#whatever card but like no offense i just do not care for it okay its not my style its not my aesthetic its not my vibe i think its boring

[reidrum]

how you talk so sweet when you’re doing bad things | s.r.

A/N: this is literally prn with no plot i’m sorry. i just really love thinking about spencer on his knees sue me! this was supposed to be longer but then i decided to save it for when i write for juno heheh

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, softdom!spencer AND munch!spencer look at that a 2-for-1!, fingering fem receiving, brief condescending!spence if you blink, many many pet names, spencer says good girl that’s a warning on its own, afab!reader

summary: you and spencer come home from a night out and he knows exactly what to say to get you wrapped around his finger (literally!)

wc: 1.4k

_______________________________________________

You stumble through the door with Spencer trailing not too far behind you. You’d both been out with the team getting drinks and as the night progressed Spencer found himself getting especially touchy with you, so much that you could still feel the imprint of his hand on your inner thigh.

The drinks of the night had long faded leaving you in a haze as you both entered your apartment, Spencer’s solid frame coming up behind you to hold your waist.

“Good thing I’m here to make sure you don’t fall.” He chuckles softly.

He slowly turns you around and gently pushes you against the wall. You give him a lazy smile as your hand reaches up to trace the outline of his jaw, “You’re pretty.”

“If I’m pretty, what does that make you?”

“Lucky.”

Spencer blushes and smiles softly, “That was good,” He bends down to press a kiss to the spot behind your ear, slowly trailing down to the sweet spot at the base of your neck. His fingers press into the sides of your hips, “You okay? Still feeling it?”

You shake your head no pointedly, “Just fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy is good,” He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, “You’re nicer when you’re fuzzy.”

“I’m nice all the time!” You feign offense.

He chuckles back, “Okay, you are nice all the time. I think I meant more…compliant.”

You grin up at him, “What, you don’t like me in control?”

“No I do, trust me, I do. But, you deserve to be taken care of. And I really like it when I get to take care of you. It’s easier for me to do that when you’re all…fuzzy.”

Another lazy smiles adorns you and Spencer can’t help but lean in and kiss your nose.

“Well, we aren’t doing anything until these devil shoes come off.” You mutter softly.

Spencer laughs and kisses you one last time before smoothing his hands down your side as he sinks to his knees, gesturing you to lift your foot up and perch it on his shoulder, allowing perfect access to your heel.

You lean back against the wall attempting to flatten your back to ease the aching of it. Through hooded eyes you look down to meet Spencer’s hazel ones staring right back at yours, as his fingers ghost over the straps of your heels.

“Feet hurt?” He asks as he presses the pads of his fingers into the flesh of your calf, gently massaging the skin as he works his way down the buckle of your heel.

“In these? Always.” You laugh back.

“Oh, poor baby.” He mumbles back with a pout, leaning forward to kiss the base of your ankle. Your eyes widen slightly in entice as you watch him leave kisses up your leg, hands following their path and caressing the skin it touches. He gently places your bare foot on the ground and picks up the other heeled one, placing it on his shoulder and repeating the same motions.

The intimacy of the moment strikes you as you watch his long fingers toy with the buckles and straps of your heels before sliding them off. Your hand subconsciously reaches for his hair and cards through it gently, pushing it away from his eyes.

“Hi.” you whisper.

He looks up to meet your gaze, “Hi, honey.”

“You look pretty down there.”

A chuckle escapes him, “Do I?”

You nod, “Are you going to stay down there or…?”

His fingers dance around your calves slowly inching upwards, “What do you want me to do?”

Humming softly at the touch, you lean your head back against the wall, “I want…whatever you want.”

Spencer laughs again, “See? My compliant, pretty girl.” His fingers reach the hem of your dress, slowly inching further up, “I think I’ll stay down here for a little bit…if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, that’s o—okay.” Your breath hitches as he toys with the outer edges of your panties. His fingers trace the outline out to in, just missing contact with where you want him.

You whine softly as he continues to evade the one spot you need him, squirming against the wall for any friction you can find. He lightly chastises you, “So needy…you’re acting like you haven’t been touched in weeks.”

“Spence…”

He hums, “But that’s not true, right?” One finger strokes the front of your panties, tracing a path from the wet patch up to your clothed clit.

“N—No.” You half moan.

His finger lays more pressure, “I take really good care of you, right angel?”

A curse slips from you as he strokes you over your panties.

Spencer smirks as he hooks his index fingers on either side of your panties and slowly starts to drag it down, not missing how the fabric sticks to your slick like honey. “You know why, I take such good care of you?”

You’re too caught up in the anticipation to respond, but that’s not enough for Spencer when he stops his motions and taps your leg, “I asked you a question.”

You look down at him and shake your head exasperatedly, hoping the silent answer was enough for him to continue since you’re nearly on the ledge from the way his hands are moving.

His finger trails back up your leg and ghosts over your exposed cunt, teasing you endlessly, “I take care of you…because you’re a good girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Spencer…please…” You’re not sure how much longer you can take this, your body squirming for any contact.

“Say it.” He pulls back so he can look you directly in the eyes, a single digit sliding through your folds.

“Jesus, fuck,” you let out breathlessly, “Okay, okay I’m a good girl, I’m your good girl, just please…” You can’t even bring yourself to care at how desperate you sound, you would start begging like a sinner in church if he didn’t do anything soon.

He smirks, “That’s my girl,” he taps your thigh, “Over my shoulder.” You quickly abide and raise your leg over his shoulder and rest your thigh on it. Spencer leans in and dives into your folds like a man starved, your hands moving to tangle in his hair and in an effort to stabilize yourself. His tongue motions like he’s making a painting and you definitely think you deserve to be hung in the Louvre after this.

You feel him add a finger in and you’re a goner.

“Spence…I’m—fuck oh my god, please don’t stop.” You whine.

His lips detach from you while he adds another fingers and continues his motions and he mumbles, “You gonna come for me, angel? Been like, what a few minutes and you’re already about to make a mess on my fingers…so needy.” he teases.

He returns back to your core, licking long and thick stripes up and down, his fingers not slowing down as he brings you closer to the edge. The peak begins to build in your gut and the climax overtakes you, a mixture of expletives and Spencer’s name leaving your mouth like a twisted spell.

You release your death grip on his hair as he sits back to catch his breath. You slump down the wall to sit in front of him, your leg still swung over his shoulder. He smiles fondly at you and holds the ankle next to his head, leaning in to press a kiss, “You okay, baby?”

“Mhm…” You hazily say, “Peachy, even.”

His eyes narrow slightly, “…Because they’re fuzzy?” you giggle and nod feeling super proud of your pun. He can’t help but laugh with endearment with you as he gently helps your leg off his shoulder and places it on the ground before standing up himself and reaching his hands out for you to grab it, “Let’s go to bed, I’m not done with you yet.”

You place your hands in his and allow him to pull you up, once you’re on your feet you register his words, “Wait, huh?”

He slowly spins you around so his chest is to your back and starts guiding you down the hallway, “Oh baby, did you think we were stopping at one?” he whispers sultrily in your ear. A shudder runs down your spine and he laughs feeling you shake in his arms.

[mythesque]

not me legitimately considering skipping the mizuena colorful fes for a perm emu card that i havent even seen yet 🤡

[moonrisecoeur]

content warning for: gunplay and dubcon/noncon

no pronouns mentioned, no parts mentioned

it's tragic how easily manipulated leon was. too trusting, too naive, too.... easy.

the barrel of your gun pressed to the back of his head, and you spend a brief moment acknowledging how beautiful his hair is. soft, delicate, just like him. that's not to say he's overly fragile and can't take care of himself, but he's soft around the edges. years of experience and trauma has not hardened him yet.

he exhales, conscious of what is happening. he's not panicking, or at least trying not to. ever the contentious police rookie, he tries to deescalate, "you don't have to do anything rash... we can talk this over. i'm sure we can find a solution."

"are you?" you ask simply, wondering if he'll lay out all his cards for you. his head turns slightly, looking to the side of the room you were both in. it was supposed to be a safe room. he doesn't feel very safe.

"no, actually," he's biting his lip, you can tell. that's just how well you know him, "i guess it's hard to think of one when i don't know what the problem is. why you're threatening me... to be specific, i guess."

his voice bleeds with a sass you've come to love. he would be so much more boring if he pure good, pure kindness, pure niceness. or maybe your presence has tainted him without his knowledge, even before the betrayal.

betrayal. what an ugly word. this wasn't that, despite the shaking of leon's delicate hands has to say otherwise. you weren't betraying him.

okay. maybe you were betraying him.

"why i'm doing it isn't important," you smirk, and he thinks he knows you're lying, that there is a reason that you don't want to say, "who knows? if you listen to me, you might even make it out alive."

he's silent for a second, but when you touch the barrel to his head, and he remembers how powerless he is, he sighs, "what do you want from me?"

you smirk, satisfied by his obedience. he's smarter than you gave him credit for, "good. good boy."

he feels himself growing hostile. don't call me that. like its a curse, two bad words that will suck him in and contort him into whatever you want him to be.

he'll admit that he's grown to have feelings for you, well, before this happened. he's imagined asking you out to dinner after you both escape from this hellhole. he imagines a life with you that is falling apart by the second.

but this isn't okay. you aren't okay.

he bites his tongue to prevent himself from making a comment that will get him hurt, but then you drag the gun down his spine, starting from his neck, moving down to his hips. he trembles from a fear he's never understood before. he's frozen.

"please," he whispers hoarsely, "if you were going to kill me, you'd have done it by now."

"you don't know that, maybe i just like playing with my food first," you say back, tilting your head to get the smallest glimpse at his face. you see his eyelashes flutter as he closes his eyes, and you're tempted to turn him around, but you know the second you decide to look into his beautiful, delicate eyes, you'd need to consume every last piece of him until nothing was left to exist.

there's a mission here. somewhere. some end goal the higher ups gave to you to achieve. you're not quite sure where 'fuck the enemy' fits into the list of priorities, but he's right here, and you have plenty of time to waste. might as well waste it on him.

leon feels patronized. objectified. dehumanized. i'm not your fucking food.

"why won't you tell me what you want me to do?" he asks.

"hm?"

he scoffs, and you have half the mind to shoot him now for his fucking attitude, "you told me to do what i'm told and i'll survive. what do you want from me?"

"you sure you want to know? you don't want to enjoy these last few moments of blissful ignorance?" you ask, but when he goes silent, and you audibly hear him gulp, there's no more waiting. you need to take him. now, "your loss, leon."

his name has never felt so offensive, much less did he ever think it'd be a hostile remark coming from you.

"turn around, and get on your knees," you growl in his ear from behind him, and his body shivers fully, before he complies. as he gets on his knees, he looks up at you, finally making eye contact the first time during this whole exchange.

there's an unplaceable kind of determination inside them, something that is screaming at you i will make it out alive, and you'll pay for what you're doing. it makes you want to laugh.

you see fear inside them too. though he's trying his best to hide it, you see it rearing its ugly head in the cracks of his facade.

your gun aimed at his face is no less horrifying than it is at the back of his head. maybe its even scarier now because he can see it. he knows it's real. it's not just a feeling he's had to endure, but a real object that can blast his brains all over the yellow walls. he'd like it if that didn't happen.

"you're so fucking pretty," you groan, visibly excited by his fear, which only terrifies him further, "you're... shaking? please, leon, it's like you're trying to turn me on."

he only now realizes what's happening. he thought you were just going to threaten him into giving you something you needed for a mission or a purpose. he supposes the last thing he expected was for you to be getting off on this.

"please," he says, trying his best to play the part, to say the right words, to be exactly what you want from him, "why are you-"

"c'mon, sweetheart, won't you give it a kiss?" you say, nodding your head towards the handgun.

leon gulps, dryly swallowing his spit, "what... what the fuck, why would i-?"

suddenly there's a blaring, ringing sound in his ears. it's loud, it's violent, it pierces the painful tension in the air. his eyes shut tightly, as he falls back, landing a few feet away from you. the terror on his face skyrockets.

obviously, the gunshot did not hit him. though it takes him a second to realize that he's, unfortunately, not dead.

"what the fuck?!" he cries out, horrified, "why the hell did you do that?"

"to prove to you that my gun is loaded. this isn't just a prop. not listening to me has real consequences," you snarl at him, "now, i'll play nice if you do. kiss it."

he blinks a couple times. half disgusted. maybe a quarter turned on.

still, he gets back up onto his knees, looking at the gun pointed down at him. he can't bear to make eye contact, but he hesitantly leans in closer to it. he presses his lip to the side of it, too nervous to touch them to the hot barrel. the gun is still hot, of course, but he still does as you ask.

he looks up at you, his stomach dropping at the look on your face. he's disgusted at how much you enjoy this. he's disgusted at how much he enjoys this.

"good boy," your voice, sweet like a thick honey that's stuck in his throat, choking him. you'd probably like that too. he tries to not imagine you choking him, smirking evilly at his suffering.

here we go again. those two words do not sit well in his stomach. he feels ill with every sweet praise, disgusted by your gentleness because he knows it's fake.

"are you seriously enjoying this?" he asks meekly. he meant to sound more confident, more collected, but his voice doesn't carry either.

"well, i could have just taken what i needed from you and killed you. it would have been easier, so... what do you think?"

he cringes, unable to make sense of how someone so evil could have fooled him this whole time. not only were you never on his side, but you were more than a bad guy. you were sadistic.

you press your gun against his jaw, digging the hot metal into his skin, "so how about you put that pretty mouth to good use? tell me, leon: you think you work better under pressure?"

[memetaped]

star trek: deep space 9 taken from the tv show.

come on, let’s get you home. 

looks like you need a new bandage. 

it’s good to see you got your appetite back.

you’re lucky you only got singed.

i need to know that you’re here, safe. that way, a part of me will always be safe, too.

get your hands off of me, before i do something i’ll regret.

we’ll see each other again soon. that’s a promise.

whatever it is you’ve been through has taken its toll.

that boy’s life is in our hands, and i won’t let anybody give up on him.

there are too many ways to get into serious trouble here.

get some hot chocolate and tell me about it.

you can channel your feelings of aggression in other ways.

this is important. you and i. things change, but not this.

you’re a great boy, you know that?

you have to leave me here and go on by yourself.

but the thing about dreams is, if you talk about them, they kind of go away faster.

now that kid is here under my protection, and i swear, if you do anything to hurt them, i will make you regret it. is that clear?

everyone has to have someone to confide in, someone to hear their stories.

my heart is too big.

the boy’s in a lot of trouble.

everything’s gonna be all right, but you have to try and stay awake for me.

if you were hurt, i’d leave you behind.

hold on, i’m not finished with you.

my dear, you should not be here.

it’s just a nosebleed.

hey, who said anything about being scared?

everyone went out of their way to look after me.

it takes a lot of courage to admit you’re wrong.

you run now, i won’t be able to protect you.

give me that before you hurt yourself.

i don’t need counseling, or relaxation, or time to adjust. i just want to be left alone.

get out.

and i am gonna pray, because i don’t know what else to do.

care for a root beer?

i’ve always loved you. even when i hated you.

before you volunteer too quickly, understand what you’re getting into.

do not hug me.

mom?

i’m not afraid, papa.

you’ve been so kind to me.

i’ve said my piece. sorry for butting in.

you know, why don’t we just call it a day? you obviously have other things on your mind.

i feel sick when i eat. i have pains in my head, in my chest.

you keep moving around, you won’t need any nurse.

i’ve known nothing but violence since i was a child.

what the hell has gotten into your head?

so, now you’re hiding things from me?

i think i could handle some soup.

save your strength

a sharp knife is nothing without a sharp eye.

so, my young friend, what do you think we’re looking at?

confession is good for the soul.

i’m gonna stay here, take care of the wounded. that includes you.

that’s a very personal question.

is this some kind of joke?

look at me. i need to know you’re going to be all right.

hold on, i’m not finished with you.

continually distracted, depressed, and agitated.

you always tighten your brow just a tiny bit whenever you’re about to ask a question.

it’s so small even i can’t stand up in there. look, i’m developing a slouch.

the one good thing about going away is coming home.

you don’t want me hanging around here? fine. i’ll do my thinking someplace else.

i don’t know who’s going to hear this. i don’t even know if i’ll be alive by the time this log is recovered.

we have rights, including the right to be as stubborn or thickheaded as we want.

i know it’s too difficult to speak right now. just rest.

you might say it came to me in a vision.

what are you doing up? you’re supposed to be in bed.

i’ll miss you.

and you’ve got a lot of nerve complaining about being cold when you’re the one wearing the jacket.

the last thing i want is to become a burden to you.

rudeness will get you nowhere.

okay? i’ve forgotten “okay.”

keep your eyes and ears open, follow orders, and try not to get in the way.

it’s not a trick, it’s a choice.

that’s how i think of you. and maybe that’s why sometimes, it’s hard for me to relax around you.

it’s a treatment, not a cure. it’ll prevent hallucinations, take the edge off the depression, but that’s all it’ll do.

you know, that was a very ugly thing you just said.

right now, my head is swimming in bloodwine and i’m going to bed, and so should you.

i’m a little tired. didn’t get much sleep last night.

i appreciate your concern, but i’ll grieve in my own way, in my own time. 

we’ve come to care about what happens to these people.

i know that you’ve been working with the maquis, and right now, i don’t care.

are you some kind of anarchist?

when you take someone’s life, you lose a part of your own as well.

home! i want to go home!

besides, i could never live with myself if something happened to you.

now we either freeze to death or starve to death. take your pick.

isn’t there someone you can talk to? someone you trust?

that’s right. it’s okay. everything’s going to be fine.

take my word for it, you’ll survive.

i don’t know about you, but it’s past my bedtime.

do you want to come color with me?

look, i’m not asking you to like me or to be my friend. i’m asking you to join me, to fight at my side.

sealing the entranceway was a risky thing to do. you nearly brought the whole ceiling down on yourself.

i can’t feel my legs.

“a needle in a haystack” wouldn’t do this job justice.

you ought to get some rest.

don’t deny the violence inside of you. only when you accept it can you move beyond it.

make sure to put your plate in the replicator, sweetie.

you know, it’s attitudes like that that keep you people from getting invited to all the really good parties.

i feel like someone just walked over my grave.

we need to get you to the infirmary.

enough. you’re pushing yourself too hard.

if that’s how you remember it, you must’ve hit your head harder than i thought you did.

you should take a break. you’ve been working nonstop for days.

well, you tried being alone and it hasn’t done any good. so maybe it’s time to stop brooding and start talking.

are you part of my family?

my leg is broken.

i’ve been looking all over for you.

you’re suffering from a severe form of amnesia.

speak up for yourself while you’re here, okay?

things that would send cold chills down your spine and wake you in the middle of the night.

i’m the one who should be struggling to stay conscious. i’m the one who’s in excruciating pain.

not just a bad dream – bad memories.

are you two fighting again?

i don’t want your sympathy and i don’t need your advice!

you stay a while longer if you want to, but you have to promise me, when the time comes and i tell you to go, you’ll do it.

look, i know it’s too late for an apology. but for what it’s worth, i’m sorry.

why don’t you go to your quarters and lie down for a while?

everyone keeps looking at me. they’re afraid of me.

i’d never felt more alone in all my life.

i’m half-frozen. i haven’t eaten for days. my muscles won’t work anymore!

what you experienced was an artificial reality, an interactive program that created memories of things that never actually happened.

what could be more important than dom-jot?

i’m not sleeping. i’m checking my eyelids for holes.

i’ve found that when it comes to doing what’s best for you, you humanoids have the distressing habit of doing the exact opposite.

you’re going to give yourself indigestion.

speaking of pain, this is probably going to hurt.

i never thought i would say this to you, but you are listening to your heart, not your head.

would you please go on vacation and get out of our hair?

you should take things easy for a while. 

i wish there was something i could do. some way i could promise you that everything is going to be okay.

i’ve done some things i’m not proud of. 

i want to stay with you.

my weakness is i’m too generous, too forgiving.

oh, this is one stubborn infection. how long have you had it?

just to “speak up for myself”, i’m feeling a little betrayed here.

the best way to survive a knife fight is to never get in one.

you can annoy me, bait me, question my very existence. but in the end, we both know i’ve won.

i haven’t seen one of these since i was a kid.

it’s a good weapon – solid, simple. you can drag it through the mud and it’ll still fire.

i’m sorry, i hope i haven’t offended anyone.

little children do that.

you know, eventually, you’re going to have to stop talking and deal with this.

if you come with me, you can be a soldier again.

i still wish you’d given me a little more warning.

you can’t expect me to cure it overnight.

i used to dream about you coming to save me. that’s what kept me alive.

you’ve never had those feelings. you don’t know what it means to really care about another person.

let me put it another way. i don’t want to play cards, and even if i did, i wouldn’t want to play with you.

what’s next? do you want to apologize to me? express your sympathy?

i think you went to your quarters last night and you tossed and turned in bed, because you knew some of the things you said to me concerned me.

you’ve got all the emotions of a stone. no offense.

because i have the bad habit of telling the truth even when people don’t want to hear it.

i’m always suspicious of people who are eager to help a police officer.

for as long as i can remember, i have always been an outsider.

you were wounded. try not to move around.

terrorists don’t get to be heroes.

i’ve never needed a friend more than i do right now.

i cried for you. i missed you so much.

we need to stop the bleeding. we better get you up to the ship.

i’m not afraid of you.

for the moment, why don’t you relax? try not to be so tense, take it easy.

we don’t belong in this time. we’re from the future.

you federation types are all alike. you talk about tolerance and understanding, but you only practice it towards people who remind you of yourselves.

now, i think we should concentrate on getting you comfortable with this weapon.

out there, there are no saints, just people – angry, scared, determined people who are going to do whatever it takes to survive, whether it meets with the federation’s approval or not.

yeah, i just banged my head on something.

it’s life. you can miss it if you don’t open your eyes.

i should have known you’d develop feelings for these people you’ve been living with for the past few years.

there’s nothing you can do. um, i just need some time.

i’ll teach you. it’s a very simple game.

you don’t deserve it. nobody does.

and you want to know why you don’t scare me? because i’m already more scared than i’ve ever been in my life.

oh, please. i’m suffering enough without having to listen to your smug federation sympathy.

i know what it’s like to worry about a child.

last night, it sounded like a takaran wildebeest was tromping around up there.

do you remember my face? even a little?

between you and me, those people have every right to defend themselves.

there’s a time for levity, my young friend, and a time for genuine concern.

why? why do you care so much?

i have to save you from yourself.

just because a group of people belong to the federation, that does not mean that they are saints.

life is yours for the taking. all you have to do is reach out and grab it.

no one on this station is better than anyone else. we’re all equal.

that’s why i came to you, because i knew you’d protect me. you will protect me, won’t you?

just because we don’t understand a life-form, doesn’t mean we can destroy it.

oh, we’re all very good at conjuring up enough fear to justify whatever we want to do.

it’s an expression of affection that you find difficult to accept.

look, i just don’t want anything to happen to you.

as your friend, i have to tell you i’m worried about you.

have i ever told you how much i hate that smug, superior attitude of yours?

and as for bedside manner, i’ve known nicer voles.

you’re the terrorist. you tell me.

i repaid kindness with blood. i was no better than an animal.

you don’t know what it means to care about someone, do you?

i’ll try to keep my problems more quiet next time. 

are you sure you’re all right?

oh, i slept like an alvanian cave sloth.

just watch your back. you’re in danger.

the thing i don’t understand is why you pretended to be my friend.

i have to say goodbye to you.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Lessons Learned

Spencer Reid x (female) Reader (but reader doesn’t actually appear in the scene, that’s more of a postscript thing) 

Word Count: 1225

Warnings: Non-explicit discussion of sex, in an oddly sweet and wholesome kinda way. 

A/N: In which Emily gives Spencer some advice! 

Inspired by @softspence​ / @homoose​ and this ask / this fic! Because it’s been a while (or, y’know, a week) since I wrote about the importance of communication during sex, and then I got to thinking about the whole “men being threatened by vibrators” thing, and... fic happened. 

“I swear to god, Kevin’s eyes just about bugged out of his head when he saw mine,” Penelope is saying, as Spencer slides back onto his chair. 

“They get so threatened, right?” Emily exclaims. “It’s a tool, not a competitor.” 

Penelope sighs. “God. Men. No offense, Spencer.” 

“None taken?” he says tentatively. “Um… what are you talking about?” 

“Vibrators,” Emily informs him, and Spencer chokes a little bit on absolutely nothing. “And the time a man told me female ejaculation is a myth, and all the other reasons I prefer having sex with women.” 

“Maybe I’ll just — um,” Spencer mutters, looking around desperately for an excuse to be somewhere else. For a second he considers joining JJ and Derek on the dance floor, but that’s its own kind of hell. 

“Which part of that statement made you uncomfortable?” Emily asks, laughing. “C’mon, Doctor Reid, I’m sure you have some statistics on the female orgasm.”

Spencer grimaces, but offers, “Women orgasm during heterosexual intercourse roughly sixty-one percent of the time, compared to eighty-six percent during lesbian sex.” 

“There you go,” Emily says, slapping her hand on the table with a grin. “And I bet it’s only that low because women don’t always expect reciprocation. Sometimes I just want to go down on a chick, you know?” 

Spencer just looks at her, wide-eyed, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. 

“I’m gonna go get another drink and get my dance on,” Penelope interrupts with a giggle. “Be back in a bit. Spencer, try not to die of embarrassment while I’m gone.” 

“I should probably switch to water,” Emily muses, draining the last sip of her drink. Once Penelope is out of earshot, she adds, “I’m sorry, Spence, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”  

“No, it’s not that, exactly.” Spencer frowns down at the table. “It’s just — never mind.” 

Emily is studying him, uncomfortably sharp even though she’s way past tipsy. “You still haven’t, have you? Gone down on a girl, I mean.” 

Spencer’s entire face is hot. “That’s… you’re correct.”

“You’ve had sex, though,” Emily says. 

Either Spencer’s been saying some embarrassing things in his sleep during jet naps, or she’s… well, a profiler. Right. 

“She wasn’t —we didn’t — once, and it was a… perfunctory experience.” He sighs, dropping his face into his hands, and admits all in one breath, “Idon’tlikebeingbadatstuff.”

When he looks up again, Emily’s smiling at him, not unkindly. “Are you looking for some advice?”

“I know the theory, but —”

“Not something you can learn from a book. Yeah. Believe me, Spencer, I am happy to talk about this stuff,” Emily says. She’s obviously sincere, and Spencer feels some of his embarrassment melt away. “Not enough men want advice, and that’s part of the problem.” 

Spencer shrugs. “Then… yeah, I’m asking you for advice.” 

Emily nods and folds her hands, sitting up a little straighter; she means business. 

“Lesson one: make sure your fingernails are clipped and filed and clean,” she says authoritatively. 

“That makes sense.” 

“Second: take your fucking time. Okay? Don’t just, like, faceplant tongue-first onto the clit.” Spencer almost chokes on his drink at that, and Emily smirks before continuing, “Women are beautiful, right? Seems obvious to you and me, but a lot of the time, they don’t believe that they’re beautiful, and when they’re naked, they tend to worry about whether you think they’re beautiful.” 

“Huh.” 

Yeah, none of the books ever mentioned that. 

“So take your time getting there. Appreciate the rest of her body. Kissing, touching, licking, just — looking, and exploring, and letting her know that you like what you see. That you like all of her, and not just what’s between her legs. If you can make her feel comfortable — not just comfortable with you, but comfortable in her own skin — that’s going to make it a whole lot easier for her to enjoy herself. Got it?” 

“Got it,” Spencer says softly. 

Emily takes a sip of her drink and clears her throat. 

“Okay. Here’s where a lot of dudes get tripped up: fucking communicate. Just ask her what she likes, and then actually listen to what she says. There’s nothing wrong with not being confident. It’s a whole lot better than being over-confident.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think over-confident will be a problem for me,” Spencer says wryly. 

“Good. Because way too many guys go into sex assuming that they already know how to blow her mind, or whatever, and that this is a chance for them to, like, amaze her with their moves, and a lot of the time, they got their moves from porn and they suck.” Emily’s getting a little rant-y. She takes a deep breath and continues. “Anyway, just — just ask her. She might not be comfortable, at first, saying it bluntly like that, so listen to her body, too, right? Touch her in different ways and pay attention to how she responds. Fingers, tongue… suction, penetration… everybody — every body — is different.” 

Spencer nods, and hesitates before saying, “I’ve heard a couple men talk about it, and they always make it sound — intimidating? And not necessarily… enjoyable.” 

“Men are fucking weird,” Emily says bluntly. “It’s awesome. Not like jizz tastes like chocolate and strawberries, anyway. But, like, it’s… human, you know? There’s something hot about it, even if it’s not what you’d usually enjoy. And the wetter she gets, the longer you spend down there, the better she’s going to taste.” 

Spencer’s cheeks are burning again. He rubs his eyes, trying to cover his discomfort. “And how — I mean…” 

“You’ll know,” Emily says wryly. “And also, when it’s over, she’ll be sensitive, and she’ll push you away, because it’ll be too much.” 

“Oh.” 

“And it’s not — it’s not necessarily comfortable, you know? Feels like you’re gonna fucking suffocate, sometimes. You’ll have her thighs around your head, and she’ll be all trembly, trying to move her hips, maybe pulling your hair, but —” Emily’s smiling now, equal parts dreamy and smug. “— feeling someone just fall apart like that, feeling their whole body shaking — making them feel good — it’s amazing.” 

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Spencer mumbles.

“Really, though,” Emily says seriously. “The most important thing is that you take your ego out of the equation. Stop worrying about being ‘good’ or ‘bad’ at it. Whether it’s your fingers or your mouth or your dick or her fucking vibrator, ask her what to do, and then do it. Understood?” 

“Yeah. I understand.” He gives her a grateful smile. 

Emily studies him for a moment and then says, “For what it’s worth? Just knowing you as a friend, knowing how much you care about people, I think your future partners are in good hands.” It’s unusually earnest for her and it catches Spencer off-guard, but before he can think of a response, she flashes him a bright grin and adds, “If they want to thank me, though, my favorite flowers are roses.” 

Spencer laughs. “I’ll remember that, if I ever meet someone special.” 

“You will. Don’t worry.” 

“Thanks, Em.” 

Sure enough, he meets you a few months later. 

Your breathless, “How did you do that?” was meant to be rhetorical, but he tells you the whole story anyway. You have a huge bouquet delivered to Emily’s apartment, along with a bottle of wine and a card that says, “Can’t thank you enough.”

.

.

.

More CM fic here. If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a note here! 

[riathedreamer]

Zero is Null

A discussion of Zero’s love-hate-relationship with RvB and struggling independence; including a hotdog too big for the bun, tragic backstories, a single bow-chicka-bow-wow, and a cookie at the very end.

Welcome to what will be a lot of text. Basically, it will explore why Zero fails as an RvB (with emphasis on RvB) season. I will not be the first one to bring forth some of the points, and I promise to be fair and civil and fun. This isn’t supposed to be a piece of hate – in fact, I’m writing this because I love Red vs. Blue.

Okay, first of all, to increase your fun – take a guess on just how much of Zero is spent on fight scenes. You see, I’ve calculated the exact amount, and I will reveal it later, but for now, take a guess and remember the number. Maybe you are the winner!

Alright, time to share my thoughts. Wait! Since I suffer from anxiety and have this one annoying voice pretending to be all those critical statements my opinion could be met with, let’s give it an actual voice and address the points throughout this review.

“Why would I care about your opinion, Ria?” – I don’t know, you’re the one who clicked Read More.

“Your opinion doesn’t matter!” – Of course, it doesn’t! Geez. Do you think your opinion matters, though? Listen, we’re on Tumblr, the actual equivalent of screaming into the void. And it’s fun, too!

“If you don’t like it, don’t watch!” - *activates Uno Reverse Card* “You can’t talk about something you haven’t watched!”

“You’re just a Hater” – Actually, this is a point I’ll come back to. Like a cliffhanger. Also, at the end of this, there’ll be a cookie. But this will also include me talking about the stuff I like, because, surprise, Zero is not without talent!

“You just don’t like it because the Reds and Blues aren’t in it!” – Actually, that’s a good point, so instead, this review will start with a sole focus on Zero and discuss the problem that lies within that story. Then we can address why the lack of OG cast is understandable and problematic and weird.

But first! Backstory.

When the first 5 second teaser dropped back in spring (you know, when we were young and innocent and the world didn’t feel like an apocalyptic movie yet), I held onto that one image of what I thought (hoped) to be Grif and Simmons in the sunset, hopefully addressing Grif’s hateglue arc, but boy was I wrong because a) that’s not Simmons, that’s Sarge, and b) the image was from a PSA since the Reds are not in Zero.

Actual face-reveal of me below:

Admittedly, when I heard that the Reds and Blues were not going to be the main characters (or even show up), it felt like a gut punch. However, I actually found myself getting excited due to the creators’ hype. I want to praise them for this. It’s been a while since an RvB season was talked so much ABOUT before its release; it had advertisements, it had creators and voice-actors talking about it. Please. More of that in the future. Their passion rubbed off on me, and that deserves recognition. So it pains me that this was clearly a passion-project, and then when I gave it a try, I didn’t want to touch it again for weeks.

Here’s the thing. I cannot whole-heartedly say that Zero is bad. It’s not gonna melt your eyes. It’s not even so-bad-it’s-good. For me, it’s meh. It’s a Saturday-morning-cartoon aimed for a younger audience with a rushed plot and clichéd characters. The problem is that it calls itself RvB, and with that title comes something to live up to – but more importantly, something to continue.

My main issue is that Zero forces its story into existence by ignoring established content rather than adjusting to it. Let’s call this for the hotdog-too-big-for-the-bun syndrome solely for the sake of the bow-chicka-bow-wow that’s coming now. Bow-chicka-bow-wow. Many of the separate issues I will dive into all add to this hotdog-issue, so I will scream “Hotdog!” whenever this is the case so we can all keep track of my argument.

You can continue the story of Red vs. Blue without the Reds and Blues. While that would personally crush my heart, it can be done. There’s a story of Red vs. Blue that can be continued. The world can be expanded, the previous actions of the Reds and Blues can be explored from another angle.

So.

How does Zero do this? It doesn’t.

I just want to make it clear that new elements can definitely be added when it comes to worldbuilding. That’s literally the point of sequels. But Zero’s settings are presented with so little grace and with no connection to previously established worldbuilding. We get Alliance of Defense and GLASS thrown in our face as very big important organizations – yet we’ve never heard of them before. A big central plot point of RvB is the UNSC and Project Freelancers, and those were introduced naturally with the plot. We already have big established intergalactic organizations. What is AOD’s connection with those? We aren’t told. We are just told they exist and expected to accept it, no questions asked. If this was a whole new world and story – fine. But when you need to build on an already established worldbuilding, you need more grace than this. Chorus was a whole new setting, but it was explained, and it was connected to the previous plot. Same with Iris. Same with Desert Gulch. In Zero, it feels lazy. It feels forced. These organizations are just there because the story is built around them (HOTDOG).

This vagueness when it comes to wordbuilding is also reflected in the settings - we have a desert, a training base, a lab, temples, Tucker’s workplace, and we do not know if all those are set place on the same planet. If that is the case, what is this planet’s relationship with Chorus? Is it Earth? And most importantly, what is the deal with the temples? Why are they connected to Tucker’s sword if it isn’t the same planet. Are they made by the same aliens? Are people okay with this? Why haven’t these temples been explored before? Chorus makes sure to establish this, while Zero doesn’t, adding to a growing amount of confusion.

Okay, so no connection with previous worldbuilding. What about characters? I mean, we got Wash and Carolina and Tucker! So we have RvB characters, it gotta be RvB! Technically – yeah. But it feels dirty. These three characters are not here to be characters. They are here to be props to the new cast. They are not given any development. Their presence isn’t even that important, and if this was a whole new show, they could easily have been replaced with an unknown face. Worst of all, they feel miswritten.

Carolina and Wash are working at a new military organization? Leaving the Reds and Blues behind? To help people? First of all, fucking bad idea, Carolina, the last time you left the Reds and Blues alone, they changed the timeline. But most importantly – Carolina and Wash just joined this new super elite military organization? After being mistreated and manipulated by such an organization in the past?

Carolina is there to introduce the characters. That’s it. We are force-fed their personality by having her literally read out loud their personality. There is no gentle introduction to the new cast. We are not allowed to get to know them naturally. Why show when you can tell, huh? That’s Carolina’s role. That’s why she is there. To introduce the cast and explain their story. That’s it. (HOTDOG).

How about Wash? He is there to get beat up and be a damsel in distress so that the new cast has a reason to explore the plot. Oh, and that brain damage that was the consequence of previous seasons – gone now. The guy who literally has trauma from having an AI explode inside his head is fine with having a computer inserted into it instead. Because that’s needed. To explore his brain damage wouldn’t work now when his role is to be a prop to lure the new cast for one episode and then be put onto the bench for the rest of the runtime (HOTDOG).

And Tucker – he is there to die for a second and have his sword taken from him. That’s literally it. And for the few moments he is there, he feels like old super flirty Tucker, which erases the character development he went through in previous seasons. Okay, so Tucker dies, and then not dies, and then he is put on the bench with Wash where they can sit and talk or whatever (‘cause holy shit, the new cast is not allowed to that), because he isn’t important. The sword is. Tucker is just a prop, even more than his sword is (HOTDOG).

Damn. Wash gets beat up. Tucker gets beat up. Dies. Gets his sword taken away. Almost seems like a Red’s wet dream. Sorry not sorry, Blues, you were done dirty.

So there are miswritten old characters. Even worse is the retconning. The plot needs a “normal” Wash, so, bam, magic computer solution. Never mind Wash’s trauma and character traits. Never mind the logic of the new worldbuilding which also includes a character suffering for years to heal an illness. But the brain damage that was such a big consequence that it became the main part of the plot of the last two seasons – gone. I mean, a gunshot to the head can be healed by CPR. That’s canon. But no one gave Wash CPR so it’s a big thing, okay. It was canonically a big thing, and Zero erased that. This is not me saying that a Cerebral Enhancer couldn’t work in the RvB universe. Imagine it being done right. Wash struggling with the choice of getting used to his disability or accepting the possibility of help - at the cost of reliving his trauma. The struggle between what to choose - what should he choose when he wants to help as many as possible, the sacrifices he thinks he has to make, the way it could have been used as a part of his character growth. But in Zero, the enhancer isn’t a part of Wash’s character. It’s there so the story can work without having to deal with the previous plot’s consequence (HOTDOG).

Same with the sword thing. They sorta explain it by having Tucker flatline, but it’s weak. Honestly, I find it sorta offensive. What about Locus’ sword as well? It’s twisting previous lore to make the new plot work (HOTDOG). (Also, are we not gonna talk about the ultimate power being Spencer Porkensenson’s helmet? Have the writers forgotten Spencer Porkensenson? Have we as a community forgotten Spencer Porkensenson?)

If you have Red vs. Blue in your title, you cannot ignore what you inherit from it. You need to respect the worldbuilding, the established characters, and the previous plot. Zero does not do this.

Let’s talk about the Triplets. No, really, let’s do it. I don’t think I’ve ever talked about them before, because season 14 was a mixed bag for me (that I have now learned to appreciate. Thank you, Zero.) because I have heart at the size of the Grinch and can only love a few characters at a time, and that did not include the Triplets. Can’t even remember their names. Well, I can, but I can’t for the love of me remember which state is which, and my tongue is twisted every time I try to say Ohio, Iowa, and Idaho, and I know it’s on purpose. I know it is. And it got me good. That being said, the fandom actually embraced them really, really well! Seriously, I’ve seen more content for the Triplets than for Zero as a whole.

Why talk about the Triplets? (Was Iowa the lesbian? Or was it Ohio? Fuck.) Because like Zero, they introduced new characters with a story of their own. The Reds and Blues didn’t play a role. But here’s what I feel like the Triplets got right. They didn’t change the settings to force their narrative. They used stuff already established (Project Freelancer), added their own story as a continuation of that. They even included old characters in the beginning (Wash and some other Freelancers) but it felt natural and it didn’t feel like it happened at the expense of the old characters. Wash’s writing felt natural, and his presence wasn’t needed to tell these new character’s stories. He wasn’t a prop to them. He was there to establish the setting and to establish the relationship with these new characters, and then he and the other familiar faces (helmets??) left, and we as the viewers were left with these new characters. And the new characters told their own story by themselves. It felt like, hey, here’s something you know – remember Mother of Invention, and remember Wash’ lower rank, but now, try to imagine being even lower rank than him, aren’t you curious about those fates? Now let’s hear their story! It was new, it was something else, but it didn’t wreck what came before it, and it stayed true to the classic vibes of RvB.

As I said before, the hotdog-issue is my biggest problem with Zero. It infuriates me. I will return to this. But there are more issues, even if we try to look past the title-related problems.

If we try to imagine Zero as its own story and universe (as it should be, in my opinion), it still earns the meh review from me.

These isolated issues include awkwardness, the writing, lack of self-awareness, and pacing. First of all, holy shit, this is a tell, don’t show. Nothing is subtle, nothing is allowed to develop. It’s like the show thinks you are six years old with an attention span of a goldfish. You are not just led by the hand – they have literally pulled off your arm by the end of the show. We are force-fed every bit of information, every bit of personality from these new characters.

The voice-acting is a mixed bag for me. Sometimes it’s pretty good, sometimes it’s not. Some of the problems can definitely be blamed on the dialogue that you can only do so much with. It’s not good. I can’t remember any good jokes (the one joke I really appreciate was the cast on armor, and that was freaking visual humor. That was so RvB. Kudos to that. It was fun. More of that, please.), and RvB is known for having memorably good lines. This is a show built on good, clever, funny dialogue. Zero does not deliver. You have to sit through clichéd lines – “You’re not my dad”, “I trusted you”, “Come with me”, “It can’t be!”, “She’s way too powerful”, and “We have to do this together” – performed unironically. I cringed more than I laughed. Worst thing is that Zero could be a good parody. Sometimes, it feels like it is. One-dimensional characters, a villain wanting ‘the ultimate power’, very overpowered characters, bad one-liners, etc. But Zero takes itself seriously, and I was one of the people rooting for Jax to show up at the end and yell “Cut”. That would have been a funny-as-fuck twist. A spin-off parody. If I can’t have “Sarge the Movie”, I would have taken that and loved it. I would have forgiven everything. “We put so much info into finding that power, but we had no idea what it was” is really a line in the finale, and I cannot believe this is real in a show that somehow still tries to present itself as serious. What a plot.

We have to talk about pacing. God, first of all it should be stated that RvB is a mess when it comes to pacing. I honestly get what they were going for. Sometimes, RvB has come across as a bit boring when you get three episodes stretched over three weeks without much going on. I know season 11 did not have the warmest welcome because it was seen as boring until the finale. But when you see season 11 as a whole, as a movie, as a part of a trilogy, it works so well. Zero is more focused on being episodic. They want something to happen all the time so we will stay tuned. The thing that will happen – a fight. Oh god. The fight scenes.

I have done the math. I have run the numbers. I deserve a freaking cookie for this. Are you ready?

If you put all the episodes together, you have a runtime of 106 minutes. HOWEVER, with the introduction of credits in every episode, you gotta account for this. Removing the credits, this gives us 94 minutes of actual runtime. Out of that, 45 minutes are dedicated to fight scenes. That means 48% of the show is fight scenes.

If I wanted that many fight scenes, I’d watch Death Battle. Except the actual RvB Death Battle episode has a runtime of 20 minutes, and out of that, 5 minutes is dedicated to the actual battle. For the people who hate math – that’s 25% of the actual runtime.

RvB Zero has more fight scenes than a show called Death Battle. Take that in.

The pace suffers from this. Where’s the time to explore the characters? Where’s the time for good dialogue? All I can think of is this:

I get that RvB is a show that’s literally making fun of itself by acknowledging all their characters do is stand around and talk. I get that you want characters to do more than that. But for the love of Church, would it kill the new characters to stand around and talk? For just a minute? Stop fighting, I am begging you, stop fighting! Am I a pacifist now? Am I purple? Have I joined Doc’s team? What has Zero done to me?!

The good thing though is that fight scenes are very good. They’re entertaining. However, they seem to deconstruct themselves when we need to get a fight scene in every episode. Usually, the few fight scenes in an RvB season were in some of the most climatic episodes. In Zero, I can hardly keep up with the pace because they won’t stop moving. Fight scenes aren’t plot. They aren’t character development. You need more than just fight scenes. They entertain, but there’s a limit to that.

Noël Wiggins, the co-writer, stated the inspiration was a Saturday-morning cartoon. They nailed that vibe. If that was their goal, hurray, they have accomplished something! Because of the poor plot and constant fight scenes, it feels like you could just switch on the TV and drop in at any moment and let yourself be entertained by the cool and colorful soldiers punching and kicking each other. I will admit that the fight scenes entertained me. But they don’t make it a good season.

If I were the six-year-old with the attention span of a goldfish that the show believes I am, I honestly would enjoy it. The stiff dialogue and the constant tell-don’t-show makes you feel like an audience that’s not supposed to do anything else but admire the flashy fight scenes. I miss the cleverness of RvB. I miss the characters I get to connect with as I see them grow.

I miss the tone of RvB. Because this isn’t RvB to me.

It’s not that RvB hasn’t changed its tone before. Holy shit, I sorta do want to experience the absolute shock the RvB fandom went through when s6 aired and they were given new characters and serious plot. I would have loved to experience that, but I was too busy being ten years old. The Freelancers seasons also introduced a new tone and more fight scenes with very talented fighters compared to the Blood Gulch gang, but a balance was kept by having half of the season still revolving around the Reds and Blues. But Zero – Zero is so much change. And it’s on purpose. At least this has been made very clear from the beginning.

They constantly seem to appeal to new fans, rather than be directed towards older fans of the show. If you want an entirely new audience with a season with a new cast, new worldbuilding, and new tone, I’m confused as to why they don’t just make a new show. The hotdog-problem begs for this solution. This story and environment and characters feel so out of touch with the original RvB, that with a few rewrites and lack of Halo-armor, it could just be a new show. Problem solved.

If not this, then present it as a spin-off. In all ways, it feels like a spin-off (again, see everything marked HOTDOG). But the creators refuse to do this, and I don’t understand why. I could forgive many of these issues, had they officially separated themselves from canon.

Ah, what’s the idiom? You can’t both swallow and blow? (You can hear the Bow-chicka-bow-wow in the distance). Something about eating cake and having it. Forgive me, English isn’t my native language. POINT IS why are you calling yourself RvB while actively fighting against the core essence of RvB? In my humble opinion, you can’t be both. Marketing it as a spin-off would have granted it some defense when changing, well, literally everything, and I just, would someone please properly describe why it isn’t a spin-off? Isn’t this season marked by its association with the plot of RvB rather than a continuation of it? Zero presenting itself as not a spinoff feels like a toddler clinging to the hem of its mother’s dress while forcefully running away from her, ripping the dress in the process.

When they do connect with the original RvB, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. When they let Carolina, Wash, and Tucker appear for a moment, it feels like luring viewers in with the RvB title. Look at me. Look at me! I’m not saying this is the case. I say that it gives me the annoying vibes of being lured, rather than letting the characters be a part of the show for their own development, rather than having RvB in the title to continue its story. I should not be getting these vibes at all. But I am.

If you want to use RvB in the title, something from the core of RvB needs to be embraced. Things can be changed. They should. Something new should be brought in. But there’s a limit to how much you can change and replace and twist until it would have been better with an original show. As a season of RvB, it should tell the story of Red vs. Blue.

From my perspective, Zero fails to do so.

It pains me that the old cast has been replaced, but as stated earlier, a season could have worked without them. However, I do not like the take that one should be excited about all the new characters. That it isn’t a big thing that the OG cast got replaced. That we should just deal with it. Just, try to imagine another show suddenly replacing the main characters with characters we’ve never met before. Imagine RWBY suddenly only focusing on a new team of huntresses with the previous main characters reduced to an Easter Egg presence, or Camp Camp suddenly being about a new team of campers, no warning given. Can you imagine the outcry? So maybe let’s agree that a replacement of the main cast is a big thing and should be addressed and it’s valid to be upset about this change.

Could Zero have worked? It’s hard to answer this. How can I accept something as RvB if the season actively pushes away the core of RvB aside for an isolated story that could have been told in any other media? As a spinoff, I could have ignored it. To enjoy Zero, I have to fully separate it from RvB in my mind, and then it’s alright. S’not good. But it’s not bad. It’s entertaining enough. I really ended up liking Raymond and Tiny, and there were a few good jokes, and the fight scenes were admirable (but too much) and I love the creators’ passion. But it’s not RvB. I also wish that the new characters had been attached to previous worldbuilding, for example soldiers on Chorus or agents from Project Freelancer. That way we could build on familiar lore which would have decreased the confusion and added a much needed connection with the previous seasons of RvB.

God, the anxious voice is back (by the way, it sounds like Tutter from “Bear in the Blue House”).

“You’re racist” – I hope not. Literally, I do not want to be. Tell me if I’ve ever crossed some lines, because I swear, that is not my intention, I will apologize and most of all, change and do better. I included this because I’ve seen this take thrown around in the big ugly mess that is the fandom clashes regarding Zero. And racism is problem within RT community (this includes AH and RvB, sorry, I just use RT as an umbrella term for the latter), and I’m not saying it hasn’t been a problem with this season. Writers should never be harassed, and never-fucking-ever because of their skin color, and voice actors shouldn’t be treated like they are responsible for the choices of the show. But I was legit nervous to post this review, and I hope it’s been factual without feeling like personal attacks on the creators because that has never been my intention. I was delighted to hear about the diversity behind this project, and Torrian’s passion legit blew me away because it’s been a while since I’ve seen that for an RvB project. I’d hoped for it to be good, and when I feel disappointed, it’s for the reasons stated in this analysis. That said, Zero is made by a diverse cast and it’s made with love, and both of those things are so, so great, but it does not mean that Zero cannot be criticized. It can, and it should. It’s a product, just like all the other seasons, and fans are allowed to discuss it – both what they loved, and both what they found troublesome. And to repeat previous points, and be respectful, always, fuck racists, and never-fucking-ever harass the staff behind a season, what the fuck is wrong with you if you do this.

“Don’t you get it, it’s different because it’s trying something new!” – Hey, remember the philosophical question: if you replace all the parts of a ship one-by-one, is it still the same ship when you’re done? If it doesn’t include the Reds and Blues, if it ignores previous plot, if the old characters feel miswritten, if it values animation over dialogue, if it values fight scenes over comedy, if it wants to be Fast and Furious instead of Red vs. Blue – is it still Red vs. Blue? Because it doesn’t feel like it to me.

“It's been 17 seasons, it’s time to let the Reds and Blues go so someone else can shine!” – I simply do not understand us having been with the Reds and Blues for 17 seasons should be an argument to let them go, rather than be an argument as to why their absence hurt like hell.

“The Reds and Blues ran out of things to do!” – Did- did they, though? I mean, if we were discussing pretty much any other show, I’d probably agree that they were running out of content. But for the Reds and Blues… I think the PSAs nailed it this year! I’m not kidding, I had more fun watching the Reds and Blues discuss how to do laundry than watching Zero. You could literally give me an hour of the Reds and Blues trying to bake a cake or clear a gutter or simply settling down with an ordinary life, and I would trust them to make it worth the watch.

“The flaws were due to the fact it’s only 8 episodes long!” – Look, I can only judge a product the way it’s presented to me. I cannot come up with excuses for it. If they had 8 episodes to work with, they need to come up with a plot that works with this runtime. Seriously, this excuse cannot work when 48% of the season is spent on fight scenes. They could have used more runtime, sure, but the show needs to be able to pace itself and be planned accordingly.

“The OG cast couldn’t be a part of this year, hence Zero!” – That might be true. But. Would one year without RvB kill it? Is Zero necessary? Again, I just can’t judge excuses for the show. But trouble with the cast has been an issue before. Season 15 solves Geoff’s sabbatical by actually making Grif’s absence a part of the plot. Zero’s lack of Reds and Blues just feels like this excuse to tell a story that needn’t be a part of RvB.

Am I a hater? I guess? I greatly dislike Zero for the critique stated above. I do, however, not harass the creators and no one should ever do that. However, I have to admit that I feel there’s been this weird rejection of any critique of Zero where everything’s been brushed off as haters gonna hate, including the critique stated above. And I think that’s a problem because critique, as hard as it can be to hear (and I know this. I’m an author of original works. Weird flex, I know), is valid and necessary and shouldn’t just be shrugged away. As always, both sides of the fandom should always be respectful, but my own opinion is that addressing the flaws of Zero should not be controversial.

Does this super long rant/critique/whatever mean you cannot enjoy Zero? Gods no! I almost envy you if you enjoy this season, but holy shit, feel free to love it and tell the creators that you love it! Me pointing out the issues I have with the season shouldn’t be stopping you. I loved (and still love) s15 when it came out, and it was majorly rejected by the fandom. There were many, many critical posts, people were going on about how RvB should have ended with s13, and it evolved into the writer receiving death threats (me, once again: never ever harass the creators, assholes). But I didn’t tell people to stop being negative. I actually agreed with many of the flaws that were pointed out, and I enjoyed the season despite this, because that is possible. We, as RvB fans, should agree that RvB, is... I mean, it’s not the greatest, most flawless of shows, but we love it nonetheless. So go ahead and love Zero. This is not a stop sign. This is my opinion that you chose to read.

Wait, I promised you a cookie, didn’t I? Well, you’re not getting one. Why? Because I’m a Red and this is my chance to piss off a Blue. As Caboose wisely said: “Well, at least I don't go around... knocking on people's non-doors... and promising them cookies... and then NOT. GIVING. THEM. COOKIES!”

Blue Team sucks.

End speech.

[i-am-arcana-trash]

I’m here

Once again I could not focus until I had written this. Completely not canon, just an idea, an AU if you will.

Loen x Sage because I can and this is my page. 

CW: Cursing, mention of blood, broken bones and possible death.

Loen knew trust was hard won. She knew after her disappearance Sage's trust in anyone, including her, was non-existent.

But now she was left with very little to depend on, except her trust.

Felix caught her arm

"Loen you can't! It's too dangerous!"

"LET ME GO FELIX....SAGE! SAGE IM HERE!"

She wasn't sure why she was calling his name, he was too far gone to hear her.

She felt Anisa's hand on her shoulder "Loen we can't help him.."

White hot tears strung her eyes "Let me go! I'm not leaving him...."

Anisa and Felix shared a look "Loen...."

The Astrolabe appeared in her hand "No...I'm not leaving him...not again"

Felix sighed before waving his hand, a fine white mist settling over her "This is the best I can offer...just....be careful.."

Anisa looked like she wanted to say something but settled for a hug "Get back to us...."

Loen smiled gently before breaking out into a sprint across the field. Her mind focused on one sole thing. Sage's corruption, it had finally taken over.

"Remember when I asked you to kill me if I ever start to lose it...?"

Loen nodded. Her hands gently carded through his tangled hair, laying it flat to his shoulder. Sage grabbed one of her hands pulling it to his lips, kissing along the knuckles.

"Except you won't lose it.....so I won't have to do that...." Sage gave a mirthless laugh "Wishful thinking....if things get hairy....if you can't get to me...just let me go."

Loen gave him a look, somewhere between exhaustion, panic and frustration. "I'm not leaving you....not again..not ever...."

Sage sighed his hand coming up to caress her cheek "Loen...."

"Sage..."

For a few moments they stared at each other, before Loen dropped her eyes "Okay....you win..."

"It's safer this way."

Sage could tell she didn't believe him and he wasn't sure he believed himself, but her safety took precedence and if he posed a risk to that safety....

Loen shook their conversation from her mind. She was going directly against his wishes, but she didn't care. She wasn't leaving him. She'd crossed realms to find him again.

An ear splitting crack filled the air and Loen looked in the direction of the sound trying to block out the noise.

An enormous dragon loomed ahead, white silver fur clung to its frame, glowing red eyes.....Sage.

Sage's corruption, controlled by Gramme had devolved into this. Loen hadn't heard the rest of whatever Gramme's stupid evil plan was, her mind filled with static that she didn't protect him.

She felt another wave of corrupted fog hit her shield. The Astrolabe sprung to life, purifying white light surrounding her. It also turned her into a white lazer pointer on the battlefield and the dragon lunged for the spot. Loen dodged, but just barely, slipping into some rubble, feeling something sharp cut her cheek, dangerously close to her eye.

Loen stood, she could taste the metallic tang of blood in her mouth. And it was like it drew Sage to her. She was barely able to dodge again

"I need an in..."

Another lunge, but this time she miscalculated his tail.

It hit her. Hard. Sending her crashing into a partially standing wall. Loen thought she may have blacked out for a moment, when she came too her body ached and breathing hurt.

"Ah shit...."

She paused, pulling energy into her hands, gingerly healing the broken ribs. It was a sloppy job but she didn't have time to worry about it.

In front of her was a great white dragon, teeth bared, blood coating the silver white fangs in a massive mouth. She heard the low dangerous growl it gave off.

"Sage...I'm here okay...I'm here..."

She climbed to her feet with some effort, catching another swipe of his tail, she braced her shield, she needed on the offensive...

A thunderous boom caught the dragons attention and Loen took his lapse in attention. Felix and Anisa, she thanked them for her opening.

I hope this works

In a show of immensely clouded judgement, Loen climbed up his back, avoiding his attempted swipes at her. She managed to get on his back, scrambling up his neck. She wrapped her arms in his fur.

You said you'd let me go!?

She heard his voice, angry...scared.

She leaned against him, pressing her forehead into his fur "Sorry love....I'm not leaving here without you..."

As if on cue the dragon began shaking it's great head. It rolled against the rubble trying to buck her off.

It slammed against the ground, hitting Loen hard enough she lost her breath, Loen tried to hold on, but rolled off.

She felt another crack in her chest, pain radiating into her head. She was pretty sure her shoulder was either dislocated or at the very least had subluxated in that last hit.

"Ugh...."

She sat up on her knees, blood trailing down her face.

A giant red eye leveled with her and Loen stared back...

"Sage....?"

She'd hoped his name would reach him but when she heard the great jaw snapping, she knew it hadn't.

She sighed, shakily getting to her feet.

Shit that hurts...

Loen dug deep, this was her last shot.

She focused on the warm purifying light of the Astrolabe.

Please...I'll give you up....just please help me do this....

Loen felt the warm glow of the Astrolabe as it heard her.

She poured everything, her trust, her fear, her strength, her ability to wield her Relic, everything she felt for Sage.

White light rippled out from her chest and the great beast stopped. For the first time since she'd returned to Astraea the air cleared, she felt like she could breathe.

She took a few shakey steps towards the dragon, falling against his head, within snapping distance of his jaws. She buried her face into his fur.

Sage...I'm here...I'm not leaving you...come back to me...please....

Her vision began to fuzz at the edges, her knees giving out, as she crumpled to the ground, she thought for sure she'd felt an arm wrap her waist before darkness overtook her vision

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

It was dark and warm. Loen opened her eyes, she couldn't see anything but she felt encased in warmth and comfort. She could hear muttering voices around her. Strained and hushed, too distorted to make out the words, before the darkness took her again.

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

Loen awoke to sunlight in her face. She was back in her room at Fathom. She sat up in bed, groaning and cursing out, her head ached, and she took shallow breathes.

"Ah shit that hurts..."

She sat up for a while, just trying to lose the sensation of vertigo that hit her.

"The hells do you think your doing?"

A firm warm hand pushed her back into bed

Loen squinted at the figured, haloed by golden sunlight.

"Anisa....?"

Anisa sighed pulling out some new bandages "Your going to tear everything open."

Together Anisa replaced her old bandages as she updated Loen of what happened.

"After the battle, Felix and I went to find you, Gramme was gone, the corruption disappeared, the Lord of Shadows didn't make it back. When we found you....."

She paused then, sending a pointed look to her side where an impressive sized gash was.

"Sage was......inconsolable, we were barely able to get him off of you to help...I've never seen him like that in all the years I've known him....you were barely hanging on, your Astrolabe was holding on but you were fading...you’ve been out for over a week now."

"Wait a week?! Where is Sage....?"

Anisa sighed, "Once I'm done here I'll go get him....but...."

Anisa avoided her gaze "Nevermind...if anyone can get to him it's you."

Loen nodded as Anisa helped her into a loose shirt.

A few minutes after Anisa left, Loen heard the faintest knock.

"Come in..."

Her door slowly opened and a mess of silver hair entered.

Loen scrambled to get up, wincing at her injuries "Sage..."

He rushed over to stabilize her, setting her back on her bed before speaking. "Why didn't you run?! I told you to run! You promised you'd run!"

Loen felt her face flush "I wasn't leaving you behind...."

Sage gently held her shoulders, pulling up a chair to sit in front of her. But it did little to quell the anger he felt.

"You fucking asshole, I almost killed you! Look at you! This.is.all.my.fault. I-!"

Loen felt a rush of angry flare in her "You don't get to treat me like a child. I don't care! I wasn't leaving you behind, not when I could control it. I'd rather die than be without you, you fucking asshole."

Loen met his eye, one was still red, but the other had returned to his usual gold.

"The hells does that mean.....?" Sage looked confused.

"I...."

Loen realized in all their time together, she'd never told him.

"Sage....I love you..."

Sage flustered, speechless.

"Loen....."

Loen smiled at him, tears streaming down her face. Ruining the new bandage Anisa had just placed

Sage's voice cracked "You fucking asshole.....I thought you were dead, I thought I thought I killed you...you weren't breathing...."

Loen reached up to stroke his cheek "Sage....it’s not your fault and I'm not mad...I made a choice...and I'll make the same one everyday for the rest of my life if it means you are here with me...."

Sage sighed kissing her gently before his head pressed into her good shoulder. "I..... love you.....don't do that again...please...I'm getting too old for that kind of shit."

Loen laughed lightly "Stop dealing with everything on your own.... we're a team...remember...?"

Sage nodded, kissing her forehead "You should get some more rest...."

As she laid back against her pillow “Will you stay...?”

Sage eyed the open spot next to her on her bed before kicking off his boots. Gingerly he took his spot next to her, tilting her head to look at him “We’ll need to talk about about your absolute disregard for your own safety..”

Loen’s eyes began to droop as exhaustion crept into her bones again “Deal.....”

[the-deep-fog]

The moon and sun have lost themselves to obscurity, and Fog descends. The environment is as classic a superpowered showdown setting one can get while still playing hospitality to a meandering mist that prefers uncountably many corners to hide itself in. One villain, a radioactive rebel holding to life like a weed that takes in pesticides for dessert, scouts the area, freshly healed and eager for a bout of vengeance. Another, the spitefully surviving embodiment of Harlan Ellison’s worst fears, calmly scours the playing field with no end of possible ending gambits stored in its motherboard/mind. Fully beknownst to their individual selves, whispered wonders and warnings reach them from unseen mouths yawning in the mist, subtly and ever so maddeningly guiding them further within the misty maze. Until, they meet. “Oh, Haricot,” CD crows, “back so soon? Why couldn’t you have stayed in the ground to rot a little longer? Are you that eager for another easy loss?” “Far from it, Chess,” returns Haricot. “Surely you don’t think I’d simply waste my time while relieved of your presence for ever so short a while?” It scoffs. “I should hope so, or else this will be over far too quickly to even be fun.” Ey smirk and start to reply, but cut emself off as the air between the two collects, gathers, and confuses into the outline of a figure sitting cross-legged with its chin resting in its hands. “Why, hello you two, Fancy meeting you here.” Both let off annoyed sighs (the similarities stopping there). CD speaks up. “Ugh, can’t you ever take this seriously?” “Yeah, way to kill the vibe,” Haricot follows up. Their complaints are met with only a grin. Suddenly directly in their faces, Fog actually replies, “So. I bet you’re wondering why I’m here.” The villainous duo look bemused, in a conniving sort of way. Haricot speaks first. “Believe it or not, I do know why you’re here- and Chess, trust me when I say it’s not a pleasant reason for you.” Incredulous, Chess replies, “Excuse me, but it’s not like I don’t know their reason for being here, and though your reaction seems improper it’s not like it matters that you think you know the situation, when in fact you’re in for...” “I didn’t lie, you know. To either of you.” Fog’s everlasting grin shifts slightly to a smirk, and the two rivals come to a realization at the same time. “Oh, you slippery little- “I knew that promise was too good to be true!” Well aware that riling up two of the biggest supervillains round the block leaves them in dire straits, the formless figure untangles their stature, giving off the appearance of taking a fighting stance. “Now, now, I’m not going back on my word at all! I shall deal as much damage as I can, just as promised. It’s only up to you whether to take advantage of the situation as it concerns your adamant adversary, or, yknow. Direct your avenging attention elsewhere.” Haricot reaches for a thorny beanstalk as they rise from the earth in numbers. “If you get dealt with permanently through all this, that’s one less thing getting in the way of me taking down Chess for good.” CD, in tandem, tessellates a jagged aspect of the ground and nods. “The less you bug me, Fog, the easier I’ll have it claiming victory over Haricot as well.” Zer smile grows even further, accompanied by the emergence of eyes from countless nooks and crannies in The Fog one could not imagine. For just because nobody could possibly know how one misty menace might pose a tangible threat, inflict damage of a directly mortal kind, it could be true all the same.

...

“Why are you doing this?” shouts Haricot, steadily growing a host of shrubs to shield emself with. “You must have a motive, nobody ever does stuff like this without a motive.” The Fog laughs, gleeful as ever, a booming sound that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. “You think I have a motive? That I am driven by anything to do what I do? Such things are the creations of you individuals; I have never had use for them. I go, and I act, and if that’s too much for you to comprehend then...” Though irradiating to demolition an eye that can hardly be described as there at all is a daunting task, Haricot pulls it off with determined flair. “Yeah, but you’re clearly going after me and Chess with some specificity- why go through all that extra effort? I know we’re not easy targets.” Fog lunges from & through nothing, resting in midair directly in front of them and looking at them intensely- less in a means of observation and more as mere eye contact for the first time they can think of. “Oh, the questions I ask have you asking questions in turn, what a wonderful relationship we have!” Haricot takes a step back, trying to develop personal space in a place where space itself can hardly be relied on, much less personhood, while Fog holds almost violently still amid the malevolent maelstrom. “I ask you this because you ask me the very same. Never has my question been, ‘why do you do this?’ because never have you, the one in my domain, done something humans don’t, and never has your question of ‘why’ been something I-” The ground beneath Haricot’s feet, steady as carbon-14, dissolves into murky air. Fog is torn to shreds above em as ey hurtle an unfathomable distance downward, till a web of vines and sludgy wood dense enough to support em forms. Though unclimbable walls extend around them, and depths great enough to distort the definitions of up and down yawn in every other direction, Fog reemerges from around a corner that cannot be found with an unprecedented frenzy in xer eyes. “You fight for your life, to survive, and I know how-why that happens. I know it,” they speak, with enough force to shatter a barometer. “Survival and curiosity are what motivates a human, but you two aren’t human, you reject it entirely, and you’re driven by more than this basic, primal duality, the intrinsic and extrinsic.” Can it yet be called an invasion of personal space when one has lost any sense of their body’s own position in space, and the other never had one to begin with? “You’re like me, and everybody questions me, and I too question everyone, but, I never- Sticks and stones degrade at the rotting hand of nuclear fusion. Haricot Heretic fights on.

...

Chess offenses, enacting gambit after glitchy gambit. “Damn you,” it mutters, then speaks more loudly into the stormy still. “What’s your goal in all this? Where are you trying to take this?” A cackle, harsh and untraceable, answers it at first. “Now, why would you assume I care for the results of my actions? That I aspire to achieve anything at all, beyond what you bear witness and contribute to as we speak?” Every word from The Fog’s mouths slithers through the air without discretion, almost as though it cares more about being heard than having its words said. The sharpness is turned down, resolution diminished, and threat put aside in a display of defensive tactics (though, how a cloud could ever be sharp enough to threaten in the first place remains bewilderingly unclear). “Look, you say you’ll never be satisfied, that it doesn’t matter if results are insubstantial- I don’t buy that. But you must know how we fight well enough to tell this won’t end well for you, so why devise all this in the first place?” CD asks again. It’s greeted by a face, ferocious and fanged, thrusting from the warring pixelation and obscurity besieging them. “I am transparent, you devil. You’re right, this is all futile, and for you to be correct at all shows my failure beautifully. I know not where this capacity for failure and determination in spite of such came from, because if I did, if my years spent interrogating the human race turn out to now have a tangible point, a lesson for me to learn, then-” Something or nothing or another scrapes hard against Chess’ horns, toppling it backwards into freefall. The ground, or whatever is passing for it, meets it immediately; jagged, hungry, & inviting. Something, many of it, planar and sharp enough to cut, is propelled or flung from the floor at it as it tries to pick itself up again. “You ask me questions I cannot, rather than will & would not answer, and I give you information I would & will not rather than can not.” Hir words seep through the condensation, slithering forward from behind its back just as easily as toothy mouths stretch as far as it can see in front of it. “You’re asking me questions none other have asked me- it should be inevitable. So why do I ask you, is it because you are different from any I have met before, or because I am different than-” The hard line between ones and zeroes forces separation and relief from the unclarity oppressing itself unto it. Checkmate is sought for ever longer. Checkered Devil fights on.

...

The fog is in no way noticed shifting, and yet Haricot & Chess find themselves in a clearing all the same. The two stand poised, not yet tired nor in peak form after all that has passed. Fog hangs in the air in front of them, not in form either. Sharp eyes, inhuman teeth, fill up space surrounding as they always have; a face, almost an outline, is arranged on Fog as it never has. It’s hesitant. Acting on impulse. Cowed and afraid. With all the cards in its hands. Ready to give up. Surely unstoppable. The target of infinite inquiries. Uncertain. “What do we have in common? Nothing of your motivation unites you with humanity- I am filled with questions, and that unites me with... them.” To Haricot and Chess, the sensation of eyes sliding their attention off them and onto another had never before been so very tangible. Nor had anything to do with Fog ever been tangible, though, only this far. “I know humanity when I see it- I don’t think these roles were meant to be reversed, okay?” they cut themself off, with their form almost seeming to be headed in a similar direction. Towards our villainous pair, a hand stretches forward. The wind picks up, drowning out sound & blurring vision, forcing the two to brace themselves; the only thing left clear in the maelstrom is a pair of eyes & a simple mouth- a face -and that hand, reaching, grasping, searching as far as it possibly can. “I am faced with the incomprehensible, filled to my limit with questions thanks to you two,” they yell, and scream, and whisper into the wind, “and it’s maddening. Every time i look at you two, it’s so, so, familiar it hurts

...

The sun rests comfortably in the sky. The moon, desaturated, finds a place above our villains’ heads as well. The Checkered Devil and Haricot Heretic stand, alone, on a simple grassy field. The air has cleared, only in a literal sense, and on the flat, clean, ground, rests a notebook, plain as can be.

...Does it get opened to the very first, or the very last page?

[kitkat1003]

On the Issue of Mortality

AO3 Link

Chapter 2: Whether weather whether weather, whether you're invulnerable or not!

“Hey, I’ll have you know that I can control my powers now!  The only downside is I’m not invincible anymore, sooo I could die.”

“WHAT?!”

Same, Pigsy.  Same.

Monkey King doesn’t do much, when it comes to his successor.  Not at first.

Sure, he watches the Kid from time to time, just to see what’s going on.  Which isn’t creepy, not at all, it’s just...well, how else is he supposed to check on Kid?  Besides, he’s not watching him 24/7, and he can tell when the Kid is in trouble now, from the flare of power he feels whenever Kid is using the staff or some other ability.

Sometimes, though, there’s no fight.  Like when he lets Mei shoot rockets at him.  Comical as it is, he can tell Kid is letting all this power get to his head.

But hey, why not?  Kid beat DBK, let him have a little fun.  Monkey King isn’t going to knock him for that, not when he did much worse back in his day.  Way worse

Yeah...he really had an arc, didn’t he.

He lets it go until he feels a massive flare, one that definitely isn’t controlled.  He summons nimbus and heads off, and finds Kid in a crater of his own making, looking lost.

Then, Kid tries to shove the whole “stopping the bad guys” thing onto him, and, like, hello??  He gave Kid the staff for a reason.  He’s retired.  Totally, definitely retired.

“Every time I try to do something I just gunk everything up!  Something’s wrong...” There’s something deeper to those words, more vulnerable and hurt than Monkey King is ready for.  He isn’t Kid’s dad.

Wait, does Kid even have a dad?  Is that something he needs to be concerned about?  Whatever, the Kid’s at least eighteen, he’s an adult.  Adults don’t need dads.  Monkey King didn’t need one, just look at him.  He’s the great Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven, the Monkey King.  Who needs parents?

Monkey King gets up, hops on the Kid’s shoulders to get a closer look, as well as groom the kid a little, because his hair is a mess.  Humans have all these advancements with soap and showers and they can’t even get their hair clean.  Clearly, monkeys have it figured out.  Nothing gets someone cleaner than a good grooming.  And hey, he finds a little snack in there!

He uses his golden vision of his for a second as he grooms Kid, and, yup.

There’s the problem.

Making the Kid freak out a little is all for fun, but the root of the issue is something Monkey King didn’t want to have to deal with.  A general lack of martial arts skill is easy, you just teach them the basics and work from there.  What’s wrong with Kid is going to take a lot more work, emotional work, and Monkey King didn’t think he’d have to expend that sort of energy for this.

 The issue, of course, is simple.  Lack of self confidence.

“I have self confidence!”

“Nope.  You’re just loud.” And that’s the thing, Monkey King understands.  He was always loud but he was confident not long after.  Then again, he got his powers gradually.  Poor Kid has them all at once, probably hard to find the confidence for all of that out of nowhere.

Jeez.  Why’d he have to pick the Kid with baggage?

Fake it till you make it is what Kid says, and he wants to scream, because that isn’t how it works.  If it was, then everyone could use the staff.  It takes a specific breed of something that Monkey King knows the Kid has, but isn’t letting out.  Self confidence, at its core, comes from a strong foundation.  If Kid doesn’t have that, then they have to start from scratch, which takes time.

And he’s not that annoyed, he’s willing to wait, but the Kid isn’t.  And, sure, yeah, there’s the thing with Red Son (and holy shit, Red Son?  That brat is still around?  He’s not using the fire, but still) and the Kid’s friends, but they would be fine!  Probably.  He doesn’t think they’re that incompetent.

But the Kid isn’t satisfied with that so he insists, and Monkey King pulls out a card he doesn’t want to play.

Control over your powers for the price of invincibility.  Seriously, if it were him, he’d never. He likes living, thanks.  But then again, this Kid is apparently loyal to a fault, because not two seconds after he gives out the idea the Kid is taking it.

And he’s confident, when he seals away the Kid’s powers, but inside he’s terrified.

Suddenly, this Kid can get hurt, can die.  This Kid could get hit by a car or smashed by a demon or fall to a host of any other preventable death scenarios because he’s vulnerable now.

And the thing is, Kid doesn’t seem to care?  As if the idea of facing unknown horrors with the added bonus of being able to die is just a regular Tuesday, nothing to worry about.  Which, that is so, so weird, and startling and Monkey King is a little proud that he picked a student so selfless, so willing to face mortality for the sake of keeping others safe.

But is it even selflessness or a lack of self worth?  A lack of self confidence is bad enough, but he doesn’t even know if Kid thinks he’s got value and that’s far more concerning to him than it ought to be.

He’s also got a lot of anxiety now, because he has to watch this Kid, to make sure he doesn’t die randomly.  Great.

He flies the Kid to the weather tower, because time is of the essence, and he watches.  Every wrong step the Kid takes, he tenses.  Every slip up, as Bull Clones go flying and chase after him, as Red Son rushes him—Sun Wukong clenches his fists and physically stops himself from jumping in.  He’s retired.  Kid’s gotta learn to clean up his own messes.

Kid is actually pretty good at using the staff to block blows.  Offensive fighting with it is slow going, though, and Monkey King files that away for plans of future training.  He watches the Kid run towards the control panel and the Bull Clones close in, and, for a split second, he feels a little flare.

Golden vision.  It flickers in the Kid’s eyes and he doesn’t know what the Kid sees, but Monkey King is sure it’s enough.

Or maybe not, as the Kid gets dog piled on by Bull Clones, Red Son jumping on top of the pile.

Monkey King holds his breath, wondering if he should step in—because he knows Kid needs to learn but what’s the point of learning if you die in the process—and then.

Then.

He lets out a sigh of relief and heads out as lightning strikes the staff, watching the Kid duck behind the control panel to avoid the shock, the explosion.  Smart.  He always used brute force.  Good to know Kid has a head on those shoulders that have more use than just a battering ram.

He vanishes into the horizon as the skies clear, back to Flowering Fruit Mountain.  Once there, he takes a deep breath, eats a few peaches.  Lays back on his cloud and grooms a monkey or two to try and destress.

It doesn’t work.  Dammit.  His successor is mortal and vulnerable.  This is going to add, like, 5 times the effort he thought he would have to put into training this kid.  He has to be careful.  He has to be cautious.  He can’t just throw things at the kid and expect him to be fine.

Okay.  This is fine.  Is it?  Maybe.  Probably not.

Because if the Kid is going to really take up his mantle, he’s going to have to deal with the enemies that come with it.  Which means dangerous demons, creatures Monkey King doesn’t dare name, all sorts of dangers that can easily kill someone, if that someone isn’t invulnerable.

He has to give the Kid space, can’t smother him, doesn’t want to.  But how is he supposed to breathe easy when his successor can die any time?

Clones, maybe?  But those always come back to mess with him if he keeps them around for too long.  And he’s an easily bored guy, his clones need action.  He doesn’t think babysitting will make them happy.

Ugh, he needs a nap.  If he can even find it in himself to sleep, with all these thoughts and questions.

He’ll figure it out.  He always does, in the end.

[notveryglittery]

birthday prince (3)

summary: virgil decides roman deserves a day off.  words: 2,100 / ship: prinxiety (roman/virgil) author’s note: this is part three of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts)  read on ao3

— — —

“Best two out of three.”

“I thought this was a birthday gift!”

“Yes and?”

“So why don’t I automatically get to pick the first movie?”

“Because I know you’re on a princess kick and full offense, if I have to deal with a talking animal as the comedic relief sidekick, I might actually die.”

“... Okay. Fine, okay, that’s fair.”

“On shoot.”

One, two, three, shoot — Virgil’s scissors versus Roman’s paper meant that the birthday boy did, in fact, not get to pick the first movie. He feigned upset for only a few moments longer before flopping back into their pillow fort. He supposed, given all the hard work Virgil had put into this, he could put up with one non-princess Disney film.

Earlier in the day, Virgil had rather unceremoniously kicked Roman out of his own room, claiming he had something important to do. Were it not for how close they’d grown, Roman would have been upset and suspicious; he trusted Virgil now, though, and knew that nothing would go wrong. He’d spent an hour playing cards with Logan and Patton before Virgil shouted for him from upstairs. When he’d arrived back to his room, it looked almost unrecognizable. It was mostly illuminated by fairy lights, providing a cozier feel than what he was used to; the floor to ceiling windows looked out into a rainy forest instead of the usual rolling hills; his bed had been turned into a truly impressive collection of blankets, pillows, cushions, and stuffed animals. The canopy had been removed which bothered him a little but only until he realized the projector that had been set up, pointing at the ceiling. There was a basket at the foot of the bed, filled with snacks and bottled drinks. Roman figured they could stay here for the next twenty four hours and be perfectly fine.

Surrounded by what was possibly every soft thing to be found in the Mindscape, Roman clutched Mrs. Fluffybottom to his chest as Virgil got the movie set up. She’d been his favorite plushie for the entirety of his existence; he’d taken her on many adventures over the years but she’d comforted him through a number of breakdowns too. He swore there was actually something magical about her.

Virgil threw himself down next to Roman; he had swapped out his usual hoodie for one that was fully dark purple and had even longer sleeves. After Roman had stopped gawking around his room, Virgil had tossed a sweater at him. It was so bright it was practically neon but it was rainbow print and he loved it. He’d immediately changed out of his t-shirt and had grabbed Virgil in a tight hug. Roman definitely intended on starting a sweater paw fight at some point during their movie marathon.

“You good with Hercules?”

“No comedic relief sidekicks, huh?”

“Phil is not a sidekick!”

“What? Are you trying to tell me right now that Philoctetes is a main character? You can’t say he isn’t comedic relief! He gets hurt just for laughs way too often!”

“No! I mean. Maybe?”

Roman laughed, bumping his shoulder against Virgil’s. “Whatever, you dork. Of course I’m good with it. You could have picked The Black Cauldron and I would’ve been good.”

“Talking animal. Comic relief. Sidekick. Gurgi checks all of those boxes. I would’ve been going against my own word.”

“Hmm, fair,” Roman said, humming a little.

As the Muses began singing them through the opening, Roman took a moment to appreciate everything Virgil was doing for him. The basket of goodies was stocked with every one of Roman��s favorite snacks, including enough chocolate to make him sick. In fact, it’d been the first thing he’d decided on, before Virgil could even tell him what the plan for the day was. Not that it was really much of a plan, anyway. Today specifically had been set aside just for Virgil to spoil Roman however he wanted. That apparently meant marathoning Disney movies, napping as much as they pleased, and eating all the junk food they wanted. It was a far cry from how Roman usually spent his time; what with all of the projects he was constantly juggling, or the content he had to help Thomas produce, or the issues to take care of in the Fantasy Realm. He didn’t really realize even how hard he was always working.

Apparently, however, Virgil had.

Something was shoved into his face, startling him out of his thoughts. He shot a glare at Virgil, who was watching the movie and acting totally inconspicuous. The item turned out to be a stuffed dragon, one he didn’t recognize from his usual pile of plushies. The scales were shimmery, a nice ombre of purple and blue shades, the wings were tucked against the body, and… Holding his hand against the stomach was warmer than the rest, as if it had a belly full of fire. That was so cool! He squeezed it tight in his arms and went back to watching the movie, feeling even comfier than before.

With the credits rolling, Virgil ushered them both out of bed and into a couple minutes of stretching.

“I’m not having you complain to me later on when your bones start creaking.”

“You make it sound like I’m so old, Virgil!”

“Older than me,” Virgil teased. He ducked out of the way of a thrown cushion. “Oh, is that what we’re doing?!”

Roman took a face full of pillow and suddenly it was on. He couldn’t begin to guess how long they fought for, darting around the room and over the bed, swinging their feather-filled weapons at each other. He did know that by the time he collapsed on the floor, he was breathless with laughter. Virgil was so far gone that he’d dissolved into alternating between wheezes and complete silence. Eventually, they did manage to get back into their nest of blankets, though there was plenty of shoving, poking, and tickling as they did so.

“I dunno if I’ll make it through this next movie so pick one that I won’t mind falling asleep during.”

“You besmirch the name of Disney if you think there’s a single film boring enough to allow that!”

“You dozed off the first time we watched The Good Dinosaur.”

Roman spluttered. “I had just come back from a week-long quest! And that’s Pixar!”

Virgil actually cackled. “You can’t pull that excuse! Disney owns Pixar!”

“Stop bullying me,” Roman cried, “it’s my birthday!”

“It’s two days before your birthday, actually, so I can bully you all I like.”

“I’m picking The Black Cauldron, then! See how you like dozing off during your favorite movie.”

It perhaps hadn’t been his best choice. With Virgil snuggled into his side, warm and soft, the sound of his even breathing accompanying the utter lack of any songs… Well, Roman really didn’t last much longer. They found each other in the Dreamscape. Edges were fuzzy, sounds were muffled, and touch was electric. The Dream Palace was a blurry shape in the distance, attracting his attention every so often when its crystal spires caught the light. Virgil sort of just appeared, as if created from the colors of the setting sun. Roman had a feeling he was made of the field of flowers he’d woken up in.

“I like it here,” Virgil said, sitting down next to Roman.

“Remy does a nice job with it,” Roman agreed, slowly picking daisies and dandelions to weave into a crown.

“You do, too,” Virgil argued. “You have a hand in almost everything, you know.”

Roman frowned at him. “I do not.”

“Yes, Ro,” Virgil insisted, “you do. The Memory Archives look the way that they do because you and Logan watched one episode of Doctor Who together and had the inspiration to redesign.”

Roman chuckled, a little nervously. “I guess.”

“Memory Lane doesn’t hurt Patton because it knows better than to hurt anyone you love. It might be connected to him and his room, but you’re the one that created that safety net.”

“Virgil…” Roman tried, voice slightly strangled.

“I just need you to know how important you are. You aren’t told enough.”

“It’s fine—”

“You’re important, Roman. You matter. You make a difference.”

Roman finally stopped trying to tie together the stems of the flowers. Virgil took his shaking hands into his own and held them tightly. It was just enough that Roman could actually feel it versus the tingly sensation that the Dreamscape normally worked with.

“We love you. We appreciate you and your hard work.”

If it weren’t for that everything around them was already blurry, Roman might not have noticed his vision swimming when tears filled his eyes. It was hard to not know suddenly that he was crying, though, regardless of how physically present he was in this space.

Virgil let go of his hands and instead, cradled his face gently. “I know I go against you sometimes but in the long run, I want you to be just as happy as you make the rest of us.”

He waited a moment longer before smiling and squishing Roman’s cheeks. Roman giggled a bit in response. Virgil gave him two careful pats before pulling away. Picking up the flower crown Roman had abandoned, he set to work on finishing it. Roman wiped his tears away and sat still in the sunshine, content to simply let himself soak it up until he was completely warm from the inside out.

When they woke, the screen projected onto the ceiling was displaying a screensaver of 3D pipes. The forest outside the windows had been replaced with a cliffside view of the ocean. Virgil stirred next to him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He absentmindedly pressed a kiss to Roman’s cheek before getting out of bed. He was gone for a little while, during which Roman found two more plushies that he didn’t recognize. They were a gryphon and a lion, both extremely soft to the touch, and with fierce expressions that reminded Roman of how Virgil looked when he was in fight mode. He wondered how these new stuffed animals kept sneaking into his collection but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

When Virgil returned, Roman burst into laughter, because yes, he supposed there was no chance of sneaking that one into the pile.

“There won’t be any room for me in bed, Virgil!”

“Guess you better get used to sleeping on the floor then,” Virgil said, dropping the massive Simba plushie on top of Roman.

This just made Roman laugh harder. The fabric on this one was fluffier than on the others, something he could sink his fingers into if he wanted. It was nearly as big as him, or maybe it just felt like that right now since it was smothering him. Before he could move it, though, Virgil sank himself down onto it as well.

“Virgil!!” Roman gasped between snickers. “Get off, you fiend!”

“Hmm…” Virgil hummed, pondering. From where he was laying, he could just barely look directly into Roman’s eyes. This made it all the funnier when he finally decided, in the most deadpan tone, “nah.”

After some wrestling, which led to them both falling out of bed and Roman bumping his elbow and howling for five minutes about his funny bone before Virgil kissed it better, they were finally settled back in to continue their movie marathon.

They watched Moana, Tarzan, and, Mary Poppins before sleep began to take them once more. Seeing as the sun had sunk below the sea quite some time ago, it was safe to assume it was late enough to call it a night.

“I got you…” Virgil paused to yawn. “Got you one more thing…”

“Vee—”

“‘S not much.” He held out Mrs. Fluffybottom for Roman to take. “I just… I made it so that she can never be hurt.”

For a moment, Roman’s lethargy was chased away by astonishment and surprise. He could feel the enchantment just from holding her, though it was passing by the second as the magic was fully absorbed.

“I know you… take her on adventures a lot. Fightin’ bad guys ‘n stuff.” Virgil shifted further into the blankets as sleep continued to take hold on him. “Wanna keep her safe. Know you will, anyway. But jus’ in case.”

Roman rolled onto his side so that he was facing Virgil. He kept the bunny plush tucked between them and took one of Virgil’s hands in his. “Thank you…”

“Love you. Happy birthday, princey,” Virgil told him, papping him once more on the cheek.

Sleep settled over them quickly after. Roman would wake in the morning, feeling more secure and warm than he had in quite some time, surrounded by plushies and Virgil’s arms, and know that he had so much to be grateful for.

[whetstonefires]

Since you like the Hellboy...*perks up* Can I ask what you like about it? Does this need to be part of the ask game, if so, smash it in there. But opinions! I would love!

Ooh! Hm. This is actually surprisingly hard to articulate.

I’ve been ‘into’ Hellboy for like. Half my damn life now, and while I could have gone on at length about all the things about it I found fun as a teenager it was at its core very much a ‘this makes me Feel Happy’ thing. And now that glow is less intense but it’s bolstered by that habitual sort of attachment you feel to like. Family members.

Let’s see how far I can break this down lol.

I have never been able to much like most of the BPRD tie-in type materials and I was not at all pleased with the films, so to an extent I think I can say confidently part of what I like is the way Hellboy is situated in a superhero-comic-adjacent space while being very much coordinated by one overarching creative sensibility--like, other people were brought in to work on Hellboy a lot over the course of the run, but Mignola always had a unifying voice and even when I don’t actually agree with his taste or values that level of artistic...intentionality? Judgment? Presence? Something like that. Gives the work a sense of...integrity? Maybe just unity.

Anyway makes it feel less plastic than comics often do. This is a corporate product of course but it’s also just Mike Mignola hanging out doing whatever he thinks would be cool. Drawing rocks and monsters because that’s what he wants to draw. I like that.

Some of the higher-quality webcomics you get nowadays, when they don’t take themselves too terribly seriously but aren’t outright comedic, can land similarly in terms of voice, but even just fifteen years ago webcomics weren’t really at that point yet as a medium, and even now most are still amateurish as well as amateur. Which is fine, but different.

To get slightly less meta, I love the collection of genres that are smeared together for Hellboy--we’ve got a lot of detective noir stuff cut together with cosmic horror and like...the genre where people research folklore and then mostly punch it. Does that have a name? And then there are a bunch of other influences stirred in, sometimes for only a single issue, sometimes more.

Mignola managed to be significantly less offensive than average about the way he adapted world folklore into his weird groddy kitchen-sink fantasy system, which is pretty funny because he doesn’t come across as being careful about it at all. Not that I think there was no effort made, but also he just used research as a basis for narrative much more often than he started with a story premise and stretched the creature to fit, which by default gave him less scope for dickery.

Also I think the only god he ever fights is Hecate and she’s handled from a 19th-century-occultist angle rather than a Classical angle.

Also Hellboy fights Nazis and cyborg gorillas as well as like. Baba Yaga and vampires. The balance of schlock and gonzo nonsense to pathos and sensitive emotional bits is usually about where I like it.

The episodic format is really well used. It lets the storytelling style lean heavily on the late-19th-through-mid-20th-century short story genres that it borrows a lot from, and which honestly has always worked better for comics than end-to-end long-arc serialization. I like how the anachronic order of many sections of the series allowed for a lot of ‘building outward from the middle.’

Also it means the story can stay true to its roots and kill off a lot of characters in gothic excess without constantly sloughing main cast or having to do fakeouts.

...I can’t believe that since Hellboy isn’t really emotionally involved with the issue of his birth parents except inasmuch as it explains the world-ending stone hand, the single angstiest part of his backstory is technically when he went on a drinking binge road trip around Mexico in his teens and made friends with vampire-fighting luchador triplets but then the youngest one whom he was closest to was kidnapped by the vampires and Hellboy had to kill his best friend, and this is all established in a random side story that pushes the intentional genre absurdism to its breaking point and is equal parts comedic and grotesque.

(The second angstiest is probably the bit in volume 1 when he finds his dad murdered by frogs.)

I also just love characters who wear trench coats and are actually really clever and knowledgeable and kind but tend to resort, in extremity, to just hitting problems really hard. Okay? I like that. That’s a fave.

Hellboy’s whole character design is very strong, a bunch of dramatic broad-strokes decisions that contrast interestingly against one another, and then a lot of subtler elements layered in crosswise.

The way his relationship to the narrative ‘occult-fighting antichrist figure’ could be really straightforward, but keeps stepping a little sideways off the usual shape of the tropes in a way that creates depth.

He’s a giant red demon guy who stopped aging in the 50s; he’s never going to be able to be ‘normal’ or pretend he isn’t what he is--but also he’s a dude with a government job and probably a Social Security Number who goes and interviews people about the situation and says ‘I’m Agent Hellboy’ and gets called ‘Mr. Boy’ and is just this guy who knows his shit and can take a beating.

(This was one of the major things I hated in the first movie, that they decided to make him this weird secret cryptid whose dad keeps him locked in a vault when he’s not fighting.)

The way the identity thing is never reduced to comfortable binaries with him except by enemies trying to psych him out is just really satisfying. He fights monsters not because he hates them or himself but because he was recruited into this career young and he’s really good at it, and he feels good about helping people who are being victimized.

When something occult isn’t hurting anybody he’s down to chill, and if it turns out they secretly are after all he’s always so tired and disappointed, and if they really aren’t then he has a new friend. Whom he may never see again or may hit up for a game of cards next time he’s in town.

(I also like how he combines ‘being pretty private’ ‘being very casually friendly’ and ‘being an asshole who makes a lot of enemies’; it’s not that unusual a combo for his type of main character but it’s one I enjoy.)

When he breaks off his own horns as part of his rejection of being Anung Un Rama it’s not ‘choosing humanity’ or w/e it’s choosing not to be used for this. His name is Hellboy, which is an objectively awful name but it was given to him by people he loved and who chose him, not the people who made him or brought him to this world to be used, and he chooses it.

And that has weight. That has force enough behind it to carry a world.

Just in general in spite of all the identity stuff he gets swamped with he’s really good at self-knowledge and letting other people’s ideas of who and what he’s supposed to be just wash over him. As the story goes on and shit gets weirder his sense of identity gets shaken, but he never quite loses that anchor in the knowledge that he is the ultimate arbiter of his own identity.

His exasperation on being told via stabbing that he doesn’t get to be King of England even if he is the first male descendant of King Arthur since Mordred is so funny. Why is this a thing, says Hellboy. Why am I finding out like this. Why do I always find out this shit like this. Why would anyone think I wanted to be King of England. I already punched so many skeletons about not wanting to be King of Witches.

He’s got so much righteous anger that comes out when people are treated as disposable, or as less for being not human or less human or superpowered, and of course it’s founded in his own experiences and his own fight for respect but it’s not about him. It’s about the person who’s suffering now.

One time his combat one-liner before shooting something started with ‘The Torch of Liberty said I was the worst shot he ever tried to train’ that’s so funny! I love that!

He’s my boy okay.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Flashback Friday || Morgan & Luis

TIMING: Distant past, in the days of yee-haw

LOCATION: The Magick Cauldron, Houston, Texas

PARTIES: @ontheluis & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Luis wanders into a magic shop looking for some herbs, Morgan spies an opportunity, and the cards know more than either of them reckon. 

CONTAINS: Mellow yee-haw vibes

“Welcome, traveler, to the Magick Cauldron! Browse at your pleasure and inquire if you have any questions!” Morgan had given the scripted greeting so many times, it came out of her in full customer service cheer every time the shop door opened. She didn’t even look up from the book she had open under the cash register anymore, but flipped another page and let the customers let her know if there was something worth talking about by shouting ‘lady!’ or coming into her peripheral view.

The Magick Cauldron was the only occult shop still standing West Houston after the Y2K stress fads had died away and the first bout of shiny, corporate development had found its way into Montrose and bulldozed a crystal shop, a Greek deli, and one of the few ladies-only gay bars in favor of a mixed use building that so far only housed a nail salon and a Jamba Juice. Ralf, the fine proprietor of the Cauldron as he called himself, said that this space was protected. As the door chimed open again and Morgan made her welcome speech, bright and shiny as the plastic plate armor hanging in the kid’s section, she wondered if he was right. She never seemed to serve more than a dozen or so customers during her shifts, but the lights stayed on, day after sweltering day. If Ralf was right, it might just be the one piece of real magic in the place, not that she could say that to anyone’s face.

The warped outline of a boy rippled over the glass counter and Morgan blinked up from her book. “Is there something I can help you with, weary traveler?” She asked wryly.

“Sorry ma’am,” Luis assured, “didn’t mean to bring the stray in here,”

Evening had fallen outside, heat from the blistering still wafting off the pavement. Telephone poles and streetlights were thin black columns that stood stark against the blazing orange and wane blues of sunset.  

“Go on, git!”

At the Magick Cauldron’s threshold was an enormous black dog. Even while quietly sitting on its haunches the shaggy canine was easily as tall as the teenage boy snapped at it. Pupiless red eyes regarded Luis impassively, only an ear twitch showing that the dog wasn’t just a statue.

When the black dog gave no indication of actually entering the store nor stopping its scrutiny of Luis, the young man cut his losses and regarded the woman at the counter again.

“Here,” Luis reached into a pocket of his jeans and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper, smoothing it on the counter. The names of herbs and powders were written in someone else’s prime neat handwriting. “I uh don’t know what any of this is…,” he confessed.

Morgan took the paper carefully between her fingers, trying not to let her discomfort at how damp and sweaty it was show too much. It didn’t take much to figure out she was looking at an herbalist mixture for anxiety and sleeplessness. She looked up and the boy, and down to the list again. “We’ve got everything you need over here,” she said. She lead the boy over to the bulk aisle where the dried herbs and bottled oils were kept and alphabetized. “Did you want these bagged separate or together? Or--you probably don’t know how these work huh? We’ll do separate, so you can use any excess as you wish. But fair warning, we have a purchase minimum of one ounce for each item.” She put a small paper bag on the shelf in the middle of the display and started shovelling the herbs in. As she worked, she glanded sidelong at the kid and the dog that had decided to become instantly fond of him. Someone cared about them, to throw together this recipe, and he looked embarrassed enough for a kid his age to seem like he needed help. Would it be wrong to squeeze a few more dollars out of him if it so happened to brighten his day or give him some direction? Sure, he was scruffy, but not so much as to be desperate. He could afford a few extra bucks, right?

“Hey, you okay there?” Morgan asked him. “You seem a little lost. I’m getting some ‘needs direction’ vibes from you.” She gestured vaguely. “If you’re looking for Niko Niko’s, it’s just further down the street. You’re not supposed to leave your car here while you go over there, but I won’t tell. And if you need something a little less literal, I might be able to help you with that.” She nodded toward the oracle room at the back of the shop, with its hand painted sign hanging crooked from a nail and entryway draped with lavender beads. “I do have sliding scale rates, if it helps you make up your mind.”

The great black dog continued to watch Luis in silent stillness, the Barghest’s posture poised as if waiting for something.

“No offense ma’am but I don’t believe in…,” the teenager half-turned but caught sight of the enormous stray waiting for him in the darkening sunset. Those pupiless red eyes immediately filled Luis with a nameless dread. Cold sweat stained the back of his T-shirt as Luis’ skin went clammy despite the Texan heat. Luis couldn’t process why some random big-ass dog would wig him out so much. He wasn’t even afraid of it biting him or even the dog itself.

So why was his heart pounding in his temples?

“Yeah uh..s-seperate would be great,” Luis reaffirmed to Morgan needlessly. The labels on the tinctures and herbal selections blurred in his vision as Luis tried to get a handle on his thoughts. “Direction like, oh you mean to the interstate,” Luis replied in a misinterpretation of Morgan’s broader meaning. “I’m alright thanks, yeah merging on that triple hairpin by Foster is a pain in the ass but it's chill.”

Luis looked over to the oracle room with the dubiety of someone for whom the occult was just a vague ‘other’ mentioned at Mass or when abuela suggested a Sonora Market cure for whatever new cold was going around. He seemed about to decline again until the creeping skin-crawl of Barghest’s glare boring into his back made Luis amenable to any distraction.

“Yeah uh sure,” he said, taking a step towards the beaded shroud. “I’ll give it a shot.”

Morgan followed the boy’s eyes to the dog. He was looking pretty well fed for a stray, and his eyes--red, alert, sharp with an uncommon intelligence--made her shiver. Definitely supernatural. She didn’t know, how, or what, but it didn’t look good. “And I mean--” How to put this in just the right way? Or at least the more convincing way? “I mean your spirit, your chakras. Believe in your connection to the universe or not, but are you really going to say to my face that you know how you’re going to make your life worthwhile to yourself? That you know how to reach your greatest good?” No one did. Heck, she was a devout wiccan most days out of the year and even she didn’t know what her highest, greatest good looked like. “And if you’ve got the cash, I’ll throw in a cleansing, something to make--” she gestured at him vaguely, “Whatever negative heavy energy this is that’s stuck to you. Seriously, do you ever feel tired out of nowhere?” It was summer and the sun was exhausting; everyone got tired out of nowhere.

Maybe she was laying it on a little thick, but Morgan was tired of ordering off the dollar menu for dinner and she felt like she was taking her life into her own hands when she conjured money from school pens and laundry lint cotton. This kid’s money might get her a pot pie that didn’t come from the freezer, or enough tacos to last her a week, or maybe she’d blow it all on seafood, or a dress that hadn’t been worn by someone else. “I’ll ring you up first, and then we’ll see about getting the rest of you squared away.” Morgan did, and when that part of the transaction was over, she lead him into the oracle room.

In truth, the oracle room was an old storage closet with the door taken out. Morgan breezed through them and went to the antique flea market find armoire, where all the necessary items were kept. Morgan took out a small tray of tarot decks and took the one she liked best, a well loved Raider-Waite with stars on the backs and gold-gilt edges. “I’ll shuffle them myself, but you should tell me when to cut and start again and when to stop. When I’m done, you’ll spread them. You’re the one who needs to connect with the deck, after all.”

Rafael Martininez had given his son that smirking half-smile while Malia had given Luis the pale blue eyes watching Morgan shuffle cards. Sweaty light brown hair clung to his forehead beneath the Dallas Burn hat, stray strands dangling back his eyes. The lanky teenager sat awkwardly across from the cartomancer, doubting not only her veracity but that a term like destiny could even apply to someone like him.

Like many children who’re so profoundly blessed to grow up in a home of unconditional love, Luis had no idea that Rafael and Malia given him a protection rarer than talismans, weirds, or wards. Rafael had come to this country for a better life, and Malia had wanted a home that was safer then the hell she’d left. Together they’d given both dreams to their children, so Luis and his siblings would never have to go through what they had.

The freckled face that lifted to Morgan’s was innocent of hate, abuse, or fear of abandonment. Even in following a strange woman into a shrouded back room, it’d never occurred to Luis to worry about anything more sinister than carnival charlantry.

“So uh...like this ma’am,” Luis asked as he placed some cards face down on the table.

It was this very innocence in Louis that dulled the edge off Morgan’s guilt. It was wrong (if wrong was a real concept) to spoil something pure, but if she was really the worst thing that was going to happen to this kid in his teenage years, he was pretty darn lucky. At least he was getting some introspection out of the deal. Could he have gotten a tarot deck from the discount bookstore two blocks over for a quarter of what she was going to charge him, or thought everything out on his own for free? Yes. But he was also some bushy tailed high school kid; could happen wasn’t the same thing as would happen.

She’d had more instructions to give, some arbitrary waving of hands and maybe some visualization in what one of her co-workers called her ‘yoga voice’, but Louis, in his eagerness, had taken more than the requisite three cards she had planned on, wich just meant she had a ready-made excuse for the forty dollars she was going to take from him. “My, my, aren’t we eager?” She said. “What’s interesting to me already is that you have intuitively drawn out one of the more complex and energy taxing card spreads. Imperfectly, but--” She straightened them out at random until they made more of a geometric pattern. “See? I barely did anything at all. These cards must really like you. I don’t normally do something this involved, but it looks like there’s something here that wants to come out, and I’m not in the business of stifling anyone’s growth or energy.”

Morgan flipped the first card over to reveal The Fool and managed to keep her laughter light and soft. “Well, even if I hadn’t been doing this for so long, this is you, where you are right now. Don’t take the title personally, these are antiquated terms. He’s just young, and at the start of a great journey, not even begun, just on the precipice. He’s got his whole life ahead of him, and the sun, see? It’s shining on him to show that the universe is aligned with his desires. The world wants you to support you, wants to see you succeed.”

The second card. The Tower. Morgan’s eyes widened. Not really vibing with the story she’d been telling, but maybe the one after… Eight of Cups. Morgan flipped over the last ones. Death and The Moon. “Hmm...Fascinating...” Morgan said, stalling for a way to spin this. “The thing about the major arcana is the magnitude of forces. Forces like destiny and fate and the collective consciousness. These forces are bigger than a ten minute fight with your friends or what you want to do after graduation, these are ‘beyond your control’. And you have four. The universe really does have plans for you, that’s kind of exciting, right?” She smiled, hoping to get some confirmation from him, or at least some more of his trust. “What does your intuition tell you about this journey, honey?”

Morgan’s performative coaxing elicited a dubious look, but the striking illustrations of the Tarot drew Luis’ attention regardless. The fool was poised with one foot over the cliff, smiling blissfully as the sun warmed his back. The tower’s blackened crenellations tumbled down the cliffside as the once indomitable edifice was battered into ruins by a storm. A haggard traveler slumped down in relief on a river bank as eight golden chalice stood resplendent over the churning rapids. Death rode on its pale horse, a scythe clutched in one skeletal hand while offering an exquisitely detailed rose. The Moon slept in the sky above a verdant shore. Wolves howled in its light while pelagic creatures breached on the lunar tide.

“Woah that art on these is something else,” admitted Luis as he squinted at the intricate illuminations, clearly sensitive to aesthetics but not the higher esoteric meaning.

Unfortunately intuition is only as good as the experiences which inform it and Luis Martinez had been sheltered from the world’s cruelty. It was a blessing to be sure, but it also made Luis unable to imagine that evil doesn’t need consent to claim you.

“My intuition is uh,” floundered the young man who had about as much affinity for divination as the average block of cedar. “The ranch’ll catch on fire, maybe a relative will die, but we’ll find like eight things that’ll make it better before the next full moon,” Luis posited.

Morgan’s stomach rumbled as the boy ogled the artwork on the cards. She was tempted to commend the kid on his ‘uncanny insight’ into the realm of the divine and take her money and run down the street for a hot stack of tacos. But the kid was so bright eyed and easily awed. She felt like she owed him at least some of her knowledge, even if she thought the tarot was psychological self-talk at best.

“Fortunately for your relatives, nothing here is quite that literal,” she said, laughing warmly. “But this journey you’re on, both within and without, is going to be perilous.” Perilous to the point of being seriously dangerous and traumatic, if this really was his subconscious sensing something on the horizon. But that wasn’t something she was going to say to his face. She wanted money without having to lie to her mother about where it came from later. “Even though your desires are upheld by the earth and stars, there will come a time when it feels as though you’ve been cast out and lost everything. But the key to staying your course is to…” What was a precious uplift-y way to spin this? “Hold fast to your sense of self. Remember the core of who you are and what you want. Because, if you do, then you will survive the upheavals, and you will be able to choose wisely what to keep, what to leave behind, and end up so strong, it’ll feel like you’ve been resurrected and leveled up into a new, better, cooler version of yourself!” She had no idea how to make sense of the moon card in a positive five star customer service rating sort of way, so she moved it underneath the spread, smiling like this had been her master plan all along.

“This card with the moon and the wolves isn’t your endgame, it’s an indicator of the vehicle, the thing that encompases the whole. All this massive change ahead of you isn’t necessarily going to be visible to everyone. It comes from within, sometimes hidden, like how you can only see the stars when it’s dark out and most of the world is asleep, and wolves howl when the world is in shadows. It’s like that. And it’s going to be amazing.”

Morgan checked her watch and slumped back in her chair as if she were exhausted. Not a hard thing to do when it was this hot out. “So, that’s gonna be forty dollars for the energy and the insight. Technically, with how many cards you pulled, it should be a little more, but I can tell you’re taking a risk on something new here and I want to honor that. But we can keep going if you have any more questions!”

“Vehicle huh...not sure dad’s gonna let me spraypaint moons and wolves on the truck,” Luis mused, perhaps taking the ‘vehicle’ thing a bit too literally or not wanting to think too hard about the possibility of his life changing.

Luis looked over the intricately illustrated cards, eyebrows wrinkling as he tried to parse through the profound chicanery Morgan had spouted. A bite of the lower lip hinted that Luis had never really encountered those who could appear to say everything while stating nothing particularly specific.

“Well shiiiii..,” the teenager breathed before glancing up at Morgan and catching himself with a small hssk of inhalation, as if some inner parental voice had scolded him about cursing in front of a lady. “That was pretty cool,” he amended, clearly at a loss before everything he’d been told, too polite to claim he didn’t believe any of it, but also too much a child of modernity to heed the weird feeling in his gut that recognized something...hit different...about this chance prophecy.

Luis grinned bashfully and unknowingly let fate’s final warning pass him by.

“Forty bucks huh, I’ll havta explain that somehow,” the young man noted with the mild consternation of someone blessed enough to just worry about a family member who’d be more peeved about gas money going to “fortuneteller” then the actual cash itself.

The bills slid across the table after some awkward wallet-riffling. “Thank you ma’am.”

Morgan snatched up the bills and shoved them down her shirt before the kid could change his mind. Whatever ominous feelings his subconscious were trying to air out was no concern for her. She had too many problems of her own to bother with anyone else’s. “It takes a long time to read the cards,” she drawled smugly. “And lots of energy, to open oneself and reach beyond the veil.” She waved her fingers as if to say tootles, and went back to fanning herself until he was gone.

She helped a lady find some yarrow and made up a policy about consultation fees to get another $10 in her pocket. She was using her agency to bridge the gap between minimum shop girl wage and living wage, working her will to get the right kind of energy flowing her way. Mostly, the energy of not-starving and not invoking the ire of darkness from using alchemy to get ahead. It didn’t line up with the rest of what she understood, neutral magic forces should be lining up to help her right her cosmic access and be less chronically miserable, but that was a problem to untangle another day.

At the end of her shift, Morgan shuffled the cards once again and lined them up on the cleansing plate the shopkeeper wanted the used decks put on. By chance, or so she told herself, she picked up the topmost card to see what was there for her. But it was just the death card, and Morgan knew the last thing that was gonna happen to her life was a hard reset. She stuck it back in the middle of the deck and slipped away into the long shadows that marked the summer evening.

[carmenlire]

Become Your Flower

read on ao3

Jimin sits down behind the register with a sigh. Working as a dining hall card swiper has one perk and one perk only-- it pays for the part of tuition not covered by loans and scholarships.

Thankfully today is only a two hour shift, not his usual four, and so as he reaches out to start swiping about a hundred campus I.D. cards, Jimin tells himself that it could be worse.

That’s never been truer towards the end of his shift, when his ass is mostly numb and he’s starting to look for his replacement to show up at any minute. On Thursday mornings, his replacement is always an extremely dour sophomore who spends more time on her shift looking at her phone than actually swiping meal plans.

Jimin’s seen regulars during her shifts swipe their own cards without hesitation as Jessica obliviously continues to stare at her phone.

Still. There’s about eight minutes left until shift change when Jimin sees him.

Jimin doesn’t know much about the guy that comes to the Dining Hall every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday morning. He knows that his fashion runs towards black oversized clothing and that he has eclectic taste in music, thanks to wildly varying noise that can be heard from his headphones that the student always, without fail, pulls down to around his neck when checking out.

It’s a small gesture, but Jimin appreciates the hint of politeness. They never talk more than the guy murmuring a small thanks as Jimin accepts his card and runs it, before he’s walking away.

On Tuesdays, the kid likes to sit for awhile at one of the small tables along the edge of the floor to ceiling windows in the dining area. Sometimes he's reading but more often than not, he has a sketchbook out or his laptop open and seems to be completely focused on its contents. On Mondays and Thursdays, he’s usually running around picking up his usual bottle of banana milk and a breakfast burrito or protein bar before barreling out and ostensibly off to class.

Maybe Jimin pays a bit more attention to him than he does to the other students he sees with unerring frequency but he just can’t help it. Jimin doesn’t know his name but he’s pieced together a dozen tidbits of information that all add up to making the guy someone he would love to get to know better.

At the top of that list? This guy somehow manages to be both a cutie and mouthwatering, dangerously hot. It’s a level of attractiveness that sometimes makes Jimin shy away in the face of such sheer beauty. For all his oversized clothing, the guy is built-- witnessed by the one time Jimin saw him out of the dining hall one evening when he spotted the guy walking back to his dorm from the gym.

In a sleeveless tank that showed off the tattoos winding their way up his arm, with his hair damp and falling into his eyes, Jimin was done for. The next time he’d seen his favorite customer, Jimin had fumbled with his card and it had fallen to the floor.

As he’d felt his face start to burn with embarrassment at his clumsiness, the cute guy had dropped and picked up his I.D., handing it over to Jimin again with a small smile before leaving promptly like always.

Inside, Jimin had been dying but he’d managed to give a curt nod of thanks and acknowledgement back-- mostly after the guy had left but still. He’d tried.

All of which, brings Jimin to now where cute student walks into the cafeteria looking like death warmed over. His hoodie swallows him up and his hair is a mess-- looks like a combination of having left his place without running a brush through it, like he’s been running a hand through it in frustration instead. He’s single minded as he walks to the cooler where flavored milks are kept and Jimin thanks the little lull just after breakfast time for being able to, unobtrusively of course, watch the kid pick up a protein bar before he’s starting towards the register where Jimin sits.

Eyes flying down to the screen that he stares at with a laser focus, Jimin sees the guy reach for the pocket of his jeans for his wallet absently. However, he looks up when the guy starts patting his back pocket with a sort of furious panic that can only mean one thing.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, though, as he lets the guy rummage around in his bookbag looking for his student I.D. From his periphery, he sees his replacement walking towards him.

Sparing a moment to marvel at how she never trips or runs into anything with her eyes glued to her phone, Jimin reaches out to get the guys attention.

“Misplaced your meal card?”

The guy looks up with wide eyes, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. He stammers a little, voice gruff like he hasn’t used it in a few days. “I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I got all the way here just to realize I left it at home.” Shoulders falling with a dejected sigh, he takes a step back. “I’ll just go put everything back, sorry again--”

“Hey,” Jimin says softly, trying to gently stop the waterfall of words coming out in an embarrassed hush. “Don’t worry about it.”

Without letting himself think too much about it, Jimin swipes his own meal plan before looking up at cute guy with a soft grin. “You’re good to go. Enjoy your breakfast.”

The guy glances between the register and Jimin’s face, which isn’t red at all thank you very much. “You shouldn’t have done that; what if you get into trouble? I should have doublechecked to make sure I had my card before making you do this--”

Laughing a little at the guy's face, which is painted in equal shades of relief and guilt, Jimin just waves his concern away. “I promise no one cares that much and no offense, but you look like you could use a good deed. I’m fine, you’re fine, no one’s getting in trouble. Looks like a win-win-win to me, doesn’t it?”

Jimin doesn’t let the smile leave his face as the guy narrows his eyes at him for a minute, looking like he’s trying to see into Jimin’s soul to make sure he hasn’t inconvenienced him. Finally, he sighs and Jimin relaxes too at his acceptance.

“Okay then,” the guy offers with his own smile curving his mouth. “Thank you,” he says with an earnest sort of sincerity that makes Jimin want to reach out and pinch his cheek. “I really appreciate it. I’ve been up for 36 hours finishing a midterm and I think I walked here in a fugue state.”

Jimin nods in understanding. “Midterms are hell, second only to finals. I hope you ace your class and that your victory breakfast is a nice enough reward for surviving a couple of all-nighters.”

With a sheepish laugh, the guy resettles his bookbag on his shoulder and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m sure it will. Thanks again.” Then he’s gone with an awkward wave.

Jimin doesn’t watch him leave, immediately startled by the curt clearing of a throat behind him. Spinning around in his chair, he barely manages to stop from rolling his eyes at his replacement looking annoyed as she types furiously on her phone.

“You were done two minutes ago. Get out of my chair and get to class, Park.”

Going ahead and rolling his eyes, Jimin doesn’t say anything as he logs out of his employee account and leaves the Dining Hall.

Most of the day goes by quickly. He has a couple of classes into the early afternoon followed by his dance elective. Hoseok, his favorite person in the group, is in a chatty mood when practice ends as he dramatically explains how a couple of his other friends need to get over themselves and just start to date already. Jimin laughs along as he hears about how much of an idiot these guys are being.

Apparently, the latest fiasco involves Yoongi making weekly playlists for a Joon and Joon recommending books to Yoongi, which they discuss every week at their favorite coffeeshop. Hoseok takes great pains to explain that he’d joined them the first time thinking nothing of their passing invitation only to see them cozied up together in an oversized chair in the corner, sipping their coffee and holding hands as they took turns arguing their stances on the book's subliminal messages.

“It’s maddening, Jiminie. Honestly, those two are so gone for each other and they don’t seem to realize that it’s not a bro thing to create a playlist titled Songs Almost as Comforting as One of Hyung’s Hugs and that friends don’t just discuss how romantic it would be if they had a partner who was as loving as the hero in whatever damn novel they’re were reading last month. The hinting is so obvious that it’s giving me headaches, I swear.”

“Ah Hoseokie-Hyung, maybe they’re enjoying this in between time, you know? I’m sure they’re both aware of where it’s heading but they want to enjoy the journey. Did you ever think about that?”

Hoseok snorts, leaning down to grab his water bottle before continuing. “No,” he says shortly. “Yoongi-hyung and Joon are just deeply oblivious of the other’s feelings and at this rate, they won’t have their first date until they’re old and gray.” Pausing to take a deep drink of water, Hoseok sighs. “I guess I’ll admit that neither of them seem miserable in their pining. They’ve been best friends since before I joined the-- ah, since before I started school here. It’s always been the two of them, you know?”

Humming a little in thought, Jimin wonders what it would be like to fall so naturally from friends to something more. He has Taehyung and they’re both very vocal on being platonic soulmates, but he can’t help but think that finding someone who has the warmth of a best friend and the devotion of a lover sounds like something else altogether.

With a little pang of his heart-- Jimin’s been tragically single since the end of his freshman year over a year ago-- he squashes down on the mild envy he has for people he’s never even met.

His thoughts break off as he realizes that he still hasn’t answered Hoseok and his friend is looking at him with the shrewd look he usually only reserves for reviewing dance videos.

Clearing his throat, Jimin just manages to offer, “It must be nice,” and thankfully Hoseok changes the subject with a deftness that doesn’t make Jimin feel put on the spot as they start talking about how difficult this new choreo is becoming.

Groaning, Jimin starts to stretch as Hoseok joins him on the floor. “I thought I was in shape but this song makes me feel like an old man. I’m going to start having to up my cardio so I can keep up.”

They commiserate for a few more minutes before Hoseok pulls himself to his feet and starts packing up, citing his evening class across campus. Waving him on, Jimin stretches a few more minutes while replying to the few dozen texts Tae had sent him during the day about new drama he had decided to start watching and was now nine episodes into.

He takes his time back to his apartment off campus and when he opens the front door, he’s immediately assaulted with the view of Taehyung in the living room, raptly watching his show while absently tossing goldfish crackers into his mouth. Watching him for a moment, Jimin doesn’t even bother to sigh as over half the fish miss his mouth entirely to land somewhere on-- or in-- their couch.

“Hey, Jimin-ah,” Taehyung greets him distractedly.

“Hey, Taetae. Show still good?” Jimin ruffles his best friend’s hair on his way to his bedroom.

Leaning into the touch, Tae hums in affirmative. “Have you gotten your crush’s number yet? Or even found out his name?”

Jimin huffs at the directness. He might’ve come home after his first shift of the semester only to regale Taehyung with the story of how a student at the dining hall had walked up to the end of the check-out line that morning-- radiating an intimidating aura, especially in his all black get-up-- before he’d watched the guy help the person behind him in line collect all their loose change that had fallen out of their purse and all over the floor.

It was like night and day between the guy’s abashed smile as he waved off the thanks as he picked up pennies and when he’d first walked in, expression neutral and looking like he’d flay anyone alive who dared to talk to him.

Sighing as he thinks about what had happened this latest morning, Jimin pouts. “No but I paid for his breakfast and he was all adorable and flustered about it so we’ll count today as a win.”

“You know,” Taehyung starts, eyes not leaving the television screen where it looks like someone is either about to get murdered or railed to within an inch of their life, “The way you describe him, he seems like a bit of a lone wolf type. Reserved but with a warm, gooey center. Maybe you just need to, like, befriend him. It doesn’t sound like he’s going to make the first move.”

“It’s not as easy as you think to make a move, Tae,” Jimin gripes. “I don’t even know if he’s interested in me.”

Sighing like the weight of the world’s on his shoulders, Taehyung finally looks up at Jimin. “That’s why I’m telling you to become his friend, dummy. You like him, he doesn’t sound completely off-put by you, it’s time to progress to the next level. Friendship. Maybe once you two know each other a little more, he’ll get more comfortable around you and then bam! You’re married with three dogs and a pink picket fence.”

“White picket fence, Taetae. Not pink.”

Taehyung just waves that away. “Pink is more homey. Anyway. We're two months into the semester and you still don't even know his name. Time to face your crush and actually do something about it before you end up living in the apartment over my garage and crashing into my main house every evening bemoaning how your life turned out like this.”

“You don’t have a garage. Or a house. You don’t even have a complete set of towels.”

“Then it will be all the more impressive when I move into McMansion and graciously allow you to live with me rent-free.”

Jimin snorts, feeling lighter with his best friend’s antics. At least his love life isn’t as dire as it could be, he guesses.

Still, he doesn’t want to give Taehyung the satisfaction of knowing he’s given him food for thought so Jimin just ruffles his friend’s hair again and hauls himself and his bookbag to his bedroom without another word.

Taehyung is immediately engrossed back into his show, muttering something about the betrayal of the sister-in-law.

Closing the door behind him, Jimin empties his bookbag. He finishes the readings for a couple of classes tomorrow and resolutely does not think about how he could woo-- befriend-- the extremely cute student he only sees three minutes a week.

There’s only a couple of hours of daylight left when Jimin surfaces, stretching his arms over his head and straightening from his desk, highlighter still in hand.

Tossing the highlighter onto his desk and shutting his anatomy textbook firmly closed, he stands and grumbles to himself for a few minutes before he figures that he should probably go for a run before it gets dark.

He really wasn’t exaggerating earlier with Hoseok. He’s only halfway through his first semester of junior year and it seems like everything’s been kicked up a notch, including his dance group. Hoseok is the new leader since it’s his senior year with Jimin as a sort of second-in-command and as the two of them had planned out the upcoming year over the summer, they’d agreed that they wanted to try something new and challenge themselves.

They’ve certainly succeeded, Jimin thinks wryly as he walks to the front door and laces up his running shoes. The two of them were having a blast experimenting with different styles and genres and putting together choreography with it all. Thankfully, the other dozen people in the group seemed to be enjoying the new creative lead from Hoseok’s predecessor and while it’s challenging, it’s also fun and stress-relieving in a way Jimin craves.

That doesn’t mean the newest song they’re putting together isn’t a lot to handle, though. Jimin can barely make it to the second verse of the song before he feels winded and Hoseok is noticeably pushing himself by the bridge.

Warming up with a light jog as he gets out of the congested student apartments and starts towards the park trail on the edge of campus, Jimin plans the rest of his evening. He still has a paper to write for tomorrow’s gen literature class and he has a case study for his political science class due in the morning along with a discussion post.

Could be worse, Jimin thinks with a huff as he kicks it up a notch to a steady pace along the trail blacktop. While running isn’t Jimin’s favorite way to pass the time, he knows that he needs to do something to increase his endurance and it’s almost relaxing-- enjoying the fresh autumn air all alone with his thoughts.

One of his favorite things about this university is that it’s bordered by a nature reservation on one side. Although he doesn’t take advantage of it as often as he’d like, it’s nice to get away from a bustling campus and busy college town. There are only a few other runners out this late and he’s in a good mood as he lets whatever stress had built up over the day flow out of him.

Jimin decides to veer off onto a gravel path when the trail splits. It’s a little overgrown but as he climbs up an incline, settling into each stride and definitely feeling the strain in his thighs, he decides this might just be his favorite stretch so far.

It’s like there’s no one else but him and nature and while Jimin knows he’s a city boy through and through, there’s a calmness in being so isolated that puts him at ease.

He’s almost to the top of the hill and his breath is definitely labored as he watches the ground right in front of him, steering clear of any roots or particularly jagged rocks when something falls into his periphery.

Flicking his eyes up, Jimin comes crashing to a stop, almost falling on his face as he slips over a rough patch of gravel.

Suddenly, his breathing sounds cacophonous in the quiet of the woods, under the piercing stare of a pitch black wolf.

Jimin stares at the creature. The creature stares back calmly although it’s preternaturally still.

He’d always thought wolves were just a little bit bigger than dogs and now he feels like an idiot because the wolf standing alert a dozen yards from him is definitely bigger than a dog.

Jimin swallows harshly and thinks that it would almost come up to his chest if they were side by side.

So very slowly, Jimin tugs his headphones out and lets them fall around his neck. He doesn’t take the attention away from the wolf to turn his music off and it’s another tinny noise that buzzes around him like a pile of bees.

They’re still staring at each other.

Jimin doesn’t know what to do in this situation. He doesn’t want to run away because what if the wolf attacks? There’s no question the wolf is terrifying, large and intimidating and so clearly a predator, completely at ease in the woods. At the same time, he feels like a dolt just standing here and waiting to be eaten.

There’s a dignified elegance to the wolf as he watches Jimin with gold eyes that seem to soak up the starting sunset. If Jimin didn’t know better, he’d almost think the wolf had been caught off guard at first before he’d stilled at seeing Jimin on the trail.

Calling himself a dumbass even as he opens his mouth, Jimin tries to put on his best soothing voice. “I’m not here to hurt you and I hope you’re not going to hurt me.”

The wolf doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, so Jimin continues, “I’m just out for a run and I would really appreciate it if you wouldn’t eat me. My roommate, Taehyungie, would be very displeased if there was no one to brainstorm his podcast episodes with.”

The wolf huffs out a breath, tilts his head to regard Jimin with a faint hint of-- is that amusement? Deciding that the terror trickling down his spine and through his toes is probably driving him insane, Jimin holds up his arms in an appeasing gesture as he takes a single step back.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says in a voice higher than his usual register. “I’m just going to leave you to do whatever wolf activities you were up to before I interrupted-- catching butterflies? Rolling around in the grass?-- and we’ll forget this ever happened. I’m so sorry I disturbed you and I’ll just be on my way.”

Jimin waits for a long beat or two to make sure the wolf won’t suddenly lunge for him but to his surprise, the black wolf doesn’t move a muscle besides the slow sway of its tail.

In the heart pounding moments between Jimin’s little speech and him turning around to back down the hill, he studies the wolf with an intensity that surprises him. He catalogs the gold eyes that seem to know more than they should and the thick obsidian fur that he has an inexplicable urge to bury his hands in to see if it’s as soft as it looks.

For a moment, Jimin is too mesmerized to be scared and it’s only when the wolf abruptly turns his head to the left, towards the deepest part of the woods, that Jimin startles and realizes that he needs to go and he needs to go now.

He doesn’t know why but he dips a little in a bow before muttering, “Thanks for not making me puppy chow,” and then he turns around and carefully leaves, heart thundering with the fear the the wolf could decide to attack at any moment, lunging for him without him knowing.

He can’t quite believe it but Jimin makes it back to the main path without incident. He bends over at the waist, lightheaded, and feels like he could almost collapse in relief at not having been torn to shreds.

Jimin picks up the pace as soon as it feels like he’s not going to keel over. All of a sudden the nature reservation that had felt relaxing in its isolation digs creepy tendrils of apprehension into him.

When he finally crosses over from the park into campus, he breathes a huge sigh of relief. He tells himself that he’ll just go to the rec from now on and climb on a treadmill if he wants to work on his cardio.

He tells himself that he won’t go back to the park or follow unbeaten paths again, not when the October breeze sends such a shiver down his spine.

He feels something watching him from the moment he turns his back from the wolf all the way to the edge of campus and tells himself he’s overreacting even as he can’t stop himself from searching the edge of the trail for gold eyes or a trailing shadow.

He doesn’t see anything amiss and he definitely doesn’t feel disappointed as he makes it back to his apartment without catching sight of the wolf again.

Stumbling through the door, Jimin toes off his shoes and heads directly to the bathroom, not even noticing Taehyung in the living room working on a painting by the last light of the day.

Jimin sums up his evening with an effusive thank God I wasn’t mauled to death and resolves to forget anything ever happened.

[kinetic-elaboration]

April 25: 2x16 The Gamesters of Triskelion

Finally watched some more Star Trek. I feel like it’s been forever...

Today’s ep is The Gamesters of Triskelion, which is... okay. It’s not terrible but I think its best aspects are the most familiar: the type of alien, the moral values at play; and its weakest are its most unique.

I think Spock likes it when Kirk says “mind the store.” What a folksy human thing to say!

Plus now that he’s Captain he gets to sit in the chair.

This conversation between Spock and Scotty is hilarious. “I’m assuming you mean they disappeared in an unusual way??” “Uh, yeah?? Do you think I’m dumb?”

This alien looks like Lady Gaga c. 2010

Kirk is being very Dramatic today.

Come on, Spock, gotta get your man.

You know Spock is worried when he mentions hope. That is, as McCoy says, a human emotion.

“Collars of obedience.” Kinky.

Stylish pink jail.

I’m really feeling this Spock and Bones interaction today. That’s a great eyebrow lift.

If the random alien is leaving, Uhura must have been his ass down.

“Nourishment interval.” We need to bring this into our modern vocabulary.

Not one, but TWO ladies in command gold today (one at Communications, and one at Spock’s station).

Wild aquatic fowl.

I feel like this episode is another example of a writer putting her alien sex fantasy on television. Like, a hardcore alien sex fantasy. The obedience collars, the training harness, the whipping, the weird flirtation between Chekov and his “training thrall”--herself a very androgynous alien, just to throw some gender play in there.

Kirk turning up the charm again. I missed Charming!Kirk. I mean, picking up a silver platter to use as a mirror and saying “That’s beautiful”? This man has no shame.

I feel like this episode shows how Spock’s logic is actually a very effective life strategy. He’s facing a very mysterious situation with high stakes--literally his best friend/soulmate/captain lost, plus two more crewmen--but he isn’t defeatist like McCoy or defensive like Scotty. He just follows the evidence, even when the evidence seems wild. And he was right.

Detective Kirk time!

“Are they computers?” He’s hoping so, since he’s very good at defeating computerized enemies.

Could it be instead another example of aliens who have transcended their physical bodies?

He is really laying the charm offensive on thick here.

I get how people have vague memories of TOS and remember Kirk as slutty, because certainly there are lots of shots of him kissing ladies, but like... 90% of the time he's using charm as a weapon, like he doesn't like Lady Gaga, he just wants to get off this planet.

“Love, for one thing.” Time for Kirk to be a Romantic Nerd again. He sure does love love!!

See imo just as it’s ridiculous for him to limit love to being one of the most important things on Earth, since he barely even spends any time on Earth and his general thesis is about what all intelligent creatures can care about besides their basic needs being met by “Providers,” I think it’s silly to limit love to being between men and women. And just as he’s kinda lying about the Earth thing, I think he’s lying about the heterosexual thing.

People in love “live together, help each other, make each other happy.” I love his definitions of love!! Like with Edith, he center helping each other in the definition.

McCoy and Scotty think they can take on Spock lmao. The Captain’s life is at stake; he’s not fooling around. And he’s right too so y’all can shush!!

Honestly, that leaning down to talk quietly to them--I know it’s because he doesn’t want to say the word “mutiny” too loud where other people can hear him, but it really reads like he’s mocking them.

Shauhna is harassed at work.

Spock’s like ‘screw a landing party, I will retrieve my space husband by myself... and I guess McCoy can come too.’

McCoy’s voice was the one Kirk heard but he still calls out to Spock.

Mmm, yes, disembodied alien brains.

I like the painted background behind them, too. Which is apparently stolen from Devil in the Dark. S2 needs more painted backgrounds.

“You think YOU’RE competitive? A race that does nothing but gamble? Well you’ve never met humans lol.”

Since when has Kirk ever competed for a woman? Hardly a competition when he always wins.

“Fresh thrall” something so... ugh about that phrase.

Ah, yes, an Andorian.

I’m starting to feel like this is Spock’s Pre-Reform Vulcan Sex Fantasy.

I feel like Shauhna will eventually become the leader of the Triskellion people. My mom thinks it would be cool for Kirk to meet her again in the future. I feel like there’s a fanfic in there somewhere...

“I didn’t lie, I just...lied.”

Honestly, don’t bother leaving everything to these disembodied colorful brains, just take Shauhna with you and enlist her in Starfleet. Or at least, like, high school.

...And after all that she STILL has a crush on Kirk. The man is too powerful.

What, no return to the Enterprise? No Kirk appearing shirtless on the bridge? No everyone acknowledges that Spock was right the whole time? No awkward little joking time?

I guess perhaps Kirk is embarrassed.

So overall... again, B basically.

As far as commonly used tropes in Star Trek go, this one is actually one of my favorite ones. I like it more than “godlike man must be defeated” and probably even more than “computer runs society,” though not as much as “old Earth tech becomes sentient.” But generally speaking “aliens transcend corporeal bodies by becoming too smart” is a good trope and I like seeing the different spins on it: the Organians, who can choose corporeal bodies if they want and are incredibly peaceful; the aliens from Return to Tomorrow, who wish they still had bodies; the aliens from The Cage/The Menagerie, who do have bodies but can’t do much with them, who must rely on aliens they capture to do physical work on the planet’s surface for them; and these aliens, who are so bored they must rely on arbitrary wagers using enslaved aliens just to have something to do. There’s something sort of... sad but fitting about that fate. Understandable, awful, pathetic. Still, I wouldn’t call this my favorite take on the trope.

But the specifics of the story, outside the “brain-aliens trope,” I didn’t like so much. The BDSM kink stuff mixed in with like actual slavery made me super uncomfortable. I know it’s based on Ancient Rome but like... even though it was a clear bread and circuses situation, that was not what I was thinking of tbqh.

This is a good episode for showcasing Star Trek Values, which overall I would say are my values. I do see how some people today would criticize them for being a little... well. How to say it. Colonizer-savior. I completely disagree that this is the reading that should be given to them and in fact I think it’s a bad faith reading but people are the way they are and certain things are in vogue sometimes and not others, so. I just mean that when Kirk says that they (the Federation, one would assume) have helped other civilizations “progress” or whatever word he uses, it sounds a little like they came in and made alien societies better using their own values. But I would say that what we actually see, in specific examples throughout the series, is the Federation wanting the civilizations it interacts with to be free, in fact requiring members state to be free, and that is really the one value a free society can impose on others or require of others--choosing slavery or dominion is choosing to relinquish all future choices, and thus cannot be allowed by any society that values freedom. That catch-22 that we see so much now. So, my point is, I think the values Kirk epitomizes for the show are freedom, self-determination, and a certain conception of progress, too: the ability to grow and develop, the avoidance of stagnation. And certainly this episode shows a clear case: having everything provided for you in exchange for being the professional playthings of a bunch of disembodied brains is objectively bad! Surely we can all agree on that. But this obvious example is used as an excuse for Kirk to speechify on the topic of what a utopian future will look like, what the best of humans can be, and what the rest of the universe could be like if it learns from our best traits (and not our worst). Which is overall something I find very comforting.

I’d just been thinking, at the beginning of this episode, that I think S1 is a better Kirk season than S2. S2 has too many episodes that problematize his leadership or his heroism, or that barely even use him--even episodes like The Trouble With Tribbles that outright mischaracterize him imo. But this episode really was Classic Kirk and I appreciated that. We see him being charming, smart, selfless, strong, creative, romantic... coming in at the end to embody the utopian values of the series.

Spock was so well characterized and so smart and so heroic, too, that he kinda was the mvp for me, though... Don’t take away my Kirk stan card lol. Spock was just so In Command... You can see how he could become a captain later, even if being in command never really interested him much.

I don’t entirely get why Kirk bargained for the thralls to all stay and make their own government (or to be trained in self-governance by their enslavers... a whole different issue tbqh), given that it’s already been established that most/all of them have been kidnapped from other planets. Should they not be... returned?

And if most/all of them are 2nd or later generations, that’s a whole other complex issue that could perhaps use third party mediators or something...

I also wondered about Shahna's origins. Was she the descendant of another civilization that is native to the planet, or is it just that her people were kidnapped so much earlier that she herself, personally, has never lived anywhere else?

I think it both makes more sense and is a more fitting ending if it’s the first. It makes sense to me that the first peoples enslaved by the brains were natives of the planet: more convenient that way. Also, I think we need to see more alien planets with more than one humanoid or human-intelligence level species.

And, if her people are native to the planet, having them become leaders of their own right again and not just possessions of the glowing brains is more powerful. Otherwise it's kinda sad: yes, they can form their own government here, but they've still been robbed of their real history and their real homeland, which they don't even remember.

Also as my mom pointed out, it’s not clear the brains themselves are native to the planet. They could have been invaders--the last real thing they did before they started wagering fake money--and Shauhna’s people the natives.

I really did like Shahna a lot and I hope she becomes the leader of whatever government they set up and eventually does get to travel into space.

Imo this was one of those TOS eps where the potential back story and the hints of world building are more interesting than the actual story.

Also apparently the actor who played Galt was trying to walk in a gliding manner so it wouldn’t be clear what he was hiding under those robes and... I have to say, definitely wheels.

Next up is A Piece of the Action, one of my favorites. Great plot, great fun, great sci fi concept, great Kirk material!

[kurowrites]

Hello! If you feel like it, wangxian with 36 would be lovely. :3 Have a great day!

Prompt 36: You throw a snowball at a friend but missand hit them instead.

Wei Ying was out for revenge. His stupid brother had gotten the dropon him last week, and he couldn’t let this injustice stand. He was going toabsolutely drown Jiang Cheng in snowballs this time.

It was probably rather childish that they still got involved intosnowball fights every year during wintertime, but whether he was twelve or thirty,it was fun to make Jiang Cheng eat his words (and snow) every year. He had areputation to maintain, and he was ready to defend it. It was, basically,tradition at this point. So he had prepared a small army of snowballs, and hewas ready to use them on Jiang Cheng with extreme prejudice.

He had planned it all out so perfectly, so meticulously, and thenJiang Cheng had to spoil the entire thing by moving at the worst moment.And that was how Wei Ying ended up throwing a snowball with full force into theface of a perfect stranger.

Everyone froze for one moment, even Jiang Cheng’s eyes widening inshock.

The next moment, Wei Ying ran over to the stranger in a panic.

Shit. It wasn’t just the snow. This attack must have actually hurt; thesnowball had been pressed tightly and he had thrown it with full force.

“I am so sorry!” he exclaimed before he had even reached thestranger. He reached out with his glove to help wipe the snow off the man’sface, and then checked him in a slight panic. The skin had become reddenedalready from both the impact and the cold, and Wei Ying was half fearing thatthe man was going to have a nosebleed.

“Oh my god, I cannot apologise enough,” Wei Ying said, a littlequieter this time, and he cursed himself internally. He had smashed the face ofa really, really handsome man. This was the kind of face they would want toprint in magazines. This man was probably a model or something like that. Justhis luck. He would be getting sued any moment now.

“It is alright,” the stranger said stiffly, wiping the last bits of snowoff his face. “I am sure it was an accident. Be more careful next time.”

“I will, you can believe that!” Wei Ying promised him. Then he hoveredaround the man uselessly, trying to figure out if there was something he could do.He did feel extremely sorry about the whole event, after all. He’d just wanted totake revenge on Jiang Cheng, not assault unknown but good-looking men. “Can I…I don’t know, can I help you?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” the stranger replied, fishing out some snowfrom the collar of his long white coat.

Wei Ying couldn’t be content with that reply, however. He had reallydone a number on this man’s face, and while he would have probably laughed atJiang Cheng’s misery if the same thing had happened to him, he held no grudgesor ill will against this man. He also didn’t look like he was accustomed togetting pelted with snowballs, so he felt additionally terrible about it. Itfelt like bullying a cute pet, somehow. He was the worst.

“Can I maybe offer you some warm beverage from that café over there?”he asked in his desperation. “Maybe it helps you warm up a little. You’re halfdrenched in snow.”

It wasn’t entirely wrong, too. The stranger’s clothes were damp now,his hair a little tousled, and his face still red.

The stranger opened his mouth, no doubt ready to decline the offer,when he suddenly stopped and scrutinised Wei Ying intently, as if to gauge hisintentions.

Wei Ying made his best ‘I have never done a bad thing in my life andI am very sorry’ pitiful face.

It seemed to work. The stranger sighed once, and turned towards thecafé.

“A tea would be agreeable.”

“Yay! Okay! See you later, Jiang Cheng!”

And with that, he jogged after the stranger who was already headingtowards the café with quick steps.

They found vacant seats immediately and sat down at the small roundmetal table decorated with a small bouquet of flowers. The interior of the caféwas rather hipstery, but Wei Ying knew from experience that they made very goodcoffee.  

“So, what’s your poison?” Wei Ying asked. “Choose whatever you want,it’ll be my treat.”

“Just tea is fine, thank you.”

Wei Ying raised an eyebrow. “Here is your chance to take revenge onme and order the most elaborate concoction you can think of, and deplete myalready severely stressed wallet to boot, and you order tea?”

The stranger looked at him with what Wei Ying chose to interpret asa very flat version of offense.

“It is not my intention to exact revenge on anybody.”

“Mmmh, I see you’re a good person, unlike my brother who would havemilked this for all its worth.”

He smiled at the stranger, got up and went to the bar to order: onepot of tea for the handsome stranger, one very black coffee for himself.

As he returned to the table with the beverages balanced on a try, henoticed the stranger was watching his every move with intent. Was he afraid ofany more sudden attacks? Wei Ying had reached his limit for the day, thank youvery much.

“I really am very sorry about that, by the way,” he said again. “Iusually don’t go breaking the noses of handsome men to get their attention.”

“I do hope so,” the stranger said, and then he was silent again,still watching Wei Ying as he placed the tea pot in front of him.

Wei Ying coughed nervously. “My name is Wei Ying, in case you werewondering.”

“Wei Ying,” the stranger said, as if testing out the sound of thatname. Wei Ying had to admit that he kind of liked the way this man said hisname. With intent. “My name is Lan Zhan.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying smiled, happy that the man didn’t seem entirelyaverse to conversation. “So, tell me, Lan Zhan, what do you usually do when you’renot busy getting your face battered? Have I ruined your livelihood bydestroying your most important asset?”

“No,” Lan Zhan said. “I am an assistant professor. I could teach evenwith a broken nose.”

“But all the students would cry if their handsome professor gotmauled! Oh god, are they going to hunt me down?”

“Doubtful,” Lan Zhan said, taking a careful sip of his tea. “I donot believe they care.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re entirely mistaken, Professor Lan,” Wei Yingsaid, amused. “The students have to be wild for you. And the rest of theteaching staff as well! You must be very popular.”

“No,” Lan Zhan answered, looking a little doubtful. “I think I am…too stiff for that.”

“Not so,” Wei Ying said confidently. “You’re drinking tea with me,after all. Not stiff at all, see?”

“Hn,” Lan Zhan agreed. “Perhaps the trauma of being assaulted by asnowball made me act irrationally and out of character.”

Wei Ying gaped at Lan Zhan for a moment in utter disbelief.

Then he saw the tiniest uptick in the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth. Hegasped loudly.

“I can’t– I can’t believe this! Was that a joke at my expense? Ah, what abetrayal! Now I hope you had been a stiff fuddy-duddy! How dare you!”

Lan Zhan took another deliberate sip of his tea.

“Perhaps that will teach you not to use projectile weapons in publicin the future,” he said primly, but there was a glint in his eye that made WeiYing’s heart beat faster despite his words.

“Fine,” he conceded with a dramatic slump in his chair. “I willagree to exercise restraint, if you promise me to shield me from any studentsplanning bloody revenge for disfiguring their favourite teacher.”

Lan Zhan considered that for a moment.

“That can be done.”

And then, to Wei Ying’s utter astonishment, he pulled out a business card and a pen out of his leather bag, andwrote his personal phone number on the card before he handed it to Wei Ying. WeiYing was almost sure he saw the bastard smile.

“For any protective services.”

[fablesrose]

Of Kings and Shadows XXVI

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Notes: On Wattpad –> Here

Series Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days.

With the help of Loki and regularly scheduled meals (even if they were served through a straw since I couldn't use my hands) helped reset my internal clock to be able to keep track of the time.

It's been three days since I gave my report, part of it anyway, and no one has come to visit me. No one has talked to me. Loki hasn't come down to one of my therapy sessions. No one has even turned on the radio for me to listen to.

Yesterday they let me off of my restraining stand. It was an awkward procedure, with the restraints releasing, waiting for me--Noxy to step off of it, and then they froze the jumpsuit while they pulled the contraption through the floor and out of the way. Noxy could literally do whatever she wanted, but instead, she laid on her back, spread eagle and stared at the ceiling. She didn't hardly move.

Since that was boring as hell, I tried to occupy myself with no hope of ever getting human (sort of) contact again since I admitted to killing a fellow agent who I called my friend.

So, to pass the time I have made three card houses, each one more complex than the last, played tic tac toe with myself (spoiler: I only won once), touched up on my juggling skills, made out with my favorite celebrity more than a few times, got into an argument about shopping carts, and thought about impossible things, impossible places, and impossible  dreams.

That was until the outer door opened. I couldn't think of a time that the door had opened. Loki stayed outside of the entire enclosure, maybe on a whole different floor. Food and water were delivered electronically with no need for a door.

But here we were, someone with cotton-light footsteps walked around the glass so much that I couldn't tell where they were until they spoke from the opposite position of the entrance.

"Hey Y/n," Natasha spoke softly, the way she only spoke with the team, on a good day. "I know you can't talk back to me, but I figured I could talk to you."

My first visitor. It felt nice.

"I know Lokes hasn't been down in a few days, but just hang in there. He'll come around. He always has." She gave an at ease chuckle, "You know, none of us would have believed it, but he's really a part of the team. He looked and sounded so stiff the other day, I haven't seen him like that in forever, honestly."

I wonder if being in a coma was like this. Being able to hear them, but not answer. I hated it.

"We've really added to the team, I don't know if Loki told you. They're all going to love you... If Wanda would stop being a little butt-sore." She left a pause to think, "Anyway, I just wanted to say that we miss you. I miss you."

I wouldn't have been able to tell if she had left or not except for the fact that my mouth opened and a voice not quite mine came out, "You know, I could tell you what she's saying."

A feeling of dread washed over me. This was not going to be good.

"She hates you. She hates all of you. You left her to rot in a cell for seven years, only to bring her back to rot in a different cell." Noxy still lied on the ground, not looking at Natasha, so neither could I see her reaction. "You left her all alone in a cell that gives her nightmares. One that just drags her back into a time where I wasn't there. Not yet,  but oh how she wished for a sweet release for the pain." Her laugh was warm and inviting, but it was so bitter I could nearly taste it and gag, "And then you just waltz in here and say you replaced her. The audacity! How many people did it take to fill up the hole she left behind? Three? Four? Zero? Maybe there wasn't a hole at all." Noxy rolled onto her stomach, feet crossed in the air, and her chin resting on her hands. Her eyes were still fixated on the white ceiling, puposefully making it so I couldn't see, "So yeah, she absolutely loathes you."

I was devastated at what she said to her. There was nothing I could do to stop it.

To Natasha's credit, it didn't even sound like she flinched, or even blinked knowing her. She just said simply, "I don't believe you."

Noxy paused from waving her crossed ankles before answering, "You're right. Y/n didn't say those things, you wanna know why?" This time she looked at Natasha's stone-cold face, "Because she isn't saying anything at all. Now you tell me, " Noxy blinked slowly, pleasantly, "which is worse?"

Natasha didn't reply, but I did catch the faint movement of a swallow.

Noxy began a little sing-song: "She's gone! Disappeared! Never to return! The little girl you knew has left forever."

Natasha shook her head, "That's not true, we spoke to her just the other day."

Noxy raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure?" She raised her voice mockingly which added a bit of grain, "Oh, I'm Y/n and I love my friends! Let's have a sob-fest that this happened to me and I'll tell you everything you need to know about my King."

Blinking slowly, Nat turned on her heel and mumbled, "Yeah, this isn't working."

"Buh-bye!"

I sighed to myself. Noxy was going to ruin everything. First I pushed away Loki. Now Natasha isn't going to be on my side. One by one they were just going to leave me here to die. Not that I expected anything less in the months before, but it still hurt. What little was left of my hopes and dreams took a nose-dive. I wasn't sure if I could recover before I crashed and burned.

Who was I kidding? I'm pretty sure I already have.

A couple hours went by with me wallowing in self-pity. I couldn't even find it in myself to hum a song. No lyrics came to mind. So I sat. I stared at whatever Noxy stared at. It was all the same, white walls and bright lights.

That is, until something felt a bit different.

Congratulations Wanda, you've graduated to burlap!

Wanda mumbled sarcastically, Thanks, Y/n. Natasha would like to speak to you.

Oh, she already did and didn't receive a very kind response. Not from me of course, but...

Fine, Natasha would like you to speak to her.  

I laughed shallowly, Alright, and how are we going to do that?

Wanda didn't answer me, instead a voice that I heard a few hours before spoke.

Hey... How're you holding up?

A sense of calm came over me, knowing that she could talk to me.  I could still feel the roughness of Wanda's magic holding us together, but after the last few days, any company at all was worth it.

As well as you could expect I guess.

She hummed at me softly, It sounds like you're doing better than any of us would in your shoes.

You flatter me.

I gotta butter you up some how don't I?

I laughed a real laugh. My word it's been a while. I am a little concerned about what Natasha.

That's for me to know.

And for me to find out?

No.

I chuckled one more time, Alright Natasha, what did you really want to talk about?

She feigned offense, What, I can't just talk to my friend?

I've known you long enough that everything you do has a purpose.

She paused, Well maybe my purpose is to check up on my friend who's voice I never thought I would hear again. And to make sure that she knows that we have her back, and if Loki doesn't get down here to keep you company I'll kick his ass myself.

Thanks Natasha, but I don't blame him. Not fully anyway.

Why would you ever think that?

I would have taken a deep breath. I wasn't sure if I was ready to say it out loud. I wasn't sure if I was ready to make it real. But the mind makes thoughts more fluid, so it's harder to quickly change an answer to a simple 'no reason.'

I chose to kill someone.

So have we all.

Not a friend. Loki, he killed so many, but he didn't know any of them. You and Clint were assassins, but did you ever kill someone you were friends with?

She didn't answer. I didn't know whether it was a silent confession of guilt, or a concession of my argument.

Neither of us spoke for a while, choosing to let the conversation stew for a while.

Eventually she must have grown tired of the quiet and decided to end the conversation, So, Nick says that the next report will be tomorrow.

Okay.

Uh... She trailed off, not sure what else to add, Take care.

You too.

I felt Wanda break the connection between us and she left too, but not before sending a feeling.

One that I wasn't sure I still knew the name of.

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