#wing and weft

[voguefashion]

Anne Hathaway wearing Giorgio Armani dress, gloves by Wing & Weft. Pink sequin dress by Area, pink gloves by Paula Rowan. Tom Ford purple coat, Gucci jacket, tights by Falke, Gianvito Rossi boots. Jacket, skirt, sunglasses and bags, all Chanel, Wolford top and tights, Paula Rowan gloves. Michael Kors coat and dress, Falke tights. Shirt, pants and heels, all Carolina Herrera. Top and skirt, all Alaïa. Wolford tights and heels by Valentino. Photographed by Dan Jackson for Vogue Hong Kong, November 2022.

#anna hathaway #giorgio armani #wing and weft #area #paula rowan #tom ford #gucci #falke #gianvito rossi #chanel #wolford #michael kors #carolina herrera #alaia #valentino #dan jackson #vogue hong kong #vogue #2022 #fashion photography #photo shoot #fashion #editorial #photography #2020s

[lauralot89]

Fiber Crafts

A resource for writers

Spinning: The process of winding fiber into thread or yarn. Can be done with a drop spindle or a spinning wheel. Can also be done on industrial machinery such as a spinning mule.

Plying: Taking two or more strands of spun thread and twisting them together to make a stronger yarn. Can be done on a spindle, spinning wheel, or machine.

Weaving: The process of forming cloth by interlacing two sets of threads, the warps (longitudinal) and the wefts (latitudinal), on a loom.

Bead Weaving: A type of weaving in which beads are woven into the fabric. This can be done with or without a loom.

Tapestry: A type of weaving in which only the weft threads can be seen from the front of the work, with all warp threads hidden on the back. Tapestries weave an image into the front of the work.

Nålbinding: A historic precursor to knitting, still practiced by the Nanti people of Peru. Nålbinding creates fabric by creating interlocking loops of yarn with a single-eyed needle. Nålbinding differs from knitting and crochet in that, in nålbinding, the entire length of the working yarn must be passed through each loop made.

Knitting: The process of forming cloth by interlocking loops of yarn. Knitting is most commonly done with two or more needles held in the hands, but can also be done with knitting looms or machines. The two most common methods of hand knitting are the English and Continental styles.

Crochet: The process of forming cloth by interlocking loops of yarn. This is most commonly done with a crochet hook, but can be done with the fingers. Crochet can also be done on looms. Whereas many stitches are active at any given time in knitting, in crochet, each stitch is finished before another is made.

Macramé: The process of creating textiles by making knots in cords. The main knots used in macramé are square knots and half-hitches.

Chinese Knotting: The process of knotting cord into decorations and charms.

Felting: The process of creating cloth by matting fibers together. In wet felting, fibers are exposed to water and then pressed and agitated to join the fibers together. In needle felting, fibers are joined by repeatedly being stabbed with specialized needles.

Rope Making: The process of braiding or twisting fibers together to create rope.

Sennit: The process of creating cord by braiding dried fibers.

Sewing: Using a needle and thread to join pieces of fabric. Sewing is done either by hand or machine. Sewing can be used to create garments and other items or to tailor preexisting items. Sewing can be either constructive (creating objects) or decorative (adorning objects).

Darning: A method of mending holes and worn areas in fabric. Darning can be either hand sewn or done with a machine, and weaves threads to fill in holes within fabric.

Embroidery: A form of sewing in which various stitches are added onto a preexisting fabric or item. Originally used for mending clothing, embroidery stitches are now also used decoratively. Embroidery can be done only with thread, but may also incorporate beads, sequins, and other decorative notions, such as beetle wings.

Cross-stitch: A type of embroidery in which the thread is sewn in X-shaped stitches across fabric.

Needlepoint: A type of embroidery in which yarn is stitched through an open weave canvas.

Tatting: The process of lace-making by looping and knotting thread. Tatting can be done with a shuttle, with a needle, or with a combination of tatting and crocheting techniques called cro-tatting.

Appliqué: The process of attaching one piece of fabric on top of a larger piece. Originally done to mend fabric, appliqué is now commonly used as decoration.

Patchwork: The process of sewing small pieces of fabric together to create a larger piece. This is often done to form a pattern or image.

Quilting: The process of stitching three or more layers of fabric together. Quilting is typically used to make blankets. Fabric layers can either be quilted by hand, usually with the aid of a quilting hoop, tied, or quilted using a domestic sewing machine or a longarm machine.

Banner Making: The process of creating a flag or banner. Banner making incorporates many other forms of needlework, such as patchwork, sewing, and embroidery.

Needlework: The umbrella term for textile handicrafts.

#resource #reference #writing #textiles #fiber crafts #fiber arts

[tlatollotl]

textile

Cultures/periods: Chancay

Production date: 900-1430

Made in: Peru

Provenience unknown, possibly looted

Textile; fringed border fragment; cotton warp and weft; slit tapestry; row of cleft-head figures with curled wings (bats?); bordered on either side by coloured stripes; fringe sewn along one edge: cotton warps and camelid wefts; plain weave with wefts extended and looped to make fringe. Tan, brown, indigo.

British Museum

#archaeology #arqueologia #art #arte #history #historia #native american #first nations

[queer-starwars-bracket]

Queer Star Wars Characters (Round 2): General Bracket Match 29

Sabé | Identity: bisexual | Media: Queen’s Trilogy/Darth Vader comics

Sabé, born Tsabin, was a member of a family of musicians who set their daughter on the same path. However, she was only skilled enough to ever have a supporting role and instead volunteered to be one of Queen Amidala’s handmaidens. She became Padmé’s most trusted operative, pretending to be the Queen during the Invasion of Naboo. After Padmé’s term as queen ended, she remained her operative and worked with Tonra, a member of Naboo’s security force, to attempt to free slaves on Tatooine. They eventually made contact with the White Suns, a Tatioone slave liberation movement. When the Clone Wars began, Sabé once again acted as Padmé’s decoy when Padmé was away from Coruscant conducting an investigation. There she learned Anakin and Padmé were married. However, to make sure Padmé didn’t have her closest confidant, Palpatine blasted Sabé’s brain with the Dark Side until she didn’t want to work closely with Padmé anymore. Sabé spent the rest of the war helping the White Suns.

After Padmé died, Sabé founded an organization known as the Amidalans- a rebel cell consisting of Naboo (including some of the other handmaidens), who sought to avenge Padmé. They attempted to assassinate Vader (who they deemed responsible) on multiple occasions. Sabé focused on deception, preventing to work with Vader to find Padmé’s killer and infiltrating Crimson Dawn.  until she figured out that Vader was Anakin. Remembering how Padmé’s last words (which had been recorded) was “There’s still good in [Anakin]”, she decided to actually become Vader’s operative. Her given reason was that the Empire and Vader did bring order to the galaxy, but it is just as likely she is following her queen’s last order to attempt to bring the man she loved back to the light. She remained by Vader’s side even when her fellow handmaidens came to “rescue” her. Her last appearance in the comics was Vader abandoning her on a beach until she could decide to fully commit to the Dark Side (emotionally speaking). Sabé had crushes on a handful of people and even a romantic relationship with Tonra, but her most important was her romantic love for Padmé. These feelings were requited, with Queen’s Hope creating a love triangle where Sabé represented ideology and duty and Anakin was selfish love. As we know, Padmé chose Anakin, but a deciding factor was Sabé’s self esteem being temporarily shattered by Palpatine. Her wider moral view seems to have degraded after spending over two decades focusing on avenging Padmé instead of joining the wider Rebellion. However, even working for the Empire, she hasn’t gone completely evil yet- doing things like pretending to kill a bunch of refugees to gain their loyalty instead of actually killing them.

Vernestra Rwoh | Identity: aroace | Media: the High Republic Phase I

Gifted Kid SyndromeTM. Vernestra Rwoh is primarily a character in the middle grade High Republic novels (as appearing in the YA Out of the Shadows). A prodigy, she solves the problem with adults having to be out of the picture in middle grade novels by being one of the youngest Jedi Knights ever- being knighted at 15 after an unusually short term as Stellan Gios’ padawan also from an abnormally young age. As a padawan, she would fall unconscious when traveling through hyperspace and have visions, something that resolved itself on its own (unknown to any of the characters, this was an unrealized ability to navigate hyperspace). Following a vision from the Force, she secretly modified her lightsaber to become a light-whip. 

She was on the Steady Wing, a diplomatic ship, that blew up and killed all of the adults. Working with the prodigious inventor Avon Starros, Honesty Weft, and the padawan Imri Canatros, they survived and captured the Nihil who sabotaged the ship. She also talked Imri down from the Dark Side and became his new master, despite their similar ages. During the Attack on the Republic Fair, she joined Ram Jamoram and Lula Talisola, who both looked up to her, in restoring communications on the planet. Later, she and her Padawan investigated a gravity well generator the Nihil were working on. During that time, her hyperspace visions were reactivated by Mari San Tekka. She was with the old woman when she finally managed to die, denying the Nihil any new Paths. She gave Venrestra one final path.

Later, following visions of Avon being in danger, she and Imri found that the Nihil were kidnapping children to be made into recruits on the planet Dalna. By leading the Jedi of the Dalna temple to the camp, they were able to alert Starlight Beacon and evacuate the planet before it was geologically destabilized by the Nihil’s kyber crystal experiments. She was in the top part of Starlight Beacon when it was destroyed and participated in the group effort to hold it together. She presumably escaped.

As a prodigy, she had the maturity and serenity expected of a Jedi. Fear didn’t trouble her, but she struggled with self-doubt, wondering if she could really be a Jedi Knight and Master to someone the same age as her. She also understood not to let her friendship with Avon cause her to be more worried about her than the missing children on Dalna (commentary with how her being aroace doesn’t make her immune to attachment). She was also a terrible pilot. She has been confirmed to appear in Acolyte. 

#star wars #sw #the high republic #sw thr #vernestra rwoh #sw thr phase i #sabe #padme amidala #darth vader comics

[merlinrarepairfest]

Round Up 4

With Week 4 coming to a close, we're now a bit over halfway through the posting period! You can find this week's fills beneath the cut <3

Title: A Lifetime of Promises Writer: eachpeachpearplum | @eachpeachpearplume Rating: M Warnings: No archive warnings apply Medium/Word Count: fic, ~50k | Chapter 1/14 Pairing/main characters: Gwaine/Merlin/Percival, established Gwaine/Percival, past Gwaine/Merlin Up to 10 tags: Modern AU, polyamory negotiations, fluff, slow burn (for the poly ship), falling back in love, hurt/comfort

Summary:

When Gwaine bumps into his ex, Merlin, in the pub one night, he doesn't realise quite how much it's going to change his and Percival's lives.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52010989

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Title: fade away never Writer: SlantedKnitting | @slantedknitting Rating: General Audiences Warnings: none Medium/Word Count: 1,186 words Pairing/main characters: Leon/Merlin Up to 10 tags: Regency Era, Queerplatonic Relationship, Immortal Leon, Immortal Merlin, Ballroom Dancing

Summary:

Leon and Merlin attend a ball.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51031786

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Title: [ART] Still Yours Artist: Mischel | @magicalmischel Rating: G Warnings: none Medium/Word Count: 0 Pairing/main characters: Gwen/Morgana Up to 10 tags: Digital Art, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel Gwen (Merlin), Hugs, Wings, Fallen Angel Morgana (Merlin), Demon Morgana (Merlin)

Summary:

Morgana/Gwen fanart for Rare Pair Fest 2023. Prompt: Angels and Demons au. They were together when they were angels. Then Morgana fell.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51384040

---

Title: The Shop at the Corner's End Writer: Cassius_theCorrupterofSouls | @twisted-shipper Rating: M Warnings: Creator chose not to use Archive warnings  Medium/Word Count: 12,456 Pairing/main characters: Morgana/Mordred  Up to 10 tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, Witchcraft, Wicca, Autumn, Halloween 

Summary:

Drawn towards a local occult shop that lies on her route to school, Morgana Pendragon takes it upon herself one Saturday afternoon in September to visit the store, hoping to purchase with her meager allowance a book or two on witchcraft, a practice she has been secretly reading up on online but has no hands-on experience with due to her father's no "nonsense" stance on all things supernatural. Entering the shop, she finds it to be as magical and sublime as her expectations, but what she doesn't expect is the confrontation she is about to have with one of its employees, a young man by the name of Mordred, who may just possess the secret to helping her realize her dreams of forging her own path and become more certain of herself in the process. Or, based on the prompt: Modern AU. Mordred works in an esoteric Wicca bookshop. Curious, Morgana visits the shop secretly because her conservative and stern father doesn't like her "unscientific, silly" hobbies. Romance, initial dislike for each other, find themselves drawn together.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51253924

---

Title: golden thread (clasped weft woven) Writer: AgapantoBlu | @agapantoblu Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Medium/Word Count: 20.766 words Pairing/main characters: Freya/Merlin; Arthur Pendragon. Up to 10 tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Freya Lives, Magic Revealed, Implied/Referenced Torture (though it’s just in dreams), Nightmares, It’s hard to live your cottagecore fantasies when destiny won’t stop banging at the door.

Summary: 

“It was so close. They barely made it out of Camelot and even then, Merlin was ready to watch her die. He'd held her and cried and screamed and begged whatever force had made him, every ounce of his magic, to please. Just not her. Not at Arthur's hand. Fate must have worried about the latter more than the first, but the waters had risen nonetheless, and the waves had washed away the blood and the wound alike. Merlin had been hit with a strange feeling of melancholy and sorrow and the weird relaxation that happens when a pull that seemed unnoticeable before suddenly stops. Just like that, Camelot didn't seem so enthralling anymore, and Arthur's actions not so easily pardoned."

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51364060

---

Title: her sorrowless salt self Writer: greenforsnow | @m-b-w Rating: T Warnings: no archive warnings apply Medium/Word Count: fic, 6k Pairing/main characters: Gwen/Morgana Up to 10 tags: Pirate Morgana, Mermaid Gwen, getting together

Summary:

Morgana looks for freedom in the ocean; she finds Gwen.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51389305

#bbc merlin #merlin rare pair fest #round up post

[rumor-imbris]

Words for you must be written in cinnabar the color of blood for they run impetuous they burn on your lips as you read From my heart, from my very breath mellifluent fire flowing to light up your spirit butterfly wings piercing the weft of your nightmares bleeding out all your ghosts

#That light in his eyes... ★~(◕△◕✿) #ratonhnhaké:ton #connor ac3 #connor kenway #assassin's creed 3 #ac3 #ac edit #acedits #my ac3 edit #ac3 edit #assassin's creed 3 edit #ACIII #Assassin's Creed III #tyranny of king washington #AC3 dlc #tokw edit #tokw #assassin's creed #tokw dlc #my words #my writing #poems on tumblr #poem of the day #poems for him #poetsontumblr #mywords #love notes #free verse #mywriting #wolven bae

[howgalling]

That being said… the doll of my Farmer is going well!!

I also sewed and painted a stinky robe for her out of an old curtain, I need to bleach some sigils into it but it fits so good enough for me! I haven’t done anything like this before so I am the definition of winging it lol

I still haven’t decided how I’m going to do the hair, either hot glue for the goopy slime type effect or use the wig hair wefts I have somehow Hrmm

The mask needs sanding to shape it up and I need to very delicately paint some freaky teeth on too

#sun haven #this counts as fanart I think #fanart #oc #doll paint #sculpting #clay #oven bake #the farmer

[olet-lucernam]

A Hollow Promise [20] chapter v, part i

main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture

-

summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.

Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.

And this changes things.

Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.

(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)

-

chapter summary : despite his chains, loki begins gathering his pieces on the board. astrid works on escaping her own confines, and mitigating the damage of disasters to come.

recommended listening : no place like home, todrick hall

-

[PREVIOUS] | [MASTERLIST] | [NEXT]

-

The solitary cell was deep underground, far below expansive cerulean skies and the firelit gold of the palace halls, in deepest wing of the dungeons.

Loki supposed he ought to be flattered.

It had long since fallen into obsolescence, disuse, and disrepair, contrasted against the cells shelved several staircases above it- a well-lit, refitted sector of the dungeons that Loki himself had headed the redesigns for, only a few centuries ago.

Oh, the irony, he had acknowledged with a smirk as the Einherjar escorted him past the bright rows, smooth-cornered and minimalist and cold as carved ice within a hallway of black stone. Each chamber was faced with the slow-rippling sheen of a containment field, the weft of it as tight as a seine net, its meticulous smooth-locked gears bearing Loki’s signature style, obvious to any mage skilled enough to realise that there was a difference.

Time and age may have begun to dull the Allfather’s edge at last, but Odin was still too proud and too cautious to store Loki, untried, on display amongst the common rabble- and least of all in a prison that was reliant upon magic that Loki had custom-engineered. Not only could he easily escape, he might unleash the other inmates as a distraction, or just for the fun of the ensuing chaos.

Loki could admit that the thought was deeply tempting.

It would take time, for Odin to decide his strategy and settle upon the sentence pre-emptive to the trial- using supposed exceptional circumstance and royal authority to override that of Glintir, Asgard’s delegated halls of justice- and more to strip down and renovate one of the cells to contain him. A few months, at the barest minimum. Perhaps less, if his mother was involved in the process; perhaps more, if Odin was in a particularly paranoid or vindictive humour.

In the interim, his current lodgings were the one place best equipped to contain him.

Despite surface appearance, the stone walls and oaken doors and rusted iron fittings were steeped in old magic- old protections- drawing from the core of Asgard itself to keep itself strong despite the physical decay. The unevenly-hewn cells had been hollowed out near the very roots of the realm, cloistered against ley lines and veins of unstable ore, the stagnant air thick with wild mana; it set Loki’s nerves sparking, its taste similar to the thrum of the Bifrost, but unfiltered, flowing directionlessly like water swirled in a pail, knocking against the sides and swilling back into itself.

Beyond it-

Loki ran his thumb across the valley of his palm.

The maelstrom of mana was like the wash of daylight over the stars- rinsing out any lesser source of power like bleach. It was part of the reason, he assumed, as to why Odin had ordered to have him thrown in such scarcely used accommodations, using the cell’s unique conditions to overwhelm his carefully honed sense of ambient magic, and prevent him from perceiving or tampering with anything that laid beyond his cell.

Yet, the logic only applied to lesser sources of power.

Even the might of Asgard was nothing to an Infinity Stone, even one disguised and sealed in a lesser form.

Clear as a beacon, singing through him and lingering like the soft metallic ring of a struck tuning fork, Loki could feel the sheer potential energy of the Tesseract even as the gaol door was bolted behind him. In fact- turning his head towards the ceiling, a few degrees above and across from the cell door- Loki was almost certain that he could guess its precise location within the Vault.

He would not have thought much of it, were it not for the fact that he could feel it reaching into the cell, intangible currents swirling in to greet him. Since returning to Asgard, it had become a constant presence, a companion in the dark.

His eyebrows twitched contemplatively, as he wound the Tesseract’s energy around his fingers, and sent a shimmer of his mana brushing against its edges.

The Tesseract glimmered back against him amiably, playing into their wordless game of call-and-response as it drifted, omnipresent and aimless and eldritch in the manner of gravity wells and hydrogen clouds.

Odd. It was odd.

The Tesseract wanted to help me- wanted me to find you- and it responded to you, when you asked it to open the way to Earth –

Astrid was right, as ever.

Even at the time, and more recently with the benefits of a clearer head and the absence of the Black Order monitoring his every thought, Loki could appreciate how unnaturally easy it had been to open the portal. When he had reached out through the Sceptre, hooking into Selvig as an established conduit, experimentally tapping at the Tesseract, Loki had felt its attention swing towards him- effortlessly piercing past and through Selvig’s flesh and the lightyears of space to alight upon him, considering him with what felt akin to mild disinterest.

Then it rippled, as though in reaction to him- and spat a mouthful of energy from within its titanium cradle, setting the PEGASUS scientists scattering into coordinated action, searching for the root of the anomaly.

Loki hadn’t questioned it. Only the naïve and the omnipotent refused the advantage. And besides which, it was a fool’s errand to attempt to understand why the Tesseract had behaved, as Selvig had so elegantly phrased it. It was not quite sentience in the way that most sapient lifeforms would comprehend it but- from experience, Loki knew that the greater an artifact’s age, the more likely it was to possess opinions; and the greater its power, the more unknowable those opinions tended to be, and hence its behaviour more unpredictable.

Applying that same logic to an Infinity Stone- a remnant of the universe’s creation, a concentrated ingot of one of the essential, esoteric forces that underpinned the very fabric of existence, an extant piece of the demiurge itself- and Loki had quickly concluded that there was nothing to be gained from wondering why.

And yet.

I suppose you must not be overeager to be in Thanos’ grasp, he mused in its direction. Or perhaps you’re simply fond of Astrid. Either way, I can entirely sympathise.

The Tesseract sheened back at him.

Loki quirked a slight smile.

He had, however, noticed something odd.

A tendril of the Tesseract’s power steadily tapered downwards- several layers of strata below his cell, to where there should be nothing but inert bedrock.

With nothing else to occupy his time and increasingly restless mind, Loki had begun whittling at a method to borrow and coast on the Tesseract’s power, imbuing it with his own magic until he could glimpse through it. In theory, the restrictions of space should be nothing to the Space Stone itself- and after investigating what had attracted it to one of the least interesting sectors of Asgard’s foundations, it would be useful for his other schemes amongst the Nine in the coming months.

It could have been worse, Loki supposed. He had experienced worse. And the quiet gave him space to think.

Loki held fast to the thought, keeping a firm grip. Staring at the dark walls of his cell, he could almost taste the buzz of the silence in his teeth, a held breath like the artificial hush of a theatre as the drama played out onstage. It sat within him as though he had swallowed a bulb of glass, and was left waiting to see if it would break under the pressure of his throat.

Fine. It was fine. He had free reign of his magic within his cell, and the vague favour of the Tesseract, and the freedom to think, even if he could feel the jagged pieces of himself shifting against each other, disjointed, his mind still split and frayed at the edges despite Astrid driving out the lingering influenced and dosing him with her own mana to give him time to heal, it was fine, he wasn’t there anymore, he needed to be hale and whole in order to drive off what was coming, everything was fine and even if it wasn’t he would never let them see it-

Loki felt a warmth bloom against his spine, just behind his heart.

He startled, like the whip of a livewire sparking off, instinctively careening back and lashing out against other, other, not again-

The slow press of a presence seeped through the spell embroidered into him, warming him through like an orchestra tuning before a symphony- resolving from blank heat into pattern and form, detailed as lacework.

It was golden- the very essence of gold, bright as hot metal, alive in the manner of hydrogen clouds- rippling into satin lustre, dissolving into powder-fine glitter, coalescing into smooth candlelight, diffusing into dappled daylight.

It hit him like sunshine striking through a glacier, shattering kaleidoscopic against his insides.

Oh.

The connection was weak, wavering. Through it, Loki could only discern a watercolour haze of emotion and surface thoughts, like the flit of shadows behind a curtain of finely-spun gauze- the link too new, nothing more than a single hastily-anchored thread, stretched too thin by the immense physical distance and the decomposing magic contaminating her, to convey anything more coherent.

Still, Loki felt the relief melt through him, the intimate press of another mind against his both foreign and familiar, a welcome anathema, a guest rather than an invasion.

With a practiced twist of his wrist, Loki threw up a screen against Heimdall’s gaze.

“Hello, darling,” he murmured into the cell’s quiet. “Have you missed me terribly?”

The warmth stilled.

Loki could sense a current of realisation within it, gently whorling together and condensing.

A solar-flare burst of mana surged within the connection- slamming against its limitations, pouring in power, attempting to pry the connection open- and Loki winced against the shock.

“Steady, dove,” he grunted out quietly, letting the words taper into a fond laugh. “The link isn’t strong enough just yet, and there is no forcing it along- have a little patience, darling. It will strengthen, with time.”

It had stilled at his entreaty, reluctantly withdrawing, but Loki could discern the hesitation-frustration-question-impatience-want lingering in it.

He smiled faintly, massaging the aftershock-ache out of his chest.

“You must have known its purpose, when I wove it. I had to have a way to find you again,” he explained in a murmur. “As a side effect- while you sleep, your mind will come to me. And when I sleep, I will dream in you.”

The warmth rippled faintly, tentatively pressing a few degrees closer, pausing at the tremulous point before it overstressed the fragile link.

Loki had the simultaneous sensation of staring out at a mist-shrouded figure on the other end of a long, treacherously narrow rope bridge, suspended above the sheer drop of the abyss- and of someone gently resting their chin on his shoulder from behind, reading something over his shoulder, a slight weight leaning in against the backrest of his chair.

The nebulous gesture haemorrhaged affection, and casual determination.

Loki laughed into the dark, his dark head lifting.

It tasted of revenge, only sweeter.

Yes. Everything would be fine.

-

“I have a question.”

“Mn.”

The noise of acknowledgement that Alethia made was unenthused, but Barton either didn’t notice or didn’t take it as sufficient dissent.

Striding back into the dim, windowless VERITAS testing room with what apparently passed as lunch- an armful of vending machine junk food- Barton let his haul drop to the table in a cascade of technicolour plastic wrappers, plucking a bottle of Mountain Dew from a utility pocket and cracking it open with a firm twist.

If not for the sleeveless, matte-black SHIELD jumpsuit and cinched gun harness, the former assassin, marksman, and one half of STRIKE Team Delta, codename Hawkeye- brass-blond and stocky, square-featured and almost generically Midwestern- would have looked like nothing more than an overgrown burnout frat boy.

Several seats away, Alethia remained reclined in her chair, clean-soled boots propped atop the desk, crossed at the ankles. Her eyes were closed, mouth soft, ash-blonde hair pinned up at the back of her head, one arm draping from the armrest.

By direct contrast, if not for her own jumpsuit, Alethia would have resembled something fae, pretty and still in a way that was not quite natural or human.

As he swung back into his seat, spinning into place, Barton tossed one of the packets in her direction with characteristic flawless aim.

The bag of sour candies struck her boots, falling to the table with a crinkle of plastic. Alethia lifted her lashes just enough to eye the sugar-loaded projectile- then proceeded to ignore it, settling back again.

On the other side of the room, supervising the automated collation of results from their latest testing session, Dr Abigail Brand watched the exchange- observing and unobserved, the blue light of the screen reflected in the curve of her dark irises.

As the de facto head of Project VERITAS, and another of SHIELD’s externally sourced, fixed-term hires- headhunted from AIM several months ago, for her unique expertise in improving AI recognition and classification of human response data and biofeedback- Abigail saw more of Alethia than most.

Privately, she would argue that this was both in the literal and figurative sense.

As a consultant, Abigail was aware that her every interaction within SHIELD and its agents was glossed with a tepid distance, like a layer of clear, flexible resin. As an outsourced asset, Alethia was choked into near immobility, even when her collar slackened under Romanoff’s watch, constantly monitored and quarantined by a closed circle of operatives.

Abigail wasn’t ignorant as to which of them had it worse.

SHIELD had asked one of them nicely for their cooperation. However, Abigail strongly suspected that she wasn’t the only one savvy enough to say yes, given the same opportunity.

Abigail was good at recognising those like her. It was a necessary survival skill.

Within sealed rooms and months of ten-hour days, she had formed a rough sketch of who Alethia was, and they had charted out enough common ground to stand comfortable with each other.

In the wake of the Incident- jeez, are they really calling it that- she had recognised a shift.

Alethia had seemed- for want of a better word- happier. She was less guarded, less opaque, her smiles coming easier and her moods milder.

Judging by her response, Romanoff had interpreted Alethia’s mellowing as an opportunity- as signs of a burgeoning sense of comradery. There was a glimmer of optimism and increased warmth in her handling, and in the less falsely casual tone that Romanoff and Barton had taken with her- pressing their thumbs onto the scale of her conversion from risky asset to invaluable agent. Fury did not seem like the type to refuse an advantage, or fail to capitalise on potential value, and so had likely sanctioned her recruitment, if possible.

Abigail didn’t really think that anyone at SHIELD was stupid, but sometimes they did a very convincing impression of it.

If there was anything that she had learned, however, from spending few more years in academia and research than was strictly good for anyone’s mental health, it was that the sharpest and most highly regarded people in any given field were typically the ones most fixed in their outlook.

Looking at Alethia, all she could see was someone who had finally gotten what she wanted, and was now content to wait out the remainder of her sentence, and even be cordial for its duration.

Which begged the question: what had she wanted? And when, and how, did she get it?

“Alright, so, we’ve encountered gods now,” Barton was saying, splitting open a bag and popping a few Cheetos into his mouth with a crunch, “as in- real, literal, fell-out-of-the-sky Norse gods.”

“We have.” Alethia agreed idly.

“And we’ve got proof of aliens in HD. A lot of corpses too.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Alright, so- how many of the stories are true? How many myths, fairytales, religions, whatever- how many of them are real, or based on something real? Is the History Channel gonna start looking like National Geographic? How many clowns do we have to add to the circus? We’ve got aliens, demigods, whatever the hell the Nazis were doing back then- should we start looking out for vampires? Werewolves? Mermaids? I mean, why not, right? How many are we talking, here? I mean, how much weirder is the world going to get?”

There was a long moment of expectant silence, punctuated by the quiet crunch of corn puffs.

Then Alethia opened her eyes and straightened slightly, her hair mussed as she turned towards Barton.

“Oh, were you asking me?”

“Yeah, I’m asking you!”

“Oh. How should I know?”

“Y- wait, you don’t know?”

Alethia shrugged one shoulder, settling back with a flick of her wrist.

“Bring me your gods, and I’ll tell you if they’re real.”

Abigail grimaced, taking a hasty draught of her cooling coffee to hide it.

Fuck, give me an existential crisis, why don’t you.

She could almost hear Alethia laughing, warm as a heartbeat, unmalicious.

Alethia had remarked, once, that Abigail had never asked her anything outside of the testing sessions. According to her, most people gave into the temptation eventually; Fury was a notable exception, for which Alethia appeared to have a grudging respect, but Romanoff had been delicately circumventive in her attempt, while Barton had been unabashedly obvious in his.

Operating on too little sleep and too many hours of coding, Abigail had answered with a touch more blunt honesty that she probably should have.

I’m not stupid, she had muttered, you’re like some fucked-up genie, or that fairground thing from that weird-ass Tom Hanks movie. I’m not going poking that psychological hornet’s nest. If I gotta ask, I deserve the monkey-paw treatment.

Pft-!

Alethia had barely stifled her startled giggle behind her fingers, clear hazel eyes creased at the corners and glittering delightedly.

Abigail had frozen, mortified- what the fuck, Brand, why would you say that- until Alethia had spoken again in a faintly strangled tone.

It was Big.

… What?

The, ah- title of the weird-ass Tom Hanks film. It was Big.

Abigail had thawed, nodding slowly. The awkwardness ebbed just enough to let her mouth and scientific curiosity run away with her impulse-control again.

Why do they always ask you something?

Alethia had hummed quietly, cocking her head, open as the skies.

As a general rule?

Sure, yeah.

She had lifted her shoulder in a wry half-shrug. Curiosity. Hubris. People either want to witness the party trick, or prove it false. There are few who like to think that their deepest secrets are available to a perfect stranger, prima facia. But also- some of them just want the bragging rights. Of being the one to beat the living lie-detector. Alethia exhaled quietly. Spies. They’re the equal of surgeons, when it comes to ego.

Abigail had frowned, nose crinkling sceptically.

But- hold up. Their deepest secrets wouldn’t be available if they just kept their mouths shut, she argued. You need something to go off, right? You’re not psychic. All they gotta do is shut up and believe you halfway about your whole- truth- thing. Err on the side of caution.

Alethia had smiled, the motion as precise and conscious as the unfurling of a wing, half-hidden beneath the lingering skim of her fingers.

As you said, Dr Brand. You’re not stupid.

Abigail shivered at the memory, teeth clinking against the ceramic rim of her cup.

The words had been spoken casually enough, but there was a knowing in Alethia’s face that had rattled Abigail’s nerves.

It was nothing.

She’s not psychic.

Barton frowned in consternation, the Cheetos bag rattling in his lap.

“So you have no idea which stories are true? Even after hearing them?”

“Stories are stories. Their intent is different. They contain truth,” Alethia said, “even if they are not true.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No it is not.”

“Because they really kinda sound like the same thing.”

“And yet it’s not.”

“Okay, so what’s the difference?”

Alethia exhaled, deep and quiet- then levered herself upright with a press of her palms into the arms of her chair.

“Thor and Loki were born approximately a year apart. Around 1150CE.”

“Were they?” Barton swallowed thickly, fingers already stained to the third knuckle with orange powder. “Hang on, how do you know that?”

“He told me. Except Norse mythology originates from the old Norse religion- which is thought to have been at the peak of active worship between 500BCE, and 1000CE. Do you see the dilemma?”

Several seconds late, Abigail registered the implication of who he was.

Barton gave no sign that he had noticed. But Abigail knew better than to underestimate those who had Fury’s favour.

“Oh. Yeah, okay. How is it possible that there are myths about Thor and Loki that are that old,” Barton said slowly, “when they hadn’t been born yet?”

His tone was one of statement and deduction, rather than question.

“I don’t know,” Alethia admitted with startling ease, almost laughingly, turning her head to meet Barton’s gaze with a pleased glint in her eyes. “Therein lies the mystery. Barring an anomaly in space-time, it’s impossible for Norse mythology to be a factual record of events. Yet it still has some correlation to the truth, as the planet is now aware. The myth is true; the mythology is not.”

“Huh.”

Tearing open a candy bar and breaking off a chunk, Barton mulled over Alethia’s statement.

“Okay, so- basically, a bunch of myths could turn out to be referencing something real, but,” he popped the bite into his mouth, speaking around it, “the folklore might not actually be that useful, in practice.”

“In essence, yes.”

“Huh.” Barton sucked nougat from between his teeth with an obnoxious smack. “Do you think we’ll be seeing more of this weirdness? Like, out in the open?”

“Mm, most likely,” Alethia said lightly, lifting her eyes back to the ceiling with a blink, “now that SHIELD can no longer swallow it back into the darkness.”

Barton paused, stilling like an animal sensing danger.

“You make it sound pretty sinister.”

“SHIELD has a list of enhanced people called the Index, constantly track their movements regardless of what they have or haven’t done, and threaten them into keeping their abilities hidden from the general public,” she said dryly. “You quite literally disappeared me.”

“Come on,” Barton rolled his head back in his chair exasperatedly, “that’s unfair and you know it. Even you have to admit that SHIELD’s mission is to protect people-”

“Which ones, and from what?”

Her tone was lacklustre, almost vacant, as though this conversation was one that she had with him many times before, and had little hope of it progressing any differently this time.

Abigail wondered what it said that she had to say it again- but also that she begun to anyway.

“Most of them- these myths in hiding- are in hiding from things like SHIELD. You are not the heroes in their stories. You don’t know about them because they don’t want you to. They masquerade as baseline humans and lie to your face and never think twice about it, because they are protecting themselves. They could be right here, in this room, and you would never know. And who could blame them?”

Abigail’s stomach dipped in terror.

The door opened.

“I got lunch,” Romanoff announced.

“I got lunch,” Clint protested, rattling a bag of pretzels in her direction, quickly switching gears into the distraction.

“You’ve got a future heart attack and type-two diabetes.” Dressed more casually than her partner, her dark-rinse jeans and scoop-neck sweater still relatively professional, Romanoff lifted a brown paper bag into the air. “I bought something with nutritional value.”

“If you went to the sandwich bar on the second floor, I seriously doubt that. Unless, you know, nutritional value is interchangeable with salmonella-”

“Shut up and eat your fibre, Clint.”

Sweeping across the room, Romanoff placed an oblong package on Abigail’s desk, wrapped in white deli paper: crab meat in mayonnaise, shredded lettuce, sliced tomato, pickles, and a dash of hot sauce on French baguette, in a somewhat inauthentic, New York approximation of a Louisiana po’boy.

Romanoff had a memory for such things.

Offering Abigail a brief smile, Romanoff turned to Alethia with a skim of chin-length cherry curls. “Ali. Caprese on focaccia, right?”

Ali? Abigail wondered with a twist of her mouth, as Romanoff tossed Alethia her sandwich with a low underarm throw. That’s new.

“I had them hold the pesto, add aioli, rocket, and red onion,” Romanoff added as Alethia caught the package with one upturned palm.

“What did you get me?” Barton asked expectantly.

“Salmonella.”

“Nat.”

“Did you save me some Oreos?”

“Please. I’m not a monster, Natasha.”

“Roast beef on wholewheat.”

“Hm. I’ll allow it.”

“Seriously, it’s a miracle you don’t have a nutritional deficiency-”

“Look, I keep telling you, peanut butter is a source of protein-”

Shrouded by the smooth-flowing banter between the agents, Abigail made the mistake of stealing a glance at Alethia.

She was looking directly at her.

Abigail’s blood seemed to drain directly to her vital organs.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

Her gaze was unworldly, frighteningly intense, like staring into the core of the sun. Abigail had the sensation of being an insect trapped in amber, paralysed at the mercy of a being that could carve her soul open and leave it to bleed, if she stood in her way.

After a moment, a faint, knowing smile softened at Alethia’s mouth- as though greeting Abigail for the first time.

Without comment, Alethia strained forward to drop her wrapped sandwich on the desk, and kicked off sharply- swivelling her chair, catching her boot against the table behind her to halt herself.

With the slant of her torso, her new position effectively left her with her back to Romanoff and Barton.

The message was clear.

Abigail forced herself to relax, unwrapping her imitation po’boy with trembling fingers and refusing to look back at Alethia, who was now humming a soft, romantic refrain.

She just had to reach the end of her contract. That was all. Once Project VERITAS entered its final phase, she could begin looking for another position. SHIELD would provide her with a mostly accurate reference from a credibly falsified employer, avoiding a damning void in her work history, so she could head back out and-

And then what?

It wasn’t an unfamiliar question.

After completing her studies, she had quietly left her school, declining to enter the graduate program. It wasn’t for her, she had decided, and to his credit, the head professor had been understanding, sending her off with his good will and a glowing reference.

But the world had been wilder, then, and smaller. Their conflict had been fought in shadows, both sides of the schism tacitly agreeing that obscurity was the best source of protection, for now.

But now the light had flooded across the globe, and there were fewer shadows to hide within, and-

What now?

What now, Brand?

Sooner or later, it seemed she would have to make the trip back to Westchester.

-

Later, when she had the time to think about it, Abigail asked Barton what Alethia had been humming.

Ironically, despite being mostly deaf without his hearing aids, Hawkeye had an excellent ear for music; even from Abigail’s tone-deaf attempt at replication, he had quickly identified the piece.

It was opera, apparently, one of those recognisable classical pieces that had filtered into common knowledge without anyone knowing actual title.

The song was an aria, from La traviata.

Sempre libera.

It was clever, and biting, and exactly what she could expect of Alethia, and it should have been enough of an answer just to hear the title.

Except Abigail had gotten curious, and listened to the aria, and looked up the lyrics, because scientific curiosity should not be sated by the first answer it encountered.

Alethia had not been humming the defiantly carefree, fluttering refrain- free and aimless I frolic, from joy to joy- sung by the opera’s protagonist, Violetta. Instead, she had been humming the lines of Violetta’s lover, Alfredo, as he sang offstage.

Love is the heartbeat of the entire universe, they read, the melody drawn out in gently sloping notes, mysterious, altering, the torment and delight of my heart…

-

The shackles, Loki decided, were a little excessive.

Chains as thick as a femur looped between his wrists and ankles, connected by a third to the collar resting against his clavicle, which locked into a fourth wrapped around his waist, from which two more were linked and leashed in the grip of a set of helmed Einherjar- Loki had wanted to roll his eyes at that alone, but he hadn’t been able to resist the low huff of laughter when he was met with no less than ten figures in golden armour outside his cell, dispatched to escort him to Valaskijálf Hall.

At least it would appear that Odin was finally taking him seriously.

The thought was bracing, allowing him to pull forth all the practiced, aloof insouciance of an Asgardian prince.

Odin was paying attention- it was only right that Loki give him a show.

He could already feel the discomfort twisting into the guards, like thumbscrews, in the face of his calm irreverence. They were the ideal test audience- Loki had manipulated enough of the Einherjar over the years that their thoughts were all but cellophane to him.

Admittedly, it was far easier to play the unrepentant monster when she was with him- emerging into consciousness like the break of dawn, burning and righteous and steadying, like a weapon warming his palm.

Over the weeks, their link had stabilised, enough that it could finally convey more than echoes of emotion.

He could feel the moment that she snapped awake in his mind, the breath of a spectre.

Where-?

Loki let his gaze drift briefly, letting her see his surroundings.

His eyes glazed a subtle circuit over dark, mirror-gloss floors, inset with knotwork motifs of amber marble, opulently engraved gold pillars bearing the weight of the high ceiling and its delicately detailed fresco. Fires burned in braziers thrice his height, contrasting the clear natural daylight streaming from the breezeways at his back. Through him, Astrid could no doubt hear the gentle clink and rattle of the chains against his leathers, and the smooth scrape of the Einherjar’s laminar armour as they kept in pace with him, in a parody of an honour guard. Loki could smell mist from the waterways, and sunshine, and the crisp opening knell of autumn- contrasting the heat of early summer that Astrid was currently experiencing in New York, from the trap of SHIELD’s air-conditioned base of operations.

It all tasted traitorously of home.

Trial, he explained to her simply.

Ah. Palace?

Yes.

She paused. Hm.

After a moment of consideration, Astrid sent him a breeze of blasé contempt, and a flash of a memory- of what he recognised as a casino lobby, somewhere on Midgard-

Loki almost choked.

Astra!

The Hall of Valaskijálf, the magnificent heart of the Palace of Asgard and the seat of its power, was being compared to the Bellagio on the Las Vegas strip.

Loki had to forcefully remind himself that dissolving into delighted, scandalised laughter would, at this juncture, be a bad idea.

Against his mind, Astrid preened, irreverently.

Sheath, she murmured with a tint of melancholy, curling around him, setting a little of her mana through their connection to press warm against his heart.

Shoulders relaxing minutely, Loki sent her every ounce of fierce, violent affection that was welling in his chest.

Dagger, he whispered back tenderly, his magic twining into hers like laced fingers.

Even despite the solidified connection, it was still like comparing the glint of a distant star to the heat of the sun, or hearing strains of music just beyond coherency. Loki would have wondered if he had not unconsciously chosen it as a masochistic punishment, if not for the fear that it was affecting her the same way.

“Loki.”

His heart stopped briefly.

“Hello, Mother.”

Loki whipped his head to meet the sight of her, blasé and unmoved.

Astrid tensed in his veins, wary and curious.

Queen Consort Frigga of Asgard was not dressed for court, devoid of the finer trappings of her station. Rather than an elaborately braided, sleekly curled coiffeur, brocaded chrysalis silks, and waterfall sheets of jewels, her gown was one of her simpler garments- a relatively subtle teal satin, with a seafoam-silver shawl draped over her arms. Her only item of jewellery was a set of turquoise pendant earrings, handcrafted in a simple Vanir design, waves of copper-blonde hair left unbound to her waist.

She looked- tired, anxious. Loki could see it in the lines around her eyes, in the tight downturn of her mouth. Her fingers were laced together, one thumb pressing at the opposite palm unconsciously.

Crushing an acute lurch of guilt, and the momentary embittered wish that he could have hated her for all that she had- or, more accurately, hadn’t- done, Loki steepled his eyebrows sardonically at her, his voice soft as velvet.

“Have I made you proud?”

“Please,” Frigga implored quietly, her eyes wide and unblinking, intent and quietly afraid, “don’t make this worse.”

“Define worse.” Loki riposted dryly.

“Enough.”

The king’s voice echoed throughout the throne room.

Loki consciously resisted the reflex to straighten his spine. He felt Astrid coil in response, her attention diverted from Frigga.

Loki turned towards the throne.

Set upon the raised dais, at the summit of three flights of curved steps, was the high seat of Hlidskijalf.

The seat itself was nothing so magnificent- a square of gold, hemmed by broad, rectangular blocks at either side to serve as arms, and a low back- but its silhouette was made imposing by the heavily ornamented wings of solid gold that curved from either side. Bevelled at the edges like a great axe blade, their gentle upward arch framed its occupant, like the centre of a set of inverted scales.

The Allfather sat comfortably upon it, as ever.

His armour was darker than when last Loki had stood in his presence, compared to his burnished silver-steel war plate, or the ceremonial armour that he had worn for Thor’s almost-coronation.

By contrast, the pitch leathers and aged gold plate looked almost tarnished.

Knowing his father, it was undoubtedly a message.

Loki met Odin’s gaze, finding one piercing blue eye gazing down at him dispassionately.

He refused to blink.

“I will speak to the prisoner alone.”

Odin spoke with a calm, almost reasonable authority.

Instinctively, a pit formed in Loki’s stomach, even his jaw worked with defiance.

A thousand years of conditioning- of loyalty, deference, and respect instilled towards his father, his commander, his sovereign- was not so easily broken.

Meanwhile, he could feel Astrid assessing and dissecting the Allfather like a lancet, merciless and unawed.

Whatever it was that she saw, Loki could already feel her dislike forming.

Frigga glanced towards her husband, settling one last unreadable look upon Loki- and turned on her heel, departing with a swirl of heavy skirts and quick steps, accepting her dismissal with dignity.

Loki watched her leave, before swinging his attention back to Odin.

So, Astrid stated, her presence cloaked across Loki’s shoulders like draped arms and mantled wings.

So, Loki agreed, leaning back into her support.

He drew closer to the steps with three slow, measured steps, and snapped his heels together in a sarcastic salute, the crisp clank of his shackles echoing out into the empty hall.

Provocateur, Astrid teased, like lips against his cheek.

This time, Loki left himself exhale a laugh, swaying forwards slightly.

“I really don’t know what all the fuss is about,” he said with a rehearsed air of callous, flippant levity, palms splayed as much as they could within the chains.

“Do you truly not understand the gravity of your crimes?”

Rich, Astrid commented dryly from across their link.

Loki sent back something that evoked a huff of agreement. Of all those involved, Odin had the barest understanding of his actions- even in his ignorance, Thor had at least witnessed the destruction for himself and had almost hit upon the correct question to ask.

“Wherever you go,” Odin proclaimed, almost blandly, “there is war, ruin- and death.”

Astrid stilled dangerously.

Dove, Loki calmed her, his expression sobering.

“I went down to Midgard to rule the people of Earth as a benevolent god.” Loki allowed a soft, taunting smile break through, unable to resist the accusation that welled. “Just like you.”

“We are not gods,” Odin said sagely, all but ignoring his closing barb. “We are born, we live, we die. Just as humans do.”

Hypocrite, Loki shared with Astrid, receiving her dry agreement in reply, before shrugging.

“Give or take five thousand years,” he corrected with a flat-lipped, sardonic smile.

“All this,” the Allfather mused, a hint of scorn finally bleeding through, “because Loki desires a throne.”

“It is my birthright!” Loki snapped, unable to withstand the insult, as though Odin had not told him that he was born to be a king, as though he could not have known what he was implying through the lens of that lie, as though the Norns-damned throne was all it was ever about-

“Your birthright-!” Odin bellowed in reply, leaning forward in his seat, as though to swiftly crush the insolence shown to him. “Was to die!”

Silence reigned for a moment.

In the ringing quiet- and the detached shock that, even now, there was still something left in him to hurt at a truth he had already known- Loki felt it.

Pure, clean, unadulterated rage, the emotion borrowed and possessive and selfish, swathed him.

It tasted like destruction on his tongue, like intent on the edge of his nerves, borne in the currents of something heart-deep that threatened to obliterate anything before it. Her mana burned bright in his nerves, crackling behind his retinas, threatening to radiate out of him and contaminating his own magic.

And if Odin caught the traces of a foreign mana in him, active and alive-

Loki reached for Astrid with thoughts like cool water and nepenthe, gathering her wild mana into his core, hastily absorbing and reforming it before Odin could notice.

There was only so much that his own magical core, and the mana-supressing runes in his shackles, could do to mask her presence. Ironically, it was fortunate that the connection was yet to develop to its full strength, muting her.

Given the strength of her rage, however, an intensity so heady that he could overdose on it-

Bastard. Her thoughts were incandescent, tumbling through his own and breaking through to a fresh level of coherency. Bastard. How dare he-

Beloved, please, calm- for me-

“- as a child. Cast out onto a frozen rock. If I had not taken you in,” the corner of Odin’s mouth lifted, almost a jeer, “you would not be here now to hate me.”

Abruptly, Astrid’s mood crystallised, bright and clear, giving Loki space to breathe again.

No, Loki heard her decide, no, better- wait and sic Daddy on him-

He took a sharp stride forward, back into more pressing problems.

“If I am for the axe, then for mercy’s sake, just swing it,” Loki challenged Odin in reply, sotto voce and almost obliging. If he seemed preoccupied, if Odin was given cause to suspect anything, if he found out about Astrid-

He felt the sharp knife of instinctive fear, sick in his stomach.

In this respect, Odin remained exponentially more dangerous than Thanos.

Astrid offered a flicker of conviction in comfort, her temper still cooling.

“It’s not that I don’t love our little talks, it’s just-” Loki paused pointedly, as though considering his phrasing. “I don’t love them.”

Odin didn’t respond to his insolence, as though it mattered so little to him that it was unworthy of a reaction.

“Frigga is the only reason that you are still alive, and you will never see her again.” His announcement was perfunctory, prelude to dismissal.

Ah.

Well. The Allfather knew how to mete out cruelty with the political precision of an autocrat.

“You will spend the rest of your days in the dungeon,” Odin concluded softly.

As though choreographed, the guards gave a short tug on Loki’s chains, drawing him back a step from the throne.

He should have been prepared for it.

He had been prepared for it, intellectually, had predicted the most likely ruling and Odin’s pretence at a measure of mercy, had expected to be kept in cold storage indefinitely lest Odin ever encounter a better use for him, or a quandary that Thor’s brawn could not resolve- even while he knew that the sentence would never be carried out. Between the Tesseract’s power and Astrid’s sheer will and wit, all Loki would have to do was ask.

But this was the ruling, the mock trial that was all that Loki was worth. Odin had not even deigned to ask why. He had assumed, and accepted the lie in confirmation of it.

Alderliefest, she gentled him, her mind as unclouded and radiant within his.

She strained for him like an outstretched hand, fingers flared and trembling.

Ah, Loki realised ruefully, so I really am being cruel to both of us.

Gripping onto her lifeline, winding the necessity around his fist to ground himself, Loki spoke numbly.

“And what of Thor? You’ll make that witless oaf king, while I rot in chains?”

“Thor must strive to undo the damage you have done,” Odin spoke sharply. “He will bring order to the Nine Realms, and then-”

The Einherjar behind him clamped leather-gloved hands down on his shoulders, prepared to haul him away.

“Yes. He will be king.”

Internally, Loki dissolved into triumphant laughter.

He felt Astrid’s flutter of curious confusion- and her sting of pleasure at being surprised.

Later, he vowed, darkly heated, already in anticipation of witnessing her reaction.

What Odin had meant as a parting volley- as salt ground into an open wound- was a precious piece of intelligence that Loki would have otherwise been hard pressed to obtain.

The Nine was in chaos, then. The damage you have done could only refer to the destruction of the Bifrost, only recently repaired and restored to functionality, with the assistance of the Tesseract.

Without the Rainbow Bridge, Asgard had limited means of interstellar travel. Their spaceworthy fleet had atrophied over the centuries of relative peace, the great warships considered obsolete upon the construction of the Bifrost, the streamlined technology left to fall behind the other galactic powers. Almost no one knew of the secret passageways that Loki had discovered, let alone mapped them, and there were few his equal in the kenning arts who could locate, stabilise, and manipulate the few that could accommodate passage of a large volume of troops.

Without the Bridge, Asgard had been cut off from the other eight realms.

And without Asgard’s presence as a deterrent, every world within the Yggdrasil complex would have been overrun with opportunists for months, if not close to years.

It was a cold necessity- a nasty shock to the established system, both for those who had relied upon Asgardian arms for the safety of their realm, and for Asgard itself at being so simply and effectively hamstrung for almost two years.

Thor would do what he did best, of course, and battle his way through the marauders, trussing them up and tossing them into the dungeons to rot beside Loki- but the damage would already be done.

The seeds would be planted, and people would start to think.

And when people started to think, they would start to talk.

And that, Loki could work to his advantage, like hot metal upon an anvil.

Thank you, Allfather, Loki wanted to say, laughing against the pain as he was led away, for your most gracious cruelty.

With that, the first gears were in motion.

-

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#a hollow promise #cross posted on ao3 #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x original female character #loki x ofc #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #mcu loki #post-avengers 2012 #fix it au #no beta we die like canon by my blade #writing #chapter update #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 link #right on schedule

[adozentothedawn]

And so it is done! Praise be our bird lady Hylea, even though she was a dick to me while making it.

I tried getting multiple different lighting situations, but unfortunately none are great. If we're getting some sunlight tomorrow maybe I'll post another one in natural light.

Now, eagle (hah) eyed viewers might notice that there are two different shades of pink in this banner. This is definitely on purpose and not cause I ran out of the first one and bought a wrong one to stock up and then only noticed when it was too late.

You might also notice that wings don't look like weaving. That is cause they aren't. While the egg and the top part honestly went amazingly well on the round loom, the wings unfortunately bend into the wrong direction for the most part so it looked garbage when I tried to weave it the way I do usually. I then tried to weave it on top of the background, using the weft as another warp, but didn't look great either. Then I got the idea to maybe use the fact that I branched out in textile arts recently and just try something completely different. I ended up using a backstitch basically, but through the string itself to make it stick in one line. Honestly I'm kinda proud of that thing, cause it did come out pretty good. (Except that the one top line somehow got too long which meant I had to staunch the right wing so it wouldn't look too off kilter but at that point it would have been ludicrous to try and fix it so I did my best to work around it.)

Tbh I was too lazy to look up proper rim techniques but hey it works, so whatever.

The next project will take a while for sure, because I have about 5 million Christmas ducks to crochet, so we'll see when I get back to it.

#pillars of eternity #art #crafts #weaving #hylea #my project #i am hyped about the wings #it was what we in austria call a fiaseloabeit #lots of tiny precise bullshit #but it turned out rather well i like to think #and i finally have something to add to fandom again! #tbh i have gotten a bit jealous with people suddenly showing up again and me not having anything to join in #i am busy with other things right now #but i will try to update Hildraed sometime maybe #i know i keep promising to go back to writing and then not doing it #but i am trying really #i am just unfortunately failing #i'll get to it someday #i really do still love these games #and i'm so happy more people appreciate them #it is motivating but unfortunately motivation is just always enough #But! #i have this done finally #and that does make me happy

[kutputli]

The Kind White Moderate Racism of Ted Lasso

"the white moderate who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I can't agree with your methods of direct action;" who paternalistically feels he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by the myth of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait until a '"'more convenient season" - Martin Luther King Jr from 'Letter from Birmingham Jail' 16th April 1963

It is 60 years, to the day, almost, since MLK Jr wrote those words, at a time when Black people were being jailed and murdered, by a white supremacist state, accompanied by the mealy-mouthed hand-wringing of the white moderates.

In 2023, Black people are still being jailed and murdered, by a white supremacist state. (This is true for the US and the UK, as well as across the world. I write this from a brown post-colonial nation where also, anti-Blackness has proven repeatedly murderous.)

And the white moderates are still at it.

I could write an essay breaking down all the macro and micro racist moments in Ted Lasso, a show that exemplifies how kind moderate white men see themselves and the world - but I won't. (I'd rather be paid for the labour, if I have to rewatch actively triggering scenes to do it.)

Instead, I will ask the Ted Lasso fandom - does this show disgust you?

And if not, what will it take for a story told by white men to get you there?

Disgust can sit alongside critical appreciation for craft, and emotional affection for characters you have invested in. Anyone who has interacted with white art and culture has learned the ability to weave their love for it alongside the weft of contempt we must cultivate for its racism.

I am not asking if you have stopped loving the show, or its characters. I am asking if you have felt disgusted - truly, viscerally disgusted - by its politics.

Because if you have not - if a bunch of white men turning a Black man into a puppet to preach forgiveness to a Black man who has experienced racist violence - if that does not disgust you...

then you are aligned with white supremacy, no matter how much you may disclaim the crude, ugly right-wing manifestation of it.

Do you choose to forgive the racist show that you love?

Or do you choose to hold it accountable for its racism?

#ted lasso #racism #fandom racism #my meta #white moderates #sam obisanya #ola obisanya

[doomedtodestruction]

Anya Taylor-Joy at the 2021 CFDA Fashion Awards in NYC.

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Stylist: Anya Taylor-Joy and Paul Burgo

Outfit: Oscar de la Renta by Laura Kim and Fernando Garcia

Shoes: custom Stuart Weitzman

Hat: custom Gigi Burris Millinery

Gloves: Wing & Weft Gloves

Jewelry: Tiffany & Co.

#doomedtodestruction #fashion #aesthetic #styleblogger #anya taylor joy #oscar de la renta #modelling #it girl #dior

[neowollymoxie]

Fic name:oh, the places you'll go

•biased:This fic is sweet as candy, and supringsly a good read even after a couple times I never got bored definitely high praise but i honestly do feel they bullied Sylvester alot but honestly that's canon so who am I to say? Also never knew Mera could be such a fun character great on this fic.

Favorite sentence:"Could you perhaps be feewing...weft out?"

•biased

Post or pre pop?:Pre,and tbh Giovanni's depiction didn't age well but at the time it was most definitely spot on so no complaints there,also some praise I will put here is the fact they got molly and Lori dynamic despite not even knowing Lori existed yet (I doubt the character was even conceived yet)this shows with the whole chicken wing sceen which is preety telling to how much they understood Molly even as early as the third ever fic.

Characterization:For the time? Yes most definitely at the top of it's class and because this review was made before the announcement of the book after Prison of Plastic it's really only Giovanni and Molly who isn't a spot on but it's honestly minor enough to not call it cherry picking if I complain about it so I'll let it slide but I do feel Giovanni wouldn't bully Sylvester this much but that's about all I have to say.

Grammar/cleanliness:As I've been told I am dog water at grammar and I feel I shouldn't be reviewing fics fro grammar if I'm bad at it so I've asked my editor who which I will not name but he said "it's decent" so take his word for it

Fic type?:Filler-as harsh as that may sound you people clearly don't actually know what feeler means,well good filler which luckily this falls under,it's basically just characters doing random things and just vibing in this case going to a dinner which is fine the characters where entertaing and it was definitely a good experience I would heck I would even say I would re read it

Any other factors?:I read this fic in the span of 2 weeks so take that as you will

All in all?:In cases of filler it doesn't have much to criticize,mostly because when nothing has been changed and nothing important is happening/doesn't have a plot

You can't really mess it up if the characterization is good the fic itself is quite enjoyable and that's as far as it goes but that's all it needs to be.does this rank higher than Crime and breakfast? Personally? No unbiased? Also no it's filler it doesn't have anything to say it just neat character interaction although the character interaction is really good so don't expect this to drop too far down the list as this is definitely a good pick if your starting out.

#epithet erased #neowollymoxie review series

[somnambulant-seraphim]

Hiiii! I love your moths! If you dont mind, i was wondering how you make them?

Thank you!! \(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)人(●’◡’●)/

I didn't really use a pattern for them, I kinda just made it up as I went along. I think I did explain it in the posts, but I used a pretty regular crochet stitch to make the shapes, then put them together.

ミ☆ ミ☆ ミ☆ ミ☆ ミ☆ ミ☆ ミ☆

Here's what I did for each moth:

A sphere for the head and an oblong, slightly tapered oval for the body, then stitched together. I sewed two button eyes more towards the sides of the head.

Each of the six legs are short, flat nubs that are two chains wide. I stitched each one onto the underside of the moth's body across from each other.

I used photo references for the wing shapes I wanted to use, but they're generally sort of a rounded teardrop shape. I cut out four wing pieces total for one moth, and carefully hot glued the fabric patterns onto them.

I arranged the wings onto the moth's body with hot glue as well, and glued some furry yarn over the joining point and around the thorax, to hide any exposed glue. I'm sure this could also work with a fuzzy fabric, or even yarn wefts.

The antennae are made with wire and fuzzy yarn. I carefully hot glued the wire in between the yarn (like a sandwich), still leaving a bit of plain wire out on the ends to poke into the head for attachment (with a bit of hot glue). This could also work with other materials cut into smaller strips.

ミ☆ ミ☆ ミ☆ ミ☆ ミ☆ ミ☆ ミ☆

I think that's about it for the steps, sorry I couldn't just link you a proper tutorial or something, but this is what I've got, so hopefully it's helpful in some way :)

Feel free to ask more questions if you need! <|:-)

Thank you again, have a good rest of your day or night, take care!

*:･ﾟ. ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ/<3 <3 <3 *:･ﾟ.

#asks #answered #ask #thank you very much :D

[queer-starwars-bracket]

Queer Star Wars Characters (Round 1): General Bracket Match 52

Alak | Identity: mlm | Media: The High Republic Adventures 2022

Alak was a member of Maz Kanata’s pirate crew. He was born to one of the ruling families of the Scarlet Skulls, a brutal group of mute assassins. However, the night before the initiation a baby was born, and seeing her innocence and the brutal life she’d be forced into, made him realize he couldn’t become a full Scarlet Skull, or let the same thing happen to her. He left, and eight years later he returned to destroy the cult and rescue her. She became his adoptive daughter and pirate prodigy Quiet Shan. He was part of Maz’s crew when she opposed the Dank Graks, a motley gang of Dark-siders attempting to take over Takodana. He was in love with the famous pirate hunter Raf Thatchburn. Their opposed occupations made things very difficult. When they talked over holo, the rest of the crew observed to make sure he didn’t give any information away. Chasing after the Graks when the kidnapped Maz led him and the crew to the Battle of Jedha, where he had a conversation about love with Dexter Jettster (who talked about his QPR with Maz). Shan overheard this conversation, and when Raf was also drawn into the chaos of the battle of Jedha, she saved his life. This made Raf realize he needed to be someone who deserved Alak and Shan’s trust, and he helped save Maz and Takodana from the Graks. He quit his job as a pirate hunter, becoming a pirate to properly get with Alak.

Vernestra Rwoh | Identity: aroace | Media: the High Republic Phase I

Gifted Kid SyndromeTM. Vernestra Rwoh is primarily a character in the middle grade High Republic novels (as appearing in the YA Out of the Shadows). A prodigy, she solves the problem with adults having to be out of the picture in middle grade novels by being one of the youngest Jedi Knights ever- being knighted at 15 after an unusually short term as Stellan Gios’ padawan also from an abnormally young age. As a padawan, she would fall unconscious when traveling through hyperspace and have visions, something that resolved itself on its own (unknown to any of the characters, this was an unrealized ability to navigate hyperspace). Following a vision from the Force, she secretly modified her lightsaber to become a light-whip. 

She was on the Steady Wing, a diplomatic ship, that blew up and killed all of the adults. Working with the prodigious inventor Avon Starros, Honesty Weft, and the padawan Imri Canatros, they survived and captured the Nihil who sabotaged the ship. She also talked Imri down from the Dark Side and became his new master, despite their similar ages. During the Attack on the Republic Fair, she joined Ram Jamoram and Lula Talisola, who both looked up to her, in restoring communications on the planet. Later, she and her Padawan investigated a gravity well generator the Nihil were working on. During that time, her hyperspace visions were reactivated by Mari San Tekka. She was with the old woman when she finally managed to die, denying the Nihil any new Paths. She gave Venrestra one final path.

Later, following visions of Avon being in danger, she and Imri found that the Nihil were kidnapping children to be made into recruits on the planet Dalna. By leading the Jedi of the Dalna temple to the camp, they were able to alert Starlight Beacon and evacuate the planet before it was geologically destabilized by the Nihil’s kyber crystal experiments. She was in the top part of Starlight Beacon when it was destroyed and participated in the group effort to hold it together. She presumably escaped. As a prodigy, she had the maturity and serenity expected of a Jedi. Fear didn’t trouble her, but she struggled with self-doubt, wondering if she could really be a Jedi Knight and Master to someone the same age as her. She also understood not to let her friendship with Avon cause her to be more worried about her than the missing children on Dalna (commentary with how her being aroace doesn’t make her immune to attachment). She was also a terrible pilot. She has been confirmed to appear in Acolyte.

#star wars #sw #the high republic #sw thr #vernestra rwoh #sw thr phase i #sw thr phase ii