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bookish-bogwitch · 7 months

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Trope Grading Game aka Grope Trading Game

Thanks for the tags @artsyunderstudy, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, and @aristocratic-otter! This seems like a lot of fun.

@ileadacharmedlife @moodandmist @facewithoutheart @skee3000 @ivelovedhimthroughworse @cutestkilla @thewholelemon @raenestee, and everyone whose fic is mentioned below and everyone reading this, consider yourself tagged if you haven't gone!

Rules: How much do these tropes affect your decision to click on a fic?

-10 -> very dissuaded

0 - don’t care either way

+10 -> very enticed

nope -> if it’s a hard no and you’d never click on a fic with that tag or or you even have the tag blocked or you’d insta click out of the fic if it wasn’t tagged

Bonus points for explaining the rating and whether it’s conditional.

Age gap: -2

Not into it at all for younger characters, but I don't mind for older ones. I haven't read a lot of couples with bigger age gaps but I wouldn't rule out enjoying it in the right context--though I can't see being into it for the sake of the trope itself. (I love you for you, Malcolm Grimm.) Codependency: Interdependency: +7

The template asks about codependency but I finally looked up what codependency means and it's about an uneven relationship where a partner, friend, or family member subsumes their own needs in the course of accommodating / enabling another person's destructive behavior. Is that anyone's jam? There's a reason Rainbow skipped the 12 months between the CO epilogue and the start of WS...

But if we're talking interdependency, then I'm super into it. Octavia Butler was right: "dependency is sexy if it's chosen and not coercive. Symbiosis is a kind of dependency. A dependency of equals is best." Snowbaz symbolizes this with the whole hot/cold body temp thing, which is #sharingabedgoals, and there's lots of great fic in this fandom exploring it, my all-time fave being @fatalfangirl's stunning Bound and Determined.

Obsession/Possessiveness, jealousy: +2

Obsession, sure, sign me up. What is Simon at all those football practices if not obsession?

And I can get behind jealousy as a device for revealing the depth of otherwise hidden or even denied feelings. But active, power-and-control-wheel possessiveness? Gross.

Opposites (grumpy/sunshine etc): +5

Yeah! I love watching the grump's walls come down. But with the caveat that the sunshine can't be a one-dimensional, manic pixie dream character, because the that's just boring and I don't care about them.

Enemies to lovers, Enemies with benefits: +5

What snowbaz fan isn't into this? But a key element for me is that there has to be some reason behind the initial enemies dynamic besides one or both of them just being an asshole. Maybe they think that's what's up at first and then learn otherwise, but if their enemy status is based on something real, like they genuinely hate each other based on accurate knowledge about each other, I find it implausible and probably also difficult to like one or both of them.

That's part of why Snowbaz works for me: Baz and Simon's enemy status was imposed on them by a fucked up political system and abusive caretakers. Left to their own devices they'd probably never have been enemies. The reason for their animosity is not the core of who they are.

Friends with benefits: +2

Ehhh is it benefits to full on love? I don't really connect with allo perspectives on sexual relationships, like I get them intellectually but I don't jive with them on an emotional level, so there has to be that emotional draw for me, that underlying romance. I mean tho, @fatalfangirl stacy is writing an excellent fic on this premise right now that I absolutely love because there are clearly feelings involved. But it also might fall more into the realm of the next trope on this list ... which is ...

What Ashton said 😂 also props to fandom for teaching me that I am demisexual, and that this is not a default mode of existence.

Sex to feelings: +100000000

It's the fucking BEST. You get to read all the smut and then the climax ISN'T "and then we did it," it's "and then we were emotionally intimate." You get to be horny and a sap.

I also think this trope inherently pushes writers' creativity because the relationship's progression can't follow standard mainstream romance beats. And the sex scenes usually have narrative significance by showing how the relationship is changing, which produces great writing.

Fake dating/relationship: +5

Yes, especially if there's lots of pining along the way! @captain-aralias's Unintended is a great example.

Friends to lovers: +3

I wouldn't say I seek this out specifically but there are so many great fics with this tag. Here are a few (but not all) of my favorites: I'd Gladly Eat You for Breakfast by @whogaveyoupermission What Remains After the Storm by @hushed-chorus Sixty Seconds by @artsyunderstudy Petrichor by @martsonmars And again Unintended by @captain-aralias

Found Family: +1

It's fine? I love moving proofs of love and affection outside of romance, but whether it's in something that fits the label "found family" or not is important to me.

Hurt/Comfort: +10

PUT IT DIRECTLY. INTO MY MOUTH. I am a fucking sap for hurt/comfort. It gives me the swoops. There is fucking nothing I like better than lovers (or almost lovers) comforting each other and taking care of each other, emotionally, physically, spiritually, whatever. It's sexy to me. It affects me deeply.

#WhatAshtonSaid. I literally have a WIP going where someone says "who did this to you??" just because I love it so much. I'm pretty sure Nightmares and Excuses was the first fic that made me cry. (It's not hard to do.)

Love Triangle: -8

Not my thing if there's genuine heartbreak / unrequited love floating around. That just bums me out. I get a kick out of the Agatha-Simon-Baz's confusion in CO, but only Penny thinks that's actually a love triangle. I think the only book I've ever loved with a "real" love triangle is Emma and even [SPOILER FOR 208-YEAR-OLD-BOOK] Harriet's not actually in love with Mr. Knightley, she just thinks she is.

Poly, open relationships: -4

Only if it's porn without plot and even then it's pretty rare that I'm into it. I'm not usually interested in sex scenes without a romantic/love element (even if that element is deeply repressed) and am personally very monogamous and have a hard time connecting with poly relationship themes. Which obviously does not mean that poly =/= emotional or romantic connection, not at all, it's just a tough one to wrap my head around.

@skee3000 nailed this for me in Minos, by having Simon and Baz connect with each other even as they have three-way with Mr. Minos, but now I'm conflating a threesome with poly/open relationships. Go read it anyway.

Mistaken/hidden identity: +2

Not sure I can think of a Snowbaz fic that focuses on this, although I'm sure there are some. I do like it when characters meet for the first time and are drawn to each other, only to learn that each other's larger identities make that complicated. And the trust issues that brings up. There are a couple of KJ Charles novels that deal with this really beautifully.

Monsterfucking: +5

I really love when monsterfucking is used as a way to celebrate difference and work through a character's feelings about their own body or its changes. This fandom does a great job with that. Otherwise I'm not drawn to any particular monsters for their monstery sake (but see: Minos's horns).

Pregnancy: -2

+8 for mpreg, -10 for other pregnancy.

I stalled out for two weeks on this post, wondering how to explain this without getting darker and more personal than I'd like. And then realized I don't have to explain 😃.

Second Chance: +7

Love it! I don't always have the heart to read the actual breakup, or falling out, or lost opportunity etc., but I love fics where that has already happened and we're seeing them put themselves back together. Some examples, that may or may not have this tag but definitely have this theme:

What's Left by @cutestkilla This Will All Go Down in Flames by @facewithoutheart There's Be Peace When You Are Done by somekindofpath Once More, with Feeling by fox_pitch

And probably countless others I'm forgetting.

Slowburn: +10

Yeah! I know I said I love sex before feelings but I love this too. (And I think they can be successfully combined into slow-feelings-burn.) There's nothing like a satisfying, well-earned payoff. I also admire well-executed slowburns because whenever I write a get-together fic I have to actively resist mashing their faces together in the first 100 words.

Soulmates: -1

In theory I don't love these. The red string, etc. It can just feel played out, and also the emotional logic of it is kind of alienating. I have a hard time putting my head into a world where people have these predestined connections and are trying to find each other because it's just so not how I see relationships. BUT when an author critically and playfully messes with the trope, it can be lots of fun. All This Soulmate Shit by half_witch mashes up a dozen different soulmate tropes to make something that's brilliant, funny, sexy, and feels like they are actively choosing each other rather than obeying destiny. I also adore Bound and Determined by @fatalfangirl for how it plays with the idea of free will and consent, which feel like soulmate-related theme. But it's probably not a coincidence that this fic doesn't have the "soulmates" tag.

That's a lot of me me me and what I think. What do YOU think, friends?

#tag game #trope grading game #navel gazing #simon snow fandom meta-talk

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trickinabucket · 2 months

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BTW, My AFAB*s for Yakuza are currently (Part 1?):

*assigned furry at birth

(This is a small project I have where I come up with animals that could represent the cast in a furry universe. They lean more heavily in the direction of redwall-esque. They stand and move more like humans, but their anatomy is a bit more animalistic. They also wear clothes. I'm pretty sure. I just don't draw that atm bc I suck at it lol I also try very hard to limit the animals to ones found on the continent their races "come from." It's a weird rule I impose. And, if you're curious, a child could come from a breeding pair that is a completely different species. It's more of an "energy"/features thing.)

-----

Kiryu Kazuma:

[ Kiryu Kazuma ]

Smooth Chow/Shar Pei/Mix of the two

Any particular notes or reasons?

Even though I try to stick to Japanese dogs for the yakuza themselves, I really liked either/both of these options because of how bulky they are. The wrinkly face can also sometimes look pretty mean - but, by the same measure, they can look like teddy bears. Not to mention; Chow Chows were bred for, among other reasons, guarding. Shar Pei are fighting dogs.

Nishikiyama Akira, AKA "Nishiki":

[ Nishikiyama Akira, AKA "Nishiki" ]

Larger, bulkier version of Japanese Spitz (possibly some ambiguous mix?)

Any particular notes or reasons?

The breed is said to be eager to please. Not to mention, loyal! They're also regarded as a companion breed that can serve as a watch dog. Also, so, so beautiful.

Kazama and Arakawa:

[ Kazama and Arakawa ]

One of two breeds (different for each):

Shikoku Inu

Kishu Ken

Any particular notes or reasons?

Both these breeds are considered old and rumored to have wolf blood. (Wolves in Japan are extinct, so this is the closest we'll get to them, if that's the case.) They're also both hunting dogs. And we all know both of these men did a fair bit of hunting in their day.

Majima Goro:

[ Majima Goro ]

Striped Hyena

Any particular notes or reasons?

"Hyena" is just perfect for Majima. Keeping that in mind, he didn't start off "clownish" as a yakuza; quite the opposite. This particular type of hyena isn't famed for cackling; that's spotted hyenas. (Though, I did hear that they can laugh from some rando on the internet who claimed to live in a region that had striped yeen territory.) They're nocturnal, perfect for "The Lord of The Night." I also think them being skinny, top-heavy alternatives to spotted hyenas is more reminiscent of Majima's body type. Striped hyenas are also canine-enough for me to pass them on as appropriate for yakuza work. (I tend to make the yakuza dogs, but I decided that dog-like "counts" because of Maji, tbh.) There's a lot of interesting symbolism and lore in mythology concerning striped hyenas. Their history is also interesting. I could pull out some things I learned, but, honestly, I worked backwards from hyena to get this guy to fit. I'm sorry to have threatened the integrity of this project.

Masaharu Kaito:

[ Masaharu Kaito ]

Tosa Inu

Any particular notes or reasons?

Tosa Inu are courageous watchdogs initially bred for fighting. They're also lovey to their "people" that they've bonded to (described as "quietly affectionate.") Because of which, they can be somewhat aggressive to other dogs that are "outsiders." And, honestly? I've never seen Kaito even try to play nice with other Yakuza (mostly outside the family, but "mostly" is a key word here), even if they aren't having an outright war. I also know that bully, jowly dogs are considered "ugly" to some people. People in the canon have called Kaito ugly. I believe, however, those real and fake people are full of it.

Takayuki Yagami, AKA "Tak"

[ Takayuki Yagami AKA "Tak" ]

Domestic Cat (Oriental Shorthair?)

Any particular notes or reasons?

"Whet??" you say? Well, for starters, Tak isn't yakuza. So, not a dog. Besides, playing/watching a playthrough of Judgement for like an hour will make you see: Tak has MASSIVE cat energy. He's snarky and sarcastic, cool/level-headed, (somewhat?) dignified, curious as all hell (and aggravating when he wants something, particularly answers). Plus, idk, imagine a cat staring at you, judgementally. Perfectly natural, right? I feel like Yagami's eyes make you tell the truth, or at least makes you squirm.

More to come, bc this is a big post...

( Did I honestly forget The Best Boy?? I'm sorry, he'll be in the next one. )

#Ryū Ga Gotoku #Yakuza #Like a Dragon #furry #character analysis #(some)#symbolism #Kiryu Kazuma #Nishikiyama Akira #Tak Yagami #Masaharu Kaito #Kazama Shintaro #Arakawa Masato

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evevoli · 2 years

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toh theory: luz’s palisman will hatch into a swan

so a few months ago (see: “before luz carving her palisman aired” months ago) i rewatched Yesterday’s Lie and started to have some thoughts on what luz’s palisman will be; namely, that it’ll be a swan when it hatches.

instead of actually delving into canon like a normal person, i first want to point out the parallels between luz and the Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale, The Ugly Duckling.

for those unaware, The Ugly Duckling is a story about, well. an ugly duckling. every animal he encounters mercilessly bullies and berates him for being “ugly” and different from the other ducklings, so he runs away to do some wandering. after some time, the now adult duck approaches a flock of swans, expecting them to kill him and end his miserable life. however, the swans accept him with open arms. he looks down at his reflection and realizes he’s grown into a swan himself, something far more beautiful than any of his peers. his egg had merely been mixed up in a clutch of duck eggs; he’d been a swan the whole time.

this is absolutely a reach and i’m well aware of it, but i think you can definitely draw parallels between luz and the duckling. luz was mistreated by her peers for being an outcast because she had been born into an environment not suited for her, that being the human realm. she then found witches who accepted her for who she is and has come to feel that she belongs with them rather than the world she was raised in. it’s a bit of a stretch to claim dana terrace definitely absolutely had this old fairy tale in mind when writing TOH, but i find the parallels interesting nonetheless.

now speaking about canon itself, my strongest point here for Swan Palisman is that bird palismen have been clearly established as a clawthorne thing, as every member of the clawthorne family we’ve met so far has had one. going into emo found family symbolism territory here, but i think luz having a bird would fully cement her place as eda’s child and as an undeniable part of the clawthorne family.

additionally, king had his big moment in season 2 when he changed his name to King Clawthorne and effectively adopted himself. eda has canonically referred to both luz and king as her kids multiple times in the show now, so personally i think it would only be right for luz to have a similar moment that fully establishes and unites her as part of eda’s family. what better way to do that than by having the palisman she and eda carved together be the ultimate symbol of a clawthorne, a family well-known for its carving tradition?

(plus, if we take the blatant bird motifs seen in the emperor’s coven’s aesthetics into account—the coven scout and golden guard masks, and the wings seen on the coven sigil and belos’s portal, namely—it’s clear the show’s designs and identity as a whole center heavily around birds. personally, i think it’d be flat-out weird if the main character of The Owl House just didn’t have a bird palisman. how out of place would that be if she just had like a rat or something i mean come on.)

though i have to say, real quick, that my one counterpoint to this entire scheme would be this fella from Hunting Palismen:

it’s the only bird palisman we’ve seen besides flapjack (who is his own can of worms) that doesn’t belong to a clawthorne, resembling a goose or perhaps a swan.

...i have nothing of note to say on this though tbh i just thought it was worth pointing out for the sake of integrity or whatever. i imagine it’s too late in the story for these orphaned palismen to be relevant again, so i will say that i highly doubt this guy is of any real significance, and so am more or less electing to ignore him. sorry bell swan.

BUT onto my next point: birds themselves are all fine and good, of course, but the strongest, most tinfoil hat-iest point of evidence i’d like to bring to your attention is camila’s already established connection to swans.

it’s this quick line in Yesterday’s Lie that made me break out the conspiracy board to begin with; luz liked to make camila tinfoil swans! if that isn’t the most damming undeniable blatant piece of confirmation on earth (yes i am playing this up for comedy i promise i’m not insane) then maybe this additional jpeg will convince you:

her calendar in Reaching Out—an episode with a heavy focus on luz’s relationship with her parents—has an adult and baby swan on it, directly below a photo of camila and luz, mind you. yes i absolutely noticed this on a rewatch at some point or another and went

im right and that’s the end.

/j ANYWAY, as i said earlier, birds are extremely important to luz’s family in the boiling isles, and swans specifically represent her family in the human realm. i would like to point out that much of luz’s inner conflict in season 2b centers on her fear of having to choose between two worlds—between her two families—when she returns home.

this is James and the Giant Reach territory again, but i have a feeling that if this palisman were to hatch when the kids are still stuck in the human realm, regardless of what kind of animal it winds up being, it will come to symbolize this very conflict; a mark of luz’s family in the boiling isles, trapped with her family in the human realm.

no matter how the series ends, i feel that this palisman—the animal representing camila that was carved with eda—will serve to symbolically unite the nocedas and clawthornes and cement them both as fundamental and undeniable parts of who luz is as a person.

#yes i have been meaning to write this post for literal months and yes im only doing it now because im panicking to get it out before s3 #if i end up being wrong on this idk what i'll do. deactivate and throw my phone in a lake ig #the owl house #toh #luz noceda #toh season 3 #toh meta #toh theory #long post #ev.post

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stereax · 9 months

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the kingdom is being rebuilt // the director's cut

a bit of a retrospective on the poem series :)

(and yes, I DID write those poems)

My personal favorites are marked with a (⸸) symbol. Each number links to the respective poem. Enjoy!

2 glory is a foreign word on your tongue and what little you had is left behind you, railroad tracks descending into the past. there is no curse so painful as training your replacement.

Smith's poem comes first. This one was a bit tough because, let's be real, nobody actually gives two shits about Brendan Smith. But I remembered this one interview where Smith was like "yeah my job is basically being a veteran presence for the new generation of defenseman, I'm kind of teaching them to take my job" and if that didn't hit me right in the fucking gut. So yeah. Smith's best days are definitely behind him. He's never going to reach the fame and glory of his brother Reilly. But I think there's something uniquely poignant about him.

6 welcome home, soldier. gunpowder stains your teeth and shrapnel draws lines on your arms. tangled up in you, this inferno burns. don't let it sting too much, the wings of paradise heavy on your back.

Marino is a vital part of the backbone of the Devils. The defense of this team is perhaps its singular most important part, and Marino drives the defense and the penalty kill. He is, in a sense, a grizzled soldier for the Devils' cause, upon whom much of the Devils' dreams lay, and the fire of the Devils runs through defensive efforts. We learned this in our Cup runs - defense wins Cups. Defense takes you to paradise.

7 free bird, what do you sing of? there's no more cage to restrain you, no boundaries but your own. you're where you want to be - just beside the spotlight with a grin. this laughter can heal your soul.

Oh, Dougie. Caged Bird by Maya Angelou is perhaps an overdone poem in the literary canon, but it is such a strong one and one of my personal favorites. For a player whose wings have been tied at many occasions, subverting the idea of only the caged bird singing works well. He's singing more than ever now that you've let him out - out of teams that didn't appreciate him, out of injuries that held him back - and he's found his favorite position, not being The Guy but being one of the guys, standing beside the spotlight. Let him be his introverted little trickster self. Let him have his personal space in the locker room. Let the free bird sing with joy and learn to call New Jersey home.

10 there is a door in front of you that we pray you can unlock. the key is buried deep in your chest. how much will you bleed for your desires? how much do you want it, really, and is wanting it enough to get it?

Holtzy boy has quite literally been a victim of our success, as even Lindy Ruff puts it. He was unable to find ice time, rode the bench for half a season, and then got hurt when he got sent back to Utica. This upcoming season is widely seen, even by the Devils organization, as Holtz's last chance to make the roster on a permanent basis, to open the door to lasting success. But hell, sometimes, no matter how much you want something, you just won't get it. Is that going to be his fate?

13 atlas is your name, holding a nascent world between your hands and on your shoulders. the steadiest star is not the brightest, but you've made peace with that already, haven't you? it's alright to be outshined when you set the world on fire.

Nico... Nico. This is the one that got the most attention, which is funny because I don't really consider it one of the best in this series. But anyways. Nico has carried the burden of this team the longest out of anyone - he is the top line center, expected to perform to perfection constantly. He is the Atlas for the Devils, he carries this new world of the Devils - and no, he's not the brightest, flashiest, best-goal-scoring player on this team. He's not the brightest star, and he is all too aware of it; he's always, always played second fiddle, from his very first season where he boosted Taylor Hall and enabled him to drag the team into the playoffs until today where he's not Jack Hughes. And yet - and yet Nico doesn't have to be the brightest star. He doesn't have to be Jack, and he doesn't need to be Jack, and he doesn't want to be Jack. He is steady instead, a 200-foot player and Selke nominee. He is enough the way he is. His team knows it. His team is there for him - they're all built around the steadiness of his flame, not the brightness of Jack's flame. He's already set the world on fire, so what else does he need?

14 your presence is never as pronounced as your absence. you've seen it so many times, how your job is simply to be. pull out your roll of duct tape, put on a movie for them to enjoy, and maybe you can save us yet.

Bass!!! I don't think any Devils fan is capable of being normal about Nate Bastian - as God intended, of course. His poem revolves around him being the team's "glue guy", the kind of person that binds the Devils together. Recall the Bastian Effect, where the team had an 80% win percentage with him on the ice versus 55% without. But when he's there, you don't really notice him; he's a fourth-line grinder who gets relatively limited minutes. It's only when you lose him (to a shoulder injury or to Seattle) that you realize what you're missing. The movie line comes from a Polish song I love, Scenariusz dla moich sąsiadów, by Myslovitz - I've talked about it before on this blog (I think I said it was Dawson-esque) and I can and WILL talk about how it's a very Nate-coded song as well, but that's an essay for an ask, so if you're interested in that, hit my askbox.

17 day and night blur over and over and columbus balances his egg in time to the lapping of the waves. what is your dream, but more important, what is your destiny? temporary tastes wrong on you.

Shango's poem was one of the more stopgap-type ones where I didn't have a whole lot to say about him, so I went with whatever felt right. Columbus's egg is used to described something that seems simple only after the solution is found - the original story is that Columbus challenged a group of critics (who claimed that going west to find a new trade route wasn't anything novel) to balance an egg on its tip. The critics try and fail; eventually, Columbus shows them how it's done, by flattening one of the ends of the egg. When the critics say it was easy, Columbus replies that going west was also easy, but somebody had to do it first. Shango's got some of that about him - that it's not difficult, you just have to do it. Similarly, his dream and his destiny are at odds (just like the Oilers and Flames he'd been playing against in the pictures chosen); obviously, he seems to want to be a top-line sniping winger, but he gets traded after a relatively low season for him playing third-line minutes. His destiny goes through Calgary and through Tyler Toffoli.

18 you spin the wheel on this ship, control its path through the winds that blow. a veteran stands the test of time even when time stands too. a victor remains a victor. the records cannot take them away, no matter how high the tide rises.

Pally's poem deals strongly with his tenure with the Lightning - which makes sense, given the guy still uses "we" when talking about the Bolts. Bless his veteran soul. It also calls back to Shango's poem with the marine imagery. Not much else to say here, honestly, except that he got high-sticked, lost three teeth, came back and scored a goal in that one game against Toronto. What a power move.

20 they replaced you before they even had you so you learned to change everything just to be desirable again. when your old colors came seeping through they basked in your glory and cheered. what is the price of your salvation?

Mikey's poem went through a couple of iterations before I landed on this one. The idea for it is that he was drafted to be a top-six center, but got jumped in the depth chart by Nico and Jack, so he quite literally changed everything about his game to turn himself into a luxury defensive fourth-line center specializing in faceoffs. This new style of play he pivoted to was quite different from how he played in juniors - but that old style came back during the playoffs, most notably in the shorthanded goals he scored. That last line of his alludes to two things - firstly, the giant question that hangs over his head, but it also ties back to Nate's poem, both being saviors, in a way - Nate with his Bastian Effect, Mikey with his playoff efforts.

28 the last relic of a bygone era, you have stood the test of time, a pillar of salt in this desert. it's time to let go of your family now, walk away from this home you've built on sand, and whatever you do, don't turn back unless you want to shatter into crystals and get swept away by the wind.

(⸸) Sevo... Don't talk to me, I'm still sad. But, uh, yeah - this one deals with Sevo being the longest-tenured Devil and having to leave his team as family. Remember how his wife celebrated not being traded at the deadline? Yeah. His poem alludes strongly to the story of Lot and his wife from the Bible - Sevo already is the pillar of salt, though, as the last of the old Devils, so his punishment for turning back is instead the loss of the rest of himself and his memory. He's been here since he was a baby rookie, he was the last Devil left to play under Lou Lamoriello, he's seen all of the Devils Dark Ages, and his reward is getting shipped to Ohio... God, I'm still sad.

29 don't let the nails dig too deep into your palms. this sacrifice may yet be noble even if your back chars with burnt wax and the imprints of feathers on your shoulder blades. at ease, you served well.

Mac's poem. I know we all love to dunk on Mac Black, but allow me to give you a little bit of a history lesson here. Mac was actually a kickass goalie when he started out with the Devils - his first two years, he had save percentages of .918 and .915, effectively taking over the net from Cory Schneider, who we basically broke as he tried to carry our shitty Devils Dark Ages team. Hell, we called Mac MB29, after MB30, Martin Brodeur; we thought he would be the next Marty. And then Mac broke too. So yes, he gets the motifs of Christ on the cross and of Icarus (one of my favorite Greek myths). You did your best, Mac. I hope San Jose treats you well.

33 yours is a thankless job, marked by spit and blood and sweat and all the most disgusting things. just as the flame ignites, you are extinguished, left on the street corner like a beggar with a sign. you did nothing wrong. the cruelty is that it is not your fault.

Gravy played as the other half of the shutdown pairing alongside Marino, so a lot of the same ideas are in play here, of being a soldier. Spit and blood and sweat is meant to evoke imagery of Winston Churchill's blood, toil, tears, and sweat speech. But Gravy differs from Marino in that he's leaving just as the team breaks through - he got traded from Colorado the year before they won the Cup, and he leaves New Jersey just as they throw open their own Cup window. And he leaves not because he was lacking in any way, but because Luke's here now, and Luke is simply more cost-effective, younger, and likely better as well, even as a rookie. There's nothing Gravy can do about it, and maybe that's the cruelest of all.

40 and everyone asked, isn't this enough? but there's no point in wanting if you only want so much of a good thing. there's no point in halfway prayer. the crown of kings is heavy but it won't hurt if you keep your head held high.

(⸸) Akira's poem is probably my favorite out of the entire Kingdom series, and that's saying a lot. I think it explains itself, for the most part, but the idea of it is essentially that the Devils weren't meant to win the series against the Rangers. We thought that it was enough that we got there. We said next year would be our year. Wasn't it enough to just have made the playoffs again? And in comes Akira and says fuck that noise, we're not done here. There's no reason to only want us to make the playoffs if we can go further than that, no point in halfway prayer. And through that, Akira solidified his position in Devils history, outdueling one of the best goalies in the NHL, killing a god. Now he's being looked at as our potential starter by the end of next year - but remember what happened to Mac and to Cory, how they broke when being given Marty's crown of kings, and how Vitek, too, fell apart to a lesser extent in the playoffs. If he is the successor to Marty, Akira needs to keep his head up and his wits about him - don't let this divinity get to your head.

41 god didn't hang all the stars in one day, you know. you shouldered this hurt time and again, took the love and the hate in tandem and twisted something wonderful out of it. tomorrow is another day. tomorrow is a beautiful day.

Vitek's poem serves as the counterpole to Akira's. Where Akira is viewed as the new god in the flesh, Vitek is instead deigned as a regular-season merchant. And yet, he was the god for that regular season. When we thought we would never get a good goalie again, he came and proved us wrong. Vitek is great, he just needs to be in a tandem. He can't play 50, 60 games a season effectively. Those goalies are a dying breed. But yes, Vitek's message is perhaps also Akira's opposite - leave the past in the past. And yet it's exactly the same - don't let this get to your head. You are so much better than you give yourself credit for.

42 they say that mint will grow anywhere. mint puts its roots down wherever it can and clings to itself, carving out an existence in the unlikeliest of places. imagine what you could do with sunlight and water.

Curtis's poem relies on the motif of mint. Mint is a known invasive plant - it can take root almost anywhere and it is almost impossible to eradicate once it takes hold. Curtis, too, is a bit of a journeyman, never really finding a home on any team, but perhaps New Jersey changes that. What happens with a little bit of nurturing? What happens when you open the door for mint and let it grow instead of uprooting it again?

43 unaffected by the torch spewing hot ash onto your fingers, the weight of legacy. there is a list of demands on your front door and every day it grows longer and longer. martin luther, tear down your walls.

Luke has a lot of historical references for a five-line poem. He carries the torch for the Devils as the newest rookie, helping to lead the defense forward, and yet everything he does is colored by Jack before him (and Quinn as well). He has almost too much to live up to, but it seems not to rattle him at all. Martin Luther was a priest best known for starting the Protestant sects of the Christian faith when he nailed his Ninety-Five Theses (dealing primarily with the Catholic Church's corruption and indulgences) to the door of the church. This parallels with the list of demands on Luke's door, the idea that he's going to be shoved into a top-four role with the Devils with the hope that he becomes a franchise defenseman, and he's going to have to figure it out pretty damn fast. And yet when Martin Luther is called by name, it is in the same breath as the iconic quote from Ronald Reagan's speech about the Berlin Wall. Luke must transcend history in much the same way, in the way Jack already has, and carve his own legacy on the Devils.

44 the sun shines brighter on your back. when you let go of this life, will you remember the smiles or will you remember the tears? you can lay flowers on the grave of what could have been, but give a bouquet to what is first. nobody blames you for forgetting.

Woody's poem goes in the same vein as many of those who left before him, most notably Sevo's. But it also follows a line consistent with Mac's, Shango's, and even Smith's poems. See, Miles was thought of as a top-sixer for a good while during the Devils Dark Years - he was a power forward who played on a line with Jack Hughes and Jesper Bratt. I'm not joking. His greatest years were years ago, before he busted his hip and lost the most important part of his game, his speed. And now he leaves for Colorado as a maligned fourth-liner. It's up to Woody how he remembers us, and, on a much realer level, how he mourns his lost potential.

49 the short stick was your burden. every battle has a casualty. there's something good brewing out west even if that's where the sun sets. persevere, and you will be rewarded.

Zett has a quite simple poem that mostly just revolves around him being shipped off to San Jose. He was the most important piece (non-pick-wise) that the Devils gave up for the Timo trade, which is a bit of a testament to how weird that trade was. But, at the same time, that trade is very possibly going to set the tone for the Sharks for the years to come, with the assets they received. Zett's now being given space to grow and a looser leash, and who knows? Maybe in a few years we'll see him as part of a Sharks Cup run.

56 the wanderer keeps his bags packed and sitting by the door for the next journey. cut open all the cardboard boxes, you don't need to take the midnight train anymore. hang the pictures and make this house a home.

(⸸) Haula, oh boy oh boy. His poem isn't all that deep, but man does it hurt me. He, like Curtis, was a bit of a journeyman (I've talked about Haula's peculiar journey to Jersey before on my blog), and he's now found a home in New Jersey. Having been traded and having signed one-year contracts, Haula's spoken openly about how he's happy to settle down, get a house, and raise his son and family here. When you're a wanderer like he was, you essentially have to be ready to pack up your entire life at a moment's notice, but now that Haula's got his contract, he can finally start unpacking his life and the cardboard boxes that come with constant moving. Also, Haula being a paternal/older brother figure to Jack makes me cry. So of course I had to include a picture of them.

63 did they call you a miracle when you were born? did your mother cradle you to her chest and whisper how lucky she was to have you? or did they know that the tempest in your soul could never be tamped down no matter the odds? you write your own destiny. make it so.

Bratter is the epitome of potential, which is what his poem tries to capture. Going from a sixth-round draft pick (which almost never make it to the NHL) to one of the oldest Devils by tenure and a core part of the top-six is a feat in and of itself, almost a miracle. And hell, he has an entire fan club based around the idea of JBITBPITNHL (Jesper Bratt Is The Best Player In The NHL). Can't say the same about Nico or Jack. Bratt beat the odds to get here, time and again, and now he's signed his destiny to stay in New Jersey. It's his choice where he goes from here.

70 drape a cloth over your eyes, invisible man. let them know what you're here for, what you still want to prove. dip your hands in molten wax so they'll be seen when you wave. wear jingle bells on your ankles so they hear you coming.

Boqvist, in his time in New Jersey, was basically the least notable Devil on the ice. So he got the motif of the Invisible Man from H. G. Wells. The Invisible Man was a character that managed to turn himself, well, invisible with sophisticated science. When he finds he cannot undo this, the Invisible Man slowly goes mad. But what I'm getting at is that the Invisible Man would always be trying to wear as much clothing and accessories and such so that he would look like a normal person. Boqvist, too, if he wants to break out of his invisible mold, needs to do something to make him stand out against the backdrop of replacement-level NHL players. Oh, and I almost forgot about this. Generally, when a player left for another team, at least one of their pictures was them playing against their new team. Boqy's New Team Picture actually has him trying to beat Taylor Hall to a puck. Small world, huh?

71 you told them it didn't matter what they did as long as they used you, as long as they valued you, as long as you were valuable to them. you stood in line to buy this dream when nobody else thought it worth the price. how powerful is your belief? will you turn yourself to stone to lay the foundations of this castle?

(⸸) Siegs's poem is another of those that hits me right in the gut and refuses to let up. Siegs got traded to the Devils because - well, he requested the trade because the Capitals, who drafted him, acquired Zdeno Chara, and it left Siegs sitting on the bench or in the press box almost every game. One night, he had one single shift at the very end of the game for like, thirty seconds. So Siegs basically said "if you're not going to use me, trade me somewhere that actually wants me", and he ended up in New Jersey with Nico. Siegs was the first to take the Nico Discount to play for the Devils, back when it looked like we would never leave the rebuild, and he flat-out admitted it on multiple occasions that he took a pay cut so other players could get paid and so a team could get built around him. On a very real level, Siegs enables Dougie by covering for his defensive lapses, as well as pushes the offense forward through some incredibly clutch moments (see: his goal against the Rangers in the playoffs). He's expected to be the rock on which the castle can be built and on which the free bird sits.

82 the jester exercises his privilege and the king listens to his call. lift your cap, triboulet, and dance. there's a new path before you and an old friend to walk it with.

I almost forgot about Okhotiuk, to be honest. For those of you who are unfamiliar, Okie played a couple of games for us in December and January (when Gravy and Marino were both dead) before being shipped to San Jose as part of the Timo Meier trade. He's notable as a physical defenseman who has thrown fists on many an occasion, including (notably) against GM Tom Fitzgerald's own son while in the AHL. Okie gets the motif of jester's privilege, or the idea that a jester can make fun of things without being punished for it... like punching your boss's kid. Triboulet was a famous jester for the French king who slapped the king on the rear and, when threatened with execution, apologized because he thought he was spanking the queen. When the king decided to let Triboulet choose how he would die, the jester famously replied that he would like to die of old age and thus outwitted the king. While Okie wears Triboulet's cap to San Jose, at least he does not travel that road alone.

86 oh, prince of a new dawn, hold your sceptre tight. you know better than to listen to liars but will you let the truth overwhelm you? this is not your destination. keep pushing forward, you've yet to break the horizon.

Jack's poem deals heavily with the idea that he is the new Devils superstar. He, more than anyone else, is what makes the Devils contenders. Yes, he is self-aware and walks his own path. He knows not to let the voices calling him a bust get to him. But, at the same time, we've seen many a player get a big head at the prospect of being the deliverer of a franchise. Will Jack let his ego get the better of him, now that he knows what he's capable of? And yet, he is only the prince of this new dawn. He has not yet reached his potential or his destination. So much more is coming, and perhaps that's the scariest thing of all. A star as bright as Jack has so much left to give, but will he burn too brightly and fizzle out too soon?

88 sing it to the wolves, head tipped back, crying sweet mercy at the moon. you were made to be eclipsed but that doesn't mean you were made to be forgotten. there's a beauty in your dark.

Bahl's poem, more than anyone else's, deals a fair bit with his physical appearance as well as his role on the team. He's a lower-pairing defenseman whose main draw is being invisible, but in a good way. Eclipsed, but not forgotten. Bahl gets the imagery of a pack of wolves howling at a missing moon. There's a quiet sort of powerful energy you get from him that aligns with that, I think. (And yes, maybe there's a little bit of a hidden story being told with Jack in those photos too...)

90 when you look at the pictures years from now the regret should be that you left too soon, not that you stayed too long. when paths like these cross, they don't run parallel forever but the land they cover is lush with butterflies and daffodils.

Tuna, like a bunch of others, gets a goodbye sort of poem. I think his is fairly self-explanatory - the idea of memory of the past, just like Woody, just like Sevo. Except, unlike them, we knew Tuna was a short-term rental. We all knew his journey with us would be on the shorter side, but it doesn't mean that it hurts less to see him go. For a player like him, all we can hope for is that he holds fond memories of us when he looks back on it years from now. Oh, Vitek and Tuna for the butterflies line is on purpose, because, you know, goalies, butterfly position, but also it's Vitek, who's the most "butterflies and daffodils" player out there.

91 and just when they thought they knew you you turned yourself into something new again. wonder what you've borrowed, wonder if it's blue, because your heart's old, old and full of life. call to the masses and they will respond. they wait for your commands.

Dawson's poem plays on the saying for brides "something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue". Dawson's only been getting better with time (what is a sophomore slump, anyway), and he keeps reinventing himself, being a player you can put in just about any spot in the lineup, being a collection of somethings that ends up being better than any one of those things alone. Need a bottom-six center or a top-six winger, a powerplayer or a penalty-killer, a goalscorer or a playmaker? Look no further than Mercer. He's even more versatile that Mister Swiss Army Knife Nico Hischier himself, which is no small feat. And yet, despite all that, he's such a humble and gracious kid who's genuinely grateful just to be here, a little old soul. Show me someone who hates Dawson. You literally can't find one. The last two lines call to his Player's Tribune article, where he made the entire Devils fanbase want to run through walls for him. He's got so much power - it's his choice how to use it.

96 you're in the middle of it, always, and it feels like you always have been. whirlpools under your feet when you walk, the bite and the snap of skin on skin. this might be the end of one show but the encore is just getting underway. don't take a bow just yet.

Timo gets a poem that rolls with shark-like motifs. He's known to be the center of attention - power forwards tend to be that, for better or for worse. So the idea of whirlpools when he skates tracks from that, making the ice melt underneath him with the spotlight shining down. Yes, the Trouba picture was on purpose for the line that sounds like it's referencing his hit on Timo, because it literally is. And Timo's spent his entire NHL career in San Jose - him leaving the Sharks was the last nail in the coffin of their looming rebuild. He's got eight years of being a Devil ahead of him, and we're hoping those are his best years. As one curtain closes, another opens.

00 the kingdom is being rebuilt. the castle may have been razed to the ground but the stones are being laid again, one by one, until the ship of theseus sets sail for paradise once more. this is no longer a story of survival but of flourishing despite the odds. this is no longer a story of nothing but of something greater than its pieces. this is the castle and this is the kingdom.

(⸸) The summary poem gets NJ Devil's jersey number. And I think, honestly, this is one of the most poignant of all. The pictures really make it for me. The thing about the Devils is that we have so much history packed in such a team that is often dismissed as New York's little brother. In the 1990s and 2000s, we had a legitimate dynasty that the NHL implemented specific rules (the trapezoid most pertinently) to help take down. Hell, if we didn't win the Cup in 1995, chances are that we'd have been the Nashville Predators. The story of the Devils is that of a kingdom - and that kingdom was destroyed entirely by 2010 or so. The 2012 Cup run was the last hoorah of the dying kingdom before it was dismantled entirely. But now, after so many grueling years of rebuilding, the Devils are finally back on the map.

The ship of Theseus is a thought experiment basically asking whether a ship with all its pieces replaced is still the same - just like a Devils team with an entirely new roster and staff is still the same in its soul as the one that forged that dynasty. The "story of survival" alluded to in the pictures is that of Brian Boyle, a journeyman who spent two years with the Devils in the Dark Ages during which he battled and won against leukemia. He later scored his first hat-trick on a Hockey Fights Cancer night. Many tears were shed. This is still one of the highlights of the Devils Dark Ages and probably will be forever. The "story of nothing" shows Keith Kinkaid when his goalie net fell on top of him during a Ducks game. We lost that one, by the way.

Motifs used in other poems are called back in the summary with accompanying pictures to match, most notably Siegs (and Nico) as the stones and foundations of the castle, but also Marino's idea of paradise, Bratt and Akira's beating the odds, Dawson's greater than his pieces, and Jack's being a prince of his kingdom. Nico is the castle, Jack is the kingdom. Nico is the steady star, Jack is the bright star. This team was built around Nico and its dreams are built around Jack. Do you get it now?

(⸸) (⸸) (⸸) (⸸) (⸸) (⸸)

And... cut! That's all for this! Thanks for reading this massive text post, haha :)

If you've got any more questions about the Kingdom series, please drop them in my askbox - I'd be super, super happy to receive them and answer you! :D

#nj devils #new jersey devils #hockey+poetry #the kingdom is being rebuilt: a collection of flash poetry #sterepoetry

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man-down-in-hatchet-town · 9 months

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Pulp Musicals Theory: MAIA Artwork as Foreshadowing And Character

Okay, so in between my real life and the First Wedding Ever, I suddenly had a huge realization about the art used for the Pulp Musical MAIA broadcast. Guys, the different items in the room specifically represent the characters and episodes of Pulp! I may be the last one to figure this out (I seriously can't explain why I've never thought to really look at the MAIA drawing before) but damn if I don't think the whole story has been right in front of us this entire time. Full theory under the cut!

Okay so here is a screenshot of the main MAIA drawing, with all the non-MAIA items of interest circled.

Numbers 1, 2, and 3--an issue of The Sun, a pair of bricks, and a model ghost ship, respectively--obviously represent the first three episodes in order. Numbers 4 and 5 are pretty obvious as well, a giant vase of roses for Rose Stratford, and a portrait of the historical figure Margaret Cavendish for, well, the character named Margaret Cavendish (I reverse google image searched the drawing and it turns out its from the real Cavendish's book).

So that's three of our episodes, two of our main quartet, and four symbols yet unaccounted for. It's safe to assume that two of those objects are for Samuel and John, leaving the other two as clues to upcoming episodes (also, could this be confirmation for us non-patreon-people that Pulp is gonna be five episodes long? I feel like I remember Matt Dahan saying something somewhere about five episodes, so it seems likely to me).

If I were a betting woman, I'd say that the Globe is most likely for Sir John "and the Earth" Herschel himself. And Samuel is most likely symbolized by the green statuette beside the vase of roses ("Samuel, as always, stands beside her"). What I can't figure out, though, is just how the little green figure represents him. Here's a blown-up image:

He's a little green fellow with a large silly hat that has something blue sticking out of the top, what looks like some sort of pack slung over his back, something else I can't identify in his arms, and maybe even a blue beard? Honestly up close, he looks kinda' like either a Pharaoh or a dog. Anyone have any ideas just what this is? This is the one part of the riddle I just can't figure out and it's driving me up the wall.

And that brings us to the crack in the wall and the rocket ship, which could perhaps symbolize the last two episodes (assuming, of course, that the crack doesn't somehow symbolize Samuel... we've just gone from Zero Fears to One Fear, folks). The rocket ship seems like a fun grand finale, and proves that our Quartet will definitely be time-traveling further into the future (!!!!!!!!!!!) (most likely into a pulpy Jetsons-esque far future of 2189 or something of the sort) (!!!!!!!!!!!). But I could honestly see the crack being the final episode as well. A little bit ago, @its-short-for-jackalope and I started tossing around the idea that the Gate that Margaret must one day go through is hidden within the Moon itself. After all, Margaret has always felt connected to the Moon, and it would be a fun way to tie the overall story back into Rose and Samuel jump-starting everything with the claim that there's something alien on the lunar surface. So when I pointed out that the various features of the room were clues to episodes and characters, Jack suggested that the crack could be representative of the Gate (maybe a literal crack hidden inside of the moon, anyone?). And we know Margaret confronting the Gate is likely to be a massive climatic moment at the end of the story, though I suppose they could pass through at the end of Episode 4 and have to survive on the other side--in a rocket ship--for all of Episode 5.

Alternatively, maybe whatever happens to Margaret in Episode 3 could trigger memories of the Gate that manifest in her starting to hallucinate cracks in places, such as walls, where there aren't any? And she spends Episode 4 decoding these visions until reaching the realization that they have to go to outer space in episode 5. (Though why she won't be able to simply zap them there like the Traveler after unlocking the secrets to her powers is anyone's guess).

Either way, assuming the crack does stand for the Gate, episodes 4 and 5 will likely deal with the discovery of the Gate and also the process of getting there/going through. And I'm excited to come back to this drawing after Ghosts of Antikythera to see if there's anything more I can glean...

#Pulp Musicals #Pulp Musicals Theory #Pulp Musicals Episode 3: The Ghosts of Antikythera #The Ghosts of Antikythera #The Great Moon Hoax #The Brick Satellite #Samuel Stratford #Rose Stratford #Margaret Cavendish #Sir John Herschel

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starblue2406 · 1 year

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A month ago I was surprised that my mug suffered damage, it didn't break but it was obvious that something bad happened to it.It turns out that my mom slipped while washing the dishes, miraculously it survived but was damaged. My mom wants to make it up to me by having a mug made with the image I want or any mug of my choice.

Since then I have carefully thought about how I want a mug, from a Nicola Tesla mug to a huge pushen cat mug I saw in suburbia.I decided on an image of my own, I thought about various themes until I chose one in particular and today I finished with the drawing.

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Surely in a year or even less this will make me very embarrassed, but it was either this or instead a drawing of Nicolas x Alejandra or an image I really like of Enstein x Newton (both in their version of the super sciencie Friends).

At least I can disguise this one by saying that my humanization of Arceus is female (since long hair always confuses XD), something I couldn't do with the Enstein x Newton; besides it would be weird if I had the drawing of two royal kings that were sent to kill them for being so bad in their position, at least these two are not real like Nicolás and Alejandra were.

I tried to move away a little from the intention of shipearloa and do something more artistic, I was motivated to be listening to incredible analysis of series and movies that underneath its history keep great things that leave you in what to think...

In my case I wanted to make a lot of symbolism, references and base on other things to draw this. I'll talk one by one about those things because I feel like it jsjsj

1.-

Obviously I based it on Michelangelo's painting, "the creation of Adam", but in my case it is a different meaning. It can be seen in two ways, the literal and superficial (the boat) or with the context of the characters which is that their union breaks two of the shiny and tight chains to give a nice green color when they unite.

The white of the shiny chains is the color that represents perfection in its pure state, the gold represents beauty and royalty; the shades of gray of the dolls that gradually fade convey that there is no definitive color and finally, the small soft green sparkle is the fusion of yellow, blue and white. Not only are these colors representative of the protagonists, but also for their psychological meaning, they convey harmony, inner calm and emotional balance.

2.-

I will talk more in detail in a specific chapter, but I can say that for Damos' clothing (which was the one with which he was named priest of the Archestian religion) I based myself on the clothes that Nicholas II wore when he was crowned tsar. I will spare the details of the meaning of the colors and those details, but I will say that in general I decided to base myself on that specific moment because of what that moment meant in the life of both characters.

I've realized that they both share a lot; they both live in a fantasy, in a bubble of romanticizing their positions by the stories of their ancestors and both were chosen of god (so to speak) thanks to the lineage that ran through their veins. The only difference is that Nicholas already knew what awaited him and that he was not ready to be a tsar, unlike Damos who believed that being a representative of the gods was just a matter of being a good person and serving his gods with devotion. Poor asshole xD

3.-

Surely you are thinking "Oh no, are you serious? White diamond? The utilitarian dictator who reformed her with a sermon and beautiful words in a minute or less?".

Yes. I was never a fan of Steven Universe and I'm not, but during its finale in the fifth season they began to recommend videos criticizing that series for its finale. I knew more or less what was going on and I decided to investigate his lore and as such his story. I didn't see many chapters, only the ones I considered important... But the concept of perfection and order of the mother planet and which had the great matriarch of the empire obsessed... Oh god.

Surely in my fic the way in which the so-called "perfection" is treated reminded you of the norms of the Christian god, it is a good comparison but it is not the only one. We can also compare it to the ideology of the diamond matriarch, in which everyone had to follow a hierarchical order based on the nature and purpose of each individual to make a system work harmoniously.

In the case of our favorite god, they were chains that he himself imposed and demands that others do so so that his creation is in order and saved from any failure that could harm either his children or the beings that inhabit his creation, himself or all his creation in general. That is why in one of his hands he has those chains between his fingers, because in any case he himself remains comfortable and attached to their use.

I will save myself more details about it because the subject will be deepened later, in fact in chapter 12 I am laying the foundations so that I can talk more about this later; Philosophically it is one of the themes that I like the most in this fic and something that I think I will take full advantage of the potential that I did not know how to take advantage of in the comic.

That is why I wanted to play with the use of gray and white on the wrists of the chains, later I will do something more focused on the perfection and divinity of Arceus, here I did not focus much on that anymore "wey, I just want a cup of one of my favorite ships, nmms" jshsjwjwu.

__________________________________________

I'm sure in a year or two I'll be ashamed of this drawing and my future mug, but right now I love this drawing.The present is a gift and I want to enjoy it while it lasts.

#pokemon fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #damos x arceus #arceus #damos #my art <3

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radarrider87 · 1 year

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The Seven Year Sleep (Chapter 1)

There’s always a dame to remind me how far I’ve fallen.

A tapping sound out in the hall stirs me awake. The old office is a blur at first, but that’s easy enough to explain as I tighten my grip on a bottle of vintage Romani.

When I finally manage to peel my face off the desk, I find her staring at me. She’s always staring at me, those lovely eyes frozen in a monochrome print. The memories of our time together fill in the missing colors—red hair, red lips, skin as smooth as milk.

Too bad the memories turned sour a long time ago.

I turn the frame over to hide her picture, just in time to see the other woman. She’s nothing but a shadow outside my door, her pageboy hairstyle made soft by the frosted glass. The moment drags on—her silhouette stays put and the woman just stands there, stiff as a board, caught between a decision and the hard knock that might follow.

She makes things easy for herself. Without saying a word, she leans down and slips an envelope under the door.

I listen as she heads back the way she came, her heels tapping on the linoleum. All traces of the mystery guest fade away when she calls up the elevator, and now everything’s gone silent. Real silent and peaceful.

At least, that’s the way it should be, but that would require a fella who could bury his curiosity good and proper. And hell, I was never that kinda fella.

I push away from the desk, taking one last draw on the bottle before leaving it behind. The thick glass makes a dull thud on the hardwood, an ominous note to follow up on, but what else is new? The longer you live in this city, you get used to the ominous sounds that follow you and the evil that sneaks up like a toothache. It hurts every damned day, but sometimes you just gotta live with it.

There’s nothing special about the envelope on the floor. No markings, no symbols, no clues to whatever’s inside. Obviously, that dame wanted her message to stay hush-hush, which is something you get used to in the private eye business. Everybody has their secrets, and giving them up seems like the end of the world as they know it.

Well, hate to break it to ya, lady. If you work the streets as long as I have, you find out real quick what those secrets of yours are worth—a rupee a dozen.

I slap the envelope on my desk and take my time with it. Besides, I still have half a bottle of Romani left and a thirst to quench. And believe you me, it’s a deep thirst, seven years in the making. Whatever’s got her stockings in a bunch, it can wait.

But when I pull out the sheet of high-class paper inside, all of that changes. I recognize my uncle’s perfect handwriting in an instant, and his message leaves nothing to chance. He’s a good lawyer, always fighting for the little guy. He knows how to get your attention.

He’s going downtown this morning. He’s gonna testify against the big boss, Mr. Ganon. You see, he’s got it all figured out, and now he’s gonna lift the stain on the Fitzgeralt family name and put the right people back in charge.

It’s a nice idea, but I know he’s walking straight into the jaws of the beast.

I snatch up my coat and holster, checking the master revolver for ammo. One look at the clock tells me it’s 9:36, and the trial starts at 10. Numbers are bouncing around in my head, beating each other senseless. Even if I run to the courthouse, I would only have a few minutes to spare, and I know Ganon won’t spare my uncle.

I bolt out of the office, bowling over a few clerks and knocking over an expensive piece of pottery on the way. The guard at the front desk shouts at me, demanding justice for those shattered goods, but his voice fades away as I keep running and praying for one miserable shred of luck.

But luck would not be a lady today. Luck is a cold hard bitch bent on holding me up.

The skies are thick with smog, the same damned pollution that’s been hanging over this city for the past seven years, and now a storm’s kicking up. The rain falls steady, causing me to slip at every street corner and land in every puddle from here to Market Street.

When I finally reach the courthouse, the way is blocked by an army of reporters, holding their pads of paper under dark umbrellas. I push through the crowd. One of the Zora reporters glares at me as I shove past him, flaring his neck gills. If he could breathe fire, I’d probably be toast.

An old man makes his way up the courthouse steps, and it’s clear that he’s got everyone’s attention. My uncle, dressed in his best pinstripe suit and fedora, moves past these agents of the press with the tight-lipped confidence of a poker player who knows he’s got the best hand.

He nearly reaches the door when he spots me in the crowd. He smiles and waves, as if a simple gesture could reassure me that he’s got everything in hand.

The sound of gunfire splits the air. Red puffs of blood explode from my uncle’s suit jacket and he twists around. One of his hands grabs for a nearby column, but he misses it by a mile and tumbles down the courthouse steps.

The press scatters, their entire bewildered army retreating in panic. Their screams and shouts are roaring like the storm. As they try to escape, I run to my uncle, grabbing the shoulders of his jacket and keeping him from cracking his head on the marble steps.

His shirt is drenched in water and blood, pools of crimson welling up from the holes in his chest. He looks up at me, struggling to keep his eyes open, the folds of skin around his mouth trembling in pain.

“Linny. Linny, my boy...” He coughs. A trail of blood drips from the corner of his mouth. “I need you... to take this...”

His hands shake as he reaches into his suit. He pulls out a folded piece of paper, another damned scrap of paper, and hands it over. Blood stains one of the corners and the rain threatens to pull it apart. I lean over my uncle and take the paper, shielding it under my coat.

“Follow the leads,” he says, his voice cracking with every word. “There are three sides to his power. Save the city... Zelda Fitzgeralt is your...”

The words stop with his breath. I realize now that I’m staring into empty eyes, and my uncle has closed up shop for good.

I let go of his shoulders and let him rest on the courthouse steps, tucking the paper into my coat. And now my teeth are starting to hurt, probably from clenching my jaw so tight.

One of the reporters cries out. “Look! Up there! It’s the Sheik!”

My eyes dart up out of instinct, out of the need to grab hold of every clue and shake loose the answers. I see a man, standing on a rooftop. He’s shrouded in a dark blue ulster coat. A white scarf masks the lower half of his face and a fedora casts a shadow over his eyes, but I choose to focus on the gun in his left hand.

There’s no puzzle to solve now. My uncle is dead, and his killer is looking down on us.

I’m off like a shot, bounding down the courthouse steps, climbing up the fire escape of that building across the way. The metal bars clatter and clang all the way up, playing a big band song in my head, fueling my rage.

I reach the top and clear the railing, drawing my revolver from its holster to deal out swift justice, but the rooftop’s empty. The Sheik is nowhere to be found.

I walk to the edge of the building. Three stories below, my uncle’s body lies broken on the steps, and all I have to go on are a few broken words and a scrap of paper.

Reaching into my pocket, I unfold the paper carefully, first taking note of the shapes. Three triangles, all connected to form a larger version of themselves. Each holds a letter at the center: C, W, and P.

Follow the leads. Three sides to his power. That Zelda dame, after all these years.

So these are the clues, the only evidence of my uncle’s big break, the keys to the kingdom, as it were... which is just a fancy way to describe a big, fat pile of nothing.

But I do have someone. The Sheik.

They say he’s a vigilante, a shadowy killer that prowls the streets. No one could ever tell you whose side he was on before tonight, but now there’s no doubt in my mind. He shot my uncle before he could testify against the big boss. He’s Ganon’s puppet, through and through, and my only lead.

They also say that no one knows the Sheik’s true identity, but I know someone else who could tell you the real name and favorite killing method of every scumpile that walks these streets. He’s a piece of scum himself, willing to trick his brother out of his nightclub, willing to turn it into the seediest horse gambling den you ever laid eyes on.

I fold up the paper and place it in my pocket. It’s time to pay a visit to the Ranch.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39944304/

#legend of zelda #zelda #noir #crime noir #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #link #sheik #drinking #alcohol #mild language #violence #gunfire #mobsters #noir au

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biancatronic · 1 year

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I'm doing a drawing of Princess Elise and Athena (Saori Kido) shaking hands and the small similarities between them

1- His relatives/or father figures are problematic (Saori's grandfather spoils her when she was young and didn't care about his children (in the manga all the knights are half brothers of the same father) besides he treats his granddaughter as if she were Athena, that is, he took this goddess talk too serious. The Duke of Soleanna Elise's father he was the worst father, why? He was selfish in wanting to use the power of Solaris to right the wrong and bring his wife back which resulted in complete shit, those involved died and even involved his daughter almost killing her, not that it was when he had an idea to seal a demon of fire inside her body making her suffer for never crying to release the fury of Iblis inside her and that resulted in her staying no friends 10 years being cared for only by the castle's servants without making contact with ordinary young people like her).

2- are hated by the fanbase for being selfish, and without feelings and being useless

In addition to the fact that the fandom doesn't like characters who "don't do anything useful", this irritates me since the work shows genuine acts they do to be effortful and even their strategies like Saori did in the Hades arc where she made a fake treat of her death to go in the winter looking for hades and in addition she was captured in her plan to face the real body of Hades in the smooth fields, in the first arc when it was revealed that Saori was the incarnation of Athena she started to open her goddess pose and it started to matter to others so much that she hides her emotion when a knight is injured or killed, however much here (the Saint seiya fandom BR fandom) treats her as uncharismatic and a stone personality, Saori demonstrates that she doesn't care about people's feelings. offenses that the gods and enemies give her seems to know how to deal with it well and even she decided to prove to Seiya and others that she is no longer her grandfather's dumb one throwing precious stones and jewels away in the sea, different from the old incarnation Sasha who is idolized by the fandom for being an athena with a mature and "charismatic" personality, what do I need to disagree with since Sasha didn't go to fight Atermis in ND, it wasn't Sasha who made a treator pretended to be captured to face Hades and when one of his knights who freed her in the vessel for her to awaken her armor and thus fight Hades at last.

Now with Elise it was not the same, but her actions in Sonic 06 to be seeing that she tried very hard when she gave the blue emerald to sonic realizing that Eggman wanted her pose for one of his plans, Elise also did not think of herself as some say, at the train station she talks to sonic to save the workers and innocent people from a possible tragedy on that mission in '06, Elise says that being cares for everyone and that you do what you can for your beloved subjects, it was Elise who gave the idea of everyone going after the chaos emeralds to revive Sonic however much came a kiss in my opinion the kiss was a spiritual symbol since Elise had some spiritual powers and she used them to revive Sonic since affection and loving kisses heal people as some fairy tales say, it was Elise who ran away from Eggman in hiding to not follow his plans and Amy helped her run by getting out of there and also threw herself on top of the ship because she prefers to die than to be a prisoner him and she sacrificed herself to save everyone from Eggman's wrath and she went to him on her own

That's it for today

#Saint seiya #Sonic 06 #saori kido #Athena #Princess elise #Elise 🤝 Saori

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nyoggets · 4 months

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Some thoughts on fandom, burnout, process of creation and never feeling good enough.

(it is now 4am and I've given up on sleep)

So I've avoided ever talking about this on twt because? The platform is such a mess, people use it to liveblog their feelings but it's also got that usual socmed feel to it - only show the good, funny, relatable or glamorous stuff.

I like art, obviously. Love it even, it's been the one constant in a life of switching hobbies and obsessions on the weekly. But it's also been so, SO difficult at times. I draw, so gotta share it on social media, right? The first time I shared my art online was when I was 9, on a ratty, now defunct forum.

I don't recall many responses aside from "I don't think she's ever been to the hair dresser". Instagram was released in 2010, and I made the switch, continued to post my drawings in earnest, participating in art contests that were super popular at the time. Obviously I never won any, I was just learning, starting out. Winning wasn't my goal, my goal was to get a spot in the honourable mentions or likes and attention from the bigger artists hosting these. When that didn't work I tried to game the algorithm before I even know what an algorithm was. I also made some friends this way, most of which had a higher follower count despite our (in my mind) fairly evenly matched skill. I entered more contests, I begged friends for collars, I drew things I dislikes because I saw them being popular. Nothing worked, I became obsessed over numbers, a drawing was only worth something if it got enough likes, which it never did. I tried for a while longer, then didn't pick up a pen for almost 2 years.

Eventually, because I just couldn't leave art behind I started again, focusing on original works and punching myself for losing 2 years of practice time. Things were fine, I stayed away from social media aside from Tumblr but never really posted anymore, stayed quiet. Of course, I still resented those artist friends a bit for their ever growing following, but what right had I? I'd given up and spent 2 years moping.

Eventually I got really into Love Live and with it finally a new ship I could sink my teeth into and draw - ChikaRiko. Inevitably, I wanted to feel part of communities again, I didn't have anyone in real life to share my obsessions with. I was very much the weird quiet kid, and as much as I craved being around people, being deaf with my hearing steadily dying away even further without anyone noticing, talking to people was just Hard, so so very hard. But online, where I could read, didn't need to be able to listen? It was easy, besides, my only friends so far had all been online. What's the harm in dipping my toes back into fandom?

So, I created a twitter account, discord, found people to chat and share my art, pretty much exclusively ChikaRiko, with. And things were fine again! People were reacting to what I posted, engaging, asking questions, providing advice. Then... I opened twitter back up, looked at numbers, compared them, and became angry at myself again. Comparison is the thief of joy indeed. Several years ahead, fire emblem three houses comes out and with it dimilix hits me like a sack of bricks (affectionately). Another new ship! And the fandom was active, I could fit in here, maybe! And I'd like to believe I did, if only because the fandom is just so truly relaxed, given my unfortunate decline of my mental health it was probably the only sort of fandom environment I could exist in. Still, I kept comparing myself, kept being dissatisfied with the direction my art was taking. I had all these symbolic ideas, things I wanted to try, wanted to be more like the artists I looked up. Wanted to do my own stuff, original art, instead of confining myself. But any time I did do so the reception was lukewarm at best, nonexistent at worst, so I stuck to fanart that became increasingly removed from the canon. Which, still super fun and honestly we were all just screaming into the void of time between the two years until three hopes came out, delusional fanon felt very much encouraged. Again, loved and still love the general vibe of the dmlx community (stares lovingly at DTF and For Years). But still, I wasn't satisfied with what I was doing, and my motivation to draw at all regularly died off for months at a time, which really isn't ideal when you're trying to feed the all-devouring behemoth that is the algorithm.

This October I tried something I hadn't done since 2018 - inktober. Back when I did it it was just 31 days of increasingly delusional ChikaRiko (are we seeing a pattern here), this time around I wanted to be "self indulgent" and draw only original art, loosely oriented on two lists of prompts. Of course, I didn't finish, still haven't, but I'm only missing a few prompts now. But!!! I've drawn!!! More in these 3 months than I have in recent years, and my ideas aren't slowing down yet, I keep coming up with new ones on the daily. It just feels so, so Good to find joy in art again. Best of all, I felt no need at all to share this stuff anywhere but the small discord server I've been nodding for years, with friends who at this point weren't really expecting art from me that matched their interests. I was finally drawing for me and me alone, so the response was of no importance to me, and the moment I dropped a finished piece I started the line art of the next one. Of course, I'm slowly unleashing everything into the void that is Tumblr and while any notes delight me, the number really doesn't concern me much anymore.

Not that all my fanart didn't spark joy to me! I just have too many things I wanna get out of my head that aren't very fanart compatible at all.

Fandom is weird and wonderful and I don't really remember a time in my life where I wasn't in any fandom at all, but frankly, my mental health and self image is a mess, and most social media actively does more harm than good to me, despite the friends I made.

Either way, I'm finally, finally for the first time in years excited to see what the future brings for me and art, how I'll improve, what I'll draw over the next year.

#4am thoughts #but like nice warm thoughts #anyways dmlx fandom is still the best <3

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writingwithcolor · 3 years

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Jurassic period alien interacting with key cultures and historical figures in Middle East & Asia throughout history

@ketchupmaster400 said:

Hello, so my question is for a character I’ve been working on for quite a while but wasn’t sure about a few things. So basically at the beginning of the universe there was this for less being made up of dark matter and dark energy. Long story short it ends up on earth during the Jurassic Period. It has the ability to adapt and assimilate into other life animals except it’s hair is always black and it’s skin is always white and it’s eyes are always red. It lives like this going from animal to animal until it finally becomes human and gains true sentience and self awareness. As a human it lives within the Middle East and Asia wondering around trying to figure out its purpose and meaning. So what I initially wanted to do with it was have small interactions with the dark matter human and other native humans that kinda helped push humanity into the direction it is now. For example, Mehndhi came about when the dark matter human was drawing on their skin because it felt insecure about having such white skin compared to other people. And ancient Indians saw it and thought it was cool so they adopted it and developed it into Mehndi. Minor and small interactions though early history leading to grander events. Like they would be protecting Jerusalem and it’s people agains the Crusaders later on. I also had the idea of the the dark matter human later on interacting with the prophets Jesus Christ and Muhammad. With Jesus they couldn’t understand why he would sacrifice himself even though the people weren’t deserving. And then Jesus taught them that you have to put other before yourself and protecting people is life’s greatest reward. And then with the prophet Muhammad, I had the idea that their interaction was a simple conversation that mirrors the one he had with the angel Jibril, that lead to the principles of Islam. Now with these ideas I understand the great importance of how not to convey Islam and I’ve been doing reasearch, but I am white and I can understand how that may look trying to write about a different religion than my own. So I guess ultimate my question is, is this ok to do? Is it ok to have an alien creature interact with religious people and historical events as important as they were? Like I said I would try to be as accurate and as respectable as possible but I know that Islam can be a touchy subject and the last thing I would want is to disrespect anyone. The main reason I wanted the dark matter being in the Middle East was because I wanted to do something different because so much has been done with European and American stuff I wanted to explore the eastern side of the world because it’s very beau and very rich with so many cultures that I want to try and represent. I’m sorry for the long post but I wanted you guys to fully understand what my idea was. Thank you for your time and hope you stay safe.

Disclaimer:

The consensus from the moderators was that the proposed character and story is disrespectful from multiple cultural perspectives. However, we can’t ignore the reality that this is a commonly deployed trope in many popular science fiction/ thriller narratives. Stories that seek to take religious descriptions of events at face value from an areligious perspective particularly favor this approach. Thus, we have two responses:

Where we explain why we don’t believe this should be attempted.

Where we accept the possibility of our advice being ignored.

1) No - Why You Shouldn’t Do This:

Hi! I’ll give you the short answer first, and then the extended one.

Short answer: no, this is not okay.

Extended answer. I’ll divide it into three parts.

1) Prophet Muhammad as a character:

Almost every aspect of Islam, particularly Allah (and the Qur’an), the Prophet(s) and the companions at the time of Muhammad ﷺ, are strictly kept within the boundaries of real life/reality. I’ll assume this comes from a good place, and I can understand that from one side, but seriously, just avoid it. It is extremely disrespectful and something that is not even up to debate for Muslims to do, let alone for non-Muslims. Using Prophet Muhammad as a character will only bring you problems. There is no issue with mentioning the Prophet during his lifetime when talking about his attributes, personality, sayings or teachings, but in no way, we introduce fictional aspects in a domain that Muslims worked, and still work, hard to keep free from any doubtful event or incident. Let’s call it a closed period: we don’t add anything that was not actually there.

Reiterating then, don’t do this. There is a good reason why Muslims don’t have any pictures of Prophet Muhammad. We know nothing besides what history conveyed from him.

After this being said, there is another factor you missed – Jesus is also an important figure in Islam and his story from the Islamic perspective differs (a lot) from that of the Christian perspective. And given what you said in your ask, you would be taking the Christian narrative of Jesus. If it was okay to use Prophet Muhammad as a character (reminder: it’s not) and you have had your dark matter human interacting with the biblical Jesus, it will result in a complete mess; you would be conflating two religions.

2) Crusaders and Jerusalem:

You said this dark matter human will be defending Jerusalem against the Crusaders. At first, there is really no problem with this. However, ask yourself: is this interaction a result of your character meeting with both Jesus and Prophet Muhammed? If yes, please refer to the previous point. If not, or even if you just want to maintain this part of the story, your dark matter human can interact with the important historical figures of the time. For example, if you want a Muslim in your story, you can use Salah-Ad-Din Al-Ayoubi (Saladin in the latinized version) that took back Jerusalem during the Third Crusade. Particularly, this crusade has plenty of potential characters.

Also, featuring Muslim characters post Prophet Muhammad and his companions’ time, is completely fine, just do a thorough research.

3) Middle Eastern/South Asian settings and Orientalism:

The last point I want to remark is with the setting you chose for your story. Many times, when we explore the SWANA or South Asian regions it’s done through an orientalist lens. Nobody is really safe from falling into orientalism, not even the people from those regions. My suggestion is educating yourself in what orientalism is and how it’s still prevalent in today’s narrative. Research orientalism in entertainment, history... and every other area you can think of. Edward Said coined this term for the first time in history, so he is a good start. There are multiple articles online that touch this subject too. For further information, I defer to middle eastern mods.

- Asmaa

Racism and Pseudo-Archaeology:

A gigantic, unequivocal and absolute no to all of it, lmao.

I will stick to the bit about the proposed origin of mehendi in your WIP, it’s the arc I feel I’m qualified to speak on, Asmaa has pretty much touched upon the religious and orientalism complications.

Let me throw out one more word: pseudoarchaeology. That is, taking the cultural/spiritual/historical legacies of ancient civilizations, primarily when it involves people of colour, and crediting said legacies to be the handiwork of not just your average Outsider/White Saviour but aliens. I’ll need you to think carefully about this: why is it that in so much of media and literature pertaining to the so-called “conspiracy theories” dealing with any kind of extraterrestrial life, it’s always Non-Western civilizations like the Aztec, the ancient Egyptians, the Harappans etc who are targeted? Why is it that the achievements of the non West are so unbelievable that it’s more feasible to construct an idea of non-human, magical beings from another planet who just conveniently swooped in to build our monuments and teach us how to dress and what to believe in? If the answer makes you uncomfortable, it’s because it should: denying the Non-West agency of their own feats is not an innocent exercise in sci-fi worldbuilding, it comes loaded with implications of racial superiority and condescension towards the intellect and prowess of Non-European cultures.

Now, turning to specifics:

Contrary to what Sarah J. Maas might believe- mehendi designs are neither mundane, purely aesthetic tattoos nor can they be co-opted by random Western fantasy characters. While henna has existed as an art form in various cultures, I’m limiting my answer to the Indian context, (specifying since you mention ancient India). Mehendi is considered one of the tenets of the Solah Shringar- sixteen ceremonial adornments for Hindu brides, one for each phase of the moon, as sanctioned by the Vedic texts. The shade of the mehendi is a signifier for the strength of the matrimonial bond: the darker the former, the stronger the latter. Each of the adornments carries significant cosmological/religious symbolism for Hindus. To put it bluntly, when you claim this to be an invention of the aliens, you are basically taking a very sacred cultural and artistic motif of our religion and going “Well actually….extraterrestrials taught them all this.”

In terms of Ayurveda (Traditional holistic South Asian medicine) , mehendi was used for its medicinal properties. It works as a cooling agent on the skin and helps to alleviate stress, particularly for the bride-to-be. Not really nice to think that aliens lent us the secrets of Ayurvedic science (pseudoarchaeology all over again).

I’m just not feeling this arc at all. The closest possible alternative I could see to this is the ancient Indian characters incorporating some specific stylistic motifs in their mehendi in acknowledgement to this entity, in the same vein of characters incorporating motifs of tribute into their armour or house insignia, but even so, I’m not sure how well that would play out. If you do go ahead with this idea, I cannot affirm that it will not receive backlash.

-Mimi

These articles might help:

Pseudoarchaeology and the Racism Behind Ancient Aliens

A History of Indian Henna (this studies mehendi origins mostly with reference to Mughal history)

Solah Shringar

2) Not Yes, But If Ignoring the Above:

I will be the dissenting voice of “Not No, But Here Are The Big Caveats.” Given that there is no way to make the story you want to tell palatable to certain interpretations of Islam and Christianity, here is my advice if the above arguments did not sufficiently deter you.

1. Admiration ≠ Research: It is not enough to just admire cultures for their richness and beauty. You need to actually do the research and learn about them to determine if the story you want to tell is a good fit for the values and principles these cultures prioritize. You need to understand the significance of historical figures and events to understand the issues with attributing the genesis of certain cultural accomplishments to an otherworldly influence. 1.

2. Give Less Offense When Possible and Think Empathetically: You should try to imagine the mindsets of those you will offend and think about to what degree you can soften or ameliorate certain aspects of your plot, the creature’s characteristics, and the creature’s interactions with historical figures to make your narrative more compatible. There is no point pretending that much of areligious science fiction is incompatible with monotheist, particularly non-henotheistic, religious interpretations as well as the cultural items and rituals derived from those religious interpretations. One can’t take “There is no god, just a lonely alien” and make that compatible with “There is god, and only in this particular circumstance.” Thus:

As stated above by Asmaa and Mimi, there is no escaping the reality the story you propose is offensive to some. Expect their outcry to be directed towards you. Can you tolerate that?

Think about how you would feel if someone made a story where key components of your interpretation of reality are singled out as false. How does this make you feel? Are you comfortable doing that to others?

3. Is Pseudoarchaeology Appropriate Here?: Mimi makes a good point about the racial biases of pseudoarchaeology. Pseudoarchaeology is a particular weakness of Western-centric atheist sci-fi. Your proposed story is the equivalent of a vaguely non-descript Maya/Aztec/Egyptian pyramid or Hindu/ Buddhist-esque statue being the source for a Resident Evil bio weapon/ Predator nest/ Assassin’s Creed Isu relic.

Is this how you wish to draw attention to these cultures you admire? While there is no denying their ubiquity in pop-culture, such plots trivialize broad swathes of non-white history and diminish the accomplishments of associated ethnic groups. The series listed above all lean heavily into these tropes either because the authors couldn’t bother to figure out something more creative or because they are intentionally telling a story the audience isn’t supposed to take seriously.*

More importantly, I detect a lot of sincerity in your ask, so I imagine such trivialization runs counter to your expressed desire to depict Eastern cultures in a positive and accurate manner.

4. Freedom to Write ≠ Freedom from Consequence: Once again, as a reminder, it’s not our job to reassure you as to whether or not what you are proposing is ok. Asmaa and Mimi have put a lot of effort into explaining who you will offend and why. We are here to provide context, but the person who bears the ultimate responsibility for how you choose to shape this narrative, particularly if you share this story with a wide audience, is you. Speaking as one writer to another, I personally do not have a strong opinion one way or the other, but I think it is important to be face reality head-on.

- Marika.

* This is likely why the AC series always includes that disclaimer stating the games are a product of a multicultural, inter-religious team and why they undermine Western cultures and Western religious interpretations as often (if not moreso) than those for their non-Western counterparts.

Note: Most WWC asks see ~ 5 hours of work from moderators before they go live. Even then, this ask took an unusually long amount of time in terms of research, emotional labor and discussion. If you found this ask (and others) useful, please consider tipping the moderators (link here), Asmaa (coming eventually) and Mimi (here). I also like money - Marika.

#alien character #historical fiction #science fiction #pseudoarchaeology #Middle-Eastern cultures #South-Asian cultures #Islam #writing with Islam #mehendi #cultural appropriation #areligious perspectives in writing #asks #WWC

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bonbonthedragon · 3 years

Text

Meeting You Changed Me (14)

Dad!bakugou x fem!reader

A series

Summary: When Bakugou leaves an ugly divorce, leaving him as a single dad he never can imagine himself finding love again, not when he was never actually in love. People manipulate and lie and he can’t trust anyone but those close to him and now protect what he has left. But maybe...just maybe he can give her a chance.

Warnings: mentioned of drugs, sexual abuse, fluff, cursing, trade, just a lot of heads up bc I warned y’all this would get nasty

Note: haha here’s this early I didn’t even read it over, I’ll do it in the morning- after the fucking week I have had I’m going to go take a long ass nape bc I’m tired so now bye love y’all

Series Masterlist

“Nooooo”

“Come on, kid-“

“I wan’ Miss (L/n)! Why can’t she watch me?”

“Because I’m sure she’s busy right now. Now should we get the purple ones or pink? Or both?”

Tatsumi only pouted “I wanna come wif’”

Bakugou sighed, shaking his head “no, I can’t have you come to work with me today. Shitty hair won’t be there, he’s on patrol and I have a important private meeting. I’ll make it up to you, but I’m in a real hurry and need to decide if I should get purple or pink for her.”

“Those are Purple hyacinth, they symbolize forgiveness. And The Freesias are trust and friendship. Looks like you have a wound to stitch up with a close friend?” A man said, watering the pot beside bakugou

Bakugou looked down, seeing what he presumed was the owner of the shop. He hummed, annoyed and defeated “yeah.”

“Maybe both?” He suggested “I’m sure anyone would agree the colors do well together anyway.” He looked up at tatsumi, who was tucked into bakugou arms. The old man smiled, bringing his hand up to the little one as a sunflower began to grow from his palm. Tatsumis eyes widened and he smiled, taking it and picking it off the mans hand.

“Tank’ you!”

He nodded, going back to bakugou “are you ready to check out? If you’d like, I can also arrange them for you in a nice vase? Or wrapped at the stems?”

The blond grunted, taking both bouquets and heading toward the counter, where the owner followed. He watched as the man took the flowers and mixed them together. Behind him he took some scissors and cut the stems, asking tatsumi for a ribbon choice and took which ever the boy picked. He wrapped them up to hold into a colorful bundle and then slid bakugou a small card and pen. Bakugou looked down at it and furrowed his brows. He bent down so tatsumi could reach the counter and take the pen to write on the small paper.

“Go at it kid”

Tatsumi made a happy noise and began to scribble all over it, drawing some attempted stars and doodles bakugou couldn’t make out. He then wrote his name so big it nearly took up all the room. He handed his father the pen and the hero wrote his name down, then a small note on it.

-bakugou

He hesitated to write more, but those two words were enough for now. So he folded it and took the colorful bundle, gently tucking the card inside. He payed and thanked the old man, walking out and across the street, where his next destination just so happen to be close. Tatsuim played with the sun flower, not having realized he was at the daycare door and being set down until his feet hit the ground. He froze and then looked up, seeing where he was and his teacher next bakugou. His shoulders slumped and he looked to his father. Bakugou smiled his best and went to kiss the little ones cheek, to which tatsumi kissed his nose back. Well at least that meant the kid wasn’t completely done with him, he was still willing to give him face kisses.

“I’ll see you later squirt”

Tatsumi waved at him and went to cling to the teacher, where she laughed and waved to bakugou as well. He waved too, about to turn around before he stopped, watching tatsumi head into his classroom. He went up to the counter and pulled out his phone, pulling up

(Y/n)s contact.

“How may I help you?” The front woman asked

“Need to make a new emergency contact”

—

Bakugou walked along the sidewalk, tugging at his coat while a gust of wind went by. Fucking winter. He looked down at the flowers then at the cafe up ahead. His heart began to race and he took some deep breaths as he neared the shop. When he came up, he noticed the sign saying closed, normally it was open, even this early in the morning. He looked around then held a hand to the glass as he peeked inside. The lights were off and the drawing on the chalk board hadn’t changed. Chairs were upside down on tables but pastries were still out in the glass when they normally should ah e been put up. Worry filled him, normally she was so president about her shop.

Fuck this was his doing.

Before he could even go up the steps, a man spoke behind him, a voice he had heard before. When he turned, he saw the same old man he’s seen in the cafe a few times, wearing a suit and brown Fedora. The man sighed.

“I don’t know why she’s closed, I thought maybe it was your doing but seeing as your here it looks like she’s just gone.” He tipped his hat at bakugou “oh I’m Akimasa by the way. I’ve been coming here since the shop opened.”

Bakugou nodded back “bakugou Katsuki…uh- do you know why she’s closed…by any chance?”

The man shook his head “I don’t. Though it’s nice to finally meet you. It’s nice to finally see that girl give a real smile, and she’s been giving that since you arrived with your son.” He smiled, tipping his hat again “well I better be off, nice to meet our No.2 hero and know my favorite barista is in good hands” and he was gone.

Bakugou watched him turn the corner and looked back down at the flowers. ‘It’s nice to finally see that girl give a real smile, and she’s been giving that since you arrived with your son.’ The words echoed in his head, making his own smile threaten to take over his lips. Though, he then remembered what Naomasa said last night, and he frowned. His shifted back up to the stairs on the side of the cafe and to the front door. As he went up, something in the atmosphere felt off. He brushed the uneasy ness off as anxiety and continued up. He knocked.

The knob jiggled and (y/n) appeared in the doorway. His shoulders tensed when she did, but taking in her appearance, they slumped. She was back in the same state as yesterday, hair all over and looking exhausted. She was in sweats and a shirt, posture looking drained. Even with this, she seemed to perk at his visit, but not so much as in content, but fear. He was going to blame it on himself, telling himself he shouldn’t have come but when his eyes traveled to take her in, he stilled. When he did, (y/n) did too, gasping silently and going behind the door to put on a jacket quickly. She wrapped the torso around herself like a cardigan and then finally met his eyes, smile clearly forced. Her brows were furrowed in worry but her eyes filled with relief. He was getting mixed signals, but after what he witnessed his body only filled with rage. Under her jacket were bruises, her once exposed arms were littered in blue and purple.

His eyes came to meet hers again, he frowned “what happen-“

“I didn’t expect to see you-“ she immediately interrupted “I-“ her body shifted uncomfortably, going to lean against the door frame, head angled awkwardly “about last night…”

He held up a hand, stopping her “no I-“ his eyes flickered to her arms again, searching for other wounds, he traveled back up “uh…no that was on me. Last night I was being fucking foolish and I wanted to come apologize. I shouldn’t have done that and I clearly scared you. I’m sorry”

She stiffened, seeming uneasy about the apology, like she wasn’t used to it. After a few moments she turned her head, as if checking her surroundings. As she did, bakugous chest burned and he sucked in a sharp breath. The most ugly bruise was on her neck, it was green and blue and purple and- “it’s okay” she finally spoke, quickly turning her head back, tugging on the collar of her jacket “really it was my fault. Thank you for the apology but I shouldn’t have been so dramatic-yeah I- I over reacted so please don’t feel bad-“ something in the house thudded, and he saw her jump “o-o-oh Aki,” she chuckled, almost a forced laugh “she’s in a playful mood- I should go, don’t want her knocking down any furniture” just as she was about to back away, bakugou held up the flowers, making her pause. She stuttered.

“For you, really, it wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you into something like that or corner you. It was fucked up. Just- I hope this can do as a apology for my actions and…not scare you off from me…” he finally said, trying hard to ignore what he all witnessed “tatsumi really likes you and I- I uh- enjoy your company too…”

(Y/n) blinked at the gift and she eased up, eyes softening, almost as if she was about to cry. She took in a deep breath, forcing a smile and took them “thank you this- it means a lot. I…like being with you two too. Thank you.” Something in her apartment fell, sounding like a tin or something and it made her gasp, jumping back and eyes back into a panic. She whipped back around and chuckled dryly, closing the door “thank you for stopping by but I should really get going. You should too, bye bakugou-san” and she closed the door.

He stood there for a few seconds, staring at the red door. He looked in the side window, but there was nothing. Grunting, he went down the steps, fist tight at his sides as small pops emitted inside his balled up palms. His mind screamed at him to turn around and open that damn door because no way was she alone in that house. But another voice told him to stand down, that if he didn’t she would be in more trouble and something bad might happen. He didn’t know what, but those answers had to be solved when he saw Naomasa.

He huffed when he thought about the wait of the train to his agency. Getting there soon wouldn’t make the appointment sooner but it would calm his nerves knowing he would be there before the detective arrived. Looking around, he found a public bathroom and tugged at his duffel bag.

He walked out, putting on his mask and stuffing his coat into his bag and adjusting his collar. Gasp sounded from behind him and he scoffed. He wasn’t about to deal with fans right now, he clutched his bag and began to run, jumping into the air and setting off his quirk. It was more difficult it the frigid air but it felt nice, cold enough for his head think about it and not (y/n) or what could be happening there. He growled just thinking about it, trying hard not to turn back. If what he saw on her background and records the other night was worse than he thought, or had more behind it then he wasn’t going to risk her safety right now. He flew through the air, jumping off building after building and jumping as far as he could as his blast boost him across the city.

—

“DynaMight”

Bakugou jerked his head from his computer, looking at the small inter calm on his desk and clicked his buzzer to answer “yea?”

“Mr. Naomasa is here”

“Send him up” he replied, taking his hand off the buzzer and standing up, taking off his mask. Naomasa was updated on everything bakugou knew about (y/n), why he knew her and his intended relations, so this shouldn’t be too long of a meeting. He went over to the door, chest heaving and right as he got to it, the detective was there. Bakugou allowed him in and immediately shut the door behind him, making the other man turn and quirk a brow.

Bakugous jaw clenched at his next words, “she was covered in fucking bruises this morning.” He lifted his hands to his neck, demonstrating a choking method “she had bruises the shape of fucking hand prints around her goddamn neck. Why the hell is that? You said you did a background check on her, so if something in those goddamn files doesn’t tell me even a hint of who did that to her I’m going to murder someone” he seethed. His chest was blazing, eyes squinted at the brunette, who had his brows raised and nodded. Bakugou grunted, gesturing to the seat across his desks as he went to his own.

He sat down, glaring at the man across from him who laid out file after file onto his large desk. He opened a few and scanned them before handing one to bakugou, he opened it. In it was a picture of a very young (y/n), smiling at the camera. He almost smiled too, loving seeing her so happy.

“Alright,” Naomasa began, “you wanted to know everything so let’s start here, make sense of her quirk-“

“Yeah I know all about that. What’s it gotta go with this?”

“Because it just does, pay attention. At age 15 she already had full ride scholarships to the American school, Harvard University, and Japanese school, Kyoto University.” Bakugou raised his eyebrows at that. Those were two very prestigious schools, and difficult to get into. “That right there is a indicator of her quirk. Clearly it’s put to use in her academic career.” He set a small print out of information on her quirk, memory, of how it worked and what it could do. As bakugou looked it down, the man talked. It said all she had, nothing too new. He then watched as a new picture appeared on the file when Naomasa turned the page. It was of a baby boy, who had brown hair and bright blue eyes. “This, this is her late son, Ren (L/n), who was born deaf. Just after she turned 16, he was born, she lost her scholarship due to this and the school rejected her, resulting in her moving high schools. Here’s where everything ties in.” He pulled out another file, opening it to turn to...a carbon copy of Ren? But older? His eyes shifted to the name and he growled. “His name is Asher Rays, he’s actually someone we have been looking into for years now. He’s a Mafia boss and runs multiple different pallets. He’s in the skin trade-“

“The hell does that mean?” The blond asked

The brunette tilted his head to the side, tapping on a separate, much fuller file “sells people. Prostitutes, woman and men who get sold for sex all over the country. This man runs his own, amongst many, sex slaves. As well as a drug lord, and just plain old dirty money. He’s someone you don’t mess with and we keep our hands off him for a reason, for now at least. There’s too many Important people who know him and work with him that if we make a move, too many lives are at risk. This man, this villain, is this kids father. It’s his only kid too”

Bakugou wanted to be surprised, really, but after he said that name is mind flashed to the card sent to (y/n)s house by an ‘Asher’. He nodded for him to keep going.

“We believe (L/n) (Y/n) was victim to his abuse, but we believe he assaulted her for a reason. He would have only been 19 at the time he got her pregnant but his antics date back to him only being 18.” He turned a page of Ashers file “ashers quirk, prints. He can trace anybody’s foot prints from the last 168 hours, so a week. Which probably is one of the reasons why he’s so good at what he does.” He closed the file, bringing another up from the stack he brought, this one being Ren. “Combining (L/n)s quirk and Rays, Rens quirk is Track. Ren can trace anybody from the last 168 hours down to how many breaths they took from the last time he saw them. If he was provided evidence, all he had to do was touch some part of their DNA on it and he could activate this.” He shoved the few files up to bakugou, continuing to talk as he looked them over “now, there was never a report of rape or a rape kit after she became pregnant, she only filed as the father wasn’t involved and she and her family would be the primary care takers of the child. Just three years after Ren was born, he had a doctors visit confirming his quirk was showing. At four, it was put in records what he could do.” He pointed at a report “3 hours and 17 minutes after that report went into the computer, the hospital had a problem with their system. After that, mail records were shown to have a Asher to a ‘Starbright’, or (L/n), began to arrive at her house. Checks of nearly 50,000 dollars 4 times a year were sent and put into (L/n)s checking. This continues.”

“What is he doing now?”

“Now, now we have had undercover hero’s take care of him, pulling in information. But I want to get back to Ren. Just a year ago he died in a cross fire with police and a robber-“

“Yeah...I know just- move on”

“The man robbing the home, his primary objective was to take Ren. This man,” he opened another folder, showing the large man bakugou had saw on the tapes. Naomasa put a fingers on the picture, just above the mans arm on the tattoo “has the tattoo that belongs to Rays group. If you have this, you belong to him, you are apart of his mafia in a way. This man worked for Ray, he was taking the kid to his boss. We think that since Ren is his only child, even compared to being involved in sex trade, he was born for a reason. He was planned. He was only born so they could have the perfect quirk at their hands. In this case, Ren had a strong quirk, it would help him track people down, anybody. Maybe even get dirt on pro heros and have them at his mercy. He could find and take anybody or kill anybody he wanted. He has hackers at his mercy, he probably has shit on everyone in Tokyo and you don’t even know if your in the books or not. And she’s the heart of it all. They are talking, the most recent transaction was yesterday at near midnight at a atm at the bank. He is here, in the city. Hawks still works undercover with the help of clocking technology, his recent reports say Asher Ray has mentioned Ren and (L/n) recently and then he began to be more active in (L/n)s life again, since the attack on her son. We sent an officer to her work but she refused to listen. We are worried he might take her, force himself on her again. There’s more but that’s all I can do to wrap it up, I’m on a tight schedule. But Bakugou, if you know her, don’t act. Your just going to put her in further danger, this man has eyes everywhere, be carful with what you do. Though, it’s good to have someone looking out for her, we want to keep as many people safe as possible. But if she’s closely involved with one of our most wanted criminals, it could help us tremendously to catch him sooner.”

Bakugou gritted his teeth, looking up at the man with fiery eyes, scowling “ya want to use her as bait?” He seethed

“N-no just-“ he sighed “I’m saying this is a big lead. “

He fought the urge to flip the goddamn table. “What about the fucking marks, Hah? The bruises?” he pounded his fist on the wood “she was fucking choked! how the hell are you helping your citizens if she’s clearly in danger and suffering? Hah? What the hell?” He stood abruptly “and you want me to do what? Nothing? Fuck that shit, I’m going to go over there now and deal with that bastard if he’s the one there.” Just before he stepped back, Naomasa reached across the table, grabbing his arm. Bakugou growled, but stopped when he saw the fear in the mans eyes, ones he hasnt seen in him since AllMight fallen from All For One

“Please. Don’t get involved. You’ll only makes things worse. I risked enough talking with you today. If you do, she’ll be killed. This isn’t some wannabe villain. This man kills people like flies. He doesn’t care if your sick, young or old, he will send you to a brutal death. I know it sounds strange but I can’t also put my own friends and colleagues and our No.2 in danger. This man might be out for one girl, but it’s his girl. You don’t touch his girl. And bakugou, you have been with her a lot from what you have told me, I suggest you step back. Think of Tatsumi. Please listen when I say Ray doesn’t show mercy. He has a goal and I don’t think he plans to let even a top hero get in the way. Especially if you have shown interest.”

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sunder-soul · 3 years

Note

first of all your work is AMAZING- like damn that smut? 👀 but anyway- i’ve had this concept for awhile imagine that reader was the one who made the design for the dark mark for tom riddle? like y/n is an artist and likes to draw, paint, all that jazz, and she saw the symbol in like her dreams or something and decided to draw it. and then tommy boy sees it and takes a liking to it like, “...i could use that-“ i don’t if this is a weird ask or not but i thought it was interesting. 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

So this has been in my inbox for so long bc I just couldn’t crack how I wanted to tackle it and then yesterday BOOM I had an idea so here I am!! Hope you enjoy 💖

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Consume

Summary: Reader looks into Tom Riddle’s tea leaves on an unlucky day in Divination. Something looks back.

Word count: 1.5k

Content warning: none.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You’ve heard of the domino effect before, but never has it been so grimly demonstrated to you than in that exact moment standing in front of the entire Divination classroom with the only spare seat left opposite Tom bloody Riddle.

It started (or at least, as far as you can tell) an entire week earlier when you’d walked in on Ophelia Greengrass sobbing in the fourth-floor girl’s bathroom during second period. Up until then you’d not spoken more than half a dozen words to Ophelia across your entire time at Hogwarts, but it had felt wrong not to say anything – and as it turned out, Ophelia had been in dire need of someone saying something to her. She’d been dating Lestrange for a little over three months and by the sounds of it things were not going well.

So of course you’d comforted her as best you could but it was hardly surprising when she tentatively approached again you the next day, and the next, and the next, and then every single day for an entire week there had been a new horror story until yesterday you’d finally had enough and told her that she should break up with him.

That, of course, was why he’d confronted you in the corridor that morning on the way to Charms, angrily accusing you of losing him his girlfriend. And that was why you and Lestrange had been caught by Peeves with a watering can full of Bulbadox juice brandished gleefully in his spindly hands.

Which was how you both ended up in the hospital wing for the entirety of first period, Lestrange with boils all over his face and down his back, and you with them on your hands from where you’d managed to shield yourself.

You’d left Lestrange behind complaining loudly as the matron peeled back his school shirt, sprinting all the way up to the Divination tower at breakneck speed, throwing the trapdoor to the classroom open and scrambling inside, the trapdoor falling shut behind you, the very final domino.

“Sorry I’m late, Professor,” you gasp as you spin around to face her. “Peeves caught me and Lestrange!”

The class snickers.

“That’s quite alright, quite alright…” Cassandra Trelawney says, deep and ringing, “we have not yet started, take a seat with Mr Riddle and we shall begin…”

You freeze. Riddle…?

That’s when it hits you.

Lestrange always sat with Riddle in Divination.

And you’re so late that everyone else already has partners.

You turn to see Tom Riddle sitting at the back of the room looking at you with a polite but blank expression on his face. The class giggles again. The vast majority of Hogwarts students are at least somewhat in love with Riddle – beautiful, intelligent, polite Riddle, orphaned and poor but refined and successful. Better yet he barely speaks to anyone, leaving a lot of empty space of endless possibility for people to fill in with their personal daydreams.

He scares you.

Those horrible boys that hang around him remind you of flies hanging around rotting meat. And if they’re the flies, that makes Riddle…

You grit your teeth and step forward, weaving between the other tables and snickering students to take your seat, dropping your bag to the floor and eyeing the tea set on the small table apprehensively.

“Begin your readings!” Trelawney calls.

You frown and turn to Riddle questioningly. “We’re doing tea leaves?”

“Tasseography,” he corrects smoothly, leaning forward and picking up the burnished copper pot with one hand and pouring steaming tea into the little china cup in front of him.

You blink at him silently. There’s something manufactured about his face that you can’t put your finger on.

“Shall I go first or would you like to?” Riddle asks casually, pouring you a cup, too.

“I don’t mind,” you mumble, looking away.

Riddle sets the pot down and picks up his cup in long, elegant fingers, lifting it to his lips. “The instructions are on page seventy-nine,” he says after taking a sip, looking around the room disinterestedly.

You pull out your book and find the right chapter and scan the first few paragraphs as Riddle finishes his tea, sipping absently at your own, and by the time he finally hands you his cup your heart rate has finally returned to normal from running up eight flights of stairs.

“You have a scattered-type formation,” you say, checking it against the diagram on your page, “and it’s north-west oriented.”

“Mhmm,” Riddle says noncommittedly, his dark eyes level on the parchment before him as he takes notes.

You lean forward over Riddle’s cup and frown as you compare it to the pictures in the book. “That looks like shepherd’s crook,” you say, pointing to a cluster shaped like a pinched hook, “which means… either the responsibility to protect, or the exertion of power and authority over a group of people.”

Riddle scoffs very lightly, his lips curling into a slight smirk as he continues to write.

Something about it had clearly struck a chord with him, but you pointedly train your eyes back on your book. “Oh,” you frown, checking his cup again. “Or it’s the old glyph for seven.”

Riddle stops writing. You look up curiously at the sudden lack of his quill scratching evenly on his parchment to find him perfectly still, his eyes on your face. “Seven?” he repeats, tone distinct.

You nod and push your book around to show him. “The number seven used to be drawn like that, too.”

Riddle’s eyes drop to the page and linger there for a moment before he resumes taking his notes – though his expression is much more preoccupied than before.

But something in Riddle’s cup has caught your eye. Beside the shepherd’s crook/number seven is a lump of tea leaves so distinct in form that it’s almost comical – the round of the cranium, the square of a mandible, and gaps in the leaves to indicate two eye sockets.

“Oh,” you say in surprise, pulling your book back around. “Wow, that’s pretty clearly a…”

You trail off, frowning. You’ve noticed the tea leaves below it, the long twisting trail that leads directly into the skull’s mouth. A cold, creeping feeling is curling in your stomach as something about the image before you seems to move, you can almost see the thing writhing, it almost looks like a…

“How are we going?” Trelawney asks, suddenly right beside you.

You jump, looking up at her in panic. “Fine,” you say quickly.

She lifts her brows, assessing you thoughtfully. “Hmm,” she says, before glancing at Riddle. “And you?”

“Fine,” Riddle echoes smoothly. But he’s not looking at Trelawney.

He’s looking at you.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The image worms into your thoughts like a deep root, twisting into places you don’t expect to find it and spreading itself out more and more. The dreams are first, and then the nightmares, and finally the night terrors. The skull hovers before you, its pitch, hollow eyes bore into you, the snake coiling endlessly with its fangs yawning wide.

Something about it is cold and evil, some sort of strange perversion of an ouroboros, the eternal snake broken by the skull’s mouth.

Consuming it.

“What is that?”

Your head snaps up from your parchment feeling like you’ve just been jolted awake from a deep sleep, and it takes you a second to process the sight of Tom Riddle before you, his eyes fixed attentively on the parchment strewn on top of the essay you’re supposed to be writing.

He’d caught you drawing it for the hundredth time.

“Nothing,” you say hastily, sliding it away under a book. “Just a doodle.”

Riddle’s eyes flick to yours. There’s a cold rigidity to his expression that you don’t like. It’s a coldness that feels horribly familiar.

For a moment you almost think he’s going to force you to show him, but after a long moment Riddle looks away and he’s gone, disappearing off further into the library. You exhale in relief and pull out the parchment again.

Drawing it made the thoughts go away for a bit, like manifesting the horrible thing distracted it from its need to live in your head. You lift your quill and carefully write a single word next to the skull.

Consume.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The parchment goes missing the next day.

You never prove that he took it, never even mention it to him, but Riddle’s eyes have a cold glimmer to them when he catches your eye in Divination next, the smallest curl to his lips like he’s daring you to bring it up.

The dreams abruptly stop.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

When you see it next, it’s in a photo on the front page of the Daily Prophet beneath a terrified headline, a spectre hovering just like it had in your nightmares at school years prior. Except this time it’s real. This time it’s above the burning remains of the family home of a prominent Muggle-born politician and Voldemort’s name is a shadow on everyone’s lips.

You stare at it on the page, the snake writhing in ink, the black, hollow eyes of the skull, and you think about Tom Riddle’s cold smile watching you from across the classroom, his manufactured beauty, the boys that hung around him like flies around rotten meat.

He’s named it the Dark Mark.

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moonbaby26 · 3 years

Text

Title: A Party and a Spy

Pairing: Loki x Goddess!Reader

Summary: Story set nearer the Viking Age. You were a Greek sea goddess who crossed paths with the god of mischief. Continuation of previous chapter. Loki is forced to return to Asgard to unwillingly participate in the festivities honoring Odin and Thor’s victories in Alfheim. He ends up drunk and in a piss poor mood that he then wants you to help relieve. Your secret meetings also finally attract an unwanted visitor. Super brief cameos here by Sif, the warriors three, and Thor, as well as Heimdall again.

Warnings: Semi smut possibly, but no real sex this chapter. Sorry to tease, will be some next chapter. Here is just mentions of arousal, grinding through clothing. Mention of masturbation. Also some animal abuse, but a magical animal who will be fine I guess. The princes are just jerks like that.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @rosaline-black , @lawfeys , @loveableasshole , @insanitybyanothername , @just-wordsandthoughts , @cringingmemeries

My Masterlist

——————————

You still felt warm, your head just poking out from under the blanket as you stretched a little. Your hand ran out across the mattress after a moment though, contacting nothing to your surprise as you then opened your eyes.

As you quickly sat up, the look on your face must have said far too much as you heard a chuckle from nearby.

“No, goddess, I haven’t left just yet. My, you are expressive though.”

As you turned your head towards the voice, you saw Loki now sitting in one of the two chairs at the small table opposite your side of the bed.

He was still dressed only in a pair of pants you also quickly noted, yourself still so unused to seeing this much of him as your eyes lingered on the lean muscle and pale skin.

“What?” He asked, not missing that stare either, though the sly look in his eyes told you he knew damned well what you were now distracted with. He just wanted you to say it.

“Asgardians really do wear too many clothes, if you are any proper example anyway.” You replied simply though. Why hide so much all the time?

He raised an eyebrow, but was smirking as he taunted a little further. “Oh I can assure you, there is no one in Asgard like me. And you’d prefer this not be reserved just for you then?”

You tried not to look caught off guard. Even if he were only teasing, the implication that he’d still be keeping this type of intimacy for you alone was something that made your stomach flutter slightly.

“Come here.” He said next though, snapping you back to attention, though you still hesitated. Was that a command or a request?

He only rolled his eyes after a moment though. “Oh, don’t waste time trying to be proud now. I do have to leave shortly, it will already be late morning in Asgard by now.” He extended a hand to you. “So come, sit with me.”

You eventually acquiesced, standing from the bed then, though intending just to walk to the other chair. Yet the very moment you were close enough, he only grabbed you by the arm, pulling you down to sit on his lap instead.

He was surprisingly fast and strong when he wished to be, his arms already around your waist as well before you could think to try and stand again.

“There. That wasn’t so hard was it?” He spoke lowly against your ear as you shifted.

But to your surprise he didn’t touch you any further, even though one arm did stay around your waist to keep you steady as his other hand just went back to the table.

“I have a job for you.” He added, then moving his hand oddly as a piece of parchment paper and a writing quill appeared abruptly from thin air. “At least I think it may work. I’m sure the majority of these animals are illiterate. I’m hoping at least the clan chief has some shaman or someone of the sort that understands these runes. It’s the only written language I’ve ever seen in this land.”

But even as he started to write on the paper, your mind was still only fixating on what you’d just seen as you asked abruptly. “How did you do that?”

He seemed focused on whatever symbols he was now putting on the page, but he still answered. “How do I do what? They’re just runes.”

“No, how did you conjure the pen and paper?” Controlling the elements, moving objects by will, or casting illusions was one thing. But forming a very unnatural, man made object from essentially nothing was different than the typical kind of magic you were used to.

Loki paused a moment then, like trying to digest what you’d just said before he glanced back up to look you in the eyes.

“The woman can move the seas themselves and is astonished by a piece of paper?” He mocked incredulously.

Your eyebrows lowered. “Listen, I know good and well I’m no sorceress. That’s why I’m asking. How do you create something like that from nothing?”

He shook his head. “Gods, they really just give magic to anyone these days.”

A joke clearly, as everything you had you had been born with, though learning to control it had taken time. And to be honest, was still an ongoing learning process. But you still wanted an answer as you looked at him pointedly.

He sighed under your gaze. “I really don’t have the time for this. But I know you won’t let it go.” He had continued writing though even as he kept talking. “I didn’t make them, goddess. I brought them with me. You are at least correct in that nearly all instances of magic, nothing can be made without taking of something else. I’m sure when you make those little whirlpools of yours for instance, you’re drawing the latent energy from the water. The currents, the temperature differences, what have you. To truly make something from nothing...well, that would be chaos magic. Which, may or may not even exist depending which of the ancient mages’ tomes you most believe in.”

You could tell he did take pride in his studies and the principles behind them clearly. If he wasn’t already concerned about returning to Asgard, you could probably get a whole lecture on this subject right now. But you couldn’t help but point out again, as you just responded. “Yet you still haven’t really answered my question. If you brought them with you, where were they before?” You glanced down at his pants as if to reaffirm your doubt that anything other than himself had been hidden there as they were relatively tight.

Yet he still smirked at your continued insistence. “On the scale of the things I’m capable of, my dear, that’s just a parlor trick. And if you really care so much, I can teach you at some other time.”

At that, he paused writing again though, placing the quill down momentarily as he then moved his hand again for a long dagger to abruptly be held in his palm. “You see? There are far better uses to this trick.” He flipped the knife just as quickly though, letting the blade’s point stab into the table as the dagger then stood on end.

And as it did so he made sure to look to see your reaction, also asking you, “Do you really just depend on your servants to follow you around at all hours with any weapons you may need?”

Yet you just looked from the dagger, then back to him. Surprised surely, but not actually frightened. “And do you have so many enemies as to always need that at the ready?”

“One never really knows do they?” He answered smoothly, just grasping the dagger’s handle again before it disappeared once more.

It didn’t seem like a threat really. But you felt he still wanted you to know a bit more of what he was capable of. You quieted afterward as he went back to writing for a few more moments.

When he was done, you could tell he glanced over the letter briefly, as if proofreading before he rolled the paper tightly and folded it.

He spoke rather business like then, an odd thing honestly as you still sat so intimately on his lap. “If it wasn’t already obvious, I’d like you to carry this to the village leader while I return to Asgard. I don’t have the time to deal with the mortals right now, and besides, they’re your pets.”

“Excuse me? Have you forgotten whose idea this whole ‘protector’ role was to begin with?”

“Oh, I was willing to let the lot of them be wiped out if you’d chosen not to save them. I’d only need to spare whichever the nicest home was from burning as the marauders moved through, and we still would have ended up with a place to meet regardless.”

The sad thing was, you were actually sure he really meant that too. But he just continued.

“Yet you pitied them, and now here we are. And as the beasts held up their end of the bargain, I agree it’s fair at least to give them some recognition for their work. A pat on the head and a ‘good dog’ essentially, that’s what this letter says. So you see, I’m not wholly ungrateful.”

“A thank you letter?” You asked dryly. Relatively sure it likely didn’t read completely as such.

“Well, essentially. But with a reminder on the rules as well.”

“Rules?”

“Our privacy must be respected. I’ll put a green flame at the end of the trail nearer the village when we’re present. During the night, this place is also solely ours. If during the day there’s no flame, then they can come up and clean and maintenance this tiny wood hutch like good help should.”

“Your staff at your palace must just adore you.” You mused sarcastically. “The mortals are not our slaves, Loki.”

“It’s really an odd thing how you fancy them.” He retorted, though with an air of someone just humoring another person they already thought irreparably deluded. “But I suppose you have nothing else fulfilling to pass the time when I’m in Asgard. Some people like to paint, others like to craft things...you, you have your pets.”

Arrogant god you thought. As if suddenly you had no other purpose outside of him? Surely he saw that insulted look in your eyes as well, because you could see the entertained mirth in his own before he pulled you closer to kiss you suddenly.

And this one was rough again, briefly reminding you of that night in the cave as you felt his hands move down to your hips. His tongue was already in your mouth before you could even consider pulling away.

From last night when he’d only held you, to now seeming so hungry again, the sides of him could change so quickly you were learning.

His hands didn’t move beneath your dress though, even though you thought his fingers may be grabbing you hard enough to bruise as he twisted you to be fully facing him. Straddling him actually with each of your legs now on either side of him as he rested against the back of the chair.

He kept kissing you, and it wasn’t long before you felt that distinct hardness against you even through his pants. As always though, you wore nothing beneath your dress, a matter of practicality really for as often as you were in the water. Who would want any undergarments constantly rubbing and chaffing where you were most sensitive? You liked sheer and loose material in the dresses you wore, so that it moved easily as you swam and dried quickly when you were on land.

But he knew all this by now of course, as he just ground his hips then, that rough seam of his pants then moving between your legs as he drug it back and forth.

He was intentionally trying to work you up. You sensed the trap, but still found your own hands moving across his bare chest soon enough.

Your newfound lack of willpower was really astounding. Finally though, you pulled your head back to break the kiss and warn him. “If you’re just doing this with no intention to actually follow through...”

“If you wanted it so badly, you could have taken it last night.” He retorted though. “I’ve already stayed too long.”

“Why can’t I want both?” You answered, meaning it as well. It wasn’t just sex, nor was it just being in his company. Neither by itself was enough anymore. Each had its own place.

He looked frustrated himself though as you felt him thrust against you reflexively, that bulge in his pants wasted even as it scraped against where you were now becoming wet. “I’m telling you, Odin is back at the palace now. I have to be calculated in the times I come and go. There is some damned ceremony today, likely starting any moment by now for their victories in Alfheim. If I’m not there, they’re going to come looking for me.”

As much as you knew he liked to bend the truth. It wouldn’t make sense for him to deny himself this right now unless it was actually for good reason.

“Well you’re the one who pulled me into your lap and kissed me.” You relented, though your own body now fully flustered and urging you to return to him even as you stood up and stepped away.

“Well you shouldn’t have slept so late.” He grumbled back. Pulling at his pants in some discomfort as he stood as well.

But you watched as his armor manifested then, horned helmet and all as his magic washed across him. What you guessed would now be his attire for the ceremony he’d spoken of. You assumed that clothing and armor had been in whatever void the pen, paper, and dagger had been.

At least with his illusions he could also conceal his arousal if it hadn’t faded on its own by the time he reached the palace though, you thought with some amusement.

Yet, even as he walked for the door, he taunted to you as if sensing your enjoyment of his current predicament. “You’re welcome to get back in the bed you know. Think of me while you self soothe, goddess.”

So crude. But you just fired back before he could close the door. “And is that what you do at night in Asgard? Think of yourself as well to finish things off?” You were trying to mock his evident self importance of course.

Yet he didn’t even miss a beat at the intended insult. “Why be myself when I can just be you? Then I never have to forget how you feel.”

And just to prove that he could, you stared in disbelief as a perfect likeness of yourself then smiled back at you lewdly, thin dress and all before shutting the door unceremoniously.

Gods. That was just unnatural. And you had to sit down at that, arousal now paused at least as your body’s resulting confusion was almost palpable.

———————————

Asgard, not long after

Loki was back to his normal appearance, hurriedly stepping into the small grouping of warriors he’d recognized at once in the rest of the crowd at the palace ceremonial hall.

Sif’s head turned in immediate surprise and annoyance as those golden horns entered her peripheral vision. The irritation was evident even as she tried to keep her voice low with so many others still around them. “And just where have you been!? Thor was looking for you everywhere!”

“I was in the library, did he think to look in the library!?” Loki spat back immediately, knowing that even if his brother had checked there, Thor knew the layout of it so poorly, he could always have claimed to have been in another section.

“Yet why are you breathing so hard, chap? Were you actually running?” Fandral asked as well, also looking Loki over.

“And why pray tell would I have been running?” Loki shot a glare to him next. Could they not mind their own damned business for once?

“Because you were late?” Volstagg offered in that simplistic, yet matter of fact way that was always beyond annoying even on the best day.

“Well I’m here now.” Loki huffed, though not missing the way Hogun was also staring at him critically. “And do you have something to add?” Loki grumbled at him.

But only Sif answered. “Well if you hadn’t been lost in the library,” Her tone made clear how little she believed that excuse, “You’d know that Thor chose you to give the congratulatory speech before-”

“The what?” Loki stared at her, that odd mix of horror and disgust then abruptly clear on his face.

——————————

“So what more can I say of Asgard’s favorite son?” Loki’s public speaking voice boomed richly through the great hall, the throng of happy faces sickening as he smiled right back at them. What fresh Hel was this really?

“Alfheim counts her graces I am sure to have such noble saviors defend her-” By the gods he didn’t even know what Odin and Thor had done there the entire time. He assumed there’d been skull bashing and the normal heroics. But if they’d been working out peace treaties instead the last few weeks, who knew. He’d been looking for hidden portals to Midgard still on the days they’d held the main debriefings.

“And with peace secured in the realms once more, please join me in giving thanks to the noble Allfather and the mighty Thor!” Loki wasn’t normally one for alcohol. Not in comparison to most Asgardians anyway. He thought it dulled the mind too much. But by all the mages in all the realms...he so badly needed it now, as he took a large swig of the strongest Asgard had, before throwing the glass down to shatter it as was custom. “And let the feasts commence!”

The crowd erupted in cheers. And on any other day, that would have been something he obviously would have wanted. But Loki knew that not one voice was for him as he suddenly felt a large hand and arm go around his shoulders, shaking him roughly before his brother’s voice joined the yells, yet right in his ear.

“HUZZAH!” Thor cried, one arm still around Loki as his other lifted Mjolnir triumphantly.

—————————

And it was so many hours later before Loki had finally escaped. Time and time again as he’d tried to excuse himself from the endless barrage of drinks and food, it was as if his brother had somehow sensed it.

Then there would be Thor again, telling him any one of those same stories over and over as he’d somehow corralled Loki back into the feast room. If he’d had to hear one more time how with one hand forced behind his back, and Mjolnir still in mid air, that Thor had kicked one of the enemies’ bombs right back into their own garrison, taking out an entire enemy troop as more of their stored artillery then exploded...Loki may have finally vomited.

As it was now, he wasn’t exactly walking a straight line either though. Just carrying his own helmet in one hand, his head already throbbing as he made his way slowly through the corridors. His other arm reaching out occasionally, grazing the walls for balance.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d drank so much. Well, more like been forced to drink so much, just to try and maintain his sanity in what was essentially just another gathering of his brother’s sycophants.

Honestly did Thor even see it? Did he really think all those hanger-ons were truly his friends? Perhaps there was some argument for Sif and the warriors three. As thick headed as they all were, they were about cut from the same cloth. And that was not a compliment.

But all the others? It’d be almost pitiable really if it weren’t so damned annoying. Yet maybe it was the alcohol there as well, making Loki linger on so many of these feelings again.

By the time he reached the entrance to his quarters, he was frowning as he pushed the heavy doors open. He still made sure that they shut fully behind him though as he waved his hand to lock them doubly with a spell.

It was not without precedent that in some true late night madness, either Thor, or Thor, Fandral, and Volstagg may still force entry to try and get him to accompany them on some additional drunken adventure while they were still riding so high on their accomplishments.

“Idiots,” Loki grumbled to no one though. Still stuck in that sour mood as he moved across the dark room, losing clothes as he did so before finally ending up in his elaborate bed. The silken sheets were then the only thing against his skin as he laid there in silence, though the room still feeling like it was moving slightly in his lingering vertigo.

But he just wanted to sleep. That and to will this headache and the thoughts that worsened it away.

But instead he only laid there. His drunken thoughts churning louder and louder as the minutes passed, alone in this extravagant, luxurious, and also very empty bed.

Scattered across the palace now, he could only imagine all the couplings likely occurring. Not necessarily in the full sense of the word. But he knew how these types of festivities normally ended.

Thor was likely in an archway somewhere with Sif, pawing at each other with all the finesse of a pair of schoolchildren. Fandral and Hogun would still be at a table, Fandral now showing off his sword to a couple maidens simultaneously with only thinly veiled euphemisms of how it compared to the hidden equivalent. And Volstagg would have his actual wife and children there, somehow still not bored of them yet as they all laughed together.

And that’s what it really was, laughable.

Loki rolled onto his side, glaring towards the balcony and the stars dotting the black sky beyond it. No, he didn’t need any of that farce of companionship. Not just for the sake of it anyway like all the others. He took what he wanted, when he wanted surely. Pleasure was one thing after all, but it didn’t control him.

You didn’t control him actually. Because no one controlled the god of mischief.

But the longer he lay there in silence, the more he could then imagine your fingers soon running through his hair, or the warmth of your lap to lay his aching head in. He’d had bad days before, many times retreating to this very room alone. But he didn’t have to be alone tonight. He didn’t have to be alone at all anymore did he?

“Goddamnit.” He finally hissed. It was foolhardy, dangerous even after just returning from Midgard already once today. But he wasn’t going to sleep tonight otherwise. Not until he had what he really wanted.

——————————

Loki certainly wasn’t going to be walking all the way to the bifrost gate. Not at this hour, and not in this condition. So he’d taken a form that at least no one would have second guessed if they’d just happened to look up as he’d passed quickly overhead.

One of Father’s ravens, or the rats with wings as he preferred to call them. And as he’d landed near Heimdall, then regaining his normal form, the older god just looked down at him, unimpressed.

“She’s returned to the ocean. She already sleeps.” Heimdall spoke unprompted.

Yet Loki’s eyebrows rose mockingly, even if his words took a little more effort right now. “Oh? Making a habit of watching her…even without me then? That’s a bit perverse.”

But the gatekeeper’s expression hardly changed at the insult, still so difficult to goad. “I saw you coming, and your questions to her whereabouts are becoming predictable.”

It was true. Loki had already come here several nights, yes. Mostly to check whether the mortals had finished that structure or not. And it’d finally been a pleasant reward just the other night when Heimdall had confirmed it already done and you there waiting.

“I don’t care where she is.” Loki retorted though. “I’m going to Midgard. Open the gate.”

“You are inebriated.” Heimdall warned.

“And you have a severely itritating penchant for stating the obvious…open the gate.” He commanded more forcefully.

“Anywhere in Midgard particular?” Heimdall answered.

Loki paused though, hearing that slightest change in the guardian’s normal stoic tone with those last words. “Are you…attempting to make a joke?”

“I did not wish to assume or state the obvious again as you said. And you also say you do not care where she is. So do you not care where you should land tonight then?”

He was! He was mocking him. Loki growled, pointing his finger for emphasis. “Now listen here…it has been a god awful, long day. Quit trying to dissuade me. Send me to the village, gatekeeper!”

“Any village?”

Gods. “My village, her village, whatever you want to call it. But do it or I’ll use the damned sword myself!”

With one last cheerless look down at Loki, Heimdall turned the sword then, opening the gate even as he warned a final time. “Do not fall from the bifrost, Prince. The universe is vast and does not suffer the careless well. Do remember as well that all things done have consequences in the end.”

But Loki had no time to search for deeper meaning in the words, just ruffling more as he walked towards the light. “Is that a threat?”

“Only a truth and a caution.” Heimdall again answered, just before the other disappeared back across the bridge.

———————————

And as the light left him again, Loki was once more in that dark forest. Yet, the ground far lighter colored than normal as to a little of his surprise, his boots now found fresh snow. Winter had finally arrived to this part of Midgard apparently.

He cursed, realizing it would have been far smarter to have told Heimdall to deposit him directly onto the beach this time as he’d now had to navigate back down the hillside and to the trail that led between the cliff face.

It had started snowing again as well as he walked, the large flakes sticking in his black hair by the time he reached the ocean’s edge. He should have told you just to stay at the cabin this morning. But he didn’t expect to be standing here again so soon either.

Loki didn’t care about the water at this point though, the waves rushing up around his feet and over the top of his boots as he trudged forward to call out. “Hear me, sea beasts! Hear me and bring your mistress to me!”

And it didn’t take long of course before he saw two feminine looking torsos rise just where the waves were breaking in the distance. Not quite human, but expressive enough that he could see the skepticism in their body language.

“She’s asleep!” One called back over the waves.

“Then go and wake her!” He only hissed back as if scolding an insubordinate child. Why did everyone feel the need to test him tonight?

But the two nymphs just looked at one another. The other then speaking. “What is so important? Are you claiming injury again?”

He scoffed at the jab, voice easily sliding into its darker range then, even in his continued drunken state. He did not have time for this. “Do not forget your place, water sprite.”

And as he made a move as if to step further into the water, he was pleased to see them both shrink back at that. When they disappeared not long after, he knew all he now had to do was wait.

—————————

You didn’t fully know what to expect. Why was he back so soon? Not that you should complain, but he’d made such a point about having to return to Asgard this morning, and he’d never come back so quickly before. Even though it was now dead of night.

The nymphs also said he’d been acting strangely, even a bit ruder than normal. They insisted you bring your spear, and so you had as you broke the surface only to find him sitting at the water’s edge. Though not even far enough onto the beach to stay dry as the water now ran around him and then pulled back with each successive wave. His pants and cloak were clearly soaked, snow also dotting all over him to your surprise.

“Loki?” You asked, concerned but cautious. Normally the rare sight of snow would have distracted you in its own right had you not been so focused on him. The north was still unique to you for all its differences.

“The cold doesn’t bother me either.” He said abruptly, seeing that worry in your eyes. But he didn’t stand out of the water. “You really should reprimand your servants…”

“It’s not quite that kind of a relationship.” You replied, though not defensively as you still tried to realize what was wrong with him. “Are you alright?”

“No.” He said simply.

If it was just another trick, it was a good one. But you felt you had no real choice but to behave as if he was sincere. You only laid your spear down in the water as you then moved to sit down beside him.

He looked over at you as you did, and you could see how tired he looked even in the darkness. So close to him then, that was finally when you smelled the scent of alcohol, impressively strong even over the salt smell of the ocean.

He was drunk.

“Loki…” You said again, unsure at all what would have driven him to this kind of excess. “Do you want me to help you to the cabin?”

He leaned closer though, as if to either kiss you or lay his head against yours. He did nuzzle your face slightly though as he whispered in your ear. “I want him to get closer first.” Before you could react though, he’d then grabbed your chin to keep you from looking away from him. “He can’t hear us over the noise of the sea…but don’t look away.”

And he did kiss you then, that heady taste of the alcohol almost as distracting as the nonsensical words. His hand was moving up your thigh as well as his other moved around to your back. It all seemed like only the beginnings of foreplay before just as suddenly, he then pushed you down beneath him. His hand that had been on your thigh pulled back simultaneously to throw a dagger violently out into the darkness.

You heard a distinct sound of a hit, a creature screech, and then chaotic flapping in the sand and snow somewhere near the cliff’s base.

Loki was now laying on top of you, your back still pressed into the wet sand as the water rushed back up around you both. He glanced back down at you then, ignoring the confusion in your eyes as he kissed you roughly several times more before finally pulling back again. “We’ll have to get back to that tomorrow…” He all but purred, mood shifting suddenly to satisfaction as he stood once more and offered you his hand.

Utterly baffled, you still took it, letting him help you up before he let go of you to walk off towards the distressed sounds you still heard near the cliff. You only hung back long enough to grab your spear before hurrying to follow him.

You didn’t know what kind of beast to expect from all the noise, and only found yourself more surprised as a pitiable looking black bird finally came into view. It flapped even harder upon seeing Loki, but with one wing clearly mangled and blood spattering the snow and sand around it.

“Oh, you over dramatic twat.” Loki fussed, snatching the hapless creature up with little fanfare as his other hand reclaimed his now bloody dagger, disappearing it again with his magic. “And which one are you?” He asked, holding it roughly near his face as it now continually tried to bite him in defiance.

You didn’t know what he was looking for, and you were about to say something about how harshly he was holding the poor animal before Loki smirked in recognition.

“Well…Muninn, you little vermin. You saw me leave the palace didn’t you? Did you really think I was your other half? Couldn’t leave well enough alone could you?”

What? So this was one of Odin’s ravens? But, Loki had just stabbed it! Was this not treason? Treason that you were now a party to? You had so many questions as your inner panic began to grow.

But Loki only kept smiling, talking with condescension to the injured bird. “Yet, for you to be here so quickly, then you’ve found my door for me. There’s a rift between Asgard and Midgard somewhere nearby…and for that you get to keep your other wing tonight, you little spy.”

—————————

As you passed back up the trail to the cabin together, you saw Loki had indeed kept his word about signaling to the mortals when you were here. A green flame floated, ethereal in midair at the edge of the tree-line.

It had a haunting look to it, but you said nothing, still so focused on Loki’s rough handling of the injured raven. And by the time you’d entered the woods, you could no longer contain yourself.

“Please don’t hold him by the chest like that. It makes it too hard for them to breathe. You’re going to suffocate him!”

At your outburst, Loki seemed to have a genuine moment of surprise, looking over at you before his normal superior expression returned. “Just because you can become a bird….doesn’t mean you should give a damn about this one. Don’t waste your time on kindness. Despite your bleeding heart, his loyalty lies only with the Allfather. He’ll snitch you out regardless.”

“But, he has lost a lot of blood. We can’t let him die, Loki…” You still kept on, worried the alcohol had truly made him lose all sense of judgement.

Again he just gave you the oddest look before outright laughing though. He shook the bird a little, making it squawk again, before continuing. “This rat and his brother are imbued with Odin’s magic. They cannot perish so easily as long as Odin still lives.”

Yet, that was still not comforting to you in the slightest. In what possible way could torturing a favored pet of the Allfather end positively for the two of you?

But Loki didn’t miss the way you still stared with disapproval, just rolling his eyes as you finally made it to the cabin. “Do you know how long we’ve dealt with these little pests? When Thor got his first slingshot as a boy, what do you think he practiced it on? When I learned my first spells, what did I test them on? There is nothing new to this…”

“That’s awful.” You grumbled, though watching as Loki did this odd movement with his shoulders, his magic shifting over him so that he was suddenly dry again.

As he walked inside, you had to shake the snow off yourself the old fashioned way. Your dress and hair still damp from that and the ocean combined as you followed him inside, leaning your spear against the wall before closing the door. “So you could do that the whole time,” You commented as to his drying trick, though not really surprised by anything else right now.

He smirked a little, knowing what you were thinking. With a wave of his hand a couple of the candles also lit. “Oh, I didn’t do it that night in the cave. You were supposed to take pity and ask me to take off some of my wet clothes…of course they ended up off anyway didn’t they?”

You crossed your arms, just frowning as he unceremoniously opened the chest on the floor next, tossing the injured Muninn into it before slamming it back closed.

“I’ll deal with you in the morning,” Loki threatened in response to the resulting angry squawk, giving the chest a light kick before the noise inside silenced.

When he turned to look at you again, he only offered a dark smile. Though still looking tired as he started to remove his clothes.

You tried to keep your disapproving look strong even as you realized he was using no magic at all, removing his vestments piece by piece as if to taunt you into further watching.

But looking away would have just goaded him too wouldn’t it? Letting him know the sight of his body still did things to you. You couldn’t win either way as all of his clothes finally laid piled on the floor, no neatness this time as he went lay nude in the bed.

You stood there a further moment, really not knowing what to do. He didn’t deserve to be rewarded right now in your mind. But were you just supposed to walk right back out the door? You didn’t have the willpower for that either, not anymore.

He watched you lazily too, waiting. His voice was quieter now though as he did speak again. “If I’d wanted to sleep alone…I would have just stayed in Asgard.”

Your shoulders lowered a little at the softer words, but you didn’t know how much you really believed him. You finally did approach the bed however, removing your wet dress, and not missing the way his eyes moved across your body before you climbed in under the blanket beside him.

But you could also tell he was in no condition for love making, even as you felt his hand encircle one of your wrists, himself then pulling your hand up so your fingers fell into his hair.

He gave you an imploring look, making his intention clear even if unexpected. It was so strange, but you complied, starting to rub your fingers through his hair and along his scalp gently.

The way he clearly relaxed into the touch reminded you so much of a placated animal truly. And he even closed his eyes as you just continued stroking, letting the black hair work repeatedly between your fingers.

To drunkenly cross the vast breadth of space just for this minor affection, also risking exposure by his Father’s informants, was it telling you that he really was so reckless after all? Or…was this becoming a real need for him?

Were you becoming a need in his life?

You felt him line up his body with yours, flesh to flesh as he got further comfortable.

“Thank you.” You heard him say at last. Surprising you enough that you could find nothing to say in return.

You just kept on with your soft touches though, comforting the troublesome prince all the way until he finally fell asleep in your arms.

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

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