months ago, my hair is finally purple

[jmscornerlibrary]

Set Me Free - a Loki x OC fanfiction - Chapter One

~~~*~*~*~~~

Hello :) I'm Jmw. So, I'm re-writing an old fanfiction of mine, and will be posting the chapters accordingly. There will be angst, fluff, and no smut, though it may get very slightly spicy at times (no gross details, or explicit content, I promise). However, since this deals with some heavy topics like madness and torture, I am going to rate this an 18 so people with a fragile heart can avoid being traumatised.

This is a Loki/OC, childhood-friends (sort of) to enemies to lovers. Thor will be her, so will Tony Stark. This is before Avengers and after Thor: Dark World, but it does have the Avengers. The chronology may vary from the line of events slightly.

I'll try and update as quickly as I can, anyway... here's the first chapter.

Ah, and this is just a story - there is only one God and he wants the best for you :)

Enjoy!

~~~*~*~*~~~

Chapter One - In which Loki is mistaken for one who cares.

Vengeance crumbles the soul. It sways foundations, cracks backbones. It topples tenderness in the heart and reduces honesty to a brittle sculpture which eventually shatters as it's blown through by the ice of disappointment; it adorns feelings with masks woven of intricate plans of deceit and manipulation. 

And so Loki Laufeyson’s heart became hard like black ice, which ensnared all the raw and red and beating within it, and turned him into a being of darkness, with black crystals cutting through the blood in his veins, shrouding his chest in armour of indifference, flooding his intestines with acid and clenching his jaw, tight.

Could one see this turmoil and hidden fury in his eyes? Yes and no. His eyes became devoid of warmth and seemed like two pristine spheres - beautiful spheres, blue like jotun skin - set there merely as a tool for deceit and treachery, instead of being a window to his soul, and the turmoil he hid well enough for nobody to notice.

Loki often scoffed at that little fanciful statement. Who in their right mind saw the soul through the eyes, like through windows? When he observed other people’s eyes he saw nothing but twitching matter, something which required an irritating amount of protection on the battlefield, two frustratingly weak little points which simultaneously provided something as valuable and immense as vision. What fool wrote that statement, he wondered, then decided whatever state of intoxication that moron was in when he decided to pick up a quill and play being a poet must have been an incredibly deep one.

Or so Loki rambled on, monologuing internally to drown out the real reason why he scoffed so at a statement so true: if eyes were the window to his soul, then he feared what it was that other people - people who possessed this uncanny ability of seeing soul through the eyes, something which he had trouble with since forever - may see when they looked at his own.

It was a wonder he wasn’t spat at more often, if so many people could see the soul through the eyes. Or perhaps it was why he was spat at so often, be it with words, brutal weapons or projectiles of saliva.

But now, Loki Laufeyson did not care, for his heart was no better than deadened flesh. His heart was encased in black crystals, thoughts of revenge burned in his mind and branded his heart with something hot and seething.

Asgard was never his! Not for one accursed moment!

Loki looked up at the dimming sky and wished with every piece of his heart that he could set it on fire and watch it burn. It looked far too peaceful for him to be content with. The stars even had the audacity to wink at him - actually wink at him! As though he was just little Loki throwing a tantrum in the middle of Central Park, not the king of Asgard who was slowly descending into madness of his own accord!

Loki stared back at the millions of serene lights, looking at him from above. Or were they looking at him? Perhaps he was only thinking that their teeth-sucking was directed at him. In fact, it must have been only him - the great, omniscient stars couldn't care less about the current king of Asgard or about his miserable business.

Like Odin. Loki laughed. Odin couldn’t care less either. He must have had as much fun as those damned stars, watching Loki grow up and fight with Thor about who would be king. Oh, he must have had quite the giggle as they sparred, as they sent scholar after scholar tearing their hair and nanny after nanny running off in tears at their unfathomable characters, knowing full well which perfect son would be the final victor.

Loki clenched his fists until he heard his knuckles cracking and snapping. It had been one thousand years. It had been more than one thousand years. He had believed, for more than one thousand years, that he had been viewed as an equal, as a competitor. But no. All along, he had been a pawn. A tool. A little political reservation!

He gave a few notes of black, harsh-sounding laughter which almost made the grass wither. He had lived in his brother's shadow for so long, holding onto an illusion that somewhere, beneath all these brewing thoughts and schemes he would, one day, make his shot at being worthy and reach the crown with the tips of his fingers.

But this crown had been plucked out of his reach. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Loki had simply reached out to take it. But Loki hadn’t simply reached out to take it - he had crawled, he had pulled himself forward through fields of broken glass and metal, he had torn at the solid ground and grit and dust with his teeth in the darkness of his brother’s huge silhouette, just so that he could move along with a pace which wasn’t pitiful to the ones whom he valued. And when he been just about to grasp it, grasp this chance, shoot this shot… Odin had plucked the crown from him and placed it on Thor’s head. And Thor hadn’t been battered. Thor hadn’t had a single bruise, a single scratch upon him, from his journey to the crown. Thor hadn’t crawled forward on his knees through thorns and sharp, jagged rocks. Thor had been ridden towards the crown in a carriage, reclining with his feet on the opposite seat with everything he needed at his elbow, leaving Loki to be run over and stamped over by the horses which pulled it.

But now, Loki had a plan. One so intricate and subtle, nobody would notice his justified intentions. He would destroy the very place he came from, the very place which posed threat and show Odin that it was he, Loki Laufeyson, the lesser son, who accomplished something even the great Thor Odinson couldn’t do. If Odin wanted him to play at being worthy, so be it. He’d do it his own way. Jotunheim was going to be wiped off the face of the planet, and his father would perhaps finally grace him with-

Loki realised where his train of thought was going, then the shadows in his face darkened as he snarled.

“He’s not my father,” he spat at a nearby tree, sending it cowering and twitching as it ought to when he glared at it, internally shame-faced at some hidden longing of being acknowledged by the Allfather. Loki didn’t need to be acknowledged. He was the god of chaos and he could do everything the god of thunder could, more, for he wasn’t an oaf who had to threaten the scholars so that Odin would receive word that he did, indeed, pass all of his tests which involved more subtlety and intelligence than swinging Mjolnir around his thick head did.

Loki didn’t quite delve into the reason as to why he escaped to Midgard for the day, well, evening. He hated mortals. They were stupid and weak. And yet Asgard was too much, today - this morning Loki had awoken with something horrible and burning stumbling up and down his spine and leaking into his thoughts. He needed to get away, get away from this personal Hel he was walking into… and he supposed there was an element of curiosity too, as to what his brother would now be doing in a place which wasn’t even worthy to uphold one of his boots.

The distant hum of machinery never ceased, even if there was nothing but trees for quite some distance around him, and it only made his thoughts blacker as he gritted his teeth. Perhaps he ought to have chosen a different location to revel in his bitterness than this suffocating park. Even the trees and foliage growing around sparsely looked as though they were artificial.

Then, someone spoke.

“Hello?”

Loki disregarded this voice and presence, a small thought of his weighing more than whatever life coursed through this impertinent mortal’s veins. 

He looked up at the darkening sky and returned his thoughts to this poisoned cup life served him, which he was forced to drink from and watch as his veins became black, as his mouth started to froth and ice began to spread through his insides, hurting him, cutting him, spiking him.

Ice. Ha, ha! Of course, Loki forgot! Ice wouldn’t hurt him. No, because Loki was never Odinson in the first place; he was Laufeyson! He was a blue-skinned bastard! He was a jotun-!

“Excuse me.”

Loki made a sound similar to a growl and whipped around. If this mortal knew who he was, it would be grovelling on its papery little knees for forgiveness for interrupting his inner monologue. But Loki would not be forgiving. Oh, no. Quite frankly, he had enough of everything which spoke and had eyes, and if he was going to officially become an outcast, he was going to put his whole blackened soul into it. He’d had enough of being trodden on by others.

It was dark, but light enough for shapes to be distinguishable in the evening, and Loki had sharp eyes. When he focused them on this pathetic little shape, his murderous intentions lessened a little, because he had set them upon a child. A small child. Small enough not to be able to survive with a mother’s hand to hold, and yet it was here, with no other presence around, looking up at him as though he was a potential mother. 

It sniffed. Hah, it was crying; its lip was trembling! Disgusting.

“Sorry… Have you seen a man here anywhere?” it said, its voice torn but still strangely polite for a creature so small. Loki hated its sound as soon as it spoke, for it had that unclear quality which came from very recently learning how to speak which grated on his already-tender nerves.

“No,” he replied curtly, then flicked his head to the side for it to move on. But it didn’t seem to take the hint, merely stared up at him with the two, huge eyes in its head shining. Loki couldn’t quite tell, but he thought they were grey. A strange colour. Perhaps young mortal offspring had different eyes to Asgardian children.

When a few moments had passed and still it stood there, Loki began to grow irritated. Perhaps he ought to shoo it away like some meandering cattle. Did it not get the hint? Was it stupid?

He turned back to stare at it and it shifted, bowing its head and clenching its hands at its small chest. 

“I’m lost,” it said, sniffing, tears spilling down its small face.

Loki chuckled emptily at its words. He was lost too, though he had a place to call home - a place which he now officially ruled over, actually - and he felt it, cold and empty in this soul which people could see through the eyes and he kept somewhere in his chest. In his chest… It must be the reason why it felt so cold recently. 

“Sad, isn’t it,” he said to it, folding his hands behind his back. “Quite a tragedy.”

He observed the creature with distaste. It was undoubtedly female. In the last slivers of light, Loki could make out black hair curling to its chin and rather clear features, as though they belonged to an artist’s paintbrush.

He sighed. “Why don’t you do us both a favour and go and find your mother, hm?”

The mortal child wiped its face and gave a resigned sigh. 

“My mother is dead.”

Loki blinked. “Oh.”

He shifted from foot to foot, felt a spike of sympathy, then grew immediately irritated for giving a fraction of a damn, and they grew even more irritated because his moment of dark contemplation of his existence was utterly ruined and now he was going to have to work himself up again to produce it.

“What makes you think I’m going to help you?” he snapped, then really did shoo it away like a stray cat. “Be on your way! Shoo! Off you go! Get going!”

But it stood its ground and did nothing but stare at him. Loki’s fingers twitched. Was it dim-witted? Was it moronic? Pathetic, stupid creature! Did it not see he was incensed?

“Away!” He raised his voice. “I have nothing for you!”

He snarled, baring his teeth. Scare it off, that should do it.

But it didn’t look scared, though it did obediently take a few steps back warily, as though he was a mad man, which only made his fingers tighten and his temper flame, but then there was a rustle to their left; it jumped, its grey eyes widening, then stumbled forward again, out of the shadows of the bushes.

It looked so small in this dark, cold setting of dusk, slight, insignificant compared to the looming trees. It looked as lost as it said it was. But it could not help itself, no matter how hard it tried. He still had a way out. Theoretically, anyway.

Loki gritted his teeth and clenched his fist and muttered some black curses under his breath which he would have never repeated anywhere near his mother for he would have gotten walloped like a swine being butchered.

“Right, fine,” he said airily. “Stay here and bother me, if it makes you feel better.” He waved his hand at it, then turned his back on it. He chuckled, then lowered his voice. “If only you knew who I was. You’d be running for the hills as fast as your little legs could carry you.”

He had been speaking mainly to himself, but its silly voice sounded again and, he had to give it the credit, it made the corners of his lips turn up.

“I know who you are.”

Loki gave a scoffing laugh, then tittered. “Oh, yes. Of course you do.”

“I do,” it insisted.

“I’m sure you do,” he turned towards it, but not completely, for it did not deserve his full attention, and immediately grew irritated at himself for giving it so much attention when he had came to Midgard for a lack of it. “After all, you’re all big and grown up. Grown up enough to navigate this extensive stretch of land.” He encompassed the dismal park with a gesture. “In fact, why don’t you go and explore it?”

He looked at its eyes, then suppressed a shiver. They shouldn’t have belonged to a creature so small and insignificant. They were solemn and knowing, like his mother’s often were whenever he had an outburst; like they had seen just as much as his had.

“Go on,” he mouthed to it, making a pointer with his hand, turning his eyes towards any other features but its observational tools. “Off you go.”

It fixed his eyes onto his and said, “You are Loki Laufeyson, the king of Asgard.”

Loki halted in his tracks, feeling something cold in his veins, his airy smile melting off his face and being replaced by cold astonishment.

“What?” he whispered, his voice sharp as a knife. “What did you just call me?”

Its small brows met, but it fulfilled his request. “I said you are Loki Laufey-”

He reached it in a flash and clamped his hand upon the lower part of its face. He felt his chest heaving up and down with searing rage and he could have sworn that his hand was now tinged with an accursed hue of blue in the dim light.

“Silence,” he hissed, as it struggled under his grasp. “Or I’ll make sure you’ll never speak again.”

It clutched his hand and pushed it down, its eyes wide. “Cold!” it whimpered, clutching at its face. “You’re cold, you’re so cold!”

Loki retracted his hand, something unravelling in his chest as he watched it rub its face and its lips trembling.

“I-” He made a motion with his hand, as though he could brush away his outburst with the material of his pants, then scowled and straightened, severing his guilt and caging himself. “Who are you? How do you know who I am?”

There was no disguise upon it. It wasn’t an illusion. If it was, he would have distorted it with his touch, or his hand would have passed right through it. What was this? This was a mortal child who knew his name! It knew his heritage! Nobody knew of his true heritage but Odin and Frigga!

He took a few steps back, his hands instinctively reaching for his daggers; he whipped them out and brandished them, the metal gleaming cruelly in the fading light. 

“Listen, witch, or whatever you are…” He brought the dagger up to its snub nose and watched it furrow its brows and frown at him. “... either you tell me who you are and what your plan is, or I’m going to be the living evidence of exactly why you shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

It was silent. 

“Speak!” he yelled, losing his temper. “Who sent you? Are you a spy?”

The mortal child blinked up at him. It seemed not to understand that it could be skinned like a hare if he only wished for it, looking at the gleaming blades with interest instead; looking up at him as though he was the young one frolicking, here!

Loki felt a pang of embarrassment, then lowered the tip of his blade. He was threatening a being which had probably just learned how to walk of its own accord. It didn’t understand him. 

He sheathed his daggers and straightened, his blood still roaring in his ears and his chest heaving, and he stared down at it, waiting for it to make the next move.

Its gaze travelled to his hands, to his eyes, then it blinked and began to pull its pink, fluffy sleeves down to grab their ends.

“My name is Henrietta Knott.” It managed to engulf its hands in sleeve, flapped them, then sighed and swallowed. “I turn six in half a year. My parents died in a fire when I was… two.”

Loki clenched his fists. It was one thing loathing the man who raised him and not having a father at all. Or a mother. Perhaps he would have died if Odin hadn’t taken him in.

“I live with my uncle,” it continued. “We went for a walk, and then he disappeared.”

Loki frowned. “He disappeared.”

It nodded and when it spoke next its voice was trembling again. “I turned around and he wasn’t there anymore.”

With that, fresh tears began to spill down its cheeks and it stood there, crying, not even bothering to wipe its face. It looked truly pitiable, this shivering form in a pink fluffy coat and yellow, waterproof boots which were far too big for it.

Loki wasn’t proud to admit it, not even to himself, but at that moment he had never felt more helpless, as irritation, spite, anger and pity sloshed against one another in his chest. His fingers twitched behind his back as he held them there and he tried to come up with something to contribute to the situation with.

“I won’t help you,” he finally said, more to clarify this to himself than to inform the sobbing thing of his lack of heart.

“You will,” it insisted, sniffing. “You will help me.”

“You heard me, child.”

“You will.” It stopped crying now, swallowing and wiping its face. “Even if you are a bad man. You wouldn’t really hurt a child. Not knowingly.”

Loki opened his mouth, then gave a snort of disbelief. The audacity of this creature! What was that even supposed to mean? What in the Allfather’s name was all this?

“I beg your pardon?”

It gave a shaky sigh, then regained control over itself. “Your heart is horrible. You have killed people through ignorance. Through boredom.”

Loki listened with his mind blank to the words tumbling from this five-year-old’s tongue and wondered how it knew what ignorance meant.

“Look at your hands,” it said pointedly. “They’re awful, aren’t they?”

Loki looked at them obediently, stunned out of his senses, something which never happened. He was the one who frazzled people’s senses; and here was this practically a new-born in comparison to him, telling him of his sins while he blundered!

He felt his nostrils flaring and lowered his hands with some force, his face stretching into something perhaps an opponent would find threatening, but this child only looked at him curiously with a strange solemn glimmer in its eyes as it watched him.

“Look at your hands,” it repeated, then pointed at them and flapped its own.

Loki tore his scouring gaze from it and looked down at his hands once more. He turned them over, running his vision over their creases, their details, their length. Nothing.

After a few moments, he shook his head slowly and cast a questioning look back at the child.

“I admit that I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said flatly. “What am I meant to be seeing?”

“They drip with black,” the child pronounced. “Black which doesn’t belong to you.”

“Explain yourself.”

“It’s blood.” It nodded when his expression became blank. “Of the people you’ve hurt. Killed.”

He gave a harsh laugh to mask the strange quiver of his heart, fear seeping through his bones. 

“Blood is red,” he said cuttingly. “You’ve missed that part of your homework, little creature. Now, you ought to go home and do it before some equally evil man comes to find you and hurts you.”

It shivered, then took a few steps forward; closer to him.

“If you killed by accident, the blood would be red.”

Loki felt a strange urge to push it away with his foot as the child took hold of his coat, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Hadn’t he threatened it a moment ago? And yet it was clinging to him like he was safe, for all the apparent black dripping from his hands. If it hadn’t said what she had a few moments ago, Loki would have been certain it had a few cogs missing beneath the soft and black of its hair.

“Some drops are red. Some you did not intend to die. But most are black, and so you are bad.” It looked up at him, as though for confirmation. “People who kill to achieve a… a selfish goal are evil. Aren’t they?”

Loki of Asgard made another motion with his hands, as though wiping them clean, then snorted at himself and folded them behind his back again. 

He said nothing, but it was still staring at him. Plus, who was he to destroy the moral compass of a being who didn’t see him as king, he thought half-heartedly.

“Yes,” he replied softly, feeling oddly hollow and helpless. “They are evil.”

It observed him for a little while longer, then shrugged its small shoulders. “You will wash it off in years to come.”

Loki felt a pang of… something, in his chest. Something hopeful. “Really.”

“Really.” It nodded. “People pay with bad deeds with pain. That’s what Uncle said once, to Mister Anderson.”

It sighed, then looked back up at him from the daisies they were standing on, pity in its eyes. “I’m sorry you will get hurt.”

Loki would have perhaps felt his temper spike violently again, transforming from his restlessness at this statement, but it was quelled by the action of the child taking hold of his fingers.

“Don’t look so angry,” Henrietta Knott whispered. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Loki looked down at their hands. Hers was small and pink and very soft, as she held his pale forefinger and thumb, hard and toughened with scars in comparison. Something tugged at his heart; he sighed, then moved his hand so that it held hers. It felt good. Good and strange, because Henrietta looked astonishingly content with him doing so. 

Loki’s hands were renowned for doing great and terrible things - wielding daggers, casting spells, being tools which expertly aided him with his ploys and weaving his lies - but using them to guide and reassure was certainly not one of them.

“I don’t want to get hurt either,” he admitted, again, more to himself than to the small thing pressed to his right leg.

“I know,” she replied, then looked up at him. “Can you take me home?”

Loki, the being with no conscience and a black soul raised an eyebrow at this proposal. “Do you really want me to hold your hand all the way?” he mocked. “Don’t you fear the black blood dripping on your pretty little coat and fingers?”

She laughed at him, as though he had said something particularly funny. She had a rich, gurgling laugh that even his bitterness and black ice had some trouble withstanding. 

“Oh, you are silly.”

Loki frowned. Silly didn’t belong to his repertoire of things he would like to be called, especially not by beings who could barely talk. “I beg your pardon?”

“My fingers won’t be dirty.” She smiled. “I haven’t hurt anybody.”

“Not yet,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just wait until you’re older.”

Henrietta looked up at him and stopped laughing, looking too solemn for her age as her grey eyes widened. “Will I hurt people when I’m older?” 

Loki had absolutely no idea. For a moment, he thought about toying with her as she had unwittingly done with his feelings since he’d met her, but he was holding her hand, it was delicate and soft like a chick  and he’d be damned if anything happened to it while he was around.

“Oh, don’t worry. Everybody does,” he said as a throwaway comment as they started to walk. “In fact, I daresay you will break hearts like dinner plates when a table is turned over, with those eyes of yours.”

“Oh.”

She seemed crestfallen. Loki observed her with raised eyebrows as she sighed then as she said, “Then I will never grow up.”

A corner of his lips twitched. “No?” 

“No,” she replied. “You know, in this book there was a boy who never grew up. He could fly. He flew to listen to this really nice girl read stories to her brothers about him, then flew back to his magical home in a land that was quite far away.”

“Indeed?”

“M-hm,” she hummed, stepping alongside him through the trees. “I won’t grow up either. A lot of grown-ups aren’t nice. So I will stay like this, hopefully. And won’t grow up.”

Loki bowed his head, wishing for a moment that he didn’t grow up either. 

“Don’t,” he said softly, then fell silent as she did. 

It was autumn, October. Leaves had fallen off the trees, jumping to their death and lay piled around them, skittering across the rich grass and carpeting the dirt paths. Though it was night, it was still pleasant enough for the creature beside him not to shiver. Loki didn’t shiver; he was an accursed jotun.

They hadn’t walked very far when Henrietta stopped.

“Oh, look!”

“What is it?” he snapped, for he had just begun to sink into dark thought and she’d disturbed his wallowing for the third time in the space of fifteen minutes.

“Floating leaves.” She bent over to look at whatever it was she was fascinated with. “There’s a puddle under there.”

“So-?”

Before he could pull her on, she slid her hand out of his and jumped straight into this puddle, splashing, squealing with laughter. Loki watched flabbergasted, trying to understand how jumping in a pooling of downpour and getting her clothes wet was a form of amusement, before the muddy water landed a few inches short of his shoes. He took an instant step back. 

“What are you doing?!” He pulled her away from the water. “You crazy being. Ah, you-!”

She had kicked the puddle and stained the bottom of his pants with mud. He gave a disdainful scowl, dried them with a flash of green light, then glared down at her. 

“Right! That’s it. I’m leaving you to the wolves. You can go and find your uncle and if you get consumed as a form of light supper, it serves you right.”

He finished scowling, then raised his hands in question, because she was staring at him in awe.

“What was that?!” she cried, stamping in delight. “Do that again!”

His brows furrowed. “Do what?”

She clapped her hands and made a sound like a mute frog being trod on, miming an explosion with her hands.  “This!”

He frowned, then realised. 

“Oh.” He snapped his fingers. “This?”

Zing. The green light danced up and down his form, lighting up the darkness with brilliance, and lifted his hair a little. Henrietta Knott jumped up and down, clapping, stamping, looking completely delighted, her little teeth glinting.

“Again! Again! Again!”

“Have you never seen magic before?” he asked incredulously, his heart thumping strangely, almost afraid of the amazement he saw in her eyes. “It’s not a rare sight.”

She gasped. “Was that magic?” 

“What else would it be?” he said, then outstretched a hand and flashes of light sparked on its surface. “It is magic. My magic.”

“It's…!” She searched for words, pressing her little hands to her face in exaltation. “It’s magnificent!”

And then Loki laughed, straight from the bottom of his heart, something swelling his lungs so that he actually felt as though he was breathing, his mouth stretched so wide it made his face ache. She thought he was magnificent! She thought he was great! Loki wasn’t a madman! He was being complimented! Within moments, he had cast away all of his kingly dignity. He crouched down, disappeared with emerald flashes, reappeared in different places with a bang whilst Henrietta Knott turned round and round with feverish pleasure, squealing, gasping, clapping accordingly.

“Got you,” he hissed as he appeared behind her, apparently an evil wizard. “Found you! Now, I will cart you off to prison, to my jail. You will never be able to get out-!”

He made the mistake of crouching down when appearing. Henrietta gave a delighted yell of excitement and threw herself into his arms. They toppled over onto a pile of leaves, destroying it. Loki landed on his back, slightly winded.

“No,” he gasped when he got his breath back, remembering what function he currently fulfilled. “None of that. Get off me.”

But she didn’t. She climbed right on top of him and sat down on his chest, patting his face.

“You won’t lock me into prison now,” she chuckled. “I’m a dragon. I’ve got you instead.”

He looked up at this improbable dragon sitting on his chest and lowered his hands. He didn’t remember the last time he could speak this level of nonsense without having to watch eyes being rolled.

“No, you’re not.” He sighed, folding his hands on top of his stomach, then looked at her with almost fond resignation. “You’re a silly little girl, sitting on top of the god of mischief because he allowed you to do so.”

He pulled a face, raising his eyebrows for emphasis. 

“As soon as I am up, I will lock you into a-” he disappeared in a green flash and reappeared behind her, scooping her up, “-dungeon. And no prince, king, nor warrior will ever be able to… to… to rescue…”

He froze, because Henrietta Knott threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight, still giggling. She didn’t move from that position, nuzzling into the soft of his robes beneath his armour, wriggling to get comfortable against him.

Loki had to swallow several times as he stood there dumbfounded, thoroughly convinced he was sick, because why in all nine realms did he have tears in his eyes? He was a trickster, he wielded daggers, he sowed chaos for his own amusement, he cut off heads and stabbed and slashed and killed. His heart was hard and dead, and yet it hurt, hurt as the small thing plastered to his chest and neck embraced him as though he was a hero.

“No, little girl,” he murmured, when he recollected himself. “Little girls do not hug evil men with… dripping hands and…”

He searched for words. “And horrible souls behind the eye.”

She looked at him, beamed, then kissed him on the cheek.

“I like you, Loki of Asgard.”

Loki abandoned reason. “Oh, hush,” he muttered, his voice cracking, then hugged her back carefully, smoothing her hair as she rested her little head on his shoulder.

He resumed the walk, placing each foot slowly and deftly so that he wouldn’t stumble, so that her yawns would quieten. Within moments, her breathing had regulated and she was completely still.

Loki was glad; sleeping prevented her from seeing the two trails his tears left behind upon his face. If she felt his chest moving up and down from quiet sobs, sobs which had been caged in his chest for years without him knowing, he didn’t know.

“You like me. You like me, do you?” he breathed, when he had walked a few minutes, feeling his soul through that small weight on his chest and shoulder. “A very unwise decision. A very foolish one, sweetheart.”

She stirred in her sleep, mumbling. Loki could have sworn it was a protest, and he smiled, sniffing and swallowing back the lump in his throat.

“If you say so, Henrietta Knott” he whispered, patting her back gently. “Whatever makes you happy.”

Five steps later, he paused and listened, frowning. A voice had echoed through the park. It was a male voice, a cry. Loki knew what a desperate cry sounded like, and that was what he had heard. 

It came again. “Hattie! Oh, Odin… Henrietta!”

Loki didn’t want to shout, for that meant Hattie would wake up, but the cries came again, desperation came again, and so he stopped and replied.

“Here!” he called, feeling the pet stiffen on his shoulder as he startled her awake. “I have her!”

The voice stopped, then sounded again, though with less dismay and lined with hope. “Where?! Where?!”

Loki thought, then snapped his fingers. “The green light!”

The man to whom the voice belonged rushed into the clearing when the green stream of light cleared. He was tall, well built, his arms and chest the ones of a warrior, grey hair hung to his chin and a wild beard was braided down his loosely-clad chest.

“Oh, thank Odin!” he cried, then approached him with haste. “Thank you, Sir, thank you!”

He pulled up short the same moment Henrietta turned and slid out of Loki’s arms, close enough for his features to be observed. His nose was hooked and an intricate, crimson tattoo snaked from his cheek to the left of his forehead.

“My lord,” he managed to utter, before Hattie plastered herself to him with joyful cries of, “Uncle, Uncle!”

“Uncle indeed,” Loki said coldly, sadly realising his arms felt strangely empty. “What uncle forsakes their five-year-old niece at a time like this? In a place like this? Do you realise what could have happened to her, lest she had not come across me?”

He felt his hands clenching, though by all rights he shouldn’t have cared at all. “I hear this happens again, and I’ll personally ensure you’re skewered!”

The man dropped to one knee and bowed his head, though he did not seem afraid. 

“Forgive me, my lord,” he said, then looked up and picked up Henrietta. “Thank Odin she was with you. I thank you for your efforts in delivering her to me. I fear to think what would have happened if you hadn’t found her.”

Loki scoured the man with his gaze, then he nodded in recognition. “It’s you,” he said. “Dauneren Haldanson.”

He gave a single chuckle, watching Henrietta as she slid from his arms and yawned sleepily.

“The banished. The foul. The traitor.”

The man bowed his head again, though he didn’t take his eyes off Hattie as she began to explore the vicinity. “The one who led the jotuns into Asgard, two-hundred years ago.” He smiled sadly. “My word remains the same. I had nothing to do with the incident. The assassination was pulled off as though I had a hand in it, but… well. I didn’t have a hand in it, not that time.”

His eyes flicked to him. “You know as the god of lies, my lord, that I am speaking the truth.”

“You wouldn’t be speaking so freely if you were not,” he replied, glad his tears had dried off and he wasn’t red in the face any longer, then smiled. “But, as they say… who lives by the sword, dies by the sword. Or at least faces torture by sharp objects.”

Haldanson grimaced. “It is so. You make a lot of enemies as an assassin, as unlikely as it may seem.”

“Hah,” Loki laughed, then trained his gaze on Hattie, who had run off to jump in another puddle of water. Haldanson followed his gaze and chuckled.

“I do apologise for any strange things she may have told you, my lord. She is gifted with talents many would kill to possess, but… you know, being only five, she has little idea about tact.”

They watched her, these two treacherous men both fully capable of murder, as Hattie squealed in the puddles, ran up to a tree in which curious squirrels observed her, the creatures probably wondering whether they had found a lost brethren in the dead of night.

“You can imagine what a fright she has given some people, my liege, recounting their darkest sins before their very eyes.” Haldanson scratched his beard and chuckled. “You know, she asks me about mine at least five times daily.”

Loki gave him half a smile. “Must be an interesting life.”

“Oh, very much so. Quite an ordeal. You can’t reason with her, she simply knows better than you.”

Loki felt an odd sort of pride at that statement, even though he had only known this little girl for about half an hour. Haldanson called Hattie over when she attempted to climb the tree to tame the squirrel - she pouted but came, seeing her attempt was futile, then took Haldanson’s hand. Loki wondered whether she could see any black on his hands, as Haldanson was no angel.

“I can,” she replied, making him start. “But Uncle’s hands are less black than yours. He’s already paid. Almost paid. His don’t drip anymore, but yours do.”

Haldanson frowned and looked slightly uncomfortable, but Loki raised his eyebrows and grinned, impressed.

“She can read thoughts?”

“Only if she wants to.” Haldanson scratched his beard again. “I reckon she’ll stop wanting when she grows a little older and begins to understand some of the things she sees. She needs to learn control. The hardest one there is… Don’t you, Hattie?”

Hattie nodded sweetly, twirling around in her yellow boots and pink, fluffy coat, looking at Loki with round, grey eyes.

“Will you walk me to school tomorrow, Loki of Asgard?”

Haldanson spluttered at her outrightness, astonished. 

“Now, Hattie,” he managed after a few seconds, “the prince of Asgard is very busy and has much more important things to do than walking little girls to school.”

Hattie pursed her lips. “Loki is the king of Asgard, Uncle.”

Haldanson looked perplexed, glanced at Loki, who looked back coolly, then when he gave no countering statement, his eyes widened and he bowed a little frantically with a hand on his breast.

“Well, I had no idea,” he managed. “Last time I was in Asgard you were a prince, my Lord-”

“But can he walk me to school?” Henrietta tugged on her uncle’s sleeve impatiently. “I don’t like Doris, she smells of cat and doesn’t like me, and you’re always very busy, uncle, and-”

“It’s alright,” Loki said, looking down at her with a smile - so many smiles in such a short space of time which weren’t a mask, an admirable record. “I will consider.”

“Oh, fantastic!” Hattie laughed and clapped her hands and beamed at him, making his chest swell and want to scoop her up and press her to his chest again. “I would love to look at your sparks again!”

Loki laughed and shook his head. “And I thought she was a simple mortal creature.”

“She is from Asgard, like you, my king,” Haldanson bowed his head, still looking slightly nervous. “And far too sure of herself for her own safety. Well. We’ll be off home. It’s getting late. It was an honour to meet you, my lord.”

Loki inclined his head as Haldanson bowed, then raised a finger as he urged Hattie to do the same.

“No,” he said, motioning for her to stand. “She doesn’t need to bow to me.”

Hattie laughed as Haldanson nodded weakly, then she sprang forward and clasped him. 

“Goodbye, Loki of Asgard. I can’t wait to see you again.”

“I will come,” he promised, bending down. “If not tomorrow, then after that.”

He wouldn’t need to be told twice. Not even once. Not when she was staring up at him as though she was really glad to see him, as though he had the power to turn her day into something bright and warm with his cold, jotun hands which could only destroy and consume.

“Good,” she said, then reached up to hold his cheeks. “Good, good, good.”

He gently took her hands away before he had any strange spells again, swallowing. “Off you go, now.”

“Okay.” She patted his cheek, then flew back to her uncle and grabbed his hand. Haldanson nodded in reply to Loki’s look, bowed again for good measure, then picked Hattie up and turned.

Loki watched them disappear into the dark, raising a hand in farewell when Henrietta waved at him.

He stood there long in the dark, looking up at the sky.

Your hands are black. It’s blood. Of the people you’ve hurt.

Loki lifted his hands up to his face, squinting, but of course, he couldn’t see anything amiss. There were quite a few white scars running over his flesh from battle and feuds, but other than that they were as pale and slender as ever.

“Don’t be a fool,” he muttered, letting them drop. “It’s just a childish fancy.”

This childish fancy, however, left an impact upon him that only the next few years could tear from his soul, because it was only when Loki was back in Asgard, in his own empty, royal chambers did he realise that he was clutching the material of his clothes just above his heart, where Henrietta had slept, with a strange obstinacy and longing.

He sank down onto his bed with a sigh, trying to remember what it had felt like to hold someone who trusted him and… liked him. Not because they had to, but because they chose to.

But he was in too deep. He had set things in motion with Thor’s banishment to Midgard which he couldn’t undo, and had to give up hoping for warmth and succumb back to the cold he couldn’t survive without.

And he knew not that in a span of time insignificant to someone of his lifespan, he would become a traitor, that he would fall of Bifrost bridge upon realising that there was no place for him in Asgard, running from shame and Odin’s - his once-father’s - indifferent face, who watched him fall without blinking. That he would become unrecognisably twisted, that he would suffer agony beyond his imagination, that he would lose the trust of the one being who he treasured beyond all.

Though, what happened following that was something he wouldn’t have expected from any pages fate had written for him and if you asked him, he would have looked you in the eyes and solemnly replied that he was undeserving of a moment of it.

~~~*~*~*~~~

That's the first chapter! As always, feedback is appreciated!

[silverorchideon]

Okay, Octoling! Apollo has been on my mind ever since I read this fic.

Imma ramble about this au, so...

Okay, my thoughts. Also, Splatoon 3 spoilers.

Starts out, murder trial, and Wright and Apollo are figuring it out. Anyways, one of the pieces of "evidence" (useless to the case, red herring.) Was given to Apollo and Wright as a thank you gift after the trial. It was just a small vial of ink, and Wright gave it to Apollo because why not. Apollo went home that day, placed his braclet on his drawer, changed into his red hoodie, and dropped the vial.

The vial took him into the future, and he found a little small fry buddy who helped him out. He wandered around until he found a train station, and got on. Eventually, he followed Cuttlefish towards the sewers, and became a new member of the New New Squidbeak Splatoon.

When he traveled dimensions, he just magically learned Inkling/Octoling language (because I just wanted to, this is self indulgent), but couldn't really speak or write it. He's still human, for now. He fights Octavio, and drops into Alterna, where he meets the Captain and the Squid Sisters.

They all know he's human, and say that they could probably make something to bring him back to his time, they just need the power of the Great Zapfish.

Anyways, he does the first stage in Alterna, but the end checkpoint turns him Octoling, for some reason (again, self indulgence, I'm not thinking too deeply into the plot points).

He goes through the entire main storyline of Splatoon 3, growing closer with the Squidbeak Splatoon. They learn of his life and the life of humans. Eventually, he beats Mr. Grizz, and the day is saved. However, the portals they make aren't really working, so he just stays put for now.

In the meantime, he gets a job at Ammo Knights (suggested by Callie and Marie), and Sheldon often leaves to go handpick materials and weapons for his shop, leaving Apollo to work and to help customers (think Harmony and Hotlantis).

Deep Cut and the Squid Sisters also coach him on singing and composing music, since they like his style. Cuttlefish introduces him to Off the Hook, and him and Pearl just become friends becayse Pearl likes him a lot.

I like to think Apollo got homesick eventually, and everyone sort of joined together to try and make a trial similar to Apollo's homelife based on his recordings on his phone (which he brought) and his own stories.

Pretty much, a lot of things happen and they bond.

Small Fry also sleeps a lot, but Apollo says he reminds him of his cat back in his time.

Back to his time, everyone who knew Apollo is freaking out because he just went missing. The WAA take care of Mikeko (who is sleeping a lot, but it's not really affecting his health, says his vet), but he's just gone, and nobody really knows where he went. (I'm assuming they didn't go public with this, so we avoid a plot hole later.)

Anyways, Imma say that time passes the same way in both time frames, and Apollo is gone for half a year. However, they finally make a working portal, and he goes back to his time, phone filled with photos, music, and memories. He's a human again, now through the portal. Also, Imma say it here, Mikeko asleep is in the body of Small Fry, and Small Fry asleep is in the body of Mikeko. Mikeko, on the day the portal is finished, herded the entire WAA into the main room of the office where the door is located, and made sure no one left the room for anything other than to use the restroom or food.

He makes his way back home, finally, and is embraced with the people he might as call his family. He's happy.

He keeps a lot of the clothes and some of the accersories he got from his time in the future, so yeah.

When I first read that fic, I thought about Pearl (AA), Apollo, and Klavier in long-term Splatoon, but then it went to just Apollo and Klavier, to just Apollo.

I need to stop rambling, so imma stop here, bye lol.

[dearfeathers--lovelaz]

To My Dearest Feathers,

Hey. It's me again. Yeah, I know that sounds stupid; Who else would it be? Guess I just don't know how to start these without it being weird.

Today was a very blah day. I didn't really want to do anything. Didn't want to play games, or write, or watch anything, or even sleep honestly. I guess I just kind of... existed, today. Nothing more, nothing less. Just, existed.

I downloaded some games, though, despite the whole blah feeling. Simple, stupid little idle games. Games you didn't play. Mostly because I've been avoiding the ones from your library. Easier than wondering if you're already playing something, you know?

I don't really want to go to work tonight. I seem to be the only person there who smokes cigarettes; all of the others vape. I can't help but wonder if the different flavours they smoke are ones you would like or not. They all love them, so you probably would, too, honestly.

Andy's been arguing with everybody, it seems. They've been doing that a lot since you left, honestly... They try to pretend they weren't hurt by everything that happened, but it's pretty obvious when you actually know them. Hell, Enchanted even called them paranoid... I wouldn't go as far as saying that, but they're definitely a lot more worried about abandonment than they used to be. Which is saying something, considering they already had abandonment issues before losing you...

Speaking of Andy, they keep saying they're going to make a list of things that now upset me. They still haven't done it yet, though. Or maybe they have? It's not that difficult to make a list when the simple answer is just, 'everything', I guess. Just, at this point, it would probably be easier to write a list of the things that don't upset me, rather than the ones that do.

I don't even know why I'm writing a letter today, honestly. All I'm doing is rambling on about meaningless nonsense that nobody cares about. Well, maybe not 'nobody', but nobody who will actually see this. I'm sure a bunch of strangers don't want to read about how much I miss you, or how upset everybody is, or how I don't want to go to work. They likely don't bother to read these, anyway. So I guess I write them for you. In case of the off chance that you'll find these. The off chance you'll still care enough to read them. Care enough to wonder how my life is going.

My life is doing just that, too- it's going. The world doesn't stop for anybody... Even if I feel like my world has ended, this one has not. And I have to keep going. To keep trying. Just like your life has to keep going.

Maybe one day I'll get lucky enough for our lives to cross paths again. Maybe. Just, maybe.

Love Always,

Laz

March 2nd, 2024

[xlysaaa]

Ahhhhhh

Ok, so this might become a bit of a long post. After reading the latest Kono oto Tomare! chapter, i just have to get these feelings off my chest. It'll be random & full ramblings.

i put some panels of chapter 105 but also from 99.5 in this post.

-> lot of spoilers, so read at your own risk <-

this wont be a review or something. I just want to ramble and scream.

First of all, Chikas father . . .

I have literally no fucking words for this sorry excuse of a father! seeing this flashback made me wanna puke my fucking guts out on the floor.

how much do you have to sink as a human being to make YOUR VERY OWN CHILD think this?

What kind of human scum do you have become to tell to YOUR VERY OWN SON " It's hell. Ever since you were born, Its always been hell." ?! What kind of heartless huge shit being do you have to be to treat your very own son like he's the worst, like he isnt worth of human affection or care?!

While Chika was scared & uncomfortable, because he punched someone for the first time to defend himself, instead of talking about it the father looked at him like he was dirt.

When Chika went to the Takaokas that day in Chapter 99.5, he brought back come of the selfmade cake from Tetsukis mum, because he wanted to share it with his father, he thought he could make him happy.

look at this adorable sweet baby bean? how dare you make him cry. ༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽

Imagine a little smiling chika hoping his father would come back early from work to share this delicious cake with him. . . and THEN! imagine the father telling chika in his drunk state all those horrible things, while chika still cares for his father and put a blanket on him to keep him warm. Only for the faher to say ".. I cant bringt myself to love you."

We read in the latest chapter that his mother left with another man, chika cant even remember her face, because he was 2 years old. If its because of the dad, why wouldnt she take chika with her? i dont care whatever her business is, she is as much to blame as this human trash called father. There were so many moments were i had to pause for a bit cause these scenes were too heartbreaking.

Of course Chika would never treasure himself when never once did his father! How should he know how to hold himself dear, when his father never did?

I cant find even the words to describe, what i'm feeling. I feel so sick to my stomach.

I'm so glad that he had his grandpa who cherished him and gave Chika affection. He always encouraged Chika. "Hey, Chika. Dont give up on yourself" & showed him the Koto. He & Tetsuki literally pulled Chika out of the deep darkness & showed him light.

Look Chika, they're all waiting for you! T____T

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

When Tetsuki transfered into Chikas class, a boy told him that he shouldnt get involved with chika because he's a loner & he's trouble. He said "Instead you can be friend with us" to which Tetsuki replied "Thanks. But no thanks." IN YO FACE YOU SHITTY BULLY CHILD.

Anyways, after school the boy & his friends planed to isolate Tetsuki & bully him . . welp, these boys forget chika "LAME. You guys are super lame." and off they go :'D thank to these shitty children ⬇️

a wonderful unbreakable friendship started! They became best friends who were inseparable. /chikas adorable blush q.q sweet baby bean!!!

When Chika had an argument with his father & left the house, he was bullied by middles schoolers & fought. . . it was then when they started to slowly fall apart.. Chika started to avoid Tetsuki & isolated himself again. Even when Tetsuki tried to ask what happened or tried to help him, Chika would only say "Its got nothing to do with you, do dont butt in." Tetsuki blamed himself "If only I had been there the first time Chika had fought. Maybe we could've run. Maybe we could've feigned defeat. Anything so he didnt have to deal with their attention. Any maybe he would still be . . ." He missed his best friend & was worried what would happen to Chika if he keeps going on like this..

Tetsuki was told by the teacher that his mother had an accident & needs surgery. He's waiting anxious in the hospital, hoping for the best, trying to keep the worst case thoughts away . . thats when Chika comes running into the hospital he was worried!

NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS THEIR FRIENDSHIP IS SIMPLY PERFECTION, I CANT!!! ૮₍ ꒦꒳꒦ ₎ა❤

When Tetsukis dad said to Chika that he heard a lot about him from his wife & thanked him for supporting Tetsuki, he asked about his wounds & if they hurt. . thats when Tetsuki learns the reason, why chika kept his distance from him. He didnt want to involve him or put him in danger. "E-Everything's fine! I'm not hanging out with Tetsuki anymore, nobody's seen us together, nobody knows we're friends or anything. I would never drag him into my problems. Never."

Takaoka-papa is as wonderful as Takaoka-mama, jesus the Takaoka family is a bunch of lovely human beings, help me!!!

BONUS:

WHY ARE THEY SO DAMN WONDERFUL??/Tetsuki is so happy for chika *ugly sobbing deluxe*

I'm so glad that that he had Tetsuki right beside him, i dont wanna imagine what would have happened to Chika without his support & affection.

For me, they have one of the most wonderful & most strongest bond ever. I love their friendship so much, seriously i could probably write an essay about them & would never be able go stop. 🥺❤❤❤

Chika went through so much already, he fought his way through life, suffered, so NOW! Let him finally become happy!

Ufff, i didnt mean to make it THIS long.. but there's so much to say about this manga & the relationships chika made or the persons met.ヾ( இ⌓இ)ﾉﾞ

[ginger-and-mint]

Hey, I'm wondering if you have any advice on writing kink stuff? Basically, it feels like I'm writing the same story repeatedly. Coming up with stuffing scenarios that both make sense, and aren't just retreads, is really hard. It probably doesn't help that a) I don't have much writing experience, b) my interests are really narrow, and c) I have no imagination, lol. How do you keep stuff fun and interesting? (Jsyk, I sent this to Tiny as well, I love both your blogs 😊)

Hey, anon! Thank you so much, I’m so glad you enjoy my and Tiny’s content and I’m flattered to be asked for advice! ♡ I have a lot of thoughts about this, so I’ll do my best to boil them down into something useful.
 ^^

Since you mentioned being pretty new to writing, I broke up my advice into a few different “stages,” starting with things that are easy to implement and moving to things that might feel more manageable as you get more comfortable with writing. Under a cut because Real Heckin Long.


Stage One — Don’t Sweat It

This might sound corny and unhelpful, but I genuinely think that especially when you’re first starting out, it’s best not to put pressure on yourself to write the world’s most original stories. Write to please your inner fiend and nobody else! If repeated versions of the same story continue to light your fire, there’s no shame in embracing that.

Doing this will honestly help you with originality in the long-term anyway, because you’re giving yourself the freedom to learn more about what specifics you really enjoy in kink writing. Later on, you can use that knowledge to put new twists on those specifics and invent new scenarios.

Stage Two — Stuffing Scenario Cheat Sheet

I completely agree that believable stuffing scenarios are really difficult to invent. What’s realistic is a matter of opinion of course, but for me, this is a quick breakdown of logical reasons for a character to overeat. If you’re getting tired of using the same justification in your fics, try picking something new from this list:

Accidental stuffing:

Character is distracted by something during the meal

Character eats so fast they don’t realize when they’re full

Character has been hungry for awhile and overdoes it when they finally get to eat

Reluctant intentional stuffing (motivated by external circumstances):

Character feels social pressure to keep eating **

The food will go to waste otherwise **

Eating contests / challenges **

The character is trying to bulk up

Enthusiastic intentional stuffing (because the character wants to):

Character just enjoys the feeling of being full

Character and/or their partner(s) have a stuffing kink

Character has temporary access to good food and is indulging while they can

Fantasy Shenanigans:

Side effects of being a magical creature (e.g. a werewolf eating too much for their human form to handle, a vampire needing to feed all at once, etc.)

Magic that causes a character to overeat (e.g. enchanted food, curses, potions, etc.)

Magic that requires a full stomach and/or extra energy to work (e.g. my di-mage spell mechanics, the antidote in this fic of Tiny’s, etc.)

[free space because fantasy lets you set the boundaries of what’s realistic, so your imagination is really the limit!]

** If you’re aiming for realism, I would be careful of these scenarios. In my opinion, they can be done believably, but often are not. Some things I would look out for:

Most foods can easily be stored for later, so if you want to use the “avoiding waste” trope, make sure that you’re either in a setting without access to refrigeration or that the food is something that genuinely wouldn’t keep until the next day (or at least would be way less tasty after a night in the fridge.)

Social pressure works best in scenarios with people that the to-be-stuffed character 1) doesn’t know very well and 2) wants to impress or keep face around (e.g. formal events, business dinners, first dates that involve food, meeting their partner’s family, etc.)

Loving friends, family, and partners don’t pressure or guilt people into overeating! Characters stuffing themselves because their loved ones are really insistent that they have to taste-test everything or act so disappointed because they went to all this work on some extravagant feast always ring at best false and at worst abusive to me. What kind of loving relationship is it if you don’t feel safe to say “no thanks, I’m full?” That’s not to say social pressure with loved ones can’t be done well, but it usually indicates some kind of character flaw (i.e. an inability to say no and/or a steamroller-y personality) that in my opinion, has to be acknowledged by the fic’s end if you want the tone to stay light and fluffy.

Again, this may just be my opinion, but eating contests only come across as realistic with certain character personalities and in certain contexts. Like yeah, I can believe that a himbo with YouTuber Energy would take on a hot wing eating challenge in front of all his bros, but not so much that an otherwise self-respecting character would drop everything to eat themselves sick because a friend randomly challenged them.

Stage Three — Change Up Other Elements When Using Similar Tropes


Especially if you have narrow interests, it’s probably inevitable you’ll write same basic story structure over and over. I know I sure do! However, I would say that changing other elements of the narrative can give your writing an entirely different feel, turning it into a whole new story that will not feel like a simple retread to a reader.

One thing you can change up is setting. A lot of times kink writers will just plonk characters in the comfort of their own homes, which is valid — but setting hugely influences the atmosphere of a story, so the same Kink Plot will read really differently if it happens, say, at a campground or on a boat. Providing a rich setting can even become a feature of the kink itself. For example, setting your story at a lavish buffet could introduce an element of indulgence that hits you and/or readers differently than a story that involves casual takeout in the living room, even if the rest of the story is similar. Try bold settings! They’re fun!

Another element to vary is context. For example, the basic trope of “stress eating” would play out really differently if a character is about to go on an important mission vs. if they’re recovering from an emotionally difficult day; a story about about a character intentionally stuffing themselves will have a completely different flavor if they’ve been going hungry for awhile vs. they’ve been overeating all week; and so on.


Finally, consider changing up the focus. An easy way to do this is to switch up whether you’re writing from the POV of the stuffed character or a caretaker. You can also focus on different details of the stuffing — for example, lingering on how delicious the food looks and tastes vs. how the character feels as their stomach fills vs. physical details like whether they’re getting bloated or grumbly.

Stage Four — Connect to Character or Plot

The most surefire way to make kink stories distinct is to give the story an additional purpose besides just being kinky. This doesn’t have to be some big, extravagant plot (although it certainly can be) — it can be a simple as writing a kink story the way you usually would, and just finding something within it that you can use to reveal an aspect of your character.

Start with an ordinary kink scenario and try to dive a little deeper. For example:

Say you want to write a story about stress eating. Okay — what is the character stressed about?

Maybe you come up with something relatively simple and generic, like school. Okay, what about this character makes them so likely to be stressed out by school? Are they a perfectionist? Are they facing a lot of pressure from their family? Do they have a goal that requires excellent grades? Have they struggled with this subject in the past?

Let’s say you decide to go with perfectionism. Now, what scenes can you use to show this struggle? And optionally, can you give the character some kind of resolution by the story’s end?

And there you go! Your fic now not only has kink, but also shows how your character reacts in a certain situation.

Character especially is a treasure trove of uniqueness, in my opinion, because well-developed characters react differently to the same scenario. Stories feel more original because even if a reader has read this exact same plot before, they will not have seen how this particular person handles it. So one of the best ways to make fics distinct is to spend time developing your characters!

If the goal is to simply write solid distinct kinky stories, trying to create detailed plot is more work with lower return than investing in your characters, if you ask me. You have to enjoy the process of creating plots itself for it to be worth it. If that’s something you’re interested in, I have a whole load more thoughts about that -- but since this is already incredibly long, I’ll save that for a separate ramble if anyone is specifically interested.

---

I hope something in this huge infodump is helpful to you! Some of it may sound intimidating if you’re just starting out with kink writing, but it’s absolutely all something that can be worked up to. Please feel free to ask any follow-up questions if stuff I’ve written doesn’t make sense. Good luck with your writing, anon, and thanks for giving me an excuse to just go off. ^^’ ♡

[violetwolfraven]

Hey :)

So, I know I just left a request already but the thing is that there's definitely not enough Blush in the Newsies Fandom, and therefore I wanted to ask for 10 ("Who are you?") for Blush in the canon era. Either some getting-to-know each other, or maybe (to make it more angsty) some kind of temporary amnesia thing or that maybe Blink's other eye slowly stops working? (At this point I'm just rambling, but I hope that's something to work with; I really like your writing)

Thank you! You’re right that we need more blush in this fandom, especially since like 80% of us see them as canon. I’m gonna go the kinda flangst route with this!

Sorry this took so long, but I struggled with and scrapped like 6 different ideas before coming up with something I felt good about. This takes place about a year before the strike.

Tw: referenced parent death, implied period-typical homophobia, referenced past child abuse.

...

Mush was woken up by a loud thud, like something hitting the floor.

He was very confused about what was going on until he looked down and saw Blink on the floor.

He was just sitting there, not quite upright, like he’d fallen out of bed and was too disoriented by getting woken up suddenly to move.

“Blink?”

He didn’t respond, and Mush was starting to wonder if he was really awake at all, or if he was... what, sleepwalking?

Honestly, Mush was starting to question if he was even awake. None of the others were, and that thud of Blink hitting the ground had been pretty loud.

Dream or not, he dropped down from his bunk, careful to land quietly next to his sweetheart.

It seemed like none of the others had been disturbed, which was probably a good thing. They all needed the rest. Jack and Crutchie were up sleeping on the roof like they always did in the summers and others all were still asleep.

“Blink?” Mush whispered.

He just kept staring at the ground, dazed, like he didn’t even hear him.

“Blink, are you okay?”

Blink flinched backward, instinctively raising his arms to shield his face, and Mush froze with his hand halfway between them.

Nightmare. It had to be.

What was it that Jack did when things like this happened?

Mush didn’t know, but he knew he had to do something. He did know something that might get Blink’s attention and snap him out of it. Something none of the others knew.

“Louis.”

Blink’s good eye snapped to attention, but not in a good way.

Mush felt a chill at how he wasn’t looking at him so much as through him.

“Who are you?”

His voice was haunted. Hollow, not even a hint of recognition there.

God, if this was what always happened when he had nightmares, Mush had no idea how Jack could ever calm him down.

He was going to try, anyway.

“It’s me,” Mush said, trying to keep his voice calm, “Mush Meyers. Your... your best friend. Ya don’t know me?”

Blink shook his head rapidly, curling in on himself like he was expecting a blow, “No. No. I’m sorry. No.”

That wasn’t good. Blink never apologized. If he was sorry for something, he let you know in more tangible ways. Actions over words.

Much needed to ground him. Now. He didn’t really know how, but... if Blink didn’t remember him, he guessed he should..?

“Do ya remember when you and me first met?” he asked, “We was 9 years old. My mom and pop had just died. I was friends with Jack, Crutchie, and Specs already, so they’d told me I could come here if anythin’ ever happened. I saw ya for the first time sitting out on the fire escape when Specs was introducin’ me to everybody. He told me not to bother ya, so we didn’t talk for a while.”

Mush paused, watching Blink’s face carefully for any sign of recognition.

He was still just staring into space, but he looked more confused than blank now, so Mush kept going.

“Everybody was upset cause Jack was in the Refuge for the first time and we was all worried, but it hit you hard cause you were alone. The others were all grouped up to support each other, but they was all avoidin’ you cause ya scared ‘em. You get defensive when you’re scared, so’s nobody can hurt ya.”

Still no real recognition, but Blink was at least looking more responsive to what he was saying.

“I offered to be your sellin’ partner after a couple days, cause I didn’t see what everybody was so scared of,” Mush recalled, “Not till you a gave me this look like you were gonna gut me in an alleyway. But I sold with ya anyway, and I kept sellin’ with ya even after Jack broke out and everythin’ got normal ‘round here. Best choice I ever made, to stick it out with you.”

Blink smiled distantly, barely, but it was there.

“Yeah, Blink, I wouldn’t be the person I am today if I hadn’t met you,” he continued, “I definitely wouldn’t know how to read people as well as I do. Remember when we were 12 and the Delanceys jumped me behind Jacobi’s? You seemed so angry while you patched me up, but I knew it was just cause you was worried.”

He was relaxing a little bit, his body language no longer wracked with fear.

Mush risked a glance around the room, just making sure that all the others were still asleep.

“You wouldn’t tell me I was your best friend until we were 11,” he said quietly, “Too damn stubborn. Ya don’t bury all your feelings like some people, but ya also never say it if you’re scared or sad or care about someone.”

Making sure it was clear what he was doing beforehand, Mush scooted a little closer to whisper to him.

“That’s why it was such a surprise when ya told me you had feelings for me last month. Asked to be a thing. You said—“

“You’re the only one what sees the good in everyone,” Blink mumbled, cutting him off, “Even people who hide it on purpose.”

He met Mush’s eyes, and it was obvious that Blink was now a lot more present in there.

“I’d be a fool to let that slip away.”

Mush hesitated, then held out an arm, knowing Blink wouldn’t take that offer if he wasn’t ready to be touched.

To his surprise, Blink went to him without hesitation, the tension leaving his body in one breath as he tucked his head against Mush’s shoulder and let himself be hugged.

He was covered in sweat, and Mush could practically feel the exhaustion radiating off him. Whatever that had been, whatever nightmare had triggered it, had clearly taken a lot out of him.

“Did I scare ya?” Blink asked quietly, after a minute of just sitting there on the floor in silence.

“No. Worried me a bit, though.”

He wasn’t lying. Mush had never been afraid of Blink. He’d been able to see why others were, with that fierce, cynical air he put up in self defense, but Mush didn’t really fear anyone, honestly, since he’d gotten good at understanding people. If you understood why someone was doing what they were doing, you didn’t have to fear even the people you hated or were angry with.

Blink, specifically, had never scared him because he’d been able to tell from pretty close to the beginning that Blink didn’t want to hurt anyone. He just acted like he did so that he wouldn’t get hurt himself.

He’d wondered why before. This was making him wonder again, but he wasn’t sure if it was okay to ask.

A part of him was scared of the answer, remembering how Blink had flinched when he tried to touch him before. He hoped he was wrong.

Blink seemed to guess where his thoughts were going and he sighed bitterly, moving up onto the bed and pulling Mush up with him.

“The nightmares are a nice little souvenir from Mom and Dad,” he admitted softly, “They’re... I don’t have them so much as I used to anymore, but... how did ya think I lost my eye?”

So Mush was right. He hated that he was, but... well, he couldn’t say he’d never guessed this before.

“That’s why ya got so weird whenever I brought up missin’ my folks way back when. You didn’t get it cause you didn’t miss yours.”

Blink nodded, “I ran away when I was 7. Wound up here. My folks came lookin’ for me a couple times, but Manhattan’s leader at the time turned ‘em away at the door. Good thing. I’d probably be dead if he’d let them take me.”

Mush didn’t want to think about a world where that happened, “Jack wouldn’ta let him.”

He smiled, “Probably not.”

That smile faded a little too quickly, but Mush didn’t know what to say to fix it.

He could barely see Blink in what moonlight was coming in through the window, but he reached over to push his hair off his face anyway, careful to come at him from the side with his working eye.

Blink leaned his face into the touch with a deep breath.

“Wish I hadn’t wasted so much time back then, assumin’ everyone was out to hurt me. I’da become friends with you a lot faster if I hadn’t.”

“I did think you was a bit of a dick when we first met,” Mush admitted, “But hey, whatever ya have to do to feel safe.”

Blink shrugged, “Well, you feel safest when you’re surrounded by people ya trust and it works out alright for you.”

Usually it did. Mush always tried to be as kind as he could afford to be, and that meant he had friends everywhere.

Blink had a tendency, almost an instinct, even today at age 15 to make people want to avoid him.

It was kind of funny how the few friends they’d told about their relationship hadn’t been surprised at all, despite how different they were. Sun and moon. Practically direct opposites.

“I’d rather you act like an asshole than end up dead. You mean a lot to me, Blink.”

“You mean a lot to me, too, Mush.”

Mush took the awkward silence that followed that as a signal to give him one last smile and climb up to his bunk, but Blink grabbed his wrist at the last second to stop him.

“Stay down here?”

He didn’t have to answer out loud for them to curl up together, cuddling on that bottom bunk.

[greenbeany]

Crimson in Atlas... Again.

And this time she brought a bird

Nobody's really written a group fic for jtblk yet and I refuse to be outdone by a team with four members so Crimson gets a ficlet. And the others get lines too I guess.

(this is first person because I ramble and also first fic and also Crimson is a self insert this is totally fine)

Atlas is cold. Colder than I remember leaving it.

In hindsight, maybe I should have listened to Ruli when she said to wear tights.

The city is busy and I like it. Makes it easier to avoid people who might have remembered me otherwise.

Or not. Sometimes I forget other people can't do that.

I turn away from the flooded streets and back to the dock. Jynx looks like she's going to freeze to death, and Beryl and Eden are trying to stop her from dramatically falling over or something like that. I'm not really paying attention but that sounds like something they'd do, I think. And Key is- where the fuck is Key?

Someone tackle glomps me from behind and I fall backwards on the landing pad. Key hiccups and jumps back as a cloud of ice dust floats above my head. Of course it's ice dust, as if the temperature wasn't enough. I look up at them expectantly.

"WE'RE BACK IN ATLAS, CRIMSON"

"I noticed, thanks"

Key stares at me for a few seconds, tilts her head to the side, and runs to whoever behind me has caught her attention now. Probably Eden.

I hear a disgruntled yelp behind me.

Definitely Eden.

I groan, and stand myself back up. Great, already have a physical bruise here. Can't wait for the mental ones. Maybe I should start a timer to see how long it takes for a memory to surface. Oh yeah, and I'll make Beryl buy me a croissant if it's in the next five minutes.

The owl faunus looks over at me with a concerned look on her face. Wait did I say that out loud shit shit shit shit. She smiles at me gently and walks over. Fuck that girl and her need to constantly be nice it's not fair :(

"wow, I didn't know the floor in Atlas was so compelling,"

"shush, you bird brain."

She laughs, but then a concerned look crosses her face.

"Crimson, are you okay?"

"Yeah, you're not as... Glittery as usual," Jynx walks over.

"Uh-" I pull my bow out of my hair. A pile of sequins falls onto the floor. "Am I not??"

"That's not what I mean-"

Beryl cuts her off. I haven't told Jynx yet. Or Eden. Or Key, although I doubt she'd listen anyway. I didn't even intend to tell Beryl, I guess the screaming in the middle of the night was just a giveaway. "Well, since you're here, did you want to show me around?"

She knows I don't. I seriously hate that bird.

I stare at her for a second. Beryl continues, "you can show me around the city and Key can get Jynx and Eden lost, then we can regroup in an hour! Sound fair??"

Nevermind, she's a lifesaver.

"Wait," Jynx starts, "why am I being guided by the drago-"

"Welp that settles it, I'll lead Beryl around and Key can show Eden and Jynx the area!"

"I will never forgive you for this Beryl-"

Key squeals from behind us. I look back over to Jynx. She seems to be accepting her fate.

"Oh oh oh I can show you the shops I used to window shop in! And the road where I nearly got caught in an anti faunus mob! And then we can go to Mantle and I'll introduce you to the manager of the local supermarket and-" Key drags Eden and Jynx off by the ears. They both send me and Beryl death glares as Key bounces forward.

I glance at Beryl. She's looking back at me again. Sigh.

"I'll talk about it if you buy me hot chocolate."

I'm sorry for the slander that I have done to Key and Jynx while writing this story. And I'm sorry for once again not caring about Eden at all I love her really I just know nothing about her so for now she's the punching bag.

Like I said, this is short. And nothing really happens in it at all it's totally exposition. I kinda just wanted a fancy way to show off the outfits.

Beryl belongs to @ozpins-coffeemug

Jynx belongs to @judgemental-frog

Key belongs to @insulationsun

Eden belongs to @mynameisactuallyten

@adventures-of-the-opps-teams

[thedogsled]

You seem to be having a not a great day today, so here's a light-hearted ask. I'm having a good day, curled up in pjs with cuddly pets watching Leverage with my sister. Leverage is one of my favorite shows, because it's smart and fun and has great characters that grow over the seasons. Besides Supernatural, what's a show you really enjoy and why?

Thank you so much for the ask! I’m sorry I didn’t reply to it sooner, I’ve come down with a head cold and this is really the first day in several I’ve been able to compose more than a tweet about how much it sucks (swallowing = a knife jammed right into my inner ear, it’s super fun). But I did want to answer your question so I’ve been musing on it since your ask came in.

If it was just “what’s your favorite show right now” it’d be an easy answer: The Boys. The Boys, back to front, front to back, upside down and inside out. The first season was fantastic, and it felt like it woke me up to being excited about TV again after my interest in The Walking Dead waned mid-season. Everything new has seemed very plastic recently, and even The Mandalorian, which is super cool, is kind of like the Cartoon Network dub of Dragonball Z, so Disneyfied in its bloodlessness that although I’m enjoying it it feels even more synthetic as a result. The Boys was the opposite of that, and also just whoever invented Karl Urban, period, just deserves a nobel prize for that masterpiece. He pronounces twat wrong (okay okay it’s a dialect thing) but you can’t have everything =D

So instead (and because it’s cheating that I can pimp The Boys and wax lyrical about loves of old) I interpret your question as sort of like “Which show is your comfort food?” Which show do I go back to when I’m feeling like TV needs to give me a cuddle. I had a good think about it, because there’s a few…

(aside: I shouldn’t have put that gif in before I started writing. ahem.)

There’s been a few over the years, for sure. As a thirteen year old I used to watch and rewatch Buffy episodes, mostly season 2 (baby Spike!). At eighteen, it was old VHS of Deep Space Nine, my favorite ep was “Wrongs Darker Than Death or Night” which I watched repeatedly and think about constantly even today. 

But the show I keep coming back to is due South.

This post is a long post, it also deals with discourse (because my relationship to entertainment is so often mired in it, so please don’t proceed if you’re rather avoid it) and this is where it begins:

Okay, so fun fact: I watched due South the first time it aired with my parents (I was about 9) and then when it was on TV again as a repeat, I recorded it on VHS by RUSHING home every single day from school with nothing else on my mind but sitting on the floor two feet from the telly to watch it. Quantum Leap was on right after, and I had an entire different set of VHS tapes to record that on, so had to quickly switch between them. I’d stop recording at every break so that I could get more episodes on a tape. It’s not unsurprising to me now that both shows vibed with me as a young person who hadn’t yet really accepted that she was queer; due South’s main character is coded as Other both to the Americans whom he lives with, and his fellow Canadians, while Quantum Leap explores a straight white man jumping into the lives of Others, and living through them some of the hardest moments in their lives. Even though both keep it exceedingly, textually hetero, one has two men riding off into the snowy sunset together (leaving behind a straight lover to do so) and the other features a love between two men that in the original framing of the finale would have seen God/fate reconnecting the two of them even though one was lost in time, and the partner’s wife begging him to go.)

Of course young me didn’t give a shit about that, or didn’t realize that’s what she cared about. Young me loved the buddy-cop partnership of both shows. Young me liked the half-wolf, and the episodes where they ride horses, and honestly just waiting with bated breath to find out where Sam would jump to this time. “Oh boy!” Retrospectively, these shows (especially QL) are a lot more oh boy in a yikes context now than they used to be, but it’s good that shows age into yikes territory because it means that society is steadily advancing. Particularly, pointing out that these shows both feature white straight guys like…welcome to the nineties.

I was introduced to queer coding in part by watching due South. The show is laden with it. With writers, actors, and ultimately an executive producer who was all three, it makes you wonder if they would have gone there if they could; certainly the ending reads that way. They couldn’t, of course, because it was the nineties (and it was CBS that revived it after enormous international fan demand). Still, there was just nothing else analogous to what we have now that was going there on TV at the time. If you were queer (or discovering your queerness) then watching the show meant everything, as it did to me. So I snuggle up on the couch often these days and go back to that, because it gave me such joy, and because I was left with the opportunity to decide for myself how deep the relationship was. There was no promise of anything, because the context at the time was of course you can’t go there, nobody can go there. Queerbaiting was a word that simply hadn’t been breathed. There was no intent, no companies behind the curtain pulling strings going “Yes, make it more gay, we want those queer dollars”, just invested people slipping what they could past the studio censors.

Like this:

Sigh. A less enlightened time. =P (Incidentally fun meta here but this was after a conversation where Ray suggested that communication in a relationship should be intuitive, like breathing.)

So I guess in part I escape back there because none of that representation was ever as loaded as it is today. It doesn’t require me to judge it, or weigh it against the harm it does - because the politics of the time meant I thought it was doing good (retrospectively, and only through the lens of someone who had nothing to lose). It seemed to scream out into an unyielding universe to force it to move. It did a fraction of that, because of course it did. It was the nineties. It stole indigenous narratives and romanticized colonialism just as much as it beat the drum of environmentalism and kicked at the doors of corporate greed and racism. Old shows are inherently problematic. Today’s shows are too. Being able to examine them doesn’t mean not loving them, but it lets you say “Okay, so what do I expect from the things I watch today? What do I expect from the things I watch in five years time?”

All that aside, the show is just damn good. It’s watchable and rewatchable. It struggles to age because it was already so out of pace with the age it was made in–despite its flaws in representation, it was better than other shows at the time that demonized, tokenized, or outright killed minorities to push white narratives on their own shows (Kendra being murdered on Buffy, for example). It’s standalone enough that you can go back and watch any episode you like because overarching story arcs were way less of a staple as they are today.  It’s witty, fast paced, full of action and moral dilemma, do gooding and the consequences of it. Although still severely unbalanced, and very, very white, it did still have indigenous actors playing indigenous characters, and minorities portrayed in stories about them. There’s a dog. There’s classic cars. And it’s all put to the soundtrack of Canadian bands and singers. 

tl;dr ahead for rambling about subtext and being a disaster queer, but please scroll past for more gifs.

Queer me needed this show, in a world where I’d been taught to look and see myself in straight white male protagonists, it felt like A Lot to see all this on screen. It wasn’t, but it was all I got when I was growing up. I envy the good fortune of kids who can see themselves on screen these days while they try and figure themselves out (and hopefully more so in the future) with far less of having to negotiate through the confusion of looking at it through confusing fractals of different lenses and instead just see someone who looks like them showing them that their POV is normal, heroic and wonderful. Those lenses fucked me up big time. Like I’m not even sure right now what flavor of queer I am. I cling to bi like a lifeline of sense in my life, but it is complicated because I overwhelmingly desire the company of women way way more. But also I was was taught to look through the lens of a white dude in order to see myself universally, taught to be both desirous of the female body and humiliated by it, ashamed by sex, taught men were awful, and taught that I was supposed to marry one anyway. I look at my sexuality/romanticism like it’s a meta puzzle that I haven’t figured out yet, wondering how to put it on paper, how to break apart the different influences I experienced as a youngling and as an adult to try and negotiate if I’m misreading my own impulses. How I was brought up, who I’ve known, the relationships I’ve experienced and seen in real life and on TV. I’m 34 and I’m still no more certain. Subtext is both my friend and my enemy. I hate it, and I owe everything to it.

So when I need a rest from giving a shit about any of that noise, I go back to my comfort food. I go right back to subtext, which gave me the tools I needed to desire romance that wasn’t heterosexual, that somehow was more intimate because it relied on longing stares and never stepping foot out of the closet, that was just someone liking another person without any expectation of sex just because they have opposing genitals, and their colleagues hassle them a lot. There’s nothing wrong with the sex, I write a lot of consommation of the feelings that I see bubbling under the surface. I have even grown to appreciate het romance when it’s done in a way that doesn’t reduce the woman to a love interest–I was thrilled when Simon Baker’s Patrick Jane got together with Teresa Lisbon in The Mentalist. Their relationship was filled with subtext too. Subtext isn’t a queer thing, it has a role in all well written romance. Hell, it has a role in terriblebad tropey misogynistic romance, too. And just you know basically all storytelling (and more). 

Queer romance existing only in the subtext, though? It’s heartbreaking explicitly because it feels like a story that isn’t finished, and that’s where subtext reliant shows can hand off the story to be finished by fandom itself. In due South, as I mentioned before, Ray and Fraser jump into a dogsled and ride off over the snowy horizon to “Find the hand of Franklin, reaching for the Beaufort sea”. It’s where I chose my meta name, as I’ve mentioned before, because that ending - that ending - handed us all the subtext so far and said “Here, take it, it’s yours now. Do with it what you like”–and we did. But that was twenty years ago. I loved that ending (I still think it was a very elegant solution) and it was expected and appropriate for a show that in itself is a “Faves Are Problematic” show, but that’s also why I get so passionate about discussing the subtext in Supernatural.

It’s younger than due South. While it may have begun back when Willow from Buffy had her first girlfriend, it is ending now, not at the turn of the century where a dogsled was still good enough to get the point across and none of us had Twitter. My own experiences, my lifelong queer confusion make it so I feel pretty damn bad for people trying to use Supernatural as a medium for their own self-exploration, using characters from SPN as their lenses. A show these days that makes bank on those tropes and doesn’t inform its audience (positively or negatively) is doing so irresponsibly because of the modern context in which the show presently (not historically) sits, and the increasing awareness of the issues surrounding it. Networks, then, are ultimately responsible for that, but they are in a way which is entirely different and far more directly culpable than they were 20 years ago, because people are out there making money out of those intentional subtextual devices. They chose to do it; took a deep breath and backed right up away from Gamble’s problematic queerbashing tropes, chewed it over, then hired gay writers and dived right back in with more grown up, progressive, and less shitty subtext–but still subtext. 

This show that ended 20 years ago was able to cross way more lines with subtext in one episode than Supernatural has done sometimes in an entire season. It did so despite and because of it’s international audience, on a conservative network that would late purchase Paramount, and Star Trek, and ended with a powerfully subtextual ending. Supernatural, of course, is under a far more powerful microscope from the bigots than those oblivious to subtext back in the 90s could have ever produced. due South, like SPN was just “wholesome family entertainment” to a conservative audience that was completely oblivious by all accounts, yet was laden heavily with queer innuendo. It was also blissfully short, and existed in a social media world which consisted of Yahoo groups and not much else. 

In modern context, Supernatural gets a fox in the henhouse treatment from that same audience, and acts accordingly (when it’s not using that same subtext to deliver earnest Fuck You’s to that audience). While I expect Supernatural to bravely - even considering this scrutiny - deliver a dogsled subtextual ending on a good day, there are bad days, too, because the queer subtext has been underlined so loudly that everyone can see it, because it’s “practically text”, because the bottom line is increasingly more concerned with satisfying those bigots (even while they mock them), and because queer fans are “too loud” about what they want. How dare they. /s The pushback caused by being loud about things you care about, the bigots actually seeing subtext in front of their noses, isn’t bad because now they know what we’ve been doing all along, and we won’t be able to get away with it any more; it means they’re becoming more aware of narratives other than their own. Yes, some people will push back, but “when you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression”, and they can shove it right up their asses.

All I ever ask of myself when I interrogate my present day viewing experience, is this: when I sat as a youngster watching due South thinking “This subtextual ending is enough for me”, did I truly believe it was okay to be watching a show about two white guys with a subtextual ending 20 years later? Was that the future I dreamed of and aspired to? Would I be disappointed? The answer is yes, I am disappointed. No matter the whys, the fundamental and societal reasons–I am disappointed. I still love the show probably more than I should, but I am disappointed in the society it sits in - which is increasingly capitulating to far more powerful global financial powers than a couple of red state homophobes - and I’m disappointed in the way we’re treating each other for even caring, and I’m disappointed in myself, too, for being naive and imagining we would be much further down this road now than we are. But we are a capitalistic society, and being both the commodity and the customer should be a surprise to literally nobody at this point. It doesn’t mean you have to like it.

And if you don’t feel that way, that’s okay. We all come from different places. We have different perspectives. We need and want different things, for different reasons, and find joy in different things for different reasons. Variety of opinion is as much a wonderful thing as it is completely terrifying.

I’ve wandered somewhat off topic, so I’m going to go back to the show I love, my chocolate pudding and custard comfort food TV show, and the long stares and the beautiful uncomplicated subtext.

And sign off with half a dozen gifs.

Eye fucking:

Conversations in closets and bathrooms:

Going down with the ship

Intuitively understanding each other without a word spoken

His hobbies humiliate me in public

“Do you find me attractive?”

Sulking in the corridor while you reunite with your ex

This whole ep with original Ray:

And his wolf approving of both

Not pictured “I love you” “And I you”, “Get out of the closet”, actual hand holding when it’s unnecessary, formally handcuffing your buddy, getting stuck in an ice crevasse and a mini submarine together–and so so much more. I invite you to watch the show if you can find it (I have it on a really nice set of DVDs, but there’s some dodgy ones out there that look like they recorded the DVD straight off a VHS, so do check reviews) or else try and find it online. There was a Canada promoting YouTube channel which published both due South and shows like Slings and Arrows, which I recommend as well (It’s not actually bury your gays if the ghost of your gay best friend haunts you, right?) so you should be able to poke around and find a legit copy somewhere. I’ve bigged it up and talked it down, and wandered a long way off topic (that describes my relationship with every show, but especially when I recommend them) but I hope somewhere along the line I also answered the question. The way I hear it Leverage is a similar sort of comfort food, though I haven’t seen it. Sounds like I should put it on my To Watch list.

[casuistor]

Did you listen to the NY demo songs of the musical that were put online recently? Some of the songs that weren't officially released are now available. Was wondering if you have any thoughts about them... Adrienne Warren's Misa in I'm Ready sounds v different compared to Fūka Yuzuki!

I am so happy the NY Demo got leaked tbh, I’ve been listening to it nonstop for the last couple of days and lemme just say – even though I don’t fully agree with all the characterization choices, the demo is gorgeous ;~; THANK YOU for the excuse to ramble about this, haha. 

I’ll outline my thoughts on the songs that weren’t released previously under the read more, but just keep in mind that these are just some quick opinions on the songs rather than my thoughts on the demo vs the final versions of the songs b/c then this would be writing for weeks and nobody wants that textwall, haha. 

…I say this is going to be abbreviated and then it turned out long-ish anyway.

Where is the Justice?

Yes I know this was released previously, but the version that was officially released cut a minute out from the song, so I’m commenting, fight me.

While I think the song is overall too focused around the issues with the criminal justice in America for a story that is supposedly set in Japan, I think the verse that was removed was more reflective of the sorts of things Light in canon might think. 

That said I don’t fully agree that Light would argue that “draining the color from within until we’re back to seeing black and white and wrong and right again” is actually a good thing, especially considering canon Light does evaluate mitigating circumstances in his evaluation of who is guilty.

Overall, I think the song does a good job of establishing Light’s character as a kid who, despite having some deeply flawed views about justice, does genuinely care about fairness and has his heart in the right place.

To this day though, I’m not convinced that manga! Light is the kind of kid who would spark this debate in his classroom. He very much seems to be the kind of person who keeps his cynicism about the world to himself.  If you ask me, his “ic” response would be more along the lines of “sure, the justice system isn’t perfect, but it’s our job as the next generation to keep improving it, isn’t it?”  But that doesn’t make a cool song, lmao. 

Hurricane

Yes, this one was also leaked before, but you’re not stopping me from talking about Weather Metaphors The Song™ now that it’s out in HQ. 

Why. WHY.

I think the problem I have with this song is that there’s really not much character development during this song. Light is just immediately sucked into a power fantasy and this is really… not reflective of Light’s character in the series. 

I’m Ready

LOVE. FUCKING LOVE ADRIENNE WARREN’S VOICE. 

But i really don’t agree that Adrienne is a good casting choice with Misa. I LOVE her voice and her singing, but she’s… too much of a power house and Misa is just not that at all. Misa needed to be bubbly and radiate cuteness rather than maturity. 

Hearing this rendition of Misa really made me understand why the Korean production went the direction they did with Jung Sun Ah’s Misa though, and it comes as much less of a headscratcher now. 

I think these lyrics are also not PG enough for Misa’s idol image which sounds ridiculous b/c it’s overall a pretty tame song, lmao

Specifically it’s lines like “let me kiss you and then let me kiss you again” that are maybe not… squeaky clean enough for the image that idols in Japan have to project. 

We All Need A Hero

Perfection. Absolute perfection.  I love that they threw in that dumb light pun lmao. 

Honestly this almost made me cry and I wish I knew who sings this song as they were the perfect Sayu singing voice. Young, sweet, optimistic, sincere sounding? Nailed it. (Edit: I am told that the singer is Laura Osnes)

I am VERY much intrigued by the fact that this song was written as a solo in the NY Demo as opposed to the odd duet that it became in the final version. This makes much more sense to me and avoids weird/creepy parallels between Sayu and Misa that the final version forced by making it a duet. 

The Game Begins

I am so distracted by the line “for even the perfect crime has the perfect flaws” because this is just not logically coherent.

ON LESS GRIPEY TERRITORY – having the whole demo did put into perspective for me why the Weather Metaphors had to be, and I think it’s because they may have been going for a nature vs machine type of theme… and while I can appreciate it poetically (?) I just don’t agree that it fit thematically with the character of L and Light. 

Like why… does L keep making tech metaphors? Is this supposed to be a quirk of his the same way that the posture/diet is? I think in a way this was poorly executed and characterization was ultimately sacrificed in favor of poetic analogies. 

The literal first line “empty your mind of any feelings” is very unlike L to do. L is a detective who works heavily based on his intuition and his gut instincts. He did not tackle the Kira case like a super computer interested in objectivity and eliminating bias. That’s just not what happened in canon. 

I stand very much corrected on these lyrics as they are “empty your mind of any theories.” My bad, I don’t have the best ear for lyrics. But that said, doesn’t this contradict the fact that he already took an action based on a theory with the LLT plan? 

Overall I think this song took too many poetic liberties with L, and tried too hard to make him sound intelligent by throwing in “smart sounding words” like ~calculus~ and ~evolution~ even though those words didn’t actually make that much sense in the context he was applying them in? 

“A stronger mind and evolution determines who wins the game” – for example. Evolution and adaptation aren’t synonyms, but he uses them as such anyway and this kind of clumsiness, though very lyrically pretty, is a bit… idk, not quite what I associate with L myself.

In terms of the overall performance – lovely. My issues are 100% the lyrics on this one. Jarrod Specter performs fantastically. 

There Are Lines

Fight me this song is best song and I honestly did not like this song much in the final version of it.  

J’ADORE how salty Soichiro is about L’s method of offering up Lind L Tailor as a decoy. His anger seems so genuine and believable in this, and I love how it’s so obvious that he has no idea that this is applicable to Light too, since they don’t force that dumb “KAMI NI NARU!!!!” line to ram the subtext down your throat.  (… I say as I claim that I wasn’t going to talk about comparisons to the final Japanese songs, ahem). 

That said, was Soichiro actually that salty about L’s tactics there with LLT in the manga? No. At least not to the extreme that he lost a lot of respect for L for it. In fact, manga!Soichiro seemed impressed by the results L achieved and didn’t really seem to dwell on the moral implications of L’s actions. 

tl;dr not the most ic or canonically based interpretation of Soichiro, but I am standing by this man. 

Personally, I think this is an improvement on the character AND LET ME JUST SAY THIS SONG MADE ME REALLY WISH THEY’D ADAPTED THE YOTSUBA ARC IN THIS MUSICAL??? Can you imagine this song as a reprise as Soichiro shoots Light while they’re in the car? 

You’re welcome

Secrets and Lies

I cannot emphasize how much I love when Soichiro calls out L for his awful morals in addition to calling out Kira’s. This is so nice -w-

I am also deeply enamored with the fact that L also outright says “I don’t care who gets hurt now, as long as I get one more shot” because fucking yes – L is so brazen about this in the manga, and most adaptations try to sweeten his attitude. 

I enjoy that it is constantly reinforced that neither Light nor L are in the right because there are constant parallels between the two and the two are criticized by the narrative. 

Mortals and Fools

“What I see in your eyes is a counterfeit emotion” – the truest thing ever said about the manga!Misa’s feelings about love. 

Admittedly, Demo!Rem annoys me as a character though. It’s not a problem with casting – Carrie’s singing is lovely and I think they made a good choice there. This is a bit of an aside I guess, but I just don’t understand how it is believable that Rem actually romantically fell in love with Misa as the song “When Love Comes” implies after all this love is for mortals and fools lark and Misa… doesn’t really seem to do anything to win Rem’s love in a romantic sense of it. Platonic love I can squint and buy certainly, but not romantic based on the contents of “Mortals and Fools”, “Borrowed Time,” and “When Love Comes.” Maybe something in the actual script/dialogue justifies it? But with the material available so far, I’m not seeing it.

I think also Demo!Rem’s fixation on the notion of love is something that’s… overexaggerated from her more subtle curiosity over the issue in the manga. I just don’t think I’d agree that the melancholy tone demo!Rem has when she says she tries and fails to really understand love as an emotion is true to the manga. Manga!Rem seems to have a more “god Misa, I get this is important to you but could you maybe slow down” kind of vibe to her. Melancholy doesn’t really seem to be it, exactly.

For the sake of clarity – the issue I have is not that Rem’s character was changed from the manga to make her develop romantic interests in Misa. That is perfectly a-okay and it’s actually pretty cool that they went this route with demo!Rem. 

My issue is that from a narrative perspective, Rem’s character development in the demo seems underdeveloped and not optimally executed given that she is a) literally not human and b) as she herself points out is a shinigami who fundamentally does not understand why humans idealize romantic love. 

Shinigami themselves in the context of this musical are not shown to idealize love within their own culture. Ryuk and Rem both seem to find it funny or baffling/futile indicating that this is not a culture that parallels human culture in its zealous overvaluation of romantic love as a be all end all goal of life. Shinigami, according to the musical’s own internal logic, are not amatonormative.. 

My pet peeve exists specifically because it is somewhat frustrating to me, an aroace person, when even non-humans who were very firm on not relating to romantic love (and yes, “Mortals and Fools” makes Rem come down more strongly on that side compared to “Zankoku na Yume”) and have no reason to inherently want to experience or idealize romantic love the same way human society normalizes it for humans, starts extolling the virtues of romantic love as the pinnacle of interpersonal relationships.

I can fully respect that this is not a pet peeve that most other people will have, or even be inclined to view from this perspective and that to many, none of these things matter and that’s fine! Just keep in mind that I would find this just as pet peeve-y if Rem were a male shinigami and would have no problems whatsoever with any of this had Rem been a human girl or if shinigami culture as a whole been portrayed differently in the musical itself. Also please note, I am only speaking for myself. I’m sure other aroace folk will have different opinions as well.   Ironically enough, Rem in the final live version, I can more readily see as developing romantic feelings for Misa precisely because “Inochi no Kachi” was written the way it was and it is a damn shame that that is not the direction that was eventually taken with the character in the live productions as they seem to view Rem as having more maternal instincts. (…which, I’d again disagree is an inference of the manga, as I do think Rem’s feelings about Misa were very platonic in a ‘friends’-ish way rather than a parental way.)

tl;dr All I’m saying is that I think demo!Rem should have gotten more charater development, and it is a shame that she did not. 

On a performative note – it is really odd that Rem’s voice is higher than Misa’s. I don’t think I’d make this call. 

Borrowed Time

Adrienne delivers yet another killer performance!!

I know I said I wasn’t gonna make comparisons but I have to say that between “Borrowed Time” and “Inochi no Kachi” Borrowed Time is just so much more IC for manga!Misa. 

I’m glad they based this song around something Misa actually said in the manga since that line “Just kill me. I was supposed to die that day anyway” is actually something that stuck with me for a very long time since it says so much about where Misa was in her life.

In the end, I guess I find it more convincing that Misa would be singing a song more centered around herself than singing a less me me me focused song about the virtues of sacrificial love as she ultimately is a person (in the manga) who is pretty selfish and focuses mostly on her own perspective. 

Which is not to say that demo!Misa is really reflective of manga!MIsa because I don’t think that’s the case at all. 

The Way It Ends

Blurgh more machine/tech metaphors and analogies from L…..I still don’t like this, sorry. He does not view himself as a robot in the manga, so it just comes out of left field for me.

I think the part of this song that lets me down is Jeremy’s delivery. He’s not !!!!!!! enough for what is supposed to be a victorious moment for Light. He has so much less energy and power than he did when he was singing Weather Metaphors, and it really shouldn’t be that way in my opinion. 

On that last “a minute more.” Jeremy sounds weirdly remorseful, though I guess it’s hard to interpret the exact emotion behind that without an accompanying facial expression. 

But speaking of delivery holy shit, Jarrod’s delivery as L is spot on. I’m kinda stunned by the range of emotion in his voice for this one: confusion, defiance, anger and that hint of regret that his life is coming to an end as he goes into “like a closing door.” It’s so… good?????? 

Overall I think the NY Demo is lovely and it has made me really happy to be able to listen to it after years of wondering what on earth it was like, lmao. 

I know it sounds like I have a ton of gripes, but just keep in mind that a) even I consider these gripes pretty minor and they didn’t really hurt my enjoyment of the demo as a whole, and b) I think that adaptations have every right to make changes and take creative liberties with their source material. It’s important to do that in order to keep material fresh and bring in new thoughts and perspectives to the original.