#also the concept of ‘if you were with anyone else it would be akin to cheating and i would react as if it was and you would feel guilty

[phannibal]

even just seeing mulder’s mouth form the word bitch raises my blood pressure

[leftneb]

alr here's me yapping about the landoscar Detroit: Become Human AU @lyslsstuff and I have cooked up over the past week or so

(decided to make a full post about it bc a. I have many MANY thoughts about it and b. you people are clearly not normal about this either) (affectionately)

first off have another WIP (peep the blue blush and the lines on their faces I'm totally normal about it yesyes) I unironically had to hide their heads a couple times because the sheer homosexual glee on their faces was making me nauseous (this is how I know I've succeeded as an artist)

the main concept goes: oscar is an F1 driver, and lando is one of his android mechanics. unbenoknownst to the general public (and pretty much everyone except like. zak brown) is that oscar is also an android

androids are very much banned from f1

lando starts out as a normal android, just following his programming and minding his own business really. altough the au plays out after the android revolution androids are still mistreated, just in subtler ways. technically they're not owned by anyone (but they're only allowed to exist when employed) and there's no segregation in public (but there's no laws against it) and some people are vaguely accepting (guess what there's no hate crime or hate speech laws either)

basically I went with the game's commentary on capitalism and treatment of minorities and made it a lot more actual c: we're not oppressing you (but we're also not not oppressing you)

the real plot begins when lando (accidentally) finds out that oscar is an android, which both of them proceed to be completely normal and not disgustingly in love about for the rest of eternity

one of my favorite things about this au (and this was completely unplanned it sorta just happened on it's own) is that the car is basically the 3rd main character. the way I'd explain it is basically: rk800 connor in the game is able to reconstruct entire events (crimes in his case) by examining details and piecing it all together. both lando (being a mechanic) and oscar (actually pulling functions out of the thing) are intimately familiar with the car, like they KNOW it on a personal level pretty much, they can reconstruct every single thing that is happening mechanically by hearing the sound it's making alone

for oscar this is sort of unfortunate because he is suspiciously good at telling when something is wrong (way before anyone else can really). but it also makes both of them emotionally attached feel connected to their machines which I think would be a genuinely interesting aspect of having androids in motorsports

thought I had while writing that paragraph: since irl the cars are usually identified by their drivers' numbers ("car number 4" and such) it could be that oscar litterally just calls his car "81". like that's just it's name. very creative ik

for the enjoyers of the original game I'd add that oscar's deviancy arc (in the sense of which impulses he recieves that lead him to disobey his programming) is most similar to markus' while lando's is more akin to connor's

bonus details that I can't really fit in a paragraph but want to add anyway:

android movements being inhumanly smooth conveniently mirrors oscar's irl driving style (minimal movement)

oscar normally has his pain receptors on despite being able to disable them. something about wanting to feel human (refuses to turn them off after crashes he feels were his fault despite mark scolding him about it)

yk the thing where both of these idiots are always dressed for opposite weather? yeah here it actually makes sense they were just programmed that way

I have no idea where lando's name comes from androids don't have names by default. they just get called "it" for the most part except oscar sometimes slips up and calls lando by his given name (that sounds very trans when I put it like that) which everyone else collectively goes "who the FUCK is lando" at

android transgenderism

I will not elaborate on that (note: I am trans. I will project this)

fun fact the piece that started it all ^^ was quite litterally just me seeing a picture of lando and going "dbh vibes" despite my knowledge of the game consisting of maybe half a playthrough I kinda-watched in 2021 (tubbo played it on stream lmao). it's safe to say that I may have hyperfixated on it a little tiny bit taking into account the 10 hours of playthrough I've watched and 2283 words of google doc we've written since that fateful day. whoopsies

also want to conclude this by saying that I purposefully didn't give too much away about the AU plot-wise because the hypothetical fic that hypothetically may come into existance at some point is hypothetically still a ways away and I don't want to spoil it too hard. consider this a director's commentary if you will

lmk if you wanna be added to the tag list for posts related to this au btw!!! I absolutely love hearing people's thoughts on it (though I am gonna be a bit busy in the coming weeks)

tag list (more people asked me to talk about this than I anticipated soz if I didn't respond directly I hope this makes up for it) @roosterhouse @wisteriagoesvroom @kpiastri @kingkestrel

[moutainrusing]

crochet

721 words, no warnings, @dorlenemicroficprompts

Every gift that Marlene had ever given Dorcas was handmade. She’d noticed it, but she hadn’t acknowledged exactly what it meant until now.

Since they were eleven, Marlene had always gifted her crocheted animals or clothes or just general items, like a pinecone one time during Christmas or an orange gazania flower for her birthday. All these presents that Marlene had made herself, and since when was Marlene even the type to learn how to crochet?

Dorcas would’ve thought Marlene was too clumsy or impatient for that, but no, for Dorcas, and only for Dorcas, she put in the time and effort to make personalised gifts. Dorcas hadn’t realised it was only for her until she was entirely surrounded by crocheted objects while everyone else was not. They tumbled out of Dorcas’s trunk and lined the sides of her bed, but why her? What did Marlene gift to everyone else then?

She asked Lily, who replied with a show of her nails, “Marls usually gives me nail polish. Actually, she only gives me nail polish,” Lily seemed to realise. “Woah, she’s my sole supplier of nail polish. I never get it from anywhere else,” she ascertained. “And Marlene always gives me the exact nail polish I want,” she nodded appreciatively. “Like she can sense it. That’s crazy.”

Again, this didn’t seem like typical Marlene behaviour at all. Being able to sense how Lily was feeling and what nail polish fit her mood? Marlene couldn’t grasp emotions at all, at least, Dorcas had thought that. Wasn’t Marlene allergic to nail polish? She could swear Marlene hated nail polish. A very clear memory, the fact that Marlene passionately raged against nail polish because she preferred her natural nails and couldn’t fathom the concept in the slightest, why would she need her nails to be coloured when her nails were just nails to protect the tips of her fingers and pick dog hair from her sweater? She’d said nails a lot, Dorcas remembered. Marlene was very vehement about owning what was hers and not changing it for anyone else, because of anyone else, with anyone else…

What surprised Dorcas even more was when she asked Mary, who gushed, “Marlene’s presents are the greatest, she always gives me the best Afro products—”

And Dorcas was thinking, But Marlene’s got straight blond hair? What does she know about Afro products?

Apparently, Marlene knew a lot.

When Dorcas finally caught her, she was being typical Marlene, for once, and Dorcas internally sighed in relief, because the Marlene she knew was still here, but also, there was someone she didn’t know who was apparently the same person and how didn’t Dorcas know that?

She waited for typical Marlene to finish her typical Quidditch routine of chasing Bludgers which she’d spelled to behave akin to boomerangs, zipping erratically across the pitch, because in her essence, Marlene was erratic.

“Dorcas!” Marlene clumsily toppled to the ground and stumbled over towards her.

That was Marlene. She grinned, “Hello.”

“Hi!” she waved her hands, caught Dorcas between them and squeezed her shoulders.

“I have a question.”

“Ask it, then,” Marlene laughed, swaying on her feet as if the ground was unsteady.

“How are you so good at giving people presents? I mean, how many personalities do you have, because I could’ve sworn you weren’t that thoughtful, but you are, and how can you read people so well? You’ve never seemed good at picking up on signals. Also, since when can you crochet? I know you’ve crocheted all my presents, but you crocheted them, and aren’t you supposed to be clumsy?”

Marlene blinked at her. “That was five questions.” At Dorcas’s face, she smiled sheepishly, “I can read people, but only if I actually stop and think about it. Usually, I don’t think before speaking, so that’s why I come across as a mess. But for things like presents, I get time to think beforehand, so… and really, it’s only for presents where I get the time. You’re right, I never think,” Marlene beamed. “I like me that way. But then, I also like putting in a bit of effort for people to show that I appreciate them. Birthdays and celebrations are important,” she shrugged.

Dorcas’s lips had parted in surprise. Fondly, she shook her head, “You’re crazy.” She laughed softly, “Thank you.”

[minkyungseokie]

𝕃𝕖𝕡𝕦𝕤 | Dreaming of Space

warnings; none for this part

note; this series isn't popping off the way I want it to, but it doesn't really matter since this is mostly for my own enjoyment. I hope you all continuously enjoy this if you do choose to read.

Also, you might notice a change in how I've written things. I decided that I wanted this series to be more poetic than my other one, so I busted out Grammarly, thesaurus, and dictionary. I don't know how to make Reddit threads, so bear with me.

fc; Jung Ho-Yeon

Alex Masterlist​ | Autosports Masterlist | Main Masterlist

​Series/Full Fic Masterlist ​| Talk to me​

Like the Stars Above Us | ☙ Previous | Next ❧

I do not allow anyone to change, copy, or put my work on any other platform. It will only be on top, so if you see it, please report it. Or let me know.

Also realized that the timelines don't match for the shows, when lockdown started, so I'm changing the timelines. The Uncanny Counter was filmed in 2019 and released in March and Alice in Borderland has yet to come out. I apologize for fucking everything up, I didn't think about it until now. Hopefully, you can still enjoy this series

The times and dates are fucked up on the Twitter threads too. Just ignore it

When they first met online, Lily and Alex were convinced that they were destined to be together. That they were soulmates.

They were confident that their destinies were intertwined and, upon finally connecting in late 2019, they anticipated forging a profound connection and finding fulfilment. To their surprise, their relationship did not live up to the idealized depictions of soulmate connections often portrayed in popular stories.

Despite experiencing intense happiness in each other's company, they couldn't seem to shake the unsettling feeling that something wasn't quite right.

While one part of their being felt content and joyful, basking in the bliss of soulmate connection, the other part felt an unmistakable sense of desolation and emptiness

Soulmates was a rare and beautiful concept. If one were to have a soulmate, they would be considered fortunate and compared to the stars.

The concept of soulmates is often described as something rare and enchanting, like precious gems buried deep within the earth's surface. Having a soulmate is considered a profound stroke of luck, akin to being compared to the stars in the vast night sky.

Soulmates are believed to be two souls originating from the same celestial body, destined to cross paths and find completeness in each other.

It is said that they are destined to meet and become whole again, like two halves of a perfect whole.

However, despite this romanticized notion, Lily and Alex couldn't shake the feeling that the idealistic view they had of soulmates was far from their reality

Lily was comfortably settled in her cosy bedroom, with 'The Uncanny Counter' queued up on Netflix. She and Alex had eagerly devoured all the available episodes and were now craving more.

They were aware that the lead actress, Jung Y/n, had other shows, but they were uncertain whether these shows were available on Netflix or elsewhere.

As they delved deeper into the show, the initial feeling of intrigue diminished, leaving them puzzled as to why they had been so captivated by a previously unknown Korean actress.

Rather than simply checking her IMDB page to see what else she had featured or starred in, they found themselves fixated on unravelling the mystery behind their unexplained connection to her.

Alex looked up from his phone with frustration written all over his usually soft features, "Nothing." he said, running a hand through his hair. 

He had been searching the internet for any information on why their soulmate bond felt incomplete and why they felt a connection to someone who wasn't part of their bond.

And since he was more frazzled than when they had begun their respective searches, he came up with nothing.

"Isn't it frustrating? I can't believe that someone can be so famous yet there's hardly any information about her online, other than her age, the fact that she has a YouTube channel, and that she's an actress," Lily pondered.

Alex fixed his gaze on his lap, deep in thought, before lifting his head to look back at his girlfriend.

"I have an idea. It may sound crazy, but it's the best way to get answers," Alex confidently declared.

Lily sat up straighter and looked at her boyfriend, "Well then tell me what it is." Lily urged. 

"What if we take to Twitter for the answers about Y/n and we take to online forums to ask about the bond? I know it sounds crazy, but people won't assume much if you ask about the actress and I'll make a throwaway account that gets deleted as soon as I get my answers." Alex suggested.

Lily bit her lip in thought, "You'd be correct. It's crazy idea," Lily said causing Alex to let out a disappointed sigh, "But it's one that might work the best. We'll get no answers otherwise." Alex smiled and picked up his phone again, "You take care of the tweet and I'll take care of the forum thing."

ily bit her lip in thought, "You'd be correct. It's crazy idea," Lily said causing Alex to let out a disappointed sigh, "But it's one that might work the best. We'll get no answers otherwise." Alex smiled and picked up his phone again, "You take care of the tweet and I'll take care of the forum thing."

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

Lily bit her lip in thought, "You'd be correct. It's crazy idea," Lily said causing Alex to let out a disappointed sigh, "But it's one that might work the best. We'll get no answers otherwise." Alex smiled and picked up his phone again, "You take care of the tweet and I'll take care of the forum thing."

Lily left the thread feeling frustrated. All she could see were people either expressing shock that she was into Korean dramas or arguing with each other. 

Disappointed, she closed the app and tossed her phone to the side.

Lily felt the urge to release another deep sigh. The situation was far more significant than anyone could comprehend. 

As they had felt an unexplainable connection to the actress, Y/n, it was imperative to unfold the mystery 

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

r/soulmatequestions ⤷ u/concernedsoulmate

Hello, this is my first time using this app, so pardon me if I'm not doing this correctly. My partner (20f) and I (25m) got together at the end of 2019 after meeting each other online and communicating as much as we could through DMs and then text.

We were friends for the longest time, only confessing feelings for each other when I decided to visit her in her home country and state. 

We found we were soulmates quickly after we sealed the relationship, but instead of that warm tingly feeling that everyone described, we felt like there was something missing.

We felt like there was something that wasn't there with us, but since it might've been us just being new to our relationship, we ignored it.

Skipping to the month before this one, January, my job decided we should all go home and quarantine until at least March, so we couldn't stay together since I live in Monaco and she lives in the States.

Anyway, during the day, I'd hop online and play games with a few of my coworkers while my girlfriend sat at her home watching Netflix.

The thing is, after getting recommended a certain Korean Drama by a couple of...friends, my girlfriend saw one of the actresses and felt a deep and instant connection with her

After I finished playing my games with my coworkers, she told me about it and had me look up the actress. When I did, I felt like a warmth spread over me and the fireworks I felt when I met my girl.

After a while, the feeling went away, but my girlfriend and I were left confused and curious. 

I need to know if any of you know what's happening. Does anyone have an explanation or theory as to what this means? Has this happened to anyone else before?

↑ -269↓

u/sascrotch_eater Dude, this isn't the place for stupid jokes. Unlike most of Reddit, this is for serious questions.

u/slutty_nutella69 OP, do you think we're fucking stupid? This would never happen

u/noi-the-boi-licker If you are being deadass about this, then this is a rare case you'd have to take up with the pros, not Reddit | | | u/balldestroyer6000 Are you actually believing this BS? There is no phenomenon where a soulmate duo would feel connected to a third. It's impossible

u/bussyslayerthirdform (mod) I will close this thread and take it down due to trolls and people disrespecting the OP.

You all know the rules of this subreddit and you're breaking some by disrespecting a valid question

OP, please DM me

This thread was deleted

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

Alex grumbled and ran a hand through his hair. That was the most useless thing he had ever done. He thought the Redditors would be helpful, but they're just as despicable as people online say they are.

He was about to deactivate his account and delete it when he received the notification that someone sent him a DM. It was the mod of the Reddit he was recently on.

Alex picked up his phone and clicked on the notification, immediately being taken into the app and into the dm with the moderator

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ U/balldestroyer6000

Hey, were you serious about your question?

Me: Of course, mate. I don’t have any reason to make up such a thing

Hmm, well, we do tend to get a lot of trolls. People who weren’t fortunate enough to be blessed with a soulmate and take it out on us in the r/soulmate questions Reddit subreddit

Me: I’m sorry you guys have to go through that, but I don’t think that was the reaction normal people have towards trolls. They were genuinely upset that I asked such a question

You’re right and I apologize on behalf of those members who treated you as if you were an idiot.

Me: it’s fine, I guess. I just need answers

The members were correct. Having a soulmate and feeling incomplete isn’t heard of in any corner of the internet…

Me: Fucking hell. Why DM me just to say that bullshit

Calm down and let me finish, you fool.

Me: Sorry

As I was saying, it’s unheard of and seen as nothing but a myth.

HOWEVER

There was one story about it. It was based on a true story, but everyone takes it as nothing but a fairy tale. But its not. It’s all true

Me: What’s the story? How do you know it’s true?

One question at a time, concerned.

Me: Call me Alex

Okay, Alex. It’s a story very similar to yours. The main character, Leo, met his soulmate as a High schooler in America. Just like you, they didn’t feel complete.

Unlike you though, they were unhappy. They didn’t act as if they were soulmates, but rather as if they were strangers

They loved each other deeply, but they couldn’t act as if they were in love when they felt devoid of something they couldn’t pinpoint. It wasn’t until Leo had bumped into another man that he understood. Leo wasn’t gay by any means, but the connection he’d been missing was finally felt when he was around the man.

Leo befriended the man and soon introduced him to his girlfriend, who also felt the connection.

Long story short, the three felt fulfillment within each other.

Me: Wow..

Me: How do you know this story? You tell it as if you went through it yourself

Because I did

This story is mine. I’m telling you this because there’s a chance you have a third soulmate, but you won’t be able to tell unless they have your mark and you theirs.

Me: Thank you

No problem, man. Feel free to come to me if you have anymore questions

Me: I will, but I’m probably gonna delete this app after this conversation. It’s cursed

Understandable. My Twitter and Instagram is Leoloves_ if you need me

Me: Thanks again, mate.

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

Alex jumped up, forgetting that his laptop was on his lap, sending Lily crashing to the ground, “Woah, are you okay? Baby?” Lily called out.

Alex got off of his bed and grabbed his laptop, uprighting it quickly, “Yes, Lily, I’m fine. I think I got an answer about almost everything.”

Lilly’s almond shaped eyes widened, “You did! That’s amazing. What is it?”

“Now, I’m not 100% certain this is right and it might be a stretch, but it’s possible that she, Y/n, might be our soulmate.” Alex explained. “That’s not possible though. Soulmates are only supposed to be pairs,” Lily denied

“Lily-“

“No, it’s not possible. There has to be another reason for why we gave some inexplicable connection to Y/n.”

“Lily, I know it sounds out of reach and impossible, but it’s an option.” Alex said in a soft voice, trying to soothe his girlfriend’s nerves. Lily took a deep breath and ran a hand through her thick brown hair, “You’re right. It’s the only explanation, but it’s so hard to believe.”

“I know. I barely believe it myself. That’s why it’s only one option,” Alex sighed, “Maybe check your Twitter again to see if you have any answers.”

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

Lily smiled and clicked on the tagged Twitter account, following the profile immediately before going to Instagram and typing the profile into the search bar.

She clicked on the verified profile and followed, making sure to turn on her notifications, “Did you find her?” Alex questioned.

Lilly’s head snapped up and she gave her boyfriend a sheepish look, “I did. Her Twitter is Jung underscore Azul. Her Instagram is… I’ll have to spell it to you cause this is kind of hard. It’s n-y-g-n-u-j. That’s it.” Lily spelled out.

“Got it. Just followed her. The Reddit moderator told me that if she shows any signs of having a soulmate mark that relates to us, then she’s our soulmate.” Alex said.

“Okay, but, like, we don’t have any other marks than each other’s, so it’s highly unlikely that she’s our soulmate.” Lily pointed out, holding up her wrist to show a F1 car tattoo.

“I know, it’s still a possibility. A very small one, but still a possibility.” Alex rebutted.

Ding!

Lily looked down at her phone, which was now showing the lock screen that had Alex and her together, to see that Y/n had posted.

Lily clicked in the notification and gasped, nearly dropping her phone

I was working on this for so long. I wasn’t going to publish this today, but I’m at my nurse job at Amazon and we’re just sitting around doing nothing currently.

I promise that this’ll get better, so just put your faith in me and hold on a bit longer

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Foul Legacy with a Nekomata Reader HCs

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Genre: Fluff Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Warnings: Small mentions of claws and teeth, loneliness, gets really rambly, you start as a literal cat

Nekomata are a type of Japanese yokai, often portrayed as an ordinary cat that lived long enough to gain a humanoid form and another tail

~ * ~ -MEOW -Okay anyways -As a Nekomata, you started life as a regular cat! Not a housecat, though- you had a grand time living in the mountains of Inazuma, near a village inhabited by Tengu -You would often wander into the village to steal feathers and bits of food, occasionally keeping the children company in exchange for treats, but you never stayed. Cats and crows don’t get along -Yes, it was lonely, but much of Inazuma is. You were used to it- besides, you were just a cat, not quite a yokai yet. You could think about sad concepts such as loneliness later, when you had a human form -One day, when you were chasing dry leaves caught on the wind, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching you, which normally wouldn’t be unusual but your keen ears could hear that these clearly were not Tengu footsteps (Tengu normally wear geta sandals) -Curiously you go to investigate this newcomer, inching under some bushes so you can observe without being spotted, and when you peer through the leaves you see a giant, sparkly beast of some sort -And oh, how magnificent this beast is! You see a ruff of lilac fur around its shoulders and a gorgeous glittering cape flowing to the ground, looking almost like a set of wings -You would like to curl up in that fluff, and get fur all over that cape. Preferably all at once -Foul Legacy certainly wasn’t expecting to hear a little meow by his feet, a soft-looking cat peering up at him innocently, like it’s completely normal to see an Abyss monster in the mountains, and he chirps in surprise -You’re so small compared to him, Legacy’s scared he’ll accidentally hurt you if he tries to pick you up- yet you don’t seem to care, simply hopping into his lap and curling up with a contented purr -And thus begins your travels with the strange sparkly creature you found. He’s yours now- you bumped your head against his talons and everything! -Foul Legacy finds comfort in your constant presence, the knowledge that he’ll have someone to wake up to bringing peace to his star-speckled heart. He lives a long time, and has been alone for most of those years, so he cherishes the fact that he can always feel you draped over his shoulders as he traverses Inazuma -Your favorite place to curl up is definitely in his light purple fluff, it’s just so soft and warm! Or having him hold you in his palms, kneading at his night-colored armor… your third favorite place to sleep is in any box you happen to come across, and often Foul Legacy will watch your small self with envy, wishing there was a box that could accommodate his size -Although… you do have a very long lifespan compared to ordinary cats… is his Abyssal corruption affecting you somehow? -No, he eventually discovers- it’s because you’re a Nekomata! And on your 100th year, with a little puff of smoke, you suddenly gain another tail and a human form -Not entirely human, though. You retain your ears, tails, and paw pads no matter what (technically you could get rid of them, but you like them and Foul Legacy likes them, so you won’t) -You can also talk now, with full sentences and everything!! Traveling with Legacy has left you with a good grasp on his growly, trilling language, and anyone else listening to you and him speak would be very confused, your human words mixing with his chirps and coos into something akin to a song -Even in your human form, you’ll often hang off of his shoulders, tails waving happily behind you as you ramble on about a butterfly you saw the other day, or the pretty feathers of a bird, or just humming and nuzzling your nose into his fur -Foul Legacy has tried to catch your tails with his hands before. He succeeded once, and you immediately retaliated by chasing his cape -Your natural agility comes in handy when navigating the islands of Inazuma, often leaping over rocks and trees to scout ahead and report back to your big floaty moth friend, telling him which paths to take to avoid the most trouble -Although, if you ever do get into fights, both of you are very proficient in your own ways! Foul Legacy has deep knowledge of Abyssal arts, and you have your sharp teeth and claws!! -At night he’ll often hold you in his lap, the back of your head pressed against your chest as you point out constellations and tell him the stories you overheard the Tengu reciting during festivals, and he, in turn, shows you his own constellation, as every Abyss creature has one -Speaking of traveling, there’s one place you absolutely hate, and that is the beach. The saltwater makes your skin and fur tacky, the sand gets in between your paw pads, and the unagi are always just out of reach!! It’s infuriating, and whenever you cross a beach Foul Legacy will kindly carry you instead -Inazuma also has a lot of sakura trees, which you used to hold in your little mouth and bring back for him, happily trotting to drop a flower in his hair. But now you can both put flowers in each other’s hair, and often you’ll have one behind your ear while Legacy has one behind one of his crimson horns -You can still shift back into your cat form, and sometimes you actually prefer that. Some days you really just want to be small and tucked away in Foul Legacy’s fluff, snoozing and ignoring the rest of the world, only needing to wake up to bat at his claws playfully when he gives you scritches. Honestly, he wishes he could join you- just become small and curl up somewhere to rest for a day -When he purrs, you purr, and vice versa. The language you both speak is purrs, and it’s very easy to kickstart some happy rumbles as long as you’re near each other. You’ll be scratching under his chin, then he’ll start brushing your ears, and so on and so forth until you’re both snuggled together and purring away -Foul Legacy does wonder if you’re happy with him. Yokai also live for a long time, and you’ve only just gained a human form- wouldn’t you have more fun living in the city, discovering new things, and being safe and at ease? When you’re traveling with him, there’s no guarantee that you’ll always come out unscathed, and he worries heavily about you, so fragile and small compared to him -You had visited the Grand Narukami Shrine a while back, curious to see how humans worshiped their gods. While there, the Kitsune Guuji, Yae Miko, approached you, offering to teach you how to integrate into human society. She already taught another of your kind, a Nekomata named Kirara, what’s one more? -But you had declined, thanking her with a smile. Yes, you didn’t know much about humans or how they lived, but you also didn’t know much about Teyvat as a world. Traveling with Foul Legacy would allow you to discover wonderful, magical things, things you never thought possible when you lived in the mountains. You didn’t need to live with humans- although you would be polite and friendly if you ever saw them- because you felt right at home whenever you were up and moving across nations -And Foul Legacy is your favorite, plain and simple. You like him more than any monster, human, or yokai, the thought of leaving his side never once crossing your mind. You’re his Nekomata, just like he’s your Abyssal beast, and that would never, ever change

[swallowtailed]

palisade 43

man. incredible episode.

really pulling the entire divine cycle together—calling back to the hypha, to strati, to volition—and the whole sweep of partizan/palisade.

extremely cute intro. hopping back on air (while high) to freestyle for the entire twilight mirage, honor the dead, drop one “valence” in there real quick, and get out again. parti rights. we’re baaack~ :D

thisbe this episode: hooting hollering etc. worldwide resonance!! her conversation with volition was really compelling. it did strike me that volition seemed to approach the question of divine autonomy from a rather individualist angle (just think yourself free! let people do what they want!), which i suspect is an artifact of (a) living in a supportive community for 500 years & so somewhat forgetting the importance of that, and (b) being volition. i do think that thisbe is on the right track in the principality context, looking toward community building.

also it’s so funny that volition just is an obsidian orb again sometimes. trans rights

brnine this episode: describing grief as a disconnect from your past akin to leaving entire planets is so perfect for brnine. also devastating. loved the sandwich callback as well, that was one of my favorite twilight mirage beats.

am pulling together thoughts about brnine getting challenged to stay in the mirage or leave and fight. when you’ve been defending the distant concept of an ideal, how do you handle the reality of it—especially when that reality is something you were never meant to see, and is so disconnected from the circumstances of your life and your cause. but of course brnine’s tied their life entirely to their idea of keeping up the fight, and haven’t thought that anyone they’re honoring could ever have wanted anything else. (it is also: blue channel going back at the end of partizan.)

have we considered the possibility that ali isn’t gonna have brnine say valence’s name unless and until it’s with their last words

on that note: you know, if someone was terrified of dying, but also sort of craved death, and also grounded their self-worth in their fight for their cause, it would seem awfully appealing to be promised endless life as long as you don’t stop moving. very here for jesset’s motion era. i don’t think there’s enough left of motion to take an elect… is this a dark mirror of integrity? something burrowing in? jesset’s brain gets hooked into that mech…

but also what do we think he’d pick for his elect name if he did pick one. has to be a plant, right? and he already has another naming scheme to fit as well… i think it should be catnip

eclectic this episode: of course he’s trying to arrest the divine who killed his squadmate in front of him, aka the first chapter of every noir procedural ever.

what is futgure doing ohhhhh my god

hey also we still don’t know dre’s new character? many questions

cori this episode: SO glad she’s joined perennial. love this for her. also the… black russian sage wings???? excellent. her entire conversation with perennial was so moving—reaching out to figure and finding their god doing the same is such a piece of tragedy. and the way the need to protect is shared among the three of them—have not stopped thinking about figure just wanting to see cori safe and happy. and then cori holding perennial as she sobs.

“we were figure’s people” is exactly what i wanted someone to say but also ;-;

the conceit of doing a story in a time loop is that you’re gonna repeatedly say, well, can’t do it this time, better move on—which sucks when the loop is a revolution, right, because then it’s implied that liberation is a one in a billion chance and more than likely impossible. (fine starting place, frustrating ending.) but with perennial no longer able to turn back the clock, it gives cori room to declare that there’s no need to keep restarting, they can win it here and now. it’s never impossible. which i am glad for.

look i’m sure they’re just gonna do 1-2 more downtime eps and then 4-7 finale eps and that’ll be palisade but. clears throat. taps mic. It’s Gonna Be Really Funny When They Do Thirty More Episodes. ok that’s all

[theknightmarket]

This is like the most random concept to probably ever come to me so out of the blue, you don't have to do it if you don't want to, but also I feel like if anyone could make something interesting out of this it'd be you. (love your fics btw<3)

So like, Illinois, with his whole knock-off Indiana Jones bullshit, with an s/o who's similarly akin to James Bond...….yeah idk either, man- You can come up with whatever action movie plot, or maybe just some domestic fluff with comically abrupt fight scenes sprinkled in cus that's just how chaotic I imagine their life would be. It's entirely up to you. I am very tired rn.

“Berlin, 1996.”

In which Illinois and his partner – in more than one sense – relive their meeting.

TW: cursing, blood, drug use, general mature themes

Pages: 12 – Words: 5,000

[Requests: OPEN]

The distant sizzle of waffle batter on a pan was the first thing you recognised when you woke in your bed. The smell of coffee wafting from the same place was the second, and the third, while a strange sensation to anyone else, was comforting to you. Your dog lapping at your hand that dangled over the side of the bed had you shaking yourself from the fuzzy grip of sleep. It was going to be a long and laborious process considering the amount of work you’d had for the last week, but this was finally a day that you could spend doing whatever you wished – which, right now, looked a lot like following the sweet scent of breakfast into the kitchen.

Moriarty led the way, the beautiful puppy, although actually a six-year-old Belgian Malinois, whom you had adopted a few years back. He had never liked many of your friends, and you trusted his nose enough to follow his advice. Sure, it might have seemed weird to take social cues from a canine, but he hadn’t steered you wrong yet. Whether it was a Russian spy you’d accidentally offered coffee to, or the smuggler who moved in down the road, Moriarty told you when people were off, and that just happened to be most of those you came in contact with. You’d long since given up making connections when the tenth potential acquaintance had turned out to be the head of some mafia you’d never even heard of. 

And then imagine your surprise when you finally brought home someone he liked. 

And your further surprise when he stayed the night, and then the morning, and then a week, and then a month, a year, and so on, until you should have been asking him for rent. All the while, Moriarty hadn’t made a peep, leaving you to your devices with this new and, for lack of a better term, strange fellow.

“Morning, gorgeous!” 

Speak of the devil and he may appear. 

That ‘devil’, affectionate, of course, was none other than the infamous Illinois Jones. A man chased by many, found by few, and held onto by only the luckiest of the lot. You were one of these people, aware that you had him in the palm of your hand, and you thanked him routinely in the morning with a kiss on the cheek for staying. 

The clock on the oven flashed a sharp 08:41, an unusual time for Illi to be awake at, but you weren’t complaining. Your job was stressful; you were sure that any doctor would tell you to quit immediately with how often your blood pressure spiked, so you treasured these couple of moments when you were given a break. Your partner had an on-and-off relationship with missions, the things he preferred to call adventures, but he had a likewise relationship with the agency itself. He had a habit of running off to foreign lands without permission, looking for trouble and finding it, too. You wouldn’t mind it, had it not been for your unfortunate love of the man that drew you after him, like a dog on a leash. In the meantime, a good rest was well deserved, now that you were back in the comfort of your own home after an unexpected visit to Guyana. 

Plus, he looked damn good in boxers and an apron. 

You lazily wrapped your arms around his waist, unintentionally distracting him from the food he was preparing, and muttered into his neck, “G’morning.”

“If you want breakfast, you’re gonna have to let me cook, babe,” he laughed, though that didn’t stop him from leaning back into you. 

Your only response was a muffled groan. It wasn’t your fault that you were so touchy-feely today. Work took up most of the daylight, and upkeep stole the rest away. The only time you really got together was in the late hours of the night when twilight would draw a sheet of privacy over the two of you and leave you alone. The stars would dance together, fireflies entertained themselves and you could just be together. Forgive yourself if you wanted to savor the minutes. 

Alas, you couldn’t stay at Illinois’ side forever. You’d have to come out of hiding eventually, and now was as good a time as any, so you drowsily shuffled towards the front door. The rusted latches groaned with a mere press of your hand, swinging open with an inching pace. Immediately, a gust of dry air trampled past your face, and the faint smell of dust had you sighing more than breathing. It was a classic Louisiana morning, something you haven’t experienced in a long time – not for a lack of breaks. No, although your recent schedule has been clogged, this quant place was a safe house paid for by the agency, meaning it wasn’t only yours to begin with. It was difficult to get used to using the same amenities that a stranger had just a few days ago, in a room that had a tagline of ‘safe’, but you got over it. It just meant that sanitizing every surface was the chore of the first day. 

Illinois didn’t have those reservations; the second that he stepped out of the truck, he declared it home, and went on the search for a good cave. He only agreed to come over camping in the wilderness because of the free food. Or, at least, that’s what he said. There was a small part of you that was sure it was because he didn’t want to be alone, you having no chance to agree on tents – and there was a big part of him that knew you were right. 

You laughed to yourself, pulling a porch chair into the orange sunlight. Being a safe house, it was surrounded by the thickest stretch of trees in the state and, even further, lakes and rivers that made it looked untouched by human hands. The second day had been spent exploring nature together. Illinois tugged you by your hand through bushes, over boulders, underneath a couple fallen trees, all the way to the perimeter of the land. From atop a small cliff, you could see the start of urbanization, but it was sheltered by a haze of smog and lights. The city stayed alight until well into midnight and beyond, like a dying campfire, only to be fed at the crack of dawn. 

A similar flicker of a flame shot into the air in front of you. 

The metal of your lighter was calming, the grooves of the ingrained letters basing you in the present. ‘Berlin, 1996’ was written in small italic near the lever, making it unlikely for you to ever resist the temptation of running your fingers over the markings. It made you smile and, from time to time, had the added benefit of you putting the lighter back in your pocket. This was not one of those times, but a grin did spread over your lips, nonetheless. 

The flicker met the end of a cigarette, which you promptly pulled towards your mouth when it took the flame. Illinois didn’t like the fact that you smoked, he always said how he wanted to be fit in his 90s, but you weren’t cheering for him when he jumped 20 feet down for the fun of it either. The compromise you came to was that both of you would continue to indulge the devils on your shoulders and could laugh at the other’s funeral if they died first. 

In all honesty, it was not a situation that you liked to be in. The constant, looming cloud of loss scared you more than any danger the agency put you in ever could. Nights spent waiting for Illinois to come home, the fear that time would go by, and the sun would rise and set again, and the door wouldn’t open… it was damn-near paralyzing. The only thing that kept you going, ironically enough, was that same man. At least, if you went on the same jobs that he did, you could keep an eye on him. You would know what kind of danger he was in, and you had the chance to stop it. The question was: would you be fast enough?

You took another drag of your cigarette.

“You shouldn’t smoke, y’know.” The porch crackled as Illinois stepped onto the wooden planks. “It’s not good for you.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

A light-hearted chuckle brushed against your ear, accompanied by the click of his boots and humming of cicadas. The deep sound stopped when he swung another chair next to yours. As he came into view, you saw he had replaced his apron with a simple, loose shirt that fell from him like a woman who had fainted in distress. To catch Illinois in a shirt that actually fit him would be to kill the king – impossible and, according to him, a crime punishable by death. 

“You know,” he spoke up, “you don’t look like the rumors.”

Your head unconsciously twisted to the side, so that you could see Illinois only slightly better. His own gaze was fixated in the distant spread of trees. Questions as to what he was starting at batted against you, but you settled on making a curious noise, instead. 

“When we first met, I thought you’d lied to me. I’d heard all these stories about a suave, collected, expert of a heartbreaker, and then…”

“They were proved incorrect?”

He took in a steady breath. “No. They were proved, uh, very correct. Actually, after hearing about you, I kinda,” he coughed, as though that would transfer his thoughts directly to you and take away the need to say the words, “made some assumptions that were not as correct.” 

Illinois prided himself on being right most of the time – and expressed himself as being right all of the time. However, this was one of the only things that he would admit he was wrong about, this being you. The image he had conjured of you was snide and snobby, only in it for themself and with the biggest case of holier-than-thou syndrome he’d ever thought of. Those stories of you driving fancy cars had pushed him into a corner, trapped by a cage of disgust and partial envy. Then, the rumors of how many people you had seduced worked their magic, followed by a notorious habit of smoking and drinking, which designated you, though he perished the thought now, a scumbag. 

But when he’d actually met you…

“And I’m, uh, glad they weren’t.” 

He swung an arm around your chair, drew rough fingers across your collarbone and directed your jaw into facing him. The light breeze shifted your hair like a lover’s touch, and the yellow sun decorated you like a bespoke artwork. Something he’d steal from a museum if he had to, but, no, he had you sitting right in front of him, with the quirk of an eyebrow and a small smile on your lips. He was lucky, he knew that, and he thanked his lucky stars every time he woke up next to you in sparkling mornings, every time your hands brushed when he pulled you up from a ledge, every time your eyes met from across a ballroom. 

The first time that happened was still something he treasured more than any bespoke jewel or painting. 

“Let’s get this business started.”

The night was young, the guests were pleasantly tipsy, and you were perched at one of the centre tables, next to three attractive models and the focus of your attention. 

At this moment, you and your company were in the Berlin Operetta House, a classic establishment with smoke and liquor running through its veins. You had joined in – for lack of anything better to do while biding your time – and had been seated with these four the last two hours. The women you had no information on, except for what you had observed in the time given, most of which boiled down to being pretty faces for the big guy sitting across from you. 

Earnest Whimson, dramatic irony demanding repentance of his parents as he was anything but earnest. He’d made his living on buying and selling anything he could get him tobacco-stained hands on, be it stolen goods, illegal drugs, or people themselves. It was a desolate trade, rotten but protected by the wallets of the people at the top. In those cases, there was only one person the authorities would routinely turn to. 

You. 

The authorities, the uncorrupted minorities, would plead with your agency for help, and you were the first person on the list. Call it luck or honed skill, you didn’t care. What you did care about was getting the job done in a quick and efficient manner. These places weren’t good to stay in for more than a day, lest you want to gain a certain reputation in all of the sectors. Thus, speed was top billing this night. That, and types like Whimson made it hard to keep your cover with the way he was talking. 

Luckily for you, nine o’clock was rearing its head, the lights were dimming and only a few people were left still chatting over their expensive dining. All eyes were directed towards the stage with fervor, those who didn’t know what was happening watching in piqued interest and those who did waiting with bated breath for the real show to begin.

You did know what was happening, you were indeed waiting, but your breaths were slow and steady, like a smooth rock in a brook. The plan was simple; starting at nine, you’d watch Whimson, make friendly banter with him while he bid on whatever items caught his eye. When he inevitably would call out a ludicrous amount of money for a bejeweled crown or statue and the night comes to a close, you’d excuse yourself and make your way to where that thing was located, wait for Whimson, and kindly dispatch the man before anyone could catch wind of what happened. The money he had taken out the few hours before would go to any witnesses, and you’d get back home in time for a smoke and martini.

Simple. 

Except your life had to be hard, didn’t it? You couldn’t just have a plan and stick to it, without something going wrong. Why? You didn’t know. If it had to do with karma or just bad luck, you didn’t know. A pity, really, when it would have made it so much easier to fix it if you did. It almost made you laugh, the thought of what a normal, easy mission was like. 

And the things that went wrong never stayed the same. In one instance, you’d find your getaway driver with a bullet through his skull – in another, your target was informed of your mission and managed to get away – sometimes, it was just raining. 

Right now, the thing that went wrong was something that had never happened before. 

That thing being the infamous Illinois Jones. 

Not even half an hour into the auction, and yet this man, adorned in an open, off-white shirt and multiple belts, was leaping onto the wooden slats. Your jaw would have been on the ground had it not been for the table, if not for his bravado, then for his stupidity. The artifact Whimson had bid on – go figure, a bejeweled crown – slotted nicely into his hand as he snatched it from its marble pedestal, shocking the woman presenting it into stumbling back. A wink was sent her way, she ran off, and Illinois turned to the audience. 

You listened as he spoke. You sat quietly, pretending that you were shocked, when, in reality, you were seething. The boiling of your blood was louder than the whispering of the bidders, and you found yourself restraining the urge to run up there and slap him for ruining your mission. Questions preoccupied your mind while he lectured the guests about the importance of culture and integrity. Why him - why now?! He wasn’t even a part of the agency, he shouldn’t have known about this bid, and yet there he was, like a smug reaper coming to steal your soul into hell. Did he even know you were there? Did it matter to him?

You only noticed Illinois had stopped talking when he swiveled on the heel of his boot, presumably struck a pose, and then stalked off the stage. Everyone was in such a shock that they didn’t stop him, at least, not at first. After a few seconds had passed for people to gain their composures, that was the cue for havoc to befall the room. Illinois had single-handedly converted an organization of logical, fat cats into a daycare for screaming toddlers; suited men pushed themselves away from tables and darted down the hallways, bodyguards unequipped their guns and set about searching for the adventurer, while some of the wives, understandably, stayed to sip on white wine. You would very much join them if it weren’t for Whimson leaning over to his personal bouncer to whisper in his ear. 

“Get the street rat.”

You sighed and took a final swig of your drink. Illinois was a menace, sure, but you weren’t willing to let him die for his ignorance. The agency may have applauded you as you returned, but you had maintained something of a moral compass during your work, so you liked to think you wouldn’t let him die like this. As you said, the man was infamous, and infamous people would not find their ends at the hands of a capitalist bastard’s lapdogs. 

The clink of your glass against the wooden table did not draw Whimson’s attention, but, if it had, he might have been able to avoid the bullet that wedged itself into his skull. You had aimed for his temple, and you were a brilliant shot. The smoke of your pistol camouflaged itself into the ceiling’s belt of fog. Cigarettes, similar to the one you now pulled out from a pocket to light. This job was not only stressful, it was stress. No mission could be easy, no day could go according to plan, and no panicked mob of refined guests could leave the building in an orderly fashion. People swarmed to the exits at the sound of the gunshot, tripping over one another and abandoning their guests to, presumably, your slaughter. 

You took a drag of your cigarette, pressed it between your lips, and gathered the suit jacket that had been on the back of your chair. Movements slow and deliberate, it was a wonder how the guard dogs Whimson had sent to Illinois hadn’t turned around yet to catch you. Good for you, but stupid on their part. Nevertheless, you were out of the manic tide of bidders before they could even realise their owner was slumped against the mahogany, brain matter splayed on his dress shirt. 

The sound of clicking dress shoes amidst the cacophony of panic sent leftover guests into hiding, with the thought that anyone that calm in the sea of chaos was in control of the situation, and that anyone who wouldn’t do anything to stop it was not to be messed with. This gave you the perfect path towards your new target. Calling out Illinois’ name was unnecessary, given you could already hear distant shots echoing down the hallways. 

And when you came to the end, asking where those gunshots were meant to hit was also unnecessary. 

The wall behind Illinois was pepped with holes, like a coral beach, while Whimson’s bodyguards looked relatively unharmed. From your position, it looked like Illinois was doing everything he could to dodge the bullets, and nothing to actually fight back. Putting your cigarette out on a recently polished cabinet, you delved into the fray. 

The first man down was yours, with an ornamental vase smashed against his skull, the kind of ones only used for grasping at when someone’s strangling you, but they still worked well to knock him out. Next down was his friend, who charged at you with intent to kill, but a shard of the broken porcelain stuck in his throat sent him to the ground. Blood trickled from the cut like a damaged water fountain, but none of the others paid him mind. Really, how would they ever survive without comradery?

You didn’t know, because they wouldn’t; Illinois, in tandem with your bloodier style, brought a table leg down onto another of the staff, the frail wood cracking the second it touched his head. The man whirled around with fury in his eyes, but those soon rolled back with the force of a punch to his face. You watched on, subtly impressed, though now was no time to ogle. Instead, you could do so after these people had been dispatched. 

Strikes to the lower abdomens, blunt-force trauma to their foreheads, and what you hoped were lethal cracks of bone kept everyone wanting to live away from the corridor. You brought one dress shoe down on a woman’s fingers, sighed at the pitiful crunch that was muffled by her scream, and then stood up to assess the situation. One, two, three- four, two were on top of each other, and the one that Illinois was currently bashing against the wall. That made five at the scene.

Six, if you were to include the one that popped a bullet past your thigh. Lousy shot, they barely grazed the clothing, though it was a shame; that outfit had been one of your favorites. 

Swiping a hand to your gun, you whirled around to see a particularly bulky bastard rounding the corner you’d come from. Illinois jumped to your side to look at the arrivals and took notice of your weapon in quick fashion. If only he had more trouble with brutalizing that last one, you might have hit the bullseye.

But a pressure on your wrist distracted you enough to miss. With your target swiveling to look at the newly cracked mirror and one end of the corridor swarmed by suited staff members, your night was only getting worse, and you lamented as such while Illinois dragged you down to the only available exit. 

Your job required a lot of running – more than the average desk job did, at least – and that was why your legs were able to work on autopilot despite the adrenaline working through your veins that pressured you to be aware of every little thing that crossed your mind. The shattered glass from dropped plates, the swinging of doors as the last party members escaped, the texture of Illinois’ hand that had steadily moved to wrap around your own fingers. He was decorated with callouses and rough patches, war wounds sustained in the battlefield of caves and climbing. They told a story, one that you could have read had you enough time, but, for now, you had to be satisfied with knowing his present – told to you, not by his skin, but by you also experiencing it at his side.

That involved the darting through doors, ducking under pipes, skirting around the staff members who hadn’t gotten the memo. You didn’t even have the chance to ask where Illinois was bringing you, too focused on not slamming straight into a wall. The steady sounds of boots marching behind you, of which you counted six or seven, propelled you forward, like striking a match against a line of gas. You barely felt conscious throughout the run; the rattle of Illinois’ pickup truck went over your head, and the jingle of a bar’s bell hardly registered until you were seated in one of the old bar seats where you came to, a drink in your hand and Illinois staring right at you. Well, not just staring right at you, but also spilling every bad pick-up line in his book. 

“I was wondering if you had an extra heart, because mine was just stolen.”

You had half a mind to put your martini down and walk out the door.

“I’m really glad I bought life insurance, because when I saw you, my heart stopped.”

Did he have life insurance?

“You must be a bank loan, because you’ve got my int—” 

“Why do you even want that thing, anyway?” you interrupted, vaguely gesturing to the crown peeking out of his satchel with your non-drink hand. 

“So, now you’re interested?” he chuckled, but only stopped long enough to order a whiskey before he commented, “The crown of Dos Partom, an old relic from the Mesopotamian era. No idea how it ended up in a bidding war, but, really, it belongs in a museum—” he shot a glance to the side, acting as though he hadn’t been watching you for the past ten minutes, “—that, and the company isn’t bad.”

So, he was the cocky type? You could’ve guessed that from the million stories about his personality, but it was a wonder to see it in action. Sure, you had a habit of using your charisma to get into places you shouldn’t have been, but this? What was he hoping to achieve? You’d already saved his ass from Whimson’s lackeys, and yet there he was, perched on the bar stool next to you, continuing his verbal assault of shoddy lines. Your eyes rolling and your annoyance growing, you twisted in your seat and removed a cigarette from your belt’s pocket. Normally, on mission days, you had five or six, a large step down from when you had days off, and yet this day was taking its toll on your stash. 

“You shouldn’t smoke, y’know.”

And so, too, was Illinois taking his toll on your patience. 

“It’s not good for you.” Regardless, you continued your strut to the backgarden of the bar. Lucky for you, despite the lateness, the weather had taken pity on you. A gentle breeze carved through the foliage and guided the smoke of your cigarette into the moonlit sky. The growl of cars and humming of lights brought you to lean against the white brick wall and take in the scenery. When you got a moment to yourself, appreciating where you were was the best you could do – because, who knows, you could be dead tomorrow. 

You took another drag, and then placed it on your bottom lip as you retrieved your phone. It was just a burner that you took on missions, but it had all the essentials, including the number of your assigned agency representative. The handlers, you called them. You didn’t know the name of yours, but you trusted them with everything about yourself; where you were, who you were with, what you were doing down to the shift of a foot. Right now, you were entrusting them with the simple name of your mission and the promise of it having been finished at your normal quality.

“Berlin, 1996,” you muttered as you typed the letters. 

“Keeping a diary there, sweetheart?” 

Could you catch a break? Apparently not, you assumed, as the sight of Illinois wrapped around the corner. His hat was off, held in one hand, and both your drinks in the other. You met his eyes, he stared back, and then you removed your glass. 

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“What do you want?”

Illinois pretended to be shocked, reeling back and pressing his hat to his chest. “Me? Want something? From you?” he gasped, a smirk overthrowing his lips only when you didn’t react. “Not at all.”

“Don’t play dumb, Jones,” you warned. 

“I appreciate that you think I play dumb.”

That teasing smile, the glistening eyes, you had to look away before you did anything drastic. Whether that was punching him or kissing him, you didn’t know, but you knew that looked off into the well-trimmed hedges halted the urge. “I know you’re not just a pretty face, what do you want?”

“And I’m pretty?” Another chuckle. “You don’t need to say all that to get me interested.” 

“Just—” you took a breath in, “—tell me what you want from me, and then we can part ways. Easy.”

“And what if I don’t want it to be easy?”

Someone inside the bar shouted that it was last call, but neither of you moved to grab your final drinks. Neither of you moved, at all. You stayed still, Illinois stayed still, and the only sound between you was the buzz of moths at the dangling light just a few inches away. Illinois was… he was something else, that was for sure. Either he was going to kill himself, or you were going to kill him yourself. No matter what, you wanted to be there for it. 

Reaching out, you pulled a thumb along his jawline and took a sip of your martini out of the other hand. Illinois was too stunned to speak, leaving you the chance to remove your hand, snatch his hat and shove it onto his head in one, fast motion. He made some sort of sound, one that you didn’t catch as you waltzed back into the bar.

Illinois, standing in the porchlight, laughed to himself and followed you inside – and then, in another year, five months and two days, he’d be doing the exact same thing, except, this time, with a golden band around both of your fingers. 

[As a Brit myself, and having seen neither James Bond nor Indiana Jones, this was a treat for me! Thank you for requesting! Also, as some of you may have noticed, I have currently closed my requests because exam season is coming up, but I should be back around the end of June. Thank you for sticking with me, and, again, thank you for requesting!]

[denimbex1986]

'Generations, culture, loneliness, and grief in queer culture and how true love transcends the mortal coil.

“The power of love A force from above A sky-scraping dove Flame on burn desire Love with tongues of fire Purge the soul Make love your goal”

The Power of Love by Frankie Goes to Hollywood

Andrew Haigh’s exquisite queer ghost story and romance is adapted from Strangers a 1987 novel by Japanese author Taichi Yamada, but it is also indebted to the 1984 song The Power of Love by Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Even in 1984 there was little mistaking (unless willingly done) that Holly Johnson and his band were openly queer. It is fitting then, that Andrew Haigh uses the musical motif in his time slipping story: moving the protagonist, Adam (Andrew Scott) between his present life overlooking central London to Croydon in 1980s and his childhood home.

Adam lives in an almost empty high-rise apartment complex. He is a television screenwriter in his forties. He observes the world at a removed distance from his solitary existence. He speaks to no one. He watches old music clips from the 1980s. His sole outlet is his writing, yet he’s struggling to create something personal. Andrew Haigh and cinematographer Jamie Ramsay, and production designer Sarah Finlay define Adam’s isolation, depression, and nostalgia with immediate effect. Adam is both inside and outside of London. He is careless with his appearance and eating habits. He sleeps on the couch. He is listless and incarnated in something akin to a half-life.

A fire alarm goes off in his building which seems almost absurd as there is no one there to set a fire. He shuffles out his door, down the empty corridor, to an empty elevator and stands outside until it stops. The apartment is a dwelling where Adam exists as a ghost haunting the uncanny modern space.

A dishevelled but handsome young man named Harry (Paul Mescal) knocks on his door. Harry is drunk and suggests Adam was looking at him from outside the building. Perhaps he would like some company. Surely Adam would like company, they are the only two people in the place. He’s flirtatious but also mildly desperate. “I’ve got vampires at my door,” he tells Adam – he also has a bottle of liquor and pleading eyes. Adam is so shocked that anyone would disturb his habitual solitude he gently rebuffs Harry. Another time, perhaps?

Time itself in All of Us Strangers is a collapsing concept. Adam gets on the train to return to his childhood home to find inspiration for his screenplay. His clothing is reminiscent of mid-eighties wear. The train ride itself is almost an inverse experience to Jimmy Sommerville’s in Bronksi Beat’s Smalltown Boy (no Bronksi Beat songs are on the soundtrack but fellow London Records band Fine Young Cannibals’ Johnny Won’t You Come on Home appears instead). He looks into the window of his former home and a young boy is watching him. Wandering from a playground to a heath he is approached by a man (Jamie Bell) who beckons him to follow him. What at first glance could appear to be an anonymous hook-up is something else entirely. The man is his deceased father, and he is inviting him home.

Adam registers something between passivity and shock as his mother (Claire Foy) fusses over him and embraces him. They are all aware that the meeting is impossible as both parents died in 1987 at Christmas time. And yet, they are there together, and Adam and his family get the opportunity to meet as both parents and child and as adults who must reintroduce themselves. “You must come back,” they tell him. “One of us will be in.”

Back in London and the present moment Adam sees Harry looking up at him from outside his apartment. This time Adam does invite him in and the two begin a tentative but erotogenic sexual relationship which grows into deep intimacy where they share their feelings of dislocation. Haigh’s script peels back the generation gap between the men. Adam, a product of Generation X and the homophobia and fear associated with the AIDs crisis reveals how he remained mostly single. Gen Z Harry’s lack of a partner comes from something else – perhaps a lack of being able to care for himself. Despite his family being relatively accepting he has been side-lined as the son who hasn’t brought his parents grandchildren. There was nothing overt and he was never unwelcomed; he just slipped away from his Dorking family and moved to London to experience the wider world (again echoes of Smalltown Boy).

Adam moves between the present (and possible future) with Harry, and the past with his parents. Again, a generation gap is present. When his excited and proud mother speaks to him about a possible marriage or girlfriend, Adam tells her he is gay. Something as a child he never had the opportunity to express despite his bedroom being somewhat a shrine to indeterminate gay culture in the 1980s (Erasure albums, posters of Frankie Goes to Hollywood). There was a specific blindness working and middle-class British people indulged in when it came to queer culture in the 80s. Even the most obvious examples of queer music and art such as Soft Cell and The Pet Shop Boys could be folded into the mainstream as long as no-one mentioned what was apparent.

Mum’s reaction to the news that her son is gay is typical of the period. Somewhere between shock, fear, anger, and concern. Foy’s exuberance for her son turns into almost cold revulsion as he grills him about that terrible disease and asks him why he would choose to be lonely and childless. Adam has to patiently explain to her that things have changed. AIDs is no longer the crisis it once was. Queer people can marry and have children. “Isn’t that like having your cake and eating it too?” she asks. She balks at even touching what Adam has. Homophobia was so ingrained for her that she believes that she can contract a disease just by being near a gay man. She doesn’t understand, he isn’t a hairdresser – he’s a writer. Aren’t people nasty to him? Every cliché of the period is reiterated to Adam and he becomes once again a small boy maintaining a secret that his peers clocked, but not his parents.

In the present Adam and Harry are finding a new liberation together. Their lovemaking, domestic routines, and breaking out into the world of clubbing and drugs is the kind of life they both thought that they would experience when they left their respective small towns (Adam was adopted by his maternal grandparents and raised in Ireland). Yet despite their passion for each other there is something fragile about both men. Adam can’t trust that Harry is truly attracted to him because he is older. Harry is on a path of low-key self-destruction. They find and nurture each other – soothing their individual insecurities. Yet there is a brokenness in both men. For Adam it is his overwhelming grief. For Harry it is something akin to self-loathing nihilism. A nightclub scene and train ride becomes a distorted nightmare. The pulsing strobes and neon lights whirl as Adam becomes feverish.

Adam splits his time between two “homes,” the house he grew up in and the home he is making with Harry. Adam’s father explains that he knew that there was something different about him. “You could never throw a ball” he says. “You’re making me sound like a cliché,” Adam laughs. He still can’t throw a ball. The deeper conversation between them reveals that Dad knew he was being bullied at school and Adam was a bit “tutti fruitti,” but he didn’t want to confront Adam’s probable sexuality because he understood that he was just as ignorant as the boys who bullied him. Dad knows that the casual jokes of the time about a teacher being a bit limp wristed or telling Adam to not cross his legs like a girl damaged his son. Adam tries to absolve him but they both recognise that Adam was a stranger to himself and to an extent his parents because he couldn’t let them know who he was.

Haigh gives Adam the chance to reconstruct his childhood. The more time he spends with Mum and Dad, the more of a child he becomes. Somehow he can wear his pyjamas from his pre-teen self and slip into bed with his parents as he once did. The Christmas tree is decorated. They sing the Pet Shop Boys version of You Were Always on My Mind a song Mum loves, performed by a queer duo (which she becomes aware of) and the famous ode to love, regret, and the longing to make amends. Mum and Dad are younger than Adam. They never had the chance to live a full life – to get to know their son and see the man they are proud of (even if Adam feels they have nothing to be proud of him for). Yet, at some stage the reunion will have to end. Adam will never properly grow up if he lives in the liminal space between his past and present. For anyone who has lost someone they love, especially if that loss came far too early; will never be adequate time to be with them and let them go with grace. Just one moment more…

What cures loneliness born of trauma? When Adam tells Harry of his parents’ death (and the gruesome details surrounding the crash) he admits, “I was always lonely. But this was new. It was a terror. Like I would always be lonely.” What cures loneliness born of never feeling completely accepted? Harry talks about how he inevitably drifted outside his heteronormative family, “I’ve always felt like a stranger in my own family. Coming out just puts an edge on that. It’s not really anyone’s fault.” How easy it becomes to stop caring about yourself – whether that be by drowning in booze and drugs or closing off your future because the past was painful. Andrew Haigh’s superlative film finds the answer in “undying, death-defying love.”

Rarely does a film come along where every element works to the level of perfection of All of Us Strangers. From Andrew Scott’s vulnerable and quietly humorous performance where his face and body are the locus for all of Adam’s anxieties, desires, his aching need to give and receive love and solace. It is impossible not to transfixed by his restrained and phenomenally powerful acting. Jamie Bell, so often overlooked as a prestigious adult actor, puts to rest any notion that he will permanently in some regard be the grown up “Billy Elliot.” After Paul Mescal’s award-nominated performance in Aftersun he proves that, despite some lesser recent roles, he is an actor of astounding merit. Claire Foy needs no introduction as an accomplished and chameleonic performer. Her “Mum” echoes so many mothers of the period. Her acceptance and love for her ��kind and gentle boy,” who is a continuation of her father, herself, and her husband speaks to what closes any generational gap. The reminder that we all exist in each other.

Technically, Haigh’s direction is seamless. The film conveys distance, isolation, looking through glass at the world. Reflections can be ominous but also metaphors for intimacy and love. The art direction and costuming are so authentically and aesthetically mid to late eighties that Adam’s experiences with Mum and Dad are real despite their logical impossibility. The music supervision and song choices are so integral that they not only inform the narrative, they create it.

All of Us Strangers is a constellation where stars that have died years ago still fill the skies with light and wonder. Where there is love, there is eternity. No matter who you are: queer, straight, mother, father, daughter, son, or lover – All of Us Strangers reaches out to embrace whatever notion of a soul you ascribe to. There are life experiences that are purely universal. Fill the silence in life with truth.'

[theparadiseproject]

Marston did not "white wash" Ancient Greek culture. It's just a prominent part of western culture.

Also no one alive now, nor in the 40s when she was created, was from Ancient Greece or had some cultural claim to Ancient Greek culture or the religion to genuinely claim it's offensive or anything akin to "appropriation" or reductive to a still alive group of people since its called "Ancient Greece" for a reason.

You shouldn't be applying modern sociological phenomenons or terms to describe people talking about or using any part of a long dead society or the practices or beliefs of the people that were apart of it a very long time ago and was one of the most powerful, dominant and influential cornerstones to Western Society the same way you would a marginalized community of people that still exist in modern day. This is just silly.

The Amazons in DC were not meant to be historically accurate or anything like that. They were purposefully used and reinterpreted to build the mythology of a superhero in pulp fiction to represent a very specific idea. They were not meant to look like any racial group other than ones that would relate specifically to the American audience they were created for. They were not meant to be warriors but super powered beings. They did not use sword and shields but advanced technology and science. Their worship was specifically crafted around certain themes and ideas that were specific to Marston and his interests.

Theres nothing wrong with any of these things and he clearly took a very inspired, well thoughtout approach to ensure he made his version of the Amazons specific to what he was intending to portray while still being written faithfully and in line with the myths that inspired them.

It doesn't even make sense to say they aren't faithful to the source material because they are not characters created in a previous literary work but mythological figures that were used as inspiration for a pulp fiction super hero adventure comic. You choosing to be offended over something you can't possibly have any legitimate claim to anymore than anyone else raised in Western society or somewhere heavily touched by it is you purposefully misapplying ideas, concepts, dynamics that apply to real living things to something that would not even make sense given that the people that would even need to be around for to claim such offenses don't exist and would not do so since they were not marginalized groups of people that had their culture torn from them but a vast collection of some of the most influential and powerful forces in history that were able to spread their culture so far that it impacted all of the world, specifically the West, where people with a specific phenotype you are trying to claim is being used to "erase" people would also have this culture be foundational to the world around them and have as much claim as anyone that is presumably more phenotypically close to the supposed people that cultivated this culture despite the fact that the existing inhabitants of part of the world practice a completely different culture and religion due to their ancestors converting to Christianity and this religion and anyone that could trace their practices and beliefs back to the ancient culture they hail from having passed away without keeping it alive. So the only people that still worship or practice are re constructionist and later practitioners that are not related to those Ancient Greeks at all.

This is what I mean when I say the "Wonder Woman fandom" misapplies modern sociological ideas and politics to make an issue that simply does not exist.

Paradise island was likely in the Pacific Ocean, no where near Europe or Eurasia or the Mediterranean. Diana was modeled after an Irish woman with white skin, blue eyes, and black hair. The Amazons were meant to have the racial phenotypes common to Americans, obviously white Americans, of that time and not any sort of supposedly resemblance to what Academics say the "real amazons" would have looked like or were modeled after. It is fantasy to appeal to an American audience and that is not a bad thing at all.

Even when understanding the underlying beliefs and desires behind the Amazons meaning to appeal to an American audience so they were all very clearly white women there is no such thing as "white washing" the Amazons or anything like that. Frankly, there should be more concern with diversifying the Amazons to include more racial groups that are prominent in the US, like black people, as opposed to trying to perfectly emulate the characteristics of a fictional group of women that these Amazons were not meant to represent or look or be like in the first place.

Its just trying to ruin the character under the guise of "realism" or "historical accuracy" when the whole point is that they are neither of those things and trying to make them that flies in the face of their creation.

[cleo-fox]

CEE, you MAD GENIUS!

I love this so much! There’s so much love in this but then you also have these super dreamy and ethereal bits that just elevate it to another level. But first:

you knew that Nat was attempting a similar endeavor with Bruce, despite his timid insistence that he wasn’t a “costume guy”.

This feels so ridiculously on point for Bruce I simply cannot. 😂

So, here’s the thing: this is a concept that could’ve just turned into a mess of Velveeta in the hands of a lesser writer but you fucking knocked it out of the stratosphere. To wit:

And while he wasn’t saying it out loud, you didn’t need to be a genius to guess why he had reservations: everyone else already believed he was an actual monster, so shouldn’t he just be himself on Halloween?

Once again, the way that you are so good at casually breaking my heart remains deeply concerning to me. And then:

A low hum vibrated underneath the drum, steady until it wasn’t, and then gradually it shifted into a cosmic wail that seemed to be transmitting itself across all of time and space. A cacophony of instruments, from both the planet Earth and of the stars themselves, finally crescendoed together in a powerful array of astronomical declaration.

MADAM?! And then a few paragraphs later, you’re just like:

But the confidence that radiated out of him, like the infernal rays of an ever-bursting star, belonged to Loki, and Loki alone.

And

You weren’t standing on the 22nd floor of Stark Tower, you were opening the hatch of an imaginary spacecraft, you were taking that first step out onto an unexplored moon. You were leaving the very first footprints upon its previously untouched surface, and you were carving your name into its virgin moondust. You were leaving your mark for future generations to someday gaze upon, in sheer awe of the audacity to wonder what else could be out there.

WHAT?! HOW?! HOW DO YOU WRITE THESE GORGEOUS SENTENCES THAT COMPLETELY MELT MY BRAIN?! I know I’ve accused you witchcraft before, but now I’m absolutely certain.

On a slightly different note, this may be the singularly most biographical sentence I’ve ever read in a fic:

The massive crush you’d had on David Bowie when you were 13 years old suddenly roared to life once more. You’d never told anyone about it, because everyone else your age was in love with the much more socially acceptable choices of Nick Carter or Justin Timberlake. Back then, admitting to a near-fatal attraction on an androgynous, bisexual and eccentric musician from the 1970s would have been akin to signing your own death warrant.

(The stress eating Halloween candy bit also hit home).

I’m in danger of quoting your whole fic back at you so I’ll stop, but I also just love the relationship between Loki and the Reader. It feels so sweet and authentic and comfortable in a way that makes me go “yeah, this couple is playing for keeps.”

I love this and anyone who is looking for a Loki fic with a Halloween vibe needs to drop everything and read this immediately. Amazing job, Cee!!

Space Oddity {Avengers!Loki x Female Reader One-shot}

Cee's Loki Fic Masterlist / AO3 Link

Pairing : Avengers!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : While preparing for Stark Tower’s Halloween party, Loki misunderstands the point of a Halloween Costume. Luckily he has you to help him navigate such tricky waters. 

W/c : 10k words

Content / Warnings : Established Relationship, Fluff, Smut, Loki being a little massive shit and also a silly goose.

Author's Note : Last year a certain LIFE-RUINER (affectionate) dressed up as Ziggy Stardust/David Bowie/Aladdin Sane for Halloween, and it permanently altered my brain chemistry. Because of (or in spite of?) the ensuing brain rot, it took 11 months of me staring at that picture to finally come up with an idea to include Loki in that delicious little mix.

P.S. I do recommend listening to Space Oddity by David Bowie while you read this. If you start the song at "Humanity’s wide variety of music..." then depending on your reading speed, the song's first Verse should start right at the big reveal 🤭

18+ Only - Minors DNI

⊱ ─ ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ─ ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ─ ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ─ ⊰

A crisp, hazy mist obscured your view of the ground from the 22nd floor of Stark Tower. Sunrise was yet to fully finish, and the Earth below was quiet, still adjusting to the uneasy transition from slumber to consciousness. Within that ambiguity, it was easy to believe that you’d somehow awoken on an entirely new planet. 

You often wondered what that was like, to feel the soil from an uncharted world give way underneath your boots. To feel a breeze coming off an ocean no other human had ever seen before, or to look up into the night sky and see the stars of a brand new galaxy. How colossal, how surreal, how inferior it must make someone feel. 

On lazy mornings such as this one, you’d often ask your partner what it was like to be an astronaut. He’d hand you a steaming cup of coffee as he rejoined you in bed, and with a contemplative expression, he’d always respond with a brand new answer. 

You suspected the change in response was just due to him recalling his first trip to a different realm, and each time you always listened very carefully. You always closed your eyes and tried to lose yourself in the picturesque descriptions of fantasy worlds you’d probably never be able to see personally. 

Sometimes, if you focused hard enough, you could almost smell the forests of a brand new planet. You could almost taste its fresh water and its different fruit, and feel the immaculate breezes of its unstudied seasons. But then you’d open your eyes again, and when you looked through the skyscraper’s window, the few dapples of orange and yellow leaves breaking through the dense fog would let you know this was still planet Earth. 

But that wasn’t always so bad. Occasionally, there would be several weeks without a world-ending threat breathing down the Avenger’s necks, and that meant you could pretend you were all just regular people. You could sleep in or get up extra early to watch the world come to life, you could rush around and do any of the million things that needed to be done, or you could simply lay there and bask in that sweet silence. 

Today, after having coffee in bed, your only concrete plan was a shopping trip in the West Village with Wanda and Nat. Your only solid goal was to finally settle on the perfect costumes for the Halloween party happening just a few days from now. 

It was no secret that the Avengers had acquired a sizable contingency of cynics over the years, ones who weren’t shy about openly criticizing the entire team. From the collateral damage incurred during battle, to the individual actions of its members both on and off the team - anything they did was suspect, and absolutely nothing was beyond complaint. Thus, Pepper Potts had made it her personal mission to finally correct the planet’s opinions of its heroes. 

In addition to the team’s assistance towards rebuilding efforts after their battles were won and having its members performing very public charity work, Stark Tower was starting to host more “fun” events in order to further boost the team’s positive image. 

“To get your names in the papers without a rising death toll immediately afterwards,” was specifically how Pepper had explained her initiative. And naturally, that meant a Halloween Party was deemed absolutely necessary. 

Anyone who was even tertiarily related to the Avengers was going to be there: from the low-level, but still notable, world government leaders, to the honorary members from all corners of the globe. And of course, plenty of reporters and photographers would be in attendance, all of them ready to document every single fun moment. It was set to become an impressive party, and knowing Pepper, a very classy event - so it shouldn’t have been at all surprising that most of the team had become hyper-focused on winning the party’s costume contest. 

Initially, everyone kept their costumes a secret from one another, and the trash-talking was of a mostly friendly nature. But then rumors started flying around, and gradually, some members of the team started taking the competition far too seriously. Alliances were formed, and subsequently broken. The taunting soon became serious, and then reached devastating levels, which ultimately escalated into a four-day period where Tony and Steve couldn’t even be in the same room together without a physical fight breaking out. 

Thankfully, the girls were far more casual about it, and that afternoon’s shopping trip was planned to be one of mutual support. Wanda was hoping to finalize her couple’s costume with Vision, and even though she hadn’t mentioned it directly, you knew that Nat was attempting a similar endeavor with Bruce, despite his timid insistence that he wasn’t a “costume guy”. It was so adorably endearing that it almost gave you a toothache. 

Unfortunately, things were not so cut and dry with Loki. 

He had yet to mention the Halloween party on his own, nor had he participated in any group discussions on the subject - he even ignored Tony's attempts to goad him into verbal sparring matches, something Loki ordinarily enjoyed. Not that anyone should be genuinely excited about performative media relations disguised as a fun party, but nonetheless, you were starting to become concerned about his lack of interest.

Private conversations with him about finding a costume had gone nowhere. He didn’t understand why he needed to dress up at all, or why you cared so much about it. And while he wasn’t saying it out loud, you didn’t need to be a genius to guess why he had reservations: everyone else already believed he was an actual monster, so shouldn’t he just be himself on Halloween? 

Only a few weeks had passed since you’d moved in together, but it was going really well, all things considered. The otherworldly being you’d fallen in love with still didn’t understand most Earthly customs, and you very much enjoyed being his Midgardian teacher. But coming to terms with what he’d done while under the influence of the Mind Stone was still an ongoing struggle for him. 

Loki had good days, but he also had very, very bad days. He still had nightmares about his past, and frequently his worries about the future kept him helplessly trapped in bed. It broke your heart to witness, and even though he’d probably never reveal the full details about his time with The Black Order and Thanos, he at least never stopped you from offering him comfort in the middle of the night. 

Because he wasn’t the monster his critics or inner demons claimed he was, no matter how convincing they were. He deserved a good and peaceful life just as much as everyone else did, and you wanted nothing more than to help him finally have one. 

When you’d left the apartment later that morning, Loki was lounging peacefully on the living room couch, his nose buried in the oldest book you’d ever seen. A gentle smile had tugged at his lips while you kissed his forehead on your way out, and with tremendous love in his eyes, he said that he’d miss you terribly while you were gone. 

After an early lunch at The Coppola Cafe, the three of you spent the afternoon browsing what felt like every single vintage clothing shop in the West End. It didn’t take long for Wanda and Nat to finalize their costumes, and eventually you did manage to find something for yourself, but deciding on your partner’s costume was another story entirely. A terribly complicated task, one that was impossible to accomplish and rotten with trap doors and landmines hiding within the deceptive labyrinth that was Loki. 

The girls did their best to make helpful suggestions during the shopping trip, offering such innocent and guiltless ideas like a mailman, or a stuffy professor - or perhaps he could dress up as Shakespeare so he could spend the entire party wandering around quoting Hamlet. Or maybe instead, he should just wear a Ghostface mask and a long black cloak, so he had a good excuse to stay concealed and silent all night long. 

You appreciated their efforts, but none of those ideas were quite right for him. You couldn’t really explain why, but they just weren’t…Loki. 

By late afternoon, your mind had turned into a jumbled mess. Unable to think clearly anymore, you resorted to aimless purchases of extra things neither of you probably wouldn’t ever use - cheap makeup sets, bottles of fake blood, a set of vampire fangs, a pair of cat ears. Several brightly colored wigs, a second-hand cape, and a large bag of Halloween candy to stress eat later finally completed your purchases for the day. 

The group came back to the Tower just before dusk, and the living room of your apartment was quiet when you walked inside. A few lamps illuminated on the end tables gave the space a dark, brooding mood, which was greatly appreciated after such a busy and disappointing day. But unfortunately, Loki was no longer on the couch where you’d left him, and that old book was nowhere to be seen. 

“Hey! I’m home!” you called out while setting your shopping bags down by the front door. 

An odd silence was the only thing that greeted you. 

Usually, Loki would be at the front door, ready to sweep you up in his arms whenever you returned home. But the apartment remained unmoving, even as you called out a second time. When he still didn’t appear, you poked your head into the kitchen while shrugging off your jacket and slipping off your shoes. But that room was also completely vacant, with no evidence of dinner being started or already had. 

Loki preferred spending most of his time alone, but occasionally he’d allow an enticing bribe from Bruce or Thor to drag him out of the apartment; maybe he was just studying something interesting up in Bruce’s lab, or perhaps he’d agreed to help his brother play a prank on someone. Grateful for the opportunity to wallow in solitude for a bit, you pulled the giant bag of Halloween candy from a shopping bag and made your way towards the back of the apartment. 

You padded down the empty hallway where there was still no sign of Loki. Everything in the entire apartment was clean, and in its place. There was absolutely nothing wrong, and yet it felt like the weight of the entire world was resting heavily on your shoulders. You tried to reassure yourself that it was nothing that a coma-inducing amount of candy couldn’t fix, but even that was becoming less believable with each step forward. 

As you approached the bedroom, you thought you could hear the very faint sounds of guitar strumming through the closed door. That gave you pause; certain that you hadn’t left anything on before leaving that morning, you cautiously moved closer, until your ear was pressed against the door. 

Yes, that was music you were hearing - familiar music, even though you couldn’t quite place it yet, and you couldn’t help but to smile to yourself. Loki was home after all, and he had been entertaining himself with music while you were out. It thoroughly warmed your heart with an unexplainable feeling of serenity, and pleased that he’d remembered how to use the record player on his own, you waited behind the door to listen for another moment. 

Humanity’s wide variety of music was one of the few things about our culture that he’d expressed genuine interest in - which of course, you happily encouraged. It was so much fun introducing him to everything from the classic composers of the 18th and 19th centuries, to the psychedelic rockers of the 20th century. From the upbeat pop groups of your middle school years, to the angsty singers that made up the soundtrack of your early twenties.

You closed your eyes to focus solely on whatever he was listening to now. The music itself was playing low, the singer’s impassive voice just barely audible to you. But you couldn’t tell if it was a really old recording, or if the sound was just distorted after passing through the door. 

Off in the distance, a punctuated drum stroke marked the countdown to some inconceivable event, and adrenaline suddenly filled your bloodstream. A low hum vibrated underneath the drum, steady until it wasn’t, and then gradually it shifted into a cosmic wail that seemed to be transmitting itself across all of time and space. A cacophony of instruments, from both the planet Earth and of the stars themselves, finally crescendoed together in a powerful array of astronomical declaration. 

A declaration that something was happening at that very moment. Breathed into life with a static kiss, that something was so astonishingly important, and it vehemently demanded immediate witness. 

Your curiosity, overwhelming to the point that you couldn’t take it any longer, forced you to carefully reach for the door handle. Its metal, both warm and cold simultaneously, felt like home. It felt unreal. 

This felt like opening the hatch to an ancient spacecraft. 

This is Ground Control to Major Tom…

You pushed open the door, and immediately let out a startled laugh. Standing in front of the bedroom mirror was a tall and lanky figure, turning himself back and forth while carefully examining his reflection. That part wasn’t surprising; but rather, it was the way he’d dressed himself that was completely unexpected. 

You’ve really made the grade…

Bright red and blue stripes lined the figure’s jumpsuit from shoulder to toe, each one evenly separated by thin lines of white. Familiar dark curls cascaded and twisted down past a pair of golden, glittering shoulder pads that only amplified his already impressive stature. Across his right eye, stretching from well below his cheekbone up to meet with his natural hairline, was a crimson lightning bolt. Its perfectly jagged edges were outlined in shimmering blue, and the leather platform boots on his feet were a brilliant, shining red. 

And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear…

You knew it wasn’t actually Ziggy Stardust standing there; logically, you knew that much to be true. David Bowie had died several years ago, and while you now believed in alien life on other planets, and magic, and superheroes - you still knew the matter of ghosts to be entirely science fiction. 

Rational thought, if you had been capable of it in that moment, would have told you that this was just your celestial partner practicing another one of his illusions. But this mirage was so much more powerful than reason, or fact, or reality could have ever hoped to be. While shoulder-strung spectral harps blared from the record player and the harmonized magnetism of flesh and blood and God stood before you, the only conclusion to be reached was that you’d finally lost your entire mind. 

Now it’s time to leave the capsule if you dare…

Other than his hair, his illusion was categorically perfect: the only hint of Loki underneath this glamour was the flicker of mischievous green hiding behind heterochromatic eyes. But those weren’t Loki’s cheekbones, or his lips, or his nose. 

They were David fucking Bowie’s. 

This is Major Tom to Ground Control…

Your jaw dropped even further when he finally noticed you. He turned someone else’s body, and he lifted someone else’s chin. The illustrious and supernal smile he flashed in your direction tugged at someone else’s lips. But the confidence that radiated out of him, like the infernal rays of an ever-bursting star, belonged to Loki, and Loki alone. 

It was different from Bowie’s, but still somehow the same; despite the oddity of both their ensembles, neither outfit had worn either man. And similar to that ethereal mortal from over 50 years ago, Loki’s aura overrode any bewildered question of why, and instead begged the eternal question of how? 

I’m stepping through the door…

How was he making this look work for him? Just like Bowie, Loki was equal parts striking and ridiculous. He was magnetic and breathtaking, he was pulling you in while simultaneously stunning the oxygen from your lungs. No thoughts, no words, no sounds could ever truly capture the true essence of this scene, and all you could manage was another stunned laugh as you looked him up and down. 

His lips finally moved, but you couldn’t hear what he was saying. A symphony of guitars and keyboards and organs and stringed instruments all crescendoed together to effectively pay tribute to the creation of this universe and drown out his voice. The sound, dizzying and disorienting, overpowered the feel of the floor beneath your feet until gravity was no longer enough to keep you tethered to the Earth. 

And I’m floating in the most peculiar way…

Your mind, completely overwhelmed by the glowing specter just ten feet away, had become entirely blank. You were rendered so totally speechless that you forgot every single detail about your past. You simply weren’t you anymore; you were an astronaut from a distant planet on the other side of the universe, and you always had been. 

You weren’t standing on the 22nd floor of Stark Tower, you were opening the hatch of an imaginary spacecraft, you were taking that first step out onto an unexplored moon. You were leaving the very first footprints upon its previously untouched surface, and you were carving your name into its virgin moondust. You were leaving your mark for future generations to someday gaze upon, in sheer awe of the audacity to wonder what else could be out there. 

And the stars look very different today… 

Without even noticing, you let go of the bag of Halloween candy; whether it also began floating or if it crashed to your bedroom floor was no longer any of your concern. All you could think about was if it felt this surreal, this mind-blowing to look upon the real David Bowie. How did anybody manage to not spontaneously combust in his presence? 

All sense of relative dimensions lost their meaning. Space was completely irrelevant, time was a fictional construct. The universe was never going to stop expanding, so would anyone ever be able to see it all? How could a numerical value ever be assigned to the entire concept of time? Why were any of us here? 

For here, am I sitting in a tin can? 

You had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but at some point, Loki must have realized that he’d broken you. Without losing his proud smile, he waved a hand in the direction of your record player. Its needle lifted, and an eerie silence immediately descended over the room. 

As soon as the music stopped, part of the spell clouding your mind vanished. A rush of oxygen suddenly filled your lungs, and your heart finally returned to its beating. Blood resumed its journey through your veins, and the floor became substantial underneath your feet again. You blinked once, twice, three times and shook your head, trying to clear it so that you might be able to ask just one of the million questions that all popped up at the exact same time. 

“Something the matter, dear?” 

Your eyes flew back open. Unfortunately, his glamour was still in place, and it was Ziggy Stardust that gingerly approached your position by the door. And when he’d spoken, it wasn’t Loki’s voice you’d heard - it was the voice of David Bowie. 

Unsure of what to do with yourself, inundated and engulfed in sensations of the most flustered manner, you squeezed your eyes shut again. Your arms crossed and uncrossed, your knees locked and unlocked as your weight shifted back and forth. You couldn’t help but laugh and shake your head again. 

“Loki, um…What the…” You had to pause to let out a deep, shaky breath, to run your hands up and down your face in a desperate attempt to wake from this very confusing dream. “What, um - are you doing, exactly?” 

The air around you warmed considerably as he stopped in front of you, and the amusement in Bowie’s voice, so smooth and so sure of himself, was more than palpable as he spoke. 

“Preparing for the masquerade, my dear. The same thing you were doing all afternoon.”

A gentle finger tilted your chin upwards, silently requesting that your eyes open again. When you did, it was Ziggy Stardust staring down at you from his impressive height, his expression curious and the unnecessarily tall boots he stood upon just making everything worse for you. 

You gasped breathlessly. Your brain almost melted entirely. The massive crush you’d had on David Bowie when you were 13 years old suddenly roared to life once more. You’d never told anyone about it, because everyone else your age was in love with the much more socially acceptable choices of Nick Carter or Justin Timberlake. Back then, admitting to a near-fatal attraction on an androgynous, bisexual and eccentric musician from the 1970s would have been akin to signing your own death warrant. 

Nowadays, such a crush was far more acceptable to have, but you thought those feelings had faded away with adolescence. There’d been no reason to bring it up, not even when you’d first introduced Loki to Bowie’s music. And now you were standing face-to-chest with the physical embodiment of your lie by omission. 

Overwhelmed once more, you backed away from him and covered your eyes. “Okay, can you - take those boots off, please? You’re already ridiculously taller than me, so you don’t need them…” 

“As you wish, darling.” 

His voice, though sincere, was still someone else’s. Admittedly, it was intoxicating to hear Bowie’s voice addressing you in such a loving, familiar tone - but it was also incredibly intimidating. You were already on the verge of collapse as it was; you didn’t need yet another reason to make a very rapid crash landing to the floor. 

Carefully, you let out a very slow breath to steady yourself. “And - can you also go back to using your voice, please?” 

There was a brief moment of silence, and a part of you wished you could see the enchanting smirk he almost certainly wore at that very moment. When he finally answered, it was in his own voice again, but it was just as amused as Bowie’s voice had been. 

“As you wish, darling.” 

You let out a shuddered sigh of relief, and your body relaxed somewhat. When you cracked open your eyelids from behind your fingers, he was still Ziggy, but the sight was a little easier to deal with now that he stood at his normal height and spoke with his actual voice. 

Now that he was closer, you took in the comforting notes of citrus and cedarwood on his skin, scents you knew to be Loki’s. You swallowed hard, your pupils dilated wildly as you finally allowed yourself to look him over. 

“You did this for the Halloween party?” you asked softly. 

Loki’s expression was much more reserved now, and he nodded earnestly. “Yes, I thought you would enjoy it. Is that not the case?” 

Your breath hitched as you reached out to touch him. Your fingertips brushed along the golden collar around his neck. The material was soft and pliable, not like the polyester you’d find on a cheap costume from a pop-up Halloween store. No, the fabric Loki wore was both real, and it wasn’t. It was the truth, but it was also a lie. He was both mortal and ethereal simultaneously. 

“And what made you choose this version of David Bowie to imitate?” 

The reimagined figure of Ziggy Stardust shrugged nonchalantly. His gaze, as intent and dedicated as ever, remained locked on your expression while your fingers drifted over to his shoulder pads, and then back down to the center of his chest. 

“Well, the other night you remarked on how much I supposedly resembled this particular mortal…” 

A shy smile pulled at your lips. “Okay, go on…” 

He reached out to caress your cheek, his thumb soft and solid against your skin. “And I was thinking about that film you showed me. The one that used music to tell its story…”

You stifled another giggle by pulling your lower lip between your teeth. Both of your hands found their way to his chest, one of them pulling the zipper of his jumpsuit until you could see just the barest hint of his chest hair. 

“A music video. The Space Oddity music video, specifically…” 

Ziggy, or Loki - whomever it was - donned a playful grin. “Yes, of course. With the oscillating, dark-green lines. I quite enjoyed that one…” 

You nodded absentmindedly. Your fingers, like they had a mind of their own, tugged the zipper down just a little bit further. Its metal teeth, crafted with the utmost precision possible, gave way and unlocked so easily to reveal even more of his skin, and your heart hammered inside your chest. 

It was impossible that Loki couldn’t see right through your expression, that he didn’t know about the salacious thoughts swirling around in your head. Like he’d expected you to have this very reaction, he gently slipped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, until you were pressed all the way against him. 

“Darling, I know that the stress of preparing for this particular soiree has been weighing heavily on your mind as of late…” he continued with a soft murmur as he delicately spun you both around and guided you back towards the bed. “And I wanted to do something to help alleviate that burden for you…” 

Your heart leapt violently into your throat. At first, it was the surprise that he’d noticed your inner turmoil that did you in, but then it shifted towards dismay over you apparently not hiding it as well as you thought you were. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied with an innocent smile as he slowly lowered you both down to the mattress. 

But yes, of course you’d been feeling tons of pressure lately about the party. The Avengers had all known about your relationship with Loki for a while, but the rest of the Tower still didn’t - and neither did the rest of the world. They were all going to find out at the Halloween party. 

Loki chuckled and allowed his weight to fully settle on top of yours. “What have I told you about good girls who like to lie, my love?” he murmured softly, his lips brushing teasingly against yours. 

While you didn’t really care what everyone else thought about you, what they thought about Loki was many magnitudes of greater importance. He was already in a very precarious situation as it was; depending on the pundit or publication, his every scowl was interpreted as one of disdain for the human race, his every word a threat that he was just moments away from leading another alien invasion. 

They already hated him, and they’d never forgive him for New York, no matter how well he’d behaved since. 

Your breath shuddered, and your fingers couldn’t help but tangle between the dark curls that were so effortlessly Loki’s. “That they should…do it more, probably?” 

Any mistake he made in the field was grounds for his dismissal, anytime he drank a glass of wine instead of a beer was his blatant attempt to dismantle democracy itself. His every move was overanalyzed and deciphered by a bunch of people who had never even met him, who never even cared to know what he was like behind closed doors or in private, when he actually felt safe to be himself. 

They didn’t even care that he’d been corrupted by measures of torture they’d never have been able to survive themselves. Or that it had been entirely against his will, or that even while his invasion was taking place, he was subtly laying the groundwork for the Avengers to be able to stop him in the first place. 

“A valiant attempt, darling, but we both know that wasn’t what I meant…” he whispered hotly, nippling at your jaw. He adjusted the angle of his hips, and he began to roll them against yours. 

You moaned softly in response. Your mind began to melt, this time in pleasure instead of shock. The juxtaposition of Loki and Bowie and Ziggy, though confusing at first, started to make sense. It scratched an itch you couldn’t possibly have guessed that you had, and it created an intense need deep within your soul.

Unable to resist him any further, you captured his lips in a fiery kiss, and he eagerly returned it. His mouth worked hard and fast against yours, in a brand new style of coruscating and devastating passion. Hot and heavy, the kiss tasted just like Loki’s always had, but now it contained an extra dose of stardust. 

Loki's hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones, his hips again rolling against yours. His breath was quick against your skin, his needy groans like music to your ears. This transcendental combination of the past and present, of both the mortal plane and of the stars themselves, somehow craved you this badly and he wasn’t even afraid to show it. 

It was so strange; Loki may have come from the stars, but somehow, he was still beholden to you here on Earth. 

Within moments your legs wrapped themselves around his waist. Your tongue swiped at his bottom lip, requesting entry, and he granted it. Your hands drifted to his neck, his drifted to your thighs, and your bodies writhed together, eagerly, desperately, hungrily. 

The heat between you escalated even further - the kind of heat that usually precipitated the creation of a new star in the sky. Just as you began to yank the jumpsuit’s zipper down further, a shimmer of emerald washed down your bodies, effortlessly and fully undressing the both of you. 

You fucking loved it when he did that. 

Loki could use his magic to do anything he wanted; he could, and had already, used it to destroy, and to maim, and to control. But now he only used it to protect the ones he’d previously tried to conquer. Now he just used it to love - or when he couldn’t handle not being inside you for another second. 

His skin was hot against yours, his hands worshiped your curves. Your body stretched and arched underneath his, taking him in, making love to him like it was the very first time. It always felt that way, like you were floating one hundred thousand miles above the Earth, like the stars were finally within reach and only now could you actually reach them. 

Your fingernails dug into his hips. The sound of the creaking bed was soon drowned out by breathless moans against your ear, of prayers and curses and promises. Your toes curled, your eyelids fluttered shut. Wild movements crescendoed into the purest form of what you knew to be the truth: the Earth was blue, the moon was silver, and Loki’s love would always be with you no matter where he went. 

The orgasm ripped through you like a gravitational force collapsing the entire universe. Your muscles tensed, your body trembled underneath him. Pleasure seeped out of your pores and you cried out for him, incoherent and delirious. It felt like you had left your body entirely - remarkably disconnected from reality, but still safely anchored to him. 

Loki fell off the edge just after you did. His muscles contracted as he clung to you, his voice nothing but shameless groans and heated gasps. With parted lips and a heavy breath, he intertwined his fingers with yours, he buried his face into your neck, and together your bodies finally collapsed within that mutual satisfaction. 

An immeasurable length of time passed during the quiet contentment that followed, and by now, the sun had fully set. Unsure of whether you were just dozing or if you’d actually joined the astral plane, you allowed yourself to remain limp and boneless in his arms. Once again, gravity had no authority here, and you found peace just drifting aimlessly through the ever-growing expansion of outer space. 

“You never answered my earlier question, darling….” 

Loki’s demulcent voice gently pulled you back down to Earth. Your eyelids struggled to open underneath the pressure of the planet’s immense gravity, and suddenly you couldn’t remember anything that had transpired beforehand. 

“No, I’m...pretty sure I answered it already,” you replied with a false confidence, stretching your body against his in an obvious attempt to distract him. 

He chuckled and shifted with you, propping himself up on one elbow. His other hand traced a swirling pattern along your hip. “And I’m quite certain that you didn’t, love…”

For someone called the God of Mischief, he was surely determined to never let you get away with anything. You let out a laughing groan of frustration, and as your eyes opened, as you looked up into his, your breath vanished from your lungs. 

The stars looked so different now. They weren’t Ziggy’s, nor Bowie’s, anymore - they were Loki’s. His glamour had started to fail while you were making love, and now the large constellations of the deepest greens and blues, of Loki himself, were all that stared lovingly back at you. 

Loki grinned when he noticed the awe in your expression. His brow arched in a curious and teasing fashion when you couldn’t answer him. 

“My goodness, she’s turned into a cosmonaut and floated away, hasn’t she…?” he murmured softly, pretending to talk to himself. He took his fingers and made them dance against the sensitive skin of your neck to get your attention. “Hello, darling? Are you still there?” 

Almost immediately you were drowning in a fit of giggles. You scrunched up your shoulders and tried to squirm away, laughing and cursing at him while Loki continued his teasing. But his fingers, tender yet relentless on your sensitive skin, made it impossible to keep your eyes open or coordinate your muscles enough to put a stop to his attack. 

“Yes, hello? I was wondering if you’ve seen a beautiful girl in there?” he continued in that same vexatious tone, his hold on you tightening as he nuzzled his face to yours. “She’s my darling companion, and I’ve been missing her terribly. Can you tell her to come back to me, please?” 

You let out more breathless laughs, you made more desperate wriggles in his grasp. If you’d been able to see anything, you would have seen his cheeky grin and sparkling eyes, all lit up with mirth and devilry. There was absolutely nothing Loki loved more than play, and perhaps that was the true meaning of life anyway. 

But when you finally cried out for mercy, he instantly relented, granting you more benevolence within a single moment of play than he’d ever been given in centuries. And all things considered, Loki was still quite delicate in his handling of you. After all, he had gentleness woven deep within him - the kind that had developed out of defiance, not because it was taught, and that just made him all the more genuine. 

Dutifully, like it was an honor, he shifted your bodies so that he was on his back and you were nestled safely to his chest. Your leg curled around his, and after his fingers completed their soothing motions over the skin he’d just attacked, they moved in wide swoops along your back. 

“I suppose I should repeat my question then?” he murmured softly after kissing your temple. 

His skin, soft and smooth and pale, now smelled like an ancient fire that could burn his way through anything, if he’d wanted it to. It was intoxicating. You wondered if that was the same scent that had once filled the air of Asgard, if you’d ever get to experience it yourself someday. 

“Mmm, yeah. I think you should…” 

Loki cleared his throat, hesitating. His fingertips drifted up to the divot of your shoulder. “Did you truly not enjoy the costume I chose?” 

His voice was so quiet, so tender that it made your heart ache a little bit. You shifted on the bed, leaning up to look him in the eyes. 

“No, I did love it, Loki! It was really thoughtful of you, and for a second, I…” You smiled fondly, recalling the moment you first saw him, while one of your favorite songs ever blasted from your record player. “I really thought it was actually David Bowie, back from the dead…” 

Loki quirked an eyebrow. “And so naturally, your first reaction was to…laugh at it?” 

Your lips pursed together, trying to suppress another one. “Okay, I’m sorry about that. But I wasn’t laughing at the costume, it was honestly just…really overwhelming to walk in and see so unexpectedly…”

“Oh, you found it to be overwhelming, did you?” Loki grinned again, apparently possessing an infinite supply of them. “My poor little dearest, I’m afraid you only have yourself to blame for that.”

“Me?!” you laughed incredulously. “But I’m the victim here!”

So sure of himself, Loki gave a teasing nod. “Yes, you see, darling - I was in the process of choosing the appropriate level of detail for the illusion when you so rudely interrupted me…”

You maintained a playful, sarcastic expression as he explained himself. “Sure, sure. Or you could have just, you know…locked the bedroom door if you didn’t want to be interrupted…” 

Loki chucked and playfully swatted at your hip. “So then tell me, what about it was too much for you? I had already decided that the red hair was a bit excessive, but should I alter the clothing as well? The voice?” he asked, his hand now softly soothing the skin he’d just swatted. 

You silently thanked whatever it was other there that Loki had decided to keep his actual hair; it was one of his best features. Almost automatically, your fingers drifted through those gorgeous strands of caliginous curls, relishing in their strength and fluidity. He let out a tranquil hum when your touch grazed his scalp, and the sound was so effortless, so real, that nothing else could ever compare. 

Unfortunately, your thoughts then drifted towards far less pleasant topics. 

No one in their right mind could ever bring Loki’s capabilities as a sorcerer into question, especially not during battle. In fact, Wanda had previously expressed feelings of inadequacy when comparing her talents to his. But he had spent entire centuries perfecting his craft, he’d dedicated entire human lifetimes to his studies - to the point where most people remained completely unaware of its full extent once an illusion had been cast. 

A large part of that was because he preferred to remain an unanswerable question to everyone else, especially after the attack on New York. He’d rather they looked at his daggers instead of at his soul, or at the black heart he worried was the true source of his seidr. He didn’t want anyone to know what he was truly capable of, lest they fear him even more - or try to use his own knowledge against him. 

But if he wore the illusion of one of Bowie’s personas to the party - not dressed as, but if he actually was the physical embodiment of Ziggy Stardust come back to life - then everyone would know just how afraid of him they should be. You could see the fear-mongering op-ed headlines already - Former Alien Invader Transforms Himself into a Dead Rocker. What’s to Stop Him from Imitating the President Next? 

And the critics who didn’t make that massive jump towards an impossible conclusion? You already knew that if he wore the wrong costume to the party, they’d have even more reason to pick him apart; if they secretly loved his costume, they’d simply accuse him of pandering. There was literally no direction for him to go that wouldn’t result in more needless hatred being spewed at him. 

Even more pressing than all of that, what if they accused him of corrupting an innocent human when they learned about your relationship? You desperately didn’t want to make his life harder than it needed to be, but neither could you face bringing that concern up to him; what if he secretly agreed with them? What if he decided he was defiling your entire life just by existing within it?

What if he decided to leave you, in order to correct that grievous mistake? 

Your fingertips gently traced the angle of his jaw. His eyes drifted closed as he clearly savored your touch, and his expression was just so serene, so peaceful. You couldn’t let him sacrifice that tranquility for the sake of a party; Loki may not have needed your protection on the battlefield, but you sure as hell weren’t going to let him wander into danger back at home. 

“Well, maybe the issue is that you were using an illusion, instead of a costume…” 

His eyes fluttered open beneath a furrowed brow. His pupils widened before fixating on you. “I don’t understand. The goal is to become the subject in question, is it not?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh again; sometimes he surprised you with how human he was, and other times it was because of how alien he was. Letting out a slow breath, you pushed yourself up to sitting next to him. Your legs curled over to the side, and you draped yourself across his chest. 

“I think the real issue is that you might be slightly misunderstanding the point of a costume contest,” you began with a gentle smile. “Using magic to alter your appearance for a contest could be considered…cheating, by some people.” 

His expression was tender, but unrelenting. “I’m still not seeing the problem, darling. If I’m to become someone else in order to participate, then I’m going to become someone else…” 

“But the whole point is how much effort you put into the costume,” you explained with a gentle head tilt. “It’s about how creative you can be with either a limited skill set, or a small budget, or shortened time constraints…” 

You paused for a moment to let your words sink in before continuing.

“And I’m so sorry, but using magic just…isn’t that much effort for you. No matter how amazing or lifelike the illusion is.” 

He nodded, and his eyes flickered with understanding. For a very brief moment, he seemed to be taking your words to heart. But when his lips curved into a cheeky grin, you knew he was about to make another snarky comment. 

“You’re saying Stark will have a conniption if I win the costume contest at his own party? Is that it?” 

You sighed and rolled your eyes while matching his smile. It was actually incredible that he still had this much energy to devote towards acting like a total menace. “Yes, if it helps you to think about it like that, then that is exactly what I’m trying to say…” 

Loki continued thinking about your explanation for another moment, his gaze distant while his hand ran along the length of your arm. Eventually, the grin on his face slowly shifted towards one of true sincerity. 

“Alright then. What would you suggest I do instead?” 

You met his gaze with an even bigger smile of your own. All that remained of his illusion was a jagged, crimson lightning bolt stretching down his cheek, and you brought your fingertips down to gently trace along the bolt’s edges. His skin was so very soft, the transition between alabaster and crimson so seamless. It was only then that you remembered one of the purchases made earlier that day with Wanda and Nat. 

“Well, for starters…I think we ought to actually paint this design on your face.” 

Before he could even respond, you had already hopped out of bed - not that you would have responded to him anyway. And while wearing nothing but a scheming grin, you practically soared across the room, stopping just long enough to grab a few clothes from the bedroom floor on your way to the living room. 

“We ought to do what, darling?” Loki’s incredulous voice called out after you disappeared through the doorway. 

As you hurried into the living room, you bounced on one foot, and then the other, while pulling the pair of panties up to your hips. After clumsily slipping the t-shirt over your head and guiding your arms through its sleeves, you lowered down to your knees next to the shopping bags left by the front door. 

Did you have any experience with painting faces? None whatsoever.

Was that going to stop you now? Absolutely not. His illusion may have been overwhelming, but Loki’s inspiration of picking a David Bowie character for his Halloween costume was beyond perfect, and you were going to do whatever it took to make that idea a more feasible reality. 

Rummaging past the bright pink wig and the fringed flapper dress and the vampire fangs purchased earlier that day, you finally found it: a palette of Halloween make-up. The flat, rectangular box contained a few small brushes and a row of circular discs, each one filled with a different and very bright shade of creamy, metallic make-up. 

It was definitely a very cheap make-up set, and probably had way too many questionable ingredients that you’d never be able to fully investigate, but it should work just fine for this little trial - as long as Loki let you anywhere near him with it. You were sure that he would after batting your pretty little eyelashes at him. 

Back in the bedroom, you could hear him shifting on the bed. You shot back up to your feet. “Don’t get up! Just stay right there, Loki, I’m coming back!”

You carefully ripped into the package as you padded across the living room. Not only was this your first time painting someone’s face, but it might be the first time Loki’d ever had his face painted as well. A twinge of excitement, laced with a hint of unease, swam freely inside your veins; there was a good reason why your skillset had led you towards a career of getting beat up on a professional level, instead of towards a quieter, peaceful career of make-up artistry or hair-styling. 

Complicating matters even more was the fact that Loki was quite particular about his appearance. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin this newfound interest in the Halloween party. 

When you returned to the doorway of your bedroom, Loki was seated on the edge of your shared bed. His long legs were spread wide, with delicious expanses of thigh peeking out between the tousled sheets. His expression was dreamy and brooding as he ran a large hand through his midnight curls, like his thoughts were a hundred thousand miles away while he smoothed and detangled. 

His face lit up when he finally noticed you, but then it dropped when he saw what you were holding. “Please tell me that’s a joke. You’re joking with that, yes?” 

You grinned and shook your head like you were trying to fling your nervous energy into a nearby galaxy. “Not a chance. Scoot!” you laughed, waving your hand to get him to make room for you. 

He complied, but still let out a frustrated groan as he shifted to the middle of the bed and leaned back against the headboard. “Darling, be reasonable. I’m already getting a rash just looking at that preposterous concoction…” 

“Oh, come on! ” you whined, fluttering your eyelashes in a way you know he both loved and hated. “I know it’s not Armani, but you’ll survive a test run with it, right?” 

Loki sighed, and then he softly patted the mattress next to him. “You’re lucky you’re so damn adorable…” 

“I know. It’s a blessing and a curse for you, isn’t it?” 

Having won the first battle, you settled next to him on the bed. Your legs curled up underneath you, and with an innocent smile, you blinked at him once more, a silent request that he drop the final remainder of his illusion. The lightning bolt on his face disappeared with an emerald glimmer, and a playful smirk replaced it. 

“Yes, it is. And you’re going to be so very embarrassed if this folderol does actually kill me…” 

You carefully pried open the palette and dragged a brush through the creamy, red substance on the palette. “Oh, please. Of all the things that could kill you, it’s not going to be drug-store brand holiday make-up…” 

Starting at his forehead, you made gentle strokes against his skin, testing to see how well it absorbed the cream. As expected, it didn’t smear very well, the edges were smudged and uneven. But there was no need to panic just yet - it was still completely fixable. That is, as long as you avoided direct eye contact with him, or else you might become even more flustered than you already were. 

Loki’s gaze shifted as you worked, watching either your hands or your face depending on whether you were gathering color or painting his skin. His features were soft, his eyes still dreamy as he watched you work, but you carefully kept your attention towards the task at hand; his attention was like a black hole of colossal proportions, and once you were caught in it, the only thing keeping you from splitting into a million different strands of yourself was Loki himself. 

When he realized his alluring good-looks weren’t enough to distract you this time, he switched to a different tactic.

“Darling, do you really expect me to believe that Stark is allowing Miss Potts to paint his face for the party?” 

You snorted, expecting nothing less from someone called the God of Mischief. “If Tony knows what’s good for him, he is.”

As you pulled the brush across the bridge of his nose, Loki let out a chuckle and titled his head. “Is that some sort of veiled threat, darling? What happens if I refuse to cooperate with you?” 

That little movement was just enough to ruin what might have been a decent brush stroke, and it made you smear crimson down the length of his nose instead of diagonally across his cheek. 

“Hey, stop moving!” you gasped and laughed at the same time. “Or you’re gonna wind up looking even more ridiculous!” 

“Would it be rude to say that I find that difficult to believe, my love?” 

Ignoring his comment, you licked the tips of your finger and swiped it along the edges of the lightning bolt, trying to smooth it out. When the makeup just smeared instead of erasing neatly, a new rush of panic settled in your chest. You licked your finger again and rubbed it harder over his skin, and then you tried using your other, untainted fingers - but all that resulted in was the tips of those digits, and now your tongue, turning the brightest red to have ever existed. 

“Something the matter, darling?” Loki asked knowingly, repeating his earlier question. He pursed his lips together, just barely attempting to suppress a vindicated smile as he watched you struggle. “Is the inferior product you insisted upon ruining the homemade look you’d imagined for me?” 

Forcing your expression into one of neutrality required a tremendous amount of effort. “Nope. Everything’s going perfectly, my love,” you lied, switching the makeup palette to your other hand. Within seconds, the fingertips of both hands were traitorously stained with the truth. 

“Really? You’re absolutely sure about that, darling?” Loki asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he glanced at the make-up palette. “Please correct me if I’m mistaken, but there seems to be more tint on your fingers than what’s left in the container…” 

Your face scrunched up in amused frustration, and the unpleasant taste of chemicals and oils now completely coated your tongue. “Mmhmm, this is a…totally normal part of the process.” 

His comments were just making everything worse, but you were still determined to see this attempt through to the end. At that point, the makeup palette was discarded entirely and soon became lost within the bed sheets as you pushed yourself up to your knees and shifted closer to him. You took the hem of your t-shirt and pulled it up in a desperate attempt to finally fix the bolt’s outline and salvage your work. 

You swiped the soft fabric down the length of his nose, but the make-up must have believed your t-shirt to be a brush, and all you did was push the red deeper into his skin. Silently cursing yourself, you pulled your t-shirt up further and tried to focus on gathering as much color as possible. Secretly though, you prayed that effectively flashing him like this would distract him from making more teasing comments at your expense. 

But that didn’t quite work either, and Loki’s chuckle from behind your t-shirt was both leery and leering. 

“And now you’ve resorted to seduction as a means of distraction from your lies…” he purred, the sound almost a growl as he brought his hands to your waist. “I’d say our relationship might be having a negative effect on your morality, darling, but you’d be much better at this if it was…” 

You were still determined not to let him win, even as a shuddered breath tumbled from your lips. Your heart beat faster in your chest as the entire front of your t-shirt became tinted with red, and your face warmed from the feel of his hands gliding down to your hips. 

“It’s fine! It’s fine, Loki. Trust me, I’ve done this a million - ” 

“Sweetheart.” 

Loki’s voice was kind but firm when he interrupted. He leaned back as he pulled your shirt down, revealing the devastation on his face that your attempts to fix had caused. “Please just admit that you’re not very good at this…” 

You gasped and clamped a hand over your mouth. There was red everywhere - in his eyebrows and his eyelashes, across his right cheek and somehow, underneath his chin. The combination of mess on his both serious and amused expression was a horrifying, delightful sight, and you only barely managed to swallow the giggle bubbling in your throat. 

Loki arched a suspicious eyebrow. He flicked his wrist and produced a small, handheld mirror with his seidr, and he stared at you expectantly - granting you one final opportunity to come clean, as it were. 

“Come on, darling. I will love you no less if you just admit it.” 

But you couldn’t; all you could manage was to laugh, cover your eyes and brace for the inevitable as he finally looked at his reflection. 

“This is absolutely marvelous, darling,” he finally replied in a wry tone of voice. 

You shook while trying to suppress another laugh, but it was all over now. He’d seen the abominable, unskilled attempt at facial decoration you’d left on his skin, and you knew he was never going to let you hear the end of it despite the fact that he was laughing too. 

“And you were absolutely right, this is so much better than using magic. Perhaps I should go into battle like this. I could simply frighten our enemies to death…” 

You let out a heavy laugh of defeat and let your hands fall to your thighs. You were sure there was probably red make-up smudged all over your own face as well now, but you didn’t care anymore. “Alright, so. Maybe I’m not that great at painting faces…” 

“Oh, on the contrary, sweet girl…” Loki chuckled as he tossed the mirror away and pulled you closer, settling you over his lap. He leaned up and nuzzled his nose to yours. “This is impeccable work. Stunning, even…” 

“No, stop it! You’re making a mess!” you laughed and tried to look away, but his face followed yours, no doubt just smearing even more make-up all over each other. “Loki! You’re ruining all of my hard work!” 

His arms tightened around you. He began to kiss and nip at your jaw, your nose, your neck. “Or am I making it more authentic? Did you ever think about that, darling?” 

Resigning yourself to retaliation at Loki’s level, you matched his every kiss and nip with another to his jaw, his nose, his neck. He let out an encouraging chuckle and cupped your jaw with his hands, angling your face properly to his. When your lips finally met, he let out a soft hum, and then his kiss shifted into one of reassurance. 

Your arms slid around his neck as he leaned back against the headboard. His lips moved slowly and tenderly as he held you close to his chest, and they said everything that you needed to know. This was okay, he was okay. Aside from a few errant, washable streaks of crimson on his face, nothing real was actually amiss here. 

He may have been teasing you before, but he was also loving you. The experiment had yielded far less than stellar results, but that was still okay. A suitable ensemble for the party would be found eventually - or perhaps just better make-up products - and the two of you were still going to have as much fun as someone could have at a corporate holiday party, even if there were a few extra pairs of wandering eyes there. 

After another moment or two, the kiss broke naturally. You let out a slow breath and pressed your forehead to his. “Alright, I fully admit that I completely suck at face-painting. We don’t have to go down that route…” 

Loki smiled and nodded. A glimmering wash of emerald erased any evidence of red from all skin and clothing. “Yes, I’m quite certain that we can come up with something else…” 

By revealing his mortal partner to the world, you’d hoped it would soften the rough edges of Loki that his detractors wanted to keep illuminated underneath a hateful microscope. You’d wanted to protect him, to make his life simpler, to possibly ease his troubled integration on the planet he’d once tried to subjugate. 

But the relaxed smile on his lips told you that he didn’t need you to do any of those things. Loki was from the stars, yes, but he only ever clung to one specific thing. He may have come from on high, his perspective and past experiences originating from a millennia away from yours, but he was still here, looking at you. Loving only you.

You were his, and he was yours. No amount of criticism, or any blades held to his throat, or cruel darts thrown at his loving eyes were ever going to avert his gaze. They could make him climb mountains on mountains to get to you, but as long as there were sunbirds to soar back down with, then it was all worth it, wasn’t it? 

Your hands slid into his hair, gently tangling themselves within his dark curls. Your eyes roamed slowly over his angular features and icy blue eyes, admiring the planes of his cheekbones and the true depth of his gaze that simultaneously showcased both the wide expanse of outer space and your own reflection within his irises. 

Loki was timeless. He was broken and hopeful, grateful and almost too intelligent to not know better. He was pensive, and he understood light and dark better than anyone else you’d ever met. The noir shadows of his heart were what had initially drawn you in, but the hidden brilliance of his glowing soul was what had made you stay. 

A new idea coalesced inside your heart, and you settled your hips to his with a sly grin. “Are you by any chance familiar with my favorite David Bowie persona?” 

Loki smiled again, but this time he shook his head. “Are you really only telling me now that the Space Oddity himself is not your favorite persona of his?” he murmured curiously. 

You bit your lip and reached for your laptop on the nightstand, eager to introduce him to something brand new once more.

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

Click here to be added to my Loki fic tag list! 💚

[elysiumarchieve]

okay here me out. This may be a bit dark. What about Scaramouche who's like a cult leader and reader is the obedient loyal follower who would do whatever Scara asks them to. The rest is up to you. You can get very creative with it. I just like the idea.

HERE YOU GO ANON i had so much fun with this oh god

cult leader! scaramouche x devouted follower! gn! reader

warnings: scaramouche is a warning for himself, cult themes, religious themes, taking his god complex to an entirely new level ngl, is this how sumeru quest could've ended LMAO, cult au, violence?? you have been warned this man isn't too nice in this except to you (but it's super toxic like damn), idk what kind of au this is but just imagine teyvat but scaramouche has a cult, great

✧ cult leader scaramouche is honestly such a hot concept holy shit

✧ besides that, having an entire cult devoted to him probably would make him far more arrogant than he already is in general

✧ he doesn't appear a lot before his followers nor does he make any official appearances. scaramouche enjoys being sought after by his followers and how they throw themselves at his feet when he just walks by without any announcement prior to this - it boosts his confidence knowing there are people who treat his words like they were the actual law. the fact that he's rude and violent however never changed - he doesn't really bother with anyone's wel being and he hates chatty humans the most

✧ being a discarded divine creation, he lures poor humans in with empty promises and lavish things, he amassed a rather huge following, however most of his cult is shrouded in mystery due to how unreachable he appears before everyone. cult members who join are never seen again and neither are the people trying to oppose him, as these people get assassinated if they only dare to make any moves against him

✧ those who do know him quite well however stay out of his way, knowing that a single mistake was enough to tick him off and have that person be sent,,, somewhere (where nobody has ever returned from), so not only is he arrogant and thinks of any human as pathetic, he's also manipulative and oppressive! congrats!

✧ just like most people in his cult, you too believed him to be above everything else, the solution to all troubles, something akin to a savior meant to free you from earthly matters and peril

✧ what his actual goal was? nobody knows. some might even claim he started all of this for fun, others say he started this as an act of revenge against his own creator - not that it mattered to any of you. whatever he believed was correct and not to be questioned

✧ there are only a handful of people who have actually seen him or managed to be acknowledged by him with words, and you just happen to be one of those special cases who happen to be recognised and be worthy of his attention for more than just a few seconds

✧ as his devotee, when he first laid eyes upon you and told you to follow him you did so without questioning his order in any shape or form. you weren't worthy enough to question any order he gives out personally

✧ to you, he was kind, nice, the same facade he puts up around people when he tries to gain their trust before stabbing them in the back shortly after - however, as blinded as you are by his fake smiles and soft chuckles he lets out, you're way beyond reasoning at this point

✧ he'd kindly invite you to sit with him while he's having tea, to which you agree almost too eagerly. in the end, all you did was sit next to him in silence as he spoke about things you had never heard before in the sweetest voice you had ever heard, and in the end he even shared his last sips of his tea with you before sending you off

✧ this went on for weeks, with him revealing mere tidbits about himself as it went on, you learnt more about his past, his emotions and what he really thought of the people around him - to hear from him that you were one of the only people he accepted around him almost put you in a cardiac arrest at how he said it in such a genuinely nice tone

✧ but in fact, scaramouche did take a liking to you. maybe it was how big your eyes became when you took shy glances at him, how you started shaking in sheer excitement when he spoke to you directly and asked for your opinion on things or how you played with your hands on your lap when you asked him question over question about the world - questions to which he of course had all the answers for

✧ with time, you almost spent every day with him in his chambers, drinking tea and receiving gifts from him for your devotion. scaramouche promised you that as long as you continue doing as well as you've been doing so far, he'd do anything to keep you away from prying eyes

✧ you never understood what that meant, but you also didn't question it. maybe you should've when you noticed that people suddenly went missing or how people were utterly terrified of scaramouche's sheer presence in the same room as them

✧ it was nonsense to you, he was kind, intelligent, beautiful, you'd do anything for him! even if he asked you to give up both of your hands you would do it, no questions

✧ turns out that our dear cult leader has taken such a liking to you that he started to refuse to see anyone else anymore, which in return meant for him that you also won't see anyone else other than him - but you understand, right? you wouldn't betray him and leave him behind like all of them, would you?

✧ of course you wouldn't. because what scaramouche wants, scaramouche gets, through one way or another he always gets his will regardless of what it might cost

✧ as long as you do what he says and follow him obediently so he can shelter you from the outside world, he can make sure you'll be safe (which in returns eases the dull aching in his chest he's been feeling for years now)

✧ if you ever manage to gather your courage and ask him why he decided to talk to you, you'd probably become withness of the most genuine smile he can actually muster up before telling you that there is no particular reason other than curiosity - curiosity on whether or not humans remain the same sort of stupid or if humans have the capacity to change into something worthy of his presence

✧ after all, talking to him was a gift and spending time with him was the peak of devotion - it's what he deserves for the betrayals he suffered through

✧ you, his loyal devotee who has become worthy of him, you've become his proof of his actual obsession, his search for a heart that he doesn't have and will never receive

✧ maybe his heart was never in his chest to begin with but out there, just waiting to fall into his hands just like a missing piece of a puzzle you'd be looking for and finally find under a rug years later (it might be the gnosis that he so dearly desires)

✧ if you ever dare to die, he won't have that. even if it meant dragging your spirit through the depths of the abyss and back to him, he can't have his most loyal follower die due to his incompetence or lack of surveillance

✧ cult leader scaramouche is a manipulative guy, only acting based on his whims and playing with people's life as if they were toys for him - that's how scaramouche lives his life and enjoys it, keeping himself above everyone else

✧ don't be fooled by his kind smile and tender words - underneath that facade rages cold fury that's been hidden for years with bo end in sight that he somewhat manages to calm once you're nearby

✧ whether or not this is a blessing or a curse, you might not even tell how fucked up this was. maybe you even considered his behavior as normal by now, disregarding any cruel act or decree he spoke and blindly running after him in hopes of remaining on his good side

✧ you'll only be able to tell in the end whether or not you made a good choice

[princessfbi]

There are way too many good prompts on that list so mostly I think you should pick your top 12-15 favorites and do those but:

“ you shouldn't kiss me right now. “

Eddie saw Buck leaning in automatically on muscle memory alone. And something about that, that the concept of Buck kissing him so freely he didn’t even have to think about it, was something that warmed the spot in Eddie’s chest where his heart beat too fast any time Buck so much as entered the room.

Eddie liked kissing Buck and more especially he likes being kissed by Buck in return.

But he had to save face or else Buck’s exhausted brain was going to expose them to everyone.

“You shouldn't kiss me right now.” Eddie deflected his head and Buck’s lips caught his cheek just as a tired pouting noise whined out of him. It was adorable and entirely the point of why Eddie had brought him the coffee in the first place.

Maddie’s car had broken down and Buck had been driving her back and forth to and from work which wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the fact that he was then coming over to Eddie’s to spend as much time as possible as he could. Eddie had offered—insisted— that they could spend time together at Buck’s loft and had moved their breakfast dates to his place two times a week but it was still a lot. Not only that but they’re last round of shifts had been a particular breed of brutal that had Eddie’s back aching and every ring of the bell making all of them wince.

Buck was tired and stretched thin which was why Eddie had brought him a coffee from that bakery he loved with a cherry cheese danish he only indulged in every once in a while. Buck's smile had broke out across his face the moment he saw it and his eyes dazzled just a little bit more as he looked up at Eddie with something akin to awe.

And when Buck had leaned in for a kiss, Eddie’s heart had soared. But the problem was that if they started then they wouldn’t have stopped and Eddie could hear Hen and Chimney making their way up the stairs.

Buck leaned back with the pout full on his lips and Eddie wasn’t known for telling Buck no.

“C’mere,” Eddie said, fisting the front of Buck’s hoodie to pull him down for a quick peck of a thing. It was nothing ground breaking and borderline chaste for them but it had Buck smiling like Eddie had just rocked his world all the same.

Eddie pushed Buck away with a gentle nudge of his knuckles just as Chimney and Hen announced their arrival with a cacophony of betrayed protests that Eddie hadn’t brought them anything.

“What can I say? Eddie likes me better than all of you.” Buck announced and Eddie rolled his eyes skyward.

He also didn’t refute him.

It wasn’t that they didn’t want to tell their friends and Eddie was willing to go as far as to say that telling them would make nearly everything easier. They wouldn’t have to steal quiet moments. He wouldn’t have to refrain from rubbing the back of Buck’s neck when he was stressed. He wouldn’t have to come up with an excuse why he'd brought Buck coffee and not the others.

But there was something Eddie also kind of secretly liked about sneaking around. Something he was pretty sure Buck liked too if that slight dip of his smile into his cheek was anything to go by when they would find a quiet corner to satiate their need for each other. It was like a part of Buck that Eddie didn't have to share with anyone else.

Eddie bite down on his cheek to keep from shivering as Buck's fingers brushed against the back of his neck as he moved over into the kitchen to heckle Chimney, each sip of his expensive coffee and the sugar of the pastry perking him up more and more until he was his usual bouncing bright self again.

Eddie liked those too. The fleeting brushes of their pinkies that made Buck blush. The caress of their knuckles against their hips that made Eddie want to lean into him. The bumping of their thighs against one another when they were sitting at the table where Eddie could sneak a squeeze of Buck's knee before anyone noticed.

So, maybe telling their friends would be easier.

But the thrill of the tease was just as new as their relationship and Eddie didn't think neither he nor Buck were ready to give that up just yet.

[twstedtales]

Can I request headcanons , where Azul , Jade , Floyd and Leona courting their crush, please ? Thank you

𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑, 𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋.

❝courtship consists in a number of quiet attentions, not so pointed as to alarm, nor so vague as not to be understood.❞ - Laurence Sterne.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | azul ashengrotto, jade leech, floyd leech, leona kingscholar x gender neutral reader.

𝐭𝐰 | none!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | I wrote a similar piece to this here with the Diasomnia quartet if you want to read it too! <3

Azul's way of courtship could be chalked up between being adorably clumsy yet extremely detailed. As much as he was intelligent and excellent in logical thinking, Azul is still in the adolescent stage at which he was relatively new at this concept of "true love". He had known it by definition and stories, but when he experienced it first hand, Azul was at a loss at what to do.

Since it had taken him a long time to realise his genuine feelings for you, it would even take longer for him to build up the courage to court you due to his own insecurities and what ifs. And even before he asked you, Azul would make it a point to use detailed calculation and crap like that first.

He devises a one page plan on how to ask if he could court you, it includes everything from his tone of speech, the wideness of his smiles, and his very actions. Though he almost didn't realise how the one page turned five, and then ten. He was very detail-oriented because he wants everything to be polished and perfect.

And when he stopped himself from chickening out and found the chance to strike a courtship with you, Azul would slowly but surely build up the confidence and audacity to take it to the next level...of course, only if you're comfortable with it.

Rest assured that he had read tons on the internet, or consulted lots of books, about land customs when it comes to courtship. He would make sure to send you flowers everyday and help you in any way he can. Fufufu. Fret not, it was all for free...unless you're willing to give your heart to him as compensation now? It would be an offer you won't regret.

It wasn't even obvious that he likes you, so it was possible that you won't notice that he was already courting you. Jade's way of courting evolves between him being fairly mischievous and gentlemanly. He would make it a point to maybe tease you nearly to tears...and when he deemed it enough that you were "on edge" with himーin a good wayーhe would pat your head soothingly, and almost lovingly, and tell you he's just jesting.

Jade knows your possible whereabouts by heart, how or why is a knowledge that is something he won't disclose to anyoneーeven with you. And since he knows where you are, Jade also knows if you were in trouble or if you need any sort of help. If it's the former, he just had to show his face and his obviously fake polite smile, and rest assured everything will be alright.

If it's the latter though, Jade would still be there in the blink of an eye to assist you. He would offer to carry your books and bag, walk you to your next class while having an idle yet pleasant chatter, and perhaps have lunch with him afterwards? Fret not, the bills on him. Fufufu. 

In your eyes, his actions could be chalked up as normal and probably even a little more friendly than usual as he arranged your tie, smoothed out your hair, and politely wiped the corner of your mouth with a napkin. 

However, in the eyes of everyone around you, his actions could be considered as something akin to being territorial. Jade's cold gaze when it leaves you, looking at everybody else, was that of a predator that was marking its territory...

Like Jade, Floyd isn't the one to ask if he could court you because the moment he realised that he was in love with youーthat he wants youーyou already sealed your fate with his. Though unlike Jade, his methods aren't subtle to you and you would definitely have to question him if he was courting you or just seeing you as a mere plaything.

I pray you have a patient of a saint because Floyd was the one to test the limits of how far he could push you. It would probably resort to your unending exasperation, and maybe even annoyance, at how persistent he was, especially with how easy his mood will swing from one another, but it was kind of endearing one way or another.

Floyd was a lot clingier than before, especially if he's in a foul mood, and he would whine at you a lot to give him attention. He most likely hated it if you were ignoring him for somethingーor someone. Floyd was not unreasonable though, so a few bribes and consolation of squeezes and mints from you would calm him down.

If he was in a good mood, he was actually very sweet, with a dash of childish ferocity you could only associate with him. The exasperation and annoyance you felt earlier will be thrown to the window once Floyd used his extreme puppy dog eyes to coerce you to do his biddingーdon't worry, it's not harmless, it just involves you spending time with him and your attention on him alone. Well, usually.

No one in their right mind would dare to approach you with the intention of romancing you after Floyd showing his obvious affection to you and everyone else in public. They can try, but they have to make sure they can survive him first. Aha.

Leona's way of courtship is a mixture of being subtle while being not. The first sign of this is probably him rubbing your hair with either his hand (which can be some sort of patting? Just a little more rough.) or if he was napping with you, with his cheeks. That was a lion's way of initiating courtship, which you may or may not know.

He would also flaunt his maneーin his case, his beautiful hairーto you. If you questioned him about what he was doing, Leona would growl in frustration before rolling his eyes and telling you to shut up and "watch only him before his patience runs extremely thin and he would actually devour you here and right now". 

His actions may confuse you, but Leona wasn't exactly the one who would also vocally express his intentions of courtingーand maybe even mating?ーwith you so you have to be patient with him. 

If he really deemed you hopeless in picking up his intentions, don't expect him to directly spell it out for you, but he would exert a little more effort in wooing you. Like maybe considering using human methods to make it more obvious…?

Once in a while, Leona would walk you to class, or dragged you in his room to take a napーthe latter happened more often than not though. Or if you know chess, he would challenge you in a match for hours, but if you don't, he would offer to teach you with a smug smirk. Albeit his posture was a bit lazy and seemed wholly uninterested, the gruff elegance of a prince you associate with him carries a tiny hint of tenderness...

[more-than-a-princess]

Surely, Sonia had thought, Anzu would have wanted to return the notebook to her best friend. And if anime and dramas were accurate regarding best friends, Sonia was certain Anzu knew every scribble, every word, every drawing in the notebook by heart. Secrets between two girls who could rely upon each other for everything. She had to admit she was a little envious: something like 'best friends' was a foreign concept to Sonia. There were friends of course, and many more acquaintances: the sons and daughters of aristocrats, CEOs, celebrities, and the like whom her parents approved of her consorting with. But a best friend was unheard of: unless they were family, friends were kept at arms' length in order to preserve the Royal Family's pristine reputation.

It was why her friendship with Chiaki, and now Gundham, were wholly out of the norm. And even with the two of them, Sonia held back. She had to: even if she could trust them not to be overcome with greed and spite, that didn't mean her family agreed. Family first, always.

Something Shinobu also understood, for better or worse.

"I had no idea," Sonia admitted, watching Anzu peruse the notebook with something akin to disgust. "She never mentioned him, or much about her family. In truth, we do not discuss our families often." Unintentionally, but it was for the best. Most people who asked were simply fascinated by the glamour and tradition of royal life and for those who weren't, Sonia thought it better to spare them the gritty details. Or else they'd probably all treat her the way Ji-yeon Iida had: that she was undeserving and that her entire way of life needed to be dismantled. And frankly, Sonia didn't need another voice to tell her she didn't deserve what she was and had: beyond Ji-yeon's and the countless anti-monarchists (who were particularly vocal online), she told herself the very same far too frequently.

Maybe, she thought, it was something Shinobu told herself too. Maybe not quite undeserved accolades but a fate she didn't deserve. That she'd been promised something else and had that ripped from her when her older brother disappeared. Sonia wasn't sure what was more painful and disappointing: never having the option to dream of a different future, or having the option before it was taken away. Perhaps there was no point in the comparison, not after Shinobu had been knocked unconscious and Anzu handed the notebook back to Sonia.

A gesture she was puzzled by, her eyebrows furrowing in concern before opening the book for herself. Something that made her expression soften quickly into a gentle smile, glancing over sketches of various animals and organs maimed and bloody. She'd paused over one drawing of a rabbit, beheaded, with its tongue hanging out of its mouth as blood flowed from both head and torso. Shinobu had captured the severed bones, muscles, and tendons in exquisite detail: she was really quite skilled at it.

"No wonder she despises him so," She murmured, closing the book with far less force than Anzu had. "But I hope they are able to repair their bond. There is nothing like having a sibling, I think, at least from someone who has none." She was often quickly corrected by those who did have brothers or sisters, and Sonia half-expected Anzu to do the same. Still, it was a challenge to explain the loneliness of being an only child when one wasn't able to experience it for themselves. In Sonia's case, it was being an only child with the future of her family and her country upon her shoulders, with no one to assist with the burden.

She wasn't entirely sure of Anzu's logic in it, ensuring Shinobu knew she had more than one friend. She simply thought Shinobu would prefer to see her best friend over anyone else, though the best friend in question seemed to disagree. "Well, if you are sure," Sonia hesitantly agreed. Without her school bag with her, she'd have to hold onto the notebook until she had a safe place to store it. "Though as you say, we will likely see her at the same time. But I still believe she would much prefer your company to mine. I hope all goes well with your sister, Anzu-san."

Anzu shifted uncomfortably back and forth on her legs, as she watched Masaru chase after Shinobu. It wouldn't end well, she was sure, but what right did she have to stop him trying to talk to his own sister? It was good, then, that Sonia came up to her - something that could take her mind off of things, even as she winced upon hearing the thumping of the security officer's fist against Shinobu's stomach. She wouldn't have hoped that he'd have shown a little more restraint with her, but Anzu knew how things went. Shinobu wasn't someone who ever earned any sympathy from anyone, and she never got the benefit of the doubt during her worst moments. At the first sign of trouble, everyone was so willing to throw her away.

"She'll probably be okay," Anzu mumbled with a small sad frown on her lips. "Shinobu-chan is really, really tough, and she recovers from injuries really fast." At some point, that tight rubber band would snap, she was sure, but for now everything was working as intended. "As long as she didn't break a rib or something, what's probably gonna hurt most for her is her pride." The reasonable thing to do would be give up on killing her brother, but Anzu was pretty sure that wasn't an option for her best friend. If anything, this would just make her a little crazier about it.

When offered, Anzu took the notebook, before letting out a small sigh and leading Sonia by the hand away from the last bits of the assembled crowd. It wasn't really any sort of secret, not really, but if she was going to blab about Shinobu's life, she'd rather not have any eavesdroppers. There was also Haruna to consider... Anzu had looked at her, trying to implore her to go after Masaru, but her sister had stayed rooted in place, before being swept off with the crowd back towards campus. Just someone else she'd need to check on later - was there anyone else around who was as responsible while also being as underappreciated as Anzu? No, absolutely not, not even close, in her logic.

"Yeah, Masaru-san is Shinobu-chan's older brother," Anzu started, referring to him more politely than her childishly familial nickname when speaking to someone else. "And he used to be the Ultimate Archer here, too, like, six years ago." He was a year older than Haruna, so that much was easy. "I don't know everything," she admitted, having found a spot to stand underneath a tree, away from the alumni or the crowds, "cause I was just a kid, and I was also living with my dad in Kyoto for some of it." Not that that was much excuse. She should have been around, and should have made a better effort for Shinobu back then.

Probably, she shouldn't be telling all this to Sonia, either, but Shinobu sure as hell wasn't going to, even if it was important for a friend to know. Once again, it fell to Anzu to make sure that Sonia and Shinobu's relationship kept being so clear and communicative. Hadn't Sonia called out her name, just a short while before? That had to mean something, and from what she'd seen already, it was obvious that Shinobu liked her. Sorry, Shinobu-chan, but this is for your own good.

She opened the notebook, flipping through the macabre drawings of dead and decaying animals - all bones and rotting flesh and blood - in clean black ink. You're so creepy sometimes, Shinobu-chan, but I bet if your fangirls knew about this side of you, you'd at least get people who you're more compatible with. "Shinobu-chan didn't train when she was little. She was just a normal kid who liked drawing and reading, and she didn't have any expectation of learning how to shoot. I think Masaru-san got started from the time he could walk, but Shinobu-chan didn't have anything like that."

Anzu closed the notebook tight, not wanting to look at anything else inside it. "But you know how Shinobu-chan's dad is, and Masaru-san got it really bad, so he ended up running away from home. Today is the first time I've seen him since then, and probably for Shinobu-chan too." Anzu shrugged. Haruna, also, but this wasn't about her. "So, Shinobu-chan got dragged into replacing him, even though she'd never done archery before, and her mom ended up leaving because of what happened with Masaru-san, and, uh, well I guess you know what Shinobu-chan's like now."

Shinobu could give any more details if she wanted to, even if Anzu was pretty sure she wouldn't, but that was enough to provide Sonia a pretty clear picture. "I guess how Shinobu-chan sees it is, if Masaru-san hadn't run away, none of this would have happened to her." That's what she'd said, right? Her happy childhood with her mom, her dad, and her older brother, a future where she could have chosen things for herself, any kind of life for herself - all gone 'cause of Masaru's absence. Anzu couldn't blame him for that, but she could understand Shinobu, too.

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't think I'll see her for a while. She's probably gonna get a short suspension, and even then, she might not come back to school until she's feeling less miserable. Shinobu-chan's usually the 'sulking by herself' type when she's upset." She pushed the notebook back into Sonia's hands. "So, you'll probably see her as soon as I do, and it might be nice for her to remember that I'm not her only friend, right? If you held onto it for her, and made the effort to give it back?" She had other motives, of course, but Sonia would probably take that at face value if she had to guess. "Anyway, I have to go find my stupid sister, so, I can't really stick around. I'll see you later, Sonia-san."

[supercantaloupe]

the movie reviews of DEH coming out this week have got me thinking a lot again about why i think DEH doesn’t work and in which ways. normally when i do that i like to find another show that has a similar or shared storytelling device which i think does it better to compare. and given that, now DEH has a stage and a screen adaptation to compare to, i think My Fair Lady is actually a good point of comparison to use for the aspect of DEH i've been thinking about this week.

obviously My Fair Lady and Dear Evan Hansen are. Very different shows, lmao. but i have my reasons: both were acclaimed stage shows that later got turned into infamous films (be it in a good or bad light). but moreover, both shows have an unsympathetic protagonist, which is made more stark and obvious through the transition from stage to screen.

there is an important difference in medium between stage and screen and that has to do with objective framing and point of view. basically, in a theater, you have zero absolute control over where any and every audience member is paying attention at any and every given time. you can direct it with blocking, light, sound, etc, but you cannot force an audience member to look at what you want them to look at for every moment. the framing is inherently subjective in this way because the viewer is free to focus on what they want, and make their own judgments based on that.

film is different; film has an objective framing. it is the camera. when you are viewing a film on screen, you have no power to see anything outside the frame that is shown to you; you don't have the power to turn your head and look at something else in the scene. this introduces an implicit bias in the narrative, because the point of view of the camera is what the audience is practically forced to identify and sympathize with.

now, back to DEH and MFL. both shows have a protagonist who is unsympathetic. but a crucial difference between them is that, while DEH's protagonist is also its point of view character, in MFL they are different.

it's sometimes difficult to separate the concept of "protagonist" from "main character" and from "POV character," but in this case i’m going with a narrative definition of protagonist, where they are the character who changes through the narrative. in MFL's case, this is henry higgins, as he spends the entire show being a whiny narcissistic manbaby until the final number when he realizes that he's developed the ability to care about another human being for their own sake for the first time. while eliza does go from speaking and dressing like a common cockney to a genteel lady, she is not changed as much as a character, and therefore i do not count her as the protagonist.

eliza is, of course, the POV character; she is the center around which the story follows; there are more scenes about eliza alone than there are about henry higgins alone, and those scenes about henry higgins alone tend to be about his relationship to eliza.

the framing of which character is the POV on stage is not so important as it is on film, because, again, objective framing on screen. when eliza's POV on stage turns into eliza's POV on screen, we are able to see henry higgins more directly through her eyes. because she is the POV character, we sympathize more readily with her than anyone else, and more clearly see higgins as the asshole he is, because he treats her like dirt to her face, which we as the audience are also experiencing by proxy. film framing makes more distinct the separation between POV character and protagonist, therefore allowing henry higgins' very unsympathetic personality ring out loud and clear.

DEH, on the other hand, has its protagonist and its POV character be the same character, that is, evan. this was a problem in the stage show, yes, but looking back on the past four years of audience interaction and feedback with the show demonstrates that it's still possible to sympathize with him even though he's a jerk. i believe this is because the show tries really hard to frame him as being sympathetic despite his bad behavior, and the framing from his POV is still more subjective since it is in a theater.

but, just as the distinction between sympathetic and unsympathetic character becomes more obvious on film when the POV becomes more objective in MFL, so too does it become more obvious in DEH.

it becomes even more obvious that the story wants us to sympathize with evan. he's the POV, the framing is objective, we're mechanically meant to identify with him. but that introduces some pretty hefty tonal dissonance when we're being asked to sympathize with a character who does some pretty shitty things (in other words, is unsympathetic)

of course, i haven't seen the film of DEH yet since i am, regrettably, a college student at the moment and not a professional film reviewer. but from what i've read in reviews so far and heard about the songs that were cut, it seems like the film also exacerbates the issues of the stage show through script changes. (for example, the cutting of Good For You really hurts the narrative since that's the biggest moment of evan actually facing consequences for his actions in the show.) it doesn't matter how much the movie is begging me to identify with their POV character; if they're a shitty person, i am not going to sympathize with them!

i think that's at the heart of a lot of the criticism of the film i've read so far. the story banks everything on you liking evan as a person and caring about what happens to him -- sympathizing with him -- when he is utterly unlikable. even beyond the bad casting choice.

is it possible to have an unsympathetic protagonist as your POV character in a film? i'm sure it is. but this is not the way to do it. could DEH have succeeded with an unsympathetic protagonist as its POV? probably, if treated differently. i can’t help but wonder what a dark comedy version of DEH would like like, akin to Heathers. although, what i think Heathers does well that DEH does not is both show that its protagonist does in fact do shitty things we are not supposed to support, and she realizes this after facing consequences for her actions and makes a change in her behavior two thirds of the way through the movie. but, ultimately, as it is, it seems like the route the DEH movie went down was not a good one, exacerbating problems from the stage show both through writing and, more simply, through the medium itself.

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

What Cristabel Did

EXTENSIVE SPOILERS for Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth below. If you haven’t read both books, skip the rest of this post. In fact just get off tumblr and go read them instead. I guarantee they’re better than anything else you’ll find here. 

I think I know why John Gaius didn’t tell his disciples about the perfect Lyctorhood, and I don’t think it had to do with sharing power or with AL. I think it’s the same reason why Augustine and Mercymorn hate each other, why Anastasia was the only one to figure out the Eightfold Word, and why Mercy doesn’t want to hear her cavalier’s name.

tl;dr I think Cristabel and Alfred tried to kill some number of the original disciples, forcing them to try for lyctorhood before the ritual was fully understood, and John kept quiet because he didn’t want to tell them they’d killed their cavaliers for nothing.

The handwritten note at the end of the sermon on cavaliers and necromancers says, “valancy says one flesh one end sounds like instructions for a sex toy. can’t stop thinking about that so can someone stop cris and alfred before the sex toy phrase catches on, thanks.” This early in the Nine Houses’ history the entire concept of necromancer and cavalier is still being figured out. It sounds like Cristabel and Alfred were the main drivers behind the idea of the cavalier-necromancer relationship as a formal, sacred oath, coming up with the phrase “one flesh, one end” in the process. Much much later Silas Octakiseron brands the ritual of lyctorhood a mortal sin and heresy as soon as he hears what it entails, because he treats the cavalier-necromancer bond as a sacrament akin to a holy marriage. To trespass against that bond, he declares, was to sin against the Emperor himself. The sermon before the handwritten note backs up that idea, talking about the combination as having all sorts of profound religious symbolism.

Therefore: what if the disciples were working on the ritual of lyctorhood and hadn’t yet figured the cavalier didn’t have to die, when Cristabel and Alfred decided they had to take action to keep any of them from trying? What if, like Silas in Canaan House, Cristabel decided the idea of the adept killing their cavalier was rank heresy and had to be prevented by any means necessary, and convinced Alfred of it as well? Cristabel was from the Eighth House, though early enough that it may not have taken on its hardline personality - then again, perhaps Cristabel’s actions are why it did take on that hardline personality. Augustine calls her an idiot, but also “a fanatic,” and his own brother someone who “regretted that he wasn’t.”

Augustine says that he became a lyctor “under scrambling pressure,” and when Harrow tells the Emperor that she became a lyctor under duress, he replies, “You aren’t the first.” Then when Augustine is talking to John about Alfred, he says, “I have built an entire myriad on the idea that I could’ve made him come around, given five minutes.” That’s in response to John saying, “No one could make him do anything he didn’t want to.” That could mean either Augustine thinks he could have talked Alfred into willingly dying to perform the ritual, or that he could have talked Alfred out of doing something else dire. The way John phrases it makes me think it’s the latter, because in the context of the conversation they’re discussing Cristabel’s influence, and John knows that the lyctoral ritual can be performed even if the cavalier is unwilling. 

So: Cristabel and Alfred decide that they need to do whatever it takes to keep the other disciples from performing the ritual. Either by accident or design, they put Augustine in a situation where he’s facing imminent death - maybe not intentionally on Alfred’s part, but it happens. Augustine chooses to kill his brother and take in his soul to survive as a lyctor, becoming the first to ascend. This fits with Augustine’s loathing of Mercymorn, who in his mind forced him to murder his brother; of his own immortality, since it was gained at the cost of murdering family; and of necromancy in general. He has to convince himself that he could have talked Alfred into making the sacrifice if there were time to ask because otherwise the guilt will destroy him.

After ascension, Augustine’s probably fighting Alfred’s soul, but he’s a powerful spirit magician. Like Ianthe he may be scattered but he’s still present. So now he rounds on Cristabel and probably mortally wounds her. He means to finish the job but Mercymorn intervenes, alerted to what’s happening by all the chaos. She finds her cavalier dying. Cristabel asks her to avenge her and kill Augustine and, since she’s already dying, to use her soul to do it. Mercy finishes Cristabel off and swallows her soul, becoming the second lyctor. So from the very beginning Mercymorn is absolutely set on Augustine’s death and blames him for Cristabel’s death and, in an indirect way, forcing her to become a lyctor as well.

After that it gets a little fuzzy. Events could go several different ways and we just don’t have enough info. I favor the idea that maybe the rampage continues - or maybe Cristabel and Alfred had set all of them up to be in mortal peril (possibly in space, where an adept’s powers won’t work but a lyctor’s would) - because of Mercy’s quote at Cytherea’s funeral: “I never saw her cry except once. The day after. When we put together the research. When she became a Lyctor. I said, There was no alternative. She said, We had the choice to stop.” Mercy saying “there was no alternative” and Cytherea answering with “we had the choice to stop” makes me think everyone was in duress. Mercy saying, “the day after. When we put together the research,” makes me think that they hadn’t fully pieced together the ritual even though six people had already ascended; Augustine improvised. “The day after” also makes me think that most of the lyctors ascended in a single night. If Augustine through Cassiopeia ascended in a group, only Cytherea and Anastasia would be left. Loveday volunteered for the rite in hopes of curing Cytherea, so that’s a non-distress motive for them to ascend as well. That leaves only Anastasia, who now has plenty of time to figure it out on her own.

Where’s John in all this? Remember what Ianthe said when she was trying to regrow her arm? She thought John would tell her to try it on her own first to build her own skill. Maybe John was letting his disciples work out lyctorhood on their own, expecting that they’d figure out the full ritual in time. If they’d planned to try the imperfect ritual, he probably would have stepped in and said, “No, no one has to die, yes now you’re mad at me because I knew the answer all along but it was a learning experience okay.” But because Augustine had to make a scrambling improvisation, John didn’t get the chance to intervene. So before he can do anything, Augustine and Mercy, plus some number of the middle four, have already killed their cavaliers and swallowed their souls (meaning no resurrection). He’s faced with the choice of telling them that those murders weren’t necessary, or keeping the secret and letting Loveday and Cytherea go through with the imperfect ritual. John tells himself that it’ll hurt them all too much if he tells them they killed their cavaliers for nothing, and Loveday’s willing to die already. He stays quiet.

That leaves only Anastasia. With the benefit of time and the others’ experience, Anastasia realizes the ritual can be done without killing the cavalier. She plays this close to the vest, uncertain of her results and unwilling to traumatize the others unless she’s sure. Just in case she’s right, she bans everyone except John from watching her attempt. If she succeeds and Samael lives, they can figure out how to break it to the others. But something goes wrong - or John sabotages her - and Samael dies, leaving Anastasia thinking she didn’t have it right after all.

A myriad later, John and the other lyctors have yet to allow or invite any other adepts to attain lyctorhood, believing the cost is too high. But now they’re down to four lyctors and three Resurrection Beasts, and those four lyctors are showing the strain. So John invites the heirs and their cavaliers to Canaan House. He knows his first disciples left the necessary information behind to put together the rite - only the imperfect rite, but that’s okay because this time there won’t be anyone making the choice under duress. As he tells Harrow, “I intended for the new Lyctors to become Lyctors after thinking and contemplating and genuinely understanding their sacrifice—an act of bravery, not an act of fear and desperation. Nobody was meant to lose their lives unwillingly at Canaan House.” If the cavaliers are okay with it, he’s not on the hook, he reasons. He’ll keep his secret and get new lyctors without any fresh guilt on his conscience.

Except of course it doesn’t work out that way. As usual, John’s future plans are sabotaged by his past plans coming back to haunt him. He ends up gaining one and a half lyctors at the unexpected cost of one old lyctor, so that’s a net gain of half a lyctor with several heirs dead in the process. And then an even newer plan gets sabotaged by an even older plan, leaving him with one and a half, possibly two functioning lyctors. Meanwhile Camilla and Palamedes are out there probably as a functional lyctor-cavalier pair that he doesn’t know about, because Palamedes has been stuck in freeze-frame hell for long enough to come to the same conclusions as Anastasia. It’s not gonna go well for John, ey?