#nothing will ever go as hard as season one Loki did
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Warmth
Wanda Maximoff x Reader
Word Count: 2.7k
Notes: Slightly sad but overall happy and super fluffy, Christmas themed, happy holidays everyone!
Summary: You miss your family during the Christmas season, making you feel isolated. However Wanda reminds you that there are still people who care about you here.
Masterlist
Christmas was hard for you. It reminded you of all of your losses. Your parents, your sister, and your team. Watching the snow fall together only reminded you of those that fell with you during the war. You were always a little more zoned out during the season. Focusing was harder than it ever would be.
You had a new team that was not dissimilar to your military family, the Avengers. This wasn’t your first Christmas with them, but it was the first time you couldn’t pretend to be filled with the Christmas spirit.
They didn’t really know what was going on with you, but they could guess based on your past. Earth’s mightiest heroes were string warriors on the field, but they weren’t savvy when it came to emotional turmoil. So, they let you sulk to an extent. They would drag you out of the house, but they let you sit out any activities.
That’s how you ended up sitting alone in a nearly emptying ice rink Tony had rented out. You watched as members of the team skate on the ice with their friends and family members. Clint had brought Laura and the kids, Tony brought Morgan, Bruce brought his cousin Jen, Thor had brought Valkyrie along with Loki. Even Natasha brought Yelena out for the day.
You hold a sad smile on your face seeing them enjoy each other.
“You aren’t going to skate?” Wanda sits next to you adjusting her skates.
You shake your head, “I think I’m good just watching.”
Wanda sighs at your words, “Where’ve you been these past couple of days?”
Your brow furrows, “I haven’t gone anywhere.”
Wanda jabs a finger against your forehead, “We both know you haven’t been present up there. What’s bothering you?”
You want to close off and you are prepared to do so, until you catch Wanda’s eyes. They’re filled with genuine care and worry. As much as you hate to admit it to yourself, you don’t want to push her away.
“I miss my family. My parents, my sister, my friends, they’re all gone. It’s hard to not think about them around this time of year. The past couple of years I’ve been good at keeping it inside, but it’s too much this year.”
Wanda understands, probably better than anyone else in the building. She finds herself reaching for your hand, “Tell me about them.”
Your eyes grow wide for a second, but nonetheless you search for a memory to share, “For Christmas my mom would always make this pie. It wasn’t really a pie, more like a cheesecake. She called it a banana split pie. My sister and I would always have some silly competition for the last slice. One year we did a performance for my mom and dad and the winner was supposed to get the last slice of the pie. So, picture me 13 years old, scrawny as can be, determination on my face, as I belt out the lyrics to Last Christmas by Wham. It’s just as over the top as you’re imagining it.”
Wanda laughs a bit, which only widens the small smile playing on your lips.
“Now my sister wasn’t going down that easy, she did a dance routine to All I Want For Christmas is You. My parents were split, they couldn’t pick a winner. So, while my sister and I were arguing about who was better, my dad ate the last slice of pie,” you can’t help but roll your eyes.
Wanda cackles openly this time, “All that hard work for nothing?”
“Exactly! I poured my heart out, I could almost taste the pie.”
The two of sat with the warmth of your story. The woman had succeeded in lifting your mood. It almost made you want to go out and skate with the others, but there was a lingering sadness after you realized that you’d never share a moment like that again.
“I miss my family too. Pietro loved Christmas. I never really knew if he preferred getting gifts or giving gifts. I think he was just happy to have everyone together” Wanda speaks up.
“Do you have a favorite gift from him?”
Wanda smiles while looking at the ring that adorns her finger,” He gave me so much more than just physical items. For a long time, it was just us, my parents died when we were young. Piet gave me comfort, more than anyone probably ever will. This ring belonged to my mother; it was a gift to her from my Papa. I thought it had been lost in the bombing that destroyed our home. Years later, after our parents were long gone, he gifted me this ring. I don’t know how he got it, but he did. I don’t think I ever hugged him that hard. I cried against him, and he held me. I was only a teen, still a child really, but I cried like I was a 4-year-old. This ring, it’s like my entire family on my finger. My mama, my papa, and Piet.”
You have tears brimming your eyes as they shift from Wanda to the ring, “It’s beautiful, Wanda.”
She nods her head, holding back her own tears. She takes a large breath and holds out her hand, “Skate with me.”
It’s not a question, but even if it was, you doubt you’d say no to her. Reluctantly you lace the skates and follow her on to the ice. The red head nearly falls after her first step onto the ice. You were quick to place your hand on her waist.
You chuckle from behind her,” Have you done this before?”
You don’t see the rosy hints of her teeth, “Yes, I’ve just never been particularly good at it.”
Once you’re sure that she’s steady, you move to face her. This time you hold out your hand and she looks at it skeptically, “And you’re good at this?”
You scoff and tell her to watch you. Skating around the rink is simple enough, you show off a bit with a simple figure 8. Then you skate back up to her, “I think I’m pretty ok, what did you think?”
She gives you a side eye, “I get it you’re a professional skater.”
You shake your head and extend your hand again, “Let’s do a lap together.”
Wanda hesitates.
You reassure her once again, “We’ll stay close to the wall, I promise to not let you fall.”
She places her hand in yours, “If I fall, I'm taking you with me.”
“Fine by me.”
The two of you begin to skate laps in the rink hand in hand. Wanda refuses to let go of the rail for the first few laps, until she’s content with just holding on to you. True to your word, the woman doesn’t fall. You revel in the happiness that radiates off of her as you move on the ice.
“Teach me how to do the 8.”
“I can’t promise you won't fall if we're going to do the 8,” you warn her.
She shrugs a bit, “Just promise you’ll catch me, and we should be fine. “
Now it is you that has the tint on your cheeks. You nod and slowly show her how you do the figure 8. You can feel her eyes intensely watching every little detail of your movement.
She tries a few times on her own, coming really close but not being able to complete the 8. The frustration that’s building within her shows on the outside. It reminds you of a child having a tantrum. It’s quite adorable. She’s nearly ready to give up and you can tell.
“Hold on to my hips, we’ll do it together.”
Wanda lets out a huff of defeat before carefully skating behind you. Her hands rest respectfully on your hips. You begin to make the figure 8 and she follows holding you tightly, scared she might fall. Once you’re down you hear a small applause erupting for the two of you.
“Double infinity, nice,” Tony says slow clapping.
“I think the real miracle is Y/n keeping Wanda from falling on the ice,” Natasha chimes in.
“Careful Nat, before my powers accidentally trip you,” Wanda playfully taunts the spy.
Nat holds her hands up in defense, “It was just a joke, Wands.”
This moment feels warm, like the memory of you singing your heart out in front of your family on Christmas day. It’s partially the playful banter from the Avengers, but the other part is the woman standing besides you with her arm steady around your waist.
Her kindness, her comfort, it was like a heater in a cold room.
The attention naturally shifts from you and Wanda when the kids call for attention. You take this as your moment to head back to the benches and sit for a bit. Wanda trails behind you, a little more skilled than when she first stepped on the ice.
“I needed that, thank you” you say to Wanda, eyes shining up at her.
“It was nothing, Y/n. Besides I feel like the one who won the exchange, now I can skate without falling on my ass.”
The humor does little to cut through the sincerity of your voice, “I mean it Wanda. Thank you for skating with me.”
She matches your sincerity, “I know it’s a hard time for you, but it’s nothing that you have to face alone."
“Wanda, Y/n! You lot done for the night already?” Thor screams from across the ice.
Wanda looks like she wants to skate some more, but she can tell that you want to rest.
You beat her to it, “Go, I’ll join back in a bit.”
She eyes you tenderly, sticking out her pinky finger “Promise?”
You nearly snort at the childish antics, but still find yourself locking your pinky with hers, “I promise, now go."
She gets back on the ice, and you watch gleefully as she skates around with much more confidence. Fearful of breaking your promise, you find yourself back on the ice not long after Wanda. You skate with her and the others until it’s time for the rink to close. You almost don’t want the day to end, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t exhausted from the activity.
As soon as you’re back at the compound you quickly shower and then prepare for bed. For the first time this month the minute your head hits the pillow you’re out like a light. No intrusive thoughts, no unwanted feelings, just sleep. It feels good when you wake up a full 8 hours later.
You get ready for the day in your room. As you open the door to exit, you’re met with your skating partner from the day before.
“Good morning,” she says cheerfully.
You send her a grin, “Morning, what can I do for you?”
She extends her hand, and you grab it, letting her lead you through the compound.
“Where are we going?”
“The kitchen,” she says as if it is a full answer.
You continue to allow her to pull you around, “What’s in the kitchen?"
She shrugs, “You’ll see in a second.”
Once you’re finally in the kitchen, Wanda stops walking right in front of the refrigerator. “Okay, close your eyes.”
You give her a look as if to say ‘really’ the look in her eyes directly challenges yours and with a huff of annoyance you shut your eyes. You hear Wanda going into the fridge but resist the urge to open your eyes. It seems like an eternity before you hear the fridge close. You fidget in your spot a little as your anticipation builds.
“How long until I get to open my eyes?”
“Open them now.”
When you open your eyes, they immediately widen. Tears build at the edges of your eyes. Your eyes move from the counter to Wanda.
“Is this- did you make my mom’s pie?”
Wanda smiles softly, “I don’t know if it’s exactly like your mom’s, but after hearing your story, I Googled a recipe. You didn’t really describe it in great detail, but I wanted to do this for you.”
Without any hesitation, you wrap your arms around the redhead. You hug her tightly, unable to properly express the immense amount of emotions you are feeling right now. She hugs you back just as tight, rubbing your back soothingly.
“I know it’s morning, but do you want a slice?” Wanda’s tone is delicate as she speaks to you, knowing how vulnerable you are at the moment.
You pull away from the hug and wipe at your eyes a bit, “I would love a slice.”
Wanda cuts you a slice and watches nervously as you lift a fork full to put in your mouth. As soon as the dessert hits your tongue, your mind is flooded with memories of your family Christmas parties. It was just like your mom’s. This time the tears spilled over as you put the fork down.
Your glossy eyes meet Wanda’s, “It’s just like hers.”
There’s so much more you want to say to Wanda, but you can’t. The tears are flowing too fast. The magic user attempts to wipe them away, but they’re coming faster than she can manage.
“I really hope there are some happy tears in there or else I’ll just feel like an asshole for making you cry,” she continues wiping away your tears.
Her statement makes you laugh, “They’re all happy tears, I promise. I’m just- this is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“Just think of it as a thank you for the skating lessons,” Wanda says nonchalantly.
“Why did you make this?”
Her eyes don’t meet yours as she gazes at the floor. You can see the bright pigment dusting her cheeks as she plays with the ring on her finger.
“It just seemed like the right thing to do. I wanted to do something nice for you for the holidays.”
You want her to look at you. In fact, you need her to look at you. You place one of your hands on the small of her back pulling her closer to you. Once she is as close as can be, she has no choice but to meet your eyes.
“I want to thank you,” you say, eyes boring into hers.
She nods ever so slightly, “Thank me then.”
Your lips press against hers gently. The first thought that slips into your mind is the softness of her lips. What follows is the feeling of warmth spreading across your body as the two of you kiss. You wonder for a moment if your lips taste like bananas (they do). Wanda doesn’t mind, your lips against hers fills her heart. The same warmth you feel courses through her. The kiss doesn’t end until you hear someone clearing their throat in the kitchen, but even then, you don’t jump apart, you just pull away from each other.
“I hate to interrupt, but uh I was wondering if I could get a piece of that pie,” Clint says eyeing your pie.
A protest was about to leave your lips, but instead a smirk played on them instead, “Sure Clint, you can have a piece.”
The man reaches for the pie, but you pull it out of his reach, “If you can beat me in a talent show.”
Clint looks from you to the pie a few times before rubbing the bridge of his nose, “Fuck it, I accept.”
You smile at the archer, “5pm sharp, hope you can impress the team or else no pie for you.”
He leaves the kitchen grumbling, but the smile never leaves your face.
“Old habits die hard I see,” Wanda says teasing you.
“It’s the pie, it makes me do it,” you laugh, and she laughs with you. You peck her lips again, “Thank you, Wanda. This means everything to me.”
“I’ll make it over and over again if it keeps you kissing me like that,” she says like a joke, but you hear a slight seriousness to her tone.
“I still have to kiss you a thousand times, just to thank you for this one. So, expect plenty more kisses in the future. I think kissing you might just be better than the pie.”
The two of you laugh again, warmth filling the kitchen of the Avengers compound. It floods into your system as you revel in this moment with Wanda. She feels it too, as she tries to memorize every detail of this moment. It was more than just a first kiss; this was the moment that you knew Wanda was the warmth you needed to get through the winter.
#lowkeyerror#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff imagine#natasha romanoff#tony stark#clint barton#the avengers
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Jet-Skiing through Identity: a deep dive into Mobius M. Mobius (part 5)🚤
The analyst is now going on missions, and he is doing such a great job. Plus, he's looking damn good doing it.
I think that in episode 2, "Breaking Brad" (one of my favs, like i really really love this one) , we get to see both extremes of Mobius as a character, which is great! We begin with his steady personality, looking for trouble to resolve it, not to cause it.
This is when we can see Mobius and Loki use that trust that they previously built, and working together. The comfort emanated in the scene where they're trying to fix that TemPad, for example, feels so good and natural specifically because it has background. (...and they're very, very good together. And Tom and Owen always knew what they were doing. Anyway, you get the point.)
Brad/ X-5 is a complicated person, and the others knew that when trying to get information out of him. Does that stop Mobius from trying to ease the atmosphere with one of his jokes? No: he's still running to the beat of a good heart, he can't help it. His way of being, this approach, is part of him, and we've seen that in season 1 as well.
The trigger is, however, pulled in him when Brad tells him he's a nowhere man. He usually endures things well, so what made him snap this time?
I think that hearing it out loud, AND put like that (f u brad), Mobius finally got hurt by the emotions he was trying so hard to suppress.
Distancing from that, and all the past he knows nothing about, he alienated from himself too, because they are essentialy part of him.
Saying "You're a nowhere man" to Mobius is similar to saying "What, like you did with your mother?" to Loki. It's a half truth that hurts especially because it was left in the darkness. Like someone flashing a lantern in your eyes after you've been wandering though a cavern.
We can see he uses denial too as a coping mechanism, in our most beloved scene: the pie room one. He doesn't admit it at first, but with Loki being Loki (and the person he cares the most about as well), he admits he's wrong: "Listen, that wasn't tactical. I lost it".
So it's not pride when he doesn't want to see his mistakes! it's a need to make everything perfect, for others more than for himself.
It's also no secret that Mobius finds comfort in food, especially pie. So having a sweet with Loki certainly calms him down.
Next, he tells Loki:
"The TVA is the only life I've ever known. I like it!"
and
"Something bad I can handle. What if it's something good?"
Does he really like his life there, or only the meaning of it?
I interpret him not wanting to look, not even now, for avoiding feeling guilty about leaving that behind. Maybe he even draws a parallel, and realizing that he has a life on the timeline it hits harder that so did all the people from the timelines he pruned
But also, he can't leave his mission! He can't leave Loki! Remember how in season 1 he told Ravonna that if he could go anywhere, anytime, he'd go to his place on the timeline? This changes now, when it's actually possible. A life he never known doesn't have a purpose for him. This one, though? This one definitely does.
One last thing thing I want to mention *for today* is how sweet Mobius is telling Loki that he's the God of Mischief. After years of this title being used negatively, Mobius says it as a compliment. He not only knows the comfort of touch (s2e1), but of words of affirmation too:
see you for the next part!! I underestimated how long this series of analysis would be :)), but only 2 more parts to go 💙
#well come on you're the God of Mischief!!! Right??#english is not my first language#so sorry if i did any mistakes#character essay#character analysis#mobius my beloved#mobius m mobius#owen wilson#loki#loki series#lokius#lokius nation#tom hiddleston#marvel#mcu#mobius#💚💛#show some love to this💛💚
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One one thing that has been eating at me the last week is that Loki never apologised to Sylvie, or thanked her.
Because she was right. The whole thing was a sham, a trick, the longest long con. He Who Remains wasn't afraid because he had no actual intention of dying.
He banked on being able to trap a Loki in his old job, ensure the status quo, and get away clean. Victor Timely, the throughput multiplier, all of that was just misdirection--making you look the right hand so you miss what the left-hand is doing. Loading up his tempad and taking it off, placing it in easy reach. He had to give them the hope of winning so that they could realise the game was rigged, and he expected them to give up.
But Sylvie never did. She would have fought right up to her last breath for the entire multiverse, not just the one sacred timeline, and another eternity of endless genocide.
She was never going to settle for cutting their losses, saving what they could, and going right back to the status quo at the expense of the rest of existence. And in the end, neither did Loki. She asked him flat out what right did they have to play God? And did he really want to be the one who banished free will?
She forced him to stop lying to himself not because she's trying to hurt him but because she was trying to help him figure out what he truly wanted what his true motivations were so that he would know himself. so that he might have the same chance that she did to find out who she really was.
In the first season, Mobius was the one pushing for Loki to face truths about himself that were hard, but necessary. He was Loki's first real friend, who treated him as an equal and earned his respect. And that allowed Loki to become Sylvie's first real friend and they inspired each other to become the best versions of themselves.
Mobius refusing a seat at the table wasn't about Loki. It was always about his own fears of finding out where he came from and who he had been. requesting his file and finally looking up his counterpart on the Sacred Timeline was always going to be painful but necessary.
He spent eons chasing down dangerous desperate people, investigating, working the desk job and only going out into the field very, very rarely. He had insulated himself from everything and everyone. and it took two Loki's to turn everything upside down, and show him that the person he trusted most in the world didn't deserve his loyalty let alone his affection because she viewed him as nothing but a burden, and a tool to be used.
Everybody talks about Casey is being the most different from his sacred timeline counterpart, but I think a slightly corny single dad who sells jet skis is about as far away from a skilled analyst and field agent for the most powerful organisation in all of existence as he could get.
So while I am glad that Loki was able to thank a version of Mobius and shake his hand, I do wish that Sylvie had got the same sort of moment --some kind of acknowledgment that there was only ever one real choice. She deserves to hear it from his own lips that she was right, and he should have listened to her from the start. Not right about everything. The people of the TVA were capable of change and weren't rotten to the core. But HWR? She saw through him.
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Weekend links, April 28, 2024
My posts
I spent the first half of the week struggling through (well-medicated) mania and the second half currently with a sinus infection! I’m not enjoying it! Not either one!
Reblogs of interest
Pro-Gaza protests at universities in the U.S.: a solidarity Passover seder and an accidental Pulitzer photo
Canada Agrees 200 Islands Belong to the Indigenous Haida Nation
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The Hot Vintage Lady Polls continue to go for the throat. I felt so bad about Dorothy Dandridge that I started posting and reblogging propaganda for her, but Ava Gardner, my beloved, went through anyway. Backing her felt like a wish on a monkey’s paw ("Not like this!!"). (See all poll results here.) I tremble to think what round 5 will look like. Like, there’s a point when your girl is gonna come up against a Hepburn, you know?
Notably gone this week: Judy Garland, Julie Andrews, Lupe Vélez, Irene Papas (who took out Vivien Leigh in the previous round), Gene Tierney, Barbara Stanwyck, Lena Horne, Jean Seberg, Anita Ekberg, Angela Lansbury, and Cyd Charisse. Like I keep saying, everybody loses. Everybody but one. Round 5 will start May 1st.
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Hozier Watch 2024: His first U.S. #1, which he’s now playing at shows! The first U.S. #1 for an Irish artist in 34 years! What?? you cry. Did “Take Me to Church” not do that ten years ago? Well, I went and looked it up: No. That was the “Blank Space” era. Say no more.
Speaking of Taylor Swift—Paste Magazine went IN on the new album and got threats as a result. Meanwhile, Taylor’s fans are harassing the ex-boyfriend who did nothing wrong (as opposed to the racist one) because her PR is egging them on. I’ll admit: even though I’m not a fan, I found the Paste review to be overlong and not focused enough on the actual songs, proportionally. But that post about the PR saga is everything I miss about Fandom Wank.
(“My rival dresses to display her legs, and her shoes are of an alluring fashion”)
Meanwhile, the Watcher guys issued the best apology possible, although it was still excruciating to watch. (Background.) They will remain on YouTube while introducing the streaming service. As a Patreon member, I haven’t asked for my free subscription code yet, but I’m going to. Some fans forgave them pretty easily; others have walked away. I’m curious to see if this affects the mood of anything new they film, since a segment of the fandom got really, really ugly about it. Mostly it just felt sad all around.
Meanwhile, in Alabama: nobody wants to measure the feral hog.
Turns out Death Note had a good reason to concoct “American” names like “Bobson Dugnutt.” Also, I somehow had two posts tagged “death note” this week and I don’t even go here.
The worst brownies ever created and what Tumblr has to say about them
“You roll up to the Wizard Battle and your opponent takes out his spellbook but it’s just one of these”
I know that Loki is not Odin’s son in actual Norse mythology, but the bredlik is amazing.
TIL that Florence and Ravenna are still feuding over Dante’s remains
Maybe haunted dolls cost extra
Chorses
Video
Branch manager
Senior branch manager
“Free serotonin from Honey the Italian greyhound”
Sola learned to show love from her humans
I have seen many of jauncydev’s videos about dog personalities, but I have never seen him commit quite this hard before
I like tie-dye videos anyway, but this one is sick as hell
The sacred videos: you are not prepared for this police sketch, and neither is this news anchor
The sacred texts
Kick his ass, baby. I got yo flower.
Gold Star, You Tried: A compilation
A personal favorite: “mayhaps I TWIMST aroumd”
The origin of “By Talos this can’t be happening”
Personal tags of the week
Seasonally: cherry blossom. Also, art: an old standby, but it was really good, and also, I’m sick.
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Loki S2E4:
Oooh, maybe Victor Timely is the guy who pruned Loki in episode one. Or, maybe it was his episode four self. Either way, something tells me we're about to find out.
Whoa, Miss Minutes keeps surprising me.
Also. More of Hunter Renslayer, ooh.
"See you soon" is literally this man's catchphrase.
WHOA, THAT'S A BETRAYAL. Not that I didn't expect it, but wow. Gotta say, Miss Minutes is right, though. Clearly, he didn't really do much.
Alright, let's see what Victor's gonna fuck up.
Who left this man alone after he went through the TimeDoor??
Okay, can't blame him for the crisis though. Not after last episode.
"Your words changed me" is the single most powerful phrase ever. I don't even remember this lady's name, but I like her.
O.B. and Victor complimenting each other and O.B. slowly realizing who he's talking to is the funniest thing ever. He's fanboying over him the way Casey was fanboying over him.
Also, the fact that Sylvie stuck around is pretty neat.
MOBIUS 😂
My man really does not want to go out in the suit again, and Loki's his scapegoat. They are such a married couple.
SYLVIE, STOP ADDING FUEL TO HIS REPRESSED EMOTIONS. LEAVE HIM ALONE.
Brad, what the fuck.
Hah, get called out. You're out of friends.
D-90 and B-15 just stepped into the wolves' den 👀
Not Brad grabbing his collar the same way he grabbed the straps of his uniform in episode one.
Lmao, D-90 getting told to go help Mobius- and just Mobius- watch Victor. Alone time with him oughta be awkward.
Loki defending Mobius 😭❤
"What if you are wrong to believe that this place can be any better? What if I was wrong to spare him? It would be easier to burn this place down and start from scratch." Yes, but as Loki tried to tell you, it's harder to take the difficult path- and, oftentimes, the difficult path is the right one. Nothing that's right is ever easy.
^^^^ "Trying to fix what's broken is hard."
Ahhh, I see you coming around.
Sylvie does have a point, though- it'll be dangerous letting Timely go after this.
"We are gods." drops mic
Wait, you guys didn't try the pie.
Dammit, Renslayer.
OH NO. SHE'S GOING TO KILL THEM ALL.
HOLY SHIT.
That was so horrifying wtf.
At least Brad seems to be having regrets already.
Whatever you do, DON'T LOSE HIM, D-90.
Just. This scene with D-90 and Victor. It's funny and sweet, and I love it-
WAIT, NO. BRAD, WHY.
COME BACK, D.
There's something very significant about D-90 getting pruned exactly one season after pruning Mobius, and I don't know how I feel about it.
Everything is going wrong.
And now they're gonna think Timely kill D-90. Nice.
Well, at least B-15's smart enough to know it was Renslayer.
I can't decide if Victor's a great actor or a terrible one. 😂
"There's still time." Hello, past Loki, you have no idea what our poor present folks are going through right now.
I still want to know why that phone's ringing.
Ah, so Loki literally did prune himself. This moment is like watching Harry save himself in Prisoner of Azkaban.
The look on Sylvie's face Lmao 🤣
ANSWER THE PHONE.
Bet it's Renslayer. Oh. Nvm.
CASEY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING.
Miss Minutes glitching into oblivion is the most satisfying thing ever.
Okay, now that Brad's exposed, someone please prune him. He's expendable.
Oooh, the systems being offline means that magic works in the TVA. 👀
THEY ENCHANTED HIM. 😂
RAVONNA'S BEEN PRUNED.
IT ACTUALLY WORKED, AYYYY.
Okay, is Victor doing this out of the goodness of his heart or does he actually have some sinister plot? Is he about to die?
THIS IS THE SAME MUSIC THAT PLAYED BEFORE THEY FOUGHT ALIOTH LAST SEASON.
I am having a fucking blast with this.
WHOA.
FUCKING RIP.
THAT IS NOT WHAT I WAS EXPECTING.
Thank god it wasn't Mobius or Loki.
SHIT, IT EXPODED.
AND THERE'S THE MUSIC THAT PLAYED AFTER MOBIUS GOT PRUNED.
I HATE CLIFFHANGERS. 😭
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Why Jonathan Majors Arrest Didn't Impact 'Loki' (variety.com)
So this whole article is trash but I want to bring attention to this section
For all their claims of being character exploration they refuse to have any one but Loki just be wrong and reflect on their wrong actions. The TVA are so heavily Nazi coded and they made it worst with the gas chambers ad in season two. I can't believe they would interduce that and try to claim that there is a gray area in this. People who leave extremist groups will speak how it's hard to unlearn what they believed all their live but the underline sentiment is that one has to let go be willing to admit it was wrong. Hanging or trying to justify that mindset will hurt oneself and others.
The series wrote the TVA to be fascist, to be nazi coded and Mobius and B-15 are such bullies in season 1 but the series and the MCU wants to keep the TVA around and explore them more?
Well, at least now they're being honest about it: They don't think the TVA is wrong in their morality or their actions. It reminds me of that Loki take in ep2 when he says "Nobody is ever truly bad or truly good". Marvel seems to interpret that line as in the bad guys aren't really that bad so stop trying to fight the system. Top take right there, Feige! 🤢
But the funniest part of all this for me is the way Wright explains the purpose of the characters and how he twists things that directly contradict what we've seen on screen.
He claims "Sylvie wants to burn it down because the apple is rotten"... except that's not true. She wanted her own personal revenge, this had nothing to do with how the TVA operated as her reply to Loki's "What if HWR is telling the truth?" is "So what?". So what if people die, so what if the multiverse collapses. She didn't care.
Then Wright claims "Loki sees it as potentially the only form of defense against whatever else is coming in a war with Kang", but again that's not true. Loki did NOT side with the TVA in ep6 and they can insist time and time again that he did, but he didn't. They wrote it that way.
And he ends with: "Mobius and B-15, they’ve dedicated their whole life to it." But weren't they unaware of what was going on? Lied to personally by the TVA. Weren't we told that Mobius turned his back on them the very moment he found out what they were truly doing? And yet now they claim he's been with them so long that he's unsure of how to proceed.
I'll only add one more thing. Think of TWS. Think of Hydra, Pierce and Rumlow on one side, and Steve, Sam and Natasha on the other. And someone from Marvel saying this: "We want everybody to be in the gray area — they’re neither good nor bad." That's how fucking bad this is.
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A distant memory - Loki
Loki Masterlist - Full Masterlist
Summary: Thor finds a letter Loki wrote to a woman called Y/n. He does not know this woman but the language used in the letter is loving and sweet, so Thor decides to ask about her. What he doesn’t know is that this woman has passed.
Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader
Word count: 2110
My dearest Y/n,
Not a day passes without my mind, body, and soul yearning for your touch and pleasant conversation. Just yesterday I slept on your side of the bed in hopes of smelling traces of your perfume on the pillows. It did not help.
Your books still hold your bookmarks on the places where you stopped. I must say, I admire your will to read every book that belongs to you but worry that you might never finish one. Just today, I found five different books that have your bookmarks. Yesterday, I found two. I have put them aside for you to make it easier to finish them.
A fair maiden asked me for a dance last week at one of my father’s feasts but I had to refuse. No maiden could ever be as fair as you, even if you do step on my toes while we dance. It gives us more reason to keep practicing.
My love for you grows every day and so does my longing. I fear you might be away for longer than I can take and I wonder if you would mind if I came over to see you for a day or two. Just the two of us.
Love,
Loki
‘Brother, who is this letter for?’
‘What letter?’ Thor holds a letter that looks old and withered. It takes less than a second for Loki to realize what it is. He suddenly looks enraged.
‘Put it down,’ he snaps with venom laced in through his words. The sudden change in demeanor surprises and scares his brother. As careful as he can be, he puts the letter back on Loki’s desk. Loki rushes over and picks up the letter with the utmost care, gently putting it back in a drawer that he locks right away.
‘Who is Y/n?’ Loki sighs and leans against his desk. He looks tired when Thor looks at him again. It’s like a pain has been buried deep within him and has been eating at him for ages.
‘A hundred years or so ago, I went to Midgard to do some business for father. He send me to visit a pagan family that worshiped us to bless them. On the next farm over lived a young woman and when I went to the pagan family, they kept insulting her. I felt I could not justify giving our blessing if this maiden wasn’t the terrible person they said she was,’ Loki explains, ‘so I went over to her house to see for myself.’
Confidently, Loki strides over to the maiden’s house. Her garden is filled with flowers and herbs. From what Loki can tell, there are animals behind the house. This woman is sustaining herself but why? Why would a young maiden live so far removed from the fuss of the city? Especially since the family says she’s not married.
Loki knocks on her door and hears fuss inside. It sounds like a dog barking at the door and a big one at that. He watches as a small latch in the door opens and a woman looks outside. He can only see her eyes but the eyes are the gates to the soul and her eyes are beautiful. They sparkle like the gems his mother wears, the reflection of water, or dewdrops on roses.
‘What is your business?’
‘Forgive me for barging in miss. I have traveled long and far and need a place to rest my head. Would you allow me to sleep in your haystack or shed? Anywhere that’s dry.’ He hears the door unlock and out runs a big, black dog. He looks like he crawled from the debts of hell but his demeanor is friendly when his owner shows kindness. Loki doubts he acts the same if she is in trouble.
‘You make me sound cruel. Please come inside. I’ve got food to spare,’ she tells him with a friendly smile. Her door is wide open but Loki hesitates to step inside. He takes a good look at the maiden. As beautiful as she is, how is she capable of being this friendly. He can not imagine she has not been taken advantage of at least once.
‘You do not know me. Are you certain you want to show me kindness?’
‘Why would I not? I have Bella to protect me if I need it and if I am frank, you look withered and weak. I doubt you’d be able to lay your hands on me,’ she tells him, ‘come inside. There’s a storm coming.’ Loki steps inside and follows her into the house. She offers him a chair at the table and gets him a plate as well as a drink. If this is a wicked woman, what is the family next door like? They show no kindness. Bella, the big dog, lays itself down under the table by her feet. She seems at ease as the maiden pets her a few times over the head.
‘So tell me, traveler, where are you going?’
‘You don’t want to know where I’m from?’
‘I doubt you’d want to talk about it if you’ve been traveling for long,’ she says, offering him a gentle smile, ‘besides, where you’re going tells more about you than where you’ve been.’
‘I like your ideology miss. May I ask your name before I tell you?’
‘Will you tell me yours if I tell you mine?’
‘I fear you may want me out if I tell you.’ She nods, not pushing it any further. Loki feels like she wouldn’t mind who he is as she does not seem like a judgemental person but he wouldn’t want to run the risk.
‘My name is Y/n.’
Early in the morning, Loki awakes on the comfortable couch in Y/n’s living room with more blankets covering him than he went to sleep with. He is awoken by the wet, warm sensation of Bella licking his face.
‘Good morning Bella.’ He pets the dog a few times and gets up from his resting place. He hears Y/n call for Bella, who runs out excitedly. She must be outside, taking care of her animals. He dresses quickly and walks outside to see what she’s up to. He finds her sitting in the field, one of her cows laying beside her resting it’s head on her lap. She calls out commands to Bella to herd her sheep together and back to the pen. After the raging storm last night, she probably wants to see if they’re all alright.
Loki walks towards her and sits down next to her in the grass. She nods to him, too busy to greet him. It’s only when all the sheep are in the pen that she fully acknowledges him.
‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes, but the strangest thing happened,’ he tells her with a slight smirk on his lips, ‘I woke with three blankets while I’m sure I had only one when I went to sleep.’
‘You looked cold.’
‘You are a very kind host, miss Y/n.’ She smiles and looks out over the field. Bella comes running their way and sits down next to Loki.
‘She has taken a liking to you,’ Y/n notices, ‘she doesn’t like many people.’
‘I feel honored.’ Loki pets the dog as he looks at Y/n. She looks beautiful in the morning light. Almost as beautiful as she had looked in the candlelight last night.
‘I feel like I have been untrue to you, miss,’ Loki tells her.
‘Why would that be? You are a traveler, are you not?’
‘I am but not of the kind you know,’ he tells her, ‘you have been a wonderful host and I feel you deserve the truth.’ She chuckles.
‘You speak like this will change everything.’
‘It might,’ he lets his head hang, ‘my name is Loki, god of mischief. I originally came here to bless the family next door for their devotion to us but they spoke ill of you. I felt I had to be certain you were a bad person if they were to deserve our blessing.’
‘And what might your conclusion be, Loki god of Mischief?’
‘They should deserve our blessing for their faithfulness and devotion to us but not for their treatment of others.’ She smiles.
‘I see.’
‘May I ask why they talk of you this way?’
‘I am an unmarried woman living alone on a farm. If I’m not being called a spinster, I’m being called a witch. It changes with the season. I’m used to it by now.’ She shrugs it off like it’s nothing but Loki feels a pit of rage in his stomach. A woman as lovely as her should be worshiped. He rips a piece of his golden armor off and puts it between his hands, forging a golden bracelet from it.
‘If you’ll allow me, I’d like to protect you,’ he says and shows her the simple, golden band. She looks hesitant and Loki understands. He’s the god of mischief.
‘Forgive my hesitation but I have been fending for myself for what feels like forever. It’s a kind gesture but I do not need it.’ He nods but gently takes her hand and puts it on.
‘Wear it,’ he tells her, ‘I will not protect you but I will watch over you. If you need company, just call out to me.’ She smiles again, putting her hand over his.
‘That is very kind, Loki.’
As summer progressed into fall, Y/n harvested her crops and made sure they’d survive winter. Her harvest wasn’t great but over time she noticed her supplies would not lessen, even if she took something. It would just reappear when she returned.
Loki had visited her a few times during summer but when fall got colder, he stayed away. She feared she might’ve read his actions all wrong as she felt her feelings grow towards him. She thought he felt the same.
When Winter thawed and the ground got softer, she called out to Loki in hopes to ask him about it. He did not appear and she feared he had forgotten about her. That is until-
‘Did you miss me?’ She couldn’t stop the smile appearing on her face if she tried. It’s like her feet work on their own as she runs over to him and throws her arms around him.
‘It’s so good to see you again. I feared you had forgotten me.’
‘Forget the fairest maiden I have ever met? I could never,’ he tells her with a smile. His eyes linger on her lips for a second. ‘I stayed away in hopes your feeling would lessen.’
‘My feelings? How did you know?’
‘Darling, I am a god.’
‘That’s fair, I should’ve known,’ she says with a grin, taking his hands, ‘but why?’
‘I am not the best suitor and a maiden like you surely deserves better.’
‘I do not want better.’ He frowns and looks down at her darling eyes. They still shine like gems and are filled with love.
‘My darling, I cannot marry you,’ he tells her, ‘I am prince, heir to the throne. They expect me to marry a goddess.’
‘I understand.’ She smiles but he can tell she feels terrible. Her heart dropped and her smile faltered. It wasn’t hard to tell that his words hurt her.
‘I wish I could. I truly do,’ he promises her.
‘Then, don’t marry me but stay with me until you have to give yourself to another.’
‘My darling, my mischief seems to have rubbed off on you,’ he speaks proudly, ‘yes. I will stay loyal to you until I must love another.’
‘But the villagers started a witch hunt and as a single, unmarried woman she was the first target,’ Loki tells his brother, ‘I could not protect her. Father would not let me.’
‘You loved her, didn’t you?’
‘I did but it’s in the past now. There’s no bringing her back.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I was young and stupid. I fell in love with someone I couldn’t have.’ Thor nods and takes a deep breath.
‘Believe me or don’t but you deserve love, Loki. I hope you’ll find a woman like her.’ Loki lets out a breathy laugh.
‘There is no woman like her.’ Thor leaves Loki’s room. It takes Loki a second to come back to reality. His hand reaches for the drawer and unlocks it once again, taking out the golden band she had worn. He deserves love, yes, but he has already met the person he was supposed to be with and no one else will ever compare.
#loki#loki fanfic#loki fanfiction#loki x you#loki x female reader#loki x y/n#marvel#marvel fanfic#marvel fanfiction#loki laufeyson#loki laufeyson x you#loki laufeyson x reader#loki x reader#marvel x reader#marvel x y/n
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My opinions about the Loki (2021) series. Spoilers and all that.
I took some time off the fandom until I felt it was time to make this post, if only to get it out of my system, so I can finally rest. I thought, since I was so pumped for the series to begin with, before it was launched and everything, and how I waited to expectantly for every episode that was airing weekly, that the empty feeling I was experiencing after it was all done was just because, well, it was all done.
I thought maybe it was the normal empty-chested-feeling you get when you finish a movie, series, or book that you really liked / waited a lot for.
It was not it. It didn’t pass. It got worse.
I’m going to put this under a cut, and under the anti-tags, because I know some people liked this show and not everyone has to be miserable with me.
I want to preface this by saying that I respect everyone that was involved in this project, and I know that it may be gut-wrenching to receive criticism on something that you worked in, but I feel cheated. I feel lied to. It’s one thing to work hard and be thoughtful and still receive bad reviews, but I don’t think this is the case at all.
To start it all, I was so excited to see Loki again. He’s the only character that I maintained any attachment to throughout so long, sometimes more, sometimes less, but I always considered myself a fan since I saw The Avengers (2012) with my parents in the theaters, at the ripe age of 12. To be honest, Loki was what got me into superhero movies, and into the marvel fandom at all. And I knew, or at least suspected, that they would do something different with the character. I was ready for that, after reading the comics and realizing that MCU Loki and Comics Loki are two different versions of the same character (more on that later). And I thought it was even going to be for the best, since Tom Hiddleston, bless his heart, was one of the executive producers and, I thought, would have more of a say on Loki’s character arc during the series.
What I watched was, to be completely fair with myself, not Loki. I couldn’t really pinpoint it at the time, but I keep expecting something to happen after he was captured by the TVA to show us his mind at work. A scheme, a plan, anything remotely smart that he cooked up. And yet, nothing. He kept acting…Not Loki. As time passed, I hoped he was biding his time, fooling everyone, that he would reveal his masterplan at the season finale and go back to the main timeline. The series ended and I didn’t see Loki, any of them, act as Loki once.
Maybe it’s because I am a fan of the older version of MCU Loki. The darker, more complicated one. I didn’t want a redeeming arc at all, I don’t think all villains or anti villains need a redeeming arc. That’s boring. And, to my interpretation of his character, shouldn’t be in his future at all. Loki thrives on the gray area. I love not knowing what he is to the other characters, the chaos, the lying and manipulation, the grand schemes. This new content we’ve been getting, since Ragnarok, depict him as a more comedic, campy character (which is …fine? Meh, I don’t care for it).
And of course, that’s not to say Tom Hiddleston didn’t do a good job. Poor man did his best with what was given to him by the writers. It’s hard to keep a character consistent, however, when every director and screenwriter seems to have a different idea of who they are. He kept it together fairly well when Taika attempted to assassinate Loki’s character, but Kate Herron snapped his neck harder than Thanos ever could. And for what?
Sylvie.
Now, hear me out. There’s nothing wrong with the concepts of Sylvie, Lady Loki, and a Love interest. Separately. In trying to bring everything together in one character, the writers not only could not come up with a compelling woman character, but also had to bring down an already well established character, the TITULAR character, no less, so she could look somewhat presentable, which is insulting. And they Still failed. I don’t like the pairing either, but that’s not what I’m talking about (right now). The truth is, I don’t know Sylvie. She just got here, I have no emotional attachment to her whatsoever, so I won’t feel for her the same I feel for Loki, who’ve I watched for almost a decade. And instead of trying to build an emotional connection between Sylvie and the viewer, they chose to spoon-feed us a romance between her and Loki.
Well, more between Loki and Her, and not even that. I felt like Loki was always trailing her like a lost puppy, and big eyes and expectations, and she was giving him…Absolutely nothing. All the sweet moments between them were initiated by him, all the talking about feeling were done by him, all the looks and gestures…And although I understand Sylvie grew up in apocalypses and Loki grew up in a palace, she still claimed to have romantic partners. Multiple, man and women. And still, showed no visible interest in Loki up until the kiss scene, which I suspect was more to shut him up and send him flying that anything.
Excuse me if I want Loki to have a love interest who is actually invested in him too.
And Why make her a Loki variant at all if she is adamant she isn’t Loki? Why go to the extent of dying her hair blonde (where in the apocalypse did she manage to get her hair blonde? WHY?) and then give her horns? If she was taken as a child, where did she get the very Asgardian like leather armor she used? WHERE IS THIS INFORMATION?
If they were going to go so far to alienate her from the identity of being a Loki variant just so they could pair her with Loki and it not be weird (it was), why make her a variant at all? If you’re going to make a selfcest pairing, at least commit to it. Sylvie Lushton, from where they got the name, isn’t a Loki Variant, if anything She’s an Amora Variant. Why name her Sylvie if she has no relation to Amora?
The plot has so many holes and is so disappointing. I was promising Loki playing around and causing havoc with time traveling. When I saw Richard E. Grant had been cast, I imagined the big bad would be King Loki, like in the comics! Something about Loki seeing what he becomes if he let darkness completely consume him, and finding balance in his chaos, after all. The premise of Loki healing though observing himself, or variants of himself, was honestly good. His variants, however, where so underused, poorly used, made Loki look like a fool. Even he was ashamed of their interactions. And Kid Loki apparently Killed Thor, which makes him the leader (???) and that’s never mentioned again. President Loki, who was a big part of the appeal of the trailer, is gone in two minutes. And then there’s the mirror scene from the trailer, that didn’t even make it to the series.
There are other things that bother me a lot about this too, but it’s not my place to discuss them in dept. To list, if anyone is interested in knowing: The underdevelopment of black character, and the reaction of the fandom, to my knowledge, to said black characters, in special Ravonna and Boastful Loki. The misrepresentation of gender fluid people, which if I can recall was one of the points they sold to us as something they would touch into Loki’s characterization. Some people have pointed out that it was biphobic to pair Loki with a woman after he “came out” on screen as bisexual. I am bisexual, and I disagree, but I can see why it’s an issue for a lot of people, as mlm relationships are rare in MCU canon. What I thought was Biphobic, however, was having Loki not show us he was bi, rather than telling us.
In summary, I am very disappointed, and I am mourning. This series managed to do what End Game didn’t, which was kill all hope I had to ever have Loki back. He’s gone.
#anti loki series#anti sylki#anti sylvie x loki#loki series criticism#loki series spoilers#loki series negativity
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Sacrifce
Warnings: Dub-con, breeding kink, Human sacrifice
AO3
The winter had been harsh and long.
The snow was thick over the fields, making sure that no crops would grow.
The village was down to its last few animals; even the ones that had perished due to the harsh conditions had to be used up and eaten. The winter rations used up long ago, when the people thought it would be a normal cold season.
No one had suspected that the ice would remain for this long. Spring should have started by now, the fields should have been lush and green, lambs and calves should have been dotted around the meadows and pastures.
But here you were, cocooned in all the furs the family owned, ignoring pangs of hunger, and wishing to feel the warmth of the sun once more.
Clearly this was the anger of the gods, and something had to be done in order to appease them or else your entire village would perish.
A decision was made.
A sacrifice was needed.
It couldn’t be livestock; you were already struggling. The village elders had decided that there were already too many mouths to feed, so a human life it would be.
It couldn’t be one of the boys, because obviously strong young men were needed to do what little labour was needed in the village.
Elders were needed to pass on knowledge.
Mothers were needed to raise the children.
And this particular entity did not accept the lives of children.
That left the girls of marriageable age.
‘Typical’ you thought to yourself.
Something in the back of your mind told you that it would be you. Your family wasn’t particularly important, you had no elders to vouch for you in the council, and as much as they cared about the ‘good of the people’, they were not prepared to let go of their own granddaughters.
When the decision was announced, you were not surprised.
You hoped it was quick, whatever it was.
////
For some morbid reason, you were dressed like a bride. The ceremonial garb was far too thin for the temperature. Maybe you were to freeze to death. Whoever this god was, his temple was located in the mountains near your village. It was, however, a surprisingly short trek. You assumed you would perish along the way seen as you were barefoot, without furs and not well fed. The people of the village could not even extend those courtesies to you.
You looked around at the entrance of the temple, it just seemed like a dark and icy cave. It had gone unused for so long. The Jotun god, Loki had fallen out of the people's favour long ago. Mischief and chaos were not welcome by the people. Instead, his brother, Thor remained as the favoured god of the region.
Maybe the harsh winter was revenge and punishment for forsaking him. A harsh reminder to the people that he still existed, and that his anger was not to be taken lightly.
An elder spoke to you as your hands were tied, you weren’t really listening. A bitter drink was given to you, it burned on the way down, but it was the most warmth you had felt in a while.
A thick veil was placed over your head, apparently you weren’t allowed to see what was about to happen, a small mercy.
You were led into the temple, the lack of harsh wind making things a little more bearable, but the pure ice on the floor made your bare feet hurt.
You were pushed onto your knees, the cold seeping into your bones.
The elder walked away.
You listened as the voices of the men drifted away from the entrance, leaving your fate in the hands of something unknown.
Your only company was the constant dripping, echoing from somewhere in the cave, and the sound of your own thoughts.
You hoped it was worth it. A numbing sensation began to take over, probably caused by the drink from earlier.
////
You jolted awake at the sound of total silence. The wind could no longer be heard, and the dripping had stopped. You still couldn’t see anything. Yet somehow the room seemed a lot bigger, you felt more exposed, missing the strange comfort of the enclosed space you were supposedly left in.
Had you been moved?
As your eyes began to grow heavy again, you heard a shuffling from in front of you. The noise causing you to sit up straight.
Whatever it was, its presence was suffocating.
“Now what do we have here?”
The voice was like velvet. Otherworldly even.
It seemed to descend, getting closer to you.
“A shivering little lamb, all for me.”
This must have been Loki. You fought the urge to run out of wherever you were.
“Well, it seems like the people haven’t been able to forget me, no matter how hard they try.”
He grabbed your tied wrists, the rope falling away like water. His hands felt so big compared to yours. His cold touch made you tingle.
“Oh you poor thing. Freezing, aren’t you?”
You could only nod. He responded with a light chuckle.
“Are you going to eat me?” you blurted out, not thinking about what you were saying.
He moved away from you. You could feel him staring at you. You knew he was grinning.
“Of course, I am,” he got closer again, “it is up to you how,” he whispered.
You gulped. There seemed to be innuendo in his statement.
He moved again, this time directly in front of you.
You gasped as you saw his fingers hook under your veil.
Big and blue was the only way you could describe them, with raised ridges. You wanted to trace them with your fingers.
Your thoughts were cut short by the tugging on your veil. Your hands shot up to cover your scrunched up eyes.
You felt the veil come off, the cool air hitting your head.
“Look at me, Y/N”, his voice boomed around the space.
You never told him your name, you were sure of it.
His tone left no space to argue. How could you defy a powerful god anyway? You knew what his wrath could bring first-hand.
You lowered your shaky hands first, placing them on your thighs, gripping your knees.
You slowly opened your eyes, letting them adjust to the new light. Your eyes fell to the bottom of the dais you were kneeling at.
Ever so slowly your gaze travelled up, taking in each individual, intricately carved step.
Finally, your eyes landed on the being sprawled out over his crystal throne.
His head rested on his hand, a bored expression on his face.
The only way you could describe him was ‘magnificent’. A beauty like no other. You could see why mortals would fear him, but he was not the grotesque creature you expected him to be.
He seemed amused at your expression, raising a brow at you, causing you to blush, you wanted to be back behind the veil to hide your own embarrassment.
“I expected a little more screaming, mortals usually can’t handle what they cannot understand,” he finally spoke again.
You could do nothing but owlishly blink.
“Stand,” he commanded.
You scrambled up, your legs resisting after kneeling for so long.
“Come here,” he made a ‘come hither’ gesture with his finger.
You slowly made your way up the icy steps, becoming painfully aware of your bare feet.
You tried to look away when you stood directly in front of him, even sitting the god dwarfed you in size.
His icy hand reached forward, gently holding your chin and making you face him. Those red eyes seemed to study your face intensely.
You stared right back, taking in all his features. High cheekbones and a sharp nose, all accented by the same ridges he had on his hands. You followed the patterns to the column of his throat, stopping yourself from letting your eyes wander further down; you knew he was covered in the lines. You wondered if they were natural in Jotuns, or if they were burned into the skin, like a rite of passage of sorts. You had heard other tribes in your area had similar traditions. Your thoughts drifted to mapping them out with your own hands.
“Such a curious little thing you are,” he said.
He must have caught you staring, your eyes darted away from him as he chuckled. You caught a glimpse at his teeth, pearly white and sharp.
He pinched your cheeks as you tried to turn away, thoroughly enjoying the heat that rushed into them.
“I forget how soft and delicate Midgardians are,” he mumbled.
He pulled away from you, looking you up and down as he thought what to do with you.
“Your people want salvation, yes? They want the winter to end?” he asked.
You quickly nodded; it was the reason you were here.
He hummed, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips.
A grin spread across his face. The room around you began to spin before you fell back onto soft furs.
A fire crackled nearby, you sighed at finally feeling warmth after so long.
Loki stood above you, staring you down, the light from the fire making his features sharper than before.
You felt like a mouse at his feet.
You almost screamed as he got down, hovering above you on all fours, engulfing you with his body. Your noses touching.
“I will offer your people reprieve from my winter,” he started.
“Th- Thank you,” you stuttered.
“However,” his grin became more malicious, “If you do not provide me an heir by next spring, the winter will plague your lands until you do,” he whispered in your ear, placing a cold hand across your belly.
His tone left no room for question, the future of your people depended on this.
You were pulled out of your thoughts when Loki carried you to the furs next to the fire, warming you up even further, you hadn’t noticed you were shivering until you stopped.
“I am a cruel god, but I will show mercy to those that deserve it,” he mumbled.
His cool hands trailed their way down the column of your throat, you gasped as his lips flowed close behind. Stopping along the way to mark and nip you with his sharp teeth, the marks would scar.
This was the closest anyone had ever been to you.
His hands made quick work of the cord holding your dress together. He peeled the thin fabric away from you. You tried to cover your bare skin, but your hands wouldn’t move, held down by some sort of magic.
His hands found your soft skin again, making you groan as he paid attention to your breasts.
“What sweet sounds you make, little maiden.”
He made eye contact with you as he took one of your nipples into his mouth. Your hands broke free and buried themselves into his hair, your head falling back in unfamiliar pleasure.
He smiles with his wet lips, before moving onto the other.
You felt like you were burning up inside.
He let go of your nipple with a ‘pop’, the cool air brushing over them. “I hope these will be full soon.”
His lips travelled down your abdomen to the tops of your thighs.
His hands ran up your legs until they met his lips. In one swift movement he held them open, your legs over his shoulders as your wetness was exposed to him. You covered your face in embarrassment.
His fingers ghosted over your sensitive flash, causing your hips to jerk at the sensation, wanting more.
“Is your cunt dripping for your god?” His mouth was so close to your heat.
He used his magic to remove your hands from your face, making you look at him again.
His red eyes burned into yours as his tongue liked a stripe through your folds. You sighed at the feeling, tightening your thighs around him and wanting more.
He continued to noisily suck, distracting you from his finger that began to enter you. The intrusion was so foreign to you, but you couldn’t help but give in. Wanting more.
You felt so greedy, you had never felt this sort of wanting before. You didn’t think your mother would be happy with you if she found out.
Loki began sucking at your sensitive bud, bringing you to the edge of whatever this was.
“Please...” you breathed out.
You looked down at him with teary eyes, you didn’t know what you were begging for.
With one final suck, Loki had you seeing stars, finally falling off the edge you were headed towards. Your legs jerked around him, keeping him where he was as he looked up at you with amusement in his eyes.
You looked down at him after coming down from your high, his face wet with your release. You let your legs relax, allowing him to move up to you, this time capturing your lips in a searing kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.
He broke away, leaving you breathless. Using his magic, he quickly got rid of what little clothing he was in.
You were right about the ridges being everywhere, your hands were loose again, and you reached for his chest, finally getting a feel of the cool skin. He growled as your fingers traced the ridges down to his stomach. His hands stopped yours as you reached his hips. You let your eyes wander down, they widened at the size of his cock. He chuckled at your reaction.
“Mortals are quite adaptable are they not? I’m sure your cunt will be able to accommodate me.”
He brought your hands to feel his ridged and velvety skin. He sighed at the feeling of your warm hands.
He shuffled you around again, spreading you open for what was to come next. He rubbed his cock along your folds, the temperature difference already making you hiss. You didn't think he would fit.
With one hand on your hip, he guided the tip to your entrance. Slowly, he pushed in, stopping to let you stretch around him until he bottomed out.
The only way you could describe the feeling was ‘full’. You knew no mortal man could ever fill you like this, they wouldn’t even get the opportunity to.
His hand pressed down on your stomach, “Can you feel me here?” he groaned.
All you could do is nod, no coherent words forming any time soon.
Both hands found your hips this time, he began to thrust in a steady rhythm, slowly picking up the pace. You knew you’d never get used to his size, however long you were here.
The room filled with the sounds of skin on skin, you moaned anytime he hit that spot inside you.
Loki moved you so effortlessly, as if you were simply a toy, made for his pleasure.
The coil in your belly began to tighten again, you didn’t know how much longer you would last.
“Please, My King… I…” You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to fight the feeling.
“You want to cum again? So soon? Aren’t you being a little greedy mortal?” he taunted. His words made you clench around him a little tighter.
You looked up at him with teary eyes, hoping he would show you this one mercy.
“Pathetic little thing,” he grumbled, his fingers reaching for your clit, letting you tumble off the edge again.
He kept on thrusting through your aftershocks, heightening the sensations. He fully sheathed himself inside you before his head fell back in ecstasy, pumping you full of his seed.
You went limp on the furs, trying to catch your breath. The heat of the fire felt too much for you at that moment.
Loki pulled himself out with an obscene noise, inspecting the aftermath of his work.
“Your people are lucky to have sent you, little mortal.” He effortlessly carried you back to the bed, letting you sink into the covers.
“You were strong enough to last through receiving my seed, and you’ll be strong enough to carry my heir,” his hand rubbed your tummy, seemingly deep in thought, “Not many would have survived.”
He climbed in behind you. You groaned as his fingers found your sensitive cunt. He speared you back onto his already hard cock, you whimpered at the stretch.
“I’ll let you rest for a little while, but you will keep me warm until we can start again. You have a purpose to fulfil, remember?”
“Yes My King,” you whispered back, trying to adjust to the foreign sensation.
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How Shadow and Bones Differentiate Villain and Anti-Hero
Alright, first I need to claim the fact that I love dark, edgy, but misunderstood bad boy in stories with the potential of epic redemption. Loki from Marvel. Jason Todd from DC. Captain Hook from Once Upon a Time. Zuko from AtLA. You name them, I simp them.
So when I watched this new show on Netflix and shown a tall, handsome man in dark clothing, both respected and feared for his power. I feel... nothing.
WHICH IS WEIRD! Like... he’s obviously my type. Complete with the sad backstory and vicious streak. So I kept wondering why I wasn’t enamored by the Darkling, Alexander Kirigan. I wasn’t surprised he was the main villain, I even expected it. But I usually at least have a bit of sympathy for them. This OOC behavior of mine made me introspect myself and the show, trying to find out which part gave me the red flags before Mother Darkling decides to pop the chosen one out halfway in the season.
That’s when it hit me; there were red flags! The show had been subtly trying to tell us Kirigan is a manipulative boyfriend not just by great acting and good directing, but by comparing him with the actual anti-hero of the story who I actually love; Kaz Brekker.
Here’s the list of signs you might not notice of why Kirigan is meant to be a Villain instead of an Anti-Hero.
1. The Eyes
"The eyes are the window to the soul" is a common saying and and the key to good acting for any good show. Eyes tell us a lot about what a person’s character is like and SaB showed us the difference of a sincere man and a man with a hidden agenda.
Look at him! Look at that little smirk. Look at the gaze. That's the look you find when someone's evil little plan is finally coming together. Not one awed by the power or by Alina. A blatant sus move is what I'm saying. Congrat, first flag planted.
Sure he could still fall in love with Alina, but that doesn't stop his agenda either. All it does is potentially create conflict for him to pick either his plan for revenge or life with Alina.
In comparison, look at Kaz when he said this to Inej; "She isn't like you, no one is." Straightforward eyes. Serious grim. No nonsense tone. Inej is one of the most talented and terrifying rogue-assassin and Kaz just blatantly said that he kept her from 'slavery' because of who she is, not what she's capable of. Like... the man has no shame being known to love her while still trying to be professional (or as professional a thief can be). I can respect that.
This is the eye of a man who would abandon everything to make sure she comes out alright in the end. Do not argue with me on this!
2. Leverage and Status
The moment Alina steps into the Little Palace she was treated like a princess. A palace, by the way, that’s managed by the Darkling. She gets favorable treatment; from the food, Zoya displaced when she fought Alina, a horseback ride just the two of them, asking her to call by his name to make them familiar, a black uniform that might as well be claiming???
Dude is desperate is what I’m saying.
Sure, this could all be romantic gestures. There’s the problem that Kirigan is superior in status and name, powerful Grisha, and has a vested interest in her power. Pursuing romance while Kirigan has the ability to make her life heaven or hell with a snap of his finger made every single decision be seen with wariness.
"Beware of powerful men," Genya couldn't put it any better.
Had they pursued romance after they destroy the fold, cementing Alina’s position as a saint more. Then I might have let go of that wariness.
I’m only proven correct when the moment Alina turned away from him, Kirigan made another leverage by (spoiler!) putting an antler to her collarbone... eeeewwww much?!
That’s how desperate the Darkling is to be in control of a person and a situation.
And when no letter came for Alina? That a big red flag because who else in this castle can control the coming of going of letter with the Savior. HMMMMMMMMMMM.....
Then there’s Kaz. My man. There’s no competition. This guy held no leverage on my dear Inej. When she almost decided to leave, Kaz didn't force or convince her to stay but he ask her. Doesn't remind her of her debt whether monetary or life debt to him. In fact, this guy needs money for revenge but instead mortgage his main source of income for her freedom.
HE POSTPONED HIS LIFE GOAL TO FREE HER FROM DEBT ASJHAKFSDJGLDFJ!!!
What more do I need to say?
3. Sympathy Card
This is the type of point you want to watch out from your partners, ladies, gents, and others. The sympathy card is the way to go when anyone wants to reach out to you so you can take care of them before they abuse or gaslight you.
While it’s good to share trauma and eased the burden, sometimes it's healthy to ask yourself whether the person can take advantage of you and to verify whether they lie to you or not.
When Kirigan shared about his past as a sympathetic boy with his secluded fountain and coin. Everything about that scene rang warning bells for me... the part he had requested her to use his color... requesting to horse ride with just them two... sharing sob story that may encourage Alina to help him...
Kudos to Alina to see through the fact she's seen as a means to an end.
It was only when Kirigan showed righteous anger and frustration of a war that's killing his people did Alina finally opened her heart to him.
Kaz however doesn't use the sympathy card. Heck, the man likes to believe he shed away any weakness and threw it in the harbor where it belongs. Kaz hates weaknesses. And garnering sympathy is an admission of weakness for him.
We still know there's a tragic backstory as any decent anti-hero would have... but by not sharing that, this implies that Inej and Jesper stayed because of who he is, and not because of who he was or how he came to be. They don't need a sob story to stay together and that showed a stronger bond between them.
4. Friends
To be frank, I find this the most hilarious because this point is the one that convinced me that Kirigan was secretly an evil bastard.
He doesn’t have any friends!!!
Like... dude had a literal witch army, a wife once, a fuck buddy, and a girlfriend but there wasn’t a single moment in the show where someone, outside of Alina and superior, to speak casually to him.
You’re telling me this person... the most powerful and influential Grisha in the East Ravka, charming as hell, handsome as fuck, and yet he doesn’t have friends?!
“I’ve buried good soldiers... friends...” Get the fuck out of here! WHAT FRIENDS?!?! Maybe if you get off your little power trip from your self-made pedestal, you can actually be less of an asshole and make one.
Sure he excused himself by blaming his ‘ancestor’ for being a shadow summoner. I can see how the fear makes it hard for him to get close to anybody. But all the other characters who are part of his army only ever shown to speak with him respectfully, and the royalty even commend him. No one disrespected him even openly and you’re telling me he doesn’t have one friend amidst all these people?!
In comparison, look at Kaz. He’s brash, crude, and unapologetic. He held true to his moniker ‘Bastard of the Barrel’ and yet this ass has friends. They show Jesper joking with Kaz, and Kaz has shown to banter with him back as well as tolerating his gambling addiction when it could have jeopardized the Job. Inej was shown to actually argue and have disagreement with Kaz when he’s technically her boss. Can you imagine the Darkling doing that? CAN YOU?!
No. Because he's a pretentious ass. That's why.
This is a great example of the use “show not tell” of how Kaz despite his obvious edges has a soft spot shown through his relationship with Inej and Jesper, who have a friendly dynamic. I can attest that while Kaz didn’t create a good first impression, I love Jesper and Inej (they are precious!) so much that I project it to Kaz in extension.
On the other hand, Kirigan’s goodwill had only ever been told by outsiders or himself. None from his inner circle (which he doesn’t have!) other than his mother, who ended up outing him instead.
So I applaud the writers and showrunners of SaB to actually have subtext signs of a manipulative bastard. The Duckling is a good villain character that's complex but unredeemable. Sometimes, you just have a good ol' charming villain you can't redeem and that's okay.
#shadow and bone#sab netflix#sab#netflix#Kaz Brekker#inej#inej gafha#Kaz#the darkling#darkling#villain#anti-hero#jesper#grisha#grishaverse#alexander#alexander kirigan#kirigan#jesper fahey#alina#alina starkov#six of crows#soc
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A Drop of Poison - Ch. 4: An Invitation
A Loki fanfiction!
Previous Chapter --- Next Chapter
Full Chapter List
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“You’re late!” Valkyrie said, stuffing a pancake into her mouth as you approached her table in the Great Hall. “And you look like shit.”
You could feel the papery dryness of your eyes. Each blink felt grating. “I didn’t have a great sleep…” you said, hoping that your face did not give away the perpetual embarrassment you felt every time you thought about what happened the night before.
“Was it the dream again?” Valkyrie said, handing you a plate she filled with hash browns and eggs.
You took it gratefully. “No, I...went to the restricted section of the library last night,” you said, looking down at your plate. An image of Professor Laufeyson’s bare chest flashed before your eyes and you nearly dropped your fork.
“What!” She spoke so loud that several of the people surrounding you and at the other tables glanced at you both.
“Shhh! Don’t be so loud,” you whispered.
“You went without me,” she said, stuffing a mushroom into her mouth.
“It couldn’t wait, but I didn’t even find what I was looking for,” you said.
“And what was that?”
You were about to speak when you saw Professor Laufeyson enter the Great Hall. You nearly choked on your hash browns when he glanced at you. “I have to go,” you said and ran out of the hall.
You did not look back, and you did not stop walking until you realized you were back at the library. Your subconscious seemed to have a sense of humour that you did not find particularly funny. As you stood at the door like a deer in the headlights, someone nearly body checked you to the side as they entered the library.
“Out of the way, mudblood,” he said. His blue hair was striking in the daylight.
“Watch it, Talon,” you said.
He turned to you with a glare, then he smiled coldly and walked on.
You nearly rolled your eyes straight to the back of your head. Talon, the one person you would not mind using one or two of the unforgivable curses on. Just a bit of the Imperious to make him wet his pants in class, maybe? Nothing too awful. You still remember the way he laughed when he stuffed you and one other student into a Shrinking Shed in a pawnshop in Knockturn Alley. It was only your second year, and you berated yourself for trusting any wizard that said they “had something cool to show you” since that day. The poor boy you were stuck with broke his arm and may have broken the other, lest Professor Heimdall had not come by the shop; by that time the shed was half the size of a fridge. You still hated confined spaces from that day onwards.
He walked towards a blonde Slytherin girl trying to finish her homework at a large table. She looked less than pleased at his interruption. You rolled your eyes and moved on.
Your thoughts drifted back to the previous night as you headed to the back of the library. And just like that, it transported you into a completely different head space. Professor Laufeyson. You thought about his smooth skin and the way the moonlight glinted off the sweat on his body.
Thinking of him like that put you in a sort of daze, where you were so embarrassed you thought you might die but also so intrigued that you could not stop yourself from wondering. You paused where you were and gazed at the restricted section. From there, you could see the table where he had...relations with Professor Sif. You remembered her panting and writhing in pleasure. The entire night you had thought about only one thing. What did that feel like?
You knew how your own fingers felt, and despite how wonderful that was, you had always been curious about something more. Valkyrie had described it to you in visceral detail several times. She had said that if the person knew what they were doing, that it could be amazing. Higher than high. But if the person only cared about themselves, it could be quite awful. From the looks of it, Professor Laufeyson knew what he was doing.
Something about him felt different. Enticing. The way his lean muscles flexed as he gripped the edges of the table and the way his eyes glowed. Heat coursed through you, and the muscles in your stomach tightened. You had not been this bothered in all your life and had a fleeting thought of whether there was a way to quit Potions class. You rubbed your eyes and face. The book. That was what you came here for.
“Are you alright?” A sweet voice said.
You opened your eyes; it was Pom. She was carrying four large textbooks and placed them on a study table between the aisles.
Putting on your most convincing smile, you said, “I’m fine, I was just looking for a book.”
“Oh? What one?” she said, her eyes lit up.
Pom did frequent the library. Perhaps she could be of use. “It’s about cats, common spells for cats.”
She gave you a look.
“No, I’m serious! I just really love cats,” you said. It was not a lie, though you preferred reptiles.
“Well, where is it supposed to be?”
You thought about how to put it. “Well, that’s the thing. I was informed that it would be in one place, but it’s no longer there. And I don’t think anyone checked it out.”
Pom thought about it for a moment. Then her eyes lit up. “Maybe it’s a switcher!”
“Switcher?”
She nodded with an excited smile. “I’ve only ever encountered one of them. But there was once a book that my brother and I were looking for. I heard it was the journal of a student who created their own spells. And I think we found it, but right before Ken could pick it up from the shelf, it faded and disappeared. About two months later, I saw it again, on the other side of the library. I reached for it, but it disappeared. I talked to one of our senior prefects and she told me there’s a rumour about books in the library. Apparently, some of them like to disappear and reappear. Nobody knows how to catch them, but there’s a theory that they’ll come to you if you need them.”
You raised your eyebrows at the thought of disappearing books. Of course the book you needed to find was evading you. “So if I need it badly enough...I might find it?” You said.
Pom nodded with an unsure smile. You thanked her as she picked up her pile of books and wandered off to study.
A bright pink guide on potions stood out as you looked at the shelves. Flora and Fawna for Beginners. You sighed. This was going to be a long day.
So you roamed. You roamed the bookshelves for hours, reading every title, every author name and every little scroll in the cabinets. It was tedious beyond belief and you stopped to rest a few times. After your third hour of wandering the library and receiving strange looks from the students you passed by for the thirtieth time, you sighed and sat right on the floor, in between the Magical Creatures and Astrocentric Religions sections. Your stomach rumbled from hunger and you wondered if it was time to give up yet. So much for your investigation. It felt quite less glamorous when you were at the start of it and all you could muster up was sitting on your bottom with an empty stomach and dry hands.
You looked out the window at the end of the aisle; the day was overcast again. It has been raining non stop this season. You got up, defeated, and ready to find some food. Suddenly, there was a sharp bang on the window and you turned to see what it was. A dark smudge was streaked across the glass and you walked up to it for a closer look. You nearly jumped a foot in the air when another bird flew into the window. It fell and you could not see where it landed, but you wondered if it was dead.
A few more birds banged into the windows, and other students got up from their chairs to see the disturbance. One girl gasped so loudly that the librarian had to come over and calm everyone down. The librarian looked at the windows and grumbled to herself as she went out to inform someone of the mess.
You walked across the aisles to observe the other windows, and each one was streaked with a dark red stain. As you walked by the first year selection of books near the front of the library, you noticed in the corner, on the bottom shelf there was a new title. Something you had not noticed before. The spine was dark red and your eyes widened at the title “Spells for the Common House Cat”.
Nearly diving for the book, you crouched down and grabbed it, thinking it would disappear right before your eyes. But, you held it in your hands and yelled out a “yes!” This earned you a shush from the students who were studying.
You were so elated to read the book once you returned to the common room that you nearly ran into the door as you exited the library. It was already an hour past dinner at the Great Hall; you imagined Valkyrie had stuffed her face full already and probably wondered where you were. You picked up your pace and raced through the halls with meat pies on your mind and the book in your hands. The texture was of a smooth aged leather, with odd scratches along the spine and cover. The writing on the cover was a rushed scrawl with black ink and you flipped through the inside, only to see pages and pages of the same hurried writing. There was one passage that caught your eye:
Informed though we may be of my house we are not warned to eat live snakes. Wish you well my balloon animal friend. Did you know hats wore cow bells on their noses? Bells bells bells! Nasty business wandering through the dry sun. If there is one watered down lion to know, it’s Muriel and her tacky shoes.
You were so perplexed you said aloud, “What the fu-”
A hard body stopped your momentum, and you fell right on your rear onto the floor. The book fell out of your hands and you rubbed your nose where it was bumped. “I’m so sorry, I-” You looked up and your mouth went dry.
Professor Laufeyson was standing above you, with your book in his hand, and his eyebrows slightly raised. You saw the recognition in his gaze as he assessed you and a whisper of a smile appeared on his lips; it disappeared again into his usual stoic expression. You remained on the floor and stared at him for several seconds, as if you were paralyzed.
He reached down and helped you up. “We keep bumping into one another, don’t we, Miss Eves?” He said, throwing you a smile that almost knocked you down again.
“Y-yes, I suppose so.”
He handed you the book, glancing at the title. “Interesting literature, is it for your classes or for pleasure?”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “Just for fun.”
“Ah, and is this a title you found in your evening forays into the library?” He said, leaning close so you could see the flecks of lighter blue in his eyes.
Your heart skipped a beat. He knew. He knew. Oh god. He knew. Your mind made a split second decision.
“I’m not sure what you mean, sir,” you said, gripping the book tightly against your body.
Professor Laufeyson chuckled and leaned against the wall, further away from you. You breathed a little easier. “It seems that a student has been out of bed and has seen things she should not have,” he said, crossing his arms. His eyes looked down at you with a mocking sort of sternness. “It could lead to expulsion…”
You held his hard gaze, not denying anything but not giving in. It seemed he was testing you, checking your resolve. You took a silent breath and looked right back at him. There was no way he could get you into trouble without admitting his own faults. “I wonder what the protocols are for teachers and acceptable behaviour on school grounds?” You said, sticking your chin up and thinking you sounded more like an insolent child than anything else.
He smiled widely. “Ah, very good, Miss Eves! Worry not. If I wanted to expel you I would have had Professor Sif handle it,” he said.
“I haven’t told anyone, and I don’t plan to,” you said. You finally lost your resolve and looked at the floor. Your cheeks heated at the thought of him half naked. “Th-thank you for not letting Professor Sif see me.”
“Miss Eves, it is simply water under the troll bridge. Though, I have a bit of a favour to ask of you,” he said. “Perhaps we can call it even then.”
You glanced up, and he had moved away from the wall and was now standing a couple of inches away from you. “Yes, sir?”
“That envelope you gave me was an invitation to dinner with the Headmistress and Professor Odinson. That’s just where I’m headed now, in fact. And I would love for you to accompany me,” he said, holding out his hand like a gentleman.
You stared at his hand, and then up at him, dumbfounded. “What?”
He smiled and reached over to your shoulder, guiding you to follow him. As you both walked, he said, “To be completely honest with you, I just hate these family reunion dinners. Terribly awkward. It would be a pleasure to have you there.”
“I’d hate to crash a dinner party. I’m sure Headmistress Frigga just wanted a family affair. Plus, I’m not even hungry!” You said, and then your stomach growled most viciously. You looked down at it with a look of betrayal.
“It will be fun, I promise. Rainbow umbrella,” he said.
You realized you were already at the Headmistress’s office as the statue of the gargoyle began to turn. “But sir,” you started, but he smiled at you so disarmingly that you could not find any words to deny his request. He grabbed your hand and led you up the steps and you were sure that this was an awful, terrible idea.
#loki#loki x reader#loki fics#loki (marvel)#loki fanfiction#loki imagine#loki series#mcu loki#loki of asgard#loki odinson#loki laufeyson#loki layfeyson x reader#hogwarts au#thor odinson#valkyrie#Professor Loki#loki moodboard#loki of hogwarts#norse mythology
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v i c e v e r s a
This is the extremely brief story of how a rebellious, narcissistic little whelp fell in love with a smarmy, mustachioed bureaucrat (and vice versa).
+ Agent Mobius sits in an unremarkable cubicle in an unremarkable corner of an unremarkable building in a famously remarkable city. He wakes up and pages through his old travel magazines and not infrequently spills some of his coffee all over them. His subscription expired a year or so ago, and for whatever reason he has not been able to find the time to renew it. He finishes his breakfast and walks a couple blocks (if the weather’s nice) before hopping on the train another 30 minutes to the office, where he always greets security and they sometimes greet him back.
Agent Mobius has been working for the CI division of the Internal Revenue Service for the last 15 years, and he has been maddeningly close to catching Odin, the CEO of Asgard, Inc., for about 10 of those.
He’s worked other cases of course—made an impact in a plethora of other ways (his superiors take comfort in the consistent quality of his work), but they so rarely consumed him with the same degree of ferocity as this one. And it’s not because he’s been trapped within a “will they, won’t they” cluster-cuss with Odin’s impossible son (his youngest) for about 3-4 of the 10 years mentioned.
And no, it’s not a conflict of interest; if anything, he’s undercover.
B. (”Bee”) is his favorite co-worker. He knows almost nothing about her but is completely committed to making sure that he is her favorite co-worker. He’s winning her over. Absolutely.
“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Mobius.”
He scoffs and adjusts his belt. He has almost certainly said things dumber than that.
Mobius treats himself to salads from Sissy’s Café 2-3 times a week. They’re on the pricier side because they’re so large, which is really the only way to eat a salad, otherwise you’re still hungry and it was nothing but a waste of money and wilted lettuce. On a seasonally comfortable day he’ll grab it to-go and grab a table at a small park nearby, which is generally speaking one of the nicer parts of his day, unless of course—
“You are terribly predictable, I hope you know.”
Mobius huffs and stabs his fork into a particularly thick bit of spinach and avocado. “You say that as if you’re not, which I find hilarious.”
“Well you would, I am famously quite funny.”
He tries to ignore the fact that the code-word “Young Prince,” has finally gotten the haircut he’s so desperately needed (even more so does he try to ignore the fact that he’d been the one to suggest it). Loki is in black today (surprise, surprise) despite the bright, warm sunshine, and his t-shirt fits snug across his shoulders.
“Nice haircut,” Mobius notes between sips of his ever-warming seltzer.
Loki gives the barest hint of a smile, which is unfortunately one of Mobius’ favorite things, if only because it is one of the few real things about the man.
“Not that you asked, but I stopped by because I have some information for you.”
Mobius sighs. Loki loves claiming to have information, which Mobius more-or-less loves to follow-up on despite the fact that it is unreliable about 85% of the time. Happily enough for Mobius, Loki isn’t a huge fan of his father either, although he is a fan of his father’s money, which doesn’t really work in the IRS’ favor.
“Oh?” Mobius replies, disinterested. “And I’m sure it’s just as helpful as your last little ‘tip’ was.”
“More, actually, and frankly I’m offended by the accusation.”
“I’m sure you are.”
The few seconds that follow would be familiar to anyone who had for whatever reason been observing this strange almost-mating ritual that had been occurring over the years. A comfortably quiet exchange of mutual gazing where Loki secretly admired the bent in Mobius’ nose, and Mobius secretly admired the crinkling around Loki’s eyes when he did that almost-smile he reserved for a lucky few.
Loki clears his throat and reaches across the table for the seltzer, taking a sip whilst decidedly ignoring the look of disbelief on Mobius’ face.
“Excuse me—”
“Yes, excuse you, if you’ll recall I was about to share some very valuable information. The most valuable, you might say.”
The last time Loki interrupted Mobius’ lunch with “valuable information,” he’d wasted an ungodly amount of time and money pursuing a lead (and raiding the office of a rather well-respected Senator) that went nowhere, all because this Senator had made a pointed and correct comment at some rich-person function and Loki has never been able to not take something personally for even one moment in his absurd little life.
“And why should I believe you this time?”
It’s the fidgeting that gives it away—how starts tapping his fingertips against the empty can, his eyes looking anywhere other than at Mobius. That maybe he’s telling the truth this time.
“I’m... tired, I guess.”
“You’re ‘tired.’”
He looks up, briefly, before he returns to this out-of-character bit of looking anywhere else.
“My brother’s off... saving the world,” he starts with a sneer, “Sylvie’s about to have a family—”
“She’s still your family,” Mobius interrupts, “don’t be stupid.”
“But that’s classic me, isn’t it?”
Mobius silently disagrees, but he’s so afraid to burst this bubble of self-awareness—to ruin what has started to feel like a critical, life-changing moment, that he cannot possibly bring himself to speak.
Loki opens his mouth as if he has more to say, but he closes it and places a small black hard drive in the middle of the table instead. When Mobius looks closer, he notices that it’s engraved with a small bolt of lightening. His heart starts to tap in a series quickening, uncomfortable beats.
“Loki—”
“I’ve had it for a while,” he admits, “if you knew how long you’d probably want nothing more to do with me.”
Mobius has made the moral arguments before; probably to the detriment of the argument itself. That no single man should be able to accumulate so much wealth—that his notoriously stuffy, humorless job is “really important, actually,” and stopping his father could help a lot of people, least of all his own son, and “good god, Loki, what the hell are you even trying to prove?”
“It’s for admittedly selfish reasons,” he continues before Mobius can correct him, “regardless of the final outcome.”
“Why’s that?” Mobius croaks, wishing his tie was just a little bit looser today (so goddamn tight, every single day—)
“Well,” he grins, looking back up at him, finally, “if you’re not undercover, there’s no... what’s the term? ‘Conflict of interest?’”
“Yeah,” Mobius laughs, “yeah, that’s the term.”
Loki pushes the drive across the table. “Take it,” he says, “it’s time you had it.”
"Feels like it should be heavier.”
Loki smirks.
“Shut up.”
Mobius glances at his watch and notices, with surprise, that he’s gone about 5 minutes over his lunch hour.
“Time to go?” Loki asks, the words painted with a nervousness that seems foreign to him.
Agent Mobius has never once returned late from his lunch hour. He respects the agency’s time too much, and what real good has ever come from his lingering? But when he looks back at Loki, who has so recently cut his hair—who suddenly fidgets and appears genuinely nervous, he considers the importance of making exceptions to certain rules. To “loosening his tie,” so to speak. And besides, Bee will cover for him (he’s pretty sure).
“Nah,” Mobius answers, sliding the drive into his coat pocket, “I can be late.”
#loki series#loki#mobius#lokius#loki fic#lokius fic#loki fanfic#lokius fanfic#@hencethewriter#a prince and a bureaucrat flirt in a park#it's a modern au#because i will never fuck with mcu canon for free#also there's a wes anderson reference in here#because of course there is
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'Loki' Full Season 1 Review: The Most Frustrating Thing Is How Incomplete the Story Feels
Editor's note: The following contains spoilers through the Season 1 finale of Loki, "For All Time. Always."
[TWH-NEWS note: Tom is NOT confirmed to be on Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness even though the article so claims. Marvel hasn't confirmed it.]
The Loki season finale is perhaps one of the most vexing episodes of television I have seen in quite some time. The Disney+ sci-fi drama, tracking the events following Loki's (Tom Hiddleston) escape from the pre-established timeline, was never confirmed to be an ongoing show versus a limited series, with rumors of a second season on the horizon from the beginning, so the biggest twist delivered by "For All Time. Always." ended up being confirmation of a Season 2 with a post-credits title card.
However, while there were other key reveals made during the episode, those reveals left behind plenty of story to explore in future seasons. Too much story. There's a difference between a few dangling plot threads and a mess of string, and the staggering number of questions left unresolved by "For All Time. Always." crosses a line when it comes to completion — especially given the fact that there's no clear sense of when the show might return, and the real story being told is much bigger than the fate of one mischievous scamp.
In general, every episode of this show was beautifully made, with immense credit going to director Kate Herron, head writer Michael Waldron, and the creative team. The cast of known all-stars like Tom Hiddleston, Owen Wilson, and Gugu Mbatha-Raw, blended with new all-stars like Sophia Di Martino and Wunmi Mosaku, did a remarkable job of grounding even the most fantastical moments in raw humanity, and the writing popped with verve and wit. Also, Loki does come full circle on what was its original raison d'etre — the redemption of a character who literally was plucked out of the timeline at his worst, having attacked Manhattan with an alien force so destructive that the Earth needed a whole damn team of superheroes to stop him. On this score, the show was wildly successful, breaking down Loki's sense of grandeur and purpose in the first episode and then slowly but surely rebuilding him into a man capable of evolving beyond his past. Loki did more to examine a single character's psychology and motivations than we've ever seen in the context of the MCU, and all of the progress and growth made by the character, as a result, feels truly earned.
However, if Loki's redemption was the only thing this show had been about, it would have been a very boring show, and Loki was far from boring. The official theme of the series was "What makes a Loki a Loki?" but the real issues being raised were far more existential; in so many ways, this was a show about faith and free will, an undercurrent that deserves more exploration and frankly appreciation, especially after the questions and themes left dangling by the last episode.
This element proved to be key to so much of the show's construction, especially when it comes to the TVA, which basically functions as a religious order — its devotees slavishly sacrificing their lives to the cause of protecting the Sacred Timeline. It's not subtle, especially when the dark side of it is revealed, those devotees learning that their service happened against their will. "We can't take away people's free will, can't you see that?" Mobius pleads with Ravonna in their final scene together, before she walks away in something resembling agreement with him, telling him that she's going in search of free will herself.
Loki Season 1, by the end, becomes a show not just about a crisis of faith, but about an apocalypse. Every time a story about apocalypses comes up, I find it impossible to forget that the Greek word from which the term originates actually means "revelation." That's why the part of the Bible about the world ending is called the Book of Revelations, but beyond that, the definition serves as a reminder of why endings can matter. Endings are beginnings, in some ways. A painful breakup reveals the flaws in what might have seemed like a loving relationship. Extreme climate change is a revelation regarding humanity's callous attitude towards its impact on the environment. For the characters of Loki — perhaps the entire MCU — the apocalypse they're facing following the destruction of the Sacred Timeline also means the revelation of what lives they left behind.
Certainly there's a ton of room for speculation as to what lies ahead for these characters, but the fact is that the next chapter of Loki's journey won't even be told on Disney+, as Hiddleston is reportedly in Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, and there's no telling when we might return to resolve the events of the Season 1 finale. Cliffhangers are one thing; anyone who grew up watching '90s TV learned the hard way how to handle the dramatic season endings of The X-Files or Star Trek: The Next Generation. But Loki didn't dangle its characters off a cliff — it pushed them off the edge, leaving them suspended in mid-air for who knows how long.
Back in the days of The X-Files you at least knew that whatever jaw-dropping cliffhanger the season finale had just delivered would be addressed by the season premiere in just a few months. (Maybe as many as six months, depending on the baseball season.) That's a sense of certainty that Loki fans do not have the luxury of enjoying; based on where the conversations around a second season currently stand, it could be a while before the contracts are even signed. Conservatively, at this point, it feels unlikely that we'll get a second season of Loki until near the end of 2022, and given that the first season took over two years from its announcement to now to actually debut, 2023 doesn't feel like too much of a stretch. Maybe Owen Wilson and Gugu Mbatha-Raw get to make cameos in Doctor Strange 2 as well? Nothing is possible and everything is possible. We just have to wait for the answer, and in the meantime stew in dissatisfaction.
"Only one person gets free will. The one in charge," Ravonna tells Mobius — implicitly referring to He Who Remains (Jonathan Majors). Who, speaking of, is now dead, Sylvie having completed her one primary quest to revenge herself upon the ones who took her life away. That, combined with the Wizard of Oz parallels, makes this a show that's fascinating to parse (Sylvie literally killed God!), but frustratingly incomplete in its themes. Literally as the episode officially ended on the visage of Kang enshrined as the ruler of the TVA, I said out loud "Well, there's going to be a Season 2," and I suppose that thanks are owed to Marvel and Disney+ for not leaving that element in suspence for more than two minutes and two seconds.
But if I have a religion, it's my belief in the power of storytelling, how the myths we create for ourselves and others can shape lives and hopefully make them better. One tenet of that is the idea that great stories deserve some sense of completion. So, the first season of Loki committed a pretty grievous sin.
#There's no confirmation on Tom being in the next Doctor Strange film!!!#loki#loki series#review#article#collider#loki spoilers#spoilers#loki series spoilers
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Shine a Light, part 6
A Loki series/Lokane fic. Rating T.
Previously: Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5
He is already spinning around and bracing himself as his boots touch the concrete, half expecting to see the beast come tumbling towards him.
But the air is mercifully still where the door has snapped shut.
The evening sky above him is heavy with clouds, and a light mist of cool rain touches his face.
Cool.
He looks down at his hands. They are still shaking from the adrenaline, but no longer blue. Nor do his clothes feel rough against his skin.
Did he consciously change back to his Asgardian form as he went through the door? He is not sure. Whatever the shape or shade, his body feels oddly disconnected from his brain and Loki idly wonders if using the tempad so much within a short time span might be affecting him on a cellular level.
Then again, if that was the case would the Minute Men and analysts at the TVA not have been suffering from chronic time travel fatigue?
Who knows, perhaps they did. A number of them certainly looked worn out.
Tempad “jetlag” (an apt mortal word) or not, unwillingly running into variants upon variants of old enemies on this treacherous timeline coupled with the incessant longing for her has caused Loki’s grip on reality to slip ever more from one destination to the next.
What reality? a mocking voice in his head whispers, sounding maddingly similar to the little devil clock.
You have no idea where you are, who you are or where you’re going. You’re a man out of time, for all time, always.
He straightens and draws in a few deep breaths, surveying his new surroundings: A narrow brick terrasse. At the back wall, a glass sliding door reveals a room covered in darkness, but as nothing moves inside (his night vision remains far superior to that of mortals), Loki turns instead to take in the view of … London.
There is a taste of early spring in the air, and before him as far as the eye can see, the rooftops and spires of the city stretch out into the distance.
Millions of little lights flicker in the dark and the fumes of traffic and city grime mix with whiffs of different cuisines drifting out of air vents.
He has been here once or twice before, though not in decades, and there are whole clusters of towering structures of glass and steel that he does not recall from on his previous visit.
The house by the ocean in 2016, Budapest in 2015, New York in 2014 and now London in what he assumes must be 2013. As methodical as the backwards count has proven to be, as confusing are the destinations and varying seasons.
Only they cannot possibly be random.
Free will is an illusion.
The eerie feeling that even this, his ill-thought-out ‘quest’, is being guided by an invisible hand in charge of his destiny is so dispiriting it’s comical. He can’t quite decide whether to feel perversely honored that some higher being – a version of He Who Remains? – would take interest in toying with him, or furious that he has been singled out for this preposterous punishment of drifting through another Loki variant’s timeline.
It is no use dwelling on either emotion. He has no one to measure his pride against, no one’s expectations to live up to expect for his own, and, frankly, by now that bar is scraping the floor. There is no telling where the female variant of him went and Loki has no means of contacting the TVA or the analyst-interrogator even if he wanted to (he really does not anymore).
Loki unclenches his fists.
Seeing as each destination may have been an intentional set-up for whatever bizarre reason, the question is which character from his past he will encounter in this place. He vows to himself that no matter who he bumps into, he will attempt to reactivate that silver tongue of his and gather actual, useful information.
No more chaotic exits.
Provided no one tries to kill him on sight or squash him through a wall.
The terrace is furnished only with an old sun chair and a few plants, but the room beyond the glass door appears very lived in, with books stacked on the floor and several shelves, a large couch, a couple of armchairs, and what looks to be an adjacent kitchen area with a dining table.
Amazing how most mortals spend their years in such small, crowded dwellings.
Using only his magic, he slides open the door. It makes a low swooshing sound. Quiet as a cat, he steps over the threshold.
//
It hits him immediately, like walking into a wall: The scent of lavender.
And Thor.
The apartment is quiet, but they were here and recently.
He has been delivered right to them.
Loki is once again frozen in place.
His initial plan when knocking out that man in the canteen at the TVA and stealing his tempad was to find Thor and Jane at the scene of his own moral redemption (well…) on Svartalfheim. Where he supposedly saves their lives. Find them and use the momentum of their unfiltered gratitude to deliver the news that, most regrettably, the universe is likely coming to an end if they do not devise a plan together to prevent a multiversal war – preferably enlisting the help of Thor’s colleagues, too, and in the best of scenarios, Asgard.
Seek out Thor before saving Jane’s life, and Loki would have to first win his brother’s trust in the aftermath of the attack on New York. Find Thor after Svartalfheim, and there would be the small matter of explaining how the variant faked his own death and, after having thus broken Thor’s heart again, took the throne of the Realm Eternal.
Not an ideal conversation starter, even for them.
From the reel, he knows that there were other moments, much later, when he and Thor would become friendly again. After Ragnarok, before his end.
But Loki also knows that this need to get to Svartalfheim has as much to do with her as it has with Thor. Perhaps even more so.
Something important transpires between himself and the brown-eyed scientist on that brutal, barren planet and if it is the last thing he does, Loki will find out what it means.
It does not make any more sense now than it did when he sat in the kill me kind of room, transfixed by her face, but if he had had any initial doubts as to whether he was simply imagining the magnetic pull of her, those had been effectively shattered to atoms when she threw her arms around his neck outside the white house.
“Where did you go, handsome?”
Nothing on this timeline seems to be playing out as it should. Which of course also means that the events on Svartalfheim may never have occurred at all.
On this timeline, a variant has more or less befriended the Avengers in the years after New York when, according to the proper Loki fate, he should have been on Asgard. And, in a few years from now, the variant will somehow be with Jane.
Jane, who has stayed in this very apartment. With Thor.
Briefly, Loki is back to wondering if Thor dies and how, but then he remembers what Bruce said about their “family soap opera” and Loki’s “victory”.
Could it be that he and Thor actually fought over Jane?
As much as he wishes it otherwise, even Loki finds it hard to believe that his variant would have beat the God of Thunder in a fight. The might of Mjølner is formidable. And though his brother has not quite discovered it himself yet, Loki has always suspected that Thor has his own kind of magic.
Then there is Jane: Without having ever conversed with her, Loki would be surprised if Jane would appreciate being treated as a prize to be won.
He is getting a headache. A rare thing for a god, but there is no putting the puzzle together with so many pieces missing from the board. Since he has no hope of using the tempad to transport him off Midgard, maybe the best thing to do would be to just wait here and see if Jane and Thor come back. He has been specifically sent here, has he not?
Without really noticing, Loki has moved to the blue, puffy couch. He sits himself down and leans back into the soft cushions, letting out a sigh. When was the last time he slept or ate anything? There is a sense of fresh paranoia as he realizes that he cannot remember doing either at the TVA, expect for when he fell asleep during research.
“Time works differently at the TVA. You’ll see”.
He stretches his legs out in front of him and yawns. On the wall opposite from the couch is a paper calendar: 2013.
He takes in the rest of the apartment but does not magic any of the lights on. There is the open kitchen, a tiny hallway with a coat rack and a few pairs of shoes, and two more doors to the left of where he is sitting.
Getting up suddenly feels immensely tasking, but Loki nevertheless hauls himself to his feet and goes to inspect the other rooms. First, there is the washroom. The scent of lavender is stronger in there, even more inviting, and spotting a stack of fresh towels on a shelf, he considers taking a shower. It is not as if he cannot easily use magic to uphold appearances (wait, were there showers at the TVA?), but that is no substitute for the soothing feel of warm water running down his body, relaxing his tired muscles.
Yes, he will shower. And cast a spell on the apartment, so he will be alerted if anybody attempts to enter.
He takes a small comfort in his powers being restored.
Loki reckons the other door leads to the sleeping chambers but just to be sure, he magics it open with a flick of his wrist.
A window with closed blinds. A wooden bookcase to one side, volumes and magazines piled high. An old, white wardrobe with brass grips. A pile of clothes strewn haphazardly on the thick yellow rug on the floor near a large, unmade bed.
Unmade – and not empty.
//
Loki stands perfectly still, one hand still raised.
Why did he not sense that someone was here?!
Seeing as Clint (Bird-Eye?) managed to surprise him in Budapest, perhaps Loki’s “wolf’s ears” really are failing him.
Even so, his nose is working just fine. Unless …
Then he knows. Of course.
His tongue tastes bile.
Inching closer, he sees the black hair spilling over the madras. His own lean, sculpted body whose long limbs and handsome Asgardian features Loki has never felt less appreciation for than right this very moment.
The variant is deep asleep. And half-naked under the sheets.
Something twists in his stomach at the scene. Something small and pathetic and evil that wants out. A foul, winged creature batting against his ribcage with sharp claws.
He takes another step forward.
How has the variant not been alerted to his presence yet? He seemed strong – very strong – in 2016.
Loki studies his twin’s face. His own exact face. Same high cheek bones, same long, dark lashes against a pale complexion. Only this close, the man’s skin has a faint ashen sheen to it. A few tiny beads of sweat glisten on his temples and, yes, Loki hears it now, his breathing is slightly labored.
He is injured. Enough to dull his senses.
It is not the madman from the Void, as Loki had feared after their first encounter. His energy is quite different from any of the other variants, and Loki suspects he may be the closest to a perfect double that he’s encountered yet (and please, let this one be the last. No more variants or Loki will forget which life was his own).
Stepping so close he can lean over the bed, the reason for the variant’s sedated state becomes evident:
Tied around the man’s mid-section, just about visible over the sheets, is the upper edge of a large bandage. Loki sniffs. Yes, he can sense the wound and the ugly tinge of dark magic still surrounding it, like a poisonous signature: This was inflicted by a blade of the dark elves. The variant has come from Svartalfheim after all.
The cut must have been near fatal, but from the smell of it, it is healing well, aided by the variant’s own powers and what can only be human medicine, judging by the clinical odor.
Even so, why was he not taken to the healers on Asgard?
Because he is evading his punishment for the attack on New York, Loki guesses.
Thor and Jane must have brought him to London instead of delivering him back to Odin. Although thanks to Heimdall’s watchful gaze, the All-Father will be aware of what has transpired. In his condition, the chances of the variant being able to use his magic to shield himself from Heimdall are next to none.
Still, he is here. No one has come for him yet.
Loki does not know which is stranger: That the variant is legitimately, badly injured and not currently in the process of dispatching Odin off to some home for the elderly in New York, or that Odin has allowed the variant to be taken to Midgard instead of the dungeons.
Presumably neither the All-Father nor Thor are aware of the variant’s role in Frigga’s death.
Though he tries to shake them off, the images remain crystal clear: The queen mother, killed by one of Malekeith’s monster.
A shiver suddenly runs through the variant’s body on the bed and Loki holds his breath. The man shifts under the sheets but does not wake.
So, dear ‘brother’, your Nexus event was that you nearly died for the people who care for you instead of following up your heroism with deceit, as I would have done.
What sentiment.
The winged creature growls.
Loki could kill him right now.
Kill him and take his place.
It would be easy, so easy to slit his throat. It is not as if he has not committed murder before.
“I don’t enjoy hurting people. I don’t enjoy it …” But this is not ‘people’.
This man is a murderer as well.
The variant has already veered spectacularly off course from his fate, and yet there are no Minute Men next to his bed, holding him accountable for his “crimes against the sacred timeline”, nor will he be apprehended in the following years.
This man got “the Time Keepers’ stamp of approval”, just like the Avengers.
It is so monumentally unfair it is enough to make Loki’s fingers grasp for an invisible dagger. The variant’s existence makes a mockery of the life that was cruelly stolen from Loki by the TVA and for that he loathes him with every fiber of his identical body.
Why should the variant have any more right to live?
Because he will make her happy.
Loki forces himself to rein in the rage. The man will play a part in Jane’s life.
He stares at his sleeping double.
The variant is worthy.
Or just simply unbearably, ridiculously lucky.
No matter what, he must live, but if Loki stays here much longer, he fears the variant’s chances of making it past 2013 will rapidly decrease by the minute.
Loki cannot stand to look at him, nor will he contemplate the fact that the variant is comfortable enough in the apartment to discard his clothes.
If he does, he will stab him to death. And relish in it.
Loki is about to magic himself away to find somewhere nearby to wait for Thor and Jane’s return, when a noise reaches him from the hall outside the apartment.
Someone is coming towards the front door, keys in hand.
Jane.
//
He should leave immediately. Disappear before she can turn the key in the door.
But he does not.
Still looking at the sleeping, half-covered form in front of him, something finally snaps instead. The winged creature shrieks in delight.
A quick spell ensures that no sounds from outside the sleeping chamber can reach the variant, no matter how light his sleep becomes.
Another one renders all the light switches in the apartment useless.
Then Loki swiftly picks up the clothes from the floor, looks it over, and changes his own black outfit into what he is holding: A dark green, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of soft, well-known black leather pants that makes him feel both a bit homesick and a lot stronger.
Don’t do this, don’t do this.
A voice, not the clock this time but his own. He ignores it.
He does not know what Jane’s relationship with the variant is of this time or what state of mind she expects to find him in, but she has let him stay here – and right now, she is alone.
Her fingers weaving through his hair while the sun beat down on his back.
His conscience will not allow him to kill the variant, yet Loki cannot resist the temptation to be him.
Again.
But just for a heartbeat or two.
This last part he promises to himself and to her, though it does nothing to bury the shame.
Perhaps he did not change at all during his time at the TVA. Perhaps his true, villainous self just lay dormant, biding his time, while various oppressors walked all over him.
Is a stolen moment with her worth more than his honor? Is it worth jeopardizing his one chance of enlisting Thor’s help?
Yes.
Yes, it is.
This is lowest you have ever sunk.
Shut up.
He steps out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him, but not before catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror on the wall. His hair. The variant’s hair is noticeably longer. He cocks his head to the side once and the difference is levelled out.
In the hall, Jane is fiddling with the keys. When the lock clicks, Loki is sitting on the blue couch again, trying to appear casual while his pulse is racing as fast as when Bruce turned green before him.
And there she is.
Hair windswept, cheeks flushed from the cool evening air, wearing a dark green parka, jeans and boots.
Her eyes find his in the low light and a warm smile spreads on her face. His heart leaps into his throat.
“You’re back”. She does not stop to take off her jacket or attempt to turn on the lights before coming towards him and, unsure of what to say, he stands up. She stops in front of him, apparently a little unsure of the situation herself. She bites her lip.
“So how did it go?”
Her voice sounds at once both concerned and hopeful and her eyes are wide with expectation.
She is searching for some sort of positive affirmation and so Loki smiles down at her and says the only thing that seems fitting:
“It went well”.
Jane exhales loudly and her smile returns. “It did?!”
“Yes”, Loki replies, grinning at her (her smile is too infectious) and hoping she will not ask him to elaborate on whatever the subject is.
“Of course it did! I mean, you’re still here, aren’t you? Oh Loki, I’m so insanely relieved!” Jane laughs and looks like she is about to throw herself into his arms (automatically he reaches for her) when she stops herself mid-motion. “Sorry! I nearly forgot. Again!”
She takes one of his hands in both of hers, and Loki swallows hard as her fingers softly caress his with unmistakable intimacy.
“But seriously, you two didn’t fight, like fight-fight, did you …? I hope Thor didn’t …”. She trails off and looks at him questioningly.
“No. No, we didn’t fight. Don’t worry. We both … behaved”. Loki tries to catch up while keeping his replies as vague as he hopes he can afford.
The variant and Thor have had words, and Jane has worried about the outcome. Could it have been a discussion of whether to return Loki to Asgard? But then why has Thor not come back to the apartment?
In fact, why go anywhere else to talk at all, with the variant being as beat up as he is?
Because he and Thor both expected a row not suited for the indoors.
“Okay, you sit, you’ve moved around enough for one day. I’ll fix us something to eat and you’re going to tell me everything”. Jane gently lets go of his hand, then shoots him a teasing smile. “Unless you’ve emptied the fridge. Again”.
“Um”, is Loki’s inspired contribution to the conversation.
“Uh oh, pasta it is then”, Jane laughs, and goes to shrug off her jacket and boots in the hallway, revealing an open flannel shirt with a white T-shirt underneath.
Was she wearing the same thing that day in the desert town? It looks familiar.
Jane flips a light switch next to the coat rack and makes a “huh”-sound as nothing happens. She tries a lamp next to the dining table with the same result.
“Has the electricity gone again? Was it out when you got back?”
“Ah, yes. It was”.
“The landlord seriously needs to fix this, that’s the third time this week…good old London”. Jane scoffs but does not sound all that bothered.
“Can you work a little magic for us?”
When Loki does not move, Jane walks up to him (now even shorter without her footwear) and lightly places a hand on his arm, nudging him back on the couch. “Sit. And shine a light, please”.
He lets her push him down, and her hand moves up to rest on his shoulder. Now he is the one looking up at her. She is standing between his legs and there it is, the affection in her eyes that almost makes him forget that he is not the man it is meant for.
He wonders for how long he can get away with not saying anything remotely coherent before she suspects something’s amiss.
Obeying her wish, he holds out his palm and a small, orange flame appears, casting a warm glow on both their faces. Motioning with his fingers, he makes the flame float elegantly over the low coffee table in front of the couch where it stills in the air.
“I was thinking more along the lines of just making the electricity come back on, like last time, but okay, that is very pretty too”. Jane looks at the little light with wonder and Loki thinks he sees the stars in her eyes again.
Then her attention is back on him. Her fingers brush against his hair. They linger by the curls at the nape of his neck.
“I don’t know if it’s relief, but it’s almost like you look a bit … different”. Jane’s eyes roam his face, his hair. “Do you even still have a fever?”
Before Loki can answer her hand is touching his forehead.
Jane shakes her head in surprise. “It’s much better than this morning. Maybe it was good for you to get some real air after all. It has been almost three weeks …”
How easily she touches him. How sad that he's not used to being touched anymore.
He has only to lay his hand on her forehead in return and he could use his powers to reveal glimpses of her past (yes, he kept many of his gifts from the female on Lamentis).
More specifically, what has happened between her and the variant.
But not without revealing himself in the process.
Her left hand is still on his shoulder while the other now travels down the side of his cheek. He leans into her touch and closes his eyes, just breathing in the scent of her skin when he feels her bending down and locks of her auburn hair tickle his face.
He opens his eyes and looks right into hers, inches from his.
You have not earned this.
You are deliberately, selfishly, monstrously taking advantage of her.
I am a monster.
And then her mouth is on his and he does not say no.
To hell with his soul.
--------------------------------------------
For a second, she thinks she feels him tense up.
But as soon as her lips melt onto his and he immediately, hungrily reciprocates the kiss, everything is right again.
Crazy, sure, but also oh so right.
Jane literally never wants to stop kissing him.
She actually told him exactly that the other night. Or, accidentally blurted it out as they were coming up for air, since she is falling for him so fast her brain apparently cannot keep up with her mouth.
Immediately she had felt embarrassed, but it did not last longer than it took for him to raise a teasing eyebrow at her and pull her close again. “Why, Doctor Foster”, he had purred in that low voice that he absolutely knows makes her go weak, “by all means, please…(and he’d kissed her) don’t…(another kiss) stop … (kiss) Ever”.
Then he had leaned back a little, still gently cupping her face between his large hands, and flashed her the most gorgeous, happy, wickedly lascivious smile she had seen on him so far.
Not many people radiate smoldering sex appeal while simultaneously suffering from the agonizing pain of a wound inflicted by an alien sword, but of course Loki pulls it off with flying colors.
From there on, there had been no returning to ‘movie night’.
Now, trying not to break the kiss, Jane carefully moves to sit herself down on the couch as well, making sure not to press against him. For two weeks, they have been making out like teenagers whenever they are alone. Somewhat hindered by his injuries, obviously, which prohibits him from moving much – it is both very, very hot and insanely frustrating.
The first time she had kissed him, he had been too stunned to move a muscle anyway.
The second time, he had nearly ripped the wound open again.
Since then, they have tried to take it slow, although on more than one occasion, Loki has been all but begging to throw caution to the wind – “I’ll heal!", “It doesn't hurt!” (said as he looked like he was going to pass out), and, Jane’s favorite, “It might make me heal faster”.
His impatience would be quite funny if it was not because Jane was feeling just as dizzy with want.
She has been going for a lot of runs in Hyde Park lately.
“Do you have a death wish?!”, she had asked him teasingly at one point when he had spontaneously grabbed her hand as she passed him the kitchen and pulled her tight against him, only to groan loudly in pain when her body collided with his bandage.
Then he had looked suddenly very serious and let her go, and she had instantly regretted the comment.
She knows enough about his past not to joke about things like that.
“Oh. Oh, no”.
That was all her mind had been capable of thinking when she and Loki had locked eyes in the palace on Asgard, right after she had slapped him (surprising both herself and everyone around her).
He had looked down at her with his trademark arrogant smirk, except as soon as Thor and Sif had turned away, his gaze had turned infinitely softer, and Jane had felt something monumental start to shift inside of her.
Something that had nothing to do with the Aether coursing through her veins.
Not long after that, on that awful, doomsday-looking planet, he had saved her life. Twice in quick succession. And for a horrifying second, it had looked like he would die right in front of her.
The memory makes her involuntarily shudder a bit and, drawing her legs up on the couch so she can twist to face him more directly, she runs her fingers through his long, silken hair, and nips at his lower lip… and is startled when his head jerks. For real this time.
Jane draws back.
“Are you okay?”. Perhaps things did not go as smoothly with Thor as she had hoped.
It was a big ask after all.
Once more she feels a sharp pang of guilt. It is not just her and Loki’s worlds that have been turned resoundingly upside down in a matter of one turbulent month.
Loki seems lost for words, and the sadness flooding his face shocks her.
He is far from okay.
In fact, he looks close to tears. Were it not because she had just felt his cool forehead, she would have assumed it was the fever flaring up.
Jane feels her stomach tie itself into a knot. They are taking him away from her before they have even had a chance be together.
Or, even worse still, he has regretted everything about their unlikely union.
“Jane, I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry…”
Here it comes, Jane thinks as nausea builds. Erik is about to be proved right about him.
She lets go of him. He is clearly wrestling with himself.
And he does look different. Is this what him dropping the mask looks like?
It is more than just his facial expression, it is his entire posture. Even wounded and half delirious with fever, Loki usually carries himself with no small amount of pride.
His eyes are so lost.
What the hell is going on?
“Just tell me, Loki”. Jane tries to disguise how alarmed she suddenly feels. His touch is the same, and yet it is like a stranger is taking over the man in front of her.
He inhales deeply and runs both his hands through his hair. Entirely without wincing as he lifts his elbows above his chest, she notices.
“Okay”, he begins. “Jane…” (the way he says her name, like he is tasting the word) “…you have every right to hate me for what I’m about to tell you. I truly deserve nothing less.”
She feels the tears welling up.
“I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Her voice breaks and Loki has the audacity to look taken aback.
“Are you being dragged back to Asgard, or are you dumping me? After trying so hard to get into my pants?!”
It comes out way too harshly, and Loki appears genuinely flummoxed.
Also, his face has gone red.
“Oh, Jane, no, he’s not going to… He won’t leave. I mean- ”
“What?” A chill runs down her spine.
“’He’? ‘He’ who? Thor?”
Before he can answer, they both jump a little as her phone suddenly goes off in her bag by the door.
That inane ringtone.
She still has not changed it.
Erik. She promised she’d let him know as soon as …
Jane wants to ignore it, but then her mentor will most likely keep calling and she cannot put it on silent from the couch. Loki probably could though, but she is not about to ask.
“Wait”. She holds up a hand and gets up.
While rummaging in the bag, a single tear runs down her cheek. No. She will keep her composure and listen to what he has to say like the commonsensical grown-up woman that she is.
Was.
She’s only just begun to get to know him properly, so why does it feel like she won’t be able to live without him?
She pulls out the damn phone and presses the button on the side.
The she straightens up again and turns. “Okay, Loki …”
Jane gasps.
The room is dark. And empty.
No, he didn’t!
“Loki!”
No answer.
She stalks over to the couch and frantically looks around. Nothing.
“Loki, don’t you dare!”
The phone vibrates in her hand. Shaking all over, Jane answers the call. “Erik?”. Her voice is very small. “Yes, hi, Jane, it’s me. Listen, has Loki gotten back yet?”
She starts crying. “Erik, he left. He was here when I came home and just now, he disappeared! He didn’t even say goodbye.”
She can hear how desperate she sounds.
“What do you mean ‘disappeared’?” Erik sounds confused.
“He is gone! I turned my back on him for one second and he vanished!” Jane’s voice breaks.
“Look, Jane, I really can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe you misunderstood him? He came to see me not two hours ago after that thing with Thor and, well, let’s just say he went out of his way to make a case for himself. And you…”
“What? What did he- ”
“Jane?” Darcy’s voice cuts through. She must have taken the phone from Erik. “The lunatic is absolutely batshit crazy about you, okay? Stop blubbering. He’s probably just bored and fucking with you since you’re not actually f- ”
“Okay, that’s enough!” Muffled sounds, as Erik wrestles the phone back.
“Come on over, Jane, okay? We’re all still at the lab. Ian’s made tortillas if you can believe it”.
“But…” Jane wavers. Is Loki really playing a joke on her?
Erik is not taking no for answer: “Jane, don’t indulge these little games of his, okay? Come have dinner with us, and I’ll tell you what he told me before. And if he isn’t back later tonight, it’ll be my pleasure to enlist Thor to beat the crap out of him. It’s long overdue”.
Despite herself, Jane cannot help but smile.
“Okay. I’m coming over”. She exhales. The feeling of unease is subsiding a bit.
“Good girl”, Erik says. “Tell her to bring beer!” Darcy shouts from somewhere in background.
Jane hangs up and puts on her boots again. Loki and Erik had an actual conversation with no casualties?
She grabs her jacket and slams the front door behind her.
He really is infuriating, that prince of hers.
If he turns up later, she will make him pay dearly for scaring her.
No making out for a week.
(Yeah, right.)
To be continued in part 7 ....
This was supposed to have been the final chapter. Only 'someone' needed extra time star gazing. Please forgive me him!
#shine a light#lokane#loki series#lokane ff#lokane fanfic#tva loki#loki x jane#jane foster#loki#loki fanfic#loki ff#plainlo inthemorning#shine a light fic#loki show
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Vikings fanfic - Without Words
A week or so ago I posted this ficlet based on a prompt about Ivar losing his hearing. I expanded upon it and it grew into this 6K word fanfic...
(Ivar/OC in the latter half)
Writer does not have hearing loss, and I apologise for any inaccuracies. If anything is really bad, let me know and I will try to put it right.
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It is so subtle at first that he almost doesn’t notice; a misheard word here, an accusation of not paying attention there, the occasional smirk from Hvitserk as he repeats whatever he had said, enunciating to the point of ridiculousness for comedic effect. For a long time, Ivar dismisses it, passing it off as tiredness, or distractedness, or assuming that the noise around him is too loud and that everybody is having the same difficulty. For a time, it isn’t a problem.
But, as things have an unfortunate tendency to do, it grows worse until not only does he know, without a shadow of a doubt, what is happening to him, but despite his best efforts, other people begin to notice too.
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“What’s going on with you?” Hvitserk asks him one evening as they relax among groups of men drinking and feasting in the great hall at Kattegat. Once, Ivar would have been sitting on one of the thrones overlooking the room, leading the celebration yet at the same time apart from it. No more. Now, he sits on a long bench, next to his brother, with a cup of ale in one hand, and the hum of conversation all around him. Everywhere he looks, people are drinking and celebrating, singing and shouting, and Ivar struggles to make out his brother’s words over the background noise.
But he does make it out, and the words -- the confirmation that Hvitserk knows, sends a shiver down his spine.
He turns to look at his brother for a moment, temporarily lost for words, caught between two possible responses; he can either feign confusion and deny that anything is wrong, carry on pretending for a few more weeks, or he can answer his brother’s question. After all, it has been getting progressively worse, and eventually it will be impossible to deny it.
Of course there is always the possibility, however slim, that he is mistaken about the meaning of his brother’s question, and that Hvitserk is asking him about something else...
“Did you hear me?” Hvitserk asks him. There is genuine concern on his face, and in that moment Ivar realises that there is no option to deny it. The worst part is, he doesn’t hear that question. He simply pieces it together from the fragments of words that he does make out, the expression on Hvitserk’s face, and the shapes that his brother’s lips make as he speaks.
Unable to bring himself to reply, Ivar nods mutely.
“Then tell me,” Hvitserk insists. He leans forward, closer to Ivar, either to convey the urgency of the conversation, or to ensure that Ivar can hear his words, Ivar isn’t sure.
Ivar hesitates. It seems pointless; Hvitserk clearly knows, and as Ivar has no idea what is causing the problem, or what he can do about it, telling him feels like an exercise in futility. Worse, it feels like an admission of weakness.
He feels a stab of anger and frustration at the situation, at the unfairness of it, and at Hvitserk’s lack of thought. After all, if his brother had actually thought about it, he might have chosen to have this conversation almost anywhere else. Somewhere more private, and somewhere where the ambient sounds did not blur into one overpowering wave that drowned out his words.
“Ivar…” Hvitserk says, and Ivar realises with a thrill of horror that although he sees it, recognising the familiar shape of his name on Hvitserk’s lips, he doesn’t hear the word at all.
He takes a deep breath, then instead of attempting a reply, he reaches for his crutch, pushes himself to his feet, and escapes the room as quickly as he can, leaving Hvitserk to watch him go.
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Ivar sits on a large rock on the land just outside of Kattegat, and shivers in the chill air. It is not yet winter, but he can feel the season lurking around the corner, waiting for its moment. Any day now, he expects to see the first flakes of snow.
He has never liked the snow. Even now that his braces and his crutch allow him to walk, and he no longer needs to suffer the indignity and discomfort of crawling through it when it is shallow enough, or being carried when it is not, its presence makes it so much more difficult to move around. But for now, the ground is clear, and that allows him the opportunity to escape the city, and make his way, alone and unaided, into the edge of the woods where he and his brothers had once used to play.
He closes his eyes, and listens to the world around him. Although the wind blows hard and cold around his ears, he cannot hear it. Neither can he hear the rustle in the leaves and the needles of the trees that surround him. Somewhere high above, a bird makes a high-pitched cry, and that is exactly as clear as it should be. Other than that, outside of the city and away from the sounds of people, he finds himself faced with an eerie silence.
He shivers again, and this time it has nothing to do with the chill in the air.
It is getting worse. Already, struggles to make out words. He mishears and misunderstands, and when the sounds around him grow too loud, they chase words away, force them to disappear into the background where he has no hope of hearing them. Even when it is quiet, some voices, those of certain pitches, are almost lost to him.
He wonders how long it will be before the whole world fades into a permanent silence, and he wonders what he will do then.
He feels the need to speak now, or to clap his hands, to whistle; anything to break the silence and to reassure himself that he can hear. He wants to scream to the gods; beg them to make it stop. He would offer them any sacrifice they desired, if only they would grant him that one favour, but he has tried, and they were uninterested.
He wants to cry, but at the same time a part of him wants to laugh at the irony. After so long; a whole lifetime, of learning to accept the truth of who he is, of what he is, it seems so unfair that this should happen now.
He senses the hand of Loki in the timing.
He resists the urge to make a sound. Instead, he does nothing. Instead, he sits, listening to the silence; facing it head on, as he would any enemy. If this is to be his future, he needs to be ready for it.
He does not believe that he ever will be.
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“You will have to talk about it eventually, you do realise that, right?”
For quite some time, Hvitserk had been looking as though he had something to say, and for just as long, Ivar had been carefully avoiding his gaze, refusing to make eye contact, and talking about other things, in the hopes that his brother might either forget, or decide to put off the conversation for another time.
No such luck, apparently.
He should not be surprised. It has been almost a full month since Hvitserk’s last attempt, and in that time, although the situation had grown only slightly worse, it had certainly grown no better.
Ivar picks up his drink from the table and takes a swig, still studiously avoiding Hvitserk’s eye. He does not react, as though he had not heard him speak. It is a plausible enough lie, anyway.
“Ivar…” A hand touched his arm, just where the first strap of his leather glove fastens tightly around his wrist. Ivar flinches at the unexpected contact and, before he can stop himself, turns to look at his brother.
Hvitserk says nothing else. Instead, he simply looks at Ivar searchingly, waiting.
“Why?” Ivar asks, when he can bear it no longer. “Why must I talk about it?” After all, the problem is his, not Hvitserk’s, or anybody else’s for that matter.
“So, you did hear me,” Hvitserk says. He picks up his own cup and takes a sip of his water -- he does not drink ale or mead any more, for fear that he might slip back into old habits. That is something else that they do not talk about. There are so many subjects that they avoid by this point, that Ivar has almost lost track. He does not understand why this should be any different.
Ivar glares at him. “Of course I heard you,” he says. “It’s quiet in here. You are the only one speaking.”
Hvitserk frowns, then glances around them. Ivar follows his gaze, realising as he does, something that he should have noticed earlier; that cannot possibly be true. There are other people in the room, and they must be talking and laughing together, sharing stories, making bets, and doing what people do when they come together at the end of the day. Ivar tries to hear them, but other than a vague hum, the room is almost silent.
He feels shame, and he does not know why. He has never been embarrassed by his limitations. But of course, this is different, because this is new, and he does not know how to deal with it.
Suddenly, he feels the overwhelming need to leave. He needs, desperately, to be anywhere other than here in this room, having this conversation. The air feels thin, as though it is suffocating him, and the room is too warm, and too full, and too… He reaches for his crutch, propped against the bench between himself and Hvitserk, but Hvitserk, uninhibited by ale, moves faster than him, and gets there first. He snatches the crutch out of the way before Ivar’s fingers can make contact with it.
“Don’t do that again, Ivar,” Hvitserk tells him. “Please.”
For a moment, Ivar stares at his brother in disbelief, struggling to process what is happening. A sudden surge of anger washes over him, and before he allows himself time to think, he makes his hand into a fist, and throws a punch to the side of Hvitserk’s head.
Hvitserk cries out in pain at the unexpected blow. He falls to the side, but manages to catch himself on the edge of the table before he lands on the ground. Still, the moment of disorientation gives Ivar the opportunity he needs and he slides backward from the bench onto the floor. His legs, held rigid by his braces, make it more difficult to maneuvere on the ground than it ordinarily would be, but still he quickly positions himself behind Hvitserk, grabs him by the waist of his pants, and pulls him to the ground with a swift tug.
Hvitserk hits the ground so hard that Ivar hears the impact. Ivar reaches across his brother, digging an elbow hard into his stomach as he does, and grabs his crutch from where it had landed on the ground.
“This is mine,” he says. “Don’t touch it.”
For a moment, he thinks that Hvitserk is going to fight back, but he doesn’t. Instead, he drops his arms to his side, and remains where he is, laying on his back on the floor, with the eyes of a dozen men staring down at him with varying expressions of amusement and pity. Hvitserk nods. “Okay,” says the shape that his lips make, and Ivar does not know whether he cannot hear him because Hvitserk is winded by the fall, or whether it is his ears failing him again.
He supposes it doesn’t matter; he knows that he has made his point.
He uses the bench to pull himself into a seated position on the floor, and then presses one palm hard into the wooden surface to lift himself to sit on the bench, while levering himself to his feet using the crutch.
He tugs his tunic to straighten it after their scuffle, then looks down at Hvitserk, still staring up at him from the ground. Finally, he turns, and makes his way out of the building, feeling wary eyes on him as he goes.
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The streets of Kattegat are lit only by moonlight, and Ivar walks more slowly than usual, careful to avoid any unseen obstacles that might get caught under his feet or crutch and cause him to fall. Unfortunately his slow progress means that Hvitserk catches up to him with ease.
He gets a perverse sense of satisfaction from the fact that his brother is noticeably limping. He is holding his back rigid, in response to the impact from his unexpected fall to the floor. He is really going to feel that in the morning.
Good.
“I’m sorry,” Hvitserk tells him, and this time Ivar can hear him clearly. He might have ignored him, if not for the fact that he wants Hvitserk to know that his humiliation has been noted.
He shakes his head. “I imagine you are only sorry that your crippled younger brother can overpower you in a fight,” he says.
“No, that’s not… You’ve always been able to do that.” Hvitserk told him, and Ivar smiles, because it was true. “I’m sorry I took your crutch. It wasn’t fair. I just didn’t want you to run away again.”
Ivar allows his lips to quirk into a smile, and he shakes his head. “I have never in my life been able to run away, Hvitserk,” he says.
“You know what I mean.”
He does. And Hvitserk is right; he has been avoiding the subject, not only avoiding the discussion of it, but avoiding thinking about it. He has allowed it to exist in the recesses of his mind, lurking like some monster from legends, appeasing it by occasionally allowing it to drag his thoughts into dark directions, but for the most part dodging and hiding from it.
He has been on the run. And Hvitserk is right; perhaps it is time.
He stops walking and turns to face his brother. He takes a slow, deep, breath and leans heavily on his crutch for support, and when he feels ready, finds Hvitserk’s eyes with his own. “I…” he begins, but words fail him. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know how to begin.
There is no need to say the words out loud; to tell Hvitserk that there is something wrong with his hearing. It would not help, and he is acutely, painfully aware that Hvitserk already knows what is happening. He would not be surprised if everybody in town knew. It must have been obvious to them for months.
“I…” he tries again, and again he is forced to stop. His throat closes, as though to physically force him to keep the thoughts in his head to himself. It would be equally pointless to admit that he is afraid; that sometimes he would wake in the middle of the night to complete silence, and that for a moment he cannot breathe. He cannot tell Hvitserk that at times like that, he speaks to himself simply for the reassurance that he can still hear the sound of his own voice.
Words have always been his power. His mind, and the ability to express the thoughts in his head, to convince others to see things his way, and to bring them around to his way of thinking, are an important part of how he sees himself. If he cannot hear, he does not know how he is supposed to do anything. He does not know how he can be anything.
He feels the hands tightly gripping his crutch begin to tremble as grief threatens to overwhelm him, and he shakes his head, because even if he could bring himself to speak, he can’t think of a single thing to say.
He does not notice that Hvitserk has moved until he feels his brother’s arms around him, holding him tightly, holding him upright and embracing him until the moment of weakness passes. Part of Ivar wants to shake him off, to push him away and insist that he is fine, but he does not, in part because he still does not trust himself to speak, and in part because it feels wonderful, even for a moment, not to feel alone.
He barely even notices when the tears begin to fall, or when the words start to flow from his lips as he tells his brother everything that he has tried not to think about for months. Neither does if fully register when Hvitserk takes his arm and drapes it around his back, supporting him as they slowly walk home together.
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Ivar wakes suddenly, pulled to instant alertness by the realisation that he is not alone; somebody is in the room with him. He reaches under his pillow for the knife that he keeps there, and it is not until his fingers close around the reassuring shape of the hilt, that he looks around the room.
Hvitserk is standing over him, with an excited grin on his face, and for a moment, Ivar can’t decide whether to relax because it doesn’t look like his brother is a threat, or to pull out the knife and threaten Hvitserk for having the audacity to creep into his bedchamber as he slept.
Although, he has done the same thing to Hvitserk before, on more than one occasion. So perhaps he will forgive it. Once.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
Even his own voice sounds wrong now, still audible, but different. As though his ears are filled with water that he needs to let out. He resists the urge to raise a hand to his ears and rub at them, to try to clear the obstruction. He knows from experience that it will make no difference. He has not mentioned this new change to Hvitserk, not yet, although he feels as though he probably should.
Hvitserk’s voice, too, sounds altered. Muffled, with certain words partially or completely fading into near-silence. Ivar keeps his gaze trained on his brother’s lips as he replies. It helps, a little, but not much. The worse his hearing grows, the more he realises that he does not know how to read lips.
“There’s somebody I want you to meet,” Hvitserk tells him. He speaks slowly, clearly enunciating his words to ensure that Ivar understands.
Ivar frowns at him. His head and his stomach both feel a little delicate, and although his sober brother might have been up since dawn, Ivar needs a little longer to come back to himself
Hvitserk sits himself down on Ivar’s bed as though it were his own, and Ivar feels his frown morph into a scowl. “Please,” he tells him, “Make yourself comfortable.” Even to his own, failing, ears, his voice drips with sarcasm, but Hvitserk either does not pick up on it, or chooses to ignore it.
“She’s a merchant’s daughter,” he continues. “I met her this ...something... the market when she was helping her father with ...something…” As Hvitserk continues to speak, his words grow quicker and less pronounced, they begin to blur together, and Ivar begins to miss things.
Again, it is something that he should probably mention, but something that he chooses not to. He can fill in the blanks for himself most of the time. He frowns. “I am not looking for a woman at the moment,” he says.
Hvitserk laughs. “You might want to meet her anyway,” he says. “Both of us. We …something… her and her father. Today at noon.”
Ivar watches Hvitserk thoughtfully for a moment. He had missed a little of what his brother had said, but he does not think that it was important. Still, there was something else happening here, something that Hvitserk had neglected to add. He reaches up above his head to clasp the chain that hangs above his bed with a strong hand, and pulls himself into a seated position, then pushes off the furs that cover him, and moves his legs over the edge of the bed to sit next to Hvitserk. “What are you not telling me?” he asks.
Hvitserk smiles knowingly. “She can’t hear,” he says.
Ivar looks at him for a moment, waiting for Hvitserk to say something else, but he does not. He frowns. “And you thought I might like to talk to her about it?” he says. His lips quirk into an approximation of a smile. “There might be a problem with that idea, brother…”
Hvitserk shakes his head. “There isn’t, actually,” he says. “You will see.”
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She speaks with her hands.
They both do; father and daughter alike. Ivar watches, fascinated, as the two of them hold a conversation without saying a word. Although he has seen people use gestures to express themselves before, he has never seen anything quite like this. He watches, fascinated, unable to look away. Standing to his side, Hvitserk gives him a quick nudge with his elbow as though to say ‘I told you so’, and grins.
Now he understands why Hvitserk was so eager for him to meet these people. He thinks as he watches, trying to calculate exactly how useful this skill would be to him. After all, he has never seen it before, and so he doubts that he could use it to speak to other people in the town. Perhaps Hvitserk would learn it too, but that would leave him dependent on his brother, and that is something that he does not want.
Hvitserk turns to speak to the older man, whose hands dance before him as he translates the words for his daughter. Hvitserk’s words are carried away on the wind, and Ivar does not catch what is said. He finds himself watching, without comprehension, the movement of the man’s hands. Every subtle move of a finger, the way that his hands come together, the speed and the direction of movement, all appear to carry meaning.
He does not know whether he would even be able to learn it, but to try and to fail might be worse than never to have tried at all.
The woman’s brow furrows into a frown, and she turns to look at him. She is a little younger than him, but old enough that she would almost certainly be married by now, if not for the fact that she could not hear. She looks at him closely, and he looks back, watching as her eyes drift downward, from the braids in his hair, to the blue in his eyes. Her gaze lingers on his face, taking in every line, and every scar as though they are somehow important and worthy of committing to memory. Eventually, she moves her gaze downward, until it settles on the braces he wears on his legs to allow him to stand, and his crutch, which rests underneath his arm.
It feels strange to be so… seen. As though she is not only looking at him, but also through him; seeing everything that he is, and everything that he has ever been. He feels almost naked under the sheer force of her scrutiny, yet it is not an entirely uncomfortable sensation.
Still, he finds himself looking away, unable to meet the clear blue of her eyes.
After a moment she raises her hands, and makes a series of gestures in his direction, punctuated with a nod and a smile.
The old man steps forward. “My daughter says that she is happy to meet you, Ivar the Boneless,” he says. He speaks loudly and precisely enough that Ivar does not miss a thing. “And that if you wish, we would be honoured to teach you and your brother how to speak without words.”
Ivar hesitates. He still does not know whether this is something that he wants to do. He has noticed lately that the deterioration in his hearing has slowed. Perhaps it will stop. Of course, even if it does, he has already lost so much that he has no choice but to recognise that this will be useful, but even then, it will only be useful up to a point.
He glances in Hvitserk’s direction, and it is clear to him that his brother has already decided what they should do. Hvitserk shrugs. “It’s just another language,” he says. “You’ve always been good at them. Lipreading will only get you so far, and you are fairly bad at it.”
“I am not…” Ivar begins, then stops. It occurs to him that he may have given away more about his hearing loss than he had intended, in missed words and misunderstandings. Still, he cannot let that go unrebuked. “You, on the other hand, are terrible at languages,” he says. It is not entirely true, but Hvitserk has never had Ivar’s knack for them. “What use will this… gesture language be to me if you cannot translate for me?”
Hvitserk frowned. “It might be better than nothing,” he said. “Which is what you have now.”
Ivar glanced back at the old man and his daughter. He hated when Hvitserk was right.
“My hearing might not get any worse,” Ivar tries.
But it will. He knows that. Whether he will lose all the sounds around him or not, he does not know. What he does now is that in life, just as in battle, it is better to be prepared for all eventualities, and so while he does not relish the possibility that he may be able to speak with only three people in the whole of Kattegat, he supposes it would be better than none.
Hvitserk turns away from the woman and her father, placing his back to them and his face to Ivar. He speaks, his lips move, but silently, slowly, enunciating clearly. Ivar hears nothing, and suspects that there is in fact no sound to hear. “You are being rude,” Hvitserk tells him.
Ivar rolls his eyes, then reaches out and pushes Hvitserk out of the way so that he can speak to the man. “Fine,” he says. “I will do it.”
“Don’t tell me,” the man says He indicates in his daughter’s direction with a wave of his hand.
Ivar hesitates. He does not know how to speak to the deaf woman.
“Like this,” her father tells him, and begins to make a series of gestures. He moves much more slowly and deliberately than he had when he had spoken to his daughter. After each movement, he pauses, and waits for Ivar to copy.
Ivar grimaces. He props his crutch underneath his arm for balance, and awkwardly repeats the signs with no real understanding of what he is saying, but the girl smiles in response.
Perhaps what her father had told him to say was a little more enthusiastic than the way that Ivar had spoken to him. That may have been for the best, but he did not appreciate words being put into his mouth… or his hands.
And he supposed that that alone was as good a reason as any to learn.
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Her name, he learns, is Astrid, although that is not the name that she thinks of as hers. Her name is also a gesture, one created by her father, and which has no literal translation in spoken words. It is a variation on the sign that she taught him means ‘love’, or ‘loved’, and it is the name by which Ivar thinks of her.
Hvitserk had been wrong, or perhaps just overly optimistic, when he had said that the language of gestures would be just like any other language. It is not. He cannot call upon similar words from his own tongue, or from others that he has picked up along the way. He cannot listen for similarities in the sounds, or shared meanings between words based in shared older languages, and allow his mind to make connections that fix the new vocabulary into his memory. Instead, he feels like a young child, discovering language for the first time, and being taught the most basic ways to express himself.
It is slow, and frustrating, and there are times when he feels so angry that he wants to scream, but as time passes, and more of the language falls into place, it is also wonderful.
Ivar signs clumsily at first. They rely on on her father to translate each new word into spoken language, or back again, but as time goes on, he realises that they no longer need a translator, and that he and Astrid can communicate alone, with her explaining the meaning behind the words that he does not know, using those that he does.
The language is not enough for him, though. It is incomplete. Although it serves its purpose; allows communication without spoken words, it does little else. There is no room for subtleties or for the clever wordplays that he has always enjoyed. There are words, and sometimes entire subjects for which she has no translation; words for which a merchant and his daughter would have had no use.
Ivar makes it his mission to find them, and to eliminate them, and so he spends weeks explaining words and concepts to her using his basic knowledge of her language, improving a little every day, as he seeks out blank spots which he can fill. Together, Ivar and Hvitserk begin to create new words, and Ivar takes great pleasure in becoming the teacher for a moment. She laughs, and occasionally blushes, as he clumsily explains words which a father and daughter would have no need to say to one another.
He loves the sound of her laugh.
When they are done with their lessons each day, they walk together through the streets of Kattegat, or sit together and speak without words. Sometimes, Ivar helps on her father’s market stall, and he feels no shame for working at what he would once have considered such a lowly task.
As his knowledge and understanding of the new language grows, conversation flows more easily between them. They no longer need to stop every few words for an explanation or a reminder of the meaning of a sign, and Ivar’s confidence to express himself increases. There are times when it feels easier to speak with his hands than it ever did to use his voice. He finds himself discussing things that he has rarely spoken of to anybody before, even Hvitserk.
He tells her about the deaths of his parents, so close together that he barely had the time to process one loss before he was hit with a second. He speaks about the pain he feels in his legs every day, and how walking makes it so much worse, but how he does not care, and he will not stop. He tells her, with hands clumsy with emotion now, rather than inexperience, about the guilt he carries with him for the things that he has done, and the people that he has hurt. He tells her about the child that he left behind in Rus, and how he wishes more than anything that one day he will see him.
She responds in kind. She tells him about her mother, who died giving birth to her younger brother, who did not survive. She speaks of the loneliness that she felt growing up, and even as an adult, because until she had met him, she had nobody but her father that she could speak to. She tells him how she had lived in fear of the day that he would die, leaving her completely alone.
Ivar holds her then, and promises her that she will never be alone again, and he means it.
His hearing deteriorates further, as he had known that it would, but it slows, and sounds do not abandon him completely. Not yet. He does not know whether it is a temporary reprieve and that it will begin to fade again one day, or whether the gods have chosen to spare him the silence. He finds, to his surprise, that he does not mind either way. He appreciates the fact that spoken words are not lost to him, but the idea of silence no longer frightens him as it once did.
He waits to see what the gods have in store for him.
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When he and Hvitserk speak now, it is often in a combination of gestures and spoken words. Words fill the gaps for which they have no sign, and Ivar remembers each one to ask her about later, or to come up with one of his own. Spoken words, too, are used for him to practise lipreading; he does not wish to lose his ability to understand. He does not wish to have to rely on anybody but himself.
One afternoon, as the sun sets, Ivar and Hvitserk sit together, watching the loading and unloading of ships. Ivar can no longer hear the gentle sound of the water hitting the sides of the ships, but the noise of the loading and unloading is clear even from a distance, as is the occasional shouted word or command from a captain trying to get his ship ready to leave.
As Ivar stares out over the dark blue water of the fjord as it reflects the evening sky, Hvitserk nudges him gently with an elbow to get his attention. When Ivar turns to look at him, his brother is smiling widely.
Ivar gives him a questioning gesture. “What?” he says out loud, at the same time.
Hvitserk’s smile grows wider still. “I was just thinking,” he tells him. Speaking only with his hands, “about how reluctant you were to learn this. Now look at you.”
Ivar frowns. “What are you talking about, Hvitserk?” he asks. He speaks with his voice, but feels his hands making the appropriate gestures as he does. Force of habit, he supposes.
“You’re happy,” Hvitserk tells him. “You were sitting there, staring out to sea, smiling… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so…” he pauses, then switches to a spoken word. “So content.”
Ivar nods, partly to concede that Hvitserk is right, and also to agree that he has no sign for that word, and that he needs one. ‘Happy’, is the closest one that he knows, but contentment is different. It is a sense of completeness too, and happiness falls short in comparison. Whatever it is that he feels, he likes it. It is something he has been searching for his entire life.
“I’m going to ask her to marry me,” he says.
Hvitserk laughs, and nods his head. “I know you are,” he says. “I was wondering when you were going to figure it out.”
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The sound of the baby’s cry breaks through the silence of the bedchamber and Ivar, well tuned to the sound of his son’s cries, comes to instant alertness. The room is lit by an oil lamp that they leave burning throughout the night; a concession to the fact that it is difficult to talk with one's hands when it is too dark to see.
Ivar props himself up onto his elbows to allow him to peer into the crib at the end of the bed, where his son lays. Seeing his father looking at him, the baby’s cries increase in volume, and he raises chubby, milk-fed arms in his direction.
Ivar smiles. “Why are you making so much noise?” he asks. “If I can hear you this much, you will wake the whole city.”
The baby stares at him imploringly, and Ivar sighs. He reaches for the chain that hangs above his bed, and uses it to pull himself into a seated position. “I am coming, you will need to be patient,” he tells him. “I am not as quick as your mother.”
Next to him, his wife stirs slightly, disturbed, no doubt, by the movement of the bed. Ivar pushes off the furs that cover them for warmth, and moves himself to the foot of the bed. The baby waits impatiently, but his cries fade as he watches his father make his way slowly to a safe position to lift him from the crib.
Ivar’s fingertips gently brush his son’s cheek, marvelling at the smoothness of the skin, before he scoops him out of the crib and cradles him in his arms. “There, see? Now you are quiet. Whatever it was that was bothering you, it cannot have been so bad, can it?” he whispers. He rocks his son gently back and forth, humming a song that he remembers his mother singing to him once. He can barely hear himself, but the sound, or perhaps the vibrations in his chest, soothe the baby, and after a few moments, his son’s eyes begin to close.
Behind him, he feels his wife still stirring. He turns to see at her as she rolls over, then sits up to look at the two of them. She smiles and pulls sleepy hands from underneath the furs to ask if everything is okay.
Ivar nods. He signs awkwardly, relying on one hand more than the other, around their sleeping son, to tell her that everything is perfect. Then, moving slowly and carefully so as not to disturb him again, he places the baby back into the crib, then moves himself back up the bed and underneath the furs.
His wife edges a little closer to him, pressing her body against his underneath the covers, and closes her eyes again. On her lips she wears a contented smile, and Ivar knows exactly how she feels.
He feels exactly the same way.
#vikings#vikings fanfic#vikings fanfiction#ivar the boneless#ivar ragnarsson#hvitserk ragnarsson#ivar/oc
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Penzey Spices -- loves Loki!
Bill Penzey, owner of Penzey Spices in Wisconsin, sent this to his online customers today. I thought it might be of interest to those of us who gather here:
Like everybody, Jeri and I look for shows to watch. Sometimes things are recommended, other times something just pops up and you give it a try. In that "just give it a try" category was the English version of Wallander. It’s well acted and you care about the characters but its four seasons really are a long, dark spiral. Ultimately, in the very last moment it ends in a way as a cook I think you would appreciate, but the road there is hard. If you were to watch it you should give serious thought to watching the episodes in backward order, that way the show’s arc would be ever more hopeful, ever brighter.
Somewhere watching the show, towards the end of the first season or beginning of the second, I actually paused the show and said to Jeri, “That guy.” As I pointed to one of the junior detectives in the back of the scene. “Why won’t someone give that guy a show? I could watch him read the phone book.” With the way he almost never got any lines this would mean him reading the phone book silently to himself, but I was okay with that. In the bleakest of shows he somehow managed to deliver humanity with just the look upon his face. Most every scene he was in became something better, something more decent just because he was there.
Flash forward 10-12 years and that actor, Tom Hiddleston, now does have his own show, Loki, on Disney+ and since the universe responded to my request, I feel obliged to put in a plug for it. Plus, it’s starting to cook. New episodes air every Wednesday. Last week’s episode was a breakthrough and in many ways was a retelling of the Grinch story where Loki’s heart grows not one, not two, but three times larger simply by coming to understand firsthand he is someone worth loving. In some ways it reminded me of the also very worthwhile Elton John biopic Rocketman. Good stuff all around.
And of course this is one of those shows with a mystery behind about who really is in charge and what they really are up to and those shows never end with viewers happy with the big reveal. As I was explaining to the kids just last week, as much as it may well seem like naming a street after a living person is a really good idea, in the moment it rarely is. But even if, as hinted at, Loki only gets this “one brief shining moment” to be good and find happiness within the Marvel Universe, it’s still a good moment to be a part of. Obviously Loki has some work ahead of him and obstacles to overcome if he is to prove he is indeed a good friend to Möbius, but I’m rooting for him.
Earlier in the season in a restaurant scene that wasn’t really a restaurant scene, there was a discussion over what to order and one of the options was potato skins. This started a discussion in the Penzey house. Jeri and I will be married 19 years next month and to the best of our recollections in all those years I’ve never made her potato skins. The kids have never even had them. So, start with larger baked potatoes the way you like to bake them. If you are new to baking potatoes, wash them, poke them with a fork 8-9 times all around and then place them in a 400-degree oven for about an hour turning once while baking. They are done when they “give” when squeezed, or if you prefer to use a thermometer when the center reaches 205 degrees.
You can bake these a day in advance, but they are even better the same day. Let them cool for a bit and then cut potatoes into thirds lengthwise (this is the fun bit :) ) then scoop out the center part of the potato leaving about 3/8ths of an inch of potato still attached to the skin. In the old days I would butter the inner part of the potato, now it’s a drizzle of olive oil. There are trade-offs in life. Then a good sprinkling of Sandwich Sprinkle followed by the shredded cheese of your choice. Inspired by Loki visiting 1985 Oshkosh, Wisconsin in the second episode, I went with three cheeses: mozzarella, 2-year Cheddar, and pepper Jack. Wisconsin is fun.
Next comes bacon or no bacon. Usually I’m not a crispy bacon kind of person, but for this if you want to use it, precooking it to crispy and then crumbling is the way to go. And if you picked up the Potato of Love as part of our June Rainbow Pride giveaway, this is a really good spot to use those. Then it’s just a matter of placing them in the oven until they reach your desired level of melty. I like them just a little bit browned, but the kids had not had them before and we wanted these to be liked.
While they cooked I mixed 1 tsp. Justice Seasoning with 1/4 cup Sour Cream and Jeri cut up and lightly mashed a medium avocado to which we added 1 and 1/2 tsp. Salsa & Pico Seasoning and served these on the side. We had a hit! Jeri said we should do these more often. And Grandma Ruth, who loves nothing more than sacrificing for her grandkids, quickly grabbed seconds before the kids even noticed the supply wasn’t endless. This made me so happy!
If you have access to Disney+ please consider giving Loki a try. To get people to cook they have to see the value in caring for one another. There’s not a lot of shows out there that radiate this. Ultimately as the show itself says: “Most things in history are kind of dumb and everything gets ruined eventually.” But for now we have Camelot quotes and DB Cooper and people caring about each other.
And if a segment of this year’s Emmys is to be Tom Hiddleston, Owen Wilson and Sophia Di Martino quietly reading the phone book to themselves I would be good with that. But Wilson has a whisper like no other. They probably should consider using that. And maybe if Wunmi Mosaku was up there with them as the one who isn’t getting many lines now but should have her own show ten years from now, that would be good as well. Progress matters.
Thanks for reading, thanks for being our customer,
Bill
[email protected]
P.S. If this email did not come from us directly but was forwarded by a friend, would you please consider signing up for our email list? A business is only as good as its customers and you would make us even better. Thanks!
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What a fantastic read! Thank you, @honeyfromtheweed.
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