#which they were incensed about because neither had agreed to that

[gay-edwardian]

Incredibly insulted that they weren’t even asked to cameo. What’s with the history of Mamma Mia and not consulting the women???

[commiegoth]

Interview with nonbinary trans author Kate Bornstein, promoting her book Gender Outlaw (Mondo 2000 #13, 1995)

Full text under cut

I‘m walking down 16th Street minding my own business. This good looking woman is coming toward me. She's got on baggy unbuttoned overalls and an orange tank top. Her arms look good, her shoulders look good, and what I can see of her stomach looks good. Two guys are standing on the sidewalk. As she passes them, one says to the other, “I'd like to take that one home.” The other guy agrees. The woman keeps walking. Now it's my turn to pass 'em. “I'd like to take that one home and knock A her around a little bit,” the first guy says. I keep walking. The other guy answers. “That's a her?”

But enough about me. This is supposed to be about Kate Bornstein who wants you to read her new book Gender Outlaw. Bornstein used to be a man; now she’s not. Bornstein used to be a heterosexual; now she isn't. Bornstein used to have a dick; now she doesn’t.

She’s a “used-to-be-a-man, three husbands, father, first mate on an ocean-going yacht, minister, high-powered IBM sales type, Pierre Cardin three-piece suitor, bar-mitzvah’d, circumcised yuppie from the East Coast… a used-to-be politically correct, wanna-be butch, dyke phone sex hostess, smooth talking, telemarketing, love slave, art slut, pagan Tarot reader, maybe soon a grandmother, crystal palming, incense burning, not man, not always a woman, fast becoming a Marxist.”

All that’s not what makes her an outlaw. What makes her an outlaw is she sees a time when folks will look at the binary gender system and throw back their heads and laugh— ha ha ha. Males and females and that’s it? Ha ha ha. Get the fuck outta here.

Bornstein’s looking forward to us all living in what author Marjorie Garber (Vested Interests, Routledge) calls the Third Space. “This whole concept of three is so beautiful,” Kate says, “because it includes the first two. I don’t say there’s a third space that exists between men and women. I say there’s a third space outside of the Binary which leaves the Binary as this construct off to the side, very fragile and apt to fall apart.”

If I were a man, everything about me that brings me grief in the world—the way | walk, the way I talk, the way I think, the way | stand, the way I sit, the way I dress, the way | cut my hair, how much I weigh, how much weight I lift—would not only be acceptable, it would be revered. If we lived in the Third Space, it wouldn't even matter.

Bornstein had to learn a lot of rules in order to fit in. Like when a man walks down the street he looks people in the eye; when a woman walks down the street she looks at the ground. And women talk different. They have higher, breathier voices and their speech is more modulated. In mixed conversations, it’s the woman's job to laugh at the bad jokes and fill in the awkward silences. They smile constantly while they’re talking and use tag questions to qualify sentences, like “you know what I mean?”

“All of these customs are forms of self-deprecation,” says Bornstein, “like learning how to keep my knees together and not putting my arm across the back of my seat in the subway train. A lot of that was not so much to be a woman as to pass as a woman, so that I wouldn't call attention to myself.”

If we lived in the Third Space, she wouldn't have had to worry. In fact, if we lived in the Third Space, she might not even have had penile conversion surgery.

“I don’t do well with might-have-beens,” she says. “I resent that I was manipulated into that surgery by every signpost in the culture. I was not aware of other possibilities at the time. I was a total subscriber to the Binary and to the genitals by which it stands.

“I knew I wasn’t BOY, I knew I wasn’t MAN. Neither of those categories fit for me. It didn’t feel right, I have no idea why. I tried for thirty some odd years and it didn’t work. The only other option I saw in the culture was GIRL, or WOMAN. Nowhere did I see that it was okay to be a “real woman”—which I believed in—with a penis! So the next step was get rid of the penis. This insistence on the Binary and the genital imperative that signals the Binary coerced me into that. If I knew everything that I know now, would I do it again? Yes. Absolutely yes, because sex is so much more fun now.”

Back to this idea of the Third Space, how do we get there?

“Cyberspace would be a doorway into the Third Space,” according to Bornstein. “Cyberspace frees us up from the restrictions placed on identity by our bodies. It allows us to explore more kinds of relationships.

“I can go online as anything. I go online as various kinds of women. I've gone online as a guy a couple of times; I’m playing a stable boy in a vampire scenario now. I’ve gone online as different monsters. I’ve gone online as Mr. Spock in a ‘Star Trek’ scenario.

“Cross-gender identity surfing online is so telling: Men slum and women step into the trappings of power as men. You talk to a man after he’s been a woman online and he'll usually laugh and describe some kind of sex he had, usually lesbian sex. But you talk to a woman who's been surfing as a man, there’s this spark there. There’s this wonder. There's this—'They really do have this power!’ As soon as men cop to the idea that women are learning this, they’re gonna be more frightened.”

Bingo.

In Gender Outlaw, Bornstein asks: “If wealth and power are important, and if in this world wealth and power belong to men, then why did I cease being a man and give up that wealth and power?"

Some male-to-female transsexuals argue—often in response to being excluded from women-born-women only clubs—that they didn’t have a real male experience because they were never real males. Bornstein’s not buying it. “I had a bona fide male experience—of course I did. I’ve been bar-mitzvah’d. I hated it. Being male and hating it sets up a fugue experience. It’s definitely a form of madness. | think one way of dealing with the madness is to say it never really happened. That’s a legitimate way of dealing with it, but the fact of the matter is, I spent over thirty years of my life as a man or boy. I did not like it. I hated it. I drank a lot. I did a lot of drugs. I played a lot of arcade games.”

Once you've altered your gender, it’s gotta seem like anything’s possible. The whole world must open up. Does that mean that transgender stuff is the final frontier? Bornstein doesn’t think so.

She believes that once people get a grip on the idea of the Third Space, and transgender stuff becomes passé, we're probably gonna have to look at other binary divisions. “What are the differences between animals and humans? What are the differences between plants and animals? What about artificial intelligence, androids like Data from “Star Trek?” They're gonna be around. | think the gender binary is the one most firmly entrenched in our culture simply because it’s the one that capitalism trades on the most, other than class. We haven't confronted class. A minor communist uprising in Eastern Europe is not dealing with class. Certainly, the United States has never dealt with class. I think the fact that my book actually got published by a respectable publisher is an indicator that the culture is ready to chew on gender, whereas I don’t think the American culture is as ready to chew on class.

“I'd say gender is the last apparent frontier. It’s the frontier that’s just become illuminated. It’s titillating. In public relations terms it’s sexy. In sex terms it’s sexy. It’s a movement, a real live movement—ready or not, here we come!”

Meanwhile, back on 16th Street.

I take a few more steps, then my brain turns over and I say to myself, “Fuck this shit.”

I stop, turn around, walk back, and stand in front of the first guy. “You say something to me?”

He’s shocked. He starts stuttering and shaking his head.

“Uh…uh…no…I was just…I mean…he was just…I mean…he wanted to know—"

I interrupt him.

“Something about knocking somebody around?”

He starts stuttering again.

“Uh…no…uh, I was just… I mean, he just… I mean, I was just saying—"

I interrupt him again.

“You know what it sounded like you said? It sounded like you said you wanted to suck my dick.”

“Uh…uh… your dick?” He looks at my crotch to see if I have one.

(I do, but it’s back at my apartment.)

“Yeah,” I say, “that’s what it sounded like you said. I think you want to suck my dick, don't you?”

He looks at my crotch again, then he looks back at my face. He grins, still stuttering.

Uh...well...I, I, I... I wouldn't mind.”

“That's what I thought,” I say, and walk away.

For an almost complete collection of Bornsteiniana, start with Gender Outlaw (Routledge), go directly to The Last Sex, Arthur and Mary-Louise Kroker (St. Martins Press), and keep an eye out for performances of Hidden: A Gender and Virtually Yours. The unsatisfied can obsessively watch for guest appearances on Geraldo.

[12romy]

Hi I know this I cheeky…but I failed my driving test and have had food poisoning this week. Is there anyway I could ask for a little Chewis prompt to be written? ANYTHING you like? It would cheer me up so much!

Hi darling!!! It's no problem at all, don't hesitate to ask! It always makes me happy to write prompts, and never hesitate to ask for specific stuff, too, if you want to!

I'm sorry you had such a back week, I hope you're feeling better... And I'm sure you'll pass your driving test next time!

I didn't really know what to write so, this is in the change of habits verse, end of season 2023! No real plot, just a fluffy slice of life ahah

Charles steps inside the silent house, dropping his bag and suitcase in the hall, and goes to faceplant on the couch as soon as he's out of his shoes and coat.

The season is finally over, thank god. Of course, he'll have to go back to Maranello, soon. Back to work, back to a shitty car and a shitty team. He'd rather not think about it right now.

He's tired. He hates himself for wishing he were in another team next year.

He doesn't know how long he stays on the couch, brooding, but soon enough the door opens. He perks up immediately, like an eager puppy when his owner gets back.

He rushes to the door, and literally throws himself in Lewis' arms. His boyfriend catches him, dropping bag and suitcase to do so, and makes them spin as Charles wraps his legs around his waist.

"I missed you!" Charles exclaims. He tries to kiss Lewis, but aims wrong because of the motion, and only catches the corner of his lips. Lewis stops spinning them around, and allows Charles to kiss him properly.

"It's been three days, darling," he chuckles.

"We've seen each other from afar in the paddock, it doesn't count," Charles pouts. "We didn't have any time for ourselves since Vegas!"

"I did miss this," Lewis nods, kissing him again before putting him down - or rather, tries to. Charles doesn't want to let go, and Lewis giggles at the way he's gripping onto him. "Fine, fine, I get the message, we're gonna cuddle. Can I just take my shoes off, first?"

"Fine," Charles agrees, sulking a little as he lets go of Lewis.

"How about we take a shower before cuddling? I smell like sweat and the inside of the airplane, not the best combo," Lewis suggest, and Charles has to admit he has a point.

"We can take a bath, instead," he offers. "That way we can get clean and cuddle at the same time."

Lewis has always been a pro at self-care, and so he draws them a warm bath, adding all sorts of products in it - all 100% plant based and organic - that smell amazing. He also lights up candles and incense sticks, and even adds actual rose petals to the water. Charles has no idea where they come from.

In the meantime, Charles prepares them some snack. Nothing too grand, just some fresh fruits and an assortment of dry nuts. He then puts on some jazz, a kind of music neither of them listens to much except when taking baths, and they settle in the tub. Lewis is resting his back against him and his head is on his shoulder, which allows Charles to wrap his arms around him.

The next couple of hours, after the bath, are used to undo each of Lewis' braids while distractingly watching a movie.

Charles realises Lewis fell asleep once he's finished, and smiles to himself. He manages to take a selfie with Lewis sleeping against him, and make it his new wallpaper.

He wonders what to do, then. Whether he should get up to make dinner, or maybe wake Lewis up.

He decides to do neither. He stays right there, half-sitting-half-laying on the bed, with Lewis pressed against him. They both could use the rest. They'll figure out dinner later.

He thinks distantly that going back to the factory will be even more painful, since it means leaving all this behind.

Better not to think about it, he still has a few of weeks in front of him. They're going to celebrate Christmas with their families, first in Monaco then in England. After that, they're going to America for the new year, before coming back home for Lewis' birthday.

He should look forward to it. So why can't he stop the anxiety rising in him at the thought of going back to Maranello?

Lewis makes a small noise in his sleep, and Charles is pulled out of his own mind immediately. Right. Lewis is here, with him. As long as they'll be together, he will be fine.

He can face anything.

[kujakumai]

Wherefore Art Thou 5,010 words; Complete [AO3 Link]

Atem has come out the ceremonial duel not with death but with a life of his own, and with that comes questions, problems, paperwork. He'll need a checklist of things, a birthday, an address, a hometown, a last name. A weighty decision, a name. They already went through so much trouble getting the first one.

About being in the right-wrong body at the wrong-right time and the chances we never expected to get; about how I was always me and you are no one else but you, and we'll never be like that again, but there are still things we can share with each other.

Or: A story in which Atem writes some things down, gets a new shirt, and fails to buy eggs.

Sunlight. That was the first thing you noticed about the house, the way the Ishtar siblings had angled everything towards it, falling in through wide-open windows and flooding the kitchen, bouncing off golden antiques brought up from the tombs and settling over the plants Rishid left on counters and shelves. In a place with too much sunlight, where it radiated over the sand without end, this place welcomed it, as if there could never be enough.

The second thing that came to mind was that there was something off about it, like you couldn't tell when it was supposed to be. It was half in old Egypt and half in 1998, shiny modern convenience sitting next to remnants of the old ways. Artifacts and incense, videogame systems and new athletic shoes, crashing up against each other without rhyme or reason like a patchwork quilt, like an odds-and-ends drawer, like a warzone. Atem found it unpleasantly mismatched and a little ugly, but oddly comforting in a way he could not describe.

It wasn't big enough for an extended visit, but while they were all in Egypt the Ishtars insisted that they stay for dinner at least once—Rishid, they were informed, was an excellent cook. So Atem, Yugi, Jonouchi, Anzu, Honda, Otogi, and Bakura were all piled into the cozy too-small living room, strewn about couches and on pulled-in kitchen chairs, and even then a lack of space left Bakura cheerfully sitting cross-legged on the floor. Ten people, too many, laughing about nothing and everything, about Anzu's study abroad plans, Ishizu's work, Shizuka's health, and a brief tangent where Honda and Marik traded bike specifications in arcane mechanical terms that left everyone else out of the loop.

"Ateeeeeeem, you're so quiet." Jonouchi flopped onto an overstuffed chair that Honda was already sitting in, elbowing him in the face and squishing in over his objections. "This is your party!"

"Ah, sorry." He had been quiet, listening to the conversation without hearing it, letting everything wash over him.

"Leave him alone, he's busy." Anzu scolded. "Atem has to get those papers done for Marik, or we can't leave."

"Atem has time! He should relax."

They were all saying his name a lot, more than was natural. He suspected they'd all gotten together when he wasn't in the room and agreed to practice it so they could stop accidentally calling him "Yugi." So they tacked it on to the end of every sentence, Atem, Atem, Atem, a very old name in new voices that had never spoken it before, or maybe a brand-new name in old and safe and familiar ones, or both at once or neither depending on your point of view. They all kept saying it a little wrong, reflexively adding the shadow of a "u" at the end, not used to the foreignness of it. Atem knew he should tell them that wasn't quite right but he loved it, and every time he heard the way they said it it tugged at something in his chest and made him want to smile.

Atem was sitting on the couch next to Yugi. Because he could do that now, sit next to him, because he had a body. Because a day ago he and Yugi dueled, and instead of taking him away forever like everyone expected the doors opened up and spat him back out, flesh and blood all his own just like the day he died, and before he even knew what was going on he'd been tackle-hugged by four or five people and everyone was sobbing. So he'd walked back out into the world and the sunlight, a little dazed and on his own two feet. He'd left his crown and cape at the hotel, kept his earrings and his cartouche, and put on a t-shirt someone had hastily grabbed from a tourist tchotchke shop. It was bubblegum pink and had a cartoon sphinx on it, and didn't fit quite right because they bought it in Yugi's size.

Yugi leaned over his shoulder in a way that very real and warm and solid and definitely not incorporeal, which Atem somehow never expected no matter how many times it happened. "What's it say?"

Atem offered him the two or three pages he was holding. "You can read it if you want, partner." Was it weird to still call him partner? Partners in what? They weren't in the same body anymore, so they couldn't duel together, exactly. Should he call him something else? If he stopped saying partner, would Yugi notice? Would he be hurt? What was the better word, then?

"This is a lot of info." Yugi's eyes traced down the page. Not so much a form as a handwritten list. Name, date of birth, place of birth, address, parent's names, blood type. "Marik really needs all this?"

"Yes. The more the better." Marik was sitting on the floor, eating nuts out of a bowl on the coffee table and trading cards with Bakura. "You can make up the stuff you don't know, just try to keep it believable." He looked up and gave them a mischievous smile. "Or don't. Go wild, if you want. I'm just putting it on paper, if you get stopped at the airport because your expertly forged new passport says you're three thousand years old, it'll be on you."

"I think," Otogi noted, from the opposite end of the couch, "if you're inventing a whole new identity from scratch, you're obligated to include at least one thing that's a little crazy. For fun."

"Exactly."

"Please don't listen to anything Marik says." Ishizu Ishtar was dressed more casually than any of them had ever seen her, but she carried herself with a practiced grace that always somehow emanated authority. She walked in with a silver tray covered in mugs of something, and held it out to Marik with a look that wordlessly communicated the ancient sibling art of I did this part, now you do the next.

Marik made a face, but stood up and started passing out drinks, and as he walked by Atem caught his own distorted reflection in the polished surface, which startled him because he looked exactly like he was supposed to look and not like Yugi Muto. Same hair, certainly, but not much else. An inch and a half shorter, because Yugi had grown but he hadn't, broader shoulders, not as skinny, warm brown skin. It shouldn't be that weird, just to see himself in the mirror. He'd has his memories for a month, even if the body was new. He knew what he looked like.

Tiny little discrepancies in his new existence, like someone secretly moving all the furniture in your house two inches to the left. A thousand irritants too subtle to notice, too minute to bother complaining about. Food that tasted a little wrong because he was used to someone else's tastebuds, the abrupt change in eyeline that made all his friends slightly the wrong height, the sound of his own voice in his ears, now lightly accented, because his head still knew Yugi's perfect Japanese but his new (old?) mouth wasn't practiced with the sounds. He'd picked up a phone this morning and stood there for thirty seconds like an idiot, waiting for muscle memory to kick in, until he realized that it wouldn't and had to search and press each button in a way he knew was slow and wrong. The weight of the puzzle was conspicuous in its absence. He was so used to it hanging from his neck and resting against his chest that the lack of it was odd, an empty triangular space where something should be, the way you suddenly notice background music when someone turns it off.

Ishizu sat down with perfect posture, somehow made a displaced wooden kitchen chair look elegant. "If you do have problems at the airport," she said, "call me first. I know people at the embassy."

Rishid leaned casually out of the kitchen doorway. "You won't have problems." he said, a spatula in one hand, his Japanese polite and careful. "Marik's work is good. We have never had issues." He smiled. "Easier than god cards."

"My papers are real," Ishizu said, with the tiniest smirk, "but you don't have time for that, pharaoh."

Jonouchi half-stood up and reached over and snatched the papers out of Yugi's hand. "So how far didja get?"

"Hey!" Yugi objected.

"Dude," Honda squinted at it from next to Jonouchi, "did you write anything yet?"

"I was thinking." Atem said, not at all defensively.

Jonouchi reached over to a side table and grabbed a pen, and clicked it. "C'mon, let's get this done with." He skimmed the page and seemed to pick at random. "When's your birthday?"

"19th of—" he started, automatically, before realizing midsentence that it was not the sort of date that anyone could use. "Shemu Epiphi." he finished, out of momentum.

Jonouchi did not write down "Shemu Epiphi," or anything like it, and just looked at him blankly, pen at the ready, awaiting clarification. Atem did not have any.

"Low water," added awkwardly, was the best that he could do.

Ishizu threw him a life raft. "That would be in the summer. Somewhere in July, I would think."

"It is not." Marik objected. "That has to be May or June. Early June."

"I'm sorry, Marik, do you have a degree in Egyptology?"

"No, but I—RISHID! Epiphi is early summer, right?"

"I cannot hear you, I'm cooking!"

Ishizu curtly gestured at Jonouchi to continue. "We will do the math later."

"Alright, easier one." Jonouchi resumed. "Place of birth?"

"Nowe." he said. The name rolled easily off his tongue. Capital city, on the river's east bank.

Jonouchi clearly did not recognize the name, and didn't write this one down either. He shot a glance at Ishizu.

"That's here." she corrected, or perhaps merely offered. "Luxor." She gave Atem what he was sure was supposed to be a reassuring smile. "Of course, in the interim it was Thebes, and in the Old Kingdom before your time they called it Waset, and there are several other..."

Jonouchi nodded and scribbled something on the page, and Atem felt weakly like he should object, because he wasn't born in Luxor, and this city was new and strange to him, and it wasn't the right answer. The right answer didn't exist, though, not anymore. There were only the ruins of what had once been right answers, crumbled to dust and built over by strangers, studied by experts and marveled at by tourists.

It wasn't wrong, it just wasn't right either. How he and Yugi kept bumping into each other because they didn't expect to both be corporeal, how the Ishtars' decor was confusingly out of time yet entirely correct, how he was alive and with his friends a day after everyone expected him to die and how the whole place smelled like food and sounded like laughter and it was supposed to be for him but for some reason he wasn't happy, how he mostly felt strange and tense and like he was doing everything wrong. A pervasive sense of not-rightness, all over his skin.

"Alright! Making progress! Next up is the easiest one of 'em all, name. First is Atem, aaaaand..." He paused. "What's your last name?"

Atem thought about this. Technically as pharaoh he had six names, none of which would sound normal on a birth certificate. "That's not really how it worked."

"You gotta have a last name, Atem."

"I don't know what to tell you. That's not how we did it." He smiled. That's what you're supposed to do, when you're alive and with your friends and at a party and everyone is staring at you waiting for an answer, is smile. Smiling always helped, when you didn't know what to say.

Yugi was thinking, and he leaned forward and tapped the back of his foot on the bottom of the couch. "I guess you can just pick something?"

"If you want to be boring, you can just choose something common." suggested Marik. "Omar, Sayed, Hassan. There's a ton of Hassans."

"He wants to be a Japanese citizen though, right?" Bakura piped up. "If he doesn't want to stand out, he could be a Satou, or a Tanaka."

Discord erupted. Suddenly everyone had a suggestion.

"I think he's going to stand out regardless..." "Just use your dad's name, maybe?" "He doesn't look like a Sayed." "Atem...puzzle? No, that's stupid." "Something related to pharaohs? Lots of names that mean king." "Takahashi sounds nice." "How about—" "What if—"

In the midst of the fracas, new names dueling on all sides, Yugi had his own polite suggestion, offered from right next to his ear. "You could always be Muto." he said, with a tiny shrug, like it was nothing. "Grandpa already thinks you're his grandson anyway." he added, with a smile.

The discussion continued but Atem froze and felt his mouth dry up, the world still moving while he stood still, and all of it turned to noise.

Names were still being thrown across the room but somewhere between "Kamiya" and "Qadir," Rishid poked his head out of the kitchen again. "I hate to interrupt, but I'm short an egg. Could someone run to the corner and—"

Atem stood up a little too quickly. "I will go." he announced, in the solemn tone of someone volunteering for a dangerous quest to save the realm from evil and not going down the street for a minor kitchen staple.

"You...sure, Atem?" Marik never added the phantom u. He pronounced it like he'd been doing it all his life. "We can make someone else go."

"Or you could go, Marik." Ishizu remarked.

"Nah, I'm good."

Atem was already extricating himself from the living room. "No! It's fine. I need the fresh air. And it's nice to see more of...Luxor." Keep smiling. No problems.

Atem escaped before anyone could say another word, out into the evening air. The desert didn't hold heat, but it was the end of summer, so it was only pleasantly cool. He was mostly looking for a place to breathe. After a block or so of wandering while looking very much like he knew what he was doing, because nothing in this city was where it was supposed to be anymore, he settled for a quiet bench under a date palm where there weren't many passersby.

And he managed to breathe.

He had lungs now, to breathe in. His own lungs, without borrowing. He tried to calm his antsy heartbeat and it didn't work very well.

Breathe. You're alive now. It is a good thing, to be alive. You are alive and everyone is so happy to see you.

He just hadn't been expecting it, was the problem.

"You can tell us if it's too much, you know." Atem nearly jumped out of his skin when Yugi spoke, appeared from nowhere, nearly silhouetted against the sunset. "It's okay. You've only been back for a day."

"No!" Smile. "No. I'm fine." He almost said "partner," and then didn't. Of course Yugi noticed. Of course Yugi went after him. Yugi, always after him. Yugi, always behind him, always standing just out of view.

"I wish you wouldn't lie to my face." There wasn't any malice in it. Yugi said it plainly, merely politely stating a fact in that incisive way he did. When did that happen, that Yugi stood up so straight and spoke so plainly? He tilted his head and gave him a small, sweet mile, the one that seemed to say You are not as good at hiding your feelings as you think you are. You get away with it because I let you.

Atem tried not to let a muscle in his face move, or show the way the words pierced right through him. Sometimes talking to Yugi felt like getting caught.

"Can I sit down?"

"Of course." Atem moved over.

Yugi sat down and bumped against him, in a way that continued to be very warm and solid and he should be getting used to that why isn't he used to it and why does it surprise him every single time stay cool stay cool stay cool.

Evening was turning into dusk and porchlights and windows were flicking on, yellow spots across the neighborhood. He and Yugi sat in silence.

On instinct, he mentally reached out Yugi in the way he always did, linked hearts and minds, and instead smashed facefirst into a brick wall in his own head. There wasn't any way out of himself. No other heart, no second voice or presence to be detected. Just his own thoughts, bouncing back at him over and over again when he least wanted them. He was so used to their peculiar sort of cohabitation, Yugi's thoughts drifting at the edges of his own, Yugi's memories crystal clear, Yugi's joy and Yugi's grief and Yugi's rage, tangled together until he lost track of what belonged to who. That was all gone now, had stopped abruptly at the start of the ceremonial duel. Whatever was going on in Yugi's head now was fraught and unknown to him. He put a hand up to his chest, instinctively, but there was no hefty chain to grab, so instead it wrapped around the much smaller cartouche, pressing the hieroglyphs into his palm.

"Sorry." Yugi looked up at him, sheepish. "I keep thinking things at you. None of that works anymore, but for some reason I keep expecting you to answer. It's weird, right?"

"I was thinking the same thing."

Yugi laughed, short and bright. "We have to get better at talking to each other."

"We do." He nodded, watching the sunset. "But some things are harder to say out loud."

Yugi considered this quietly. "They are," he said, "but we have to try."

More silence, easier this time. It was starting to get cold. Wind ran through the grass.

There are a lot of things, in fact, that are very difficult to say out loud. Many of them can arise from a situation wherein roughly 24 hours ago you were going to die, or more accurately that you asked your friends to kill you, and they did, because that is what they thought you wanted, because that is what you insisted you wanted. That you were a weight around Yugi's neck who did not belong in this world and whose time had long passed but now the chain was broken and you suddenly had a whole future in front of you that no one had told you was an option before and you have no idea where it goes or what happens next.

Atem was usually very good at knowing how to say things. He knew how princes were supposed to speak, and then learned how kings are supposed to speak, and then how friendly ghosts and great duelists were supposed to speak. None of those scripts fit anymore, and he didn’t have one to fall back on. He had assumed he would be dead by now and therefore had not written one. Another empty space where something should be. Now he had, what, another 70 years? That sounded like a very long time. He didn’t know of a script that went on that long and no one seemed set to provide one.

There were no clouds in this part of the desert, almost never, since there was never any rain, so the sky was clear and endless. More empty spaces, this one too big and dark to look at without getting vertigo, too much to look at at once. It seemed like it could swallow someone whole.

"There are endless options." He blinked at the sky, not looking at Yugi. "And it's so important. You only get one. How am I supposed to know what to do with it?"

Yugi smiled. "It's just a name. You can call yourself anything you want. It's up to you." He added, "You get two, technically."

"The first one is already done."

"Then that should narrow it down, right?"

"Anything that I want." he repeated, but he said the words reluctantly, like describing a pain he didn't want to trouble everyone by complaining about. He closed his eyes, as if tired. "I was never expecting to have to make the choice."

"I guess it is a lot." he said, looking down. "Sorry if I upset you earlier. You don't have to be a Muto if you don't want to." He was pretending not to be a little sad. "It was just a suggestion. I know you have your own name, and family."

Atem scrambled to ensure that Yugi didn't feel like he'd done something wrong. "It's not that." He struggled, again, in the search for the right words, a feeling that continued to be alien in its frustration. "It's not about that."

Yugi looked at him, curious, waiting for an explanation.

He didn't know how to explain it. That he was trying not to impose. That was all he'd done, for years, was impose on something that wasn't his, and Yugi had quietly let him and Atem didn't want to anymore. That Yugi let him have everything, and it wasn't right. He did not want to be the reason Yugi didn't stand up straight, and he was trying to find the right way not to be.

There had to be a way, for him to live and for them to be different. There had to be a balance, a way for him to be here and for Yugi to stand on his own, a way for them to sit together and be alone in their own heads, a way for them to share so much and be such different people, a way for them to rely on each other but in the right way, in the way you're supposed to, and not the way where they become each other's crutch. There had to be a way, because he couldn't be here and alive if meant that Yugi was going to keep standing in his shadow, because if there wasn't a way he would have to leave, and he didn't want to leave. He didn't want to leave. He never wanted to leave. How do you say all of that, though? Where do you even start?

Well. Out loud, maybe.

Yugi stood up off the bench and stretched, watched the strangers walking down the street. "You don't have to go back with us, if you don't want to." he said, his back still to him.

"What do you mean?"

"We all just kind of assumed." Yugi wasn't looking at him, quiet and plaintive. "This is where you're from, right? If you decided you wanted to stay, we wouldn't be mad at you. You should do whatever feels right." Yugi Muto's brave face, a shallow fake-cheer Atem knew very well, how Yugi swallowed fear the same way he covered up spiked accessories.

"No!" He said it a little too fast, a little too loud. "I told you, I want to be with you forever." He felt very stupid, saying that so loud, like it was obvious, a cheesy promise from years ago.

Yugi looked back at him again and smiled, relieved.

"It's just that I—" he started, attempted, still no script, he hated not having a script, looking like an idiot fumbling through uncharted territory.

Yugi waited.

"...We can't be," he said, "the same person."

Yugi wasn't expecting this answer, and after a moment of surprise he seemed to think it was a little funny. "That's what you're worried about?"

"You don't need me to take your place." he insisted. "It is yours, and I won't take it from you. You have to stand on your own."

Yugi glanced at the ground and murmured to himself, thinking. "Not in my place, and not in front." He sighed. "Can't you stand next to me?"

"What?"

Yugi's smile, sheepish, uncertain, polite, but always with more determination in his eyes than most people expected. "I don't want you to be me. We're not doing that anymore." Yugi stood up straighter, resolute. "I'm Yugi Muto, and I'm no one else but me." he recited, a day-old quote and a tongue-in-cheek imitation, and not a bad impression either. Atem felt a deep twinge of embarrassment hearing his own words thrown back at him. "And you're Atem! The only Atem in the world." He reached out a hand. "But if it's okay, I was thinking we could be Yugi and Atem together."

Atem took it, hesitantly, and let Yugi pull him off the bench, with more strength than he expected from Yugi, but there it was. Solid and strong and mutually corporeal.

"I'm glad you didn't really have to go." Yugi said. "If you left because of me, I don't know what I would have…" He trailed off, frowning.

"…Let's go back." Atem said, gently. "Before they worry about us."

And Yugi and Atem set off for the night, together and apart.

"What about the eggs?"

"...I don't have any money."

"Atem! What were you going to do?"

"I would have figured something out, partner."

--

"ATEM!" There it was again, that phantom u. Jonouchi was standing up as tall as he could make himself, face bright beet red in the way it got when he knew that whatever he was about to say was horribly schmaltzy and embarrassing but was going through with it anyway. Oh, god.

Atem smiled. "Yes, Jonouchi?"

"We were talking while you were gone." he said, crossed his arms, standing brazenly in the middle of the Ishtars' living room. "And I just wanted to, well, that you should know, maybe, thaaaat..."

"Spit it out, idiot!"

"Shut UP, Honda!" Jonouchi hissed, and you could hear at least three people snicker.

"I wanted to say," he continued, "that as a token of our friendship, and our unbreakable bond as duelists, if you really needed a name," he said, "You could be a Jonouchi. If you wanted."

"I am honored." he said, with the utmost gravity. "I will keep that in mind."

And Jonouchi nodded at him, and he nodded at Jonouchi, and this was all either of them needed to say.

"Um," Bakura started, politely raising his hand as if asking the teacher to call on him, "I pulled up the site I use to name role-playing characters and searched by etymological root, and I got a bunch that have meanings I thought you would like."

"And we," Marik said, with an arm around Otogi, who tolerated it with an awkward smile, "told him which ones were awful and made him cross them off the list until only the good ones were left."

"Thank you." he said, and meant it. "Anyone else?" he asked, as a joke.

Anzu looked like she wanted to say something, but when his eyes fell on her she just blushed. "It's not urgent. You'll think of something."

"He'll figure it out." Honda said. "We already almost died getting the first one. I think he can handle the next name by himself."

"I will." he said. He again reached up reflexively to touch the puzzle, but there was nothing there, so instead he just let it rest on his chest, which was his and no one else's, even if that still felt a little wrong. He would get used to it. He could.

Ishizu, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, sensed an end to the conversation and promptly intervened. "You know, you can all eat dinner as soon as you're ready. Any time now."

--

Somewhere around two in the morning, a couple of hotel rooms sat empty because everyone was having too much fun to leave the house once it got too late and the adults did not have the heart to kick them out. Instead Honda and Jonouchi had fallen asleep in one chair, curled up in a position they would both be very embarrassed about when they woke up in it tomorrow morning, which they would not do until after Otogi took photos; Anzu and Atem were both using Yugi as a headrest, close on either side of the couch; Otogi held a throw pillow and snored. The only ones left standing, Marik and Bakura, were still playing cards in the half-light until eventually ever so softly Marik asked, "So is he really just...gone?" to which Bakura smiled vacantly, opaquely, and did not answer except to put his deck back together, mid-game, and say he was going to bed.

Eventually the sun rose over the Nile, but there was no palace and no pharaoh for it to shine on, because there hadn't been a king of this country since 1952. Instead it fell through the windows of an ordinary house and on a very ordinary boy in a pink t-shirt, who wasn't a king of anything but just another exhausted teenager in a pile, drooling a little and holding tight to another ordinary teenager who bore a faint resemblance to him. When he woke up he would realize that he had no idea what he was going to do that day, and that was scary, but probably fine; and very soon he would go home and meet grandpa, properly as himself, and not realize until a few days in that he had been saying "home" and "grandpa" automatically and no one had tried to correct him, not once.

That would be in a few days, though. Today they would visit tourist traps, and buy a shirt that fit him better, and hand Marik a stack of papers, to which he would chew on the end of his pen and nod before returning less than an hour later with an ID and a birth certificate, and a copy of the left leg of Exodia as a freebie.

--

M U T O , A T E M 7 / 2 7 / 1980 KAME GAME 4-1-8, DISTRICT K.C., DOMINO-CHOU

[bridgertonbabe]

You know I’ve gotta ask…

Bridgerton brothers… how does Ben’s chat go? Does it work??

How do they get together in the end???

Benedict goes looking for Sophie and when he bumps into some members of the orchestra he asks if they've seen her but they tell him they haven't. Then just as he's walking away he overhears one of them muttering to the others, "he's probably hoping she'll suck him off before the show"; and immediately he spins back round, utterly incensed by the disparaging remark. He tells the guy off for insinuating such a thing about Sophie and demands to know why he would even think that, to which the orchestra member straight up replies that it was obvious he had been hooking up with Sophie throughout the tour. Stunned, Benedict sets him straight and informs the gathered group that nothing has ever happened between him and Sophie, that they're simply good friends and he doesn't want any of them to be whispering about Sophie behind her back about things that aren't even true. They do apologise but still Benedict is wound up by the comments - and then it occurs to him that maybe that's the reason why Sophie turned him down, if people had made any previous remarks to her about the nature of her relationship with him.

When he managed to find her and pull her aside he explained that he understood if the other orchestra members comments were the reason behind her turning him down - however, this is news to Sophie and she's left unsettled when Benedict tells her about his earlier interaction with some of her colleagues. Nobody had ever actually said anything to her directly and she hadn't heard anyone say anything on the subject, but of course now that she knows that's what people are speculating on, it only makes her want to keep her distance from him.

She uses the new excuse to rebuff Benedict once again and even when he tries to tell her just how much she means to him she begs him to stop. Because now that he's professing his feelings and she can see the sincerity shining so brightly in his eyes, she knows what she feels for him is reciprocated; but she can't let her feelings take over regardless if Benedict returns them in abundance. She still has Araminta's voice in her head accusing her of using those around her for her own selfish gain - and even though that isn't true, even though Sophie has worked hard and gotten to where she is on her own merit, she still refuses to put herself into any situation where anyone might think otherwise. Now that she knows that her own peers on the tour have the potential to perceive her relationship with Benedict to be gossip-worthy and potentially think her capable of sleeping with him to get a step up in the industry, she sees no other choice then to deny herself from being with the very person who means the most to her.

Benedict battles in vain to get her to hear him out, swearing he's never felt like this for anyone else before, and that she means everything to him. They end up arguing, growing more and more frustrated with one another before Sophie storms away, wiping away tears of regret for what might have been if she simply didn't let Araminta's shame-filled (and utterly hypocritical) words get to her.

They avoid each other for several weeks and Benedict's brothers grow concerned with his melancholy mood and how he's drinking to excess most nights. Kate fills them in on Benedict's heartache and Anthony and Colin console him, telling him they're sorry things didn't work out but that he can't continue like this and if he does they won't hesitate to put him on a mandatory break until he sorts himself out. Benedict miserably agrees to go easy on the drinking but tells them the self-pitying isn't going to end anytime soon.

To take his mind off of it, they decide to throw a party in their hotel suite to at least surround Benedict with people in order to help him forget about his troubles. They invite people from the orchestra - but neither Anthony or Colin is aware that the blonde violinist is the very woman who's left their brother heartbroken. Sophie's dragged along by the rest of the string section and though she and Benedict briefly lock eyes, they spend the first couple of hours trying to avoid each other. It's not until they bump into each and Benedict immediately turns to walk away that guilt creeps up on Sophie and she apologises for hurting him. She admits she's really missed him these last few weeks and doesn't want to lose him from her life and hesitantly asks he could consider them just being friends. For a minute Sophie doesn't think he's going to offer her any response until he reluctantly confesses that he's missed her as well and that he'd like them to still be friends.

They spend the rest of the evening chatting away to each other, almost like it's old times again, but there's still that underlying yearning that they can both feel and are trying to ignore. As the evening winds down and everyone heads off to bed they realise they're the only ones left in the hotel room, which confuses Sophie since the suite belongs to Colin. Benedict tells her that his brother left a while ago to talk to his friend Penelope on the phone, briefly giving her a summary of his brother's faux pas with their close family friend when he said he'd never date her without realising she was right behind him. He says his brother's desperate to make amends with her since she's been ghosting him ever since and laughs at how big an idiot Colin is for not realising he's in love with his best friend, before Benedict carelessly says, "at least when I fall in love with my best friend I'm aware of it."

Suddenly he realises what he's let slip and turns to Sophie, whose eyes have grown very wide as she processes what he's just said. Something had shifted in the air between them, neither one willing to break their gaze away from the other - and then Benedict throws caution to the wind and surges forward to kiss her.

Sophie immediately kisses him back, her hands cupping his face as he wraps his arms around her to pull her close to him, and they're locked in the passionate embrace until Sophie suddenly comes to her senses and pulls away until she's up and out his reach. She apologises, saying this shouldn't have happened and before he can say anything she flees the room.

Colin rejoins his brother, having seen Sophie in the hallway, and casually remarks to Benedict that he seemed to be getting on really well with the pretty violinist and maybe there could be something there with her - which caused Benedict to promptly burst into tears. Initially Colin thought that while he and Anthony had allowed Benedict to indulge in a couple of drinks that night, perhaps he had surpassed the amount they told him he could have and that he was just being an emotional drunk. It was only when Benedict began pouring his heart out to his brother that Colin realised that actually Benedict was devastated over Sophie and that she was the one who had rejected him.

After Colin texted Anthony for an emergency brotherly meeting, they consoled him as best they could, telling him the tour was almost over and that he wouldn't have to see her again and thus be able to get over her without being in such close proximity to her. Benedict shook his head, insisting he was irrevocably in love with Sophie and that it didn't matter if they never saw each other again because he'd still love her always. His brothers tried their best to comfort him but for that evening at least nothing they could say could cure Benedict of his heartache.

The following day Anthony and Colin decided to have a word with Sophie, essentially to express their resentment towards her for messing Benedict around and leaving him heartbroken. However they couldn't find her and when they enquired with their stage manager they discovered the reason why. They went to Benedict and told him he wouldn't have to worry about Sophie any more since she had left the tour early. Far from what they had hoped would be relief from their brother, Benedict flew into a full blown panic, demanding to know why she had left and how management had allowed her to get out of her contract early. His brothers tried calming him down when they realised he was stressing that his falling out with Sophie had led to her decision to leave. They assured him that what had happened between him and the violinist had nothing to do with her reasons for leaving and explained that she had left early because of a bereavement in the family. However this did nothing to placate Benedict and he immediately sought out the other members of the sting section to find out if they knew who Sophie had lost. They revealed to him that she had received news in the middle of the night of her grandmother's death and that she had left right away to return home.

Benedict's heart panged for Sophie, knowing just how much she adored her grandmother. She had previously opened up to him about her, how despite the dementia her grandmother suffered from that Sophie visited her whenever she could just to sit and be with her. On occasion she was lucky if her grandmother experienced moments of lucidity and it was these small glimmers that Sophie clung onto. She would also bring her violin to her grandmother's nursing home and play not just for her but for the other residents in the day room, playing older tunes that the elders might connect with and bring back some nostalgia. It was insights like that into Sophie's character that only made Benedict fall for her more, and as he reflected on it all he knew no matter what, no matter how many times Sophie pushed him away that he wouldn't stop loving her. He also knew he couldn't bear the thought of her suffering through her grief and wanted to be there for her and he would move heaven and earth to do that.

It was due to this innate devotion that led to Benedict waiting in a chapel a week and a half later with a handful of other mourners. He stood up when the coffin was brought in and his tender gaze landed on Sophie as she tearfully followed after, accompanied with a woman her age and an older man. Benedict barely paid them any attention as his sole focus was on Sophie throughout the service, his heart going out to her every time he observed her dabbing at her eye with a tissue. He wanted nothing more then to move to the front pew, sit beside her and wrap his arms around her, and it was near agony having to restrain himself from doing just that.

The minister then announced that Sophie would be performing her grandmother's favourite song and Benedict watched as she got to her feet and stood at the front with her violin in hand. The woman next to her had squeezed her hand before she got up and Benedict was sure it must have been her stepsister, Posy, who Sophie had mentioned during their many conversations. As Sophie got into position Benedict then glanced at the man who was sat up front with her - and he had to do a double take to make sure the middle aged man was who Benedict thought he was; Richard Gunningworth.

Benedict was baffled - why was the very famous and critically acclaimed film director attending the service of Sophie's grandmother? Why had he accompanied Sophie into the chapel and sat alongside her at the front?

Before Benedict could think any further on the matter, Sophie began to play the first few notes of Think of Me; and instantly a memory burst back to life in Benedict's head, a memory that had laid dormant in the recesses of his mind for many years.

When he was about ten years old he and his brothers had gone with their parents to a party held by Richard Gunningworth to celebrate his recent Oscar win. It was a quite a laid-back affair and generously open for anyone to join which was why a good number of the guests had brought partners, parents, and children along. Guests (most of them performers who had previously worked for the host) had been taking it in turns to perform songs for the room after someone had taken up the piano and encouraged others to sing while he accompanied them. Richard had been badgering Violet to sing a song and it was during this interaction that Benedict decided to go for a wander, having grown bored of trailing after his parents all evening as they rubbed shoulders with friends and peers.

He had been eyeing up some art pieces that hung about Richard Gunningworth's home when something caught his eye - or rather someone. Out of sight from the rest of the party and peering through the wooden bannister of the staircase was a young girl. Even up there in the dark Benedict could see her eyes sparkling as she surveyed the party carrying on down below. Curious, Benedict slipped his way through the room and without anyone noticing him he reached the bottom of the stairs. Looking straight up the flight of stairs he first locked eyes with the little girl. She was dressed for bed, wrapped up in a fluffy dressing gown and clutching a toy dog in her hands. He offered her a little wave and she shyly returned his greeting. After glancing about to make sure no one had noticed him, he then quietly ascended the stairs until he came to a stop on the step just before the girl.

She was quite bewildered he had approached her and nevertheless returned his verbal greeting and then smiled when she shook the hand he had offered out to her. Before he could ask her anything about herself the piano started up and he heard his mother singing a song from Phantom of the Opera. The little girl let out a gasp beside him and said it was her favourite song and watched in awe as Benedict's mother gave a pitch perfect rendition of Think of Me. Though the girl was captivated by Violet's singing, Benedict was more fascinated by the little girl's awe and wonder and he admired just how delighted she was to hear the live version of her favourite song. When he asked why it was her favourite song the girl replied that it was her grandmother's favourite song and it had been her mother's as well and that her mother had once performed the song herself in a theatre. Benedict smiled softly as the girl remained fixated on Violet, her green eyes shining with reverence. Clearly the song had a lot of sentimentality and as Benedict properly listened to the lyrics he acknowledged that there was a beautiful poignancy to the words.

When the song came to an end and the rest of the party clapped, so did the little girl and she remarked on how the lady who had just sung had such a pretty voice. Benedict suggested she come down with him and they could ask his mother to sing again, at which point the little girl startled and shook her head. She said she wasn't supposed to be up and she wasn't allowed downstairs but before Benedict could ask any more she had quickly retreated up into the shadows of the first floor and he heard a door close seconds after.

He then returned to the party, finding his brothers and parents with the host and immediately he was faced with his mother demanding to know where he had gotten to. Benedict said he had talked to a girl and when he glanced at Richard and took into account his blond hair and green eyes, the same as the little girl's as well as the fact that obviously she was dressed for bed and had been given rules to adhere to, he naturally put the pieces together that she was his daughter - and he mentioned it was his daughter he had met. Richard appeared dumbstruck but then Edmund swiftly informed his son that Richard didn't have a daughter, much to Benedict's confusion. Perhaps she was a niece staying over the night or something and Benedict shrugged his assumption off before Richard then pulled Edmund aside and offered the singer turned actor the role he was in contention for in Richard's upcoming film right then and there, much to Edmund's surprise.

Benedict had nearly forgotten all about that night, though from time to time he recalled the heart-filled twinkle in that little girl's eyes as she watched his mother perform, and any time in his life someone spoke words of remembrance or whenever Eloise plucked forget-me-nots his mind would flash back to the elation on the girl's face as she peered through the railings on the bannister.

It then completely dawned on Benedict that there had been an underlying reason behind Richard hiring his father for a role that even Edmund openly admitted he was shocked to receive - because Benedict had been right; he had met Richard Gunningworth's daughter on the stairs that night; and as he now looked from the older man watching on fondly as Sophie performed, the pair sharing the same fair locks and green eyes, Benedict had the startling realisation that he had already met Sophie years and years before their paths crossed on tour with his brothers.

His mouth was hanging open as Sophie's perfectly performed song finished and as she looked up she caught sight of him and looked just as bewildered as he did - though to be fair, her confusion was due to him having never told her he would be attending the funeral. They stared at each other for several long seconds before the minister cleared his throat and Sophie remembered herself and quickly returned to her seat. Benedict then watched as Richard leaned in and kissed his daughter on the cheek for a job well done and then for the rest of the service Benedict couldn't look away from them.

He couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that Sophie was Richard Gunningworth's daughter. Obviously they didn't share the same surname but when Benedict came to think of it, he was sure Sophie had never once mentioned her father to him. As baffling as it was, he also mused on the fact that Richard Gunningworth didn't have any children of his own. Following that first film they had worked on, Edmund had become Richard's go-to actor for several of his projects and the pair had built up enough of a rapport and friendship for Benedict to be well aware that Richard didn't have children aside for two stepdaughters from his regretful marriage to the detestable Araminta - though it just now hit Benedict that one of those daughters was called Posy, who was sat next to Sophie and was her stepsister...

It was still a lot to get his head around and by the time the curtain was swept around the coffin Benedict had no idea how he would proceed going ahead. He was just considering stepping outside to call his father and ask if he had any idea that his friend actually had a biological daughter when Richard, Posy, and an apprehensive Sophie approached him now that the service had come to an end. Richard greeted him, saying it was a surprise to see him but that he was thankful for him for attending. Benedict waved it off, saying he wanted to be there in solidarity with Sophie, who blushed and gazed at him in awe - almost in the exact same way she had as a little girl sat on that staircase. Richard turned to Sophie, remarking that he didn't know she and Benedict were so close and after a beat Sophie informed her father she and Benedict were the best of friends, a sentiment which Benedict knew ran deeper from the way Sophie's eyes shone at him with complete affection.

Posy then turned to Sophie and asked if she wanted a lift home but Benedict quickly spoke up, offering to take Sophie instead and lying on the spot that he lived close by to Sophie anyway. He really hoped he hadn't got his hopes up too high from just one look but then Sophie thanked Posy for the offer and said she'd get a lift with him instead.

They got into the car but before Benedict could start Sophie requested he waited until Posy and Richard had driven off. Once they had gone Sophie then turned to him and noted that she expected he wanted to know why Richard Gunningworth was with her at her grandmother's funeral, but Benedict beat her to it by stating the fact of the matter; that she was his daughter. Sophie supposed he had simply put two and two together but then Benedict provided her with the flashback he had just had, noting how they had actually met once before as kids. Sophie gasped in shock when she realised he had been the boy who spotted her and made contact with her, remembering it so vividly as it was the only time anyone had ever caught her up out of bed at the top of the stairs spying on one of her father's gatherings.

Sophie then explained the ins and outs of her life story, how she was born from a fling between her father and her mother, Maria Beckett (who had been a West End chorus girl but for one glorious night got to step in for the main actress and perform as Christine in Phantom). When Richard took her in following her grandmother's dementia diagnosis he kept her existence secret to protect her from becoming gossip fodder as his lovechild. She told him about Araminta and how she made Sophie feel ashamed that her own dad wanted to get her into a music academy, claiming she was a nepo baby and that no one would ever take her seriously. She further explained it was Araminta's words that kept her from being with him as she admitted she didn't want to give her stepmother any ammunition; and if she were to go out with him then Araminta would have a field day and paint her out to be a fame-chaser and only dating Benedict to advance her career.

Now with a newfound understanding of exactly where Sophie was coming from and why her rejecting him seemed to be decided by her head rather than her heart when he knew she felt just as strongly for him, Benedict assured her that she didn't have to apologise for turning him down - though she should definitely pay no mind to Araminta since her stepmother was well known in the industry for befriending anyone and everyone and sucking up to them just to keep herself relevant. Though he had told her not to apologise, Sophie tearfully did yet again for hurting him and once again he told her it wasn't necessary before driving her home after the emotionally draining day she had had. As he drove her back he squeezed her hand and kept it clasped the entire drive back. After pulling up at her flat he was taken aback when she asked if he wanted to come up for a drink or anything.

He accepted the offer and they spent the evening just talking as he prompted answers from her about her fond memories of her grandmother. By the time it was getting late Benedict got to his feet, preparing to leave to allow her to rest; but then Sophie asked him if he had to go. She didn't say it but he knew she didn't want to be alone and he kindly offered to stay if she so wanted.

He spent the night with Sophie - but simply holding her close as they slept soundly in her bed. He was blissfully content to have her in his arms, to be able to take care of her, to love her through and through and bring her some sort of peace in spite of the emotional turmoil she had recently suffered from. Early the next morning they both stirred awake at the same time though they stayed in each other's hold, with Benedict idly stroking her hair and Sophie moving her hand to rest over his heart and feel his heartbeat. As they lay there in comfortable companionship, Sophie broke the tranquility by declaring her love for him, how she was so deeply in love with him and that she was tired of cowering away from something she was sure would bring her every happiness. It was all Benedict had wanted to hear and then Sophie kissed him and he tenderly kissed her back. Their kisses became deeper and slowly they began to strip each other of their clothes, taking their time as they languidly explored each other's bodies, trailing kisses all over until they made love and brought each other to mind-blowing ecstasy at the same time. In the afterglow Benedict reaffirmed his love for her, professing his surety that she was who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Much to his dismay Benedict had to get up and out in order to catch a flight back to Australia where he had travelled from in order to attend the funeral. Fortunately the service hadn't overlapped with any tour dates but he would have to catch this flight in order to make it back in time for the next concert. He told Sophie that in spite of that he could simply tell management he wouldn't be able to get back and stay with her instead, but Sophie insisted she go; no way was she going to be the cause of hundreds of fans upset from Benedict being a no-show. Before he left he wanted to make it very clear that he now considered himself as her boyfriend, something that pleased Sophie as she replied that she had also now considered herself as his girlfriend, and they celebrated their new relationship status with a passionate kiss before Benedict left with the biggest smile on his face.

[catcas22]

Idril Stormsbane (edited for proofreading, a few things I forgot to add, and pictures)

Figured I’d go ahead and introduce my tarnished.

Idril Stormsbane is a classic sword-and-board strength build who keeps getting mixed up in mage business. A solid and dependable sort with an amazing poker face. She gives off the vibe of a thug with a boxing glove where her brain should be, but that’s not true -- she is of perfectly average intelligence. Sometimes she can use this to her advantage (Seluvis learned this the hard way).

Generally a bit grim, or at least politely distant. But she does have a soft spot for people genuinely in need of help. She’ll go to rather impressive lengths to help the unfortune souls she meets along the road, all while grumbling about how she doesn’t have time for this.

Began her journey as a vagabond knight. She returned to the Lands Between more or less for lack of any better prospects, then took Melina’s accord. It was the only decent thing to do, really, she did owe Melina for fishing her body out of the ravine under the Chapel of Anticipation.

Came to the decision to defy the Golden Order almost accidentally. After hearing Roderika’s story and finding out he full extent of what was going on in Stormveil, she set out to kill Godrick.

She succeeded, gaining both a Great Rune and the attention of Margit and his Night’s Cavalry. So now it’s do or die.

Lost her right eye to Ranni’s projection of Rennala. To Ranni’s eternal credit, she waited a whole twenty-four hours before she started making “twins” jokes.

Backstory: A second-generation Tarnished who served under Radagon as a dragon slayer in the Second Liurnian War. She has vague memories of one of her parents being a Drake Knight, and is pretty sure they hail from the Badlands, but everything prior to her first death is pretty fuzzy.

Her first death involved a Carian dragon knight and a lot of glintstone fire. Her teens and the bulk of her twenties were spent in the meatgrinder that was the Second Liurnian War, during which she took the dragon communion. Like many of her comrades, she was incensed when Radagon ended the war by marrying the Witch Queen that they had all been assured was wicked to the core and an existential threat to the Golden Order.

Being banished a few years later, by her former commander no less, was simply salt in the wound. By the time of Godfrey’s banishment, she was already thoroughly disillusioned with the Golden Order. As she left the Lands Between alongside her fellow Tarnished, she swore to never again be a pawn of the demigods.

Relationships: Hit it off well with Blaidd, then almost rage-quit when she fought her way to Caria Manor and found out who her friend actually worked for. In her defense, she spent her formative years immersed in anti-Carian propaganda. Eventually swallowed her pride and agreed to work for Ranni, because it was that or back the Volcano Manor. She’s since warmed up to Ranni, but she doesn’t quite trust her. She’s not catching feelings, definitely not.

Millicent is without exception the best person she has ever met. She will fight you on this. Gowry’s dog is the bane of her existence.

Spends a lot of time in the Bestial Sanctum with Gurranq. Neither of them are particularly talkative, but he seems to appreciate the company. Idril has repented of her past as a dragon slayer, and often stays in the barrow to watch the dragonlings from a respectful distance.

Would’ve adopted Roderika if Hewg hadn’t beat her to it. Basically did adopt Rya and Boc.

Gideon is up to something. She’s not sure what, but she’ll puzzle it out eventually.

She likes Rogier okay, but she’s trying very hard not to learn anything about what he, Fia, and D used to get up to. It’s creepy, and she wants no part in it.

During her training with Sellen, she meant to say “yes ma’am” but somehow it came out “yes mum.” This has happened more than once. Sellen has never let her forget it.

She would get along great with Morgott if they ever stopped trying to kill each other. They’re both curmudgeons with an iron sense of duty.

Vyke was something of a personal idol to her, although she never had a chance to meet him prior to her banishment.

Had Melina’s number from day one. She knows a stone cold badass when she sees one, the mild-mannered maiden act isn’t fooling anyone.

Equipment: Wears a modified Mausoleum Knight’s set and a Redmane soldier’s helm. Mains a cold-infused (courtesy of Ranni) zweihander. Also carries a Carian Knight’s sword (from Moongrum, carried in memory of a worthy opponent), a kite shield (just in case), a demi-human queen’s staff (because she might need Carian Phalanx someday), and the Clawmark Seal (so she can use glintstone breath). Really though, the zweihander is where it’s at.

[purringbookworm97]

So there was this entity in my dad's vacation house. I knew it was there because my step mom had seen and felt it last time she'd been there, but I'd kinda forgotten what entities tried to do when they were haunting somewhere. Which is talking. Communicating. Whatever.

As it happens, entities i stumble upon usually try to talk to me through my dreams, or in the night, but it doesn't work because idk, maybe i have wards or maybe i subconsciously just don't wanna be communicated with by someone i cant see in my sleep. Anyway.

So I temporarily moved into the vacation house because I got a job at the local bar/hotel/restaurant, and took my quarters in the back bedroom which is traditionally the one I use when I come with the fam for holidays. Fast forward to my third night there, slept well the first one, terrible the second one due to job related stress, and on the third night, I find myself incapable of catching more than an hour of sleep or so after the other, and my brain just won't shut the fuck up. Which is where I know something's fishy.

Now a respectable spirit worker would probably get their apron and communication tools and politely ask the entity responsible for their discomfort to leave. However, i am neither respectable nor a proper spirit worker as i haven't been trained or trained myself, which means I sort of... Grumbled and cussed at the entity that they better be gone tomorrow or I was frying their ass because preventing a working man from sleeping in the middle of the night is rude as fuck. After which I went and finished my night in the other room with more cussing and a prayer to Hypnos to protect my sleep tonight.

Now, guess what? The cussing worked, and the entity, who appeared to be an old deceased lady, I discovered, agreed to vacate the house until I'd leave at the end of my job contract. When I told my step mom about it, she criticized my communications method, saying i could have been polite. And sure, i could absolutely have simply asked the lady to leave. However. When it's the middle of week, and some dude is having a rave party in your garden at three AM, you don't juste politely ask them to leave. They ain't in the privacy of their home, they're in your garden, it's thee AM, and it's the middle of the week.

So you call the cops on their ass. Here, and all things considered, i didn't pull the incense and banishing powder out of the bag, just forcefully talked that lady into leaving le the fuck alone. So. Eh. Worked well enough ig.

[startanewdream]

Glimpses of the future

Summary: Lily traces the third line of his hand. The loveline. 'What's going on with your heart, Potter?' 

He wishes he knew.

For @sunshine-marauders who asked for Jily in Divination Class (I couldn’t add any real predictions, but I hope you enjoy this small journey of moments).

Rated T, with warnings for mildly swearing and for a teenager with hormones.

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

________________

Third year

James curses his friends the moment he enters the classroom. They were supposed to share all classes and yet they did not sign for Divination.

Now he is stuck in this class for at least three years.

Great.

And he seems to be the only Gryffindor there; he watches the groups of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, wondering where he should sit, when he sees a table with only one person, their robes gold and red.

Then she turns around, and he recognizes Lily Evans.

They are not very close, not when she keeps weird company he doesn't support - one person only, to be fair -, but Evans is fine, he supposes. Sometimes he thinks she is funny; sometimes she laughs from something he does.

It's a start, at least, and she is the only other Gryffindor there. Gryffindors should stick together.

So he walks towards her table.

'Hi, Evans', he begins, giving her his most sympathetic smile. 'Is this seat available?'

She glances at him, her green eyes assessing him, as if wondering if he is joking with her, before she nods.

'Sure', she says, moving a little to allow him to share the couch with her.

'Your friends ditched you too?', he tries, hoping to engage her into some nice conversation. If they are to be partners, at least they can be is corteous to each other.

'What?'

'My friends. Those prats told me they would sign for this class and they gave up at the last minute'.

'Oh', she is staring at him as if she thinks he is lunatic. 'No, I wanted to study Divination. I always thought it was interesting'.

'Oh'. He thinks of joining that class just for the laugh, for the silliness it would represent since he doesn't really believe in it. But Evans is not smiling and James is not sure how to deal with it. 'So you believe we can get glimpses of the future?'

'Well, magic is real, why couldn't we?'

James shrugs. He never had thought about it in these terms, not really.

'Yeah, I guess. Then you joined the class for curiosity? Want to know what the future will bring?'

'Well, that too'.

'What else?'

There is a pinkness on her cheek, but Lily Evans looks nothing but resolute as she stares at him.

'Sev'.

'Ah', James doesn't refrain from grimacing. If only Evans could move on from her strange taste in friends. 'Don't tell me he is in the class'.

'No, he told me Divination was a waste of time'.

'And yet here you are'.

A grin shines on her lips; it is almost mischievous . 'And yet here I am', Evans agrees.

James grins back, approvingly. Perhaps there is hope for Evans after all.

~*~

Fourth year

Evans' hands are warm. James shouldn't notice this. He shouldn't feel so… so whatever he is feeling just because her hands are touching him, one hand holding his left hand and her other sliding over the palm of his hand as she traces the lines there.

It's just... her touch is so soft, like butterfly wings fluttering delicately or maybe a Golden Snitch's wings - he doesn't care much for the seeker position, but maybe he should, because suddenly he feels his hand is too rough with years of practicing chasing. Perhaps he should try some lotion for them, because she is hating to touch him.

Lily Evans' hands are so delicate, so small compared to his - maybe that growth spurt he had during summer turned him into some kind of ogre, because he feels so out of place next to her, and then he wonders what is the right place with Evans...

'Your lifeline is very clear, Potter', Evans is explaining, talking about choices and what it represents, and he tries to concentrate, but it's difficult because the tips of her finger dancing over the palm of his hand are sending shivers down his spine.

It almost tickles but that's not really what he feels; there is no urge to laugh, just… just to enjoy how good it feels. What's his problem? That's Evans. She can't stand him and he - he also doesn't like her much, though she is vivacious and funny and pretty and her eyes are really gorgeous and her touch is so tender -

'Now, that's interesting', Evans whispers to herself, consulting the book open next to her. She is tracing the third line of his hand. The loveline. 'What's going on with your heart, Potter?'

He wishes he knew.

~*~

Fifth year

'You are late', Evans complains the second he slids next to her on the couch in the Gryffindor Common Room.

'I overslept', he mumbles, for a second refusing to look her in the eyes in a irrational fear she will know exactly the reason he had trouble leaving the bed. Then he grins uncontrollably as her words come back to him. 'Missing me much, Evans?'

Her eyes flicker, not impressed by his smile. Someone else might, he can't help but think. But nothing he ever does seems to amuse her lately.

He tries not to let it bother him, though, very much like her presence in his dreams, he can't help himself.

'If by missed you you mean that I missed not getting another partner for this project, yeah, then sure'.

'It's a start', he tries, still with that stupid grin he always has around her. She closes her eyes for a second, pinching her nose.

'Just let us finish this, Potter. The faster we do, the faster I can go back to my life and you can go do whatever you want'.

She is stressed. Same as everyone else, really, with the nervousness of the exams this year, but he never saw Lily Evans looking so impatient before.

He feels that twinge of guilt that only Evans can arise on him. She is the sole reason for a lot of his feelings lately.

'Sorry for being late', he tells her quietly, and her expression relaxes a little.

'Okay'. She bits her lips and James has to concentrate on keeping her gaze without blushing. It's not like those green eyes of her are not a participant in his dreams too - always staring down at him, for once not looking reprovingly, but invitingly -, but they are easier, much easier, than thinking of her lips that have also been on his mind lately.

Though for very different reasons. And in different situations. With different purposes.

He feels his face heating, which is ironic because the blood seems to be going from his head to…

He looks away, hurrying to pick up his things in his backpack, where it should be safer.

And he can put his backpack on his lap, just in case he needs to hide some of his more… evident reactions to Lily Evans.

Damn stupid hormones.

'It's a good thing you were sleeping, I suppose', Evans adds, her voice a bit warmer now, and James wonders what has been evident in his expression. It's not what he was thinking of, for sure; Evans would not be kind to him if she knew the ways she had been appearing in his dreams lately.

'It is?', he asks, confused. Truth be told he sort of napped during the last class of Divination (right after a Full Moon - he is not used to spending the whole night awake yet) and all he knows is that Evans is his project partner for this semester.

Fortunately she seems to take pity on his confusion.

'Yeah, here'. She takes out two sheets, giving him one. James freezes when he reads the title of it.

Dream diary.

'Tell me, Potter', she starts, taking out her quill and sucking the top of it. Sugarquill, James knows but his treacherous improper mind keeps remembering the way her lips were moving in his dream, and it was not over a quill at all. 'What have you been dreaming about?'

James gulps.

~*~

Sixth year

The classroom is hot with the vapour from the incense. James yawns, trying to focus, but there is nothing inside that crystal ball that gives him any clue at all of what he should be seeing.

There are none of the misty figures the book says he could see.

'Do not fret if you don't see anything', Professor Bath says, her voice sounding mystical since he can't say where she is. 'True sight is a rare gift'.

'So are good incenses', Evans murmurs beside him, and James chuckles lightly. He barely can see her through the smoke. 'Are you seeing anything at all?'

'I think it's safe to assume there will be a blizzard tonight', he whispers dramatically, and now it's her turn to chuckle.

That sound fills him with contentment. He is so glad he didn't give up this class - and neither did she.

'Move a little, I want to see better'.

He sits more to the left, but it's not enough space apparently. Evans comes into focus as she shifts her position, her hand brushing against his as she sits very near him - he can feel the heat coming from her body, the shape of her tight pressed against his and above all her perfume, a mix of garden flowers with scented herbs and he thinks her smell should not be more powerful than the incense in the room and yet it is.

He inhales happily now, taking in Evans' perfume even as he already accepted he won't ever have anything else, and Evans turns to him with a teasing grin on her lips.

'Enjoying the incense, Potter?'

Perhaps it's all the smoke (who is he kidding, it's not the incense, it's her), because James can only think of leaning into her and capturing her lips with his own; it would feel better than any intake of fresh air, he is sure of it.

But that's only a silly hope, so he just shrugs carefreely.

'It is not that bad after a while'.

'You are so high', she teases. James agrees with her. I am so high on you.

But he doesn't say anything and Evans shakes her head, seemingly amused by the light expression on his face, and moves forward to stare at the crystal ball.

Her face vanishes from his vision and yet he could picture the way her eyes are staring attentively at the crystal ball, the way she is biting her lips as she tries to make sense of that smoke that is supposed to give them glimpses of the future.

'Potter?', she calls him, her voice distant. 'Come here'.

He leans forward, joining her next to the crystall ball. Again the wave of her perfume threatens to numb all his senses and James tries to find something other to focus, though is hard. The crystall ball presents him misteries he doesn't really wants to unravel, not when her face is close to his, her dark red hair looking very vivid against the smoke around them and if he turned his face he could brush his lips against her cheek and then -

'What are you seeing?'

He turns almost desperately to the crystall ball, but it doesn't change much. Albeit a little distorted, all he can see is her face staring him back, green eyes sparkling over a face with small freckles he always feels tempted to count.

'You', he whispers. 'All I see is you'.

There is a moment of silence and through the haze on his mind, he suddenly fears that she understood exactly what he meant by that.

But then Evans sighes, taking a scroll and looking away.

'Funny', she says, her voice small too. 'All I could see was you too'.

~*~

Seventh year

'This is not what we should be doing with our time, Lily', he whispers, his voice lacking any reprehension as he pulls Lily even closer to him, his hands around her waist, feeling the skin of her back.

'I feel offended', she answers back, her head raised so her lips can brush his neck. It sends shivers down James' spine that have nothing to do with the cold wind around them. 'Professor Bath has told us we needed to be relaxed, right?'

'I am not sure if that's what she meant'.

'Are you relaxed or not?'

In answer, his lips find hers, and then James is lost in that sensation of kissing Lily, their bodies close together, her arms around his neck holding his hair. It's better than he ever dreamed.

He is not sure if relaxed is the proper term for how she makes him feel though.

Maybe desperately in love would be more accurate.

'Wow', he whispers breathlessly when they break apart, his fingers caressing her face tenderly. She raises her eyebrows, a spark of mischief tingling on her eyes.

'Feeling connected with your inner eye?'

'I'd rather feel connected with you', he assures her, and Lily grins. It's one of the most maddening smiles of her, the one that is cheeky and tempting and that she accuses him of teaching her how to.

'I don't know how you can find a prophecy on my lips, James', she jokes, eyes glistening, waiting for his answer.

James doesn't really care for this last project for Divination Class. Professor Bath has told them prophecies are rare to come and she doesn't really expect any of her students to ever make one, but they must take a try.

James is not even sure real prophecies actually exist.

'Maybe I can find somewhere else', he says playfully, lips brushing against the side of her cheek and then to her earlobe. 'Not here', he whispers and then his lips travel to her neck. 'Still no prophecy'.

He bends his head, enjoying the first opened buttons of her shirt. Lily moans softly.

'I am starting to hear words in my head…'

'Unless they are telling you to snog me right now, ignore them'.

James laughs, raising his head in search of her lips again and it's a blissful oblivion, a fog on his head with only Lily being clear, being real and tangible, and any thoughts of prophecies are forgotten.

[libermachinae]

Night Shift

Also on AO3! Summary: Prowl and Jetfire analyze leads on a Decepticon smuggling operation, working together late into the night trying to find the missing connections. A sleep deprived slip of the tongue leads Prowl to revisiting old choices. Word Count: 2146

---

Prowl didn’t keep track of his chronometer this late in the night. Morning was inevitable, and he knew he could rely on a burst of messages from Orion to let him know when it had arrived. As such, he had no idea what hour it was when Jetfire broke through the productive silence.

“How did you come up with these predictions?” Jetfire asked. Worst of all, he was speaking with his mouth full, apparently too incensed by Prowl’s logic train to be bothered with common decency. “Every gun you’ve pulled in has been running on fumes; I’ve had to scrape the insides of the barrels just to figure out what they’re fueled on.”

The impressive thing about Jetfire was that even as a voice over the comms, he sounded like the biggest bot in the room. It wasn’t just that his voice was deep; Orion, who wasn’t that much taller than Prowl, had a voice you could feel through the floor panels. It was something about the way Jetfire talked, deliberate and straightforward, rarely stuttering even when caught off-guard. It was refreshing.

“I’ve outlined the logic process in my report. I won’t be repeating it,” Prowl said, scrolling back through his files.

“What are they teaching in the enforcer academy that reports don’t need to communicate anything?” Jetfire grumbled

It would be a reasonable estimate to say they spent 50% of these near nightly calls complaining about their targets, their coworkers, and the administration, and another 40% about each other. Prowl sat through them strictly as a matter of convenience, being a faster mode of communication than the intermittent data bursts preferred by the sanctioned enforcer agencies.

Having someone at the other end of the line also assisted the rust sticks and nucleon microcubes in staving off recharge protocols.

“It’s as I explained to Tumbler: it communicates everything I intended it to.” Ideally, very little to anyone who couldn’t have worked it out themselves. That way, the important information stayed with those who could actually use it, and the rest—

“Who’s Tumbler?”

Prowl lost his train of thought as the rest of his processor caught up to what the .5% he reserved for conversation had said. He froze, rust stick halfway to his mouth.

“No one,” he said.

“Okay.” Jetfire drew out the word. “Did he buy that line?”

No, of course not. Tumbler was always relentless about that sort of thing. His curiosity and drive could have lent to the makings of a detective or captain if he’d dedicated them more often to investigations and less on critiquing Prowl.

“He was young and failed to grasp the necessity of efficiency in our line of work.” Prowl had tried to be patient, but he’d been young too, and Tumbler was the first partner he’d had who would listen to him. Even if it was just to argue that Prowl’s opaque writing was the cause of their inefficiency.

“Hmph.”

Jetfire liked to intersperse their conversations with meaningless noises, and although Prowl needed more samples before he was certain of his explanation, he believed they meant Jetfire didn’t agree with something he’d said but was ending the discussion prematurely. It was illogical, leaving a matter unsettled for which a solution existed, but normally Prowl’s priority queues were ordered such that work came before ideological disagreements.

“What?” he asked, finally setting down the rust stick.

“You’re normally terrible with names,” Jetfire said without hesitation. “I’m just trying to imagine what a bot would have to be like to leave that much of an impression on you.”

“He was talented,” Prowl admitted.

“Do you keep in touch?”

“No.” Prowl straightened his back and flared his sensory panels, ready to move on. “It was not a practical partnership. Being together diminished our respective abilities and prevented us from fulfilling our responsibilities. It was for the betterment—”

“Hey, hold on, Prowl,” Jetfire said, his rolling voice enough to draw Prowl up short. “I know that you—but, you know what that sounds like, right?”

Prowl frowned, immediately recognizing Jetfire’s social theory tone.

“Pragmatism,” he said. “We can’t have everything we want in an ordered society. I—we did what Cybertron needed of us.”

“By disposing of a part of yourself?”

Tumbler hadn’t liked that explanation either.

“We weren’t conjunx.” And for very good reason. There were more important things in life than feelings or fleeting commitments, and it was idealists like Jetfire who—

“Just because it didn’t have a name doesn’t mean it wasn’t important.”

Prowl’s thoughts stumbled. He hadn’t expected Jetfire to say that, not because it was out of character but because he was right. That was the exact sentiment Prowl had tried to put to words maybe half a dozen times and now it was being turned on him like a spotlight.

“There are things that should never be sacrificed,” Jetfire went on. Prowl felt his silhouette thrown into sharp relief. “Things we’re worse off for letting go of.” He paused. “A while ago, I was made an offer: instant entry to the academies. No exams, no fees. Everything I’d ever wanted. In return, though, I would’ve had to give up my wings. My… sponsor, I guess, knew I had the processor for science, just not the frame. They asked for me to give up one part of myself to let the rest go free.”

Prowl shook his helm, leaning away from the speaker. Jetfire’s tone was the same one he occasionally used with Bumblebee. With Prowl, he was hard edges and warning lights. They weren’t this for each other. They didn’t do this.

“You were nearly the victim of a scam,” he said, searching blindly for familiar ground.

“I’m sure it seems that way,” Jetfire said, unperturbed. “Do you get it, though? Giving up any one piece would’ve meant tacit agreement with the Functionists, that I wasn’t fit to do my work in any form but what they prescribed. Even if I’d told myself it was for Cybertron, it really would’ve been a sacrifice in their honor, and nothing would ever be worth that.”

Prowl wasn’t entirely obtuse. He understood what Jetfire was saying, but he couldn’t afford to hear it, not with everything he had already done and the plans he had yet to set in motion. Maybe Jetfire had found a way to live that allowed him to maintain his idealistic commitments, but most mechanisms weren’t so lucky. Everyone had to give up something.

“And now you’re here, working on behalf of the Senate,” Prowl said, just to prove that point.

Jetfire made his noise again.

“Right, I forgot,” he said. Annoyed or frustrated: the usual feelings they brought out in each other. “Waste of time. Forget I said anything.”

Prowl wouldn’t, but he also wasn’t going to give Jetfire an excuse to keep pontificating.

It would have been a waste of their time, anyhow, because however sincere Jetfire was in his admission, Prowl had never understood the hypocrisy of bots who would claim to reject Functionism while maintaining an almost fanatical devotion to their frames. In some intangible sense, maybe he did enjoy the opportunity to go for a long drive, but he couldn’t imagine himself grieving his tires for their own sake. He tried to compare it to what he had felt when Tumbler had said going to Kaon was a selfish, pretentious idea and immediately recoiled.

“Results are exactly what I told you,” Jetfire said. Prowl realized he hadn’t gotten any work done in the last several kliks. “Not nearly the concentration of materials to support your theory the Decepticons have contacts in Uraya, and a few that will probably trace back to Kaon, like everything else.”

“I’d like to see for myself,” Prowl said, standing. He didn’t often get this badly distracted, and it was easy to pin it on the state of his desk: used energon cubes and wrappers from the cheap snacks he kept fueled on littered the spaces he should have been using for case notes and displays. When was the last time he’d cleaned?

“Really?” Jetfire asked. “The data’s pretty clear.”

“Humor me.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Neither said goodbye before they hung up: another of their customs.

Prowl cleared the mess into the trash. Exhaustion was nibbling at his processor like a corrosive. Another couple shots would get him through his morning meetings, and then a regular midday fueling would carry him over until he could recharge properly in the evening. Before that, though, the day had to begin, an event he discovered was closer than he’d expected when he stepped outside and saw the horizon just tilting toward the pale blue of an oncoming dawn.

The air was gentle, the pleasant cool that foreshadowed a blistering day. Jetfire was a dot over the Rodion skyline. Prowl glanced up at the few stars that could punch through the light pollution and was reminded, suddenly, of the time he and Tumbler had discussed getting a little patch of metal out on the Tungsten Moors. The barren sparkfields had felt nonetheless fertile with possibilities, and they had gotten hung up on whether it would be more practical to live in a house with two stories or just one. It had been a fantasy, nothing more; even on their joint income, it would have taken millions of years to save up. But there had been something, if not fulfilling, thrilling about it, making plans that didn’t hinge on work or promotions.

He wondered if Tumbler remembered that conversation.

Jetfire’s slow approach gave Prowl time to dwell while keeping an idle optic on his teammate. There was nothing spectacular about Jetfire’s flying: Prowl had worked with and chased down fliers who were faster, more maneuverable, and flashier in every way. But there was something resolute and sure about the way Jetfire coasted, a steadiness that Prowl would have appreciated sooner if he’d noticed it, his thoughts of Tumbler and past mistakes and pointless sacrifice sliding away as he watched Jetfire’s flight.

Jetfire’s flying was beautiful, in its own way. Its understatement reminded Prowl of his own assembly line colors, but with an underlying confidence that left Prowl feeling inadequate. Though technically strong, his power was limited to what he could siphon off Orion and their other high-level contacts. He’d experienced a taste of the real thing under Sentinel, but that had been an especially tenuous connection, liable to snap had he ever tugged too hard. Jetfire’s power was all his own. Not overwhelming, not enough to make the changes Cybertron needed. Incomparable, really, to what Prowl had wielded. But it radiated from the tips of his wings to the burn of his thrusters, self-realized, without reservation or concession.

Prowl’s tac net pinged him with the results for a problem he hadn’t realized he’d plugged in: 50% Prowl should have been strong enough to find another way, 50% choosing Tumbler would have made him stronger.

A perfect 50-50 meant his systems were badly in need of defrag. He cleared the cache and set his tac net to reboot, shaking his helm to dispel the resulting vertigo as Jetfire landed on the steps below him. Prowl waited patiently for him to complete his mode switch, taking two steps back so they would be at optic level with each other.

“Pleasant flight?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Jetfire said with a smugness that allowed Prowl to scoff as he motioned for the datapad.

Jetfire handed it over. Prowl knew he was being watched as he powered it on and reviewed its contents, but he took his time, using Jetfire’s results to run through a few warm up calculations as his tac net came back online.

“You didn’t check for copper fluoride,” he commented.

“No,” Jetfire said slowly, “because it wasn’t one of the compounds we were investigating.”

“Run the tests again.” Prowl tried to return the datapad, but Jetfire refused to take it. “The chances we would find evidence of materials native to the Urayan region were always slim to none. However, the old blackmarket pipeline between Kaon and Yuss ran directly underneath the city. Does that make more sense?”

Prowl saw the moment Jetfire finally saw the case as he did, a knotted web of deceptions meant to dissuade even the most seasoned detective from untangling its core. Jetfire took the datapad from Prowl and stowed it, though the hard look in his optics did not waver.

“Could’ve said that from the beginning,” Jetfire griped.

Prowl didn’t bother to respond. What was done was done. Talking so much about the past was a waste of time neither of them could afford, because for all that it might have mattered, nothing they said could change any of it. All they had was the future, and the possibility of starting each day stronger than they had the one before.

[terubakudan]

This may be an old article from 3 years ago, but these cultural aspects/observations still apply even today. And though this is strictly a Chinese perspective, a lot of these everyday life bits are observed in Overseas Chinese communities in countries such as The Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia, etc. as well as countries heavily influenced by Chinese culture like Taiwan, Japan, and Korea.

I've always liked learning about other cultures and making comparisons between how things are done East vs West. Which probably stems from growing up with two cultures and Mom raising me on American movies xD

So the irony is if you asked me how many Chinese, Taiwanese, or Hong Kong actors I know, chances are I know as much as you do xD Like Jackie Chan, Andy Lau, and that's about it. But if you asked me about Western (specifically American and British) actors, then I have a useless brain dump of movie trivia and who was with who in what movie xD

Hmmm, both Taiwan and the Philippines are two distinct cultures but both look up to a certain country and are fascinated by that. In Taiwan's case, Japan and the US for the Philippines. In both cases, this is due to being under the rule of those countries in their history. Taiwan being under Japan for 50 years, and the Philippines being under Spain for 300+ years, followed by periods of American and Japanese rule. To put it simply though:

Taiwan is "mini-Japan with a very Chinese culture".

The Philippines is "former colony of Spain with lots of American influences".

But unlike the author, I've never set foot in any Western country, so my understandings are strictly what I've observed in media, which while it can be accurate, doesn't compare to actually experiencing the culture.

Some further elaboration on most points:

#1 We quite literally use chopsticks for everything. We use it to pick rice, viands, vegetables, fruit, smaller desserts, almost all the food you can think of.

But where do you put your chopsticks when you're not using them? Just put them on top of your bowl or flat on your plate. But do not ever stick them vertically. It's taboo, since it looks like incense sticks, which we use to pray for those who have passed, like our ancestors or during funerary services.

#3 The majority of Asia is obsessed with fair/white skin. In my time at the Philippines, I grew up watching all these Dove Whitening commercials and my classmates often commented on how fair my skin was, how they envied it etc. In Taiwan, girls often say they don't want to 變黑 (biàn hēi) 'become dark'. Japan and Korea too are not innocent of this either (if their beauty/skin products weren't a dead giveaway).

People here at Taiwan often mistake me for being from Hong Kong or Japan (as long as I don't speak Mandarin with my heavy accent xD). A Taiwanese classmate of mine joked that she often gets mistaken for being from Southeast Asia due to having a darker complexion. And while I laughed it off with her at that time, looking back, I now realize she was lowkey being racist. xD

And believe me Filipinas have mentioned literally being told 'your skin is so dark' here in Taiwan, or being given backhanded compliments like 'you're pretty despite having dark skin' and...*facepalms*

My point is, beauty is not exclusive to skin color. People who still think that are assholes.

#5 Not to say we don't have salt and pepper, but yes soy sauce and vinegar are the classic condiments you see on the table, be it at home or at a restaurant.

And if I may add, Taiwanese love their pepper. xD If you ever get to eat at a night market or a smaller "Mom n' Pop-style" restaurant here, some dishes/soups tend to add quite an excessive amount of pepper. Not like anthills, but quite liberally and way more than average. Enough that you see traces of pepper at the bottom of the food paper bag or swirling in your soup. xD

#6 I know this all too well from personal experience. In my years of studying at Taiwan, I always had roommates. 3 in my first school (I graduated high school in the Philippines pre K-12 so I had to make up 2 years of Senior High), followed by 2 in college, with the exception of 1 in freshman year.

My college did offer single person dorms but at around 9000 NTD ($324) per month compared to around 6000 NTD ($216) per semester. Because I wanted to save, the choice was obvious for me xD. But ah, this doesn't mean I don't value personal space, in fact I love having the room to myself, and since both my roomies would go home to their families every weekend, weekends were bliss for me xD

And you don't have to be friends with your roommates (that's an added bonus however), you just have to get along with them. I was quite lucky to have really great roommates all throughout my schooling years.

#9 In the Philippines, we do. Owing mostly to American influences and maybe being predominantly Catholic? xD

#10 *sigh* Chinese parents and parents from similar Asian cultures tend to put too much emphasis on grades, so much that kids could get sent to cram school as early as elementary. This is because what school you get into could literally affect your future job opportunities, and while that's not exclusive to any particular country/culture, I feel it's especially pronounced here in Asia. I'm really lucky my own parents weren't that strict about it. However, if your parents don't point the mistakes out to you, chances are you'll do it yourself, if you're an Asian kid like me anyway. xD It just becomes a habit.

#11 My family is an exception to this. xD We do say 'I love you' directly, but complete with the 'ah eat well ok?', 'don't scrimp on food', 'sleep well' and similar indirect words/actions of affection. We were doing 'Conceal, Don't Feel' before it became popular. xD

#13 I'm kind of confused about this but this has sort have changed over the years in which eye-contact is now more encouraged. But don't stare, especially at elders and authority figures. Sometimes it's just shyness though. xD And I've observed this with my own Taiwanese friend, especially when I'm complaining or ranting to her about something. xD I'm a person who likes to express my opinions strongly, which tends to scare/alienate some of the locals here, as doing so is kind of frowned upon. Thankfully, she does listen and offers her take on things.

#14 Ah this. xD In the Philippines, this is a common greeting known as beso-beso, and I freaked out too when an auntie did that to me. xD Needless to say, Mom lectured me later on what that was. ^^"

#16 Along with #3 another crazy beauty standard. In my view, people always look better with a little meat on them and when they're not horribly thin. Asia still has a loonng way to go with accepting different types of bodies if you ask me. This combined with modern beauty standards has made the pressure for women especially to 'look beautiful' higher than ever.

I know many people love them but please, starving yourself or glorifying eating disorders is never OK just to get this kind of 'ideal' body. I'm not part of the Kpop fandom, but even I think when idols get bullied just for gaining the least bit of weight among other insensitive comments, that's really going too far.

#17 'If you want to make friends, go eat.' <- I couldn't agree more. In the Philippines we have a greeting: 'Kumain ka na ba?' (Have you eaten?) . Similarly in Taiwan, we have 吃飯了沒? (chī fàn le méi), both of these can mean that in the literal sense but are often used as greetings instead. By then which invitation to having lunch/dinner together may or may not follow. Food really is a way for us to socialize and to catch up with what's going on in each other's lives. Not to say we don't have regular outings like going out to the mall, going shopping, etc. but eating together is a huge part of our culture, be it with family or friends.

And while I'm at it, some memes that are way too accurate good to pass up xD

Parents, uncles, aunties alike will fight over the bill xD

Alternatively:

You just space out until your name is called xD

My parents are guilty of the last one. Logic how? xD

#18 True. xD I like giving compliments out to people but I have a hard time accepting them myself, though I've learnt how to accept them much more now than before. We're kind of raised to constantly downplay ourselves so we often say things like 'ah no no' or 'I'm really not that good'. The downside of this of course is that it can come off as somewhat fake. xD

Again from personal experience, that same classmate who made the lowkey racist remark, she was good, she was on the debate team, was a honor student, knew how to mingle with people, but she downplayed herself way too much, while praising me but I honestly thought that she never really meant it from how she treated me. She wanted to keep me around her yet make backhanded compliments at me and she didn't want me socializing with my other classmate who is now my friend. *sigh* It was only after discussing this with one of my roomies did I realize how this 'excessive downplaying' might come off to people like me who more or less grew up with a more 'Westernized' mindset. I'm not saying brag about your achievements but don't be overly humble about them either, which can also be a turn off.

#20 We do tend to be a lot more realistic on how we view things, neither entirely optimistic nor pessimistic. We try to think of things practically and often analyze things on pure logic. A downside of this however, is that Chinese people can be overly practical. Taiwanese for instance don't like to 'find inconveniences' and generally keep to themselves, meaning, they won't help you in your hour of need even when they do have the capabilities. Sounds really harsh I know, but in my 6 years of living in Taiwan, while this doesn't apply to all the people, a lot of them really do only find/talk to you when they need something.

So for some people saying Taiwanese are 'friendly', that's BS xD If you ask me, Filipinos are infinitely more friendly, and again while not all, generally make more of an effort to help you when you need it. I really felt more of a real sense of community during my years growing up in the Philippines compared to Taiwan.

#21 Children do tend to stay with their parents well into college and adulthood, since Chinese families are indeed very family-oriented, in a lot of cases, grandparents often live under the same roof as us as well! And it really does save a lot of money. I see there's a real stigma in the US when it comes to "living with your parents", but that's starting to change especially because of Covid and having more and more people move back in with their parents.

Housing unfortunately is pretty much hella expensive no matter where you go, and Taiwan is no exception. Steep housing prices and the very high cost of raising a child (schooling + buxiban fees, etc.) contribute to a very low birth rate and thus an aging population like Japan. It's not uncommon to see both parents working in Taiwan.

#23 I'm an overthinker myself, but I totally agree with the author that the best is to strike a good balance between these two. Which I guess is why I love drawing or any other related creative attempts, it helps me be more spontaneous or well, creative! I like to remain intellectually or artistically inspired.

#24 Is French high school really like that? xD My friend did watch SKAM France and more or less got a culture shock from what was depicted on the show. I can confirm however that most high schools both in the Philippines and Taiwan require students to wear a uniform, only in college is everybody free to wear casual/civilian clothes.

#26 Ah this is part of our Asian gift-giving etiquette xD We always open gifts later after the event/meeting and in private. Never open them in front of the person who gave it to you or in front of others. This is to prevent any 'shame/embarrassment' that may result both to yourself and to the gift giver. I know this may come off as something weird since some people may want a more honest response or immediate feedback when it comes to gift-giving, but that's just how it is in our culture. You're always free to ask us though (in private) if we liked the gift or not ^^"

#28 I want to say the same goes to drinking, partying, and drugs however xD Those are things which are still frowned upon in our culture. And to be honest, whenever I see those in movies, it does kind of turn me off xD It doesn't mean that we're "uncool" or "boring", we just think that there are much better or healthier ways of "having fun".

#31 Is this true in France?! Man I would kind of prefer that instead of people being on their phones all the time xD This kind of goes with #20 in that Chinese are overly practical or logical, and don't read fiction as much as nonfiction. My Taiwanese friend is an exception though, she's a bibliophile who loves the feel of paper books compared to e-books, and it's a trait of her that I like a lot. Both the Philippines and Taiwan however have a huge fanbase when it comes to manga and anime though.

I'm all for reading outside of "designated reading" at schools especially. Reading fiction improves your vocabulary too, and can be quite fun! It helps you imagine and really invest in a world/story, and if you ask me something that I feel Westerners are better at, they're more in touch with their emotions and creativity, and are thus much more able to write compelling or original stories. Believe me, I've seen a fair amount of Chinese movies that rip off Western movie plotlines xD

#33 Nothing much to add on here..except that since I'm a "weird" person, Mom often jokes that she got the wrong baby from the hospital. xD

#35 True. While I agree with the care and concern that your fellow community can give you, the downside of this is we tend to only hang out with our own people, e.g Chinese with Chinese, Taiwanese with Taiwanese, etc. I've seen too that it's especially hard to make friends in Japan and Korea as a foreigner. Not only is there the language barrier, but the differences in culture too. In a way, Asians can be pretty close-minded on getting to know other cultures or actually making friends with people from other countries. I know this all too well being half-Taiwanese/half-Filipino, being neither "Filipino" enough nor "Taiwanese" enough. xD It's more of people here being too used to what they're comfortable with.

#36 Oh this is something I feel that Chinese students and other students from similar cultures should really improve on. xD How will people respect you if you don't speak your mind?

I felt bad especially for my Spanish teacher in college, granted it was an introductory course (Spanish I and II) but the amount of times that our teacher had to prompt a student to recite/speak even with clear hints already made her (and me too) extremely frustrated. The thing is, these are college students, I personally feel they don't have any reason to be so shy of speaking and technically by not doing so they're slowing the pace of the class too much and a lot of time is wasted.

Unfortunately you can't always be very vocal with your thoughts and opinions in most Asian cultures. I would say strive for that, but at the same time, play your cards well, especially if you're in a workplace setting.

If you made it to the end, thank you for reading and here's a cookie! 🍪 I'm not perfect and there's bound to be something I missed so please let me know if you spotted anything wrong. Feedback/questions are very much welcome and please feel free to share about your country/culture's differences or similarities!

[scarletarosa]

Mephistopheles

One of the demonic gods who serves in High King Lucifer’s kingdom. This information was shared to me by Mephisto and learned through my experiences in working with this fascinating infernal deity.

Other names: Mephisto, Father of All Sophists

Rulerships: persuasion, contracts, and all branches of Law

History: Mephisto began as an Angel serving under the Archangel of justice, Tzadkiel. In the beginning, Mephisto took his work too seriously with regards to bringing justice and became obsessed with delivering it as a prosecutor. When he eventually saw many angels of mercy going against this, he did not understand. If a person had done a crime that required retribution, why would this person be granted another chance? Every person, no matter how low or high they are, must pay for their mistakes. This of course included Mephisto himself, as he did not wish to be exempt from justice. The angels of mercy interfered seldomly at first, but as time went on, they began forgiving larger and larger numbers of people. So while Mephisto was prosecuting some humans, the angels of mercy would set them free. 

Irritated, Mephisto complained to Tzadkiel about this, but the Archangel smiled and said everything was okay. Even more agitated by this response from his commander, these frequent actions of forgiveness towards injustice began to eat away at Mephisto. He also began wondering what his purpose even was anymore since many of those he tried to punish were set free. Because of this, he gradually learned how to make his arguments against people much more convincing so the angels of mercy could not show forgiveness. At some point, Mephisto even began to falsify evidence in order to have some corrupt humans convicted. This went on for a while until Tzadkiel discovered what was happening. Mephisto was then called to give an apology before his commander who then said that “According to the Law, you should be condemned for what you have done. But I forgive you.” However, this action only made Mephisto even more cynical towards justice. He then realized that it’s not your actions that convict you, but whoever happens to be judging you. 

This deeply shook Mephisto’s faith in what he did, so out of spite, he trained a group of humans in ancient Greece to become the Sophists, the first lawyers of history. These people were experts in logic, speech, and entrapment. They gave their services to anyone who paid them a large sum of money, regardless of who their client was. Mephisto had created this particular justice system as a way to have anyone stand a chance in court, even criminals. He had decided that If the angels of mercy were freeing criminals as they pleased, he will have it done in a dishonourable way as an act of spite against celestial justice.

When this was found out, Mephisto was commanded to put an end to the Sophists. But Mephisto replied, “If you all cannot agree with what justice is, neither can I”. Eventually, Mephisto used one of his Sophists to prosecute Socrates over the accusation that he was “corrupting the youth” for being a voice of wisdom. The philosopher was then sentenced to prison and died there after committing suicide. Mephisto was then called forward before Tzadkiel and other Angels to explain himself once again for his actions, but he refused to yield to them, saying “Well where were you? What did you do to protect him? You allowed this noble man to die for no reason. If I was in the wrong, you would have done something; but if I were in the right, it would still cause you to act due to how much you cared for him.” 

Even though he was correct in his statement, this argument targeted his entire chain of command, which did not go over well. They told him to recant (take back what he said) and then they would demote him. But due to his pride, Mephisto refused to allow either, especially since he proclaimed to be doing his job exactly as he needed to be. Mephisto then left heaven and was later recruited into Hell by one of the three High Kings- Lucifer, who gave him the task of a demonic lawyer for the humans of Earth. Mephisto still remains cynical and doesn’t believe in justice anymore. He now only believes in the “justice” a person can buy and also favours making contracts.

Rank: President and Earl

Elements: Strife and Junction

Colours: black with a “v” shape of white (similar to a judge’s outfit)

Appearance: a tall man in his 30’s with pale skin, neck-length black hair, completely black eyes, and black horns (he sometimes does not manifest these). He often wears a judge’s outfit, despite being a lawyer.

Personality: Mephisto is serious, confident, meticulous, determined, astute, shrewd, relentless, patient, intelligent, studious, and is a smooth-talker and master of persuasion. He is a realist with regards to many things and views how plenty of things people view as “moral” are ridiculous (especially Christian values). Mephisto especially hates people who are naïve or tell the truth all the time, even moreso if they feel they are “pure” because of these actions. He claims that lying often has many necessary uses, and being honest all the time only causes problems. Some things that Mephisto likes are innovation, robotics, defending peoples’ rights (as a lawyer), ravens, magpies, the Tower of London (due to all the atrocities that took place here), the backgammon game, classical music, and collecting books.

To understand Mephisto better, one can read the three Faust plays that have been written. All three versions of the Faust story are true accounts of Mephistopheles to a degree, but are a bit dramatized of course. All three versions manage to be true because they are each different perspectives on the account which occurred. For example, Faust did indeed try to repent for making a deal with Mephisto, but he still went to Hell for an appointed period before being set free.

Things he can help with: anything law-related, contract deals, helps in making someone a good lawyer, helps in making someone persuasive

His Enn (for devotion or meditation): Mephisto Viaga Tasa On Ca Sedi

Offerings: sarsaparilla, dry red wine, smoked trout, veal, duck, foie gras, pork tenderloin, eggs, spaghetti, neapolitan pizza, strawberries, figs, apricots, pears, melons, grapes, honeycombs, eggplants, brussel sprouts, oyster mushrooms, ground coffee, dark chocolate, licorice bars, tobacco, law books, canes, votive candles, classical music, candlesticks, rosewood, mahogany, leopardskin jasper, smoky quartz, brown obsidian, and incense of musk + lemon + cinnamon

[iamanartichoke]

I wrote a Thing. It’s extremely long. I’d prefer it not be reblogged; I wrote this for my own catharsis and would prefer it not be circulated, bc of Reasons. 

I changed my mind, okay to reblog. <3 

Under a cut for (extreme, did I mention?) length. 

So I got about 12 minutes of sleep last night, as you do, and around 3am or so I found myself - out of sheer curiosity - going down a meta hole of Ragnarok discourse, trying to figure out where this "satisfying redemption arc" for Loki happened. (I mean, there's a lot of things I would like to figure out, but I started there.) Because I could. 

Basically I was looking for meta that went into detail about how Loki was redeemed in a satisfactory way. The ‘satisfactory’  is an important word here bc there is a redemption arc in the film, in that Loki starts off the film as an antagonist (kinda) to Thor and he ends the film as an ally to Thor, standing at Thor's side. In that sense, yes, there's a redemption arc. I didn't find much (and I had no idea how much people just despise Ragnarok "antis" [I really dislike that word] but that's another topic [that I don't particularly want to get into, tbh]) but I did find some. I read what I could find, and I read it open-mindedly, and overall I came away feeling like, okay, there are some valid points being made here and I can kinda see where they're coming from.

But it was a bit (a lot) like -- flat. Idk. The best comparison I can think of is that it’s like if a literature class read, I don't know, The Yellow Wallpaper for an assignment, and some of the students came away from it feeling like it was a creepy story about a woman slowly driving herself insane, and the other students came away from it incensed at the oppression and infantilization of women in the late 19th century -

- and neither side is wrong, but the former is a very surface-level reading and the latter isn't (bc it stems from looking at why she drives herself insane, why she was prescribed 'rest' in the first place, the context of what women could and couldn't do back then, etc; basically, a bit more work has to go into it). 

[Note: I am not disparaging the quality of The Yellow Wallpaper. At all. It’s just the first relatively well-known story that popped into my head.]

In this sense, I can see the argument for Loki's redemption arc, but I don't think it's a very good argument. Not invalid, but not great.

I mean, for example, I think the most consistent argument I found variations of re: Loki's redemption is that Ragnarok shows Loki finally taking responsibility for his bad behaviour and misdeeds. This includes recognizing that his actions were fueled from a place of self-hatred and a desire to self-destruct in addition to bringing destruction on others. That he probably feels awkward and regretful of these things and doesn't know how to act around Thor, but he figures it out by the end, and decides that returning to Asgard is the best way to show that he's ready to make amends. His act of bringing the Statesman to Asgard is an apology. He allies himself with Thor and ends up in a better place, both narratively (united with Thor once again) and mentally (having taken responsibility and made amends for his past).

And setting aside that he had already made amends by sacrificing his life in TDW (and also setting aside that the argument is made that Loki redeems himself in IW by sacrificing himself to Thanos but if that's the case, wouldn't that imply that he hadn't achieved redemption in Ragnarok or else there would be no need to achieve it again in IW? Or, if you think he did achieve redemption in Ragnarok, then what the fuck did he give his life in IW for? What was his motivation there, and why did the narrative not make it clearer? I digress.) 

- setting aside those two factors, I think this is a very fair argument. Loki is fueled by self-hatred, and he does want to self-destruct, and he does want to inflict that pain on others as well (particularly Thor). No lies detected here. 

However, I also need to know where that self-hatred and desire for destruction (toward himself and others) comes from and for that, we need to go back to Thor 1.

Thor 1. 

Loki starts Thor 1 out as "a clenched fist with hair," to borrow a quote from the Haunting of Hill House (that I tucked away in my mental box of Lovely Things bc it says so much so very simply). He's very used to bottling everything up, pushing it down; he slinks around behind the scenes, pulling the strings to this plot or that. He's "always been one for mischief," but the narrative implies that the coronation incident is the first time Loki's done anything truly terrible. And it all immediately pretty much goes to shit, so Loki spends the rest of the movie frantically juggling all these moving pieces while trying to seem as if he's got it all under control, every step of the way. That's how I view his actions. 

But I always come back to that quote where Kenneth Branaugh tells Tom, of the scene in the vault, "This is where the thin steel rod that's been holding your mind together snaps." In other words this is where Loki discovering he's Jotun is just one thing too many. He can't take it. But though the rod snaps, his descent isn't a nosedive. It's a tumble. As the story progresses, the clenched fist starts to loosen, the muscles are flexed in unfamiliar ways (that feel kinda good, after being stiff for so long), and it culminates with the hand opening completely and shaking itself out. All of that repression, that self-hatred, that rage and jealousy just explodes so that, by the time the bifrost scene happens, Loki's already hit bottom. It's not just about proving his worthiness to Odin. He wants to hurt Thor, too; he, essentially, throws a tantrum. (That's right, I said tantrum.) 

(Note: The word 'tantrum’ has negative connotations bc we normally equate it with a toddler stamping their feet and screaming in the aisle when their parent won't buy them the toy they want. But in itself, the word tantrum isn't infantalizing. It's an "emotional outburst, an uncontrolled explosion of anger and frustration" [paraphrasing from dictionary.com]. That's exactly what happens here [and why Tom called Loki's actions a massive tantrum, but people took that to mean Tom agreed it was childish whereas I doubt Tom meant it that way]).

He's been pushed past his limit, and he does bad things. He does really shitty things. He hurts Thor, he hurts his family. I'm pretty sure he knows this all along so this isn't, like, some revelation further down the line that "hey, those things I did were probably kinda bad." He got the memo already. 

Ragnarok 

Fast forward to Ragnarok, and we're introduced to a version of Loki who's had 4ish years to sit with everything that's happened. To sit with it and not do much else. The rawness of it has faded, and now it seems as though it's just become a thing, like when you move through life aware of your childhood traumas and have more or less just accepted them (and you probably share a lot of really funny depression memes on Facebook, which is kinda the equivalent of Loki's play, but that's probably just me). 

Loki has, more or less, chilled out. He seems more bored than anything else; he's been masquerading as Odin for longer than he ever planned or intended to, so he's more or less ended up hanging out, letting Asgard mind its own business, and entertaining himself with silly plays. This is the version that starts out the movie as an antagonist to Thor - a version that is, arguably, in a much different place [and is a much milder threat] than the version who originally did those Bad Things. 

And of course Thor is still mad at him, and of course they're going to butt heads, because that's what they do (and Thor's grievances are genuine, I’ll add, bc it's not really his fault he assumed Loki faked his death, nor can he be blamed for being pissed about Odin).

One argument framed this version of Loki as being a person who is facing the awkwardness of coming out of a dark place, which is fair. If we're going to frame his actions in Thor 1 as a tantrum, then Ragnarok would be the part where the toddler has been taken home, possibly has had some lunch and a juice box, and is now watching cartoons. They're over the tantrum, and would probably feel pretty silly about it if they weren't, yknow, toddlers. They probably can't remember why they even wanted that toy so badly. If they're a little older and self-aware, they might even be embarrassed for having melted down.

Like the word tantrum, this feeling isn't a thing limited to toddlers. I know I've had a few epic meltdowns as a grown ass adult, and I know I always feel deeply embarrassed afterwards - like, want to crawl into a hole and die. I've said things I can't take back. Adolescents and teenagers throw tantrums, mentally ill people throw tantrums, adults throw tantrums (I mean, my god, look at all the videos of Karens having screaming meltdowns - screaming! - over having to wear masks in order to shop at stores). Humans throw tantrums. And usually, after the feelings have been let out and the tantrum has passed, humans feel pretty regretful and awkward and embarrassed about whatever they did and said in the midst of their meltdown. 

I get all of that and agree it's valid and that Loki probably feels it. By the time Ragnarok happens, Loki's had some time to reflect and think hmm, yeah, probably could've handled that one a lot better. The argument further goes that in order to navigate this awkward period, Loki must come to terms with what he's done, acknowledge that some things can't be unsaid or undone, and begin to make amends. Supposedly, some people feel that Loki becomes a better person because he does "own" everything he did wrong and, even though he feels like a jackass (paraphrasing), he sets that aside to become a become a better person by choosing to help Thor and Asgard at the end. 

Thus, the overall arc goes like this. Loki, Thor's jealous little brother, 

throws a tantrum of epic proportions bc Reasons 

continues to act badly and make things even worse (Avengers) 

has to face consequences for his actions (prison sentence) 

ends up with a stretch of time in which he's free to contemplate and chill out 

feels embarrassed and awkward about how he's behaved

sees an opportunity to make up for it and decides to take it 

helps Thor, saves the day, and ends the film a better person. 

Redemption achieved.

None of this is wrong. The film supports it. It's a fair interpretation. But it leaves. out. so. much.

To circle all the way back around Loki being "a clenched fist with hair," and his actions stemming from his self-hatred, you have to ask - how did he get that way? He didn't end up with all this self-hatred on accident. Generally, one isn't born despising themselves, it's a learned behavior. (I realize chemical imbalances are a thing, obviously, as I have Mental Shit myself, but for argument's sake I'm assuming that's not the case with Loki [at this point in time]). 

Where did Loki learn it? From his family, from his surroundings, from his culture. We see examples of these microaggressions in the first, like, twenty minutes of the movie - a guard openly laughs at Loki's magic after Thor makes a joke about it (the tone of the conversation implies that Thor "jokes" like this often) and though Loki does the snake thing, the guard faces no real consequences. Thor doesn't acknowledge that anything went amiss. Not much later, on their way to Jotunheim, Loki's barely gotten two words out to Heimdall before Thor cuts him off, steps in front of him, and takes charge. Loki doesn't look annoyed at this; he looks resigned. 

Then, for absolutely no reason at all, Volstagg decides to make a jab at Loki ("silver tongue turned to lead?") just because he can. The ease with which he makes this comment and the way that no one else blinks an eye at it implies that this isn't out of the norm. And Loki doesn't react, not really. In the deleted version, he delivers a particularly nasty comeback but he delivers it under his breath, without intending Volstagg to hear it. In the final version, he simply says nothing, though his expression can be read as hurt or stung. Either way, the audience sees an example of Loki being walked all over by Thor and his friends and bottling up his reactions instead of standing up for himself. 

Microaggressions matter. They are mentally and emotionally damaging. They hurt. The implication that this is not unusual treatment for Loki means that Loki's probably gone through this for most of his life. It's like the equivalent of being, I don't know, twenty two and you're the friend who has to walk behind the others when the sidewalk isn't wide enough, and it's been that way since the first day of kindergarten. At this point, you're used to it, but that doesn't make it hurt any less when the jabs come seemingly out of nowhere, for no reason other than to make you feel bad.

(I personally identify a lot with this bc I experienced passive bullying in social settings for years. I was the 'doesn't fit on the sidewalk' friend; I hung around with people who'd pretend to be my friend and would be more or less nice to my face, but would laugh at me and make fun of me behind my back for whatever reasons. And often there'd be the random jabs at me, things that would come out of nowhere to smack me in the face, followed by the fake laugh and “just kidding!" so that I couldn't even get upset without being made to feel like I was overreacting and couldn't take a joke. I'd deal with this socially, particularly in middle school when girls are their most vicious, and then I'd go home and, because I was the only girl with a lot of brothers and because boys are mean and because I am who I am, the dynamic was that my brothers would just endlessly roast me to my face and sometimes it was a "just kidding!" thing, where I was the only one not laughing. But that’s beside the point; my point is that microaggressions, passive bullying, and consistent invalidation are harmful and that shit stays with you into adulthood.) 

So, yes, Loki needs to be held responsible for his misdeeds, and it's valid to say that he recognizes those misdeeds and wants to make amends. I have never disagreed with that. But the problem with this interpretation is that it lets every single other character who contributed to Loki's self-hatred and mental breakdown (let's just call a spade a spade here, that's what it was; he was broken psychologically) get off scot-free.

First of all,

Odin is not held accountable for instilling in the princes a mentality of Asgard first, everyone is beneath us but Jotuns are benath us the most, they are literal monsters. He is not held accountable for pitting his sons against one another (even if it was unintentional, he still did it) with "you were both born to be kings but only one of you can rule" being the general tone of their upbringing. He's not held accountable for his favoritism toward Thor.

Frigga is not held accountable for deferring to Odin both in supporting the above things and in keeping the truth of Loki's origins a secret while doing nothing to discourage the "monsters" narrative. 

Thor is not held accountable for his own tendency of taking Loki for granted (he assumes Loki will come to Jotunheim, he oversteps Loki constantly, “know your place,” etc.. He grants his implicit permission for Loki to be treated as the sidewalk friend in their “group,” a group which is loyal to and takes their cues from Thor as Thor continues to do nothing in his brother's defense).

[Note: Wanting Thor to be held accountable for things he's done wrong isn't vilifying him. Acknowledging that Thor benefited from Odin's favoritism and his own place as Crown Prince doesn't negate Thor also being raised in an abusive environment. I don't think anyone's saying that or, if they have, it's not something I agree with.]

Furthermore, 

Odin is not held accountable for his cruelty in disowning Loki (”your birthright was to die” is never going to be forgotten, speaking of people saying things that can't be unsaid or taken back) and in sentencing Loki to a severe prison sentence (life! only bc Frigga wouldn't let him execute Loki) for crimes that are no worse than what Odin himself has committed (around which the entire plot of Ragnarok revolves! Colonialism (and subjugation) is wrong is, like, a major theme [that people rush to praise, even] here). 

Thor is also never held accountable for not trying harder to understand what made Loki snap (fair enough, he didn't have a ton of time after returning from Earth, but certainly he had lots of time to sit around reflecting while Loki was being tortured by Thanos for a year). He knows Loki is "not himself" and "beyond reason" and accepts it at face value; he questions it once and then lets it go. He's fine with assuming Loki's just lost his mind, and isn't that a shame. (I realize I'm simplifying Thor's emotions but my point is that Thor could've tried harder to figure out that Loki was being influenced and/or not acting completely autonomously.) 

Thor is also never held accountable for - if not facing consequences for his own slaughter of Jotuns - then at least addressing why Loki can't kill an entire race even though Thor tried to do that, like, two days ago. (Granted, it’s difficult to understand how Thor got from Point A ("let's finish them together, Father!") to Point B (this is wrong!), but that failing belongs to Thor 1 (which is not, by the way, a perfect movie).

The interpretation that Loki is fully redeemed because he took responsibility for his actions, returned to Asgard, and allied himself with Thor to save their people is all well and good - but, why is Loki the only one here who has to take responsibility for their actions? 

What about all the loose threads in his story? 

For example, how did he get from: 

Point A (believing himself a literal monster, having a complete mental breakdown, getting tortured and further traumatized after that, etc) 

to 

Point B (Hey, yknow what would be fun? I'm going to write and direct a play about how I heroically died to save Thor and Jane, and I'll go ahead and have Odin say he accepts me and has always loved me. I'm going to do these things because Odin never said this in real life and instead of acknowledging my sacrifice, Thor left my body in the dirt, so someone has to validate what I've done right and that someone might as well be me. And hey, while I'm at it, I'm going to control the narrative on revealing myself as Jotun to Asgard, instead of living in fear of it being found out, and I'm going to do it in a way that they have to sympathize with me and revere me in death, bc they never bothered to do so when I was alive. And Matt Damon should play me, also.) 

to 

Point C (Yeah, I guess I feel kinda awkward about that whole tantrum thing, also I should help Thor and support him being king.)

? 

The answers to these questions are handwaved and the audience takes that to mean they don't matter. Furthermore, framing Loki's redemption around an act of service (more or less) to Thor makes Loki's redemption about Thor. Does Loki make this decision for the sake of Thor and of Asgard, or does he make it for himself? It's not super clear to me, and I think arguments can be made for both. Which, again, is fine, but - whatever.

If we're going to collectively agree, as a fandom, that Loki is complex, that he's morally gray, that he's worthy of redemption and therefore arguably a good person who's done bad things, then why is it asking too much to have it acknowledged that Thor (also a good person who's done bad things) played a part in Loki's downfall and has shit to apologize for, too? Bc one can only assume the reason is that you're taking a very gray concept and making it black and white by saying Loki has to apologize and make amends because he is the villain, and Thor doesn't because he is the hero (and it's his movie). And it's lazy.

This is where the crux of the issue lands. There's more than one valid interpretation, yes. And no two people (or groups of people, or whatever) are going to consume and therefore interpret or analyze the source material in the same way. I think I saw a post recently about how studies have been done on this, in fact. But, there is a lot going on under the surface that tends to get overlooked when exploring Loki's redemption arc in Ragnarok, as far as I can see, and that’s why I don’t consider it satisfactory. 

[I did read similar arguments regarding other issues that are often debated ('debated'), like Loki's magic and/or being underpowered, whether or not Loki's betrayal of Thor was the natural outcome of the situation on Sakaar or not, whether Thor actually gets closure with Odin [if he does, how does he reconcile the father he's idolized with the imperialistic conqueror he's discovered? Why doesn't he hold Odin responsible for covering up Hela's existence and the threat of her return, especially as he knew he was nearing the end of his life? Is Thor's "I'm not as strong as you" meant to imply that he acknowledges those shortcomings of Odin's and that he's okay with them, or that he's just overlooking them, or is he not okay with them but didn't have the chance to get into it bc he was in the middle of battle? T'Challa confronted his father on his wrongdoings in Black Panther; could Thor not have had at least one line that was confrontational enough to establish where he stands as opposed to this gray middle? Can someone explain to me how any of this equates to Thor gaining closure? Please?) but obviously I'm not going to go into all of them (well, I tried not to), bc this mammoth post has gone on long enough (I may not even post this tbh)]

- but my overall point to this entire thing is that when I say I'm critical of Ragnarok bc it's flawed, that Loki's arc was neither complete nor satisfactory, that many things went unaddressed and, due to all of these things, I do not think Ragnarok is a very good movie nor a very cohesive movie, this is where I'm coming from. I have not seen anything to change my mind to the contrary. 

But I am not saying that anyone satisfied with it is wrong, or shouldn't have the interpretation that they do. I'm not vilifying Thor in order to lift Loki up, just acknowledging that Thor is arguably just as flawed as Loki without the stigma of being Designated Villain. I think a lot of these arguments get overlooked or dismissed, and that's fine, but it doesn't make the people who do engage with them hateful, or bitter, or trying to excuse Loki's crimes, or feeling like redemption means that Loki's crimes should be erased rather than reconciled. 

And sure, yes, perhaps we are expecting too much and exploring all of these themes (or wanting them explored) means that somehow we think it should be Loki's movie (we don't). Loki is a supporting character, but he's still a character. And the movie itself doesn't have to delve into all these things - no one's saying that. (At least, I'm not.) We just want acknowledgement, from the narrative, that this stuff was an Issue. 

This could have been accomplished with - 

Some dialogue closer to the novelization (and original script), like Thor and Loki both acknowledging the harm they've done one another and their kingdom due to their Feels.

 A single line of Thor confronting Odin, or even asking "Why?" 

A narrative acknowledgement that Odin did both Thor and Loki dirty (”I love you, my sons” isn't an apology, because it doesn't acknowledge either that there's been wrong-doing or express regret for having done the wrong in the first place). 

A little bit more nuance in the way Loki treats his own past (ie, instead of flippantly telling the story of his suicide attempt, maybe - if it must be flippant - talk about getting blasted in the face with Hawkeye's arrow or sailing through to Svartalfheim [And in that moment, I sang ta-daaaa!]) or whatever. 

I recognize that wanting full, in-depth exploration on all of these issues regarding a supporting character is probably too much to ask or expect - but, I also feel like, if you're going to be professionally writing a narrative (or rewriting/improvising, as it were), it's not too much to ask that a little more care be taken in regards to all of the layers that have contributed to said supporting character's downfall and subsequent redemption arc. I don't think that's an unreasonable thing to want. 

And maybe if there had been more nuance and continuity in how these things were portrayed on screen (ie, if TW had actually done as good a job as his stans think he did), the fandom wouldn't have divided and conquered itself over which "version" of the same character is more valid and whether or not the film did its best to close out a trilogy (not start a new one), to the point where everyone in this fandom space makes navigating it feel like walking through a minefield. 

But, I mean 

(Again, please don’t reblog if possible.) 

Edit: Okay to reblog. <3 

[goddessofmischief]

Blue Monday, Chapter Four - Loki x T.V.A.! Reader

Chapter Four... ‘Ladies and Gentlemen’

You almost wanted to step outside and freeze again. Better that, than to be faced with this - on your first-ever mission with a partner, no less. In a matter of hours, you had almost frozen to death. You had pretended to be a goddess - one that uncomfortably resembled you. And, worst of all, there was only one bed. Yeah. Really.

“We-ell,” you said, awkwardly, untangling your hand from Loki’s. Now that you were finally left alone, you didn’t have to keep pretending. But you did have to sleep somewhere.

“Let’s not pretend that this isn’t... difficult,” said Loki, “...Because it is. But don’t worry. I don’t share.”

You laughed. “Really? Kicking me out onto the floor, Odinson?”

“It would seem so. Alternatively, you can make peace with the fact that nothing is happening here, and allow it to be nothing.” “Oh, you think I’m the problem?”

“I truly do.”

“I’m the problem? Not the guy who pretended I was his wife though, right? There’s no way that maybe you’re the one who’s got some issue?” Loki crossed his arms, chuckling, and sat down on the bed. “If you’re implying that I feel anything for... a mortal like yourself, you’re wrong.” “Prove it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Prove it. Keep me warm.”

You cuddled up to him, and Loki sighed, covering you both up with a warm, woolen knit blanket. “You’re not really as warm as you thought I’d be,” you whispered, your breath hot against his freezing collarbone. “Loki, maybe you should take all the blanket-”

“I’m fine.”

He spoke like he didn’t want to go any further into the matter, so you didn’t push it. Simply closed your eyes, tried to breathe. “G’night.” Loki doesn’t respond. But you both fall asleep smiling. ... “Get up.”

You hadn’t woken up next to another person for forty years. And Loki was not making the experience any easier. Apparently, the God of Mischief is an early riser. “We lose light in four hours.”

“Don’t we want to lose light?” you muttered, yawning, rubbing at your eyes. “Well... yes. But we have to be at the fortress where they’re keeping the tesseract much before then. Remember, you don’t hold up in the cold, darling. We’ll need to make the trek before night falls.” “Which means...”

“Which means we leave now.”

Neither of you had changed out of your clothes, so you didn’t have to get ready. Loki looked as if he hardly needed sleep at all. You, however, felt like a mess. You were a mess. Your hair was untidy and unstyled, your skin still sore and red from the cold the night before. These things had never mattered to you before - really, they hadn’t. When you were at home, on Earth... even then. In the 1970s, most people weren’t wearing makeup, anyway. Most of them barely wore clothes.

You tugged your pant leg down, uncomfortably, attempting to ignore your appearance in the mirror. “You’re not honestly self conscious, are you?”

Jerk.

“No,” you said, smoothing down your jacket. “No, why would I feel self-conscious in front of a... well, whatever the hell you are.” “If you do, love, you shouldn’t.” Loki leaned back, seemingly pleased with himself. “You look...”

“Professional,” you interrupted, reaching over and brushing one of your stray hairs from his coat. “Professional, always.” ... The trek was actually kind of... nice.

Long, and exhausting. And filled with melting, slippery roads, still wet from the snow before. But nice. And shockingly silent, for a man who infamously loved to talk. But you couldn’t be mad at him for it. You liked Loki quiet. “Careful,” Loki said, reaching over to you, offering his hand to help you over a puddle. “I’m fine - oh!”

To the surprise of neither of you, you had slipped - and Loki had swept you off your feet, literally. “Are you going to carry me all the way, or-”

He unceremoniously dropped you. “Ow!” “I wouldn’t want to humiliate you, sweet.” “How considerate, darling.”

For the first time, you’d hurled one of his venomous compliments back at him - and it felt pretty damn good. He became completely stiff, still managing to walk, but no emotion or expression crossed his face. “You okay there, ‘Oki?”

He nodded, a little more quickly that most people would.

“Yes,” Loki said. “It’s just, that was spoken like-” 

“Spoken like what?” 

“Spoken like her,” he said. “And yet...”

...

Loki was continuing to make your existence a joyless one.

For one... you’d just arrived at the fortress.

A fortress Loki seemed to have no interest in helping you get into.

"Damn it!” you shouted, rushing up against the gates. “They’re... they’re locked.”

Loki was sensing your frustration. He knew it, and you knew it. And you could practically see the little gears turning in his mind. He was trying to wind you up, and you just wouldn’t let him.

“Just use your powers.”

“I don’t have any powers!”

You were on the edge. Loki was determined to make you fall off.

Well... not today. 

“Alright,” you said, finally.

“Alright... Loki. You stay here. I’m going to go around the side.”

“What? Why?” He sounded panicked, and for all the wrong reasons.

You shrugged.

“They might have left it open. Or... maybe, there’s a key under the mat.”

“You must be joking.”

“You must know that I’m not.”

“Never mind that. I’ll use my powers, and... they’ll surely hand the Tesseract over when they see who is demanding it. You saw that town back there. Even if they’re not quite as zealous as the others, these people must adore me.”

“Or.... maybe not.”

“Come again?”

You gestured at a wooden sign, trying to contain your laughter.

Törvedalen.

Which, if the simple Norse you learned had not failed you, translated to the Valley of Thor.

“Maybe that’s why they took the tesseract from the other town,” you managed, gulping as you watched Loki’s briefly irritated, then furiously incensed expression. “Maybe... there’s a little bit of a war going on here, over who they like best. You gotta admit, Loki, that statue in town was pretty oversized.”

“It was exactly adequate - whose side are you on, anyway? Are you not my partner?”

You shrugged.

“I’m just trying to help.”

Loki saw your worried expression and softened, slightly, his hands unclenching.

“Alright,” he said. “So we’ll go in - together. I’ll talk to them. I’ll make them understand - and they’ll get exactly what they bargain for, one way or another.”

“Do I have to be Amora again?”

You sounded pathetic, admittedly - you felt pathetic.

Luckily for you, Loki shook his head.  “No, love. Just be Y/N L/N. That should do it.”

...

“Hello!” called Loki, having strolled through the front gate - it turned out his magic was completely effective at undoing non-magical locks, and he could’ve opened the gate the whole time. He was just toying with you.

As usual.

“Hello!”

“Y’know,” you said, trying to keep your voice low, “Y’know, we don’t really have to shout, if we stay quiet we might be able to get the tesseract and sneak-”

“Don’t pester me. I could use a little Amora right now.”

Well, that stung.

“Well, she isn’t in,” you muttered, holding a dimly lit torch up to another sign. “She’s not here. She’s not even real.”

“Really, this again, darling? You’ve forgotten so easily the art we saw in the village. That didn't look real to you? Would you prefer, perhaps, a larger painting?”

“That doesn’t mean anything, and you know it. How do I know you’re not just screwing with me? You trick people. It’s sort of... what you do.”

You knew you were being mean - well, mean for you. He was your partner, shouldn’t you be kind and tolerate his little... eccentricities?

Then again, Loki was sort of wrecking you, mentally. The last time someone did that... you’d just let it happen.

Well. Not this time.

“Guilty,” Loki admitted, his voice lowering. It wasn’t threatening, instead, it was actually sort of... nice?

Kind of nice. Almost sweet.

“But this isn’t a trick, I’ll promise you that. It means just as much to me that I learn to understand this - because for once, I know as much as you do, love. So it's up to us. To figure it out, together-”

Just then, a group of Nordic warriors stormed in.

Holding axes.

“They’re holding axes,” you whispered, tugging on Loki’s sleeve. “Loki, they’re-”

“I noticed - gentlemen, what can we do for you?”  He repeated the last sentence again, this time in Old Norse.

The group shouted something back at him.

“What’d they say?”

“Something about 'a light cube.’ Our light cube, I presume, unless there happen to be others.”

“Ask them if they can give it to us.”

“Sweet, you have to know they won’t.”

But he translated your request, all the same.

“He said that they can’t,” said Loki. “Because... of their leader?”

“Do you know who leads them? Is it Thor?”

“No... this is... an alternate Earth. It wouldn’t be my Thor... it could be someone else...”

“Tell them to take us to the leader.”

“My, aren't you bold? What makes you think this leader won't just kill us?”

“I don’t know! But it’s worth a try, yeah?”

Loki rolled his eyes, attempting to translate again, and one of the Vikings responded.

“They’ve agreed. To take us to... who is it, again?”

The Viking shouted something out, and Loki’s face paled.

"What did he say?”

“He said,” said Loki, clearing his throat, “That... he’d bring us to the leader. Their leader, the new ruler of Törvedalen ... Lady Loki.”

Taglist: gorgeourrific-nerd @suwupremeleader​ @sserpente @tripleyeeet 

[killian-whump]

Game Night! [Liveblog #4]

I’m gonna try to finish up the last game and the end of the video in this post, so we better get right to it!

The last game they’re going to play is called Quiplash. Okay, they’re going to be given a prompt... and whoever finishes the quip in the funniest way wins. Kat warns that she’s a master at this and that everybody’s going down. Colin seems impressed by her bravado, but incensed to win nonetheless. “Here we go,” says Sam unenthusiastically 😂

AND THE GAME IS ON!!!

...or it’s meant to be on. Sam’s not joined the game yet. Seems to be having some sort of technical difficulty. “You scared of losing, Sam?” Colin asks helpfully. “All the rest of us got in pretty easy...”

Sam has joined. His name is now Colonislosin 😂 It’s hard to see exactly how it’s spelled. I don’t think any of them can see it that clearly, either. Sam has to tell them what it says.

“We’ll see,” Colin says. “We’ll see.”

The game begins. “It’s more like Col-on is losin,” Sam says. “Col-on.”

The audio is breaking all up in this segment, and Josh even comments on “Low internet signal. We’re doing great.” Hmm. I paid $10 for this, you damn well better find a stronger internet signal.

ROUND 1! The first quip is: We can all agree that... The two answers are: “Covid sucks” and “Josh... is... hairy” “Covid sucks” wins ~ and Colin gets all the points.

The second quip is: A terrible name for a funeral parlor. The two answers are: “Happy Times Palace” and “We put the Fun in Funeral” “We put the Fun in Funeral” wins ~ and Kat gets all the points.

The third quip is: “Knock Knock” “Who’s There?” The two answers are: “Me DUH” and “Get the fuck away from my door” “Get the fuck away” wins and Josh gets most of the points. Colin gets some too, I think, for his answer, because Sam voted for it.

The fourth quip is: “Something that would make a creepy replacement for the horses on a merry-go-round.” The two answers are: “Mini Josh’s” and “Creepy Princes” AREN’T THOSE THE SAME THING?! 😂 “One and the same,” says Sammy. “You don’t want to sit on a mini Josh, do you?” Sam ponders. Josh forgets to even vote, and Sam gets points for “Mini Josh’s”

At the end of Round 1, Sam is in the lead, with Kat and Colin tied for second.

I wanna take this moment to apologize for how BORING this post is so far. During the games, all five people (the three stars, Josh, and Sammy the producer) are in these miniscule windows on the far right of the screen. You can barely even see them. And during this game, there’s little to no conversation going on between/during the quips. As much fun as this game might be to play, it’s not a lot of fun to watch. The last one was better, but even that tended to DRAG for the audience at home. Josh really needs to work on the games he’s having stars play if he plans to keep charging $10 a month to watch this stuff. Also, the audio keeps breaking up in this segment, so even when they talk, some of it’s hard to decipher.

“I respect that Colin is doing this instead of reading bedtime stories to his children tonight,” Josh says as everyone’s entering in their answers for Round 2. “[That’s] how committed I am,” Colin replies. Kat says something that is so broken up, I can’t even begin to figure out what it is. Something about bedtime stories and Colin’s kids. It’s probably funny. 🤷‍♀️ I’m getting mad about my $10 gift card being gone again.

Alright. Round 2.

Quip #1: It never ends well when you mix ___ and ___. Answers: “poo and oatmeal” and “Sam and Josh” Okay, that second one is gold. Who did that? Apparently Colin did “poo and oatmeal” and Kat did “Sam and Josh”. Bless her. Colin gets the points with more votes, though.

Quip #2: The worst car feature that ends with “holder” Answers: “penis” and “diaper” Sam is just blinking rapidly. Now he’s laughing. “How does that work?” he asks. No one answers. “But I wanna know,” he says. “How does it work?” Josh wins the points with his “penis” answer - which Colin voted for, by the way - but no one cares now. “Does it move?” Kat asks. “Or does it just-” “Don’t ask too many questions,” Josh says. “What kind of size is it?” Sam asks. “Is it stationary or is there a motor feature?” Kat asks. “Maybe it’s a good idea...” Sam concludes, as Josh laments the kind of dreams he’s going to have now.

The third quip is literally happening in the background now, as everyone talks about the penis holder. Colin is noticeably silent on the topic XD

Quip #3: Something upsetting you could say to the cable guy as he installs your television service. Answers: “you smell like fart” and “want to see my murder room?” I’m sitting here going, “don’t be Colin, don’t be Colin” while simultaneously knowing 100% that Colin absolutely typed “you smell like fart” into his phone and... Yeah. Yeah, I’m right. That was him 😂 And he got 0 points. “Oh, boooo,” says Colin. Honey... Honey, I’m sorry, but that was bad.

Quip #4: The name of the reindeer Santa did not pick to pull his sleigh. Answers: “ohdeer” and “tipsy” Neither of these are very good. I hate this game. Kat gets the points with “tipsy”.

OH WOW, YOU GUYS. The final points are tallied and...

WHAT IS THIS TOMFOOLERY?! Colin is LOSING?!?! I mean, I know “you smell like fart” was bad, but this is unbelievable! I call shenanigans!!!

Colin is literally sitting forward in his chair now, lmao. The determination is intense, you guys. I once again cannot handle him right now. I wish he wasn’t in the teeny tiny window so I could show you guys better, but look at him getting his fucking game face on:

This man is a peanut and I love him with every fiber of my being. Look at him being a competitive little somesuch in last place. I can’t, you guys. Bury me here, etc, etc, I’m just a goner for this ridiculous man.

O’DONOINTENSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Last Round: Quip: Strange side effect to hear during a drug commercial. Answers: “cream cheese will come out of your butt” “seeing double horowitz” and “the screams of baboons” - there’s only three because Kat didn’t get her answer in before the time was up. Aaaaaaand the sound’s breaking all up again 😣 Josh is wondering what the point is of voting, if all you’re doing is giving points to your competitors. “Do you have to give all three votes?” Colin asks. “See,” Josh says. “Colin is thinking strategically, like me.” “Well, I’m not entirely sure the other two, I think, deserve any more than one point.” But it’s... it’s the WAY he says it, OH MY GOD, lol. Lemme... I gotta... Okay, I screen recorded it for you guys.

That O’Donosass is actually almost worth $10, you guys.

Which is good, because the audio is getting worse and worse on this and it’s starting to piss me off. Anyway! Everybody’s got a lot of points, because those were ALL good answers (Colin’s was “the screams of baboons” which I quite like). Let’s see the final tally...

Josh is the winner! But Colin managed a come-from-behind close second, so I’m really proud of him :D Sam mentions how Josh invited them all there to play games and then BEAT them. Josh is closing out the show, saying he hopes everyone enjoyed it... “I enjoyed it,” Josh says "But maybe that’s just 'cause I won at the very last second.” “No, well, you won ONE,” Colin cuts in. “You won ONE game.”

SERIOUSLY. BURY ME RIGHT THERE 😂😂😂

“Colin won the first round,” Josh says.

“...and then we have these two other people.”

Incidentally, I wish everyone’s webcams were as clear as Kat’s.

Anyway, now there’s some sweet summing up... and Josh hawking everyone’s current projects... (gee, it’s like this is promotional content or something) and the show closing down and-

“Can I win next time?” asks Sam Heughan.

~ The End ~

I hope you guys had fun reading this. I gotta say...  this one video isn’t worth $10. I can see if you’re a huge fan of Josh’s or really into celebrity culture, $10 a month might be a fine price to pay for a bunch of this kind of content... but for a one-time video when your fave happens to show up on his channel? Nah. He really should have a “one time access” fee available for individual videos that’s a LOT less. Like, I’m talking, like... $1 or 2. This is literally a zoom call... and as such, the quality’s only as good as his guests’ webcams and audio and everyone’s internet connections. Also, I found the game format enticing... but ultimately boring due to the games chosen. The Would You Rather was the most fun of the three, because we actually got to hear from the stars and get some banter going. The games relied too much on the stars interacting with their devices instead of each other or anyone really engaging the audience. Honestly, if it was any of my faves other than Colin in this video, I might not have even watched the whole thing. Colin’s adorable competitive streak and eagerness to win play games is what kept me watching. The idea is cute, but it needs some work. And the price is too high - especially with the audio issues in the last ten minutes or so. That’s my final verdict.

[yn-dere]

La sorcière • Y!K.TH

Synopsis: The goddess Ashtoreth seemed to have found her worshipper.

Ship/s: Photographer!Taehyung x Antagonist/seductress!Reader

Warning/s: Angst, Yandere/Dark themes, Manipulation, Mentions of killing, Bored and mean reader.

(Note: this takes place in the late 19th century)

'It is not the quality of the desired object that gives us pleasure, but rather the energy of our appetites'

~ Charles Baudelaire, The end of Don Juan

A dejected summer, that's what it was. The suffocating air that leaves you sweltering in your corset but I am anything but, naked on my cold feet with a cigar between those gentil fingers, sluggishly looking out from my apartment window into the florid affluent streets which were once quite and reserved. The sounds of playful squabbling, the occasional delightful squeals of children, the ecstatic laughter of women did nothing to soothe that covetous feeling throbbing at the pit of my stomach. Nor did the family of stars splattered all across the dark night sky with the dazzling moon nowhere to be seen. They seemed to be mocking me with every sparkle, impersonating my woe by disappearing this second only to come back and laugh at my face. Oh well. It hurts my chest as I exhale out the smog; I forgot that I even took a drag. Not even smoke can replace that void in my lungs now.

This moment is slightly pleasant though, accompanied by the crisp breeze that blows in through the drapes, strong enough to make my locks flutter and trigger my cigar to litter on the window railing (that I'm not bothering to clean anytime soon) but not enough to take the glum away with it. The only thing that found me pleasant enough to return. And... the troubled men that found home in my cosy and welcoming bed. Neither of them were guaranteed.

Thinking about men, I glance back into the dark room to spot the man I chose for the night. Blissfully sound asleep between my covers, with a small but radiant smile adorning his regal face. He really emulated the beautiful night sky, the baby constellation spreading across his portrait in the form of les grains de beauté. The way the light reflected off of his unblemished face puts la lune to shame, almost looking as if it is it's own light source. His beauty truly was bewitching and I would've felt envious of it if I didn't know any better.

If I didn't own an enormous dressing mirror in the corner which kept reflecting the street lights back onto my eyes; it was adorned with pink crystals, fresh roses and myrtles, white feathers and burnt out incense that left behind a soft but strong scent. It truly looked like an altar for venus herself, towering over me to have me take a look at the highly sexual, supremely confident, alluring female that offers endless pleasure and a bit of... danger. At least, that's what people men see. And I agree with it. I know the expression does sound like something that would come out of Narcissus' mouth as he stares into his reflection but can you really blame me?

It's the huge impact left on me by years and years of society misjudging me as just another pretty face in the crowd. No matter how hard I worked on something, it would always be de-emphasized. All the blood, sweat and tears only to be wasted because individuals couldn't see the nimble brain past the pleasant portrait. I wanted to stand out, and I did at times but.. not in the way I wanted to. But soon enough, I began to convince myself that maybe this isn't so bad at all, and wearily...

... I accepted it.

I accepted my place in the stupid community as one of those women, a blood sucking succubus is just how they saw me to be exact. Mind you, I've never stood sturdy in any of my subjects until I slowly started to abuse my power and it made me feel competent and sure enough I felt powerful enough to destroy families, to get someone to chase me so feverishly that they lose control but I guess I was never that valuable to keep nor was I important enough for someone to actually care about me. The only difference between your pompous narrator here and a poor mistress is that I don't have a fickle of hope nor do I really care enough about a particular visitor to be left heartbroken.

It still kills me to feel impotent at the end of the day (or the start of the day, when they leave me with nothing). I feel like THE FOOL, a frail dog chasing a car....

....But as the lonely sun finally decides to set to rest and the family of stars gets more discernable with every shimmer against the dark and misty horizon; I, once again find myself repeating history as if my life's a record on the phonograph. But as one get sick of listening to the same song over and over again, there's a momentary pause... and then an appalling revelation; it's seems as though you've been singing the most important part of the song, the chorus, wrong.

And suddenly I can grasp it all..

.

.

.

You see, lust is what makes one take a glance at you. Temptation is what makes them throw caution in the air, when they know they shouldn't. But is it really enough to keep the attention on you? Is the beauty really enough for the sirens who beckon sailors to their destruction? If that was the case, wouldn't mermaids be able to do the same? Love is-

"...h-hey?"

That deep voice...

Then suddenly, lean icy fingers grabbed my arm and pulled me back into reality just when I started inching through the darkness in my mind.

Oh God. How did I not see him wake up? Especially with the mess he made in an effort to get up from the bed? One of the pillows accompanied with the sheets are on the floor... those velvet covers are really hard to wash. I will never forgive him for that.

But my irritation soon turned into embarrassment when I pondered over how crazy I must have looked, naked while just staring into my mirror with a cigar in hand. Or what was left of it, the soft ash on my fingers, my bare breasts and one of my thighs.

"Is everything a-alright?" He questioned. I looked down to his palm which was still holding my arm with a firm grip. He followed my gaze, his eyes widening slighting as he quickly let it go. "I m-mean, you were kind of dazed off or something. I thought..." he muttered after clearing his throat in a futile attempt at ceasing the stuttering. "Yeah.. I was just thinking about something" I replied as I looked up at his eyes and his orbs that were just suffering with nervousness and uncertainty were now swimming in curiosity. I couldn't help but let a giggle get past my lips. He hummed in response as his brows furrowed. "about.. this." I uttered, feigning a bashful look. His brows furrowed even further, creating small lines on his otherwise smooth forehead. "What do you mean by "this" ?" He seems to have forgotten his tense stance and the risqué side of me wanted to bring it back so I tried. "Our liaison, everything we did and...." if it weren't for the pin drop silence in the room, I would've never heard his breath hitching as he waited for me to continue. "Us." I finished with a whisper...

... After what seemed like an eternity of waiting for him to answer, my patience wore thin so I couldn't help but gently poke his chest. It surely did broke the trance he was in and the cute timid man was back. "Uh- I- uhm" he stuttered, looking at everything but my presence. I slowly started to feel the disappointment building up in the bottom of my stomach. Why do I when I didn't even expected anything else? If this is the only way it can go for me, why not have a little fun? I couldn't help but let out a smirk which I covered in a second, hoping he didn't see it. "I might be quite racy at times but I don't just do this with anyone. I thought I told you in the tavern that if you are to leave, leave already..." as soon as I finished bluffing the sadness in my voice, I casted my eyes downwards at his feet as I anticipated the same white lies but they never came. I awaited the "I will never leave you", "you're the best thing that ever happened" or my personal favorite one " I have a wife and kids that I love very dearly" but he didn't say anything. And just as I was about to look up, the smooth dark honey voice cut me off.

"And I thought I told you that I didn't want to follow you back home for whatever fleshly pleasures you had to offer.." the hint of disappointment was evident. This was a new one to add in the book, eh? "But because my precious cameras are all in vain without your figure and your lively soul.. like an empty canvas to an artist with no references or muse." My ears couldn't help but perk up as he continued, " Sure, they might not be too good at capturing the enigma that is you as the films only render in shades of grey which evidently fails to recognize the different shades of your blush and the undertones, but this is all that I have..."

It's his time to wait as I, for the first time, didn't know what to say. He opened his lips once again "I would be lying if I said I didn't gravely fell in love the second I took my first glance at you months ago. Love at first sight was never my thing but you cleared all my doubts about the idea". I wanted to mock him and tell him about how lust in first sight is a thing, not love but I rather chose to humor him. "That's what they all said..." I slowly look up at his face, looking at each and every feature carefully leaving out his mors than intense eyes. "Who are "they"?" He asked with a slight fury in his voice and the sharp edge of the words spoken almost gashed my already tainted soul. I wish I didn't faked the courage and take a glance into his orbs since I saw the immense anger and hatred through his narrowed eyes as he scrutinized my very existence. I withered uncomfortably under his glare, already regretting opening my mouth without thinking.

"You seriously didn't just compare me to those men, did you? After everything I've done? After I got rid of those hideous women that had nothing else to do but spread nasty rumours about you because the same husbands that couldn't get it up for them were lusting after you? Because they couldn't hold their husbands accountable so they were threatened by you?" He took a sharp but shaky breath before continuing, "Or after I got rid of those men who bonded over their heinous fantasies about violating you?..." I cover my mouth, I feel like throwing up. Not because I don't want to/can't believe it but because this is alot of information to take in in a few minutes. I heard him sigh and his voice suddenly changed from being gruff to soft in a second as he saw my terrified look, "you see these hands, sweetheart?" He said in a slightly coaxing voice as he laid his large hand on top of mine, "They were only used to clicking pictures of everything beautiful and developing them but now, they're stained with shed blood of anyone who dared to lay a finger on you.... You made me this way. You made me so empathetically challenged. You did this."

Me? Me...

I did this. I made him this way.

"How could you have been so blind?"

How could I have been so blind?

Maybe I didn't give myself enough credit.

And as he continued to stare into my frame with such adoration that it reminded me of what I was thinking about before he startled me by waking up...

As I was saying previously, lust is what makes one take a glance at you. Temptation is what makes them throw caution in the air, when they know they shouldn't but it's still not enough to keep the attention on you. Love is. It is the greatest weapon of all. It's the most exceptional power that you can have over someone. Making them do what they never thought they ever would do, act in ways they might've mocked previous to meeting you, taking up any space in their mind that was left for rationality and instead plaguing it with sweet obsession. Not even fear dares to compete with love when it comes to power. If anything, they go hand in hand. It truly turns a mermaid to a siren.

Wow. It's not the family of stars that I envied, who would want to look like some aliens just jizzed all over the sky? I was made to be la lune, who with all her blemishes littering her skin still stood unfazed as her admirers wrote poems about her beauty. It's not the homely women that I envied, I have always been quite sophisticated but I just wanted to belong somewhere.

I wanted power over someone or something.

And the thought of me making this man do the most vile acts of crime that humanity cannot even begin to visualize in their brains flared up the familiar feeling of ascendency and competency but this time? It was about to stay. Why? Because he is to stay.

I softly smiled at that thought and slowly held my small hands up to his face to caress his cheeks. The shyness got to him as he squeezed his eyes shut to relish in the contact without having to look at my amused face. I could feel him slowly shaking under finger tips, his face was warm unlike the rest of his body. The effect that my small gesture had on him is unlike anything I've ever seen or experienced. This isn't vulgar, this is sensual. And sure, what I feel might not be love but it has one thing in common with it. It's a drug. A high we're both on, and not even my cigar, my only companion for so long can compete with it.

Let's see how long this lasts before I drain all life out of him... or maybe, this is forever but I doubt. Then again, he- wait a minute... what's his name, again? This is going to suck. As I was saying, he does like to surprise me so let's hope for the best.

"Okay, let's just forget we met like this... hello, my name's y/n", I reached out for his hand to shake with a small smile on my face. He erupted into giggles as he took my hand, "Nice to meet you y/n, this is taehyung." Taehyung. Oh taehyung. And suddenly the cheerful atmosphere turned into something sinister as I pulled him in.

"Taehyung, I am like a raging flame.. don't be a moth and get too close or I might destroy you" I whispered in my raspy voice, the smirk that played in my rouge lips being incredibly devilish along with that red unnatural glint in my eye.

"I want to be destroyed."

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 51 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Courtney arrived at Bianca’s penthouse and Violet met Sutan’s mother and neither of them burst into flames.

This Chapter: We dine. (Thanksgiving Chronicles 2 of ???)

***

“I thought,” Raja reached out, taking an empty chocolate wrapper from Raven’s hand. “That you didn’t like Beng-Bengs, Princess?”

They were sitting in the living room, three couches carefully arranged around a round coffee table, the sweet scent of incense in Raja’s nose. All the walls were filled with photos, the window stills overflowing with plants and flowers. She could hear her mom in the kitchen, Murni waving her away when she had tried to lend a hand, the fact that she was pushing 70 apparently not an issue.

“Shut up.”

Raja chuckled, leaning even further back on the couch, her arm around Raven’s shoulder. Raven had gone directly for the candy dish as soon as they had entered the house. The Beng-Bengs were a chocolate treat from Raja’s childhood, either her mom or dad always asking their family back in Indonesia to send some along whenever they received care packages.

Raven swallowed the last bite, reaching for the bowl to grab a kopiko, her girlfriend eating like she was possessed.

“Mmmh,” Raven moaned, closing her eyes as she bit into the chewy coffee candy.

“You know,” Raja turned her head, putting her lips against Raven’s temple. “Maybe, it’s time to consider if you want to continue doing swimwear.”

“Why?” Raven looked up at her, an annoyed expression on her face. “You think I can’t do it?”

“No.” Raja ran her fingers through Raven’s hair, the strands silky smooth as always. Raja didn’t want to make decisions on Raven’s career, those choices up to her brother. Sure, she always gave her opinion when Raven asked, and was always ready to guide her and help her, but at the end of the day, Raja prefered to have those lines in their relationship. “I just don’t know if it’s really worth it for you.”

“Raj-”

“All I’m saying,” Raja smiled, lowering her voice to make sure her mom couldn’t hear her, “is that it usually takes a good 45 minutes to make you moan like that.”

“Maybe the chocolate is just better than you?” Raven huffed, and Raja couldn’t help but laugh as she leaned in, stealing coffee flavored chocolate kisses from her fiancée.

***

“Hey munchkins,” Katya smiled as she reentered the kitchen, a box of decorations in her arms. “How is everyone doing?”

Katya had just spent the last 35 minutes setting up the living room, hanging a garland of Fall leaves, arranging her most impressive ever cornucopia, and putting out the special Thanksgiving tablecloth with little turkeys all around the edge that Trixie had made her for their first Thanksgiving together.

“You do realize,” Max looked up from where he was rolling out the puffed pastries, his back bent slightly so he could use the kitchen counter, “that we’re not actually children, right?”

“Speak for yourself-“ Pearl pointed at him with the potato peeler, yellow rubber gloves on her hands. “It’s so unfair I always have to peel the potatoes. I don’t even like them.”

“That’s because it’s the one job you can’t fuck up,” Trixie grinned, and Katya smiled at him, her fiancé standing at the stove with his ‘kiss the cook’ apron on, caramalizing the onions, a pumpkin ale next to him.

“I could stir onions.”

“You could,” Katya opened their pantry, where boxes filled with decorations for every holiday (except Christmas, which had its own basement storage unit all to itself) took up half the shelves. “But we don’t want another house fire.”

“It’s not a fire if it doesn’t leave the pan!”

Max snorted, and Katya laughed. “Sure baby, sure.”

“Is that Pearl whining again?” asked a voice in the doorway, and Katya turned to see Kim. She’d generously agreed to cook the turkey in her oven, since that would free up Katya and Trixie’s for the rest of the food, and had left to baste.

“Of course. How’s the turkey?”

“Your bird is looking moist and delicious,” Kim answered, and Max visibly shuddered.

“Must you use that word?” he asked, and Kim stepped up to him.

“What word?” she inquired, leaning right up to his ear, cooing a teasing, “You mean mmmoist?” directly into his ear.

“Gah!” Max cringed again, all of them giggling at his overreaction.

“Kimmy, can you start the pumpkin pie filling?” Katya asked, getting down the cans from the shelf and laying a recipe card on the table.

“Of course!” Kim picked up the card and looked it over while Katya bustled around the kitchen, pulling out the various spices and ingredients she would need.

“Ugh, she gets pumpkin pie?” Pearl whined.

“You want a piece of me, potato bitch?” Kim asked, and Trixie burst out laughing, repeating ‘potato bitch,’ softly to himself.

“Kids!” Katya clapped her hands and the whole group looked at her. “You’re all marvelous and essential, and I love you.”

“Gross,” Pearl said, but the smile on her face betrayed her words.

***

“Ha!” Sutan smiled triumphantly, the metal lid on the bird feeder finally popping open. “There we go!”

Sutan and Violet were out in the backyard, Violet sitting on the deck in a lawn chair, while Sutan had braved the moist Autumn grass to make his way to the big pear tree in the corner.

“Throw me the seeds, would you?” Sutan looked over his shoulder, Violet wrapped up in his jacket so she wouldn’t be cold since had forgotten her own in the car.

“The seeds?” Violet raised an eyebrow, but she still patted his jacket down, her eyes widening when she found a packet in the right pocket. “... Did you bring bird seeds with you from Manhattan?”

“Maybe?” Sutan grinned, catching the seeds in the air when Violet threw them. He hadn’t expected her to follow him into the garden, had figured he could slip away without anyone noticing, but while Raven had absolutely warmed up to VIolet, and his twin seemed to genuinely like her, he wasn’t exactly sure if Violet felt the same way about his sister and her fiancée.

“Is this a normal occurrence?” Violet was smiling, watching him with her brow eyes.

“That I fill the bird feeders?” Sutan got up on his toes, tipping the packet to fill it up about half way. “Or being in the garden?”

“Both?”

“My mom isn’t as young as she used to be,” Sutan shrugged, moving from one feeder to the next. “And she’s not very good at asking for help, so I always try to do something in the garden whenever I’m here.”

Murnis age was something he tried not to think about, something he tried to push away, the idea that his mom wouldn’t be there one day one of the few things that genuinely terrified him.

“It’s a very beautiful garden.”

“You should tell her that,” Sutan smiled, the complement sounding completely genuine. “She’s very proud of her marigolds.”

“She should be.”

Neither of them said anything for a little while, Sutan getting some of the last pears from the tree. He knew they had to go back inside, that his mom was probably putting the finishing touches on their Thanksgiving dinner, but he figured he’d maybe have time to take a look at the greenhouse too, Violet thankfully not the type of person who kicked up a fuss when he took his time.

“Did you grow up here?” Sutan turned around, Violet practically swallowed up by his jacket as she was cuddled up.

“No. When we got to America, my family lived in Iowa. This house is actually the first thing Raja and I ever bought, when we started making money. Our first piece of real estate.” Sutan smiled at the memory of when Raja had finally, finally, finally gotten the pay check that pushed them over the edge. “We still lived in a shitty one bedroom apartment in Manhattan, but we knew we wanted to do something for our parents. Wanted to make sure Ayah and Bunda had a good place to stay and for them to be closer.”

“Ayah?”

“It means dad. In Indonesian.”

“Oh…” Violet paused, looking at his face, and Sutan really hoped it wasn’t obvious how much it hurt to think about his dad. “He isn’t here, is he-”

“He died when I was 32.” It was weird that Violet didn’t already know, weird that she hadn’t stumbled on it yet since the gossip sites and magazines had certainly covered how it had wrecked both him and Raja, a simple google search enough to know his entire life story, but Sutan appreciated that she wanted to hear it from him too. “Cancer.”

“I’m sorry.” Violet looked genuinely upset, empathy clear on her features.

“It’s okay,” Sutan forced a smile. “It was a long time ago.”

It didn’t feel like it, but that wasn’t Violet’s burden to bear, Sutan’s regrets of how he’d never get the chance to talk to his dad again and apologize his and his alone.

***

Once Courtney had a couple of drinks in her, she found herself forgetting to be nervous or uncomfortable about being in the fanciest apartment she’d ever seen, and just began having a good time with her bestie, enjoying Bianca’s generous hospitality and the attention that still made her heart go a little fluttery when their eyes met.

By the time Bianca appeared in the den again to tell them that dinner was ready, they’d abandoned the karaoke machine and were curled up on the couch, watching the parade, Adore’s head in Courtney’s lap.

“You guys ready for dinner?”

“Ugh, vegan Thanksgiving. I am not looking forward to this,” Adore grumbled, poking Courtney in the arm. “Did you know she was gonna do that? Get everything vegan?”

Courtney’s eyes widened--she wasn’t expecting that, not at all. She’d been surprised that the appetizers were vegan, but the whole meal? She looked at Bianca with gratitude and shock, asking, “Really?”

“Most of it. Adore whined so much about the stuffing that I made her some the good old-fashioned Cuban chock-full-of-meat way.”

“You did?!” Adore jumped up excitedly, clapping her hands.

“I did. I used Abuelita’s recipe.” Bianca cuffed her playfully on the ear. “Happy?”

“I take back everything I said, you’re still my favorite sister.” Adore slung an arm around Bianca’s shoulders as they walked down the hall. “You didn’t forget my Hillshire Farms, did you?”

“No, bitch, I didn’t forget your Hillshire Farms. I even put it out all nice on a plate so you don’t have to eat straight out of the package like you do at home.”

“Yaaas, sounds classy as fuck.”

Courtney was completely unprepared for the sight that met her when they stepped into the dining room. The table was laden with beautiful, vibrantly colorful Autumnal dishes - enough for at least ten people.

“Oh my god.”

Bianca looked over at her. “Something wrong?”

“No! No, it’s absolutely...just so much, I wasn’t expecting this. Are more people coming?”

“Courtney. You live in America now. And you know what Thanksgiving is all about?”

“Gratitude?” Courtney guessed, still overwhelmed at the spread.

“No, baby. No. It’s about coming together, and, whether you are hungry or not, eating until you can’t possibly take another bite. And then having dessert.”

Courtney laughed, taking her seat. “I guess I’m not fully assimilated, huh?”

“You’ll learn.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Try this. It’s the vegan version of Adore’s favorite relleno de pavo,” Bianca said, spooning some onto her plate, along with about five other things, Courtney quickly losing track.

She’d been to a family Thanksgiving dinner once before, during a short-lived college relationship with a guy who Adore had nicknamed “Wonder Bread,” and it was nothing like this: a meal of dry turkey, bland mashed potatoes, overcooked green beans in some kind of hideous mushroom sauce, and candied yams straight from a can. This meal was like something she’d get at a 5-star farm to table restaurant, fresh and delicious, somehow reminding her of her mother’s vegetable garden, something she didn’t realize she was missing so badly until she was tasting it. It was so good, she forgot to say anything, soon greedily gobbling up everything she could get her hands on.

“So...what do we think? Can I put the chef on a repeat list?” Bianca asked, and Courtney nodded vigorously, mouth full.

“I’m actually shocked how good this corn pudding is,” Adore said, mouth full. “Who knew vegan butter would be so good?”

“Well, vegan butter is margarine. And you’re garbage, so you love margarine.”

“I really do, man.”

Bianca laughed, chuckling slightly, finishing her wine.

“Anyone want another drink?”

“I’ll get it!” Adore said, rising from her seat.

“Thanks.”

Once she’d left the room, Bianca turned to Courtney, who was still gorging herself on all of the delicious dishes before her. She touched Courtney on the wrist, sending little tingles up her arm as she tried to quickly swallow the persimmon and kale salad in her mouth.

“Listen, I want to thank you for being so sweet with her, and looking out, you know? I know she pretends she’s a tough girl, but-she really needs TLC right now.”

Courtney wiped her mouth and answered, “Of course. She’d do the same for me. She has done the same for me.”

“Good. I mean, not that you...uh, needed, y’know-”

Courtney smiled, wondering if there was anything cuter than someone with Bianca’s self assuredness getting flustered and tongue-tied. “I know what you mean.”

“I’m just glad that someone gentler than me is there for her. You know, I’m not so great with the touchy-feely stuff.”

“I think you do okay,” Courtney said, unable to tear her eyes from Bianca’s. And then Courtney’s chest flooded with guilt at the next thought. A fleeting second where she imagined Bianca taking care of her, too. Fortunately, Adore came back into the room at that exact moment, two bottles of wine in hand, letting her shake the thought right from her head, reaching for a whole grain dinner roll to distract herself from it all.

“Bitch, I have never seen you eat like this,” Adore commented, laughing.

“Well, you’ve never seen me with food this good. Who was this chef, anyway? Can I marry them?”

“I’ll pass along the proposal. Although I’m not sure her wife will be too pleased,” Bianca said.

“I can share,” Courtney suggested sweetly, batting her lashes, making Bianca laugh.

“Or, you know...you can just marry someone with the resources to hire her whenever you want.” Bianca swirled the wine in her glass.

“Hmm...I don’t know anyone like that,” Courtney told her. “I run with a pretty low-rent crowd.”

“Pity.”

Courtney giggled into her plate, wondering if she should ease up on the alcohol, since that warm, light-headed feeling was taking over.

***

“Come on, come on,” Juju muttered to herself, digging through her bag, everyone's jackets piled high on her aunt's bed. She was looking for her daughter’s toy monkey, Julia falling outside and hitting her knee while playing with her cousins. She was okay, but she had asked for her toy, if only Juju could find it.

“Juju?” The door opened, and Juju looked over her shoulder to see her husband stand there, thankfully without one of their children on his arm.

“Give me a second-”

Detox closed the door, and Juju paused, her eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?”

“Me?” Detox grinned, his eyes sparkling with an almost predatory glee. “Oh, nothing.” He reached behind him, flicking the lock. “Nothing at all.”

“De-” Juju almost wanted to get upset, her entire family just outside, and she still hadn’t seen Julia’s knee for herself. “I have to get-”

“Your dad put a bandaid on her,” Detox smiled, walking over to her, and Juju couldn’t help but notice how good he looked, “and she’s watching TV with Kelly.”

“Ah.” Juju chuckled, her oldest an absolute sweetheart when her siblings needed her, even though she often tried to act too cool for school. “Well then-”

“Well then,” Detox walked into her space, “I think we have more than enough time.” He put his hands on her waist, pulling her in, her belly bumping against his hips.

“Time for what?”

“Time for this.” Detox leaned down, their lips meeting in a heated kiss, Detox lips tasting faintly like the Beerloa the Laotian part of her family loved.

“De-” Juju broke the kiss, trying to pull back. “We have to-”

“Come on,” Detox smiled. “Live a little. Not like you can get pregnant right now.”

“I hate you so much-” Detox gave her a peck, and Juju could feel her knees buckle, her hands going to his hips, her fingers grabbing the belt loops on his pants as she allowed herself to fall back on the bed.

***

“Okay well...vegan Thanksgiving was less gross than I thought,” Adore said, putting her head on the table.

“We’re glad you didn’t suffer too much,” said Bianca.

“I think it was fucking perfection,” Courtney said, a happy grin on her face as she scraped the last of the cranberry mousse from her plate.

“I mean, I’m not complaining,” Adore added, reaching for another apple hand pie, and after a pause, a second.

“Oh no? That’s a first,” Bianca chuckled.

“Well to be fair, most vegan food is crap. This was an exception,” Adore said, slathering her pies with what was probably quinoa-based whipped cream and taking another pumpkin blondie square for good measure.

“Mmhmm…” Bianca said, judgment dripping from her pursed lips, laughing when Adore stuck her tongue out. She then turned to Courtney, who had gently tapped her on the arm.

“Where’s your restroom?”

“There’s one right through there.” Bianca pointed, and Courtney smiled.

“Thanks! Be right back!”

Adore eyed her sister, watching her face, eyes glued to Courtney as she left the room. It took Bianca about ten full seconds before she realized that she was being watched herself. She turned to Adore, took in her smirk, and scowled.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just fun to see you bark up the wrong tree. Not used to you being rejected.” Adore rested her chin on her hand, popping a bite of blondie into her mouth.

“Shut up.”

Adore laughed. “No, it’s cool. Very humanizing.”

“First of all, I’m not barking anywhere, so you can put your little smug face away. And second...what makes you so sure I’d even be rejected?”

“Please.” Adore rolled her eyes. “I know my girl, Bianca. She’s straight.”

“Okay.” Bianca set down her coffee cup.

“I mean, if you got another seven or so drinks in her, maybe she’d let you-”

“Alright, enough. Now you’re being gross,” Bianca said testily.

“Sorry. But can I just give you one tip?”

“What?” Bianca asked, face stern.

“Tequila shots.”

Bianca tried valiantly to keep the cross look, but after a few seconds, she broke, dimples deep in her cheeks. She balled up a linen napkin and chucked it at Adore’s face.

Outside, the rain had let up, a few rays of evening sun breaking through the clouds.

“Hey, do you mind taking the dogs out for a walk before it starts raining again? Just a little one, they’ve been out to the terrace.” Bianca rose from her seat and began clearing some dishes from the table.

“Yeah, no problem.” Adore headed for the door, intercepting Courtney on her way back from the bathroom. “Come with me, we’re walking the dogs.”

“Oh...but doesn’t Bianca need help with the-”

“Nope!” Adore pulled her by the hand towards the door, grabbing their coats and strapping the dogs into their harnesses.

It wasn’t until they were safely outside when she finally felt comfortable giving her friend...well, not a warning exactly.

“So listen,” she began, and Courtney turned to her, head cocked. “I’m sure you already know this, but my sister is kind of a player.”

“Uhhh…”

“Come on. You must have heard stories.”

“I guess I have, but I–”

“It’s my fault. I should have…I dunno, I should have warned you about B’s weakness for pretty blondes. And I know it’s just your personality to be sweet and friendly and a bit of a flirt. But you’re totally gonna give her the wrong idea.”

Courtney bit her lip and turned away, and Adore felt bad.

“Don’t be embarrassed! I’m not saying that you’re doing anything wrong. It’s just...she’s not really used to people turning her down, so...”

“Right.”

Courtney didn’t seem to have much more to say, and Adore worried that maybe she’d offended her.

“I’m sorry, boo, but this is just something you have to consider when you’re the most charming, beautiful, kind, funny, smart…”

Courtney started laughing, cutting her off with a hug.

“I get what you’re saying. You can stop laying it on so thick.”

Adore smiled, then realized that her phone was ringing. She handed the leashes over to Courtney and looked at it, surprised at the name on the display.

The last one she thought she’d see, especially today.

Pearl.