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Jul. 31st, 2012

smile loki

[sticky post] avenger kink prompts

I might eventually write stories for these. Maybe. Probably not. If nothing else, I'll check back to see if someone else has written for them.
SPN/Avengers, when a man with a Colt meets an Asgardian pagan, who wins?
Thor was replaced.
hor uses magic, Loki makes it
et's make a deal - Eldritch
tell me a story
Supernatural Iron Hunter...like, second cousins or something.
The Good Tesseract is sentient...maybe
Deadpool adopts Loki...although adopt might be too legalistic as opposed to finds, feeds, and gives him a corner of his apartment to veg out in
hor in Latveria...would it kill you to aim the bridge better?! Come on!

Feb. 27th, 2022


What do we have here?

batman: final answer
This is a mostly open journal. There is a lot fandom, fics, incomplete memes, and rambling posts. You can friend me if you like. The only F-locked posts are personal ones. If you want to friend me, tell me something about yourself, like a fandom interest or what books you're reading or any little random bit you feel like; I'll friend you back. If you just friend me, I may or may not. I'll read the F-list, and if I don't think I've anything worth commenting, then I won't. Sometimes I do.

Fics are here, and the majority are on FFNet.

Apr. 11th, 2013


incogneat-oh headcanons

Alfred mouthing 'Hug them!' http://incogneat-oh.tumblr.com/post/34297709110/alfred-has-spent-a-good-deal-of-all-the-boys
Jason the oddjob boy http://incogneat-oh.tumblr.com/post/34232271365/jason-has-worked-a-bunch-of-jobs-to-pay-his
you have to change now http://incogneat-oh.tumblr.com/post/33365292842/the-boys-stage-an-elaborate-month-long-prank

Dec. 29th, 2012

keep calm

This is a story I want to write some day

Damian, they discover, is a happy cuddly drunk. Jason is a Bad Big Brother, Dick is scandalized at the corruption of his baby brother; Tim has lights and cameras going while creating several secure, unhackable accounts for the video file he'll be uploading.
Warning: Underage drinking. Adults being immature. Batfamily dynamics.

Dec. 4th, 2012

keep calm

(no subject)

1. Is there a Batman AU fic where Bruce is a criminal? I know there are alternate universes with the Justice Lords and the like, but I mean fanfiction. Because I cannot afford to buy comics.
If there is not, I might write something. (Yes, another new project that probably won't be completed in any definite way. 'Cause that's how I roll now.)

2. Also, because I'm a sap, I'm likely to write a fic for Jason where he's raised by his chop-shop working dad instead of his crackhead stepmother. Because that has to be a step up, right? Right?
I'm not sure how much is going to actually change after that (likely a lot since I don't really know the comics...like at all), but I'll figure something out.

This happened Friday, but I'm still peeved

You know how I called you and we agreed to meet al 12 on Friday to get this paperwork crap done? And how you can't pronounce my name (which I will never understand beyond people don't read, transpose what they want it to be, and are stupid. I do judge people by whether or not they say my name correctly. It's not hard)? And then how you weren't there after I stressed myself trying not to be late (was late but) BUT you weren't there.
Okay, you had an emergency. Okay, the other guy was able to do it. 
But freaking really?
Your office isn't exactly nearby, and that's gas, lady. That's money and time I couldn't spent elsewhere. I freaking ironed for you, okay? There are things in my closet that haven't been worn in months because they need to be ironed, but I ironed, and you weren't even there!
And the traffic in your town sucks. Like, make me wanna hit somebody on purpose, but that's wrong, and just so not Biblical. That's just all flesh. Plus, insurance will go up.
Ranted about it to brother-in-law and sister and he got me coffee so it was okay, but that lady is not my favorite person in the world, and I hope I don't have to deal with her very much after clinicals start.
Also, don't tell me you're in a building when you're in a trailer. I barely recognize trailers as actual structures. Be very clear with  me, and if you have an emergency, freaking call me like you did this morning, proof that you have my number.

Now back to studying for tests, finals, and doing freaking projects at the last minute...

Dec. 3rd, 2012

B&W Patrick J.

NaNoWrimo: I fail

Massive fail. 30k in, and I realized that I didn't like the story. It had moments, but it wasn't right, and I couldn't figure out why, and then I started some kind of side story to try and reconcile what I thought the problem was, and of course added that to the word count, but I just didn't like it. So I stopped.
I didn't feel bad because it was just going to be a fanfic, not getting the thing published, and real world obligations.
But it was my first time trying it, and I'm glad I managed to do as much as I did. I might try to finish the story since I have so much content, and will likely cut it down significantly because it's so dang needlessly wordy and spewing much word vomit crap. With some polishing and editing, I could turn that mess into something vaguely interesting.
Once I get around to fixing the plot holes, revisioins to characters, change the POV here and there, and about a half dozen other small nitpicks.

Nov. 26th, 2012


fic: Jason_Raven

Title: Like an Angry Red Cloud
Fandom: DC Universe
Pairing: Jason Todd & Raven Roth
Theme: Cloud
Rating: G
Words: 500
Warnings: fluff which is weird 'cause it's Jason F'ing Todd

[read more]

He doesn’t need to meditate. Not really. He’s not a monk, or a hippie, or into the new age Zen crap.

Occasionally he gets angry and kills people in creative, painful, and humiliating ways. And? It’s not like he kills people because he’s angry. It just so happens that when he does, he is.

It isn’t that Jason’s always angry. He just mostly is. So he died (was murdered, killed, beat down with a crowbar, broken, and blown up for good measure). So the guy who did it is still alive, and not even in a vegetative, comatose state even. So Bruce went and got a new kid, and Jason might have killed a few people (they deserved it by the way, he makes sure that they do ) and can’t really go home.  (What is home anyway? Did he ever have one?)

None of that is the point.

The point of the entire thesis of death is –


His eyes twitch open to look at her. She’s next to him, sitting lotus style, chakras aligned. She is so Zen, he’s sure she’s going to start floating any second. Her eyes are still closed.


“You’re not focusing.”

Her words come out leisurely with her breaths.

“I was. You interrupted me.”

“Lie. I can feel your emotions, remember.”

“Oh, whatever,” he says and throws himself onto his back, stretching his legs out.

There’s already a grey haze from Raven’s meditative incense in the air, swirling around and Jason can practically feel it on his skin. The candles and incense are supposed to make a calming, relaxed atmosphere. They make Jason feel lightheaded, like there’s not enough oxygen in the room.

“I can’t help you if you don’t try.”

“I did try. Didn’t work. Oh well.”

Jason pulls a cigarette from one pant pocket, a lighter from the other, and lights up. A pleased groan escapes his lips along with the smoke, rising and mixing with the cloud above their heads. He folds his hands under his head and stares at the gentle curve of her back, her perfect posture. She lets out a measured breath that’s closer to a sigh.

“You’re hopeless.”

“You know what Zens me out?” he asks, speaking around the cylinder in his mouth. “Blowin’ stuff up. We should do that. You would love it, I swear.”

“Okay, first. Zens me out? And second, I am not about to play with explosives with you. Because you’re insane,” she adds on.

Like Jason doesn’t know or something.

Jason grunts and adds to the air pollution, blowing lazy, smoky circles.

“I give up,” she says, turning to look at him. “Why did you even call me if you’re not going to take this seriously?”

Jason stares at her for a long, meant-to-be meaningful moment. Then he arches a brow and smirks because Raven knows, pretending not to. With a resigned air, she lays back, steals his cigarette, and breathes out a thin trail of smoke.

Yeah. Not always angry.

Oct. 29th, 2012


(no subject)


Oct. 20th, 2012


title: my eyes looked like they had seen a ghost

Summary: they have a history. That automatically makes this complicated.
Characters: Raven, Jason Todd

Working with the idea that Under the Red Hood happened. Ignoring the comics because I am mostly ignorant concerning them, and ignoring Teen Titans show because it suits me.

Standard disclaimers apply

[click it]

Raven opened her door and set her bag down. She pushed it closed with one hand and lifted the other, tendrils of solid black forming claws.

“You picked the wrong apartment.”

The intruder lifted a hand over the back of her couch, waving bills around.

“Your mail says otherwise, Rachel. You’ll always be Raven to me though.”

Raven gestured. A shadowy hand reached down and wrapped around the man, picking him up off the couch. He remained remarkably calm for someone being held aloft by shadow claws. Her eyes widened.


“You remember me. I’m touched.”

“You’re dead.”

“The reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.”

“No. I saw.”

Not his body. The funeral had been closed casket. She’d seen the aftermath. She’d seen Bruce and Dick and the ever stoic Alfred grieve.  There was no doubt.

 “What, you want me to tell you something only the real Jason would know? Like how for three years, you had this huge crush on –“


She let the magic disperse and crossed her arms. He landed easily, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket. If she weren’t Raven, the silence would have been awkward.

“I’ll make tea,” she said and walked into her kitchen.

A generous word for the space. A table for two took up most of the room even set against a wall. She set the kettle that was never without water to boil, set two cups on the counter, and selected two bags of spiced black tea, placing them in the cups. She turned around and wasn’t surprised to see Jason standing as close as he was, without her having heard him. He probably thought his expression was unreadable. That didn’t matter because she could feel every emotion rolling off of him. She favored him with a neutral expression.

“You know what I love about you, Rae? Nothing is ever too weird for you.”

“I still don’t believe you’re Jason,” she replied, almost stubbornly.

“Ah, what a beautifully suspicious mind.” He grinned.

Raven realized that she had to look up to meet his eyes. Jason used to be the same height as her. Of course, he’d been all of sixteen then. He’d been attractive, with sharp clever green eyes and a wild smile. Still a boy with soft lines in his face. Not this man with hard eyes and sad smiles. Still handsome though.

“I mourned you,” she said, without any particular inflection. It was a statement of fact, but it made her stomach twirl a little to remember all of the emotion that had gone with it.

His mouth opened and closed several times. Raven almost smirked. Jason Todd, back from the dead and standing in her kitchen, speechless. Would wonders never cease?

“So…I’m wondering if I could get away with hugging you right now.”  Of course it hadn’t lasted long.

Raven arched a slim eyebrow. “Do you feel lucky?” she drawled.

“I think I’m due some good luck for a change.”

Even so, he carefully wound his arms around her slim frame and pulled her close. After a moment, she wrapped her arms loosely around his back and laid her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beating, strong and fast. He felt warm and solid and real. He felt alive.

He felt familiar.

“I think you might be Jason,” she said, her hands gripping his shirt a little tighter. “But if you’re not, I’ll rip you apart.”

“That is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Rae.”

The kettle whistled, and using her powers, Raven turned it off, put the bags in the pot, and poured the water in the pot without leaving the circle of Jason’s arms. They stayed like that, holding each other for a while before Jason asked,

“Is this awkward yet?”

“You’re asking me?”

Sensing from his emotions that the answer was yes, Raven pulled back first. Jason was still slow to let go. Taking two steps back, she picked up the kettle and poured his then hers. He walked up behind her reached for his cup.


She retrieved a small jar of honey and a spoon for him. He blinked at it once, twice.

“You still like it with honey, don’t you?”  

“…yeah. Thanks.”

He modified the tea to his liking, using just his left hand. Raven noticed the way he held his other hand close to his side.

“What’s wrong with your hand?”

He shrugged. “Had a little accident a while back.”

She looked at him, feeling his unease. Well, at least she had an emotional baseline for lies now. He ignored her eyes, blew the steam off his tea, and drank it, no doubt burning his mouth.

Sighing, Raven held out her hand. Jason obligingly gave her his wrist. She pushed back the supple leather of his jacket and saw the end of a splint. She realized what she’d thought was a glove was only partial that. Jason had cut it at the knuckles so he could slip his bandaged fingers through. She let her magic spread through the injury and frowned.

“This isn’t healing right.”

“Is there anything you can do, doc?” he asked, tone light.

“I’ll have to break it again.”

“Do it quick.”

Raven placed her hands on top and beneath Jason’s. Her magic seeped through and wrapped around each bone in his hand. All at once, the bones broke, and Jason barely winced. When she shifted them, he laughed.

“Be still, you maniac.”

“Laugh or scream.”

Certain the bones were aligned correctly, Raven mended the breaks. As she pulled her magic back, the pain shot up her arm, and she curled forward, hissing.

“Sorry,” he said, truly sounding like it.

She flexed her hand. “Jason. Are you in trouble?”

“Aren’t I always?”


“It’s nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course I’m going to worry. It’s you,” she snorted and picked up her own cup.

She walked into the living area and settled delicately onto the couch. Jason flopped gracefully, not spilling a drop of tea. Raven glared half-heartedly as he jostled her, but he just smiled. Rolling her eyes, she took a careful sip, toeing off her shoes and folding her legs into a lotus position.

Jason stared at her.


He seemed to be carefully considering his next words. Then, without saying anything, he just smiled. Very suddenly, Raven felt shy. It was an odd emotion for her, especially associated with Jason. Jason had always brought out a sort of boldness in her. He was simply that kind of person that could take a repressed introvert and make her speak in the presence of two or more people.

Maybe because she didn’t know this Jason? Death and years and life separated them from the children they’d once been. She knew that she’d changed since then, starting from the moment she’d known Jason had died. Was the boy who’d been her friend now this man? Or was he someone completely different now?

There was too much to say. There were too many questions, and Raven didn’t know what to start with.

She licked her lips and asked “Have you seen them?”

His smile faded. He didn’t answer for several minutes. Then he knocked back the rest of the tea as if it were something stronger.

“Yes,” he finally answered.

“What ha –“

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Jason –“

“No.” He emphasized it with a look.

Wrong thing to start with.

Raven flinched at the hot impression of anger from him. Jason had a temper that could rival her own. Beneath it though was a layer of sadness, pain, and a very small bit of shame, and she felt sorry. The Jason she’d known had hated apologies. She laid her head on his shoulder and hoped he’d understand. Raven felt him turn to look at her, curious but wary.

“Were you always this touchy-feely?”

“I’m trying to be really, really sure you’re actually real.”

“I thought you believed I was Jason.”

“I do. I want you to be. Doesn’t mean I’m not wrong. Could be my powers are going crazy and manifesting people out of my subconscious due to some repressed emotional reason. It happens.”

Jason huffed, probably offended that she’d labeled his existence as a figment of her imagination.

“What do I have to do to convince you I’m real?”


In the morning, Raven woke up stretched out on the couch with a jacket laid over her. A pair of gloves, one of them cut off at the knuckles, were on the small coffee table. Two cups, one half filled with cold tea, sat next to them. Slowly, she sat up and turned her head. And there was a dead man in her kitchen burning waffles


Sep. 21st, 2012


(no subject)


Aug. 1st, 2012


Challegne 26a

Title: when I was a child
Word Count: 105
Rating: k
Original/Fandom: The Avengers
Summary: Loki regresses.

Tony Stark had seen and done many fantastic things. He wasn’t sure what to call the sight of Thor sitting on a barstool, mouth hanging agape, Poptart dangling limply in his hand as the Thunderer stared at a small boy with dark hair and wide green, familiar eyes. Tony looked at Thor, to the boy, to the woman dressed like Xena with a distasteful look on her very pretty face.
“Sif, what magic is this? How has – what?”
“I don’t know. The Allfather fears for his safety in Asgard. You will protect him here.”
The boy glanced at Tony, and he felt his jaw drop.


Jul. 23rd, 2012


Talking 'bout doing something

There is a problem with trying to write convincingly intelligent character, characters that are arguably smarter than you and would know about all of these subjects that you barely having passing knowledge of. Loki is that. Not just as an Asgardian prince, but in a human setting, say as a teacher at Xavier's, he's obnoxiously brilliant in all matters and knows some 'established sciences' to be false or innacurate. 
Which is why I don't want him to teach chemistry, or maths or things like that because I am not good at those subjects; I can pass them, but sometimes I just don't understand. But Loki would, like he'd know how to lie and tell the truth in the same sentence that conveys five different meanings on several different emotional levels.
So what else would he teach? English, literature. He'd appreciate the play and use of words and be very sophisticated and pretentious about it.
I know obscure, useless things. Like, it takes twenty pounds of pressure to remove someone's ear, and grabbing a kid's ear to make them behave is a good way to rip it off. But scientific laws, and ideas on literature, and chemistry, history, and all of those things Loki would find interesting and excel at...not so much.

I did manage to find this GIF on tumblr though:)

And I should be writing an essay right now on anemia...and someone should write a fic re-doing the Legend of Korra.

fic: shift it back

Loki & the X-Men

There was some irony in that the Void delivered Loki to Midgard. He hadn't immediately appreciated the sentiment when he'd first landed, creating a crater in some remote forest. Now, some little time later, he held something bitter and waspish towards the thought.

[read more]
New York offered a great many distractions and opportunities for orchestrated chaos, and Loki meddled with traffic lights, turned an enormous statue on its head, and the like out of habit. Yet, it failed to enliven him, offering momentary amusement.  He was bored, and unhappy, and quite frankly miserable if he were to be honest. Which he wasn’t.
Loki wanted to return home, but he doubted that Asgard was ever truly home, and Jotunheim was nothing to him. His family was a lie. Odin Allfather was truly the one who deserved the title of Liesmith. What a fool he must think him. Loki had always thought himself so clever until that revelation of his parentage. But he should have known. He had always been different. He had never fit.
Split between Asgard and Jotunheim and trapped on Midgard, Loki doubted he ever would.


Loki never knew what he was going to do from one day to the next. He didn’t have a routine but found that he did have a preference for a coffee shop on Ninth Avenue that served an excellent dark roast and had a pleasant atmosphere to quietly read and observe. One thing for Midgard was their incredible supply of literature. While he’d discovered much of it to be utter rubbish, lurid romances, and erroneously inaccurate in terms of prose, quality, and scientific value, some of them were actually able to hold his attention from start to finish.

The apartment he’d bought with money he most definitely pulled out of thin air was a loft not far from a massive library and the coffee shop was across the street from a bookstore. What books he didn’t purchase, he spent long enough perusing and touching and leaving the barest traces of his magic to allow him to conjure them when he wished. Sometimes he returned them, sometimes not, and sometimes he did the Midgardians a favor and set them on fire. Loki was well traveled throughout several realms, and not once had he ever come across a creature that ‘sparkled in the sunlight’ or one that so went against its inherent nature. For the love of a human of all things.

But Loki didn’t have a routine because that would be mundane for one who possessed the moniker of god of mischief, therefore Loki did not have routine. However, he frequented the coffee shop often enough that the barista could expect to be tipped well, that he would glare at anyone sitting at the table in the corner until they moved, and that he could recognize regulars. Which he was not.

So when the woman with the red hair walked in and immediately met his eyes as they were drawn to that amazing shock of color, he thought that maybe he shouldn’t come here as often. Because he knew that she had a purpose here more than getting a wonderful cup of coffee. And he knew that it was him. Who else, but a god among mortals?

Loki closed his ‘borrowed’ book without marking his place, without needing to, and laid it on the table next to his empty mug as she bypassed the counter and walked toward him. He took the opportunity to observe her. There was poise in her step, a surety of self. A lesser person would be jealous of that kind of confidence.

And her hair…Valhala, her hair really was ridiculous in its beauty. It was worse than Sif’s had been before he’d cut it all off. Where the warrior’s had been shining, bright gold, this woman’s was cherries and roses spread across rubies. Her eyes were vivid and alive, unlike his own pale jade eyes. She would be beautiful even by Asgardian standards.

“Hello,” she said, hand resting on the back of the opposite chair. “My name is Jean Grey. Do you mind if I sit? I’d like to discuss a few things with you, if I may.”

Loki stared at her silently before acquiescing with regal nod. The chairs and tables were the type one would find in the library of an old money home, and they were one set of other mismatched others throughout the shop. He sat back, making use of armrests and assumed the airs and graces of a king indulging one of his subjects.

“I am Loki Noson. I warn you now, if you’re trying to sell me something or you’re a Jehovah witness…”

“No, nothing like that. I’m afraid that I will stray into the area of politics though,” she said with a good-natured, brilliant smile. “Senator Kelly is pushing for a law that will require every mutant to register, as if mutants are weapons. Likely, what they consider the dangerous ones will be taken away from the general public by the government. This law will set a precedent for the way mutants are treated in the future, like something other than people. You’re aware of this?” she asked when faced with his blank stare, the one Thor said made him appear as if he were looking through a person.

Loki knew of Midgard’s current events. It interested him in ways the machinations of bees interested the protagonist of his latest book. There was potential for so much chaos in what the televisions and newspapers told him of the world. The Iron Man and a green beast, symbols of technological brilliance and government’s dirty secrets and what else were they hiding? Freaks with unnatural powers walking among common people, threatening humanity with their very existence. The misguided actions of a senator. And across the ocean, wars and rumors of war. The games on Asgard paled in comparison to the outright pandemonium he could create here. He can see the threads that weave the whole tapestry together, see the threads that intersect and the ones that never will. It all comes together in front of him so clearly, and it would be so easy to pick at a loose string and just pull until it’s unraveled and wild.

But the appeal for that type of thing has dimmed since his time in the nothing. The thought doesn’t even thrill him.

“I do not live under a rock, Miss Grey. I fail to see why you felt the need to discuss it with me.”

Though he had an idea…

“I work at a school for children with certain gifts. We help them learn to manage their abilities, give them a safe place to live, prepare them for when the world can accept people like us.”

He arched a brow. “Like us?”

She glanced around carefully. The other patrons had gone back to their own business. She set her hand next to his mostly empty cup. The cup lifted perhaps an inch off of the table and hovered. Loki smiled, because these humans were at times too adorable. Mutants, rather. Oh, and she thought he was one of them. Assumptive, but he wouldn’t hold that against her.

“Telekinesis,” he murmured. “How is it that you found me?”

Not even Heimdall would be able to find him. He’d already proved that the bridge-keeper wasn’t as all-seeing as he’d have them to believe. No doubt one who’d fallen through the absence of everything would slip his eyes, doubly so once that one recovered his wits and strength enough to hide himself completely.

“That would be Professor Xavier’s doing,” she said in a voice filled with fondness and gratitude. These human were at times even more transparent than Thor with their emotions. “He was able to sense you with his telepathy. The school is his.”

“I see.”

So the mutant was able to sense him, was he? Get inside his mind? Loki had never dealt with readers for a long period of time before. They existed in some of the other realms he visited, but they were all very wary of outsiders and he of them.

“What is it that you do? If you don’t mind me asking,” she said in that abrupt manner.

He raised both brows and widened his eyes in a show of shock and innocence.

“You mean your professor wasn’t able to glean that from my mind? I should think that would be the first thing to find.”

She shook her head. “Professor Xavier wouldn’t invade anyone like that. Neither would I.”

A lie, white but dingy with use.

“At least not without a good reason,” he surmised, smiling and not the least bit warmly. “Have I given you one?”

“Yes,” she admitted after a slight pause with a shamed look. Completely false, but women had to play coy games everywhere. A rule of their race. “I apologize for that, really, Mr. Noson. But I wasn’t able to read you.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“It might have to do with your powers,” she shrugged and effortlessly drew the conversation back to the matter of his powers.

This time he smiled, and there was humor behind it. Clever, curious creature.

“That’s a possibility. I am gifted with a great many talents.”

He laid his hands on either side of his book. Then he folded his hands on the table where it had been a second before. Her expression was minimally impressed, but it truly was a fairly simple trick.

“Why should I come to your school, Miss Grey? I don’t need your help, somewhere to live, or your…preparations.”

She peered at him, and he was struck by the intense color of her. Was she trying to read his mind now or merely gathering her thoughts?

“How many years have you lived alone with what you are? Everyone at that school knows what it’s like to be different and to try to fit the idea of what everyone else thinks they’re supposed to be. I used to think that there really was something wrong with me. I thought everyone would hate me. I thought I was alone.

“We will see you as you are, and not one of us will judge you because of it. You won’t be alone.”

And with that speech, Loki no longer found this amusing in the slightest. He wanted away from her, this woman and her too bright eyes. Loki would not be the one to leave. This place was his, and he would not be run off by her.

He scoffed. “We’re done here.”

She looked as though she wanted to say more but could see it would do her no good. 

“If you change your mind,” she slid a card with an insignia and a number to the center of the table, “that’s my cell. Call anytime.”

He looked between it and her, making no move to pick it up. She gave him one last smile then stood and left. Loki watched her through the shop’s windows until she was out of sight.

Loki pulled the card toward him with a finger, examined the neat numbers written below the X. Tapping his fingers on the table, he stood, pulling on his overcoat. Loki strode for the door, not once looking back. Leaving the card behind, he went out the door, down the street three blocks, and stood at an intersection with a throng of other people when he slipped his hand in his pocket. He came out with the card, held between two long fingers. The light changed, and the crowd moved obediently forward like so much cattle, Loki with it. A flip of his wrist, and he sent the card off, to his apartment to rest on the mantle above the fireplace. He would burn it later.


Loki never got around to burning it. He walked by it whenever he went through the living area of his loft, and it stayed wedged between two stacks of books. He could almost forget it was there. For a week, when he was in Italy merely because he could be, he did. Loki returned with a love of gelato, opera, and wine and several bottles that he’d actually paid for. To him, someone who did something well enough to please a god should be rewarded.

And it seemed like such a long time since anything had pleased him. Anything outside of himself and his clever wit.

Three days after his homecoming, Loki was stretched out on his pristine white couch like a cat in the summer sun. One hand rested on another stack of books that acted as an end table with a bottle of wine set atop. His hazy green eyes were set on a space between two stacks of books, a slip of paper peeking out.

“How many years have you lived alone…?”

Millennia, he’d thought. Loki had lived in Asgard among them for eons. Never once had he belonged there, and he’d always felt that. Even before Thor’s arrogance and pride had become a threat, when they were still boys, that feeling had been there. But he’d been a child, and such things are easily pushed aside and forgotten in the face of Thor, boisterous, eager Thor, wanting nothing more than to play and quest together as great heroes, vanquishing all the monsters.

Then they grew, Thor into the massive, shining golden one and Loki into the tall, slim pale thing. Like the moon to the sun to creatures that thrived in the light and warmth. And that feeling he’d repressed as a child, that never went away, took a seat at the forefront of his mind, whispering. It pushed him apart as surely as Thor's bloodthirsty ambitions, and Loki pulled himself away, so as not to be near enough to be struck down when he ventured out of his place. 

“You won’t be alone.”

Loki hardly understood what it was to not be alone. He’d let go of the Bifrost, intending to be alone, completely and utterly. Intending to die, if he were honest. When was he ever? If he’d let them pull him back up, he would have been punished for letting the Jotuns in, for disappointing Fath – Odin. Perhaps he’d have been banished like Thor. He’d saved them all the trouble and exiled himself. 

There was no way it could have gone back to before. Not after everything that had been said and done. And he didn’t want to go back to that, to being Thor’s shadow. That dark, lurking creature weaving spells and playing at women’s games.

And he had to think, would it have mattered? If Odin had told him from the beginning, what he was, what he was meant to do, if he’d known why he simply did not fit, would it have made it any better? Knowing why he couldn’t be Thor’s equal, knowing that he shouldn’t even try because there was no use, and it wasn’t his fault? That his place was beneath Thor and always would be by virtue of what he truly was? That he was no Son of Odin? He was monster to the hero.

Yes. Yes, yes, yes!

It would have. Because he wouldn’t have had that hope, only to have it crushed time and again. He wouldn’t have so many breaks and cracks that centuries of failure etch into one’s spirit. He wouldn't have reached for so many things that were simply beyond him. He wouldn’t have wondered what was wrong with him and why because he’d have known.

Loki snatched the bottle up and set it to his lips. He took long draughts, hoping to drown some of the thoughts in his not-quite tipsy head. He kept his gaze on that space and lifted his hand to his face. There was a slip of paper between his fingers with ten numbers and an X on it. He crushed it in his hand and sent it off with no destination.

The next day at nearly four in the morning, Loki dialed ten numbers and waited patiently for the colorful Miss Grey to answer her phone.


Professor Charles Xavier was a serene, brilliant soul wholly devoted to his grand and foolish dreams. He was not a man to do anything without reason and trusted too readily, but never stupidly. He was a genuinely kind man with strength about him that Loki could not ignore. This was one who desired to live in Order but found himself more in the center of Chaos and survived it.

Loki knew more of him than just what he gleaned from the surface as he’d done extensive research; he’d Googled him. Xavier had a fascinating history. Loki could see the all those past victories and losses, those contrasting dynamics between soldier and scholar, and the cracks and chips that formed his armor and saw fine work.

 “Loki Noson. I’m glad to make your acquaintance,” Professor said, holding his hand out for Loki to shake.

Loki hesitated for the briefest of seconds. An Asgardian prince would never have taken the hand of someone such as the professor. But he wasn’t Asgardian now, was he? And a Jotun, oh, he didn't even want to think of what they'd do. He shook his hand before settling into a plush leather wing-back. He ran his fingers over the smooth material, and it was ridiculous how much he liked these chairs.

“Likewise. My curiosity and boredom won out, I confess."

“Well, whatever your reasons, I am sure that if you were hired that you’d find the school entertaining, to say the least.”

If…if you were hired…

This one knew the importance of words, all the careful insinuations.

“Perhaps. I have more interest in you at the moment. You have five Ph.D.s from two separate universities, all before twenty. I have no such documents, but I consider myself a scholar of many things. The aspect of knowing the mind and how it works and twists is a subject I have great interest in. Your thesis on flawed neuropsychology and its possible correlation to latent mutancy was a…page-turner.”

Loki hesitated at the odd but appropriate phrase. Midgardians had many quaint turns of phrase.

“Thank you. I’m very surprised you read that. Forgive me if this sounds rude, but did you actually understand it?”

Loki smiled, because that was genuinely funny.

“Oh, yes. I hung on your every word. The deconstruction of cause-and-effect was entirely captivating, but I did wonder at the veracity of several of the concepts. Although there were a few punctuation errors…”

The look on the professor’s face was nothing short of pleased. Still, a cautious, speculative gleam remained in his eyes.

“Perhaps I should hire you as my editor in the future then. Jean has explained that you might have more to offer us than we to you. How would you best like to resolve that?"

Loki glanced around the spacious office with floor to ceiling windows and two bookcase walls.

“I'm sure we can come up with something, Professor Xavier. Business, I think, can be discussed later. There was a question I had concerning the nurture influencing how mutant abilities manifest, if there is some subconscious control in that.”

The one question became three then a verbal dissertation and a civil debate concerning the aspects of innate and learned mental shielding. There was a brief interruption when a horde of teenagers came looking for the reason why the professor was late for lecture. After some brief apology, he dismissed them and the remainder of his classes for the day.

The moment the door clicked shut and the professor gave him his full, undivided attention, Loki decided that the job was his.

Jul. 22nd, 2012


drabble - linroh

Iroh had grown up with tales of his namesake from his grandfather and mother. His mother only had memories of him from the view of a child, and remembered a sweet, old man who was always trying to get her to drink tea. Grandfather Zuko had told him stories of a wise general, a loving uncle, and a fierce tea maker.

He'd also, in a half-mortified way when prompted by Grandmother, told him of Iroh the Elder's exploits as something of a lady's man, even in his golden years. It was a talent and skill that Grandfather claimed he never mastered, and Grandmother would agree.

It was a talent that seemed to have skipped the young general as well. He stood before Lin, awaiting an answer to his sincere request. Lin, who stared at him evenly, giving nothing away. Iroh willed himself not to fidget.

"I'm sorry. What?"

"I asked if you would like to do an activity together?"

Lin blinked. Iroh, face straight, silently cursed Uncle Sokka's spirit. He should have known better than to believe that line actually -

"All right. As long as the activity is dinner."


"Really? I mean, really excellent."

Her lips quirked up. Iroh, already smiling in relief, internally exalted at that small victory. He may not be as smooth as the Legendary Iroh with the ladies, but he had the one that he wanted.

Jul. 10th, 2012

Piandao writing

fic: a full life

Title 'A full life'
Summary She could die at this moment and be totally content. follows mere surprise...
Character Korra, Noatok, Tarrlok, Lalam (oc), Yukio (oc)
Word 1080

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Jul. 9th, 2012


fic: s.p.y

Title: Stalkers Protect You (S.P.Y)
Word Count: 1171
Rating: K
Original/Fandom: Legend of Korra
Summary: The White Lotus sentries: they guard the Avatar so well, she doesn't even know it.

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fic: typical week

Title: Typical Week
Prompt: all of them
Word Count: 540
Rating: K
Original/Fandom: Avatar the Last Airbender
Summary: Every day has its own story.

1.       Giggle

Though she jokes and mocks for her amusement, June rarely laughs, and her smiles are always too sharp.

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Jul. 6th, 2012

Ozai w/ tea

fic: mere surprise, pleasant or otherwise

Title: Mere Surprise, Pleasant or Otherwise
Prompt: Understanding
Bonus? No
Word Count: 609
Rating: K
Original/Fandom: Legend of Korra
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc): AU
Summary: Noatok watches Avatar Korra and puzzles over what he sees. follows the old switch


Noatok had missed the first round of his brother's match against the Tigerdillos. His boss had refused to let him go early, and he'd been forced to blackmail one of the other waiters who snitched food from the kitchen to come in and cover the rest of his shift. From the hard expression on Tarrlok's face, he could tell that his brother's team had lost the first round and badly.

The Leopard-Dogs had been forced back to zone two by their opponents, and the firebender whose name Noatok couldn't bother to remember was in three.  As the next round began, Lalam went on the immediate attack, sending a stone disk at each, and Tarrlok followed his lead with a few well-placed bursts of water. The firebender was a slower to the game.

His attention was torn between watching the match and Korra. The girl whooped and cheered as loud as the other fans. She ordered her brother's firebender to 'grow a pair' and to 'fire dropkick their faces in', but he seemed not to hear her. Noatok was sure that she'd forgotten he was here at all.

She was not what he’d expected the Avatar to be. She was not how his father had described. A heartless, self-righteous being totally consumed with its own selfish agenda. Noatok had later come to find it an ironic description.

He’d been watching her longer than he’d realized. The Tigerdillos had all been knocked back to the second zone, and the Leopard-Dogs were split between the first and second zones by the end of round two. Korra was leaning so far over the rail, he thought she’d just might fall over.

Noatok never invited anyone into the Leopard-Dogs' box. His brother was the only reason he was allowed in himself. But he'd been curious, to see what a real, breathing Avatar was like, how one measured up to his father's stories.

So far, he’d found this one to be only a girl. A loud, excitable girl who was a little too trusting of the goodwill of stranger's with a bad sense of direction, but a girl nonetheless.

His father would want him to destroy her, the way the Avatar had done to him. Like a specter over his shoulder, Yakone's voice seemed to whisper encouragement to his son, his favored child.

He could feel the blood in her veins as easily as his own. Flowing warm and fast and alive, his heart raced to match it as the crowd climaxed at the Leopard-Dogs’ final victory. He could crush her, seize the blood in her heart, freeze it in her veins. Korra released a triumphant cry, throwing up her hands.

Noatok looked down at his brother, saw the joy and pride on his face and look up at him. Tarrlok waved up at him, and he returned the gesture. He could crush the Avatar, and the life they’d made in Republic City at the same time.

He let out a breath and forced his blood to calm, to ease the rushing in his ears. His father's voice died down with it.

"Whoo, that so was intense! The Leopard-Dogs are awesome."

"Stick around, and you can tell them yourself."

Noatok made a split decision. Befriending the Avatar - oh. That would put the old man in his grave and send him spinning.

"Get outta town!" she shoved him, hardly budging him. "You're kidding me...right? Are they coming here? Like, in here, right now, where I am? I mean, seriously?"


Korra made an odd noise that was a squeal and a gasp and a laugh. Noatok looked at her, thought of his father, and smiled.

Jul. 5th, 2012


fic: the old switch

Title: The Old Switch
Word Count: 333
Rating: K
Original/Fandom: Legend of Korra
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc): AU. Based on this prompt 
Summary: Korra meets a new friend in Republic City.

[click me]

Korra was having a spiritual experience. Everything shone, from ceiling to floor, bright and golden. She couldn’t believe she was really here, and her smile must have looked completely goofy, but she just didn’t care. She was inside Republic City’s probending area.

It was the best five minutes of her life until…

“Hey! You! What are you doing, wandering around my gym? You think this is a tourist trap? Or what, you’re one of them googly-eyed, empty-headed bimbos trying to latch onto one of the players, ain’t ya? Well, let me tell you somethin’, missy…“

Korra opened her mouth several times to say something before she was kicked out, but he barely even hesitated for a breath before continuing to steam-roll her. She’d been brought up to respect her elders, but guys like him had always overridden that training, no matter the age.

“Relax, old man,” a deep, smooth voice slid between the man’s tirade. “She’s with me.”

Korra turned to see a boy her age striding through the door. He was wearing light-weight Water Tribe garb, and home flashed through her mind. He gestured for her to follow him out, and she did not flee from the snarling, old leopard-goat.

“Hey, thanks. I appreciate the save.”

“No problem. I’m Noatok by the way.”


He glanced sidelong. “Korra? Like Avatar?”

She threaded her fingers behind her back. “Exactly like.”

“Is this really your first time in the city?”

“This is practically my first time anywhere. I couldn’t resist coming to see a real, probending match in person! Then I, uh… got turned around trying to find the arena, and well, you saw.”

“You were going to sit in the tiers?”

“Isn’t…that where I’m supposed to sit?”

“As the Avatar and a Water Tribe sister, we could do so much better.”

“What do you mean?”

Noatok pushed open a door and ushered her through.  The cheering of the crowd roared, the arena was a beautiful thing below her, and she could have cried.

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