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jinnie-ret · 5 months

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Hiii can I rq a skz x 15 y/o trainy were she acts v gen z n stuff?

generation z

aka 3 times Y/N left the boys feeling old

stray kids x reader (platonic)

genre: fluff, crack

content warnings: none

word count: 1.2k

summary: she's the youngest of the group and the boys can't keep up with her internet slang

Ok first of all I'm sorry my mind got jumbled and I wrote this as the ninth member instead, but if you want to you can still read it as a trainee friend :) also I tried so sorry if you find this cringe lmaoo

MAIN MASTERLIST

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

1) Slay

Y/N was currently on a VLIVE with danceracha, not that she was a part of it, but she was the best hypeman around, both the boys and Stays knew this. They were practicing 'Wow', the danceracha track and Y/N was obsessed.

"Wow, wow, wow!!" Y/N shouted along with the song's chorus, comically jumping up and down in the back of the room and waving her SKZ lightstick around. It was quite the scene, Stays laughing in the comments at her enthusiasm whilst admiring the boys dance.

As soon as they finished dancing she cheered loudly for them, handing them their water bottles and reading the comments from Stays.

"'Y/N is the best hypeman', duh!" Y/N jokingly pulled an obvious face at the camera as she continued reading comments, Hyunjin sitting next to her and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

"'Y/N is so me'," Y/N read out and smirked, "hey Stay..."

"Oh lord," Hyunjin moved away, already anticipating that their maknae was going to do something that would disturb his ears. And he was right to do so.

"I AM YOU, I SEE ME IN YOU-" Y/N sang loudly at the top of her lungs, before Lee Know muffled her shouts with his hand.

"Aigoo, our Y/Nnie is so loud," he patted her head too, a condescending smile on his face.

"Yah hyung! You're normally the loudest! Let her be hyper!" Felix giggled, pushing Lee Know's hands away from Y/N.

"Yeah, Stays think I'm funny!" Y/N stuck her tongue out as the boys and her sat around reading the comments again.

"Go on then, give us a joke, Miss Comedian," Hyunjin poked her cheek.

"Ok, Lee Know your hands smell like cat litter," Y/N shrugged her shoulders and said bluntly, making danceracha burst out into laughter and Lee Know get up to chase her.

"That wasn't even a joke," Hyunjin giggled.

"It was a diss," Felix laughed along, the other two still running around the room. It was too much for Stays to handle, this moment going into many fan compilations in the future.

"Hey, hey Stays," Y/N stood in the middle of the room, fighting against Lee Know as he tried to drag her off screen.

"Hey, Stays, all around the world, you make Stray Kids SLAY!!" Y/N cheered and then squealed as Lee Know lifted her into the air.

"What-" Hyunjin facepalmed, shoulders shaking as he laughed.

"I'm gonna have to use that one," Felix nodded as he giggled.

2) Gyatt

Y/N was currently recording her parts in the ROCKSTAR album, entering the studio with an iced coffee in hand.

"What's poppin?" she matched Han's energy as he laughed and repeated after her, Chan and Changbin shaking their heads with small smiles.

"Ok, Y/N, we're recording Megaverse first, you ready?" Chan pressed the button to speak so Y/N would hear him once she was in the recording booth.

"Aish, my ears!" Y/N jumped at how loud his voice was and ducked down to crouch on the floor, making the staff laugh with the members.

Soon she began recording a small rap part which was new for her, she was part of vocalracha and so was used to singing on their tracks.

"Ok, Y/N, do the same again but just a bit louder, like you want the world to hear your message," Changbin leant over Chan as he gave some advice.

"Ok, ok, I got this," Y/N told herself, "GYATT!" she randomly shouted, before continuing to nod, not hearing or looking at the looks of confusion and amusement spread across the faces of 3racha.

She finished recording her rap part successfully and exited the booth, the boys praising her but they only had one question on her mind.

"What was that you shouted?" Chan rose an eyebrow at her, grinning.

"I shouted a lot of things, you told me to shout my rap," Y/N shrugged with a confused smile, hands resting in the pockets of her hoodie.

"Don't play dumb," Changbin pointed out, messing her hair.

"Ohhh," Y/N realised and laughed, "hey Changbin, just start walking over there for a second."

"Why?" Han laughed from the sofa, wondering what the maknae was up to.

"Just do it," Y/N further prompted and so Changbin sighed and nodded.

"GYATT!!!" Y/N shouted once again, as she very obviously looked at Changbin's butt.

"Omo," Chan covered his ears and laughed in shock.

"Understand now?" Y/N laughed.

"Not really, no," said poor Changbin, who had turned around in shock and didn't see what happened. It was often they didn't understand their maknae's slang words.

3) Rizz

Stray Kids were currently filming for Teen Vogue, taking part in the Compliments Battle, a video that would quickly win over Stays' hearts as one of their funniest videos ever.

Hyunjin, Felix and Jeongin had already gone, the latter unable to take Seungmin's compliments no longer.

"Innie, I'll avenge you," Y/N whispered to her fellow maknae, who in turn grinned right back at her.

"Yah what are the maknaes talking about?" Seungmin have them an unimpressed look, folding his arms.

"Hyung?" Jeongin asked.

"Yeah?" Seungmin asked back.

"Shhh," Jeongin commanded lightly, making the members laugh. Y/N took her seat opposite Seungmin whilst everyone laughed.

"Y/N is so precious, and has the purest soul, Y/N is my... everything," Seungmin stared Y/N dead in the eyes as he spoke to her, the girl cringing.

"Seungmin is my puppy, I love him so much, cute puppy Seungie so talented," Y/N said sweetly, being over the top as she spoke.

"Oh my gosh," Jeongin wrinkled his nose hearing the words.

"I think I just threw up a bit," Seungmin said in English.

"Wah? Who said that about me?" Y/N gasped and laughed.

"I did. About how you just spoke to me," Seungmin laughed at Y/N's face.

"Yah give me a compliment," Y/N folded her arms.

"Ok, ok," Seungmin stopped laughing, "Y/N is my queen."

"Woahhhh, I'm gonna have that on replay," Y/N smirked. "Let's see... Seungmin is so handsome and sexy- I'm not reading that... Forget the tweets lemme use the Y/N rizz," she smirked as she pulled up her sleeves.

"Rizz?" Jeongin repeated after her looking confused.

"Hey Seungmin, what do you say we go on a romantic walk and pee on a lamppost?" Y/N smirked, the guys choking on their breaths as they were shocked at what she said.

"Y/N... What?!" Seungmin gasped.

"He reacted, he's out!" Jeongin clapped happily.

"No, let me keep going I've got more. He's a puppy get it? It's not weird! Hmmm, what else..." Y/N defended herself and began, as her leader shared nervous glances at the staff, but she didn't need to know that. "Hey are you my dog when I'm depressed?" perhaps Y/N left a pause for too long, "because I just wanna... give you... kisses... Guys stop looking at me like I'm weird!"

Jeongin covered his face to avoid her wrath.

"This isn't just Y/N rizz! This is puppy rizz!"

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @hanjiquokkaaa @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami

#skz #stray kids #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #skz angst #straykids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz fic #skz ninth imagines #skz ninth #skz ninth member imagines #skz ninth member #stray kids ninth #stray kids ninth member #stray kids 9th member #skz 9th member reader #skz 9th member

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belphieslavenderscentedpillow · 2 months

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Obey me Boys as students

Thank you for the love on my other posts, every reblog, note and follower is appreciated!

Also feel free to request something!

This is more of a human high school AU, so there is more human talk than devildom.

There is a bit of Nsfw in asmodeus part, but other than that it’s pretty fluffy/maybe crack?

Lucifer

Straight A student, what did you expect?!?

But I’ll tell you, he’s honestly kind of annoying to be in a class with

He’s such a suck up without even ACTUALLY TRYING to be a suck up

When the teacher makes a mistake he 100% corrects them with no shame

But he’s still somehow a teachers pet

People hate him because they wanna be him fr fr

I honestly don’t think he’s naturally academically intelligent like belphegor or interested in subjects like Satan

The only reason why he actually tries is probably because he thinks failing academically is embarrassing

That being said I think he’s a hardworker, always practicing and learning

Definitely pulls all nighters regularly to finish assignments

Favourite subject is probably physics like a granddaddy

Has a very simplistic pencilcase in black with an ink pen

Mammon

Literal class clown

HE is the reason why class is low key fun

Everyone keeps saying he’s annoying but high key miss him when he’s not there

That being said he’s incredibly charismatic

I think he’s got lots of friends in class cause he’s super easy to be around and he’s funny asf

he’s probably one of the kids on the teachers “hate list”

Literally always gets picked on from teachers

Always goes red when they point out his mistakes but he turns it into a joke

I think he’s an average student but is crazy good at like music or something artsy

He’s that one kid who always ALWAYS forgets his stuff

If he’s lucky he might have a chewed up pen somewhere in his bag (maybe)

He’s definitely a pen biter you cannot change my mind

Leviathan

Oh boy

He’s a very shy kid, and honestly most people forget he’s there

Even the teachers which is kind of a good thing honestly

He sits in the back of the class and does his work calmly

Never talks like NEVER

Probably has one good friend in ONE class who he goofs off with but I think that’s honestly it

That being said there’s def some type of popular demon crushing on him

He has potential to be above average academically but I don’t think he cares enough

I think his favourite subject is art because he gets to practice drawing boobs I mean he gets to practice anatomy

Has a bunch of cool stationary from animes

Definitely has some sanrio type of stationary that he NEVER shares

Satan

A student that gives 110%

He would literally be the perfect student because he has this amazing combination of politeness, academic intelligence and actual academic INTEREST

would be if he didn’t absolutely despise all of the teachers

He knows more than the teachers so sitting in class is incredibly boring to him

Thinks the teachers have no teaching ability and knows he could teach this class better than them

He is such a good student for being such a bad student if you get what I mean

Super organized but not at all at the same time

Polite but disses the teachers- really it depends on the day

He loves all subjects but I think he’s a biology or maybe a literature guy wink wink

someone hc him to send answers in the groupchat while cussing them out- that is 100% Satan

He‘s probably super popular I mean, smart, pretty and a romantic- can’t get better than that! (Well lets skip over the anger issues)

Asmodeus

Your residential play boy/fuck boy!

But just add sweetness to the mix; like he makes sure the person knows his intentions before starting anything with him

That cute boy in class that has a bunch of friends and is super popular for an ACTUAL reason

He does literally EVERYTHING but pay attention

He‘s still a teachers pet though

Probably fucked a teacher to get through the year

Has a bunch of stationary and has really pretty notes even if he doesn’t know what anything means

His favourite subject is probably geography or design (art)

Beelzebub

Jock. What more is there to say?

He‘s not your typical jock, cause unlike all the other jocks he’s actually humble

(The sport bring fangol obvi)

That being said he’s crazy popular, because he’s athletic, cute, sweet, friendly and humble

People are all over him all. The. Time.

Yeah sure he might not have a whole bunch of brains and his grades are below average but at least he’s cute right???????

Yeah he’s not much of a academic person, like AT ALL- he only likes PE, maybe a little bit of art (cause it’s easy)

The teachers surprisingly don’t really care all that much about him- just a random student 🤷‍♀️

Belphegor

This little shit

He‘s that kid who is a genius for no reason what so ever

He reads the paragraph once and never again and still gets an A++++

He barely pays attention in class, skips like 60% of the time and still rivals Satan

Lucifer and Satan get pissy about it because he doesn’t even TRY

His fav subject is math because it’s just understanding a few rules and that’s it

His favourite saying is „mathematicians are lazy“, please tell me your teachers told you this too

He is so charming for no reason, and that makes him a little shit

All he has to do is smile and the person just melts

That being said a smile from him takes a lot of effort

He never takes his stuff to school so he just asks another person and they never hesitate to give him stuff

Teachers just don’t care about him since he barely shows up anyway 💀

Diavolo

Literally cannot focus in school

He‘s like a jock mixed with student body- super charismatic, super hot and reallyyyy popular

He‘s that one friend who has like a gazillion friends and says hi to someone every 2 minutes

But when he’s in class he cannot focus to save his life

At home he’s a mashine- finishing task after task but in school he gets distracted over every little thing

He has so many expensive items, shoes, pants, stationary EVEN HIS SOCKS

Nr.1 crush for literally anyone

Favorite subject is any social subject really

He‘s a pretty average student but his teamwork ability make him stand out

Teachers gossip about other students to him 😃

Barbatos

Straight A student, no one knows his methods

Diavolo is his best friend even if they are polar opposites

Very well liked, by students, teachers but he only willingly talks to diavolo and his crush we all know who wink wink

Very well organised, always has his stuff

Even the way he wears his uniform is neat

He‘s so mysterious…… which makes him kind of hot honestly

He probably doesn’t care about the attention though

Simeon

Ugh literally the perfect student

Smart, kind and charismatic

Literally a teachers pet

Probably is in a whole bunch of clubs

I could totally see him in the drama club

Favorite subjects; drama and literature

He probably reads shakespear in his lunch breaks

He never cusses in class- even when the teacher gets on everyone’s nerves

He has so many friends! Seriously it’s hard not to like him

That being said his weakness is computer science

Yeah not really his strong suit

Luke

Poor baby gets teased relentlessly

He is super cute though

is such a sweetheart genuinely

Don’t be mistaken if anyone actually has the guts to bully him, his 11 family members are ought to get them

He works really hard to get good grades and make Micheal and Simeon proud!

He‘s in the baking club and his favourite subject is probably science honestly

Solomon

This little shit (#2)

He‘s such a mixed bag of different student traits

He‘s lazy, but hard working

Social but introverted

Super popular but gets hated on

His favourite subject is science specifically chemistry

If you are in his chemistry class he‘ll pull some chemistry pick up lines to annoy you

He‘s also in the baking club which makes Luke get cold sweats every night

Also a huge shoutout to @kkeromenoo , thank you for the love!! Sadly I can’t respond to the comments 😭 someone pls tell me how it works..

I just also wanted to say sorry for the fact that 1) this post took so long and 2) some of the characters are shorter. Probably will edit this later, but again hope you enjoyed!

Proofread!

All credits go to @belphieslavenderscentedpillow

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caltropspress · 2 months

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Earl Sweatshirt: A Geography of Grief and Growth

I made myself the poet of the world. The white man had found a poetry in which there was nothing poetic….I had soon to change my tune.

—Frantz Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks (1952)

I suggest that we do not necessarily need to hear and know what is stated in its entirety, that we do not need to “master” or conquer the narrative as a whole, that we may know in fragments.

—bell hooks, “Teaching New Worlds/New Words” (1994)

Breakin’ ’em down to micro-fragments.

—Saafir, “Battle Drill” (1994)

What is asked of me is not to ascend but to descend.

—Robert Bly (1990)

Earl Sweatshirt’s arc, swerving and dervishy, isn’t difficult to see, as we’ve witnessed it with him—we’re either interlocutors or interlopers, both with questionable motives. So when Earl looks back on school daze, as he does on “OD,” we look back with him (though ours is often an imperial gaze [HOW COULD IT NOT BE?]). We tee-hee and titter as we hear that “somebody tooted in the student commons,” tooted being the most puerile word for gas he could have chosen. An array of scatological options were ignored. It’s a deliberate gesture toward juvenilia. He doesn’t want his expression to be too mature, ha. He wants to welcome you to the romper room, ha. Remaining a kid until the moment he expires, apparently. So he sets the adolescent scene: the student commons. “The bell rang,” and the accused student was spared the prolonged opprobrium. In about four seconds, the student will begin to post. He “went home and argued in the comments,” channeling his embarrassment elsewhere, talking shit (shit) on the internet behind the safety and quasi-anonymity of a screen—an odd facade. He can walk right up to your avi and diss you. That’s his philosophy. The public humiliation replaced with a private self-possession. The discomfort of the crowd exchanged for the solace of solitude.

2. DID AN ANGEL SPEAK?

The sonics of “tooted” and “student” are twee, giggle-inducing. We laugh along with the concatenation of m and n phonemes [somebody | student | commons | rang | went | home | then | in | comments]. The near-homophonous commons and comments scan hysterical. With “OD,” it’s easy to confuse adolescence with adulthood. That “somebody” committed this social transgression seems defensive. Maybe it was him—the subject, Earl, Thebe—seeing as how the rest of the song is delivered in the first-person. Embrace the Age of Immaturity. Channel the Fat Boys: Darren Robinson’s flatulent beatbox. Place it beside the disorderly lyrics that Bobbito spits: “I write my own shit from finish to start, / Diminish the heart, / I eat a knish and then I fart.” Like the Cenobites, Earl kicks a dope verse, and only that. “I keep my sentences short,” he says on “EAST.” Beauty is brevity, brevity beauty. A “brevity pack,” as Earl has referred to the Feet of Clay songs. He strives to be live ’cause he got no choice. He runs his own business like James Joyce. In A Portrait of the Artists as a Young Man, a similar flatus incident unravels. At Clongowes Wood College (Stephen Dedalus’s Coral Reef Academy), a “stout student who stood below…on the steps” by the name of Goggins “farted briefly.” Sonically, the sentence shares much with Earl’s opening line. Dixon asks, in a “soft voice,” “Did an angel speak?” But the others react with bellicosity and name-calling (stinkpot; flamingest dirty devil). Goggins doesn’t retreat home; he simply asks, “It did no one any harm, did it?” You still bet that you can harm me, but you don’t alarm me, Goggins might say another way, reprising Del the Funky Homosapien, echoplexing Masta Ace.

Earl “watched the doppler move,” the wavelength shift—the siren song of the “toot,” something insidious—or maybe it’s just the tremors we’re feeling. Woop, woop: that’s the sound of the beast, KRS would say. The frequency shivers. The shift, the movéd doppler, means Earl is immediately older, he’s the child who “get[s] introduced to violence,” even if he acknowledges the line was inspired by his nephew on a playground in South Africa, experiencing apartheid reincarnate as a whiteboy cuts him in line for the slide. Cranly, bullying Goggins, “shove[s] him violently down the steps.” The doppler moves. It slides into violence—like the violence visited upon the MOVE compound located at 6221 Osage Avenue in Philly in 1985. Gradations of black/white. ELUCID mentions the “gray on [his] face showing age” on his Osage (2016) project. Isn’t it strange—how the youngins can turn cold, hoarfrosty, in an instant? The grayscale cover to ELUCID’s tape is graced by a photograph of Birdie Africa, the sole child survivor of the siege. The bone fragments of the MOVE children have since been used in anthropology courses at UPenn and Princeton—case studies. It’s a good trope. Fascinating stuff.

4. TRYIN’ TO TRANSFORM YOU BOYS TO MEN LIKE DAYCARE

When JuJu of the Beatnuts asked, You want pain?, he wasn’t referencing the dramatical-traumatical pain Earl negotiates—JuJu’s question posed a ruffneck and ruffian pain on “Watch Out Now.” Somewhere closer to Marcy, where Jay-Z’s streets was watching. Earl clocks minutes, anaphoric with what he watches (I watched the doppler… / I watched a child…), much like Dylan’s portentous hard rain in which he saw endless racialized visions: “I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it”; “I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’”; “I saw a white ladder all covered with water.” For Earl, the ladder is a slide. The saw is watched. Witnesses all.

In “Theory as Liberatory Practice,” bell hooks writes that she “came to theory because [she] was hurting”: “I wanted to make the hurt go away. I saw in theory then a location for healing.” hooks says that she “came to theory young, when [she] was still a child,” citing Terry Eagleton who argues that “[c]hildren make the best theorists.” Children, Eagleton insists, possess “a wondering estrangement.” No wonder, then, that “since a jit” Earl has found no use in “giving up.” He rather make it make sense.

I beat you to the point. Having gained experience, there’s nothing you can tell Earl that he doesn’t already know, that he hasn’t already seen. He’s seen enough, had enough. He doesn’t await the mob’s pursuit; he places the noose on himself, he RE: DEFines it within his own lexicon. His noose, therefore, “is golden.” He’s a young youth, rockin’ the gold [noose], DEATHWORLD goose. He speaks with criminal slang, with a split tongue like ELUCID. Where ELUCID was “true and living, actual—no dull axes, owner of all heads,” Earl is “true and living, lonesome,” with no skulls to keep him company. He has to square up with the “pugilistic moments” on his own.

7. I AM OLDER THAN I ONCE WAS AND YOUNGER THAN I’LL BE

I’m thinking of “The Pugilist at Rest” (1991) by Thom Jones, whose epileptic protag describes a “grainy black-and-white photograph” of the bronze statue called The Pugilist at Rest. The pugilist, with a pocketful of mumbles, has “slanted, drooping brows that bespeak torn nerves” and a forehead “piled with scar tissue.” Torn nerves and scar tissue—sounds like the physical manifestations of grief. And, yes, Earl has grieved, and he continues to grieve—as listeners, we’re accustomed to his grief pedigree, as per Ka. In the past, Earl was “panicking a lot”—he just “want[ed] [his] time and [his] mind intact.” That’s a cold fact.

The narrator of “The Pugilist at Rest” readies himself for a cingulotomy—a psychosurgical procedure that will “cauterize a small spot in a nerve bundle in [his] brain.” In other words, he wants to keep his mind intact. The neurosurgeon promises the operation will lift “the heaviness of a heart blackened by sin,” which is what convinces the narrator to agree to it. Good grief, he thinks, he’s been reaping what he sowed. He “can’t go on like this,” barely living “with a deadening sense of languor,” a phrase which calls to mind Earl’s lethargic, slugabed flow. Feeling insane in the membrane, like he’s a Soul Assassinated, exploring the depths beneath his whooligan behaviors. 376 was a brothel. “Good and evil are only illusions,” Jones writes. In anticipation of the surgery, the protag considers the worst-case [so what, so what] scenario: “If they fuck up the operation, I hope I get to keep my dogs somehow.”

8. MOURNING & MEDICINE FOR MELANCHOLIA

Grief carries its own antidote along with it.

—Charles Brockden Brown, Wieland (1798)

“Grief is the door to feeling,” Robert Bly says. But Earl, on “Grief,” told us he “ain’t been outside in a minute”—and that minute, whether we’re speaking with criminal slang like Nas on “It Ain’t Hard To Tell” or not, is an eternity. Earl hadn’t crossed that threshold, hadn’t kicked in that door. MIKE would realize it much later on “No Curse Lifted (rivers of love),” how you “had to walk through the grief,” even if it “was the worst feeling.” In 2015, though, Earl found these passageways distorted. Like the undulating photograph on the cover of his first mixtape. Like the blur-obscured selfie on the cover of Some Rap Songs. Like the static-scrambled cover of I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside. Earl’s dealt in fragmentary confuzzled noise for a full career. He’s been standing on the corner, red burnt, moving down alien lanes paved by GBV, greenthinking to himself. It ain’t hard to tell that Earl “don’t act hard” and yet is a “hard act to follow.” The density or opacity of his exterior notwithstanding, grief don’t come easy. “As men,” Bly says, “we’re taught not to feel pain and grief as children.” So Earl spits somnolent, numb-tongued and slack-jawed. Like he said on “Cold Summers”: muffle my pain and muzzle my brain up.

“I’ve been alone in my shit for the longest,” he spit on “Grief,” and in work as recent as “Vin Skully,” he’s still figuring out “how to stay afloat in a bottomless pit.” Bly says that “we receive something from our father by standing close to him—something moves over that can’t be described in material terms.” Bly speaks of being in a “conspiracy with his mother” from early on. Earl finds himself “thinking ’bout [his] grandmama” while he wallows and lies in a bottle. “Grief” catalogs all the things his mama taught him. Earl’s work, of late, is autodestructive. He peels away and pastes back haphazardly. He vibes with this Bly shit: “If you can deny something so fundamental as grief in the whole family, you can deny anything. And then how can you write poetry if you’re involved in that much denial?”

Bly goes on to quote Alice Miller, the psychoanalyst who gave us The Drama of the Gifted Child (1979): “When you were young, you needed something you did not receive, and you will never receive it. And the proper attitude is mourning.” Mourning is the proper attitude, not blame—mourning. Mourning makes its way through moaning and mumbling—Earl’s current intonation. On “Grief,” he “cut the grass off the surface [and] pray[s] the lawnmower blade catch the back of a serpent.” Philip Larkin’s poem “The Mower” (1979) leans more literal: “The mower stalled, twice; I found / A hedgehog jammed up against the blades, / Killed. It had been in the long grass.” Larkin’s speaker genuflects before the innocent critter, recalling how he “fed it, once.” Now, he mourns how he has “mauled its unobtrusive world, / Unmendably. Burial was no help.” Earl, of course, is less forgiving of the serpents in the grass. They’re threats, not friends. Still, a void opens up when the mower—(and let’s not forget the lawnmower is a modernized scythe)—does its mowing. Grief is the door to feeling, and on the other side:

Next morning I got up and it did not. The first day after a death, the new absence Is always the same; we should be careful Of each other, we should be kind While there is still time.

9. NOBODY KNOW WHO MADE THIS WELL, FOR IT WAS HERE WHEN I WAS BORN

“Come get to know me at my innermost…”

Riveting, Earl raps. Earl raps are riveting. We fix to the flow—riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s. We’re invited to know Earl, to become familiar, and his “innermost” is a constant vacillation between optimism and [afro]pessimism. The sudden switches—these switches on bitches like fixed with hydraulics—establish what Danny Schwartz, writing for Rolling Stone, called an “uneven terrain.”

Earl’s “family business [is] anguished,” and that’s recognizable. We’ve known Earl (on “Chum”) with the “pendulum swinging slow” and low. He holed up, hostage-like, in his “heart’s bottomless pit.” Poe’s “The Pit and the Pendulum” (1842) brand of captivity. “I was sick,” that narrator says, “—sick unto death with that long agony.” Something tells me there should be an exclamation point there (SICK!). Earl Sweatshirt was down, down, down. “I was in the fucking pits for like 10 months post my pops dying,” he said in an interview. The Spanish Inquisition ain’t shit.

But for these countless downs, “OD” tracks the ups like naloxone in the nasal membrane. “Now I need atonement,” Earl notes—he makes a case for reparations. He “sets the goal[s]” like some motivational speaker. If “half [his] wings is broken,” he can “spread the other for [his] brodie OD.” Somewhat circumspect as he’s “tiptoeing,” yet the approach is laden with “too much love.” Even when his “sister showed in a rut,” he’s joining arms with her and “getting over, sending up.” That rut she walks—like Eudora Welty’s worn path (1941)—is a path through the pinewoods, and she’s suddenly Phoenix Jackson. “She was very old and small,” Welty writes, and she moves “with the balanced heaviness and lightness of a pendulum in a grandfather clock.” Even with her pentium processing and pendulum low, she swings back up—the rise of her namesake. She screams phoenix, her feathers and flames are one skin. “Living in the moment,” Earl raps, and his craft is bars. “You been corrupt”—and, sure, who hasn’t?—but you recover with “some ginabot.” Welty’s Old Phoenix surveys a spring “silently flowing through a hollow log.” She bends and drinks and says, “Sweet gum makes the water sweet.” It’s the equivalent to Earl putting “shilajit in his sippy cup,” which is “healing cuts revealingly.” And, yes, from a “sippy cup,” so we’re back to toddling around again (“Since a jit,” he says). “I can’t give enough,” Earl raps, his last winding-sheet made of nard and myrrh.

10.

We crouch and teeter, caterwauling along the ledges, for we’ve got these clumsy feet of clay. This is the intended effect[/defect]; this is the rubble of what Earl calls the “crumbling empire.” This is us feeling the violent vibes of the “death throes” he speaks of. Why would we expect anything to resemble traditional song or rhyme structure when the earth quakes, civilization trembles, and Earl’s dungeon shakes? His chains have fallen off. The tenor is tremors. He’s living the trife life—hell on earth—but still living. Earl’s done trying to not look down—he embraces an outer appearance which scans dour; he deliberately gazes into the pit, inviting the vertigo, for it “haunts the whole of existence,” as Fanon says. But Frank B. Wilderson III promises a “vengeance of vertigo.”

11.

Gallons of rubbing alcohol flow through the strip, and Earl’s lips. He’s “refilling the pump”—his heart, yeah—but with a sawed-off shotgun, hand-on-the-pump posture. There’s “no concealing it,” not even with a concealed carry permit. He brandishes right back at “the enemy up in arms bearing snubs.” The mood swings; been down so long it looks like up to him. The turns require tourniquets. This is some Battle of Dak To torture—somewhere between Retaliation and the Heavenly Divine. Emotional turmoil seems violent by design, and Earl’s “memory [is] really leaking blood.” Fear not, the blood is “congealing, stuck.” Like Havoc says, “The Mobb rollin’ thicker.” Prodigy cites it, too: “This ain’t rap—it’s bloodsport.” But Earl has known that all along—he’s been “mobbin’ deep as ’96 Havoc and Prodigy did” since 2013.

12.

HipHopDX’s Kevin Cortez referred to listeners having to “sift through the muddle” in order to appreciate the bars, but where muddle suggests a disorderly conduct, a kaos network, Earl’s style, more appropriately, models. The woozy, wavy, and inner-conflict-war-torn vocals model an abstraction that anticipates the listener’s loyalty. This is what I’ve got, brief and cryptic as the gesture may be, the model says. Writing for NME, Dhruva Balram described Earl’s lyrics as “slurred,” but slurry is the form.

13.

If the empire can deploy Orwellian technologies of repression, its outcasts have the gods of chaos on their side…

—Mike Davis, Planet of Slums (2005)

So if we’re giving ourselves over to the woozes and waves, we’ll just as well find ourselves lost. Let’s go—like those tourist books run by students—and let’s wander eastward. Follow our napkin-scrawled directions and disorientations to a somewhere elsewhere. Let’s go east for a second, for a spell, on a lark, in the dark (word to AKAI SOLO). Earl’s bloodwork contains “pieces of slums”—or more aptly, [sLUms]. He’s hand-to-hand with that Jungle Boy MIKE, but also the god Mike Davis. “[T]he cities of the future,” Davis wrote, would be “constructed out of crude brick, straw, recycled plastic, cement blocks, and scrap wood.” Just the same as an Earl Sweatshirt verse is built—under the tutelage and overstanding-sharing, symbiotically, with MIKE. Davis says our cities aren’t “cities of light soaring toward heaven,” but a world that “squats in squalor, surrounded by pollution, excrement, and decay.” Smells like somebody tooted in the student commons. Smells like a slum village, something we’ve smelled before—possibly coming straight from the slums of Shaolin.

14. ACID EASTERNS

Earl trekked to the East and squinted into “one beacon in the dust weaving”—like Clint Eastwood arriving out of the hazy horizon ether of High Plains Drifter (1973). But Earl is heading to the East, blackwards. And though Brother J claimed you can’t define what’s direct from the East, Jeru told us on The Sun Rises in the East that you can’t stop the prophet either. So on “EAST,” Earl traverses a tricky terrain—it’s tricky, tricky, tricky because it’s an acid western landscape: an acid eastern.

The path isn’t direct or linear—it zigs and zags like rolling papers, and stimulates the same. “Double back when you got it made,” Earl says at the start of his journey “EAST.” The objective is to talk sense condensed into the form of a poem like Special Ed once did on “I Got It Made.” Instead, Earl’s poems—his L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poems—skew [non]sense, go form[less], and vaporize rather than condense. Lyn Hejinian in cinnamon Timbs: “constant change figures / the time we sense.” The narrative is hallucinogenic (note: “how the story careen against the bars”). Earl’s bindle contains “thirty racks and weed [with] no fat in the collard greens.” That’s how he gets funky on the mic like an old batch. That’s how he gets sincerity on the mic: “Off top it’s me—no cap, / I don’t bottle things.” That buck that bought a bottle could’ve struck the lotto, maybe. But Earl’s “canteen was full of the poison [he] need[s].” He gets where he’s going like El Topo, bereft. The “trip was long and steep”—that being an acid trip—so let me see you try to ride a horse into the chasms of the canyon.

“EAST” is a death meditation, a grand duel between Dantean and Donneian lyric voices [he damn-near well should’ve double-tracked the vocals]. In a 2015 interview with SPIN, Earl is asked about the worst thing he did that year, to which he replies: “Umm…acid?” He elaborates: “I took it at a time when I really didn’t need to be taking acid. I had like a fucking existential crisis at, like, four in the morning. But it was tight. We reeled it back.” Jodorowsky called El Topo (1970) an “eastern” in that it “incorporat[ed] ancient eastern wisdom in the materiality of American cowboys.” For Earl, it’s more a rhinestone cowboy—he holds the cold one like he holds an old gun (as evidenced in the “EAST” music video). DOOM was no stranger to grief, of course, and the rumors persist regarding the bad acid that precipitated Subroc’s early demise (“Bad Acid” also being the original title for “December 24”).

Estranged Earl, alienated—a high plains drifter (not Clint Eastwood, though) who rechristens a town “Hell” through a baptism of blood. Like the Beastie Boys’ version, Earl pulls out a pair of pliers and pulls a bullet out of his chest. He pulls through, true and living. “I’m long distance from my girl,” Mike D raps, so he’s “talking on the cellular,” but Earl is more alienated than that—beyond racking up roaming charges, immersed in dead zones. He “lost [his] phone and consequently all the feelings [he] caught for [his] GF.” Relationships can’t be sustained in these bleak and barren locations. All the blood has been drained from the ruddy faces—sanguine scenery. In his essay “On the Acid Western,” Jonathan Rosenbaum discusses how the subgenre “refuses to respect or valorize bloodshed.” Memory really leaking blood. Congealing. Stuck. To paraphrase Rosenbaum, Earl’s acid eastern “formulat[es] a chilling, savage frontier poetry to justify [his] hallucinated agenda—a view at once clear-eyed and visionary, exalted and laconic, moral and unsentimental, witty and beautiful, frightening and placid.” Earl’s “innocence was lost in the East,” and obsessives speculate whether this refers to Samoa or New York City—how far east we going? Countless spirit-questers pit-stopping at ashrams, searching for that Gifted Unlimited Rhymes Universal guide.

“I wait a beat,” Earl says. His canteen stays filled, auto-replenishes. His “cognitive dissonance shattered” and the “necessary venom restored.” Jodorowsky reportedly once taped snakes to his chest for an experimental theater performance. As if it matters if you think it matters anymore. Or, as ELUCID says, “Words mean things but don’t have to.” Acids and bases. Occident and Orient. Western and Eastern. Up is down.

15. NOTHING LIKE US EVER WAS

Earl’s “EAST” accordion beat—or whatever Orkes Gambus Al Fata instrumentation is at work—is more madcap than madvillainous. In my head is Erick Sermon, though, speaking about how “the flow slow…like a jazz player, or someone on the accordion” on “Knick Knack Patty Wack.” But I’m less concerned with the flow of air through bellows—compressing and expanding—than I am with Earl’s rendering of wind. (Somebody tooted.)

“Let the dead be dead,” Carl Sandburg says at stanza’s end in “Four Preludes on the Playthings of the Wind” (1920). Later, he reports, “The only singers now are crows crying.” And so Earl, a lonesome crow, reminds us—and himself—that “the wind get the ashes in the end” on “December 24.” The whining, wheezing consonance of /-nd/ in “wind” and “end” manages to evoke both the wind itself and the circularity of life. The bar whooshes and whips until we’re at our end, the terminus. That circularity, that full circle: ashes to ashes. “We are the greatest city,” Sandburg repeats, “the greatest nation: / nothing like us ever was.”

Global winds be blowin’—[Of the Soul]—and so billy woods cites that same line on “Haarlem”: “Thebe said the wind get the ashes in the end, bruv.” Check the configuration of the rhime:

The wind | gets | the ashes | in | the end {birth} {life} {death}

Even that get does work—whether it’s the violence of Death Grips’ “get got”; Too $hort threatening you to “get in where you fit in”; or the satirical sadism of Keenen Ivory Wayans’ I’m Gonna Git You Sucka. The wind wins out—it gets what it wants. On “EAST,” the wind—infinitely personified—“whispered to [Earl], ‘Ain’t it hard?’” It ain’t hard to tell that it is. How about some hardcore? Yeah, we like it raw like M.O.P. But those burns yield ashes. In Adrienne Rich’s poem “The Burning of Paper Instead of Children” (1989), she struggles with the words she uses, knowing “[t]his is the oppressor’s language / yet [she] needs to talk to you.” I know it hurts to burn, she writes, but writing is no less ardent. “The typewriter is overheated, my mouth is burning.”

Let me bring it back to Robert Bly. “In the ancient times,” Bly says, “the movement for the men was downward—a descent into grief. It’s referred to in the fairytale as ‘the time of ashes.’” Ashes, he explains, is the “code word for the ‘out of it’ time.”

We know what it is like to take ashes in our hands. How light they are! The fingertips experience them as a kind of powder… Ashes, we note, find their way into the whorls of our fingertips, cling there, make the whorls more noticeable, more visible, more clear to us. We can take our own fingerprints with ashes.

Ashes, then, aren’t simply for the wind’s taking—ashes are for us, are necessary for us to transcend the grief the boys, the men, and the man-child experience. Bly points to the various cultures that have used ashes in initiation rites: “Ashes Time is a time set aside for the death of that ego-bound boy.” Ready to give up, so you seek the Old Earth. The elders cover your face—even your whole body—with ashes “to make [you] the color of dead people and to remind [you] of the inner death about to come.” Consider Earl’s ashen white face produced in the negative imagery of the “Grief” music video.” “The word ashes contains in it a dark feeling for death,” Bly says. “Ashes when put on the face whiten as death does.”

Earl Sweatshirt is a far cry from knocking blunt ashes into caskets.

16.

Feet of clay, hands of light…

—Moor Mother and billy woods, “Furies” (2020)

For Cheryl I. Harris, Earl’s mother, the feet of clay refer to a vulnerability we all possess no matter how formidable we may appear to become. Earl invokes the King of Babylon’s dream, a dream of an idol “meant to represent all the empires of the world,” echoing Sandburg’s imperious “greatest nation.” Earl believes “we at the feet of clay right now…We posted up live from burning Rome.” Imagine the ash pile. So Earl is here, ostensibly, to turn the disco into something dismal—how Mtume becomes “MTOMB” with its entombed sonics, as if he’s rapping from within a wall, the victim of some Poe immurement.

17.

“I remember woods,” Earl raps on “OD.” ��I remember Endom when he wasn’t remembering much, / I remember love healing the ruptures.” I remember is also the refrain and title of Joe Brainard’s poem-memoir, a term which aptly describes much of Earl’s recent output. Brainard’s memories bum-rush into the present:

I remember a dream I used to have a lot of a beautiful red and yellow and black snake in bright green grass. I remember painting “I HATE TED BERRIGAN” in big black letters all over my white wall. I remember liver.

If Earl recalls love “healing the ruptures,” then he also likely recalls Fanon: It is essential to convey to the black man that an attitude of rupture has never saved anyone. But Fanon also speaks of young Black men “maintain[ing] their alterity. Alterity of rupture, of conflict, of battle.” Earl, “feeling rushed, grew up quick.” He echoes Biggie, who “grew up a fucking screw-up,” and Raekwon, who “grew up on the crime side” (though Earl’s mama taught him, as we know from “Grief,” how to avoid the pigs, persecution, and prosecution). Eyes on the clock, Earl acknowledges this “trip around the sun” is his “25th,” so “give it up”—his survival alone deserving of a standing [on the corner] ovation. He celebrates life with “gin and rum.” Again, notably not gin and juice—murder was never the case. The only death is the inner death, the death of the ego-bound boy, that Bly describes. Earl’s gin is the drink of be[gin]ning, of genesis (“Light them Phillies up then…”), of Super Nintendo, Sega Genesis, when I was dead-broke, man… “We wasn’t supposed to be alive,” Earl says, yet here he stands.

18. RUMINANT

Stare at the Feet of Clay album cover—an evocation of folkloric imagery: a Grimm forest with gnarled tree branches—and the enchanted, diabolic goat lying in wait. Earl’s parasocial following speculate G.O.A.T., of course, but I’m more inclined to mythopoeic possibilities. The Feet of Clay goat glares like Baphomet but frolics like a faun over fractured beats. “OD,” Earl has stated, “brought [him] up out of [his] little wreck”—a wreck of wracked nerves. Adrienne Rich encourages “diving into the wreck” (1973).

I am blacking out and yet my mask is powerful it pumps my blood with power.

Earl’s right there with her, submerged and blacking out, but still surviving: Really leaking blood, but refilling the pump.

In her essay “Teaching New Worlds/New Words,” bell hooks invokes Rich’s struggle to navigate the “oppressor’s language.” For hooks, as a Black writer, managing that is even more difficult and historical. “I think now of the grief of displaced ‘homeless’ Africans, forced to inhabit a world where they saw folks like themselves, inhabiting the same skin, the same condition, but who had no shared language to talk with one another, who needed ‘the oppressor’s language.’” hooks explains how Black folks have “remade that language so that it would speak beyond the boundaries of conquest and domination.”

Earl Sweatshirt, especially in his later work, has “altered [and] transformed” English, just as “enslaved Black people took broken bits of English and made of them a counter-language.” The emotional wreckage is also a linguistic heap of fragments—micro-fragments, if we’ve learned anything from Saafir. Earl, in the tradition of his ancestors, “put[s] together [his] words in such a way that the colonizer ha[s] to rethink the meaning of the English language.” “The grammatical construction of sentences in these songs” by Earl, just as by the spirituals of hundreds of years prior, “reflect[s] the broken, ruptured world of the slave.” That crumbling empire Earl mentions was faulted by feet of clay.

At the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles in 2019, sharing a dais with his mother, Cherly I. Harris, Earl spoke to this lineage directly: “Rap music is slave music—the modern-day iteration of it. Slave communication had to be encrypted. You got a code.” He shifted: “If I know what I’m saying…I can teach it to you.” On Feet of Clay, Earl is teaching to transgress. “I’m cracking my own code,” he says to an audience member during the Q&A, “how it comes out garbled…,” and then he trails off, as if making a deliberate effort to keep his answer cryptic.

hooks always saw language as “a site of resistance.” This included the incorrect usage and placement of words—she called such practices a “rebellion.” Weaponizing syntax. hooks recognized rap music as a continuation of this fight—the latest [sound]clash, hip-hop artists as rebels without a pause—while still acknowledging the collateral damage it might cause.

Rap music has become one of the spaces where black vernacular speech is used in a manner that invites dominant mainstream culture to listen—to hear—and, to some extent, be transformed. However, one of the risks of this attempt at cultural translation is that it will trivialize black vernacular speech. When young white kids imitate this speech in ways that suggest it is the speech of those who are stupid or who are only interested in entertaining or being funny, then the subversive power of this speech is undermined.

Or, as Earl once said on “Chum,” “Too Black for the white kids and too white for the Blacks,” an axiom he’s come to loathe. Perhaps Fanon had the better bar on this subject: “The white man had the anguished feeling that I was escaping from him and that I was taking something with me. He went through my pockets. He thrust probes into the least circumvolution of my brain. Everywhere he found only the obvious. So it was obvious that I had a secret.”

Despite the pitfalls (and, yeah, the pit is bottomless), Earl’s words play [wordplay] a part in retraining minds, all while exorcizing his own demons through a steady diet of ashes and fractures. hooks promises us that “in the patient act of listening to another tongue we may subvert that culture of capitalist frenzy and consumption that demands all desire must be satisfied immediately.” Through his embrace of a language that indulges in passion and cerebral coding, Earl “heal[s] the splitting of mind and body” so common within Western metaphysical thought. Earl Sweatshirt speaks “words that do more than simply mirror or address the dominant reality”; he builds blips into a reality that is worth the rewind.

Images: Dead Man, dir. Jim Jarmusch, 1995 (screenshot) | Teen at 1990s computer photograph, Unknown (c. 1996) | James Joyce, Age 2, Unknown | ELUCID, Osage album cover (2016), photo by Michael Mally, Philadelphia Inquirer | The Boxer at Rest, bronze statue, Palazzo Massimo alle Terme, Rome, Italy (330-50 BC) | Alphonse Legros, The Pit and the Pendulum, second Plate (1861) | High Plains Drifter, dir. Clint Eastwood, 1973 (screenshot) | Subroc on an Apple IIc, Unknown (c. 1987) | Earl Sweatshirt, “Grief” music video, 2015 (screenshot) | Arthur Rackham, The Water of Life, Grimms Fairy Tales (1916) | Dead Man, dir. Jim Jarmusch, 1995 (screenshot)

#earl sweatshirt #underground hip hop #rap #backwoodz studioz #elucid #billy woods #moor mother

124 notes · View notes

daydreamingyuta · 9 months

Note

Congrats for your 200 followers!!! I would like to see prompt 17 with johnny, a friends to lovers kinda thing, like he realising that is in love with her and asking her on a date

Flustered | Johnny Suh

Genre: Romance, Fluff

Word Count: 2k

Prompt: 17 "Please help me pick out an outfit."

A/N: Hi!! Thank you! and thank you for requesting! This was so much fun to write, I hope you like it! <3

"No, it's this Saturday." You say, on the phone, with your bestfriend Johnny.

"Oh, but aren't we going to the bookstore that day?"

"Yeah! That won't take too long, my work dinner is at 7."

"Oh good, I thought you were trying to get out of seeing me." Johnny says with his usual sarcasm.

"Never."

"Hey, I just got to the studio, I'll see you Saturday."

"Bye!"

⸻

Saturday comes by quicker than you had expected it to. You had been working overtime every day this week so it wasn't a surprise that you had slept through the alarm you had set.

"Of course you're still sleeping."

You're startled awake from the sound of Johnny's voice right above you. "What are you doing here already?"

"It's noon. We were supposed to go to the bookstore an hour ago. But, like the gentleman I am, I let you sleep in but I'm getting bored now."

"You've been here for an hour watching me sleep?"

"You wish. Your roommates made some lunch, and I ate with them."

A twinge of jealousy runs through your body, which is absolutely unwarranted. Johnny was just a friend and a grown man; he could do whatever he liked.

You got out of bed, did your skin care, and then got dressed into your usual outfit, jeans and a t-shirt. When you went back into your room, Johnny had made your bed for you and had grabbed your tote bag.

Johnny was always doing things like this. Little acts of kindness. He didn't know that his actions gave you butterflies every time. If only you were brave enough to tell him.

You go to grab your tote bag away from him, but he moves so that you can't grab it. "I'll carry it y/n, go put your shoes on."

⸻

The bookstore was having a huge sale which is why you really wanted to go. You had told Johnny that you needed him to help you carry all the books you were going to buy, which was true, but you also just wanted to spend some time with him. Plus, you and Johnny used to read together all the time when you two were in school, and you always tried your very best to get him back into reading.

As you two browse the bookstore together, you have to restrain yourself from buying every book you see. You settle on a couple that you have been really looking forward to reading. Every time you pick up a book that you want to get, Johnny notices and grabs it from you so that you don't have to hold them.

"You really don't have to hold everything, you're still carrying my tote bag too."

"Isn't that why I'm here? You needed a big strong man like myself to help you carry the three hundred books you getting?"

"Keep talking and I'll actually get three hundred books for you to hold."

"I can handle the weight, but I don't think your wallet could." Johnny says as he walks away from you, making that fake shocked face he makes every time he disses you.

You finish walking around the bookstore, extra slowly now, to make Johnny pay for that comment. After a while though, you pay for all your books and head back to your apartment.

⸻

You two get back to your apartment and you immediately start going through all the books you bought, trying to decided which one you are going to read first. Since you slept in though, you were out for longer than expected so you had to start getting ready for your work dinner. You had almost forgotten that Johnny was still at your place when you heard the Netflix sound coming from your tv. Johnny was laying on your bed, deciding what movie to watch.

"Oh Johnny, remember I have that dinner tonight? I have to start getting ready now."

"Ok." He says, still looking through Netflix.

"Whatever." You say as you make your way over to the bathroom because you wanted to do your hair first. You decided on a straight hairstyle that was half up and half down. You still had no idea what you were going to wear, but this hairstyle would go with almost any outfit.

Once you were finished, you started on your makeup. You wanted to wear a bit more makeup than usual, as this was a fancy dinner. This took a little longer than normal, but you had always loved the process of doing your makeup because it was almost therapeutic.

Once you finally got done with your makeup, you walked back into your room. Johnny had settled on an action movie, and he was almost halfway through. You walk over to the remote that's laying by his side and press pause.

"Johnny since your here, please help me pick out an outfit."

"Ok, let me just finish this scene."

He presses play and you walk over to your closet to see your options. The main reason why your outfits usually consisted of jeans and a t-shirt was because picking out an outfit was always so hard for you. You were thankful that Johnny was here though, for the past couple of years now he definitely became more and more fashionable.

"Alright, what's the type of outfit you're thinking about wearing tonight?" Johnny says, right behind you. So close behind you that you freeze up. He reaches out his arms to start looking through what you have. This traps you in between your closet and his chest. You try to answer his question, but your mind goes blank.

At your silence he puts his arms down and steps a bit away from you. "Huh?"

You finally feel like you can breathe again. "um, yeah. I was just thinking. um, it's going to be a bit on the fancier side but not too fancy. I was thinking maybe a dress."

You watch his face as his eyebrows go up and a smile forms on his lips. "You haven't worn a dress since we were like 12."

"Not true, I wear dresses sometimes, you just haven't seen me in one since we were 12."

"Ah, then let's see your options."

You pull out the very limited amount of dresses you do own for Johnny to look through. He doesn't look for long though, his eyes immediately goes towards your blue sundress.

He holds it up and considers it for a minute before handing it to you. "This one, for sure."

"Are you sure? I was thinking maybe the purp-"

"No." He says a bit too hastily. "I mean do whatever you are feeling, but I think the blue will look really nice."

"Ok." You say as you head into the bathroom to try it on.

You put the dress on, and you had to admit that it looked really nice. You had bought it a while ago but never had the chance to wear it yet, so you were glad to finally have it on. You walk out of the bathroom and head straight to where you keep your shoes.

"Hey, wait, let me see." Johnny says as he stops you.

You turn around and do a little pose for him. "You like it?"

But instead of Johnny's usual smart remarks, he's silent. He just nods his head yes.

"Oh. Should I try on the purple dress?"

"No. Don't change." He says, softly.

You hesitantly head over to your shoes, unsure of why Johnny is acting so strangely. He's not the type to lie to you if he really didn't like the dress, but his reaction was so unlike him.

You pick a pair of short white heels to go with your dress. They're super cute while also being comfortable. You sit down and try to put your shoes on, but the left strap is giving you trouble. "Hey, Johnny can you help me-"

"I'm gonna go get some water."

Even more confused, you try again to put you shoe on and eventually get it yourself. You get up and grab your purse that's hanging on your chair. When you head into the kitchen, Johnny seems to have regained his composure, he can at least look you in the eyes again.

You're all ready to go, when all of a sudden, the lights shut off. You try to turn the light switch on and off and nothing happens. You walk down the hallway and see that all the lights in the apartment is shut off.

"We lost power?"

"How? It's sunny outside." Johnny says, looking out the window.

"Maybe it will come back on in a minute."

As you two wait, you feel a vibration going off from inside your purse. You get out your phone and see that a text from your boss was sent in your work group chat. "Hey, looks like the power is out all over the city. Apparently, there was a small fire at the city's electrical grid and the power will most likely be out for a couple of hours. The restaurant called and said we could reschedule, so the dinner will be postponed to next Saturday."

You told Johnny what happened and how your dinner got canceled. You start to head towards you room to change when Johnny grabs your arm gently. "Y/n, what are you doing?"

"I'll just change into my sweatpants, since I'm not going out anymore."

"Who says you're not going out?"

"Hm?"

"Well, it would be a shame if we let such a pretty little outfit go to waste."

You felt yourself blush. Johnny always teases you but the way he said this was different. "Where are we gonna go?"

"For a drive."

That's all Johnny says before he walked into your room and quickly came out with your tote bag. Again, he insisted on carrying it but it looked bulkier than normal, so you knew he put something in there. You decide not to question it though, still stuck on what he just said.

⸻

It had been a while since you and Johnny just went out for a drive, and you were enjoying every minute of it. He's playing a playlist that you two made together years ago and it was effectively making you both nostalgic.

After about a 15 minute drive, he pulls into a parking spot. You had never been here before, but it had a pretty view of the entire city. You two sit together for a few minutes, enjoying the music and the scenery, but after a while you had to ask him what was going on.

“Johnny, can I ask you something?" You say as you turn to face him. "Why were you acting so weird before?”

“Oh… you just look very pretty in that dress, it took me by surprise." Johnny says, not making eye contact with you, playing with the hem of his shirt. "Not that you aren’t always pretty, you are. But you usually don't wear dresses, so I guess I forgot to control my reactions around you.”

“Control your reactions?”

“Yeah, it would be kinda hard to be friends if every time I saw you I got all flustered.”

“But why-”

“You really don’t know how beautiful you are do you?

You didn't know how exactly to respond to that, your mind racing with so many questions. You settle on a question that you already knew the answer to. "You mean that in a friend way, right?"

"... No y/n."

"No?"

"You don't believe me?"

"I do, I just have so many questions, Johnny."

"Well then why don’t you let me take you out on a date and we’ll talk through all your questions.”

“You… you wanna take me out?”

Johnny looks at you and it’s like you like he’s never looked at you before. It’s weird to see your best friend with such longing in his eyes, but it’s also the very thing that you’ve been wanting for so long.

“Y/n, you don’t have to let me know right now. You can take your time and think about it. I know I just brought it up unexpectedly, but I think we both have been having feelings for each other for a while now. But I don't want to put pressure on you, just tell me yes or no whenever you know your answer.”

You two had been having feelings for each other for quite a while now. You had been going back and forth in your head about whether or not his actions were flirtatious or not for the entire past year. You turn your head to look out the car window so that you can hide the big smile on your face.

You already knew your answer, but before you could say anything you see Johnny reach into the back of the car. He’s holding your tote back and pulls out two books.

“Here, this is the book you looked the most excited about when you got it at the store today.” Johnny says as he hands you the book.

You can see that he brought a book for himself that you had owned for a long time, it was one of your favorites that you had been trying to convince Johnny to read for a while. You two sat in the car, music playing at a low volume, reading. Every once in a while, you caught Johnny looking at you and then start to read again, pretending like he wasn’t just staring at you.

It's just now starting to get darker, only a few spots of pink scattered around the sky, left over from sunset. You two put your books down to enjoy the view. You stayed like that for a while, until the pink faded. That’s when you turned to Johnny.

“Johnny?”

“Hm?” He says as he turns his head to you.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah.” You say as you turn your face away from him to hide your blush. You can’t see his face right now but you know the exact smile that’s on his lips right now.

You definitely had not expected this day to end like this, but you've never been more thankful for a power outage than you are right now.

#johnny suh #nct #nct 127 #fluff #k-pop #imagine #nct scenarios #johnny x y/n #johnny x reader #fanfic #nct 127 fanfic

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hanniluvi · 5 months

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( 🎞️ ) LOVE EASILY CRUMBLES — TAEHYUN SHORT FIC

[ DAY FIVE ] of the advent calendar !

( 🎞️ ) SYNOPSIS . . how easy it is to lose love for a season.

( .𖥔 ݁ ) PAIRING . . classmate!taehyun x classmate!gn-reader

( 🎞️ ) GENRE . . fluff, angst | FT. K + NICHOLAS ( &TEAM )

( .𖥔 ݁ ) WARNINGS . . profanity, miscommunications, someone kinda being a douchebag, taehyun is kinda frustrating ngl bc he holds GRUDGESSS 😪 — WORD COUNT : 1.1K+ ( 1139 )

( 🎞️ ) NOTE . . omg is this the start of soph FINALLY working on smth for txt 😱?? LMAO trust i have been trying for the past months but the ideas never got finished so </3 so im def proud of myself for getting this out n finished for u guys 🤍

"Come on! Ask him out!" K whispered, nudging you in Kang Taehyun's direction.

"I can't do this right now! I'm nervous—seriously, calm down!" You attempted to hold your ground, even pushing back, but the inevitable draw towards your crush seemed unstoppable.

"Stop playing matchmaker at the moment!"

"You need to make a move! You both complement each other so well! You, the energetic one, and him, the quiet one—it's a perfect match, if you ask me!" After a final nudge from K, you found yourself right next to Taehyun, who was seated at his desk, engrossed in a book with earbuds in. Well, fuck.

Sensing your presence, your crush, Kang Taehyun, glanced up, his eyebrow arching in mild surprise. Cursing your nerves, you hastily fished out a folded piece of paper from your pocket. Placing it on his desk, you offered a fleeting smile before dashing away.

You locked eyes with K, shooting him a fierce glare. "K, you're in trouble."

"Hey! I helped you—" K's protest was cut short as you chased him out of the classroom, eliciting a yelp. "I'm sorry!"

Meanwhile, Taehyun observed the scene, a small smile gracing his lips at the commotion. Returning his focus to the piece of paper, he carefully unfolded it.

"Here’s my number: XXX-XXX-XXXX.

Let’s go out?"

Despite his typically reserved and aloof nature, Taehyun found himself smiling, a faint pink tint gracing his cheeks—an unfamiliar but welcome sensation for him.

"And then—holy shit!" You exclaimed, eyes widened as you stared at your phone screen. Your heart raced far faster than usual, but who wouldn't get excited over something like this? "He actually texted me!"

"Who?" Nicholas barely showed any reaction but was still curious about the source of your unexpected excitement. “The quiet loser?”

You playfully hit his arm, causing him to wince and rub the spot. “No need to diss my future boyfriend now.”

“Okay, now you're delusional—and your taste in men is terrible too?”

“Oh fuck off, Nicholas,” you retorted, your eyes fixed on your phone, a smile spreading across your face as you read Taehyun's messages.

Hey YN, it’s Taehyun.

So, where do you wanna go?

You quickly typed up a response, “There’s a lovely spot not too far from here. Beautiful trees and a bench made for two. Oh, and there's a chance of snow today! It could be the perfect moment…unless you're not a fan of snow?”

He read your messages, and at this point, you were practically biting your fingernails, hoping he shared your affection for winter. It was your favorite season, with its enchanting snow and the opportunity to wear layers of cozy clothing.

That sounds wonderful. I love the snow :)

When?

With a sense of relief, you quickly arranged for the date to happen today, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement when Taehyun agreed. "I can't believe I just set up a date."

“I still don’t know what you see in him.”

“Stop being a mood killer, Nicho.”

You were spot on—tonight, snowfall was abundant, and Taehyun faced biting winds that blew the snowflakes into his face. Extending his hand, the snowflakes delicately settled in his palm, melting at his touch. At least the snow was pretty today.

Glancing at the time on his phone—6 PM, precisely on schedule—he approached the location. It was indeed a charming sight. The lights cast a soft glow above the bench, creating an atmosphere purposefully crafted for a romantic encounter for two. A smile graced his face; everything seemed just perfect, tailored to his ideal kind of date.

Sitting down on the bench, he looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of you at any moment. He waited.

And waited.

An hour had passed, and you hadn’t arrived. Taehyun was puzzled; where could you be? He was confident about the time—6 PM and the location you had chosen. His phone suddenly chimed, a notification he hoped was from you, but instead, it was a text from an unknown number.

You really think YN would go on a date with someone like you?

The text hit him like a ton of bricks.

She's popular, you're not. Why would she waste her time on a loser like you?

Doubt crept in, making his heart sink.

He felt a wave of nausea rising, his grip on the phone tightening, his fingers nearly turning numb. Did he raise his hopes for nothing? Did he really think that you were going to be different from the rest? The biting cold made it increasingly hard for him to catch his breath—how he despised the sensations coursing through him.

Nervously, his fingers hovered over your contact, finally pressing the call button. He didn’t know what he was doing, but it just felt like the right thing. Anxiously, he chewed on his lip while waiting on the line, and soon, he heard shuffling in the background. His eyes widened at how quickly you picked up the phone.

"Hey Taehyun?" Your voice sounded surprisingly calm on your end.

"Where are you?" he asked, trying to maintain composure, but the cold and wind were beginning to make him sound shaken up.

“I’m here with Nicholas—why do you ask?”

Taehyun should’ve known.

“So I’ve been waiting out here in the cold for no reason?”

“Huh?”

“The date you wanted to go on, YN. God, can you stop acting oblivious and tell me how you actually feel about me?” Taehyun feels the anger getting to him, his voice already rising.

“But the date is set to 8 PM? Wait, did I not tell you that?”

“That’s just a fucking excuse, isn’t it?”

“No, I thought I told you 8 PM? Oh my god—Taehyun, I’m so sorry. It’s a mistake, I swear!” You felt panicked, re-reading the text message you sent, realizing your mistake.

“Yeah right.” he just couldn’t help but chuckle at his situation.

“Taehyun, you have to believe me—” But he cut you off, “I already know how you feel. Thanks for playing with me—oh, and most important, thanks for ruining winter for me.”

“Wait—” But Taehyun hung up before you could continue. He had too many thoughts swirling in his head to deal with everything at that moment.

Taehyun sat alone on the snow-covered bench, the bitter cold seeping into him as he felt the disappointment and frustration swirl within. His emotions were a chaotic mess, a blend of anger, hurt, and the numbing chill of the winter night. The twinkling lights above seemed to mock his shattered hopes.

As he walked away, his shoulders weighed heavy with a mix of resentment and sorrow. Winter, once his beloved season, was now tarnished by this painful memory.

With a heavy heart, Taehyun knew this winter would forever hold a bitter taste, a season stained by a shattered promise and unfulfilled expectations.

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danwhobrowses · 2 months

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So I Finally Finished a Playthrough of Baldur's Gate 3

It's been months of playing over my holidays and the weekends, but I've finally completed my first playthrough of what was deemed Game of the Year for 2023.

As someone whose only D&D experiences come from the two movies (the bad one that traumatized me as a kid by killing Snails and the good one that deserves more love) and Critical Role, I didn't know much of what I was getting into, only my coworkers saying 'buy it, it's a masterpiece' unanimously when I inquired about it. Having no idea how to play or the lore, I was very much entering blind.

Continued down the Keep Reading

So, I'm sure we gotta get through the first set of questions so let's get to them.

What was your Tav? It took a long time to realise that 'Tav' meant your player character among fanpages, I can't tell you why it's Tav still, but I only pieced it together from Durge naming too. My Tav is Dec, short for December because that's when I started playing and I couldn't waste too much time on stream thinking up a clever name. He was a High Elf Guild Artisan, for Class I started as a Beast Master Ranger, ironic that Ranger is deemed one of the lesser classes among the community, I was adamant to not use archery at the start but by the end of it I was a Crossbow Expert. I went 9/3 with Rogue to get Assassin, but then respec'd my Ranger into a Gloomstalker, since I never really summoned the bear (probably should've learned from Sam's constant dissing of Trinket eh?) plus when I remembered Dread Ambusher it gave me 3 attacks on the first turn. He has combustible blood thanks to Araj and some tadpole powers after consuming them after the creche incident made him more open to trusting the Dream Visitor; Charm - which failed 90% of the time - Psionic Backlash, Favourable Beginnings and Luck of the Far Realms used mainly, I had Stage Fright and Force Tunnel but didn't use it, same for Cull the Weak. Likes to talk things through, especially with Persuasion/Charisma buffing invisible hats. Has the Duellist's Perogative Sword and the Swire's Sledboard Shield for Melee, and the AC bonus, plus the Armor of Agility giving him an evasive 24 AC with Advantage thanks to 20 DEX and the Cloak of Displacement.

You can't see his scar and tattoo too well from here but I had to show off his Black Furnace and Red dye on his armour it looks too good. Here's a better look of his face:

For his tattoo and scarring I like to think he got the tattoo after the burn, in some ways distracting it from the scarring.

Did you Save Scum? Don't Lie to Me! Yes and I'm not sorry about it. If you wanna invite me to a D&D table I'll follow the rules and how the dice lands but there's a lot more wiggle room there than in a game where there's finite dialogue options. I was also not going to sit there and let my companions turn against me just because the game fancied throwing continual Nat 1s or low rolls at me, nor would I let Omeluum die in the Iron Throne, or end up leaving the Mirror of Loss empty handed. I bought the game so if I wanna carve this experience this way I shall carve it this way, I get some people see the Morally Good path as boring for this kind of gaming but I like to be good, it feels good, and I want good things to happen for my allies, even if it means having to undo most of their religious indoctrination. But, it did take a while for me to start save scumming, really it was freeing Halsin that started it but it didn't become regular until Auntie Ethel. I only really did it for dialogue/lore expansion (or when there were two dialogue options I was between which I hoped would be interpreted how I expect it to) and for necessary buff rolls like the Mirror of Loss, but sometimes I did it to keep some key NPCs alive like Jaheira, who died at Moonrise the first time.

Who did you usually team up with? Kinda a harem squad since I had Lae'zel, Shadowheart and Karlach. I was very combat-oriented; Lae'zel adding support to Karlach's melee or Dec's ranged combat while Shadowheart made up for most of the magic with heals, summons and like 100 scrolls in her bag (Dec horded about 100 different arrows and poisons too, sometimes pays off). I respec'd her to Light Domain after the Nightsong stuff to fit her character and hair change - though I must admit I preferred the black hair - and gave her my Adamantine Splint Armour for defences plus the ring and Balduran's Helm for +5 healing each turn. Lae'zel was a Battle Master, clad in the Helldusk set, though I didn't use much of her Superiority dice moves; the enemies often made saves against it even with 18 strength (20 after the mirror of loss, and higher at endgame thanks to an Elixir of Cloud Giant Strength), I relied more on her brute force, plus reaction skills like Executioner and Sentinel, plus the Silver Sword of the Astral Plane. Karlach was a 9/3 Bear Heart Barbarian and Champion Fighter, I did respec her for the Feats but the Bone armour, Balduran's Greatsword and Brutal Jump also helped at times, plus the Gauntlets of Hill Giant Strength and the Amulet of Greater Health made her a high damage, near-200 Health-on-Rage machine (over 200 thanks to the +30 extra health at the final battle). I tended not to swap around a lot, I couldn't abandon my healer, loved Karlach's personality and I had sentiment for Lae'zel being the first person I encountered, she has the sad eyes too, but I did do some rare switching for personal quests. Initially I started with Astarion, but that's because of a misunderstanding of who Karlach was - more on that later - and it turned out that I wasn't doing much for stealth, I brought him for Cazador though, much like I brought Wyll for Ansur and Gale for the Book of Karsus. Later in Act 3 I played around with dyes and equipped everyone, out of fear that I may be sprung unprepared like with Orin - Halsin only had a torch - by all campmates joining the fight, it didn't happen but everyone at least looks stylish.

I go between whether I like Wyll's colours though, on one hand he looks like a Templar and the white would stand out in Avernus, other times he looks like a cosplayer XD Minsc and Jaheira needed no dyes the colours already suited well, but I do love the colours I chose for Astarion, Halsin and Karlach.

Who did you fuck? (romance) Probably would've been asked sooner but sadly Dec became an unintended bachelor, at least outside of the headcanon. He did share a night of passion with Lae'zel after freeing the Emerald Grove but it wasn't something he wanted to pursue further, our dynamic was more befitting of two soldiers, or at least a dynamic where we think we're the General and the other the Advisor. Had Shadowheart took 'later' for her drink offer as 'I want to see all the dialogues other characters have first' rather than a refusal there might have been a romance there, instead I feel we fell into a more sibling bond, she can be a bit too sassy at times in passing dialogue - I had hoped to see more development with her and Lae'zel eventually being friends. Wyll did his best to throw sad puppy eyes at me when I refused to dance with him but it just made things more awkward, Gale meanwhile probably was gonna make moves when teaching me the Weave but he was very hung up on Mystra for me to entertain it, I sat with him when he felt the mortal coil though. Astarion I think made a passing suggestion but nothing of substance, Halsin left it late after he got kidnapped by Orin - I didn't realise he had to physically join the party to be a part of the group until Act 3 - coming onto me right before I confronted the Brain which was quickly turned down. I believe Minsc and Jaheira are unable to be romanced atm, and I did not fuck the Emperor; it weirded me out that he just was there shirtless chilling next to my unconscious dream state. We killed Minthara, didn't know you could recruit or romance her in a Morally Good path. Which left Karlach, fuck did I want to romance Karlach, not for lack of trying either; but because when I met Wyll he was talking about killing her I immediately assumed 'oh Karlach must be that woman on the cover with him' (aka 'the bitch who could've been cool if she wasn't such a bitch' Mizora, who I also wouldn't have romanced given the option) and stuck a pin in it, I was also unaware that most Act 1 romance stuff would come to a head at the end of the Emerald Grove quest which I prioritized so I only encountered Karlach after I saved Halsin and the Grove, meaning I couldn't reach Dammon until Act 2. By then Karlach seemed to be locked out of romance, perhaps for another misunderstanding on my part too since I did upgrade her engine twice at Lost Light very swiftly, but it still was a knife to the heart after all that and the date at the circus that she called us 'just mates' to Fytz. All this and then they give us a better kissing patch ¬_¬

Yes so sad, anyway what about ~Astarion~? Astarion is popular, and I know why he's popular, and the scene of him killing Cazador was very well done...but Astarion for me though was just fine; I mean you guys see Karlach right? Part of the reason she stays my group was that I can't bear to part from her. A lot of the times my Morally Good options didn't align with Astarion's brand of pessimistic chaos, so he spent a lot of time in camp as I mispronounced his name until I heard it be properly said, which probably hampered his story a bit more, but we had a close enough friendship that he heeded my advice with the Ascension and the spawn, wish he reacted to me getting a painting of him since he can't see his reflection though, felt like something could've been done there. Jaheira was a fun personality too, angry old lady who says it like it is, kinda wish we had more to her quest, seeing her home and her interacting with her wards/children was interesting, Minsc was charming too in his simple way, would've been cool if he had more of a presence as well, like we could hear about Minsc and the Stone Lord in separate lights earlier in the game to build up to him. On that topic, I was surprised to find that there wasn't a companion for each role, I suppose there were constraints but Aylin and Zevlor both worked as Paladins, Alfira a Bard (though I don't think anyone would dare put her in the line of fire), I suppose there's little need for a Sorcerer when you had a Wizard or a Monk when you had a Fighter and Barbarian but it was strange, you get 2 Druids and your Ranger is built more like a Fighter or Barbarian (the latter I added to Minsc). I'd later learn that there was cut content for a halfling companion who was a werewolf, but I can see why that one was cut, with Chetney and all, but yeah not any halflings, Barcus could've been a companion even without the Artificer class, or a Dragonborn.

So how did your story go? Being the Morally Good Guy I was I went through most of the best options I could, but I also tried to avoid combat earlier on when I was struggling to work with it. I was friendly with the Goblin Camp for starters, since they thought I was with the Absolute and Dec is willing to put shit on his face to avoid conflict, it all went tits up after freeing Halsin and having to kill everyone but it may've had some benefit to how I could walk freely through Moonrise. Ironically it was the same with the Githyanki, friendly up until they wanted me to hand over the prism, though the Creche was a lost cause anyway, they're lucky I didn't ransack the place, could've gotten a lot of xp and loot there. I let Viconia live, so she can dwell on that burn Shadowheart gave her but oftentimes I was not so merciful, do wish I didn't kill that one Sharran with the letter of hating being there though, why'd you fight me girl? Same with the Bhaalist with the parents at Elfsong, and the goblin children, I was using nonlethal but arrows don't count as I'd soon learn. Allies were mostly good-to-neutral creatures like the Tieflings (though I wish I saved more, nobody told me about the harpies and I thought convincing Rolan to stay would mean the Grove not the Shadow Cursed Lands - also why send refugees who struggle with goblins through the SHADOW CURSED LANDS?) and 90% of the Ironhand Gnomes because fuck Wulbren - I didn't like Barcus too much at first, thought him rude, but when Wulbren didn't even show gratitude for his attempts I softened to him. Kindness made me quite the enemy to others however; the infernal naturally did not appreciate my deeds of pact breaking but saving the Duke anyway and pilfering the House of Hope, but to be fair Raphael (and his clear portrait of himself I clocked onto immediately when he was in his human guise to know he was untrustworthy) never repaid me in-game for 'killing' Yurgir, and Mizora would've squirmed a lot more in her Ilithid pod had it been a table interaction - though, the latter two were more than willing to help me with the Absolute, 'cept Raphael because he's dead - but in my defence I loved outwitting and being a sassy little shit to demons. Slaying the Chosen was a given, as a very Pro-Karlach guy I was never letting Gortash live, got the Father/Grandfather-Daughter set with Bhaal too. Killing the former Balduran was disappointing; as much as he was on my side he always felt like he had his own ulterior motives, he also had a superiority complex to him with his constant urging of being half-Ilithid; thinks it's not important that he's Balduran either, dismissing Ansur's legend until confronted by Ansur's spirit. Stealing the Orphic Hammer was an insurance policy at first, I could understand Voss' disdain for us using Githyanki Jesus in a box like a forcefield, but it's a shame that the guy who was all about trust decided not to trust me in releasing Orpheus; we could've stopped the brain together! Omeluum would've heard me out. I mean Orpheus was a bit salty but he at least was willing to negotiate and not immediately side back with the brain like a petty bitch. I'd say the gods have mixed feelings with me; friendly with Selune and Lathander at least, and whatever Withers is - though the guy roasted me about my love life. The rest either neutral or anti; Shar and Vlaakith (if you can call her a god) definitely hate me, because they're sore losers, think Myrkul and Bhaal likely hate me, Bane however seemed to respect game not sure how I feel about that. I don't quite like Mystra, think she's a bit extreme with her treatment of Gale, but I understand her role, valid god but shitty person. On the other hand I probably have Cyric's favour for helping the Strange Ox, which might be bad...but Milil was happy to be recognized.

In the end, most of the allies got to live somewhat happily; Gale got the orb out of him and became a professor, Lae'zel - having dealt the final blow to the brain - leads the charge against Vlaakith after Orpheus became a Mind Flayer and was mercy killed, Shadowheart has her family (Shar would've always been with her regardless of her choice), a bunch of pets and can maybe reminisce with Nocturne again one day, Jaheira and Minsc - once he survives Zhentharim execution, didn't realise I needed to have him talk to Nine Fingers - also can rest with her wards and probably share drinks with Nine Fingers until the next fight, Astarion sadly has no cure for vampirism but he is owning it and killing the right people (I like to think he'll get to see the sun again, maybe Omeluum and the Mycolids help), plus Halsin has a bunch of kids in Moonrise to look after, plus Thaniel, Oliver and a new Owlbear who I'd rather had left with Dammon given the option. Isobel and Aylin can settle down, Rolan runs the Sundries, Hope is free, Alfira and Lakrissa got their bard's school, Florrick and Ravengard resume leadership to rebuild, Dammon has his forge, Scratch found a new home in this Mindy (but I remain best master), Mol I'm sure will be running the Guildhall in a few years, Thrumbo has a shelter for his brothers, Mayrina will raise her son without the threat of a hag, Vanra won't become a hag (but does need therapy), and Arabella will probably be the next Withers after reading some more rocks. Yenna didn't seem to have an ending so I'll assume that she found a loving home too, maybe with Halsin or as one of Jaheira's wards, or maybe Gale wants a Sous Chef since she did bring her own carving knife if you didn't know. I wish Alfira got invited to the epilogue, god of song is fine but not the familiar face and it would've been cool for them to meet, nice to get a letter at least, and we'll have to visit Art's grave sometime. Surprised we got no word about Mizora, I didn't get a letter from Geraldus even though he survived, Naaber apparently had more in him after wanting to be a dog, sad not to get anything from Rolan, Devella (I know Valeria mentioned her but c'mon), the Gondians, Mol, Omeluum, or Aylin and Isobel from the epilogue, did we really need the ramblings of Ettvard? Plus the papers must've glitched they said Stelmane's killer was still at large? Post-credits scene felt a bit weak mind you, but guessing Withers is that old God of Death Jerghal? Least he's not a surprise villain to fight. As for me, well, I was never one to give up on people and neither is Dec, and thus Dec and Karlach brave Avernus to seek a fix for her infernal engine, punch a few demons and whatnot, Wyll is there too as the Blade of Avernus, a role he embraced twice after barely contributing to killing Ansur but that's more proximity. We'll chill in the House of Hope especially after her letter, but soon enough we'll all return to Faerun on a more permanent basis.

So you enjoyed it? Yes, very much. I did of course make a lot of mistakes though; kept forgetting about Dread Ambusher for one, my earlier failures at romance still stung, I think the game wasn't as welcoming to those unfamiliar to it. The dice did not like me many times, I once got a Nat 1 in a 2 DC with +2 bonus, I also have had several instances of back-to-back Nat 1s, even had 6 in two different streams. Combat was an adjustment period, I missed a lot of the time which was frustrating, or the enemy would make saving throws on my gambits, Karlach even got pushed into the abyss at the Temple of Bhaal, I was livid. I think I probably would've experienced more if the game established better that you can long rest as much as you like without turning into a Mind Flayer, because much of Act 1 was me reluctant to Long Rest because they say you can change 'within 2-3 days', as a result that affected some romance options too, nobody to spend the night with if there's no night, as well as other in-camp interactions - Astarion never tried to bite me for instance, and I'm sure Raphael would've arrived to reward me for killing Yurgir had we not dealt with a backlog of interactions. I remained quite the hesitant player too, I ignored Gale stuck in a portal for a while fearing some magical backlash was gonna vaporize me, oftentimes I expected worse than what actually happened. Graphically there were a few characters whose cheeks were being pulled to the far left side of the map which was weird, and some battles would have enemies who would just do nothing for their turns, and some areas didn't render quick enough to not be noticed, but it was small stuff in comparison, I didn't do much for camp clothes or dyes until late on but probably for the better since style should be for the final act. I also keep seeing stuff that I somehow missed in my playthrough; like there's an angry squirrel near the grove? A frog in Ethel's house? A bird who wanted help with the giant eagles? What? Where?

What was the most difficult part? Act 3 had a lot of tough shit going down, though one of my most memorable struggles was against Auntie Ethel in Act 1. Already deep in her domain at lv4 it was a rough run to start with, continually hit by Hold Person by her projections, only when I learned they were one-hits did it become a little easier, but without Extra Attack it was still difficult. After that combat was here and there, sometimes it was just the environment like being jammed in a pipe when fighting Minsc; Lorroakan was annoying, Grym I had to be tactical with the hammer, the Assassin at the Facemaker was quite difficult too because he'd Haste himself and hide. The Death Shepherds in the Mountain Pass were surprisingly difficult without the Blood of Lathander, much easier with its Sunbeam. The companion quest final battles of Cazador, Ansur and Viconia were each difficult in their own way; the former was most annoying because my party would be downed but the thrown healing potions weren't working (plus those downed members were the ones with Radiant damage and holy water), wasn't even Bone Chilled like with Viconia, Ansur was difficult because of his burst attack. Raphael hits fucking hard, but once I realised that Hope kept dying because she was getting backlash from dealing Radiant Damage it was just attrition and lots of potion throwing. Combat-wise I think the toughest battle was Cazador due to the glitch of thrown potions not healing, otherwise the toughest boss was Ansur. Overall the most difficult experience I found was the timed operations of the Iron Throne.

Will you play again? Most likely, which is something I don't tend to say so Larian did do their job well. Though I might wait a bit to play other games first and give Larian time to add more content and finer polishing, I think I'd have a better time with it the second time around, would definitely try to resolve previous wrongs or missed opportunities, though I doubt I'd look forward to everything there; killing the Goblin Camp was still difficult work, same with the Steel Watch and all the turn limit stuff, I'll at least wait until I have Extra Attack before dealing with Ethel in Act 1 and take more Long Rests, maybe rotate the party a bit more and try out some other classes - but you will pry Speak with Animals out of my cold dead hands! Learning later about there being a bunch of cut content would entice me to play a third time if they reach a stage where all the intended content has been added in, but there's not exactly a time frame for that or a clear show of intent so far, so we'll see in that one, for all that is cut it seems like the end product is the tip of the iceberg. Enjoyed the play, played for a long time, would play again: money well spent.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #larian studios #karlach #shadowheart #lae'zel #astarion #jaheira #minsc and boo #minsc #halsin #wyll ravengard #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 tav #bg3 withers #it wouldn't have killed larian to give us more dice skins too just sayin'#but I loved that they added little messages in the credits

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class1akids · 4 months

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As a shoto enthusiast I wanted to know your opinion on the whole todoroki got nerfed thing.

It just feel that starting from the sports festival he Constantly lost and the fact that he has trauma was the excuse. I have no problem with him struggling with that and it slowing him down a little bit but it became his entire character. The only feat he had was in the first stage in the lisciencing exam which was followed up by and embarrassing loss. And he didn't even get a quirk awakening in the todoroki family finally (phosphur is a technique not and awakening ) he is constantly losing while the contrast to that is bakugi winning most of the time (I haven't caught up to the manga so idk what happened with afo but I doubt hell lose after being reveied)

I am very upset when people are trying to pit Bakugou against Todoroki with the two of them being my faves and especially when they use Bakugou to diss Shouto.

I think also that you need to get the facts straight:

Battle trial: Shoto wins / Bakugou loses

SF: Shotuo wins Cavalry battle / Bakugou wins finale

Stain: Shouto gets a win against Stain / Bakugou doesn't fight

Forest: Shouto does most of the fighting vs Moonfish / Bakugou gets kidnapped

Kamino: Shouto is on the rescue team / Bakugou holds off villains for a while

Licensing exam: Shouto wins first round / Bakugou needs help. Both Shouto and Bakugou fail second round.

DvK2: Shouto is not there (but won against Deku in SF) / Bakugou wins

Mirio vs Class A: neither of them participates

JTA: Shouto gets a draw and a power-up / Bakugou wins but no power-up

Post licensing exam fight: they win together

Fight vs Ending: they win together

PLF War: Shouto gets the Aizawa save and the finishing blow against Shigaraki, and holds off Dabi for a while before he loses. Bakugou gets a hit on Shigaraki, a sacrifice play on Deku with a power-up and fights the nomus

Class A vs OFA: They are both part of the combo that catches up to Deku

Final arc: Shouto gets a new technique and 2 wins against Dabi in a triggering situation where earlier he may have fallen into PTSD, the second time nullifying a 5km nuke in one shot and saving all the evacuees / heroes nearby. Bakugou gets stomped by Quirkless Shigaraki, needs his entire team to save him/revive him, gets another power-up, gets the All Might save and does the steal kill on AFO.

So if you look at the list, their accomplishments are quite equal. Bakugou is certainly not a character who "always wins" and Todoroki is not a character who "always loses". In fact, Bakugou is damselled more than any character in the story. Sadly, neither of them get a proper 1 vs 1 villain fight before the endgame and even the endgame fights are not technically 1v1. And I think that's a missed opportunity.

As for the final power-up - Shouto's starting raw power was higher than Bakugou's - for a long time, he was the only S-ranked kid. And we've never really seen his limits. In the current war, he one-shotted twice Touya's biggest fire move and in between helped boost Iida's speed for 400 kms. That was a constant power output.

Bakugou got a more flashy update, especially for speed, but obviously also on power, which now puts him probably in the S box too. So he has better mobility than Shouto, and maybe close the same raw power. Shouto still has a more powerful and versatile AoE.

I think the Gunga example shows this. Bakugou couldn't have stopped Dabi and saved everyone. His explosion would have just triggered Dabi's fireball, while Shouto had the move to counter him and save everyone. While for AFO, speed was needed, so Bakugou could hold the line, where maybe Shouto wouldn't have been able to do that. So both of them have things they are better at / more suited to than the other.

The problem is that people always think in terms of 1v1 arena fight when ranking heroes, while there is obviously much more to it. I'd say when it comes to rescue situations, Shouto is probably the better performer in most of them - think forest fires, collapsing infrastructure, etc. He also has great defensive powers (e.g. he could stop bullets with ice walls) and offense against multiple opponents.

In a 1v1 offensive fight, Bakugou is probably better right now.

And while it sucks that Shouto didn't get an "awakening", his character was always about reaching the potential he was born with, which was already pretty amazing. Phosphor is a fantastic endgame technique, because it incorporates not only his two sides, but also his experiences and emotional growth (like going to his father to learn flashfire). Still, I wouldn't be surprised if he got another level-up from absorbing Dabi's nuke - but we shall see.

In the meantime, I'll continue to avoid the power-scaler dudebro threads that keep dissing Shouto. I'm confident that he's really cool and powerful and excited about the potential he has as a hero.

#c1a asks

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lostgreekgod · 1 year

Text

sinner's damnation: part 1

a/n: its been SO LONG. and ik I said I wont probably write anymore, but technically I wrote this like a year ago and we've only now come to finishing it. so he's my first collab and probably my last loki fanfic with my best big bro @theaudacitytowrite 😗💞

pairing: loki x f!reader, angst with some fluff in nex's part hehe

warnings: human trafficking, blood, gore, swearing. lmk if theres anything else

link to part 2

words: 4.8k (LMAO sorry)

taglist: @theaudacitytowrite @gaitwae @naterson @queenjosielaufeyson @1marvelnerd3000 @dmltnlvr

Tony Stark had passed an unnecessary comment aimed at him. Again. Loki did what he usually did in response to that. He got up and left.

A movie night meant being quiet and paying attention to said movie. But obviously, no one followed that rule. Thor had forced Loki into yet another weekend Avenger bonding time, ignorant of his protests, and the God had yet again been "teased" by none other than the billionaire. One thing Midgardians found hard to understand was the fact that no matter how inexpressive someone was, they still had feelings. Feelings that the so-called 'virtuous' Avengers entirely made a point of ignoring.

Another thing - whatever Stark did? It wasn't plain and simple teasing. It was a sly little tactic for their glorious pastime. Bored? Then taunt Loki. Try eliciting a reaction. Did his eyebrow twitch? Did he grit his jaw? Then congratulations! You've successfully won the game of tease-Loki-until-his-face-twitches.

Loki was currently packing up, fuming over the conversation he had just overheard. He was going to leave.

"Don't you think your brother might be... how do I put this? A little too uptight?" Loki heard Stark's voice from the corridors. It had been an hour since he had gotten up and walked away from the stupid movie the Avengers were watching, and he had returned to the kitchen to get his nightly cup of tea. Thor and Stark seemed unaware of his presence as they spoke about him in hushed voices.

"Nonsense," Thor boomed, although he knew he was supposed to be whispering. But obviously, he saw no need for it. He didn't care if Loki heard him. "Loki doesn't care about what you think of him. Hel, he doesn't care what anyone thinks of him. He'll be fine."

Loki grimaced. Thor was right. He didn't care what these measly Midgardians thought of him, right? He shouldn't. Then why was he so affected? Why did it anger him so much, the fact that the stupid metal man could barely contain himself without passing a rude comment at him every time?

"He lives up to his name, Anthony. He's cold-hearted, a snake. He proved that when he stabbed me at like, 8 years old."

Loki’s stomach somersaulted. Did his older brother really think of him in such a derogatory manner? He stepped closer to the wall, trying to catch the rest of their conversation.

"I keep telling Cap we can't trust him. What's worse, Capsicle knows it. Yet he's here, with us like New York never happened," Tony continued, braver than before now that Thor had participated in dissing Loki. "It won’t take long before he betrays us. Again."

Now Loki flinched. Sure, he might have been planning another escapade, but betrayal? Where would he go? Asgard? There was no one for him there. His mother's death had made that very clear. Who would he lead? He did not have an army of Chitauri to serve him this time. He didn't have anybody - no family, no army, no friends. He thought he had Thor to a certain extent but once again, he was wrong. He was alone, and he would remain alone no matter where he went. Hands shaking, he raced to his room, his cup of tea forgotten. He didn't care if his brother could hear him.

Loki wasn't one for spontaneous decisions. He was a planner. An organizer. He hated when he didn't have things planned out meticulously, but right now that was the last thing on his mind. He was leaving. He didn't know where he would go, but it was better than being stuck with people who wished for his absence. He shoved his mother's spell books into a duffel bag as he tugged on the green comforter on his bed. He knew he could conjure one with his seidr anytime, but something told him to take it along - so he did. His eyes landed on a box of his favourite assorted tea bags. Before he could think, he grabbed it. He didn't have anything else left for him in the Avenger compound. He noticed the framed picture of Thor and him on his dresser. Thor was laughing heartily as Loki scowled at him - but he remembered the warmth he felt in his chest. The love he had for his brother. The memory quickly faded when the earlier conversation replayed in his mind. Cold-hearted. Snake.

He zipped up the bag harshly and dashed out of his room. It was only a matter of time until FRIDAY notified the Avengers of his absence. He headed towards the basement, his hands still trembling. He grabbed a set of keys and clicked the button on it. When he first ended up being among the Avengers, he was sent on a mission along with Natasha Romanoff and Sam Wilson. He had watched how Romanoff had handled the automobile they rode in, and by the time the mission was over, he kind of had it figured out. He still had questions about the little stick on the side - how they moved it whenever the terrain changed - but he was sure he could handle it. He noticed a sleek black car that had blinked its lights in response and moved towards it. Shoving his bag in, he started the car. Shutting his eyes for a moment, he braced himself. Thor didn't deserve Loki's companionship.

"Loki!" his eyes shot open when he heard his brother's voice. Had they realized it already? He glanced in the mirror to see Thor running towards him. "What are you doing?" he yelled, his face perplexed.

Loki stepped on the accelerator, the car immediately zooming out of the parking. He glanced back at Thor using the rear-view mirror, only to see a look of betrayal on his features. His heart stung. How dare he? How dare he assume such a look when he spoke so badly of his own brother just a few minutes ago as if nothing ever happened?

The car shot out of the compound, Loki still manoeuvring it rather perfectly despite the slippery roads. He was proud of himself for being able to learn well, just from observation. That was all he had. His mind, his heart, and himself.

"Brother!" Thor's voice boomed from somewhere behind the car. Of course. Loki was no match for Mjolnir. Thor simply shot his hammer into the air, and hurray! Here he was. Loki looked out of his window to see Thor flying next to him through the ice-cold winter night, his face still donning the innocent look of betrayal. Loki felt his blood heat up in anger.

"Leave, Thor. I have nothing to say to you," Loki said, glaring at him. It was rather late in the night, and only a few vehicles were travelling on the road they were on. He was thankful for that. The speed he was going on wasn't exactly safe for a road filled with Midgardians.

"Why, brother?" Thor yelled, his hand grabbing onto the car so he could keep flying. Loki wondered how Thor felt at the moment. Did he even realize how insulting he had sounded? Did he regret talking behind his back? Did he feel even an ounce of remorse?

"You know why, Thor. I am cold-hearted. A snake." Loki sneered the last few words out, his anger riling up when the look of recognition took over Thor.

"Brother-"

"No," Loki said, interrupting whatever feeble excuse Thor was coming up with. He summoned the energy of his seidr, the green smoke covering the entire car. With a last look at Thor's regretful face, he magicked himself to a different location. He had no idea where he was, but Thor wasn't around anymore. He looked around as he slowed the car, the tall snow-covered trees against the full moon sky allowing a sort of melancholy in the air. He noticed a few snowy hills, and how the temperature was even cooler than where he was just a few minutes ago. Loki breathed deeply, the cool, fresh air letting his muscles loosen up, his ever-buzzing mind stilling for a moment. He flinched when the screen on the console began to make an irritating ringing sound.

Loki pressed on the screen haphazardly, only to freeze up when he heard Tony's voice.

"What the fuck--"

"Let me speak to him," Thor's voice butted in, as grim as ever. Loki clenched the steering wheel harder. Thor did not have any right to be mad at Loki. He didn't.

"Brother?" Thor called, waiting for him to respond. Loki contemplated cancelling the call. As his hand hovered over the 'end' button, Thor's voice rang again.

"Loki, please don't end the call," it was as if Thor knew what Loki would do. When had he become so predictable? That's right. When he started to put down his guard around the other Avengers. But what did that get him? An accusation of betrayal.

"Come back, brother. What do you think you can accomplish by doing this?" Loki inhaled sharply, his shock making him slightly woozy. No apology. Thor knew exactly why Loki had fled. Yet, he did not have it in him to apologize.

"Answer the question, Reindeer Games. We can track you anyway. You either get back here of your own free will, or we come to find you and take you back as a prisoner. Your choice." Loki would have laughed at Tony's empty threat if he wasn't so mad at Thor. Stark was a terrible liar.

"You aren't tracking me, metal man," he said, surprised at how cool his voice sounded. "My seidr masks the radio waves. My location is well uncharted to your measly technology," he sneered, wishing he could see how Tony's face would have pinked in embarrassment.

"Loki," Thor chided again, almost hesitating. "Mother would be disappointed in you for running away," he whispered, and all the air left Loki's lungs. He could hear the rush of blood in his ears.

"How dare you," he spat, his voice a dark whisper. He hadn't sounded like this since New York. Since his mind was being controlled. "How dare you speak of Mother this way," he growled, his teeth gritting. His hands had gone cold. He stepped harder on the accelerator, not caring about the snow-covered bushes and muddy grass patches he was running the car into.

"Loki. Listen to-"

"Mother would be disappointed in you, Thor. Not me," he interrupted him again, pausing to swallow the large lump in his throat. "You're the one belittling—no, degrading his own brother. Not me." Loki's knuckles had started to turn white. He could barely see where he was going now. It seemed like a hill of sorts, but all there was were a few lone trees and a lot of green shrubs and grass.

“Guys.” Tony interrupted all of a sudden, “We need to calm down for a moment.”

“Stay out of it!” Loki snarled at Tony. He couldn’t understand Tony’s sudden urge to be the peacemaker when he was the one enabling it in the first place. Why was he suddenly so interested in mediating the situation?

“Just hear me out Loki, ok?” Tony’s change of mind and tone made Loki even warier. Stark wasn’t one to extinguish a fight, he was usually the one pouring gas into it so it could explode. The only feasible explanation Loki could think of was that Stark was getting nervous. Nervous about how the others Avengers and the general public would react once it came out that the Monster had escaped the tower. Tony surely tried to keep the damage as small as possible. And he surely wanted to try to stand in the best possible light once the news outlets got wind of it.

“Then go on, Stark,” Loki growled sharply. He had no interest in being painted as the uncooperative one who wouldn’t try to find an amicable solution to their dispute.

“We’re all at fault here.” Tony began sanctimoniously.

“Are we?” Loki scoffed sarcastically.

“My point is, maybe all of us should calm down first before we say something we cannot take back again, ok?” Tony took it as silent approval as neither of the gods answered, “How about Loki takes a few days off? I have some safe houses around town, some near the beach, some in the valley and even some in the mountains. I’ll send you the addresses and you can choose where you want to stay. As far as I know, you haven’t had a proper vacation since you joined us, have you?”

“And I won’t be generously “punished” when I decide to return?” Loki inquired, sneering out the sentence. He was sick of them. He was sick of how high they thought of themselves as if they had jurisdiction over what Loki’s abilities were.

“We will find a solution.” Tony deflected.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, did you? ...despite stealing my car.” Tony huffed annoyed.

“I borrowed it.” Loki retorted.

“Sure, call it what you like.” Tony began to grow impatient, “Do we have a deal now or not?”

Loki pondered over his options one last time before nodding.

“I’m okay with this.” he approved, “Under one condition.”

“And that is?”

“You will not contact me. Not at all. I will have my time to think about everything and I won’t be disturbed.” Loki demanded, “I have done nothing wrong in the entirety of my stay, quite the contrary. I deserve a basic sense of trust.”

“Tony, we can’t support such-” Thor tried to chime in.

“Okay, Reindeer Games. But you’ll promise to come back.” Tony agreed.

“Promise.” With that Loki hung up and slowed the car. He was getting exhausted using his seidr. He needed to conserve his energy. Just as his finger left the 'end call' button, he heard a rustle in the trees. His head snapped to the sound. He saw a flash of something - someone- wide eyes, irises illuminated by the car's headlights - and before he could comprehend what was happening, he had swerved his car right into the person, the car coming to a halt with screeching breaks just a little too late.

----

You had opened your eyes to a ceiling made of clay tiles. Your head was throbbing, your body aching from the hard ground you had been laid on. Where were you? Your surroundings were so dark, you had to squint to see around. Your blood ran cold when last night's events came rushing back to you.

You were just returning home late from work, shivering as the freezing air found its way under our thick coat. You had already walked more than half of your twenty-minute walk, your cheeks rosy from the cold when a stranger had asked for directions. A handsome man around your age with a dazzling smile on his face. He was charming, apologizing for his interruption of your stroll this late as he asked where to find the nearest pharmacy. He had a huge map in his hands, struggling to keep it upright as he motioned on the map. You joked with him about his ancient approach and asked if he didn’t own a smartphone, to which he simply shook his head apologetically.

“I’m Jack, by the way.” he had extended his hand for you to shake.

“Y/N.” you shook his hand hesitantly.

Despite the at-first queasy feeling in your stomach you decided to help him out. You had been raised to be polite, so it was the least you could do to help a stranger in despair. You studied his map, trying to locate where you were on the map. You scrunched your eyebrows in concentration… then in confusion. The map wasn’t from here but before you could open your mouth to inform him about it, he stepped uncomfortably close, his breath hitting your face. Your eyes wandered up from the map to his suddenly expressionless face. Your stomach dropped and you knew something was going on but before you could even pull out the pepper spray you carried with you for exactly a situation like this, something cold pressed against your ribs. Horrified you glanced down to see the dim light of the street lantern reflecting on the barrel of a gun.

"Make a squeak, and I shoot," he said, pressing the gun further into your coat.

"Move!" he snarled when you didn’t move, his eyes darted all around the streets, jittery; as if someone could catch him in the act even though the streets were empty.

"Okay, okay!" you shook yourself out of your frozen state, wobbly taking a few steps back, the gun never losing its pressure on your ribs.

"Turn around and get going," he barked, gesturing to a nearby van with his gun.

"What do you want from me?" you asked, tears welling up in your eyes. You cursed yourself for not trusting your intuition. You should’ve never stopped in the first place.

"Shut up!" he spat, his crazed gaze landing on you, “One more question, and you won’t ask another in your life.”

That was enough to let you know to shut up. The tears were falling free now. He grabbed the back of your collar and pressed the gun to your back. He pushed you out towards the car, his body covering your back when a car suddenly drove into the street.

"Wipe those fucking tears and look normal, girl, or you won't live to see another day," he whispered in your ear. Immediately palming your face haphazardly, you dried them. Pasting a smile on your face, you folded your arms against your chest and walked down the sidewalk. To the people in the car watching you, it would seem like you and your lover were heading somewhere, his embrace on you as protective as ever. They would probably 'aw' at you and wish they could have the same for themselves. But you knew better.

"Get in the car," he said, pushing you to it. The car had vanished into the next street, the road empty again, most of the lights in the flats turned off. No one to spot you. No one to ask for help. Hands shaking, you felt for the handle. You noticed how he was standing in the way of the door. Your heart welled up in hope when your brain sputtered out a plan - you could slam the door into him in the pretence of opening it and run away, as fast as possible. You snuck a glance at him, regarding that although he had his gun at you, he was still looking around in the same frazzled way. Now or never. You braced yourself before opening the door with force and slamming it into his torso. The gun fell out of his hand as he lost his balance. You didn't waste a moment. You took off immediately, darting around the other cars that were parked around. You didn't dare to look back. You heard a shot go behind you and cowered immediately, praying to whoever that this will be over soon. That you will be safe. Just as you turned around the sidewalk to head to your apartment, you crashed right into something. Someone. You fell on your backside, your eyesight going blurry for a second. You glanced up to see him again, gun pressing into your skull.

"Shortcut," he snickered triumphantly, "You can run from me but don’t think for a second you could escape.”

"What do you want from me?!” you sobbed loud, “I don’t even know you!”

"Shut up, bitch." he kicked you harshly into the side, the pain shooting into your side, robbing your air. Before you could say anything, he flipped the gun, bringing it down hard on the side of your head. All you saw next was darkness.

And then you woke up here. Gasping, you registered your surroundings - all walls, no windows. 1 door. Where was he? You ignored the pang of pain going up the side of your head as you turned around. You listened closely, trying to hear for his presence. Nothing. You were alone, in a dark empty place in the middle of nowhere.

Shuddering, you got up and reached the door. Before you could try to jimmy the door open, you heard his voice on the other side. Your whole being froze.

"Twenty grand," you heard him say, your heart in your throat. Had he heard you? Hands shaking, you inched closer, ear against the thin wood. "I won't take any less than that for the bitch, she's a real piece of work." Now that was rude. He didn’t even know you and all you had done was be kind to him. Granted, you had slammed the door into his face but solely out of self-defence.

Some rustling from the outside had you on guard again - you scurried away from the door, arming yourself with nothing but your fists. You waited. Nothing. Stepping towards the door again, you realized that the steps were fading away. He was going away from the cottage. Gasping in relief, you tried to swallow down the fresh tears from ebbing out. You needed a plan. Fast.

"Okay, I can do this. Think. Think," you whispered to yourself, wishing your head wouldn’t be throbbing as much as it did. A head injury was not something anyone should look forward to. You felt for the walls, realizing that they were made of bamboo wood. Patting around, you wondered if you could look for a weak spot in the wood, so you could kick your way out. You sank to the ground, pushing against the wood hurriedly. When your hand landed on one creaky piece, your hope skyrocketed. Maybe you could get out of this. You kicked against it, raising yourself to push it with your hand. Just as you got onto your knees and placed your hands on the wood, you slipped, nicking your palm against something sharp. You hissed, your other hand coming to nurse the wound immediately. It was something sharp... a nail. Perfect, you thought. Assuming the worst, you could at least protect yourself. You took off the fancy dress shirt you were wearing, thankful that you had worn jeans. You wrapped your injured hand with it and felt for the nail again. You held onto it tightly, the flimsy cloth giving you some sort of cushioning against the rusty nail. You tugged hard, your breathing coming in frenzied bursts. You froze immediately when you heard a rustle. Was he back?

Panicking, you shifted positions, using your feet to support you against the wall as you pulled. The rustling was getting closer. He was back. You tugged harder and harder, the repressed tears flowing free now, your wounds aching -

You fell back as the nail finally popped out. Scrambling, you hid against the wall adjacent to the door, positioning yourself to attack with the nail. Just as you forced yourself to collect your bearings, the door creaked open.

"Oh, sweetheart? You up yet?" he teased, his voice mocking as he approached your cowering form.

You lunged at him, your throat erupting in a broken war cry, impaling his shoulder. He roared in pain, his hand darting back to push you away. You reared back as all the air left your lungs. He fell to his knees, gasping, nursing his wound. You realized you had pulled the nail along with you when you lost balance. You pointed it at him and stood up, your legs shaking. You kicked him as hard as you could, eliciting a pained groan from him. He fell on his back, whimpering lightly. Still pointing the nail at him, you fumbled against the door, pushing it open and running out. You were finally free. All you had to do was find someone who could help you leave wherever you had been taken to.

As you stepped outside the cottage the merciless cold encircled you, your breath becoming visible in foggy puffs. Only now you realised that your coat was missing. You began to shiver as you hurried through the thick bushes, scrapping your arms at thorns. But there was no time of acknowledging everything that was hurting right now. You had to concentrate on running, it was vital.

After not even a few minutes of running, you heard him again. Your eyes widened as you crouched behind a tree, gasping for air. He was relentless. Couldn’t he just give up? Were you really that valuable? Sure, you made the perfect victim. Living alone in a big city, with no close friends or family around. Had that man spied on you? Studied your days and waited for the perfect moment to overpower you? You shuddered. You didn’t want to follow your line of thought further. At least not now.

Groaning, you hurried onwards, pushing yourself to run faster, worrying about how quickly the sky was darkening. You needed to find help, and fast.

You heard a sudden noise, a growl. You listened closer, hoping it wasn't a wild animal. Please don't make this worse, you prayed. You almost yelled in relief when you realized it was the rumbling sound of a car. You shot up, running towards the sound of tires against rough terrain.

"Oh, baby girl? Where are you? Get back here, you bitch!" you heard him yell, only leading you to pump your legs faster. Your hand was on fire, hurting from the cut you had gotten earlier. The blood pumping uncomfortably in your veins from running but you had no choice. You got to a pathway, dense trees suddenly clearing up, only short bushes and shrubs around you. You looked around, still listening to the car that was closing up on you. You waved at it, the headlights almost blinding you - but you could never be happier.

"Where are you, you little bitch?" your hunter growled.

Hurry, hurry. Please.

You glanced around, hoping he didn't spot you yet. You still listened as the rumbling got closer. The car was slowing down but not quickly enough. That's when you realized you had turned around to face the speeding vehicle too late. Before you could do anything, it ran right into you, the edge of the automobile pushing you off your feet, heaving all of the air right out of you. You gasped, your head once again throbbing from hitting the ground, hard. Your eyesight blurred, another lump forming in your throat. So this was the end. Just get it over with, you thought.

You shivered when you saw a silhouette above you, dark and tall. But it wasn't him. He was shorter, but this guy? His stance, the way he carried himself was itself different. It radiated power. Not the kind that forced people to cover, but the kind of power you would want to respect.

"Help," you gasped quietly, your eyesight swimming. You could barely see anything now. All that you could register in your mind was the darkness that was taking over it.

---

“Oh, dear. Oh, Hel. Please don't be dead. Not another one on my conscience.” Loki kneeled next to you, his hands shaking. “Please, please, please.” He placed his fingers on your neck, exhaling in relief when he felt a faint heartbeat.

'Help,' you had whispered to him. His eyes scanned your face, only now registering the gash on your head. As he observed your apparent lifeless form further, he noticed your unsuitable clothing for this season. What had happened to you?

He seemed to set himself on a decision. Thor really thought his own brother would be cold-blooded? No, Loki was far from that. He was going to help you.

His hand moved to the wound as he shut his eyes. Just as he summoned some of his green energy, he heard... a gunshot. Loki's eyes shot open, immediately scanning his surroundings. You had said, 'help'. Was it because someone was chasing you? Loki pondered over that for a moment before another gunshot went off. He scrambled to his feet quickly and gathered your limp body into his arms, gently placing you on the back seat of his car. He was not going to let anything hurt you.

"Where the fuck are you, you whore?" a voice called out, as menacing as ever.

Aha, so there was the 'someone' you were running from. You were just a random Midgardian - Loki didn't know you. But when someone referred to you in such a derogatory way, he couldn't help his anger from riling up. He would have gone after the man, but he had more pressing issues at the moment. He had to take you to a place where he could help you without any disturbances.

link to part 2

#loki x reader #loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki fic #loki friggason #loki and thor #loki imagine #loki marvel #marvel #loki of asgard #marvel loki #mcu #mcu fanfiction #loki of jotunheim #loki x you #loki x y/n

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morvantmortuary · 9 months

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morvant mortuary x the boy au - prologue

don’t mind me, just posting a snippet here to give me motivation to finish my damn diss chapter and get it sent off tomorrow so I can go back to working on this thing I’ve been fiddling with all summer

Even the realtor had seemed hesitant to show you the old funeral home on the edge of town, despite both the fact that it had been for sale for years now, and that she, like you, was just starting out in her line of work. In fact, just as you were looking to start your own business, it appeared you were slated to be her first real potential buyer.

Beverly was a bubbly blonde in all pink, grasping your extended hand with both of her perfectly manicured ones like you were long-estranged family when you’d introduced yourself to her that morning.

“Oh, call me Bev, everyone does,” she’d said brightly, with only a hint of how often she must’ve practiced this studied casualness in the mirror every day.

Despite the fact that there couldn’t have been more than five years between the two of you, something about her in her small town Main Street office felt… older. You weren’t sure if it was the fact that she was wearing a vintage suit set of a matching blazer and skirt (a clever reproduction or a cherished hand-me-down, you weren’t sure), or the way her hair was stiff with mousse in a way that reminded you of your teachers in mortuary school. Standing in front of her, you got the vaguest impression that her concept of becoming a working professional was either heavily inspired by her mother’s standards, or 9 to 5. (Which you admitted was a masterpiece, but still.)

…And yet, as badly as she must have needed this, it was as though whatever money she stood to make from the sale, or the triumph over a seemingly unsellable listing, didn’t make her any more eager for the drive out -- much less walking inside.

But if you were ever going to be able to afford opening your own funeral home, you had to save your money where you could — even if it meant gutting a building and refinishing everything yourself. Even if it meant living in and servicing a town like Greymoon, that hardly anyone had ever heard of unless they were born there.

But hey, this was the cheapest place you’d seen yet, and if the facilities were at all usable, it was that much less work for you in the long run.

Maybe you’d be able to afford that cherry red Frigid embalming machine after all… although you were trying not to get your hopes up yet.

You were determined to make this work, even when Bev had hemmed and hawed as soon as you said you wanted to see the property.

Or when, like a nervous lap dog, you couldn't get her to walk through the front door.

As you stared through into the foyer (still dark at high noon, you couldn’t help but note), she lingered hesitantly on the weathered porch out front (the wood surprisingly still solid, despite the number of years this place was supposed to be abandoned). When you stood waiting for her in the doorway, she clutched her binders like an antsy school girl, her perfectly coiffed hair and pink retro suit set suddenly looking like she’d filched her mother's clothes for a dress-up game.

"You go on and take your time, hon," Bev said at last, her smile as wide as she could make it. "I... just need to make a phone call. Holler if you have any questions, okay? I’ll be right out here.”

That maybe should have been a sign.

“Um.” You were trying very hard not to seem too thrown off by this. You’d researched this whole house-hunting thing thoroughly — read everything you could on the few web forums that hadn’t collapsed under mismanagement, asked what adult relatives you had that had actually bought property before how this was supposed to go. You had come here with a list in the back of your head, feeling on your guard and prepared for every eventually… except this one. “I was under the impression,” you demurred, choosing your words. “That a showing at a property this old would be a little less self-guided.”

“Oh, well,” Bev demurred back, waving her free hand. “It only looks that big from the outside, I promise. Once you’re in there it’s really quite cozy.” She laughed, a light little giggle that sounded like nothing. “I’d just get in your way, honestly. You’re really gonna want to see it for yourself.”

You looked over your shoulder at the foyer behind you, trying to seem nonchalant as you surveyed how the sunlight didn’t seem to reach all the way in. “Hasn’t this place been abandoned for, like… twenty years?”

“Oh, honey, not that long!” Bev faux-laughed again. “It’s been uninhabited for nineteen, true, but we had crews in to take care of cleaning and upkeep when the listing passed into our hands. It’s not fallin’ - ing apart or anything. You’ll be just fine, I promise. In fact — here.” She opened her binder, rustling through a stack of papers that she seemed to be carefully angling away from your view before she snapped it shut again, holding out a scan of the house blueprints. “See, everything’s right there in black and white!”

You stared at the page in your hands, feeling disoriented for a moment as you tried to make sense of the smeary printer ink lines in front of you. Once you got your bearings, however, one thing was clear. “…This is the wrong house,” you said at last.

Bev blinked, her smile not moving an inch. “Beg your pardon?”

“These are for a house with a basement.” You looked back up at her, holding the page half-heartedly back out so she could correct herself. This was not… going like you’d hoped. If she couldn’t be expected to show up with the right information — this didn’t bode well for your working relationship.

“This house does have a basement,” she said, nodding while her expression still never budged. You were beginning to wonder if it was practice or preventative botox.

The page drooped in your hand as you stared at her. “This house has a basement,” you repeated slowly. “In Louisiana? This close to the bayou?” Your eyes flicked over her shoulder to your car parked in the drive, wondering if you should just leave right now.

“I know!” She giggled, like it was just a kooky fun fact between pals. “It’s the damn- darnedest thing, isn’t it? But it was a functioning funeral home for - oh, it must’ve been decades, before the family… left. Longer than a lot of us can remember. We had professors from the local junior college in to look at it and everything — none of them could explain it, but they said it was sound as a rock! I told you,” she nodded like a bobblehead. “You really need to see it for yourself.” She gestured back to the scan again, hopeful. She couldn’t disguise the nervousness in the set of her teeth, and it gave you pause…

But still. When were you going to find another chance like this? In your price range (barely), and in this market? At your age?

“…Okay.” You turned slowly, plans in your hand, back to the waiting maw of the door. “I guess I’ll give it a look, then.”

“I’ll just be right here,” Bev repeated, the relief in her voice tangible. “You take all the time you need. Ask me anything when you get out. We’ll make it work!”

“…Sure,” you said without hearing yourself. It took you a long moment - for what, you weren’t sure - but continued your journey into the shadowy guts of the house.

Though you couldn’t see it, Bev, with the smile finally gone from her face, had the decency to watch your retreating form as the front door slowly swung shut behind you — without a touch from either of your hands.

Her eyes, as much as she didn’t want them to, swung upwards to the second story window.

For a minute, she was a freshman in college again, listening to the whispers of what had come to haunt this place. What had happened to everyone inside.

…When a shape seemed to move away from the yellowing linen curtains, just visible through the moth-eaten fabric, she jammed her hand into her purse, desperately digging for her cigarettes.

In the yard, the cicadas’ insistent whirring climaxed to a low roar: an echo of a long-dead gathered crowd, cheering as the House selected anew.

(with love as always to @fairyysoup and the sluts, who joked about this and then I took it seriously :’D)

#morvant mortuary #horror movie aus #the boy au #maxi morvant #maximilian vincent morvant #maxi morvant x reader #maxi morvant x you #slasher oc #necromancer oc #southern slasher oc #monsterkisser fics #genderqueer reader #non-binary reader #queer reader #plus size reader #no use of y/n

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bedlamsbard · 2 months

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500 words written today and I finally got through [scene], which included something that I wasn't sure would make it into this story. I might? theoretically? finish this chapter? tomorrow? I also might theoretically finish the fucking dissertation chapter I've been tearing my hair out over for months tomorrow and I'm kind of interested to see which gets finished first. (the diss chapter is actually longer than this chapter of Home right now, which is horrifying, but to be fair like 4K of that is footnotes.) I am still exhausted; I walked out of my house without my wallet today and didn't realize until I was at the register in the grocery store, which meant I had to go back for my wallet and do it all over again. (And I walk everywhere, so it takes a while.)

Snippet from Of Home Near chapter 14.

They stood looking at each other for a few moments, until Steve finally reached back over his shoulder with his good hand and drew the shield off his back. He offered it to Howard and said, “You should melt this down and give the vibranium back to T’Chanda.” Howard put his hand on the edge of the shield and pushed it back towards Steve. “I made it for you,” he said, sounding just aggrieved enough that Steve felt the corner of his mouth turn upwards, a little amused. “Keep trying to give it back and you’re going to hurt my feelings.” When Steve still hesitated, he added more seriously, “You don’t think I care about anything that happened up there, do you?” Steve bit his lip. Like he had told Natasha, he knew Howard didn’t care, and that was its own problem. “Tell that kid of mine not to give you a hard time,” Howard said; Steve thought it was the first time he had heard Howard acknowledge Tony’s existence since he had learned about him. Given how he and Tony had parted company, he could just imagine how that would go over. Steve carefully didn’t look at the time window to see how Tony was taking this, but when Howard pushed the shield at him again, he swung it back over onto his harness, wincing a little as the motion pulled at his bad shoulder.

#daily fic snippet #iw time travel concept

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lanymme · 3 months

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Just finished the Jinako chapter of CCC.

The amount of fat shaming was genuinely despicable. Prior to this the game has largely been a "critically consume" type of deal, which while disappointing has been worth putting up with for the fantastic narrative quality and real insights it has to offer.

But Jinako's chapter is constantly hamstrung by Nasu's obsessive need to diss her for being fat at key and deeply inappropriate moments in her story. It's a fantastic chapter. There's a powerful moment that made me cry, and a monologue that got my whole friend group reflecting on the reality of being a NEET for any period of time in your life. But one of those ends with a diss against her for being fat. The climax of the punish sequence involves dissing her for being fat, killing the emotional narrative of the entire chapter and ruining the culminating moment.

It's deeply, deeply disappointing. I still really like the game, and the whole sequence that came after the boss fight was incredible. But due entirely to unforced errors I can't call this one of the best games I've played. It does everything so incredibly well and then keeps pissing on it, and it's incredibly frustrating.

It may yet turn to to be one of my favorite games, the way I thought I would be when I didn't have access to play it, but it's not something I can recommend to friends.

Genuinely gutted by this.

A game about what it means to expose the vulnerable parts of your heart and be seen by others is incompatible with cruelty and insensitivity on the part of the author.

#fate series #fate/extra ccc #jinako carigiri

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user-needs-new-hyperfixation · 6 months

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Random ask, cause you have finished tgcf, what if the yuumori cast got into the tgcf universe? Who do you think fit into the cast? Like who do you think fit as xie lian, hua cheng, shi qingxuan, etc....

Sorry not sorry but Albert's feelings about William are the closest Yuumori comes to Hualian vibes RIP. Sherliam doesn't translate to Hualian, but AlWill could with a little tweaking.

That being said, Xie Lian just has such utter next level trauma that it makes the Moriartys' childhood look like a walk in the park. I don't think any character in Yuumori is really a close mirror of Xie Lian. William is a lot like Xie Lian was around the time of his first ascension and his first banishment and the famine in Yong'an, right at the point where he was determined to defy even heaven itself with the intent of saving the world.

But that's the thing. William's whole plan has an inherent immaturity to it. And Xie Lian was at that same point when he was a beloved god-child prince. But mountains of trauma and hundreds of years leave him outright cringing over his younger self. He's still kind, he still wants to help, and (though I have not actually read the final volume yet), presumably he (and love) DO save the day in the end. But he comes at it from a much more realistic pov in later years. So. Idk, give William immortality and maybe he'd grow up to be Xie Lian eventually. 😅 (this is only a Liam diss in the silliest lightest-hearted of ways. He's my precious babygirl.)

The problem with doing comparisons for the rest of the characters is that everyone abandons Xie Lian at one point or another, except Hua Cheng. William's followers are a lot more determined and dedicated. Moran could be Feng Xin, maybe, or Pei Ming? But I don't know, the rest gets too complicated.

Most importantly, however: Shi Qingxuan = James Bond. They're basically the same character, except the Wind Master seems to lean more nonbinary. But they've both got the same fun, clever, badass sidekick who provides comic relief thing. Fortunately, Yuumori is a kinder universe, and Bond will hopefully stay our happy boy. 😭

#moriarty the patriot #tgcf #yuukoku no moriarty #heaven official's blessing #heaven official's blessing spoilers #tgcf spoilers #asks

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britcision · 1 year

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Listen. Could Dead and Loving It be a fraction of the length and maybe finished by now if I only focused on Danny and Jason?

Possibly

Would it be a better story?

Probably, from several perspectives

But it absolutely would not be the same story, and nor would it be the story I want to tell

Because I am hopelessly addicted to ensemble casts, and I don’t want the boys to exist in a vacuum. I want Jason to run off with his siblings and with Danny’s friends, and I want Danny to fuck with the bats

I want them to touch all the parts of each others lives that existed before they met, and will still continue to exist after even if things change forever between them

I want all the background characters to interact with each other, have their own inner worlds and their own motivations, and yeah, this absolutely means this is not an efficient telling of a slow burn romance

Because the story isn’t the slow burn romance

The story is these two people, and the world they live in, the story is the way Duke and Cass both see Jason differently than Dick and Tim ever could and that matters, and that none of them are wrong

The story is Danny finally telling people who will listen about the Anti-Ecto Acts, and all the fucked up things the GIW do, and being able to ask for help and have that be okay

The story is messy and complicated and will have so many rises and falls, so many pivotal moments that are drama and combat and so many that are just two people talking to each other and finally seeing eye to eye

The story is the way that Jason’s relationships with his family can finally mend, now that he has someone who can get him the help he’s needed

The story is the way that Danny can come to terms with the responsibilities of being a king, the constant question of agency and power and what he’s worth if he’s only Danny and not the Ghost King

The story is Clockwork fucking with the pair of them because he specifically thinks it’s funny (he’s right)

And yeah, there’s a slow burn romance in there. There’s also a coming of age tale, and a story about healing and reconciling and moving forward knowing you cannot change the past, but you can do better

Unless fucking Clockwork decides you can change the past because yeah then it’s fine to just go do that I guess

I was kinda considering breaking the story out into multiple chunks because holy fuck is 100k an intimidating chunk of words, but I’m not gonna

It’s all one story, and you will be my hapless victims as we get to fucking 300k or wherever this beast ends because we are not here for efficient story telling and motion of the plot

We’re here for the connections, the characters, the meaningless bullshit that would absolutely be cut in anything anyone ever wanted to sell, cuz I am not selling this

Imma write every fucking scene I wish I got from books, TV, movies, podcasts, actual plays, every fucking time I scream at the characters to just fucking talk to each other because messy is good too

Messy is okay

Stories don’t need to be marketable to be worth telling, and this one’s gonna be too long and intimidating for some people and that’s okay

But I fuckin’ rolled in from Critical Role which averages around 500 hours of content per campaign and a cast of 7 plus Matt’s NPCs

And I STILL want more goddamn character moments from all of them so I haven’t found a size yet that I can’t manage

I love reading focused stories that I can get through fast, and fuck, look at the rest of my AO3; I will fucking never diss a one shot, or a short story, or a piece that really focuses in on one or two characters

Delicious, I love them, my bread and butter

It’s just not what this mess is gonna be, and that’s okay too

Gods be fucking willing we will not have another six chapters that take place over the course of three hours, but we’ll just have to see how that shakes out cuz I’m being possessed by a seemingly infinite number of plot bunnies and my own tendency for “hey it’d be funny if”

And oh boy has it been funny every time

#danny fenton dead and loving it #i swear i can do short stories #i’m just not #also yeah 300k if we’re lucky based on my outlines so far #some of this will go faster but we’ll see #totally was gonna let tim just google amity park with tucker’s advice in mind but then #then my brain went ‘hey how funny would it be if danny just forgot they can’t contact amity’#‘and tim couldn’t find a way around needing the amity park ip’#so now we get a bunch more frustrated bat sibs #and i regret nothing #fucking adding like 5k to the story but it’s 5k of CRIME #and my sweet beloved darling harley #i did actually read all her comics up to 2018 #only dc character i go for but i am considering some red hood #mostly to see how upset comic store owners get when i ask for my 6’ of babygirl #no business for them if they got that toxic masculinity i only shop where cat maid hood rules #which fucking cannot be found online i’m heartbroken

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oblivious-aro · 23 days

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Girl Talk (Prequel to Where the Sky Meets the Sea)

So the final chapter of Where the Sky Meets the Sea is almost finished. It just needs one more good read through.

But...

I kind of went full self-indulgent mode, and commissioned a really cool drawing to go with it, but due to some issues with the timing, the drawing won't be ready for a bit, and I want to release the drawing with the chapter, because it's really really cool.

I feel bad about the long wait, so I whipped up this little mini-chapter/prequel.

Thank you all for your patience, and please enjoy this rewrite of the conversation between Misako and Nya from the beginning of Skybound, named after a terrible line from season 8.

Enjoy!

Word Count: ~2000

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

After nearly five straight minutes of concentration, Jay moved his bishop to block the advance of one of Zane's pawns.

As Zane considered his move, Jay’s focus drifted over to Nya, who was currently locked in fierce battle with some wooden training dummies on the deck below them.

She’d been on the warpath ever since they got back from the PSA shoot. The one she hadn’t been invited to.

When she arrived at the studio, wondering what was going on, the producer offered to shoot her doing a make-up tutorial.

Hence the destructive mood.

“Jay,” Zane said “I’ve finished my turn.”

“Huh?”

“That means it’s your turn.”

“Oh, right!”

Jay snapped his head back to the chess board. He was currently working his knight up the board, and in just two more turns he’d be in position to pull off a manoeuvre that might give him a chance of actually beating-

Wait, where had his knight gone?

Jay spotted the little white horse nestled amongst the cluster of all of the other pieces Zane had captured.

Jay let out a sigh.

It didn’t look like he was winning this game either.

“So what’s that? A hundred games to one?”

Cole's voice nearly made Jay jump out of his seat. He swore Cole hadn’t been this good at sneaking up on him before he became a ghost.

“Hey!” Jay said “The game’s not over! I can still win this!”

Cole glanced at the board.

“Sure you can.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do than standing around dissing my chess skills?”

“Actually, I have something really cool I wanted to show you guys!” Cole’s eyes lit up “Watch this!”

One second Cole was standing by Zane and Jay, and the next he had completely disappeared.

Jay didn’t notice Cole reappear behind him.

“Boo.” He whispered into his ear.

“Gah!” Jay instinctively punched behind him, his fist going right through Cole’s chest.

“Pretty cool, right?” Cole beamed once Jay had retracted his fist.

“Yeah, great new trick.” Jay said flatly, trying to rub the chill from his hand.

“Most impressive Cole.” Zane smiled “I’m sure this new ability will be a great asset in future missions.”

“And that’s not all,” Cole’s smile grew even wider “You remember the rest of you saw your future selves in that cave and I was all worried when I didn’t see anything? Well I guess it turned out I couldn’t see my reflection because future-me learned how to turn invisible, and not because I was a goner!”

“That’s wonderful news Cole!” Zane smiled, “You must be feeling very relieved.”

“Oh absolutely! I’ve been practically jumping for joy all morning!” Cole bounced on the balls of his feet “I’ll let you two get back to your game, I gotta find Kai and Lloyd and tell them the good news too!”

Cole practically skipped down the stairs in search of the other ninja.

“Well I’m glad someone’s happy about their vision.” Jay grumbled.

Zane raised an eyebrow.

“I would think you’d be more excited about finding out that our friend isn’t doomed.” he said.

“Maybe I’d be more excited for him if he wasn’t using his newfound abilities to try and give me a heart attack. Just because he’s not gonna die young anymore doesn’t mean that I want to.“ Jay moved a random pawn forward and turned back towards Nya.

“I’m sensing the vision you saw of you and Nya together in the future is on your mind?” Zane asked as he took Jay's queen with his pawn.

“Shh! Not so loud!” Jay reached over the board and covered Zane’s mouth, checking over his shoulder to make sure Nya and Cole hadn’t overheard.

Zane pushed his hand away.

“Perhaps it would relieve some of your stress to simply tell Nya about your vision?”

“Are you kidding? Nya would lose it if she heard about what I saw in the cave!” Jay sighed “She's already made it very clear she wants nothing to do with me.”

“Erm, if that’s the case, why have you been frequently making suggestive comments around her?”

“C-comments? What comments?” Jay asked nervously.

“Ever since our sojourn to the First Spinjitzu Master's tomb, your behaviour around Nya has noticeably changed. Especially in the last month, as the questions surrounding her love life have become more prevalent in the media.”

Jay groaned and banged his head on the table, making the chess pieces jump.

“Am I really that obvious?”

“Yes.”

Jay groaned again.

“I was fine until I saw that vision!” He rubbed his eyes with his palms. “I know Nya said she didn't want to get back together, but there's been this little spark of hope in me ever since I saw that we were together in the future.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you stopped your romantic advances and simply let things take their course. I can’t help but feel that pushing Nya in a direction she has expressed discomfort with will only achieve the opposite of your intended goal.”

“I know I should probably back off, but it's hard!” Jay said “Like, imagine if Pixal broke up with you, but you knew for sure the two of you would get back together. You couldn’t just sit there and pretend everything was normal, right?”

“If Pixal expressed a desire for a change in our relationship, I would respect her wishes.” Zane said indignantly.

“Never mind. You just wouldn't get it, it's different for you.”

Zane frowned and moved his rook.

“Checkmate.” he said with slightly more satisfaction than when he normally beat Jay.

“What?” Jay blinked “How'd you do that?”

“I pay attention.” Zane said smugly.

“Whatever.” Jay grumbled “Set the pieces back up! I know I can beat you this time!”

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

“Show girls how to put on makeup!” Nya growled as she attacked the training dummy with steadily faster and faster hits.

Thwump!

Thwack!

“Maybe you’re the one who needs your face rearranged!”

Nya’s frustration completely boiled over and her limbs turned into a violent blur of fury.

Smash!

Crash!

The arm of the dummy Nya kicked severed from the torso with a burst of splinters.

She panted a few times before pulling her arm back to attack the next dummy.

“Something bothering you?”

Nya stopped mid-punch and turned to see Misako closing the door to the captain's quarters behind her.

“Everything's been awful every since I became the water ninja!” Nya replied angrily.

“No one ever said being a ninja would be easy.” Misako smiled warmly.

“It’s not being a ninja that’s the problem, it’s how people act about the fact that I’m a ninja! I mean, have you seen the media! If I ever forget that I’m the only girl ninja, there’s a thousand friendly reminders in every direction!”

“Oh I'm very familiar with the feeling.” Misako nodded knowingly. “The Explorer’s Club was a useful resource for my green ninja prophecy research, but being the first and only woman to be a member was certainly an alienating experience.”

Misako cleared her throat before speaking in a haughty voice.

“Introducing Percy Shippelton, one of the most courageous members of The Club; Smythe Smith, discoverer of The Hidden Isles of the Anacondrai; and Misako Montgomery, the first woman in The Explorer’s Club!” She said.

“Yes! Exactly!” Nya practically yelled “Why can’t people just give me the same chance they give the boys? Why does me being a girl make them act so…so weird?”

“I’m afraid most men just can't handle the idea of not being the stars of the show. It's not fair, but unfortunately life just isn’t fair.” Misako smiled sadly. “And when you’re faced with one of life's challenges, you can either lie down and give up, or stand tall and fight back.”

Nya frowned.

That wasn’t really what she'd been hoping to hear.

“It feels like all I ever do is fight back.” She said “Isn't there anything else I can do? Maybe something a little more of a permanent effect?”

Misako only smiled sadly.

“It's like I said, life just isn't fair. Being a woman is like being a ninja, there'll always be another enemy to fight. But it's not all doom and gloom.”

Misako put a hand on Nya's shoulder.

“The opinions of some sleazy reporters and the frothing masses drooling over their tacky magazines don't matter. You know they're wrong, and I know they're wrong. No matter what they say, I know you're a strong, incredibly clever, amazing ninja. Don't let what some nosy strangers have to say drag you down. Focus on your work, and lean on your friends, the ones who really understand and support you.”

“Honestly Misako, I'm not so sure they do understand me.”

“Boys can be a bit dumb sometimes,” Misako laughed “But they're still your friends. They do want to help you, even if they don't always understand how to do it.”

“I guess so.” Nya shrugged “But it would be nice if I didn't feel so alone all the time when I was with them, you know?”

“They'll get there. But in the meantime, I'm always here to talk when you're feeling alone.”

Nya blinked.

It hadn't really hit her until now that she'd never had another woman on the team she could talk to.

In fact, Nya couldn't remember there being a prominent woman in her life ever since she and Kai had struck out on their own.

Nya wasn't sure how she felt about that.

“Thanks Misako.” She said.

“Anytime.” Misako patted Nya's shoulder. “Now, I'd better get back to my research. I've been looking through Captain Soto's old journals, and I just found the most fascinating entry on one of their rival crews.”

Misako bent down and picked up one of the dummies Nya had knocked over.

“Now, don't hold back. Attack the manikins with just as much ferocity as you would use on a real foe. That's the best way to be prepared for the battles ahead.” she said, giving Nya one last smile before disappearing back into the captain's quarters.

Nya stared at the closed door for a bit.

She half-heartedly kicked one of the dummies over before turning and walking away.

She was still full of anger, as well as a slew of other confusing emotions, but taking it out on the training dummies felt pointless.

It was nice that there was another woman on the team who understood what Nya had to put up with, and she was grateful that Misako had come out to talk to her, but her words hadn't exactly filled Nya with a lot of hope for the future.

Was she really going to spend the rest of her life knocking down dummies only for someone to keep setting them up?

Nya's musings were interrupted when she noticed Jay looking at her.

Perhaps his attention had only been drawn by the noise of Nya’s training exercises/rageful venting, but all of the weird comments Jay had been making the past few weeks flashed through Nya's mind as they locked eyes.

She had no patience for Jay right now.

“What are you looking at?” she snapped.

“N-nothing!” Jay yelped, turning back to his chess game with Zane.

Before Nya could get much farther, Wu came running on deck calling for all the ninja.

“Ninja! Come quick! There's been an emergency!”

After a quick briefing from Wu, the ninja were off on a mission to find out how Clouse had escaped from The Cursed Realm, and what he was up to.

Nya was glad for the distraction, as well as the opportunity to turn her anger into something productive.

Maybe after they'd taken care of Clouse, Nya's head would be a bit clearer, and she could have a more in-depth conversation with Misako.

#lego ninjago #ninjago fanfiction #lego ninjago fanfiction #nya #misako #misako montgomery #my writing #my fanfic #where the sky meets the sea #i wanted to include this in the main fic but it was kind of wonky with the flow of events

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