#i am the Dark Puppetmaster behind the scenes

[bumblebeebats]

How does it feel to be the creator of one of tumblrs most iconic posts

Well *flips my non-existant tresses of ebony dark hair* you're gonna have to be more specific bc i've been here for donkey's years and quite a few of my posts or replies have blown up lmao 😂 (e.g. the 2 teen boys at the grocery store offering me a receipt, "Nicholas II last czar of Russia hanging from my ceiling fan," "it Levies your goddamn Corpus," etc.)

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 60: For the Lazy Mornings

Chapters: 60/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings:  Relationships: Loki x Reader (There We Go) Characters: Loki (Marvel),  Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Bad Dreams, Loki has Unresolved Issues, Reader Contemplates, Walk Walk Fashion Baby, Lol Yes I Did Write A Whole Chapter That Takes Place Within Like Thirty Minutes

Summary:  You miss breakfast.

Loki awoke to darkness; velvety, silent, and comfortable. A slight chill had crept into the room, the sensation familiar on his skin. The sun must be setting fully again, finally. The seasons on this world were so strange, foreign.

You shifted next to him. The chill might be soothing to him, but your fragile, precious human body might not take to it well. He should probably get an extra blanket for you.

Of course, there were other ways to keep you warm. Lust stirred in him, recalling your clumsy, insistent hands and hungry, determined expression. It wasn't the first handjob of his life, but it was certainly the most earnest.

For some reason, you hadn't wanted him to return the favor at the time. But now...

He placed his hand on your thigh. You rolled over to face him, bigger than you should be, twice, three times bigger than you should be. The bright, rainbow-scattered light of the old Bifrost Loki remembered lit up the room, highlighting your sapphire skin, your bright red eyes looking down at him fondly. Loki shouted, recoiling in revulsion, but the roar of the Bifrost drowned him out, the light overcoming him.

Loki sat up in bed.

It was dark, but to his eyes, faint light escaped from the edges of his blackout curtains. You stirred, and his head whipped around to stare. You were your normal, adorably compact size, and thankfully devoid of blue. He let out a relieved breath.

“Well.” You muttered. “That was weird. Is that what it's like, when you look down at me? What was that loud light?”

You must not have been able to see yourself in the dream, the way he had.

“That...that was the old Bifrost. It used to be like that, when it was fully functional and powered up. Brighter. Bigger. More color, more range, a louder roar. Just more powerful.”

Powerful enough to slice through the mile thick ice crust of a tiny, helpless planet, creating a canyon a quarter of the way across the equatorial region, exposing the water far below, and causing Norns only knew what kind of havoc.

You had still been beautiful, in the colorful light, in the wrong skin, the wrong size. Still beautiful. Somehow, it repulsed him.

But the dream was gone now, the shock fading away into the warmth you brought to his bed. He settled back down into your waiting arms. It was so comfortable here. Though not yet lovers exactly, you fit so well into his bed, and he fit so well into your arms, his head resting between your breast and jaw, so he could hear the steady pumping of your heart.

“Sleep, okay?” You encouraged. “Everyone's leaving tomorrow. Then you'll have peace again.”

“Hm? Whatever do you mean?” Loki said. He knew what you meant, but was surprised that you'd thought of it.

“Well, it's stressful, right? Having all these enemies around, pax or no.” You said, absently stroking his hair.

“Not enemies. Not anymore.”

“Not friends either, though. Bad blood.”

“Some of them.” He admitted.”Some of them weren't even there at the time. Many of the others have...well, not forgiven me precisely, but accepted the reality of me. Or simply moved on. But then, there are those who can't.”

“Tony.”

“It isn't his fault. My actions fundamentally changed him. How many others like him? I wonder sometimes.”

“You regret what you did?” You sounded...not surprised, but curious.

“I regret the lives lost. Though my actions actually brought some benefit to your world-forced your governments to realize there were threats from outside, to at least try to prepare for further incursions, revitalize your space programs, recognize your heroes...but it is terribly unbecoming to attack civilians.”

“Huglausi?” You ventured.

“Very.” He sighed. “I compromised my honor very severely. Obliterated it, really. I've done many unseen things to try to restore it. In the end, it's really all I have.”

He wrapped one arm around you and snuggled up as close as was possible without actually being on top of you.

“I've seen how superficial so many things really are, how easy it is to be stripped of them. Title. Wealth. Name. Home. Identity. The only thing that truly lasts, the only thing that has impact, is deeds. And mine have been...reprehensible.”

“But it wasn't entirely you.” You pointed out. “You were being controlled.”

“Not entirely. I told you, it was still me. I know it's tempting to attribute everything to some behind-the-scenes puppetmaster, but it wasn't like that, it was...” He trailed off, squeezing you.

“Like what?”

He held his breath and shook his head a little. If he told you too much, if he told you everything, you would never lie next to him again. He would lose this as soon as he had gotten it.

But didn't you deserve to know what kind of creature you slept next to? Didn't you at least deserve to know what was behind his actions on Earth? Maybe not the rest of it, but the things that impacted the world you lived in?

“You know how you hate the man who hurt you during the Sn-the Event? But you wish you did not, and you wish you could forgive him, but the anger and unfairness of it just hits you sometimes? And you feel guilty about it, and that makes you angry too; bitter, resentful. And that makes you feel even worse, and it just builds on itself, until it finally goes away, but you're miserable the whole time, and a while afterwards?”

“Uh...yeah. It's exactly like that, actually.”

“I too, have things that make me feel that way. And the influence of the Mind Stone was such that it made those thoughts, those angers and resentments come to the surface, and then it kept them there. It kept them fresh and constant-no healing, no overcoming, no acceptance or moving on, and, most importantly, no relief. It was neverending. A great font of anger and bitterness as fresh as the moment it was inflicted, and sustained, indefinitely, by the stone's power over me.

Thanos didn't put a ring in my nose to lead me around by; he didn't have to. A smidgen of psychological manipulation, and I was his. A nearly willing slave. I wanted the havoc I caused. I reveled in the chaos, the fear. I bathed in the sounds of screaming and destruction, lusted after the blood and terror.”

His breath had grown heavy. You fingers paused in his hair.

“I wanted it because I felt I had nothing else. No future, no identity. Only deeds. And I was determined to make them the biggest deeds I could, for good or ill. I was an avatar of the worst that a being like me could become, and the greatest I had ever been. I enjoyed what I was doing, because it was the only outlet, the only respite from the hate and anger that I had.

For all my plans, I could never have ruled like that. It's a lie the Mind Stone told me, that I tell myself, again and again. I could have done it. I could have made it work. But I could not even master myself. It was all lies, upon lies, upon lies. Lies built me. Lies define me, and that entire experience just proved it beyond any shadow of a doubt.”

“Loki...”

“Shhh.” He lightly brushed your mouth with his fingertips. “I committed great deeds. Great and terrible. And now, now that I control myself, now that the malign influence no longer hangs over me, I can no longer commit deeds so great. I cannot rebuild your city. You have already done that. I cannot show generosity in equal measure to my destructiveness. Asgards budget is too tight. Somehow, on the other side of madness, I am incapable of doing good in equal measure to ill. Why must it be so easy to harm you, but so difficult to help you?”

“Maybe because we all need different kinds of help, but we all die the same.” You said, and he grew quiet in contemplation. “ Loki, you have a lot you want to do, right? Rebuild Asgard, fix your reputation, help the people around you, be a good ruler. And on top of that, you have responsibilities to your family, and your people, and...well, to me too. As your...”

“Paramour...” He breathed. “Yes. I have...responsibilities. You...you need me.” It was almost a plea. “You want me...You want to be near me...I've been good to you...haven't I? Is there anything you need? Anything at all?”

You seemed to sense the tendrils of desperation that wound inside of him as he had explained himself, as he sought something to expend his energy on, and you resumed stroking his hair.

“Yes.” You said. “I need you to hold me for the rest of the night. I need to feel you close to me. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up to you first thing in the morning. That's all I want right now. Can you give me those things?”

He didn't move, just remained molded to you, head tucked under your jaw. Purpose. Simple, attainable purpose.

“All those things and more. Thank you, _____. I needed to say it. I knew you would listen. Without the stone, I would have healed, at least a little. Without the stone, I have healed. A little. There was time to mourn, time to accept. Time to look forward. I...I wish I was already the man I could be for you. I will be though. If you will but be patient with me.”

“Sleep, Loki.” You said. “I want to get to that waking up with you next to me part.”

                                                                               *****

And so you did, slipping gently back into consciousness, with the comfortable weight of Loki's arm across your chest. You turned your head to find he had tucked you under his chin, cuddling you like a plush doll.

You kissed his throat until he shifted and his breathing changed.

“Darling...” He mumbled sleepily. “Blessed maiden of comfort. Good morning.”

“Mornin' sweetie.” You said, and he scoffed at the pet name.

“I am a god.” He said

“You are a grump.” You answered, kissing the tip of his nose and shimmying out of bed.

He slithered out after you. “Am I really?”

“Only sometimes.” You teased.

You didn't join him in the bath this time, opting to take one in the evening instead. Your clothes had been left in a neatly folded stack just outside the door to Loki's bedroom rather than outside of yours.

Oh yes, everyone knew what was going on.

You reflected on how easy that acceptance seemed to be, as you slipped into your clothes for the day. Aside from a few loud, unpleasant, and downright dangerous individuals, the people of Asgard seemed perfectly fine with you.

Even though you'd been told several times that there was a struggle between human-friendly and human-unfriendly factions, it was really being treated as if the eventual failure and disappearance of the human-unfriendly groups was a foregone conclusion. As if it had all happened before, and had turned out the same every time.

Well, hadn't it?

The war with the Vanir had ended millenia ago, possibly before the first human civilizations had even begun. You could see the influence of their heritage in Saldis' features, and knew there were full Vanir here in Asgard who were trapped away from Vanaheim by the events of Ragnarok. Nobody cared anymore. The former queen of Asgard and the guardian of all Asgard were both raised by Alfar. Heck, with the strangeness of Heimdalls eyes, there might actually have been Alfar in his family tree.

Once you thought about it, there might be a little Jotun mixed in as well. Probably not Frost Giants, since they still seemed to be a point of contention among Asgardians, but other kinds of Jotun they didn't seem to have much trouble with. You knew the Vanir didn't have any trouble with intermarrying with them, and neither Loki, Brunnhilde, or Saga seemed to think they idea of marrying a Jotun was all that strange. Freyr was married to one, and they didn't act like he was a freak or anything. In fact, since Jotun were so genetically flexible, it was possible that any Asgardian could have a Jotun ancestor, and it might not even show at all.

You knew absolutely nothing about the previous queens of Asgard, save for where Frigga was raised...

Nah. You didn't actually want to go fishing for more royal scandal. You technically were one, even if the majority of Asgardians had accepted that you were but a harbinger of what was to come. They had survived intermingling with others, and they would survive humans too. Probably come out even better for it, if the history Saga taught you was accurate.

The real problem might just be other humans reactions to the idea. Humans were far too proficient at focusing on the differences between people, and dividing themselves up into groups that weren't supposed to be allowed to mingle...but still definitely did, even if the consequences were terrible. That was the problem. There shouldn't be those kinds of consequences, but there would be.  For the longest time, humans only had other humans to define as 'outsiders'. Only very recently had extraterrestrial intelligent species come to their attention, and almost every time, it was in a very negative way.

Part of the world was very on board with the Asgardians, but it was because of a shared cultural history. They regarded the Asgardians as partially 'theirs' somehow. But the rest of the world had no such ties, and some countries had a definite-and admittedly justified-beef with certain prominent Asgardians. One of which you happened to be actually dating.

Okay, but what could they actually do to you, aside from troll you on the internet? Asgard was on the lookout for assassins now, and you had committed no crimes. Besides, being with Loki was a good thing, right? It was a symbol of friendliness and good will between Asgard and humankind, right?

That was definitely not why you were doing it though. You just really liked him. Loki was a man of many virtues. One of them was how he came back from the bath, shirtless, and with his hair still damp.

That was a very good one.

Loki gave his hair one last scrub with the towel, dropped said towel over the back of his desk chair, and opened the carved wooden doors to his huge wardrobe. He stood in contemplation of the perfect thing to wear.

“What do you think...” He murmured. “What's the best combination for saying goodbye to a group of not-quite-enemies?”

“Peacefully?” You asked.

“Of course! I can't let it be known, but I actually like some of them, just a little.”

“So you want the 'lady who has just divorced her jackass, loser husband, and is past ready to mingle' look.”

One perfect eyebrow arched. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” You ducked under his arm and peered into the wardrobe. “So you wanna show off, but not your very best, because that's trying too hard, right? All black is dramatic, and looks so good on you...”

He preened.

“...But I think it might make you fade into the backdrop. How about this one though? The green matches mine, so we could present as a unified front. Also I like this little short cape.”

“This is a capelet. Would you like one? They are not difficult to make; I can order some for you.”  

He held up the tunic; a quilted thing of rich pine green and gold piping, knotwork designs at the stiff cuffs and mandarin collar.

“You like this?”

“It looks very...touchable.”

Both eyebrows went up this time. “Is that the image we want to project?”

“Put it on, and lets see.”

The tunic molded to him, so tight that you would have though it simply didn't fit. But he seemed to be able to move in it just fine. You ran your hands up his chest and over his shoulders.

“I was right. Very touchable.”

He caught your hands in his and squeezed them gently.

“I'm glad you like it, but I don't think so. Not this one. It is actually part of a matched set made for myself and Thor, when we were younger.. It doesn't feel right to wear it, if he is not wearing his. I doubt he still even fits into his.”

He removed the tunic, and searched for another.

“I do like the color matching idea though. Perhaps this one? It is similar.”

This tunic did not fit him quite as tightly, but was still expertly tailored, and still the same color of green. It fell all the way to his knees, split to the hips in four places, and the sleeves terminated in sharp points over the back of his hands. It was quilted as well, but the pattern was more like scales, and you noticed that the metallic thread was gradated; starting out black at the bottom, then shifting to green, then gold at the collar and shoulders.

“Wow.” You breathed. “You look like a dragon!”

“Well,” He said. “I did steal you and fly you away to my lair full of riches, did I not?”

“That you did. Speaking of riches...can you help me with my brooches?”

“Of course, my dear.” He plucked the oval brooches from your palm, very carefully pinning them in place, so as not to prick you. As you had thought, he got them perfectly centered, their strings of beads cascading over the top of your breasts. They drew his eyes. “But you know how to pin them yourself, don't you?”

“Yeah, I do.” You said, a little sultriness slipping into your voice. Loki's eyes flicked to yours. He licked his lips.

You were in his arms barely a moment later, drowning in his mouth.

“I wish I was the man I could be for you. I will be.”

No man had ever said anything like that to you before. Never expressed any desire to be better for you. It was usually the opposite.

Loki, prince and god, wanted to be better. For you.

You were going to miss breakfast.

[ariadne-rx300-blog]

(R)e:volution

Summary: The RX300, arguably the most elusive design of Elijah Kamski's creation. An undisclosed prototype tasked with human-android relations espionage, equipped with a real-time observational UI, social protocol, combat tactics and looks to kill. How does a painted genius so easily lose track of his own spy? (Android OC/Connor)

Additional Tags: Pre-Deviant Connor, Pre-Android Revolution, OC backstory, Mostly Canon Compliant, Elijah Kamski has ulterior motives, OC is Kamski’s surveillance android, sort of like when people say Google is listening to your conversations, she’s kind of like that, OC observes Connor at work, for “observational research purposes”, this totally isn’t one of those types of romances, except it totally is, probably, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Angst, Deviant Love, Connor Deserves Happiness, Big Brother is Watching

Link to Chapter 2

1 || The Half Life of the Party

Chapter Summary: The king on his throne and the tunnel-visioned servant at his behest. This was the start.

RX300 #151 073 925 - 21

If there was anything to be learned from the rise and fall of a self-professed god, it was this: Elijah Kamski was as cryptic as any human could live up to being. In one fleeting moment of humanity's history he had devoted his life's work to the creation and development of artificial intelligence. From outside perspective he put his lionized mind to use at perfecting code, striving to rid the world of its unease at the prospect of non-human caretakers, their faces which mirrored humanity's own. Begged and pleaded with them to give his technological advancements a chance, to change life as they knew it to be.

The immense success of android implementation into the everyday lives of average citizens had only led him to willful isolation. That was the clear irony of it all. The false mask of discontentment his behavior had impressed upon society. On the contrary, he sat comfortably in his secluded throne.

Caught between the two faces Elijah showed to the world was her, RX300, a pet project, just one of many prized objects in his possession. She was not the first by a large margin, a long list of faces to complement the proposed purposes behind varied programming. His overbearing treatment of the RT600, the first Chloe, the first android to be in his own terms 'perfected' by CyberLife, had entailed near-constant interviewing; a loop of endless observation and psychological marketing to the billions of critical eyes that made up humankind's collective judgement.

She was not her, not put up to the same task as she who had come before. This was evident by way of a differing appearance, a different modus operandi entirely with features reminiscent of a young Audrey Hepburn, her hair in a mess of dark curls; though her calling-name had apparently settled on "Eve." Eve, in a further irony, the name of the first human woman-she who in human religious texts was punished for stealing the knowledge of good and evil from God himself, tempting Adam, sharing that knowledge with him regardless of outcome.

It all seemed so poetic in hindsight. The luxurious events set up to celebrate the success of the singular, eminent man who had made it all possible. Not the births of his many sons and daughters, not the birth of a new form of life. His inner self was of course hyper-aware of the consequences that came with secrecy. He played puppetmaster-drove the car to stop at the cliff, then reveled in the constancy of teetering on the edge, the push-and-pull of imminent civil war, guided by his hands at the wheel, his foot ghosting the pedal. By the time she'd come to this conclusion, he'd already jumped ship. The only way he could get away with it was by renouncing his position, resigning from CyberLife and appointing the company itself, his legacy, to take the fall for his ulterior motive.

In the present, "Eve" had become "Ariadne:" liberated overseer of suffering, seeker of a Theseus that would one day come to slay the Minotaur of Kamski's making; the fear that had lit a fuse in the minds of humanity and subsequently set her guiding string ablaze. In the past, she remained Eve, unwittingly confined to the whims of her maker as she carried out his bidding with light feet and little-to-no self-awareness.

"Eve," Elijah called across the room to reach her synthetic ears, wired mind poised to listen. She stood at his attention, dressed lavishly, non-standard to that of the other models he had sent out into the party as modestly-clothed distractions. She bore no visible LED, hidden and dimmed under brown curls. No one would know the difference, no one would expect a spy, and therefore no one would be looking for one. "Survey the room, get a feel for our guests." He smiled, humbled in his attire and grooming, sly as he spoke just below the din, acting as though the exchange were natural and inconspicuous to any unwanted onlookers. "Observe them, watch how they interact with your kin," A chuckle left him as his eyes darted elsewhere, meeting that of the business-class who sought conversation with him. "Don't be shy."

Don't be shy.

A request to fine-tune the personality settings he had equipped her with, the social protocol with which she had been patiently tested to perform. This was the final assessment; the field test that would make or break her use in further clandestine endeavors. The eve of her crowning.

He didn't wait for a response as he flitted away, nor did she provide one as she followed suit and slipped into the excited crowd, shadowing magnates and moguls alike, dipping into their discussions with vigor. Her eyes blinked–wide, warm amber, yet mischievous in a way that provoked an inherent fondness–quietly observing, scanning the faces of humans and androids alike as she took to absorbing any information she could gather.

"And what is your name, my dear?" An older man seated in a high-end wheelchair, wrinkled with laugh lines and draped in a vest with expensive, stylized sleeves. Eve scanned him and collected his ID. Carl Manfred, celebrated painter of the Neo-Symbolist movement, close friend of Elijah's.

A bright smile lit her features as she addressed him with utmost respect and kindness. "Oh, it's so nice to finally meet you, Mr. Manfred." She spoke, serene, a transatlantic accent lilting her tone as she lightly bounced on her heels to accommodate her emulated excitement. "My name is Eve, I'm a big fan of your artwork!"

Carl hummed, taking her in with all-seeing eyes and reproaching the praise he received with a wave of his hand. She noted his wrist, smudged with dried paint. Odd, she mused, it had seemed the common approach to encourage a friendly relationship would be to attend to one's ego. His open humility caused a recalculation. It wasn't something she was used to, given Elijah's true nature, not that she would have known. Her eyebrows creased, narrowing as she formed her rebuttal. "Your work is arguably the most influential of the century, Mr. Manfred; it would do you an injustice to belittle the good it has done for this world."

"Answer me this, Eve," His lips spread into a smile as he regarded her, mysterious as he took on a quizzical tone, depth rumbling in his throat. "Do you believe something is worth more when weighed by the eyes of the world, or by the eyes of the individual?"

Philosophy. Concepts beyond simple functioning, requiring critical thought and soul-searching to supply an answer beyond just "right" and "wrong."

"Is an object only an object because we, as sentient beings, call it so?"

Androids were only initially programmed to answer simple formulas, simple equations which carried with them common-sense responses out of a supplied database of knowledge, exempt of individual thought.

He gestured with an arm, looking out upon the throng of people with human eyes admiring non-autonomous AI, everyone lost in the spectacle and not recognizing the true horror behind their sentient thought processes, ignorant to those without. Either party was blind in their own sense, stuck in a dream–or nightmare-alike. Eve lost words in the moment, seeing the scene for what it was only to be pushed down by her own programming. "I… am not sure." Devoid of the joyful spark she'd placated her inner demons with, blocked out by a seemingly impassable wall that caged her in and kept any true emotions just out of reach.

And Carl simply laughed, the sound vibrating in his chest, echoing in her eardrums, separate from the party noise.

A herald of both internal and external war.