#sorry if you wanted unmasked i saw his costume(s) and i think it’s so cool

[moonslinger130]

red hood (for doodle reqs)! i would like to see him roundified. also i am hesitant about saying this bc he doesn't have a consistent appearance in canon but i would love to see a jon crane,, - @aroacejoncrane

ROUNDIFICATION....... COMPLETE

i saw two designs i liked so there we go

and also jon crane scarecrow attempt hes soooooo funky

[mariamermaid]

I put a spell on you

Sherlock Holmes (19th century) x fem dancer Reader

Summary: After his brother´s persuasion, Sherlock agrees to go to the Ballet with him and is mesmerized by the dancer…

Words: 1.9k

A/N: This is more for the movies/ enola holmes movie, since it´ll take place in the late 19th century. I´m not too familiar with the ballet, so let´s ignore the accuracy.

 Halloween Masterlist

 Théophile Gautier´s ballet “Giselle” was an absolute success. Even years after the ballet was first performed in Paris, the London theater decided to bring the play back. An act that brought Mycroft Holmes into liberating excitement, much to his brother´s concern. The fog these days laid thick in London and Sherlock, who had just solved an exhausting case, that ended with a dangerous pursuit, in which he broke his arm, wasn´t practically excited. But the younger brother wasn´t left with many options. “God, Sherlock, what happened this time?”

Mycroft pointed towards his arm, hanging in a sling to his side, above his shirt. The jacket was loosely thrown on top of his shoulders, Sherlock shrugged not paying much attention to Mycroft´s needless worries. Around him were a few men gathered and Sherlock found himself falling for simple, but plain and boring small talk. Sighing, he followed his brother into the hall and braced himself for boring hours. But then, the classical music started, Sherlock expected it to be the best part, until he saw you entering the stage. It was the first act and you played the Giselle in the village. Giselle was portrayed as a young, innocent but endearing girl. The white long tutu graced your figure perfectly and throughout the act, you danced across the stage with ease. The forester Hilarion and the prince Albrecht are both in love with Giselle, but after Hilarion unmasks Albrecht´s disguise as a farmer, the girl is led into a disaster. Heartbroken after finding out about Albrecht’s true identity, she falls into his sword and dies. In that scene, Sherlock found himself clinging onto the seat and when the light went out to announce the break, he realized how hard he had grabbed the armrests. His tongue slid across his lips, trying to relax his jaw. He then joined his brother and his entourage outside at the bar for a drink, but the picture of you in the white tutu floating across the stage as if it was nothing, didn´t left his mind. “She´s stunning”, he admitted and the men around him nodded.

“Who? Y/n, she´s a natural”, Mycroft added slightly smiling. “You know her?” Sherlock asked interested and the men echoed in laughter. William Grey, a friend of Mycroft and well-known man in London, grinned. “Your brother, Mr. Holmes, is one of the many men running after Miss Y/L/N.”

Mycroft cleared his throat, he hated admitting that he failed. “I never ran after her.” To Sherlock´s despise, the topic was then dropped. He wanted, no he needed more information about you. While the men gathered for a second round of whiskey, Sherlock did what he did best; research and investigate. He unobtrusively glided through the doors leading to the rooms behind the stage. And there you stood, one hand against the wooden bar and practicing your posture. You had changed costumes, after Giselle´s death, you now wore a blood red tutu and your lips were painted in the same color. Sherlock felt goosebumps raising on his skin, in the soft light of the mere headlights behind the stage, the dry dust floating in the air, you did indeed like a ghost. But a stunning ghost, so beautiful, Sherlock just stopped in his tracks to stare at you.

A man, who worked behind the scenes and was just arranging a background piece, bumped against Sherlock. “Man, don´t stand around!” He eyed Sherlock suspiciously. “No spectators behind the stage”, he added and his low went low. “I…” He didn´t know what to answer, his eyes were still glued onto you. A man, as far as Sherlock guessed he was the regisseur, came to talk you and you nodded to whatever he was saying. You then turned to get your hair checked again, but you noticed the unknown man standing around. His tall figure with his neat clothes, his eyes meeting yours. For a second, you stood still, admiring his dark locks and his angular features. But then you remembered the work and disappeared within the crowd of people running around. “Didn´t you hear what I just said?” Sherlock jerked, as the man spoke up again, louder and clearly angry.

“Sorry, I must´ve taken a wrong door somewhere.”

As quick as he appeared behind the stage, he vanished again. Sherlock found his seat next to his brother, who eyed him confused. “Where have you been?” Luckily, the lights went out before he could think of an excuse.

 The second act started, the forester Hilarion waits at Giselle´s death bed, until the nature ghosts and their queen Myrtha appear to welcome Giselle in their realm. Sherlock couldn´t tear his eyes of you, you were pale with powder and your once white gown, was now black as the night. Albrecht finds the ghost as well and follows Giselle into the woods. Myrtha and her wilas, dance around Hilarion until he drops with exhaustion and dies. Myrtha shortly after finds Albrecht, but he is protected by Giselle´s love. At dawn, the queen loses her power and Giselle forgives Albrecht, before she vanishes.

The whole act was preposterous, the dance of the dead ghosts and in between them; you. Sherlock saw the light of life in your eyes glistening. You looked magical to him; he couldn’t describe any other way. The hall echoed with applause and Sherlock even joined in the standing ovation, your performance was outstanding. He then waited outside with his brother again; some men with wife´s went home, but Sherlock waited with anticipation. It was almost an hour later, when he finally saw you. The stage make-up was gone and you looked exhausted, but happy. You had a coat thrown over your shoulder and a dark red, rather simple dress. Your hair was loosened, but remained closed. People quickly approached you, congratulating on the success and praising your abilities and talent. But you had spotted Mycroft within the crowd, and with him the man who had caught your attention earlier. You slipped away and made your way to them. “Mycroft.” You smiled as he greeted you, leaning down and placing a delicate kiss on your hand. “Y/N, extraordinary and perfect as always.” A faint blush was on your cheeks, but then your glance wandered to Sherlock.

“Who is your companion, Mycroft?” It was almost awkward, how Sherlock couldn´t do anything but stand around and stare at you, his brother chuckled. The sight was rare, but welcomed for him. “You´ve heard of him, my brother Sherlock!” A grin crept on your rosy lips and you put out your hand to greet him as well. Sherlock could´ve punched himself, a lady like you holding her hand out first; what kind of gentleman he was! He took it softly and did his brother equal, placing a kiss on your hand. “Mr. Holmes, are you working on a case right now?” Sherlock stopped, raising his eyebrow confused.

“It seemed like you nosed around behind the stage in the break, are you looking for a thief?” The assumption you made was perfectly fine, but your tone stated differently. You knew he wasn´t there for a case and Mycroft snickered. “You have to excuse my brother, Y/n. Snooping around runs in his veins.” Sherlock breathed out, a slight annoyance rising. He didn´t like the way his brother was able to interact with you, not unless he was able to do so as well.

Mycroft changed the subject; “My birthday, Y/n, next week, I hoped you would come?” Your eyes left Sherlock and jealousy rose in him, a feeling he wasn´t very familiar with. “I have a performance, but I will try to sneak away afterwards.”

William Grey interrupted your group, saying his goodbye´s for the evening and you cleared your throat. “I´m going home as well, training and rehearsals are getting the better of me.” For once this night, Sherlock was quicker than his brother. “Can I walk you home, Miss Y/L/N?”

You grabbed your bag a little tighter, hanging over your shoulder and he noted how hard to read your expression was. “I don´t need a man to protect me, Mr. Holmes. But I´m willing to let you accompany me in exchange for some details about your solved cases, I´m quite a fan if you will.” Sherlock smiled and tilted his head proudly.

“So, you recognized the murderer due to his shoes?” You asked interested as the two of you walked through the dark streets of London. The light from the lanterns fell softly to the ground, but the air laid silent. It was late, barely any light left in most houses. Sherlock nodded, lurking down to you. “That´s fascinating, Mr. Holmes.” “You can call me Sherlock.”

For the first time, you actually blushed. “Willing to solve some riddles for me, Sherlock?” A shiver ran down his spine as you called him by his name, but he nodded. “When the water comes down, it rains. I go up, what am I?” Sherlock paused for a second, but a grin spread on his lips. “An umbrella.”

“I can fly but I have no wings. I can cry but I have no eyes.” “A cloud.”

"I dance as the night rises and a wooden pole accompanies me; what am I?” He chuckled confident.

“A ballerina.”

You stopped on the street and behind you laid a park, dark and the silhouettes of trees and bushes rose like giants in the night. “A witch, Mr. Holmes. A witch on her broom.”

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, behind you walked a black cat and the coincidence let him shiver. He usually wasn´t a superstitious type, but you were not to be underestimated; he was sure of it. He swallowed realizing how you had been able to distract him from the logical solution. “As far as I´m concerned, I have bewitched your mind, Sherlock.” From your coat you pulled out a notepad, his notepad. All notes on previous cases and current observations were written down. “How-“

“For a detective, you´re not very good at sneaking around, behind the stage.” You fell into his word, before he was able to ask questions. He wondered how on earth you had stolen his notepad, maybe due to his lack of movement with the broken arm? You were absolutely right however; you did drive him insane. Laughing, you held his notepad still up. “Don´t worry, you´ll get your notes back, if you solve my last riddle.”

His tongue glided over his lips. “A party, but the ballerina doesn´t want to dance.”

He anticipated more, but you closed your mouth, grinning. “I´ll see you next week, Sherlock.”

Sherlock hadn´t realized that you had reached your destination and you turned to leave him standing in the middle of the street. “How did you steal my notes?”

You laughed out loud as you hurried into a dark alley, he guessed that the entrance to your apartment laid there.

“I put a spell on you, Sherlock Holmes.”

He hurried after you, but as he entered the alley, a dead end as he realized, you were gone. There was no door and no windows at the wall surrounding him, you had basically vanished into thin air. Sherlock smiled in excitement; the evening turned out so much better than he ever imagined. He lit himself a pipe and strolled to his own home. A party, but the ballerina doesn´t want to dance, your words repeated in his mind. I´ll see you next week. Mycroft´s birthday party and you don´t want to dance. What does a lady do, that gets invited by someone, who she doesn´t want to dance with? She arrives accompanied by a different man.

[salamangreatsunlightwolf]

Masked Singer Season 5 Review

I haven’t gotten to talk about The Masked Singer here in awhile, but season 5 left me with a lot to talk about after seeing how it nosedived this show into being DEAD television by the end of it.

I’m going to put it all past a read more for you here, because I have over 18000 characters in me to talk about how bad of a season this was apparently. There are also some thoughts about Season 3, and Season 4 (which I skipped reviewing because of how uninteresting it was, but boy did it’s bad qualities have a huge impact on Season 5).

So before I get to dissecting season 5 of the Masked Singer, I have to go back to moments of season 3, and a whole lot of season 4. Season 3 is where we start to see the first inkling of bad tropes occur that persist through season 5 to make it worse. It introduces really obviously weak performances that get the performer to skate by when they shouldn't, leading to the biggest upset I have with the season. Kandi Burruss really shouldn't have won season 3 in my honest opinion. within her first 5 performances, she had two clear duds; her cover of Shout!, and her cover of Man, I Feel Like A Woman. Both were covers that had questionable energy (Shout! less so, but Woman was absolutely unenergetic compared to Twain's original vocal performance), and the latter had a key change to the accompaniment that didn't lend any favors to the energy or vibrancy of the cover. I also need to put into context that what I think is Night Angel's worst performance (Woman) somehow won her a face-off round in season 3 (a forgotten show element from the last two seasons? wowie). Obviously I can say that Jesse McCartney should have won season 3 (I just think he had more consistent performances and output throughout the season), but that's a bit off course. What I really want to get to with Burruss cover of Woman is that it's for all intents and purposes just a middling cover. We'll see these happen more in seasons 4 and 5, but they pan out to usually axing off the contestant. Barring the element of Burruss actually getting eliminated, this is pretty much the first notable Punt Song in terms of performance quality. I want to establish the concept of the Punt Song because it plays a larger role in season 4, and season 5. I also need to establish another trope that season 4 introduced which also cursed season 5, which is excusing bad performances. It panned out so much worse in 4 than in 5, but for 4's sake, Chloe Kim should have been out from her first week. Her performance of Big Girls Don't Cry was weak and mildly sobby, but to the panel it's "emotional", and "it's okay, I'm sure you'll do better next week :)". This performance beat out Wendy Williams cover of Native New Yorker. Was that a great cover by Wendy? No, not really. However, whereas Chloe was a weak, sobbing mess on her first swing at bat, Wendy was bringing the comedy and entertainment factor and should have been safe on that alone. This show failure here is especially notable because having comedic factor in an otherwise bad performance actually pans out successfully in season 5, which makes me question the judges consistency in evaluation from season to season (to be fair though, the judges are Robin Thicke, Ken Jeong, Jenny McCarthy Whalberg, and Nicole Scherzinger. They're already a collective 3/4 of a middling joke). The last part of Season 4 I want to bring up is the usage of the term "taking us to church" in regards to it not only being a cursed term by the end of season 5, but also being a poor reflection on the judges evaluation skills. Look, I get it, this is a Fox competition at the end of the day, so it's obviously hokey pseudo sentimental faux entertainment tailored for white audiences, but don't say someone "took you to church" and then immediately axe them off after that. Yeah, I'm gonna say it; LeAnn Rimes shouldn't have won season 4. Was she bad? No! I just think Taylor Dane was better than her during the week where they axed off Taylor, especially after the panel said that she "took them to church". What did Dane lose to you ask? a somehow more intimate cover of a Billie Eilish song. Is that a bad thing? No, in fact it was pretty good, but I don't think it was good enough to beat what was probably the best performance of season 4. ------------------------------------- Anyways, all of those ramblings from seasons 3 and 4 aside, I'm finally getting to season 5. Yes, I know it took me almost 4000 characters to get here, but I really wanted to go off for a minute and preface the bubbling layers of garbage from the previous seasons that contribute to season 5's flatlining quality out of the gate. If you think a bevy of Punt Songs and poor evaluation amped up another level are all that season 5 has wrong with it, then prepare yourself, because it only gets so much more gimmicky. --- So I'm going to go about this week by week because this show basically was committing sins weekly by this point. So week 1, I'm sorry, but yes, I know seeing Kermit the Frog come out of a snail costume was very : 0 worthy, but Kermit shouldn't have lost that week! His performance wasn't even bad! So what did Kermit lose to anyway? Danny Trejo doing a bad, borderline comedic cover of Wild Thing. You couldn't ask for a more "go home uncle Frank! You're drunk!" performance, but we got it. The judges saw more of a comedy factor in the performance than they needed to see, and let that slip by while they just left Kermit to take the fall. Already not off to a great start (especially since Trejo's character is part funny and part cringey for basically pining after Jenny all season). --- Week 2 is where we get to the first big problem I have with this season, which is letting problematic celebrities be contestants. I'm just going to skirt by Caitlyn Jenner's performance and say that it was maybe a punt song, but to be fair, I don't have high hopes for Jenner having any real vocal prowess. I mean, her cover of Tik Tok sounded like your unamused uncle singing it during karaoke at a family party you barely remember when you were 12. That aside, I just want to point out that Caitlyn Jenner was on this show, immediately lost her first round, then went off to do Caitlyn Jenner things this year like try to become governor of California, and whatever else I forgot she got into the headlines for this week. I don't know the worst representation of a trans woman as a public figure (speaking from a trans woman's perspective) getting this big of a "haha, hehe, hi chum : )" spotlight on national television after everything she's done. Barf me out. --- Week 3 didn't matter too much. Trejo finally got booted after a second performance with bad vocals. However, I want to bring up week 3 for the structural change that it brought to the season that ultimately robbed it of some value. Prior to this season, we had 3 groups in seasons 3 and 4, groups A B and C. Starting in 5, we only have a group A and a group B, but now we have "wild cards". These are performers that get to slot into a groups set of performances for the week and stack against them to make even a "just-safe" performer look cannable. I know what you're probably thinking. "In a show where we're trying to see the gradual performance growth of a performer in order to gauge their consistency and quality, doesn't allowing a performer to come in weeks into the show give them the opportunity to progress further along in the competition with little to the no evaluation?" Yes. It does give them the opportunity, but we'll get to that problem when we get to Omarion's character of The Yeti. For right now though, I'm just going to say this. The wild card group really didn't have any reason to exist if they show could get literally 1 more performer this season (which they technically did). A and B were 5 members each. There are 4 wild cards. All you needed was literally one more regular performer, and the wild cards could have just been group C. This feels like the kind of resource scalping covered up as a fun gimmick that only a large corporation could do for why we have wild cards instead of a group C, but that's where we stand. --- Week 4 is notable for the same reason as week 2. Ugh, do I really have to say it? Yes, Logan Paul was also on this season of the Masked Singer. Yes, one of the problematic Paul brothers. Yes, especially my least favorite one because he's a big reason as to why my hobby of trading cards has had a huge boom for the worse. Yes, I'm going to blame the rise in scalper culture on Logan Paul. Yes, I'm going to blame eBay getting more anal about how every TCG single should be PSA/CCG/etc. graded on a listing on Logan Paul. I just don't like the guy. Why is he here? --- Week 5 is where this show starts to cement itself as dead television. So for those unaware, Nick Cannon, who usually hosts the Masked Singer, was absent for the first third of this season. Filling in for him was Niecy Nash. So where was Nick you ask? Why as a wildcard of course! Nick's wildcard performance was pretty meh all things considered (the only other thing that was meh that week was Nick Lachey's cover of 7 Years, but that's less on him and more on how 7 years is just a bad song for the pop music lexicon). However, Nick's unmasking is where the show really starts to be dead television this season. Before I even get to that, I just want to point out that the costume for Nick Cannon's character just looks absolutely atrocious by season 5 standards. The costume for the Bulldog barely looks like it holds to the standards of season 1 of this show! Anyways, back on track. Nick Cannon decides to pull a "trick" from season 4. Back in season 4, Mickey Rourke forcibly unmasked himself instead of getting voted off. Here, Nick Cannon pops in as a wildcard contestant after being MIA for 4 weeks, just to give a meh performance and then forcibly unmask himself for "shock value", and then be like "hey guys! :D" and resume hosting the show the following week. Eat me. --- Week 6 isn't too notable besides the fact that somehow one of the previous wildcards (Mark McGrath as Orca) somehow go integrated into group A as a member during the same week of them introducing another wildcard, Omarion's "The Yeti". I only bring this up because if they're going to integrate two wildcards into a week and already remove the specialty factor from one of them, then what was even the point of the gimmick? The show would have been better off mix and matching members from groups A and B each week for the performance lineup instead of muddying the group lineups with wildcard characters like this. --- Week 7 is upsetting to me. Two hour special. 8 Performances. Two people out. And who you may ask? Why, wildcard from previous weeks Bobby Brown who was given a super obvious punt song (that he did pretty well on salvaging on the back half of the performance), and Tamera Mowry, who gave a solid pop performance that week. I only bring up Mowry's performance because during that same week, Nick Lachey gave us all a very underwhelming, overly clean performance of Foo Fighters "The Pretender". This is really upsetting because the judge evaluation is extremely suspect here, as they were giving Mowry plenty of legitimate praise, while all they gave Lachey was "wow that was solid. haha ur such a rocker :^)". It's just really upsetting to see how the judges evaluation pans out, because for the record, Lachey won this season, and I honestly think he should have been punted this week. This is also coming from a week where Omarion gave us a cover of Justin Bieber's "Lonely", which is another song I hope desperately leaves the pop music lexicon, because like 7 years, it's a sentimental white boy ballad that just doesn't authentically resonate. --- Week 8 isn't super notable besides the show giving Tyrese Gibson a super obvious punt song, and wow, who would have guessed it, Tyrese Gibson was eliminated that week after being given a super obvious punt song. Zzz. --- Week 9 isn't super notable besides another upset to me. So this week, Hanson (who got eliminated) gave a pretty solid performance of "I'm Still Standing". So what did they lose to you ask? How about Jojo giving us a cover of Ed Sheeran's "Thinking Out Loud" with extremely questionable instrumental accompaniment. I can't remember exactly how I articulated it when I first watched it, but to put it in perspective, when LeAnn Rimes aimed for art, she succeeded. When Jojo aimed for art, it just left me confused. I honestly though Jojo should have gotten the boot here, but c'est la vie. --- Week 10 is where Omarion gets eliminated after being given a punt song (surprise). A middle energy performance of "Celebration" by Kool & The Gang isn't much to write home about, but I sometimes get suspicious of the behind the curtain politics of the show. The same week they give Omarion a super obvious punt song is also the second week in a row where Jojo gives us an artsy take on a song that nobody really knows. I'm not saying that Omarion's repertoire coordinator forced him into taking a punt song that week in order to let Jojo get to the finale, but. Wait, no, nevermind, that is what I'm saying. I feel bad for Omarion here. I do think it's pretty bollocks that Omarion basically got to come into the top 8 playoffs off of only one performance (which is a severe abuse of the wild card mechanic from the show producers), but they actually were trying to go for this neat character arc with the character of the "The Yeti" in the song choice. Like, the writers actually put some care into it, and then they give him a punt song on both a writing and performance level, and it just leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I also just remembered that week 10 is where Donnie Whalberg's character of Cluedle-Doo both performs and unmasks. Cluedle-Doo was another dead television gimmick for the season. See, all the characters get clue packages, but Cluedle-Doo will come in and block certain clues from being revealed to the judges, instead replacing them with clues provided by Doo himself. If that sounds annoying, that's because it is. More so when done by a character pompous attitude that does nothing but interfere. I do want to point out however that when I say that Donne performed, Donnie PERFORMED. There are no two ways about it, Donnie's cover of Return of the Mack was the best performance of this week. The only thing that even came close was the Chameleon. I don't need middling Kool & The Gang covers, I don't need art performances of songs I've never heard, and I don't need a Lewis Capaldi cover done by Nick Lachey (so much emotional white boy music this season. Gag me). I really think that Donnie should have been a regular contest, and I think that Nick Cannon should have been Cluedle-Doo as a gimmick character. It's more obvious, and it makes more sense. Obviously this leaves characters to create and fill slots for, but damnit, don't tease me with one of the best performances of the season just to let it whittle out like that. --- Alright, Week 11...the finale. There really isn't much to say, so I'm just going to cut right to it. I don't know what that cover of "Faithfully" Nick Lachey gave us was. There's an obvious problem with the Masked Singer where the short performance time makes slow burn ballads like faithfully translate poorly. As a result, the emotional arc of the performance feels stunted, and it's capped off with a declaration fest ending in one sustained note for "wow, I don't know anything about a good performance, but I'm easily impressed : 0" bait. This is clearly the weakest performance from the three tonight. Jojo's cover of "How Am I Supposed To Live Without You?" by Michael Bolton is...better than what Nick Lachey gave us, but it has its own problems. The Bolton original earworms on you because of the anguish in Bolton's vocal tone. Jojo is too clean to give us even a smidge of anguish until after she's unmasked. That more forgivable though. I'm not going to forgive Jojo for littering an emotional ballad for multiple unnecessary pop diva vocal runs. They're not appropriate here for emotional flavor. They don't add anything musically. They just feel like a forced device from the executives perspective. They stand out in poor musical taste, and they really take away from what Jojo was trying to do in the chorus. Speaking of, the short form nature of the performances makes doing a double chorus with a key change from one chorus to the next feel like another arc stunt. Just bad direction right there. And finally, Wiz Khalifa as the Chameleon doing Gangsta's Paradise. I'm just gonna say it. Wiz Khalifa got robbed. Hip Hop performers tend to be pretty middling on the Masked Singer, with Bow Wow just beefing it at the end of season 3, and Busta Rhymes being unceremoniously eliminated week 1 of season 4. Wiz was different though. Wiz knew what he wanted to do with not only the character, but also with his performances. Chameleon was by far the most consistent and quality character of the season, with only one marginally middling performance during his run. Wiz's cover of Gangsta's Paradise isn't a masterclass in voice personality, but contextually for the show, it pushed more for what the character was trying to do right at the end where it counts, and the judges failed to evaluate that correctly. Wiz was actually doing sung parts that week. Wiz was engaging with the crowd and judges far more than Jojo and Nick were. Wiz even gave stage presence and his musical presence a real arc in this performance. On top of his already present cool swagger that he had on stage, this was easily the best performance of not only the finale, but also for the Chameleon. It's even up there for the best performances of the season. Giving Wiz third place for two C tier pop ballad performances shows a super evident lack of evaluation skills in the judges, and really reinforces the super obvious ballad bias the show has. --- So anyways, this has been a long one, but I think I got it all out there. Masked Singer season 5 really took the uninteresting quality level of Season 4 and just elevated it to being obvious and gimmicky on top of that. I've seen shows become dead television in my time, but this is a staggering nose dive into the realm of dead television. I "hope" Season 6 is "better" than this (if we even get one. This season might have been so gimmicky because the ratings could have sucked hard), but I'm certain it will be if this is the direction they opted for within just one season. Sorry to talk your ear off, but as someone who likes to think they know what good musical performance is in a context like this after being in many concerts in popular music contexts, this show has really not sustained itself as being "it", chief.

[gaybitchloki]

in which loki makes mistakes

In retrospect, the fact that American colleges would have American parties at their American fraternities should not be as surprising as it is, and yet Loki’s already-low expectations are somehow only shattered further when he crosses the beer-spattered threshold into the house of ΣΚΥΛΑ or whatever it was called. The theme is something fittingly asinine — Hawaiian safari, or Steve Irwin the Crocodile Hunter, or some other hot-weather excuse for the women to wear literal fishnets as wrap dresses and for the men to wear visors and cut-off shorts — and normally, Loki would rather quite literally die than attend something of this calibre, but reclusive international student beggars cannot be choosers, and a party is a party.

However, while Loki may have lost his dignity the very first time he attended a frat party (barely a week ago, practically his first stop upon deplaning at Logan International), he still maintains his pride, and so he has come in disguise: between the face-swallowing dark sunglasses, the pale green satiny vest, and the ambiguously sporty baseball cap on his head, he is entirely unrecognizable. The sunglasses also afford him the luxury of observing freely, one of the many reasons he frequently chooses to adorn himself with a pair even when indoors, and so his expression behind said sunglasses (which cost approximately as much as a half-semester at this university) is one of unadulterated disdain as he beholds the utter hedonism occurring before him.

No wonder Thor would choose such a place to attend. Just the inadvertent thought of his name makes Loki’s lip curl instinctively, but before he can let that blossom into a full-on sneer, he heads for what appears to be the kitchen so as to procure some alcohol.

Yes, Thor is here somewhere. Not here, literally, not at this party, but somewhere on this campus. Presumably, he has friends, paramours, confidantes, and he’s forgotten entirely about Loki, just as Loki wanted. This place is perfect for him; it is loud, obnoxious, a shameless display of brainlessness and wanton pleasure, and while Loki would never decry wanton pleasure, it is the brainlessness with which he takes issue. In the living room, he can see someone being used as a human target for Nerf gun practice, and on the front lawn, there had been a young man wearing a full-body alligator costume, with cut-outs over his nipples. Truly the peak of intellectualism and community organization, or whatever nonsense fraternities attempt to say in self-defense when criticized.

Loki is faced with several options: Mystery Punch (Pink), bagged wine (red), Mystery Punch 2 (orange), and beer (beige). He decides on Mystery Punch 2, thinking all the while that he should really make some connections with the theater community on-campus. They probably have absinthe at their parties. Which reminds Loki that he needs to add himself to the campus occult society’s listhost, and he pulls out his phone to do just that as he sips his Mystery Punch 2 and begins heading out of the kitchen again to see what else there is to do.

He walks into a wall.

The wall smells appallingly, devastatingly familiar and something near Loki’s anterior cruciate ligament trembles. No. Not here, not now, this can’t be happening. He didn’t even tell Thor where he’d applied, let alone where he’d gotten into or was going; he’d instructed Odin and Frigga to do the same, and they’d never questioned him. His intention had been to avoid Thor for the next four years, as impossible as that now seemed, not to run face-first into him while wearing a seafoam-green vest at a frat party.

Thor’s hands, of course they’re Thor’s hands, come up to grip Loki by the shoulders and steady him. Loki can barely even see — he’s pressed quite snugly against Thor’s chest — but he knows it’s him. Only Thor would wear khaki hot pants and a tits-out tank top and make it look haute couture instead of trashy. It’s appalling. Loki, breath stuck in his throat and half his drink spilled down Thor’s front, instinctively pushes Thor’s hands off of him and stumbles backwards. He hasn’t seen him in— fuck, it’s been more than a year at this point, but Thor looks nothing like how he did the last time Loki saw him face-to-face. That tragic, sad-eyed smile and “If that’s what you really want, brother” expression is entirely gone, replaced with drunken good-natured mirth, and Loki feels sick.

“Easy there,” Thor booms, reaching out to touch Loki again. He doesn’t recognize him. Either he’s really spectacularly drunk or Loki’s disguise is just that good; in all honesty, it’s probably both. Loki is so stunned by this realization that he doesn’t push Thor away this time, which only makes the stupid smile on Thor’s awful face spread. “You alright?”

Loki nods, careful to keep his head tilted down just so, not wanting Thor to look at him too closely. This turns out to be a bad move, since Thor leans in to follow him, ducking down to catch his eye.

“Have I seen you before?” Thor asks, something like wonder in his tone, and Loki shakes his head very minutely.

“Don’t think so,” Loki mumbles, American accent convincing enough, especially since Thor’s drunk. “Sorry.”

“Wish I had,” Thor says, which is the most confusing thing Loki’s ever heard, but then Thor’s making everything worse by leaning in closer, something very strange in his smile. Loki’s seen it before, but not directed at him, only ever from a distance, and— “I’m Thor, what’s your name?”

Loki’s brain goes blank. “…Kevin,” he says.

“Kevin,” Thor repeats as though it’s the best thing he’s ever heard. “What a beautiful name.”

Is it? What it is is a difficult name to pronounce with an American accent when one is Norwegian, but it’s too late to take it back. Loki nods faintly again and lifts his drink to his mouth, hoping Thor will leave him alone so Loki can make his escape. This is another bad move, since it reminds Thor that Loki had spilled his drink all over him, but instead of saying something about how now his shirt was ruined, he takes Loki’s cup from him and pushes his way through the kitchen to get Loki a refill. As he goes, girls practically fall over themselves to smile at him and guys clap him on the shoulder or back and Thor greets each one of them with equal effusiveness and equal warmth, but the one he comes back to is Loki, a full cup in hand. “Here,” he says, returning it to him. Loki hadn’t moved a muscle since Thor had turned away, too stunned to do otherwise. Thor is smiling at him like that again, eyes warm, eyelashes downcast, and Loki takes a small sip of his drink (the fucking dumbass had poured him a top-up of Mystery Punch 1, not 2, and the flavor combination is dreadful) for lack of anything better to do.

“Thanks,” Loki says, and tries to leave.

Thor’s faster than him, though, a hitherto unsuspected ability that emerges only when he’s drunk, and catches Loki around the shoulders, leaning in to try and see him closer. “You look very familiar,” he declares, and Loki shakes his head once again, remembering to slip his phone into his pocket before Thor can notice any identifying features about it (such as the 24k gold inlay around the home button and the engraving of the Laufeysen family crest on the back).

Loki shrugs, figuring Kevin is a mousy type that isn’t used to receiving attention from huge godlike fraternity brothers at parties. “Dunno why.”

“You have a very charming speaking voice,” Thor continues, and Loki bites the inside of his cheek in self-reprimand; evidently, his American accent hasn’t passed muster. “Where are you from? California? Illinois? Mis-si-ssi-ppi?” He over-enunciates each syllable, and Loki knows that all he’s doing is showing off how many states he knows, so he pays it no particular attention.

That being said, Thor is expecting an answer, and Loki panics and says, “Minnesota,” yet another word difficult to pronounce sans accent.

“Minnesota,” Thor repeats thoughtfully. His arm is still around Loki’s shoulders, weighing heavily on Loki’s slender frame. “I am from Norway. Du er veldig søt!”

Loki realizes very abruptly what’s going on and chokes on the sip of Mystery Punch Swirl he’d just taken. While he splutters, Thor coos over him and pats him with an impossibly gentle, impossibly huge hand on the back. Thor is flirting with him, with his own adopted brother, long-lost and prodigal and all kinds of wicked, and were Thor to see Kevin with his sunglasses and hat and vest off he’d likely be so disappointed and ashamed, and yet Loki does not unmask himself, does not reveal that he knows exactly what Thor just said, he just stays where he is. “Um, what?” he says, mouth moving before his brain can catch up. Kevin took French in high school, not anything Scandinavian, so there’s no reason for him to speak Norwegian.

“Ah, nothing,” Thor says, that secretive, warm smile taking over his features again. One of his hands starts coming up and heading for Loki’s sunglasses, and Loki shies away very quickly, making Thor make a mournful, questioning noise. “I wish to see you, Kevin! You really do look very familiar.”

“We haven’t met before,” Loki mumbles, taking a quick sip of punch. “And my eyes are, like, super dilated right now, it’s bright as fuhck in here.”

It works. Thor straightens up once more but makes no move to leave Loki’s side. “What do you study, Kevin?”

Kevin is a maths major, so Loki says, “Maths,” then remembers that Americans don’t pluralize mathematics and quickly continues, “…’s what I’m studying.”

“Fascinating,” Thor says, seeming genuinely fascinated. “Is this your first time here? Shall I give you a tour?”

“Okay,” Loki says before he can stop himself. Maybe he’ll transfer to Harvard and never have to deal with this again; he’ll begin an application tomorrow morning, first thing. For now, he abandons his drink on a kitchen counter and lets Thor tug him along through the sweaty masses of partygoers.

“Have you ever been to Norway?” Thor is asking as they go, somehow managing to make time to smile at everyone who smiles at him as they pass. Loki keeps his head down, eyes fixed on the swell of Thor’s bicep. “It’s such a beautiful place, you’d really love it. I’m from Oslo— well, near Oslo, but it’s near enough that it may as well be.”

American college has rotted Thor’s brain. Prior to coming here, he’d have never associated Bærum with Oslo, and Loki huffs quietly to himself under his breath as he follows after him. ��No,” he says, since Thor had asked a question. Kevin isn’t very well-travelled, after all.

“Oh, you simply must go, you’ll love it,” Thor says, drunk enough to repeat himself and flirt with his brother. “This is the living room!”

Loki could see that for himself perfectly well without Thor’s narration. “Oh,” he says.

“Kevin,” Thor says, suddenly altogether too close, his voice dropping lower in both pitch and volume. “Is it so loud in here. Can we go somewhere quieter to talk? You seem to have so many interesting things to say.”

That catches Loki and Kevin both off-guard. He’s seen Thor flirtatious, of course, he’s thought of practically nothing else for the past five or six or ten years, but he’d somehow expected more of him, not the standard douchebag lines. How disappointing. How bland. Thor should be embarrassed, honestly, that his flirting is so weak, so easy to see through, and— “Okay,” Loki’s mouth says before Loki’s brain can run away with this any further, and Thor’s smile lights up his whole body with its force and brilliance as he tugs Loki down the hall to ‘somewhere quieter.’

“This is the media room,” Thor introduces, sounding absurdly proud of a space with whose creation he presumably had nothing to do.

Loki looks around. It’s a decently-sized space with two decently-sized televisions currently being used for a racing game, but Thor isn’t leading him over to play, he’s walking them both to a couch of dubious character and sitting down, sprawling out, thighs spread and leaving Loki barely any room to sit next to him. Loki’s narrow, though, so he makes it work, sliding in by his side and trying to get comfortable. He hasn’t sat this close to Thor in years, if ever, and certainly not ever in this context, Thor so warm and affectionate and undeniably romantically interested.

“What do you think?” Thor asks. Loki’s visceral reaction to the sincerity in his voice isn’t one he can help, but he can disguise it, turning his face away to conceal the way his mouth twists bitterly as if he’s looking around to better see the space.

“It’s cool,” Loki says. His voice sounds less Kevin-esque in the quieter room, so he’ll have to keep talking to a minimum. Somehow, though, he’s starting to get the sense that Thor isn’t all that interested in talking, since Thor is moving closer already, and Loki can feel his eyes on him like a prickle on the back of his neck.

“Kevin,” Thor says, softer, lower still, and Loki turns to look at him. Thor lifts a hand as if to take Loki’s hat off, then thinks better of it and settles his hand on the side of Loki’s neck. A shiver runs down Loki’s spine, unbidden, unexpected. He should stop this. He should tell Thor— he should take off his glasses— or he could just leave, that’d be easier, get up from this couch and go straight out the door and not look back— he can’t move, he’s helpless, he’s wanted this too badly and for too long and finally, finally Thor is talking to him and looking at him like Loki’s always wanted for him to and Loki, selfish, cruel Loki, can’t do anything to stop him. “Jeg vil gjerne kysse deg.”

Loki’s stomach flips over and he almost moves forward to close what little distance remains between them, but he hesitates, remembers that Kevin wouldn’t understand. “What?” he breathes, eyes darting down to Thor’s mouth, his mouth which is so soft, which is so kind, which deserves better than this.

“I want to—”

Before Thor can even finish speaking Loki has straddled his lap and claimed him, arms winding around his broad, strong shoulders, his mouth pressing to Thor’s with all the sharpness and cruelty he is best known for. Thor makes a surprised noise and melts, meets him there, his hands taking Loki by the waist. Even though Thor is drunk, he kisses back hard, not letting Loki take any more ground than he already has; it’s a clash of teeth and tongues, hot gasps of air the only thing between them when Loki turns his head the other way and kisses him deeper.

Care goes out the window, and Loki fumbles to take off his sunglasses and baseball hat so there won’t be anything in the way, nothing at all, nothing disrupting his one and only chance to have Thor in his grasp like this. He is kissing Thor wholly, deeply, licking into his mouth and biting on his lip and dragging his fingers through Thor’s hair, kissing him like he’s dying for it, like he’s been starving for it, and he has. Thor will never know the extent to which he has. For some reason, though, Thor is kissing him back the exact same way, his grip tightening on Loki’s waist to drag him closer in his lap and a strong arm finally winding around his back to keep him there.

Loki knows he needs to stop this, needs to stop himself, but he’s incapable. Nothing remains but Thor’s mouth, the hot slip of his tongue, his golden skin under Loki’s palms, pulse beating hard when Loki presses a thumb under his jaw to keep his head tilted up. When Loki bites at him and pulls back, Thor hisses a low breath and pulls Loki in again, going in practically tongue-first for a kiss that leaves Loki shuddering, reduced to a thing that wants Thor, hungry for the weight of Thor’s body against his own. Thor wants him, too, and the certainty of it is blinding, making Loki gasp against Thor’s mouth. Thor echoes him with a low, throaty noise that’s almost animal, and Loki’s dizzy, losing it completely, and if he doesn’t stop now, he never will, and there’ll be no going back after that.

What can it be but a testament to how deeply Loki loves Thor that he stops himself then? The amount of effort it takes is one that Loki hadn’t known himself capable of producing. He wants, he needs, but he knows Thor wouldn’t want this. If he did, he wouldn’t want it like this. Loki loves him more than he is selfish, and he pushes Thor away, gasping, “I have to go, I’m sorry.”

“Wha— Kevin,” Thor says, breathless and dismayed. Loki shakes his head, hair falling over his face, and slips out of his tight grasp and out of his lap. Thor starts to sit up, starts to reach out for him, but his hand freezes in mid-air and in the split second before Loki turns to go, he sees a hint of recognition on Thor’s face in his darkened blue eyes, above his red wet mouth.

Loki flees. Thor doesn’t go after him, and Loki doesn’t look back over his shoulder. On his way out of the room, Loki bumps shoulders with some square-faced dirty blond guy who looks very confused, but Loki doesn’t have time to do damage control on everyone who might have seen his face; he just needs to get out of there.

Compared to the heavy, humid air inside the frat house, the early September chill comes as a much-needed shock to Loki’s system, and he stands on the lawn for a brief moment to inhale deep lungfuls of it before pulling out his phone and heading down the block, waiting to call an UberBlack until he’s a safe distance away from the house and there’ll be no chance of Thor coming after him.

What has he done? How could he do that? And yet he’s still not sure if he regrets it or not, considering it was his only chance and, more likely than not, Thor will never find out. Even if Thor finds out Loki’s here, he still wouldn’t believe Loki would go to a frat party in disguise and make out with him, since the concept of Loki going to a frat party is utterly alien as it is. Loki saw no one he knew, and his face was hidden to Thor for the entirety of the affair save for the last moment, but Thor will likely attribute the brief glimpse of Loki’s face to something like wishful thinking. Loki will burn this vest, and he left the hat and glasses there with Thor. There will be nothing tying him to this event or this night, and Thor will never have to find out.

Loki cries in the Uber back to his dorm. The driver, an immensely wrinkled old man whom the Uber app had described merely as ‘Stan,’ politely says nothing, but when Loki starts stepping out of the car upon arrival, he says, in his wrinkly old voice, “Chin up, kid. It’ll work itself out. These things usually do.”

Loki sniffs, neither grateful nor ungrateful, closes the door behind himself, and goes up to his cold and impersonal dorm room to collapse into fitful, dreamless sleep. He’ll deal with this never, he decides. Thor will never find out, and Loki will never tell him, and they’ll likely never see each other again, and that’ll be that. Either way, it won’t go anywhere. There’s no chance of them looking for apartments together, or kissing passionately on top of a table in a library study room, and certainly not of them taking all of Thor’s dreadful friends to summer with them back home in Norway. No chance of any of that at all. It ends here.