#I imagine like back when the Ancients were still around and Sig was only who could see through Moonie's tired smile

[tanyabadtime159]

Well this day already started great! Woke up to see these sillies! ❤🥺

Further exploiting my Lilypad's height difference while I try to get back in the mood for drawing. And oddly enough, it's actually the first time I've drawn them sharing a kiss!

[vislorrturlough]

Scaramouche!

"Of course, this assumption of responsibility does not mean that we are not conditioned genetically, culturally, and socially. It means that we know ourselves to be conditioned but not determined. It means recognizing that History is time filled with possibility and not inexorably determined-that the future is problematic and not already decided, fatalistically."

- Paulo Friere

For as long as Loki can remember, tapestries have lined the walls of Asgard's palace.

When Loki was a child, the Allmother sat by his bed one night and explained the significance of the tapestries that lined the walls of their home.

“The Norns weave the tapestry that assigns our roles,” she told him. “So that we may fulfill our fate and serve Midgard as we are meant to.”

The tapestries stretched across all the walls of the palace, covering vast miles of golden wall with breathtaking imagery depicting life and death and love and hate and everything in between. They pictured Loki too, who moved from boy to tragedy to a vicious and cruel man.

“So I have a role too? And Thor?” he asked. She smiled at him with fondness. The Thor on the tapestries seemed brave and strong - Loki could never imagine his brother, still a boy himself, to become that hulk of a man someday.

“Of course, Loki,” she said. “We all have roles. I am a mother, and a magician. Thor will be a great hero. Your father, a beloved and wise king. This is what is sewn into our destiny, to be enacted until Ragnarok and again after that. In a cycle, unending and unwavering.”

He yawned, obscuring the nervousness bubbling in his chest and curling the silken covers around his shoulders. He knew what the tapestries said Loki would do. He had hoped that maybe - “What’s my fate, mother?” he asked quietly.

Her smile, previously relaxed, became firm and serious. His heart was racing, thinking of that man, and of the awful cruelty that was depicted to come at his hands. “We all have a part to play, my dear. And every story has a villain for a reason.”

--

Despite common misconception, Loki Laufeyson never lived in the moment. In fact, Loki found the moment particularly difficult to pin down. Once you begin to think “Hey, I think this is the moment!” it wasn’t the moment anymore, and Loki already had four tabs open on his phone about the relativity of time and he didn’t need anymore.

Loki lived in the future, which was why he was that very moment getting his fair share of serotonin from the Schrödinger’s Night Out with Sigurd and Lorelei he was planning. 

“Sigurd definitely won’t come out if Lorelei isn’t,” he explained to Verity as he paced hurriedly around their absurdly fancy flat, which he paid for entirely and in return, Verity didn’t ask where he got all the money. “Which means I need Lorelei to agree first. One problem with that!”

“Lorelei hates you?” Verity asked, as she planted an orange tree in Stardew Valley.

“Lorelei hates me!” Loki agreed. “Which means I need to sweeten the pot.”

Verity glanced up at him suspiciously. “How are you going to do that?”

He grinned, and picked up a pen so he could start dramatically gesticulating. “Bisexual women! They’re always fascinated with me. And by the end of the evening, I’ll have established a system where I transport their attention from me to Lorelei and get her many dates. Like a Ford factory.”

She glared, turned back to her game. “You’re a walking hate crime.”

“Was that a lie, Verity?” he teased, collapsing on the couch and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She tried just barely to shrug him off. “Was it a lie when I said bi women are fascinated with me? Was it?”

Verity narrowed her eyes at him, but didn’t say anything, and in response he burst into cackles of laughter.

—

Lorelei claimed to be very insulted that Loki thought bisexual women liked him more than her, but he knew well that she knew well that she looked like the straightest girl alive and really, that was her own fault. Once Lorelei was a confirmed booking, Sigurd swiftly followed, because he’s nothing if not a simp, and thus Loki had now established the perfect evening. A pricey club, two people who could barely stand him, and himself. 

Although he never really enjoyed it. He’d never planned to.

Anticipation was a drug, really. And as previously established, the moment was very boring indeed. And this moment, Loki found himself crammed against Sigurd, who while very attractive and an owner of some very firm abs, was covered in sweat, and only slept with Loki when he was desperate anyway. Loki squinted up at him, and tried to figure out if he was desperate tonight.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” Sigurd shouted over the music. 

Loki smiled at him genially, and proceeded to turn quickly around and elbow his way to the smoking area.

The initial smack of fresh onto his face was divine. He closed his eyes and smiled in satisfaction, continuing to move forward. The music was more muted out here, and the sound of voices and laughter blurred into itself until nothing was anything anymore. Peace! The lights were all different shades of pink and green, and they cast an ethereal glow over the throngs of young people with cigarettes in their hands, all here, all living now.

Loki bumped into someone.

“Shit!” he yelped, watching in horror as  her cocktail spilt down her crop top. “I’m so sorry! Oh my God!”

She’d flinched a bit during the incident itself, but the alcohol had seemingly tempered any stronger reaction than that. Lightly brushing at her (now soaked) top, she only laughed lightly and smiled at him. “No worries, dude!”

He pulled out his best prince charming grin (practiced in the mirror and finely tuned). “Please, let me at least buy you another drink.”

“I’m not going to say no to a drink!” she laughed shyly, and they traipsed inside to the bar. Sigurd seemed to have vanished, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Lorelei getting very close to the DJ, so maybe if Loki had any luck he was crying in the gents or something. Usual affair, really.

He bought them both mojitos, and they fought their way back through the crowd to return to the smoking area. “I like your necklace,” he said, because his mother had always said women liked having their jewelry complimented. Sif had later said that they didn’t, but Sif was as much a woman as Loki was a man, so her opinion didn’t count.

The girl giggled. “Thanks, it’s a crucifix.”

“Oh sorry!” Loki said. “I’m not from around here. That’s the catholic thing right?”

“Do you guys not have catholicism in Britain?”

Ugh, mentioning Asgard would dance a bit too close to the possibility of ‘Oh man, anyone ever told you you look like Thor’s evil brother?’. Loki chuckled instead and rolled his eyes. “I was pretty sheltered. It was like, a weird cult?”

“Oh wow! That’s so interesting.” She had a sympathetic sort of look on her face, and Loki quickly buried the irritation that bubbled up in his chest. The sympathy wasn’t for Loki anyway, just some fake man who grew up in a cult. Did he think Asgard was a cult? God, he was glad he didn’t have a therapist

“Yeah, I don’t really believe in it now, you know?” he lied easily, smiling at her. “It’s hard to have faith when it’s like, you never see any proof.”

She nodded understandingly. “Yeah, lots of people say that nowadays, what with superheroes and Asgard and all. I don’t know, I kind of think the fact I don’t have proof makes it more important.”

“Oh yes?” Loki asked. “What do you mean by that?”

She looked up at the lights, placed her free hand on the crook of the elbow of the hand holding her drink. For a second, Loki saw ancient and revered philosophers! He decided that they’d had it all wrong. Screw the forums, they should’ve done all their philosophising in smoking areas.

“It means something, you know?” she explained slowly. “Like, of course we believe in the ground and the sky and all. Those are right in front of us, we can’t deny that. Same with science, or aliens, or Asgardians. But believing in God requires a certain kind of faith. I’m going beyond seeing and believing. I’m just believing. God has a plan for me, and I believe in that.”

Loki nodded slowly. A fate? One set, but controlled by a benevolent creature and entirely unknown? It wasn’t true or real of course, but there was a beauty to it, that Loki, who’s path was clear and determined, appreciated. The alcohol (he and Lorelei made a habit of spiking drinks they bought on earth with Asgardian liqueur, so they’d, you know, work) was beginning to blur his awareness anyway. “That’s beautiful,” he said kindly.

She giggled, quickly touching her necklace and looking at the ground. “Haha, sorry! I study theology, it’s kind of a thing.”

“No, no!” Loki laughed, giving her a wide grin. “It was very interesting! Where do you study?”

They got into a long conversation about Sarah’s (her name, Loki found out eventually) degree, NYU dorms and a guy she hated in her seminars, before he noticed Lorelei making a beeline towards him, her hand around Sigurd’s wrist. 

“Hey,” she said, before frowning at him and glancing at Sarah. “I’m going home with a girl named Angelica. She’s goth and plays bass. So you need to take Sig home.”

“I’m literally an ancient hero. Of legend,” Sigurd interjected.

Lorelei turned and glared at him instead. “Well, you need to take Loki home.”

“Oh well, come on then Sig!” Loki said loudly, ignoring his scowl. “Thank you for such a lovely conversation, Sarah darling. Have a nice night!”

“Thanks Luke!” she laughed, not being not obvious about checking Sigurd out. Oh God, she probably thought he was dating Loki. Yuck, how mortifying. “See you around!”

“Go get a taxi,” Lorelei told him, before wandering off to a girl with a septum piercing and docs, which Loki considered quite basic, especially for Lorelei.

They didn’t get a taxi. They walked five minutes until Loki ducked around a corner, ignored Sigurd saying “Aren’t we getting a taxi?” and grabbed his arm before dragging him through the spaces in between the universe and dropping him on the bean bag in his living room. A solitary pringles can rolled quietly and hit Loki’s foot.

“Ugh, you’re disgusting,” Loki muttered, kicking it away.

“I hate you,” Sigurd growled, pinching his nose and clearly trying not to throw up. Loki didn’t know why, it wouldn’t be any major downgrade from how the room was currently. “And I hate that. You’re such a fucking prick Loki.” 

Time to make his exit before Sigurd regained enough strength to cause him bodily harm. “Bye honey!” he trilled, and Sigurd’s growl was cut off as he made his way to his own apartment. He didn’t wake up Verity, she had work tomorrow, so he just kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed, surrendering to unconsciousness.

--

Verity and Loki had moved in together for two reasons. 

1) Loki spent most of his time at Verity’s. He had a separate shelf in her fridge for his energy drinks and his salsa, and a special place at the bottom of her spice cupboard for his snacks. He told Verity she had full ownership over all the snacks and could have them when he’d left, but she never did. Instead she got the little clip things she used and pinched the bags closed carefully, putting them to the side for the next time he came over. It was thoughtful, and Loki didn’t know what to do with it, so he never mentioned it. He got bored quite easily anyway, and most of his ‘friends’ had a very limited tolerance of him, so most days he found himself on Verity’s couch, playing Uno and eating Oreos.

2) Verity’s flat was bad and small and Loki’s was perfect and expensive, and if he spent all his time with Verity, they may as well hang out in his sketchily acquired penthouse. Plus, paying her rent made him feel useful. It was like a payment for all the little clips on his packets of Doritos.

He didn’t regret it. Except he thought that perhaps he might be as close as he could get to regretting it as he lay in bed listening to her pounding viciously at his door. 

“Are you alive?” she yelled through the mahogany. He groaned just loudly enough to be heard, and she banged one more time for good measure before her footsteps quickly petered off towards the kitchen.

He sighed in frustration, rolling off his bed with just enough basic athletic ability to land on his feet. His vision blacked out for just a second, and his head very much rejected the idea of being on his feet. Had he shifted through space while drunk? That was so dangerous. He should have gotten like, a driving ticket. A magic driving ticket.

He stumbled into the kitchen and stared blearily at Verity. “What are you cooking?” he mumbled.

“Eggs,” she replied without turning. “Want some?”

“Hmm.” He stares at the clock. One in the afternoon? That wasn’t too bad. Verity must have just gotten in from work though, which made him feel bad. Oh, how he missed the days when he had no shame and also no friends. “No thanks, I don’t want to throw up.”

“I thought alcohol didn’t affect you?”

“Human alcohol doesn’t.” He sat down on one of the tall swivel chairs at their counter and spun around. Ow, oh fuck, that wasn’t a good idea. He grimaced and placed his pounding head in his hands. “Lorelei and I spiked our drinks with something we got from Asgard.”

“Huh.” Verity sat opposite him, eggs piled onto the plate she set down in front of her. She’d cooked the yokes, the heathen. “Did you have a good time?”

Loki stared at her. “I feel like I’m being interrogated by my mother.”

“Oh honey,” she teased, grinning through a mouthful of eggs. “Oh sweetie. Wear protection!”

Loki dramatically re-enacted retching, and she choked on her eggs. A just punishment for her crimes, he thought.

“Ew,” he moaned. “I had to see Sigurd’s flat last night. It was disgusting.”

“I wasn’t being serious?” she stared at him. “I didn’t know you actually slept with-”

“Ew, ew, no,” he interrupted. “I was just detailing how he’s far too disgusting to ever consider as a sexual object. I would probably sleep with Lorelei though.”

“As if she’d sleep with you.”

“I’m forever alone!” he cried “Like the meme!”

“If you think referencing memes from 2008 is going to help you get laid-” she got up, pulled the dishwasher open and put her plate in without washing it off. Awful dishwasher etiquette, and Loki was from a place where they washed dishes with magic, so she had no excuse. “-then I think you might be beyond help.”

“I’m waiting for the right person,” he mumbled, squinting in the light streaming in from their egregiously large windows. “Like America. I ship America and myself.”

“America’s a lesbian,” Verity said.

“I’m a woman sometimes!” He got up and opened the fridge. “It’d be perfectly possible if she could tolerate me.”

“Which she can’t.”

“Yeah,” Loki said in faux-disappointment. “Ergo, forever alone, I’m mister lonely, involuntarily celibate, and sent to the friendzone.”

He shut the fridge, no bacon in sight, and stared at the front of it trying to consider his next move. He could head down to the store, but also he couldn’t, because he couldn’t imagine bringing himself to put on something other than the shorts he was currently in that said ‘BAD WITCH’ in bright green, metallic lettering on the back (a gift from Kate) and also he was pretty certain a drink had been poured on him the night before, judging by the smell of lager and the way his fringe had congealed into a hard point overnight. He wasn’t in any fit state to walk down the street. He had standards to maintain.

Yes, he was an illusionist, but he was a hungover illusionist with a headache, thus he opened up DoorDash and ordered McDonald’s. 

“Vee?” he called down the hall. “Do you want anything from McDonald’s?” 

“Ew,” she called back. “No.”

He placed his order and looked back up at the fridge. They had a shared calendar printed out on that kind of slippy photo paper so they could use whiteboard markers on it and make sure to not double book having people over. Last time it had happened, Verity’s cousin had to top-and-tail with Thor on the couch, which was a weird experience for everyone, but mostly for Daniel. Currently, the calendar was pretty sparse, since it was early April, but Verity had written something in for Sunday. ��Easter - Mom’s House’.

He stared at it, confused. He didn’t turn when he heard Verity’s feet pattering back into the kitchen. “Hey, I didn’t know you were religious.”

“Huh?” Verity had flopped onto the couch and was fiddling with the remote control, probably trying to turn on Dr Phil. “Not really, what do you mean?”

“You’re going to your Mum’s for Easter?”

“Oh I guess.” The Judge Judy theme song streamed from the TV. Loki stood corrected. “I don’t believe in it or anything. It’s just tradition.”

“Huh.” He glanced out onto the street. It was lively. They were in pretty central Manhattan, and usually when you looked onto the road it was hard to see a part of the path that wasn’t covered in black throngs of city goers. He sometimes wondered where they were going, had they plans, or were they just wandering, aimless and free? Loki had always thought it would be night to wander off and see where his feet would take him if he didn’t walk with direction or intention. “Had an interesting conversation last night.”

“Yeah?” Verity responded mindlessly, staring at the TV. 

“About religion. With a girl in the smoking area.”

“Dude.” Verity leaned over, effortlessly butch. “Conversations about religion in a smoking area? I’m putting my foot down. Either you download Grindr or find a therapist.”

“Both of those options are severely limited by the fact that I am a divine being and a world renowned criminal,” he replied. “Do you think guys on Grindr are into my evil vibes, actually?”

“Guys on Grindr are definitely into your evil vibes.”

“Thanks Verity,” he said, turning and heading towards the door. “You always have my back. Maybe I’ll find a bae after all.”

He grinned at her sounds of indignation and headed to his room to sleep his headache away.

--

Loki had always been rather a superior child. He had no need for childish matters of ‘bravery’ and ‘heroics’, instead favouring his intellect and insight. His mother said he was a bright young man, thank you. So he cared little about Thor informing him he was too small and weak to spar with him and his friends. However, he had in return let Thor know that he would be instead spending some time with his very close friends, who Thor did not have an acquaintance with and who thought Loki was very cool and interesting indeed. Thus, appearances had to be upheld.

He peered around the corner of the great, awning entrance to the Bifröst control room. Lord Heimdall had his back turned, but Loki was not a fool. A child, but not a fool.

“Your Highness,” the Watcher called out, turning to face him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He inched forward, the tips of his fingers trailing the chilly gold-plated walls of the gate. “I was bored,” he lied.

“Very well.” Heimdall set down the Key and sat heavily down onto its platform. “Would you be able to keep me company during my break?”

Loki lifted his chin, glanced around himself and headed to sit beside him. “I suppose I can grace you with my presence, for some time at least.”

“Have you a full schedule, your Highness?”

Anger and indignation built in his chest. Loki whipped around and scowled at him. “I’m very busy.”

Heimdall’s playful expression sunk with practiced ease into something serious. “My apologies. Of course you are, my prince.”

Loki crossed his arms. He knew that Lord Heimdall knew all his business, all of everyone’s business, but it struck him like a spear to his chest to have been mocked over his… lack of desirability. How dare he? Loki may be a boy, but he was his prince. It was not Heimdall’s place to mock him. 

He struggled to think of something dignified to reply, and the pressure of the silence between them built into a garotte that tightened around his neck. He daren’t look at Heimdall, imagining a mocking grin staring down at him. It was unlikely, and would be utterly out of place on the man’s face, but Loki would rather avoid the possibility altogether.

“How is your brother, your Highness?” Heimdall said to break the silence.

In a fit of rage, Loki slammed his palm against the platform. His eyes watered with the pain of it. “Why does everyone only care about what Thor is doing? How Thor is? I am not a vessel through which people may be updated about my brother’s status!”

In his anger he’d turned to glare at Heimdall, and was horrified to find the man’s face transformed by pity. Loki scowled in disgust, and stared at the wall in the opposite direction.

“I did not mean to imply anything as such, your Highness,” Heimdall explained carefully. “I merely asked out of having nothing else very interesting to say. Perhaps I should have asked how you are?”

Loki hesitated, glanced back up. “I’m well,” he mumbled shortly.

“That’s good to hear,” Heimdall replied, staring ahead, out the gates and down the Bifröst. Loki wondered if he saw that which lay in front of him with more clarity, or if what his tangible eyes caught was nothing different to everything else he saw. “Is there anything in particular you would like to speak about?”

Loki was silent for a moment. A topic had been weighing on his mind, one he hesitated to bring to his mother. A heavy topic indeed. “Heimdall?” he asked. “Why am I destined to be a monster?”

It had been a burden to bear, acknowledging what was written upon the tapestries spun deep in Nornheim. When mother had first told him of his destiny years ago, it had seemed like a childhood game, but everyday the gravity of his situation held him just a little firmer to the ground. All has its place, his mother had told him, and your place is important. It is against you that others will shine.

It coloured everything he did, and how others treated him. Thor still loved him as a brother, but everyday his pride in his own journey grew and Loki could only stand and watch as he looked on his brother with a little more suspicion, held him at a slightly further distance. Loki’s cruelty had been encouraged, not in a direct way, but in the ways in which his parents and carers were cruel towards him. Like a knife being sharpened. 

Heimdall did not move. “Everything has its duty. Our world is not much but an elaborate play, and we act according to our roles so that the other realms may live in our image.”

“But why me?” Loki pressed. “Why can’t I be the hero?”

Neither mentioned what lay between them. A man and a child and a destiny for two corpses, having slain one another, to lie in the middle of their world as it burned.

“I’m sorry, my prince,” Heimdall said quietly. “Perhaps take some relief in the fact that you needn’t worry over who you will be. The Midgardians in particular struggle with virtue.”

“Really?” Loki muttered, head in his hands. “Isn’t it very freeing for them?”

“Not as such,” he replied. “In return for their agency, they are burdened with the duty to be ever kind and charitable to one another, or be damned for their failure to do so. It's simpler for us. Our fate is predetermined, and while you may be the villain, you are doing your duty as such and can rest easy knowing that it is a moral and just thing for you to be.”

Loki was silent for a second, staring morosely ahead. “But I don’t want to be the villain.”

“I’m sorry, Prince Loki,” Heimdall replied, resting a hand on his shoulder. “But the tapestries have already been spun.”

--

The Allmothers, in their omnipowetful ability to be incredibly annoying, always called him when he was in the middle of doing things. In this case, a lovely girl named Amelia who had told him he looked like Timotheé Chalamet.

She screamed, causing Loki to whip around with a curse only to find Gaia staring at him through his mirror, disgust on her face and her right eye covered by Loki’s Blondie postcard that Verity had bought him from some emo shop.

Gritting his teeth, he looked down at Amelia, who seemed to be sinking into some form of shock. “Oh man,” he said. “I’m so fucking sorry. Uh, I kind of have to take this. Another time maybe?”

She looked up at him in speechless horror before turning quickly and climbing out from under him. Before he could even look up at her he heard the slam of the door. He glanced up. Huh, at least she’d taken her shirt with her. Loki was a feminist after all.

With a sigh, he turned to face Gaia. “My Lady!” He greeted with gritted teeth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She held his gaze for a few awkward seconds.

“Okay,” he said. “I would say, if anything it’s your fault that you decided to just turn up in my mirror without any prior warning. Really? You can’t expect me to be celibate. I’m Loki.”

She graced him with a performatively regal sigh and a significantly less regal eye roll. “The Allmothers have a task for you to complete, Loki.”

“Don’t you always?” He grumbled, pulling a hoodie on to cover up some of his nudity. Amelia may have only lost a shirt, but Loki was already down to his boxers. He was a feminist, after all.

“There is a great treasure in the belonging of one of our own, one who dwells in the realm of Midgard.”

“In English?” 

The Allmother paused. Her eyebrows furrowed. “Your first language is the tongue of Jötunheim.”

“It’s just a-, it’s just a phrase, okay? Anyway, can you get to the crux of it? I was busy.”

“You aren’t busy anymore.”

He threw his arms out dramatically, making sure his irritation was painted clear on his face. “Thanks for that, by the way!”

“We would like-,” she continued, gathering her composure. “-for you to retrieve the ancient sword, Gram. It’s power is too great for us to allow it to remain out of our grasp. We have waited too long already, and time is of the essence.”

“Gram?” Loki asked. “You mean Sigurd’s sword?”

“The legendary sword Gram does indeed lie in the hands of the hero Sigurd-”

“But Sig loves his sword,” he interrupted. “He’s going to hate me if I take it for you. That’s narc behaviour.”

“This is your duty, Prince Loki, to your people,” Gaia said sternly. “You are, and have always been, a narc.”

“Hey, fuck you-”

She was gone in the next second, and Loki was left staring at his face in the mirror, and the way the skin underneath his eyes was grey and sunken, which made his eyes pop in a sort of consumption-chic. He looked a bit like Maleficent, he thought in an attempt to distract himself from the dread of the task that now lay before him and the inevitable broken friendship (he didn’t have many to break left).

But without all the milf energy. Loki didn’t have any milf energy, which was probably the source of most of his problems

--

Often, Loki found the easiest way to avoid all of his issues was to pretend he was a funny, quirky little guy living a funny, quirky little life. Oh Loki, he’s the token evil teammate, the funny comic relief in stories about other people, relegated to side character (but hot enough that all the fan art and fic was going to centre him). This allowed him to get away with his faults, which were many and numerous, by playing them off as the work of that darned scamp, Loki. This situation however, was one that worried Loki, as Sigurd was nothing if he wasn’t two things; 1) absolutely unenamoured by Loki and everything Loki had going for himself, and 2) in love with that fucking sword.

Loki sat down cross-legged on his bed and contemplated the choices he could make here. He could take the sword, and try to manipulate the situation to make Sigurd look like he was overreacting. Take the sword to the flat and mess around while he showed it to Verity. But, he knew, Verity wouldn’t play along, because her moral compass was ever on the straight and narrow and anyway, she’d know he was lying. 

Lorelei would side with Sigurd over him, because she didn’t trust the Asgardian establishment and they all knew that the tentative little bit of control that let them languish in something resembling a real life on Midgard rested on Sigurd having enough power that Asgardia would rather leave him alone than bother. Losing Gram would put that in jeopardy, and Lorelei wouldn’t trade a shoelace for Loki, nevermind her happy ending. He knew well enough that this theft would be unjust, would put all of the power into the hands of the already powerful. He knew this, and he knew that Sig and Lorelei? Wouldn’t hurt a fly, really. For all the three of them pretended to hate each other, Loki knew they were good people, and they just wanted to live their lives in peace.

He could simply refuse. Not take the sword, let the Allmothers deal with it some other way. He could say it was above his pay grade, which it was.

Except, he couldn’t. Not really. He had duties that Sigurd and Lorelei couldn’t possibly understand. That idea couldn’t push its way forward from the back of his mind, as if constrained by something, writhing back and forth to break free. Or was it? Or was that an excuse, a claim to someone that he was trying, still, to do the right thing, and that it wasn’t his fault when he failed to.

He sighed, and stood up. His wardrobe was a mess, but it was an organised mess, and anyway it was a bright, sunny day outside and he could find his dragon scale armour easily from the way it glinted in the light at the back of his slogan t-shirts. 

--

Sig had moved all the dirty washing from his desk chair. Loki didn’t have high hopes that it was for any reason other than playing PC games though. Sig was really into, like, Call of Duty and Halo. Were they PC? Loki didn’t know. He preferred superior gaming experiences, like Professor Layton.

Lo and behold, Loki found the mysteriously disappeared dirty clothing on Sig’s couch. For a guy whose feats and adventures were written down in legend, he really had some drab taste in furnishings.

Loki moved silently through the flat, letting just a little bit of his seidr seep into his steps to cushion the noise. He didn’t turn on any lights, instead relying on a little bit of patience to let his eyes adjust to the dark. His Jotunn heritage, dare he say it, came in handy at times like this due to the Jotnär having pretty decent night vision. This was in order to do crimes and eat children, his nursemaid had informed him when he was small. Well, Loki was doing crimes, but the jury was out on the eating children bit.

Loki was an expert catburglar, tales of his stealthiness were scribbled on the walls of ancient Midgardian caves, the remnants of long extinct societies, all of which he had outlived. Thus, he cleverly noticed the Guitar Hero™ plastic guitar and stepped over it.

Loki knew one thing about Sigurd. He was paranoid. Thus, Loki had a suspicion about where he would put Gram, and if he was correct he knew this job wouldn’t be easy.

He eased open the bedroom door, and watched as the hero of the stories he had been told as a babe snored while laying on his front. Huh, great ass.

Loki mentally smacked himself. Bad!

His attention was then quickly snatched by the gleaming sword that lay against the left bedpost. Ding ding, we have a winner! Sigurd both expected his sword to be stolen and expected to have to fight off home invaders, and so he kept his greatest asset (other than his ass) right next to him in his most vulnerable times. Loki was his worst nightmare, well usually, but even more so at this moment.

He crept forward, stepping carefully over strewn clothes. Wait, was that Lorelei’s blouse? Ugh, he didn’t want to think about that. He’d much rather they remain entirely celibate in his mind.

Loki crept closer, and reached out to grasp the hilt of the sword silently.

“...What the fuck? Loki?”

He should have run, probably. Teleported, gone invisible, maybe should have even jumped through the window. That might have thrown Sigurd off the scent right? Prince Loki, God of Trickery and Harbinger of Ragnarök wouldn’t have just leapt through a window. Well, the window was seventeen floors up actually, so maybe a regular burglar wouldn’t have either.

Anyway, what happened was he stood stock still, unable to move a muscle or turn to face Sigurd, as if he were labouring under the delusion that Sigurd was a creature that tracked prey by movement. He looked like something out of Looney Tunes, which wasn’t fantastic for his dignity.

“Loki,” Sigurd snapped again.

He turned, and winced at the look of outrage on his friend’s face. Sigurd was sat up on his elbow, his other arm on his comforter. He looked like he was ready to attack someone. Loki was pretty sure he hadn’t expected it to be - well, Loki.

“What the fuck were you doing?” he said. “Were you stealing Gram? Why? For who?”

Ouch, that hurt. He may have been stealing it for someone else, but it was a bit upsetting that Sigurd had immediately disregarded the idea he was working in his own interest.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. “The Allmothers send their regards,” he finally admitted drily.

If anything, Sigurd’s outrage grew. “How- How could you?”

A bit dramatic, Loki thought. Sigurd leapt out of his bed, and Loki didn’t have the chance to step back before his shoulders were in Sigurd’s bruising grip and his back pushed hard against the wall. “You know what this means,” Sigurd said, his disgust evident. “You aren’t stupid, Loki. You know what you’re doing.”

Oh, that was it, wasn’t it? Loki wasn’t evil because he did evil things. He was evil because he knew they were wrong before he did them, and he did them anyway.

“I have to,” he mumbled weakly. Was that a lie? Verity would know. “I have no choice.”

“Yes you do,” Sigurd said, releasing his grip and stepping back, “Yes you do, you’re just too much of a coward to admit it. You’re so desperate to play happy families. I can see it in you, and so can Lorelei. All you want is to be useful to people, even if it’s for the Allmothers, who treat you like shit. You do their fucking dirty work and they kick you around and you love it, because you get to be part of their rotten little story.”

Loki stared at him, suddenly feeling utterly, entirely tired beyond belief. Sigurd could not tell him anything that he did not tell himself.

“You’re a coward. You’re a fucking coward who does everything the Allmothers ask of you. One moment you sneer at them up there, in Asgard, and pretend that you and me and Lorelei are all in the same boat, but the next moment you bare your neck to them. One day they’re going to ask you to hurt someone you really care about, and you know what? You’ll do it. They’ll ask you to hurt Thor, or Verity, and you’ll do it without a second thought because you’re a coward, Loki, and you always will be.”

His breath caught in his throat. “I wouldn’t hurt Verity.”

“Yes, you would. If someone put it on a tapestry you’d do it in a fucking heartbeat.”

“I see, well,” he paused, looked to his right to avoid Sigurd’s gaze. “I’ll let you get back to sleep I suppose.”

Sigurd reached out to grab him, but he was gone before he had a chance.

—

Received FRI 2:08

Verity: hey u coming back tonight or what

Verity: im assuming ur working

Verity: if u are there’s leftover pasta bake in the fridge. Ik you hate leftovers but its on offer. Im off to bed, night!

Received FRI 11:02

Verity: hey called lorelei to check in on you and she says you and sig aren’t talking. She didnt seem thrilled w you either. U ok? 

Verity: call me if you get the chance ok

Received MON 15:47

Verity: yh ok this is cringe but please call. Im worried

Verity: you usually lmk when youre gone this long and sig was being suspicious

Verity: i asked him if hed seen you and he like laughed

Verity: idk maybe hed be more concerned if something had happened but u guys dont exactly have a normal expectation for health and safety in the workplace

Received WED 23:21

Verity: please call i’m worried

Verity: please

Received THU 18:54

Verity: you’re a fucking idiot

Verity: I hate you

Received THU 19:02

Verity: i didn’t mean that

Verity: sorry.

Verity: please do call. please

--

Verity wasn’t the only one texting him, which would have done wonders for his ego if it had been anywhere near still intact, but she was the only one who’s texts he kept re reading, scanning them obsessively and trying to convince himself he was doing the right thing.

The thing that nagged him though, was how would he know what the right thing was?

All his life, the right thing was whatever was in stride with where he was determined to end up. The path had been laid out for him - all he had to do was walk it. But, though the Norns had written out his beginning, his end, his great misdeeds and stories, they hadn’t written about things like whether he should get KFC or not, whether he’d be good at Mario Party or what dog breed was his favourite (alsatian). They had never had the name Verity Lewis brush their lips.

Because this world was untethered. It simply wasn’t important enough for the Norns to have seen. Did that mean that they were free, here? Was that bad or good? To Loki, who despite everything had spent an eternity comfortable in the knowledge that he knew what would happen, and that the future was clear to him as long as he could stand in the halls he’d grown up in and stare at the tapestries on the walls, the idea of absolute undetermined fate was deeply terrifying. It caught in his throat, wrapped around his heart, squeezed the warmth out of his chest. 

But Sigurd was right, and so he had a decision to make.

There were people walking around under him, where he sat perched on the roof of a Soviet era apartment building in Brno. They didn’t know what would happen to them, how many kids they’d have, whether they’d marry or how they’d die. They didn’t know any of that, and that meant they could decide.

Huh.

--

He stumbled when he flashed in, and his hand reached out steady himself against the wall. The lights were off, but after a couple of seconds he heard a slight clutter from Verity’s room. Taking a deep breath he made his way to the kitchen and sat down at the bar. He didn’t bother to switch the light on, instead just collapsed into the chair and placed his head in his hands.

The lights switched on. “Loki?”

He peeked at her from between his fingers. Verity stared at him as if she couldn’t quite decide whether to be angry or happy. She was squinting (she wasn’t wearing glasses - she must have been asleep). He must have looked suitably miserable because instead of launching into a tirade she narrowed her eyes and slowly moved to sit opposite him, as if trying to tame some vicious creature. Apt, perhaps.

Their silence hung very heavily. “I’m sorry,” Loki eventually said, mortified to hear a crack in his voice from disuse.

She watched him carefully. “I forgive you,” she replied. Not ‘it’s okay’, because Verity found lying, even unconsciously, very difficult. “Can you tell me what’s up?”

By ‘can’, Loki knew that Verity was asking as if this was something related to his work for the Allmothers, but he found that even though this wasn’t any secret mission detail he was forbidden from sharing, he still found it hard to describe.

“I mean,” he muttered, breaking away from her stare. “Where would you like me to start?”

“Wherever you want to?”

He swallowed. “I had to steal something from Sigurd. Gram-” She opened her mouth and he jerked his shoulders defensively. “Please let me just explain. The Allmothers asked me too. I knew that if I did it it would put Sig and Lorelei’s relative safety at a significant risk. But,” he paused, bit his lip, horrified by the lump in his throat. “Even though I knew it was the wrong thing to do, and that all of you, all of my friends, would think less of me because of it, I had to do it. I had to do it because if I don’t do things that are wrong, that are bad, I am not filling the role that I am set out to fill, that I have always been set out to fill.

“There are tapestries, in Asgard,” he explained, a wobble entering his tone. “They’ve been there since before me, before my parents, before anyone. They were woven by the Norns, who see all of the past, the present and the future. They were woven so that we, who will be images of all the people of the Nine Realms and who will serve as a reflection of their large and varied communion, could know where we fit and what roles we are to play. And I’m a villain, Verity. I am the bad guy, because someone has got to be. There are people who actively choose to be bad and evil and selfish all over the shop, and someone has to represent them in the grand scheme of things. And, mainly, I have to keep everyone’s hands clean by making mine dirty.”

Her hands reached steadily out, grabbed one of his and held it between them. They were tears threatening to fall now, and they choked up his voice.

“So I do what the Allmothers ask me to, and I antagonise Thor, and I play my part as the bad guy of the story so that one day that story may be told to children as they are tucked into bed, so that they know that immorality causes you nothing but strife. I am supposed to have that strife, and through this my immorality is good and right, because I am an example.”

He paused. “Sigurd said I would hurt you, if they asked me to.”

“Would you?” she asked.

A second passed. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’d rather not risk it, but I thought you at least deserved an explanation for my sudden disappearance.”

She leaned back then, stared out their windows and onto the road beneath them, still busy despite the hour. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“Dare I ask?” he chuckled wetly.

Her voice was firm. “I think that’s bullshit. I know you’re telling the truth, that you might hurt me if your Moms asked you. But I think you don’t know that that’s not true, which is why it’s registering as right to me.”

He squinted at her in confusion.

“You believe it,” she explained. “Which is why it’s registering as true to me. But that doesn’t mean you would, it just means you don’t think you’re a good person, and that’s not news.

“You see yourself as some kind of cut-out character with one trait, a yin to Thor’s yang or some shit, but you only think that’s all real because people have told you it is. Who’s to say those tapestries are anything? I think that you - all of you Asgardians - are terrified of being unmoored, so you make up shit like this so that you don’t have to grapple with morality.”

He tried to interrupt, but Verity continued. “You’re all terrified of life, so you pretend it’s one big play you’re putting on for our benefit, with roles and lines so that you needn’t make ‘em up. But you know what? Why don’t you just try? Try to improvise. Break away from it all. Maybe those tapestries do mean something, but maybe they just come true because you all keep doing what they say.

“You’re not the bad guy in a play, Loki,” she told him, her voice full of emotion and her hand rubbing his. It was just enough to keep him tethered to reality, he thought. “You’re my friend. You’re funny, and flippant. You don’t like to talk about your emotions. You don’t have great self-esteem and you kick ass at Jenga. You’re playing a part, but you know the thing about actors? They have lives when they get off the stage, and you could too.”

--

His boots echoed across the ground as he climbed the short hill to his destination. It was dust, not dirt, that he trod on, and the air was stale and cloyed in his lungs. It was the kind of air that felt like it didn’t blow, but just hung in the air for eternity, older than you by indescribable amounts.

No one went here. It was unplottable by some working laid down long before even the beginning of Asgardian history. It had taken Loki four days to crack, because 1) he’d spent all of his non-eating, non-sleeping time in the last couple of days focused on it, 2) he’d already made a groundwork as a teenager before his mother had told him off for meddling in things he shouldn’t have been and 3) he was pretty fucking good. Really, the only reason he hadn’t touched it before was because as he became a man, he grew to respect the Norns. Things had changed.

“Hello!” he called, not surprised to find the three women staring at him, likely well aware of his arrival for at least eternity, or something.

“Liesmith,” Lady Verdandi spoke in a low, powerful voice. “You have come to rattle the chains that you feel resting upon your shoulders.”

“Yep,” he responded, popping the ‘p’.

“These chains,” Skuld said in a tight voice. “Are imaginary.”

“No actually,” he said, beginning to pace around the room. “You see, I don’t really care if they’re ‘imaginary’ or whatever. I actually am just here to let you know that I’m just going to be kind of doing my own thing from now on.”

“Your ‘own thing’?” Urd sneered. “ You do not have your ‘own thing’. The fate we have laid out for you is everything you are.”

“Everything I am is just a mask.  A mask that you put on me!”

“Oh? That implies something on which a mask can be put. Is there anything under your mask, Loki? Do you even know?”

“Well, I guess I’m going to find out,” he ground out. They were sat down, staring up at him, and he felt unnervingly like he was still a child who had been summoned to his father’s study to receive an admonishment for troublemaking.

“You will find out,” Verdandi explained calmly. “That you are mistaken, and that you will play your part in the fate that will become and will end and will begin again, whether you try to fight against it or not.”

“So that’s it then?” Loki said softly, although his voice still echoed across the ancient walls that enclosed him. “There’s no path to grace for me. I’m your villainous fool, cast in this grand play so that your heroes may show their virtue in my vanquishment. I’m good when I’m bad, and I’m bad when I’m good.”

He paused, and stared her down.

“Well, I’m afraid I’d rather be bad on my own terms, actually.”

Verdandi had opened her mouth to say something else, probably something even more patronising, but before she had the chance Loki had stepped between reality and left Nornheim and its frigid, stale air behind him.

--

“Saw you coming,” the Watcher said when Loki stepped out in front of him. 

Loki smiled. “Naturally,”

Heimdall sat tiredly on the Bifröst’s lock. Loki noticed with a sort of jolt that Heimdall was getting old. Maybe they all were. “What is it you would like from me, my prince?” 

“Oh nothing really,” he answered. “I just thought I should let someone know that I will be unable to complete the most recent mission that the Allmothers have given me. In fact, perhaps you could let them know that I’m putting in my two week’s notice, so to speak? Although I’m not really giving them any notice, let alone two weeks.”

“Oh? Might I ask what has brought this on, your highness?”

Loki crossed his arms. “I’m trying this new thing called ‘making your own destiny’. All the cool kids are doing it.”

Heimdall nodded. He wouldn’t have been able to have viewed Loki’s conversation with the Norns, but he would have seen what Verity had said. “I wish you luck, dear child,” he said softly.

Loki’s smile turned quiet and genuine for just a moment, before he turned away and took a few steps. Wait! He had something else to mention.

He looked back at Heimdall.

“By the way, maybe I am going to kill you someday,” he said. “”But I promise that I’m going to try my damndest not to.”

With that, he stepped back into New York, and headed towards Dominoes to pick up their pizza. They were doing movie night, he and Verity. They were going to watch Legally Blonde. Loki thought about - What was her name? Susie? Sarah? He thought maybe she was right, in the end. Maybe it was a gift to believe in what can’t be seen, and thus a gift to follow darkened paths. But the path that brought him home felt warm and reliable, just like it always did.

[imagine-loki]

Soulbonds and Fairy Dust

TITLE: Soulbonds and Fairy Dust (rewrite) CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 25/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine one of the fae has been helping the Avengers, jumping in to help them on missions and vanishing before Shield can bring her in.  Loki joins the team and convinces her to come talk to the team and consider joining before Shield takes more drastic measures. RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS:  This is a rewrite of the original work of the same name.  Also on AO3 here

Sigyn vanished her book as they got closer to the gate.  She could sense the fae better than any of the others and she was on alert for danger. “Will we be facing any resistance, darling?” Loki asked when she noted Sig’s concerned expression as she focused on their surroundings.

“Yes, but not how you mean,” she told Loki, her eyes unfocused as she focused instead on what she was feeling.  “You’re going to argue, but I have to deal with this one.  She would kill you all on sight otherwise,” she told Loki firmly.  Her tone left no room for negotiating.

“Darling? What are you talking about?”

The group was close enough by then that they could see the gate and the lone figure standing in front of it.  A fae child, or so she appeared. “She’s who I’m talking about,” Sig replied, pointing to the girl.

“And she is?” Loki asked impatiently.  Sig wasn’t being particularly clear or helpful and Loki wasn’t fond of unknown danger.  

Sig rolled her eyes and huffed just as impatiently.  “She’s the realm I’m sealing away,” she told Loki too patiently.  “I did mention that she’s sentient.  That is her. To name her is to give her power,” she reminded her that there was power in the name of things. Especially when said in front of one of the fae.

Loki nodded her understanding once Sig had spelled it out for her.  “Are you sure I cannot help?” she asked.  She didn’t want to leave Sig in danger, though she accepted that Sig knew the fae better than she did.

Sig considered that, considered her options. “You can come.  They cannot.  The soulbond should protect you, but there are two conditions,” she told Loki firmly.  There could be no deviating from her conditions and she would leave Loki behind if Loki couldn’t agree to her terms. 

Loki nodded while the others looked like they wanted to protest.  They were supposed to protect her, not let her go into danger alone. “What do you require of me?”

 “Don’t speak to her unless she asks you a direct question.  If she does. Do not lie,” she told Loki firmly.  Loki was the goddess of lies and sometimes her default was to lie or fib.  She couldn’t do either in front of Underhill.  Sig hesitated before she added.  “I won’t stop you from coming with me, but the other condition is that you cannot go before her with any kind of illusions.  Any.  She’ll see through them and take it as an insult.  I can face her alone and I won’t ask that of you,” she added the last gently.  She wouldn’t ask Loki to strip her last illusion.  

She couldn’t do that to her. 

Loki shifted back to his male form.  “No illusions. I may be the god of lies, but I know how to tell the truth, Sigyn,” he told her firmly. 

It broke her heart what she had to do to get her point across. He hadn’t understood.

“No, Loki.  No illusions, not even this one,” she told him gently.  She knew what it would cost him to strip the last illusion.  “I told you that I won’t ask it of you.  You can guard from here with the others.  I won’t ask you to strip the last illusion in front of them,” she indicated the others, reminded Loki that they were there.  They would see, if he went through with this. They would see his true form.

Loki sighed heavily once he understood what she meant.  “Is this the only way I can come with you?” he finally asked.  “I do not wish for you to face her alone,” 

Sig nodded firmly. “It’s the only way.  She takes great insult at any who come before her under illusion.  And she is the one who enforces the rule that the fae cannot lie,” she explained.  Then she added. “She likes me, I’ll be perfectly safe.  You don’t have to come the rest of the way.” Sig wouldn’t ask him to strip his last illusion in front of the others. She knew how he felt about the Asgardians seeing what he actually was. 

He sighed again and hesitated, but dropped the last illusion, appearing in his Jotun form with his beautiful sapphire skin and scarlet eyes.  He looked sheepish and afraid to be seen like that, but Sig just gave him a warm smile.  He was her Loki no matter his form.  “We do this together. We’re soul bound. You don’t have to do anything on her own anymore,” he told her firmly, determined to see this through with her.

There were gasps of shock from the morons.  Sif and Thor were more polite about their curiosity.  They’d all been told Loki was a Jotun, but none of them had seen his true form until now.  Sig stood on her toes to kiss his cheek and he blushed purple. “Thank you,” she told him, though the words were hard for her to say.  She saw his nerves and anxiety at the reaction of the morons, but he was more shocked by her kissing his cheek.  She concentrated a moment and her own illusions faded.  There were more gasps from the morons as they saw the scars all over her body from duels in the seelie court.  She hadn’t told anyone about them.  

Loki would grill she about them later.  For now, Sig took his hand and the pair walked down to where Underhill was waiting for them. Sig dropped Loki’s hand a few steps in front of the girl and took another step forward alone, leaving herself as the focus of conversation in order to protect Loki.  Sig dropped to one knee to be on the girl’s level while Underhill looked over Sig and Loki with ancient eyes that didn’t fit the form she wore.  “Hello Tilly,” Sig greeted her gently.

“Siggy!!” she replied happily and Sig prayed to any god who would listen that Loki wouldn’t pick up that particular nickname.  Underhill looked at Loki.  “Who’s he?” she demanded suspiciously.  She didn’t like strangers.  

“He’s my soulmate,” Sig replied carefully, answering her question without naming Loki.  She also carefully spoke the truth to Underhill. It was a very delicate balance. “and my other best friend, besides you of course.” Loki wisely remained silent while Sig spoke with the child-shaped realm.  He was immensely curious, but he wouldn’t put Sig or himself in danger. 

Underhill nodded, accepting the answer. “The Seelie Queen said you’re trying to seal me away.  She knows better than to lie to me,” she accused Sigyn sounding hurt and angry.  

Sig smiled kindly.  She could deal with Underhill if the person-shaped realm continued being reasonable.  “Seal away my friend?  Not at all.  The queen must be confused.  I’m only closing a few gates that are in inconvenient places.  You don’t want more sad children like I was, right?  The Gray Lords like taking children like me, and these gates are too close to places with lots of children.  I want them safe,” Sig explained to her.  She was careful to tell her the absolute truth, just twisted in her favor.  The fae were good at such truths and Sig was no exception.  Loki was quite proud of her for it.

Underhill thought about that for a terrifyingly long time.  “Stealing children is bad,” she finally agreed and Sig nearly breathed a sigh of relief.  “You’ll come visit me again?” she asked softly.

Shit.

Sig had to agree.  There were no other options.  She also had to be careful about it.  “I will in the future. When it is safe,” she replied, making the promise since she had no other choice.  

Underhill hugged her.  “Then you can close the doors,” she looked at Loki and Sig could see that she was looking not at him, but into his very soul.  She was a realm of magic and could do such things.  “I like him,” she finally said and Sig breathed another sigh of relief.  It wouldn’t be good if Underhill didn’t like Loki, or decided he needed to die.  Neither of them couldn’t take on an entire realm and hope to win.  “He can take care of you for me,” she added before she bounced back through the doorway to her realm. 

Sig sighed heavily in relief. Loki brought back his Asgardian illusion once she was gone.  “Are you alright, darling?” he asked, knowing how difficult that conversation had been for her.

She nodded and stood again.  It was emotionally draining to keep up that conversation with Underhill, to be so careful not to offend her.  “One must tread carefully around her.  It’s a good thing she likes me and was being reasonable today,” she told Loki.  

He nodded and Sig got to work on closing the doorway.  Loki stayed at her side, wary of Underhill and not trusting that she would keep her word.  That doorway was even harder to close than the others.  Underhill said she could close it, but she wasn’t making it easy on her.  Sig managed, but the color seemed to drain from her when the doorway was closed.  Her hair had lost its vibrancy, her eyes dulled.  She swayed, fighting to keep her feet under her. Loki’s arms were around her in an instant, holding her on her feet.  She held onto him, exhausted, letting her head rest on his chest for a moment.  “Tilly didn’t have to make it so hard…” she grumbled softly. 

“She said she could close the doorway. Why did she make it so hard?”

 “Because she can? Because that’s how the fae are and she rules all of them? Because she still doesn’t like that I’m closing them?” she whined too exhausted for existential questioning.  She couldn’t answer why a realm did whatever the fuck it wanted, even pretending to look like a child.

Loki sighed.  “Come on, darling. Let’s get back to the palace,”

“No!” she protested, looking up at him horrified.  “There’s still two more gates, we can’t go back yet!!” she continued protesting, distressed by the suggestion that she was failing and needed to go back home. 

“Darling, you can barely stand on her own,” he told her gently. 

“I’ll sleep it off and we can close the last two tomorrow,” she insisted.  She didn’t want to fail Mama Frigga and she didn’t want the Asgardian children in danger. 

“One gate at a time, darling. Two nearly has you passing out,” Loki insisted, horrified by her condition and terrified for her.

“There’s only two left. I’ll be fine,” she tried to reassure him. “Then we can go back to the palace,”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

 “I want this done,” she told him softly and stood on her own again.  “Once it’s done then we can go home to a hot bath and comfortable beds,” she added wistfully.

Loki sighed, but gave in, knowing it was no use arguing against duty.  “Alright. But let’s head to an inn so you can eat and rest.”  It was the best he was going to. 

[lettersofwrittencollective]

The Pull (99/?)

Summary: The Ragnulf’s are one of the oldest lines of werewolves known. A gift from ancient times was gifted to them. Though not all of the line will experience it. There are some who will experience a Pull. This Pull leads them to their true mate, a soulmate. The problem is, just because the wolf finds their true mate does not mean that they are the same for that person.

Author: @lettersofwrittencollective

Pairing: Stiles x Hale!Cousin OC (Reader)

Word count: 2751

Warnings: angst and more angst so enjoy it 

Additional A/N: If  you see *** at any point this means that there is a POV and location change (like a scene change in a show where it’s a completely different character- forgot to add that last time) and this is a thing that is going to be going on going forward, okay thanks!

<<Prev || The Pull Masterlist || Next>>

Gasping, you find yourself in the same small space as earlier. Sighing, you call out Scott’s name. 

It takes him a moment but you hear him call your name a moment later. 

“Any idea how we got back here?” you ask him. 

“No idea but we better keep going,” you hear him call out, “Can you still get out?”

Groaning, you maneuver yourself around so that you’re on your stomach again and make your way out of the drawer, or whatever else this can be called. 

Crawling forward you find that, just like last time, you and Scott both manage to make your way back into the school hallway. 

“Well isn’t this fun?” you mutter as you push yourself up again. 

The two of you make your way down the hallway again. You’re likely to run into the same thing with Liam. so this time, you try to keep an eye out for him. 

There’s no scent however and you can’t make out any footsteps. The sound of a whooshing ball catches your attention and you sigh as Scott catches it. 

This time, however, his claws are extended. 

“That’s why you’re the Alpha,” Liam tells him and turns. 

“Pup!” you call out and he turns to look at you, he smirks at you, “La Ira….”

You’re surprised at the name… but before you get a chance to ask him about it, he’s making his way down the hallways, leaving you and Scott to follow him again,. 

It doesn’t take very long for you to catch up to him, this time he’s made it to the boys locker room. 

“Pup?” you call out at the same time Scott calls out, “Liam?”

“Natasha,” Scott calls you and you turn to see he’s made his way to one of the sinks. He opens his mouth and you see that, somehow, it looks like he’s got a second set of canines. 

“There’s something different isn’t there?” Liam asks, materializing beside you and you have to keep yourself from screaming in surprise. 

“I’ve got more fangs,” Scott mutters, “I noticed it during the quarantine… I don’t know why...”

Chuckling, you shake your head and tell him, “It’s part of being an Alpha.”

“Like he’s becoming more of a werewolf,” Liam questions and you nod your head. 

“Or more of a monster,” Scott points out. 

“Scott… It doesn’t make you a monster,” you growl as you cross to him, gripping his shoulder and turning him towards you, you flash him a fang, “It means you’re getting stronger”

“… like you’re growing..” Liam points out and you turn to nod your head at him. 

The Mute is standing there, however, ready to with a tomahawk poised to throw at Liam. Before you can think it through, you’ve launched yourself athim and this time, you’re met by the satisfying feel of his blood dripping down your fingers. 

“Evolving…” comes his robotic response and you twist your hand in his neck, tearing out his throat. 

“Natasha…” both boys sound shocked but you shake your head as you release the Mute, letting his body fall limply to the floor. 

“You don’t threaten my friends and get away with it,” you practically snarl. 

***

Stiles is waiting in the same room - Kira and Liam haven’t been gone very long but the lights flicker in and out before steadying and suddenly going out completely. 

Groaning, Stiles can’t help but mutter, “Just once… just once…”

It’s a good thing though. It means their plan is working and if all is going according to plan then they should, in fact, be getting a hold of the Benefactor by the end of the day. 

Pulling his phone out, he calls the pup and then Kira but neither of them answer and Stiles can feel a pit growing in his stomach. That’s not part of the plan. 

Deciding to go find them, or Argent, he quickly and makes his way out of the room.

He’s making his way through the building and as he comes up to a corner, he catches sight of Argent making his way through the halls. Reaching out for the man, he doesn’t even get to touch the man when he’s turned around a gun is pointed at Stiles head. 

For a half second, Stiles can feel his entire body freeze as flashes of Simen run across his mind and he has to focus on breathing. A movement catches his eye and Stiles can feel himself flinch before he processes that Argent had lowered his gun. 

Before Argent can say anything, Stiles tells him, “The power’s out in the whole building. I lost all the cameras.”

Argent nods his head and motions towards the morgue, “Stay with Scott. Text me if you see or hear anything.”

When Argent looks down at his watch, Stiles chances a glance and sees that there’s just over eighteen minutes left before they fully lose Scott. 

Turning, takes off to the morgue. 

***

 “This is a Sig Sauer P226 9mm.” Braeden tells him as she puts the next weapon in fron of him. 

“I don’t like guns,” Derek points out. 

“That’s because you’ve never learned to use one,” she tries to tell him and Dereks sorely tempted to point to her that it’s not that he’s never learned it’s that he’s genuniely never been a fan of guns. Most werewolves aren’t. 

Instead of trying to point that out to her, he just tells her, “Or maybe it’s because i’ve been shot.”

“You’ll like this one,” Braeden smirks as she picks up the gun and releases the mag, “The legal clip size in California is ten. You always want to remember how many shots you fired. Running out of bullets can get you killed. It also makes you look stupid.”

Braeden returns the mag to the gun and locks it in place before she flips the gun in her hand and and puts the grip in his hand, “SBut using a gun isn’t just about learning how to point and shoot.”

Now that was something new to him, so he asks her why that is. 

“Because an average person can move twenty-one fett in one-point-five seconds,” Braeden points out, “If they have a knife they can gut you before you can pull and fire —.so with a gun, you need distance.”

She crosses past him but is still just a few paces out, “Go ahead. Pull the gun on me.”

Derek chuckles and shakes his head befoe moving to lift the gun, however, he quickly finds that Braeden has twisted his hand and he finds his that the gun is out of his hands in Braeden’s again, “so yea…”

“Wanna try again?” Braeden taunts him and he knows she’s taunting him but he agrees to do it again. 

Braeden crosses by him again and the two of them face off. 

Derek goes to pull the gun and again, he finds that she, again, manages to get the gun out of his hand. As she takes the gun this time, he can hear the grunt of frustration leave his lips. 

“Again,” he tells her and he can tell that this time it’s a frustration because he can’t get it right. 

“I could do this all day,” she taunts him and he sees a spark in her eyes that she fails to hide. Trying not to scoff, he realizes that she’s so much like the others it’s almost too easy. 

Taking a step towards her, he can hear her heartbeat pick up and he has to fight back a smirk before he reaches out and pulls her towards him. Bending down, he puts his lips to hers and can feel her enthusiastic response.  He tries not to chuckle but instead just slips his hand to her waist and, as she pulls him closer, slips the gun from her waistband and presses it to her stomach 

“You cheated,” she whispers breathlessly against him a moment later. 

“Learning to bend,” he smirks at her. 

This time when she looks at him, there’s a look in her eyes and for some reason, he finds that he wants to see that look again. The two of them share a look and he realizes that she’d played him just as much as he’d played her. 

If they keep going though, this time it’s real. 

***

Malia looks over the Birth Certificate, her mothers name is missing - torn out of the page and she  can’t help but feel a bit disappointed at it. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Peter asks, pulling her from the file in front of her. When she turns to him, he asks, “See a family counselor?”

“There’s nothing in there,” she points out to him. 

“Cost me a lot of money to get that file,” she hears Peter practically pout. 

“You got ripped off,” she tells him before she moves to make her way past hm. 

“You know what happens when you only hear one side of a story?” Peter asks as he walks towards her. Surprisingly, he seems to walk almost in a half-circle and not directly at her and the two of them end up on opposite sides, staring at each other when Peter tells her, “You only hear one side of the story.”

Glaring at him,  Malia points out, “You murdered people. Not Killed. Murdered.”

“There were extenuating circumstances,” Peter tries to defend. 

“Like what? The fire?” she snaps because she knows that’s going to be his excuse. 

“A fire that nearly burned me alive,” he tells her and she doesn’t bother to hide her scoff, “Do you know what that’s like for one of us?”

 Malia doesn’t answer the question. Partially because she can't’ but also because it doesn’t make it any better. There’s no excuse for what he’s dome she’s come to understand. 

“It’s not a pleasant sleep,” he tells her, “Imagine it… being trapped in your body but still being fully cognizant. Unable to do anything other than listen to your own thoughts slowly driving you absolutely and totally insane. Minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. Yes I’ve done horrible, terrible things. And so have a lot of people. And horrible, terrible things are going to keep happening. 

Especially when there’s a dead pool with your name on it. With Little Wolf’s name on it. With Derek's name on it.”

“Little Wolf?” Malia asks, she’s positive it’s not actually a name but she isn't;’t entirely sure that she’s right. 

Peter looks surprised for a moment before he answers her, “Natasha… Your cousin…”

That’s news to her and she’s sure that the confusion is evident on her face. It takes her a few moments to process, but she repeats the names to him, “So me, Natasha. Derek… others but not yours.”

“True,” Peter answers after a beat, “But I am not The Benefactor. I’m just a guy who’s out millions of dollars - a few thousand of which I used trying to help… you.”

“Me?” she scoffs.

“How does the bad guy prove that he’s not so bad? By doing something nice,” Peter informs her. 

“What could you ever do for me?”

“Help you find your mother,” Peter answers her and Malia can feel her heart stop at the idea. This was why she’d come here after all. Peter is either oblivious to her internal struggle or he knows exactly what’s going on because he continues, “I’m pretty interested myself as the memory was stolen from me by my sister Talia.”

“Okay,” Malia agrees. If he can help her find her mom, she can finally get some answers, “What did you find?”

“A woman, might be her,” Peter tells her as he steps forward, “I don’t have a name yet, just a particularly interesting alias. She’s called the Desert Wolf. Do you know what that means?”

And she does… 

Coyote

***

The lights in the morgue flicker in and out for a moment and Stiles can’t help but think that the generators are probably dying out. 

He’d sent a text to Kira and the pup, telling them to hurry their awsses to the morgue but still no one had shown up. Stiles can’t help but feel jittery and he bounces his leg. 

Looking at the door, he decides to call Argent and pulls his phone out as he dials the man. As he waits for the phone to connect, he begins to pace back and forth, “Come on, come on… Answer the phone. Answer the phone, Argent,” the line just keeps ringing and Stiles grumbles, “Come on, Argent. Answer the phone. Why are you not answering the phone?”

His question is answered second later when the doors rattle as they fly open, a body slamming through them. It was enough to make Stiles jump and he’d turned to see Argent on the floor at his feet. 

The man is grunting as he pushes himself up, “Stiles Run! Stiles get out of here!”

Another body enters the room and Stiles looks up  to see the bane of his existence.

Kate Argent.

She’s walking in like she owns the place and he watches as her attention turns to him, “Get out of the way Stile. I’m taking the body.”

No!  He hears that inner voice growl and seeing as how he very much agrees with said voice, he doesn’t move from in front of the refrigerated drawers. 

Argent gets up and stands in front of him defensively and Stiles tilts his head, trying not to let his anger be too obvious when he asks her, “Why? Visual Confirmation?”

Kate smirks as she looks between the two of them and with each step forwards says, “Don’t worry handsome. I’m not the Benefactor.”

“Then what do you want with the body?”Argent asks her and Stiles takes a haf step to the side so he can keep his eye on Kate as she gets closer. 

“I wish I could tell you,” she answers him menacingly as she moves a hand towards him. Argent steps forward and she goes to grab his am but Argent manages to jam a gun just under her jaw pulling a grunt from her lips

“I always forget you carry two,” Kate mutters. 

“Back off!” Chris practically snarls at his sister. 

Kate, however, looks completely unfazed as she taunts him, “You sure you can pull that trigger fast enough?”

“I don’t want to,” Chris tells her but he knows that if it comes down to it - he will. 

“You’re not going to kill me,” Kate tells him, completely sure of herself. 

“I’m not gonna let you take his body!” Chris snaps at her, shaking her body at the same time.

“Well obviously you two have a lot to talk about,” he hears Stiles point out, “So maybe I saw some coffee, a vending machine outside…”

Knowing that Kate doesn’t wanna just chat, he can see it in her eyes that she’s about to tear Stiles apart. Pulling her towards him so that her attention turns back to him, he tells her, “Listen to me Kate. We have a plan.”

“If killing Scott and Natasha was part of it, you’re worse than me,” she scoffs at him before her lips twist into a smirk, “What do you think Alexander and his little runts are going to do to you when they find out?”

Stiles watches as Kate’s eyes snap over to him, over Argents shoulder, and he can see the grotesque smirk on her lips, “That is if Derek and Peter let you live.”

Refusing to be intimidated, Stiles curls his lip and tells her, “He’s telling the truth. We’re trying to get to The Benefactor.”

“If you didn’t notice, you’re on that list too,” Argent points out to Kate. “And you’re worth more than most.”

“That’s why I’m here!” Kate bites out. 

“Then back off and let us do what we planned,” Argent snaps back at her. 

The two of them have a stare off for a moment and Stiles isn’t sure how it happens but Kate manages to move Argent’s wrist and his eyes land on the  watch on his wrist. 

Three minutes. 

Stiles can feel his heart lodge in his throat but he knows better than to turn and look at Tasha. 

“Take the Berserkers and go, Kate, please. We have a plan,” Argent tries and this time Stiles can hear the desperation in his voice. 

Kat doesn’t look like she wants to listen and her eyes flick from Argent to Stiles and just behind him.

-

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Posted  14 June 2020 

[renegade-skywalker]

Out of the Abyss, Chapter 9

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2  / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9: The Powers That Be

After years in exile, ex-Jedi General, Eden Valen continues to clean up after Revan and Malak’s mess of a war, only to find herself forever cursed with their unfinished business. As an ill-fated lead brings her to Tatooine, Eden finds that Revan’s mysterious plans go beyond the Republic, beyond the Outer Rim, and into the utter unknown. (A novelization of The Sith Lords and beyond)

Chapter Summary:  Now aboard a stolen Star Forge vessel from the Anchorhead docks, Vale and her crew formally meet their rescuers. Coincidences abound, Vale knows that the Force has something in store for them, but for her most of all.

3951 BBY, Hyperspace

“So, does anyone care to tell me how you managed to pull this off within, what, five minutes of leaving my shop?”

Vale crowded into the cockpit with the others, shoulders and elbows knocking as the engines revved beneath them. The mystery ship was clearly designed to hold one, maybe two people at most. Glitch manned the controls, her tongue held firmly between her lips in concentration. Orex stood over her, scanning the cityscape as it shrunk beneath them.

Vale couldn’t tell if it was the ship taking off or just her nerves, but her stomach dropped the moment she could finally catch her breath for more than a few moments.

“And whose ship is this anyway?”

“That-“ the Twi’lek started, bitter notes of regret and exasperation in her voice, “is a really good question. But I can definitely say it ain’t ours.”

The Wookiee grunted in rueful agreement.

A blue hand traced the ancient hardware, the girl’s face contorting with concern. She turned to face the Wookiee, who could hardly stand among them, let alone with an HK still in tow. His back arched in an unnatural near-mobius curve, clearly suffering for the lack of space.

“We’ll have to make due for now.”

Before elaborating, she looked around, spotting the small cargo bay at the rear of the cockpit and ushered the rest of them inside. There were several small canisters in the adjoining room along with a refresher and a bed built into the far wall. This was definitely a personal vessel.

“You know what this is, right?” Vale asked Darek in a low voice as he ducked into the cargo bay. He nodded, a dark seriousness overcoming his features. Orex would know of the ship’s origins, too, and it didn��t take Vale long to think of a candidate suitable for the role of its potential owner. The answer only became clearer the more she looked around.

There were several small to medium sized crates piled neatly into the corner, taking up little space, but ancient memorabilia filled the rest of the small chamber, notes and diagrams strewn everywhere. Whoever’s ship this was had to be a collector, and maybe they had docked at Anchorhead to find something specific. Speculation mounted in Vale’s mind, but she’d have to save any half-baked conclusions for later, or at least until she got some other answers, first, and let her muscles and lungs recover.

“First thing’s first,” Asra began, standing between the two strangers once they had all filed inside, save for Glitch and Orex. She pointed to the Twi’lek first, and then the Wookiee, “Meet Mission and Zaalbar.”

Mission shot them a shy wave and Zaalbar shrugged as he finally set the HK down.

“Not sure if you still wanted this,” he whimpered apologetically, the trademark Wookiee gruffness still present in his voice.

“Don’t worry about it,” Vale replied, sparing him a small smile.

“I had the pleasure of going into business with Mission’s brother not too long ago, or at least, I almost did. But Mission, here, warned me about the pyramid scheme he was pulling and gave me a better offer.”

Mission extended a hand and Vale shook it. The girl had a surprisingly firm grip and she flashed Vale a friendly grin.

“It’s the least I could do. Griff can be charming, but that doesn’t make him any less of a liar.”

The girl rolled her eyes at the mention of her brother, crossing her arms across her chest after shaking both Vale’s and Darek’s hands.

“If you couldn’t tell, there are more people interested in you than just the seedy sort who’ll turn anything for a credit,” Mission said, “We were only told to get you out of Anchorhead – alive if possible, given the bounty – and bring you to the Republic.”

“If it’s a Jedi they’re after, I’m not sure I’ll be much help.”

Mission shrugged.

“I don’t know much about it, but I agreed to do this as a favor for a friend. Once there was word that you were in the Outer Rim, my friend sent word. Zaalbar and I happened to be en route to pick up a shipment out of Mos Eisley, so you could say we just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

Right.

“Tell me about it,” Asra huffed, “Before word reached us about the bounty, we were about to go looking for the Republic.”

Zaalbar grunted, inquisitive.

“We found some… things. Old stuff, dangerous. We wouldn’t want it falling into the wrong hands,” Asra explained. “We weren’t sure where else to go.”

Mission looked to Zaalbar, who shrugged back at her.

“Dangerous?”

“Are they any Jedi left? Would your Republic friend know?” Vale asked, her voice low, heavy with unexpected emotion. Vale kept her nose out of Republic business since she was exiled, but after seeing her brother earlier that day, believing him to be dead all these years, she wondered just how much else she wasn’t aware of.

Mission shook her head.

“There are a few,” she replied, looking to Zaalbar as if seeking his approval before continuing, “It’s hard to say. But trust me, this Republic officer you’re about to see? He can help. He’ll answer some questions, I imagine.”

“Some,” Vale muttered under her breath, exasperated.

“Who is this officer, exactly?” Darek asked, nursing a stiff knee as he set himself down on a nearby crate.

“I-“ Mission and Zaalbar exchanged looks again, “We can’t say. We’re sworn to secrecy.”

“Secrecy?”

“What’d I tell ya about the day we were having?” Asra griped. “Speaking of which, about your ship-“

Mission put up a hand to stop her, shaking her head.

“No worries, sister. That thing was a hunka junk, anyway.”

“We never did get that cargo so it’s not like we lost any merch, either,” Zaalbar added, grumbling forlornly despite his concurrence.

“Plus, I’m doing this as a favor. I’m sure a new ship is within my asking power.”

“What happened, exactly, anyway?” Vale turned to Asra now, taking a seat beside Darek herself. It was only now she realized just how exhausted she was and just how much she needed to get straight.

“We ran into these two in the alley, near Czerka. Mission and I recognized each other immediately, and she-“

“Could tell you guys were sneaking around,” Mission interjected, “And it was pretty obvious where you’d come from. Plus, I had a feeling I could trust Asra.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” the Togruta added, dryly. Mission smirked before continuing.

“Not only did we need to make sure you got out of Anchorhead, but we had to make sure you knew where to go. Seems we just helped y’all along.”

Vale had no words, her mind alight with speculation. Asra and Mission continued talking animatedly, explaining how they escaped and what had transpired in the past hour or so. Zaalbar fidgeted with the HK’s remaining parts, ridding the thing of any remnant sand, as Darek put a hand on her shoulder after a considerable silence had fallen over them both.

“You okay?” Darek asked, looking concerned about someone other than Asra for once.

Vale retreated from her thoughts, and felt the ship shudder beneath her. She nodded just as Orex poked his head through the cargo bay door, announcing, “We’ve just entered hyperspace.”

“Did you punch in the coordinates we gave you?” Zaalbar asked with a low growl.

Orex affirmed with a nod and entered the room, Glitch not far behind him.

“What happened?” Darek asked again once a relative silence fell over the cargo bay again. Despite the room’s spall space, his words seemed to echo between its walls, or maybe that was just Vale’s head.

“I saw my brother.”

The words felt alien, wrong, almost. Bile rose in her throat, and it took a moment and considerable effort for Vale to push her disgust and her surprise back down again.

“The man in the square,” Darek replied, knowing instantly.

“Who? That guy?” Mission asked, moving closer.

Vale nodded, feeling numb.

“The Jedi?” Orex asked.

He remembered. Vale had talked about him a lot in those days, even if they were at odds at the time. Fighting alongside her mother, it was hard notto talk about her twin. Anyone that had been with her at Serrocco would know who Aiden was. She conveniently left out the part where their alliances didn’t quite align, not to mention his utter disdain for her allegiance to Revan to begin with, but all her mother needed to know was that Aiden was safe and that he was on his chosen path – wherever that led him.

“I have a feeling he’s not a Jedi anymore,” Vale managed to say, “In fact, I think this is his ship.”

“But this is-“ Mission began, looking to Zaalbar, “This is a Star Forge vessel.”

“How would you know-?” Orex asked before Vale could muster the words, but the Wookiee roared before he could finish.

Mission hushed Zaalbar’s outburst with a not-so-gentle “Hey!”

He grumbled, reluctantly returning his attention to the droid as Mission seemed to search for the right way to say whatever it was she was thinking.

“You’re, what, twenty?” Orex said, his voice even but accusatory. “When the war-“

“Let’s just say, I’ve seen some things.”

Zaalbar growled again.

“Correction: we.”

“Lemme guess,” Asra began, drawling and sarcastic, “You’re not at liberty to say?”

Mission frowned, but eventually nodded.

“I’m not exactly sure,” she admitted. “They weren’t really clear on the details.”

Whatever bad feeling had taken root when Vale stepped foot on Anchorhead spread ten-fold, even more so than her reaction to the sight of the holocrons at the abandoned site. This all tied together somehow. All of this was meant to happen. Her training would tell her that there was no such thing as coincidence, only the Force.

Vale looked at Orex, and despite his frustration she felt as if he was silently reaching the same conclusion. Maybe not anything relating to the Force, but that none of this was a coincidence, and that did not bode well.

“I’m sorry, I really am. All I was instructed to do was to bring you to the Republic.”

Mission’s voice was apologetic but defensive.

“The coordinates I gave your girl were random, or as random as they could be. Even I don't exactly know where we're going," the Twi’lek shrugged in defeat, "All I know is that once we drop out of hyperspace, we find the nearest space station, and wherever that happens to be, the Republic will be waiting for General Valen to take her to Telos."

General Valen. There it was again. In her mind, Vale always knew who she was and who she had been, but hearing her given name from the mouths of others still set her on edge. It had been far too long.

Mission and Asra continued speaking, Darek and Orex listening on as they recounted their steps back on Anchorhead and discussed the holocrons in as few words as possible to ensure their safe passage. For a moment, everyone else fell away, and all that remained was Vale and the ship.

The damn thing even smelled like him. She could almost laugh. After all these years, she could still detect her brother’s scent, the smell of his hair and the same soap he’d used for years. It was here. Some things really don’t ever change. The ship was irrefutably his.

She stood slowly, and began to meander, reminisce.

The crates stacked into the corner were locked. Vale figured she could guess the dolt’s password in a heartbeat. She was always good at that. But instead of hazarding any predictions, she moved on to the diagrams and maps pinned up along a corner of the far-right wall – Aiden’s makeshift “desk”, she presumed.

His handwriting had changed little. Small, uniform letters littered pages upon pages, and she smirked at his enduring preference for paper over datapads. The Archives are filled with them, he’d say, annoyed with her asking, there’s only so much fluorescent white-blue, or whatever the kriffing color is, that the human eye can take in.

A smile crept across her mouth at the thought, retreating to memory as it eclipsed her more recent ones. As to be expected, Aiden’s notes pertained to ancient artifacts, asking questions (no doubt, to himself) about origins, lore, and any inherent properties relating to the pieces he outlined in excruciating detail. It was not long before Vale came upon the notes he had concerning the holocrons once buried beneath the Dune Sea.

His records spared little information, only detailing the story she had heard upon first arriving in Anchorhead. The only indication that Aiden had known the source of the ruse or the true nature of the crystals themselves was an adjoining sketch of what very much resembled the crystals they found there, only his rendering more closely resembled a modern holocron, or at least some hybrid version of the old and new, with a note attached, reading: Korriban, ancient, pre-Hyperspace War. Several question marks adorned his query, but there were no further notes besides.

So, he hadn’t been here for her. The coincidences were piling up by the moment, and it was only a matter of time until he caught up with them, if he really wanted these things so badly. Though his transcripts divulged little, she doubted he knew much more than they did, but it was a start, and yet…

“How are we getting rid of this ship?” she asked the rest of them, completely unsure what the current topic of conversation was now. It was less accusatory and more of a call to action. Whatever talking transpired in the time she contemplated her brother’s things stilled to a quiet, and the others looked to one another for an answer.

“If this is a Star Forge vessel-“ she started.

“It most certainly came from Revan’s Sith,” Orex finished.

Vale faced them now, turning away from her brother’s work.

“Or Malak’s,” she added, though the name felt bitter on her tongue.

“So there are Sith left, but where would they be? Where would they come from?” Darek asked.

“There always seem to be more of them, no matter what we do.”

We. Vale, of course, meant the Jedi. Goosebumps rose along her skin as she inadvertently slipped back into her old self, unsure if this is what she wanted, or if there was anything she could do about it.

“Doesn’t matter where they came from,” Orex said gruffly, “The Republic can’t have managed to eradicate the Sith after what happened to Malak. Some might have fled, I’d imagine. It could be they who pulled off whatever happened at Katarr.”

Orex shook his head, thinking.

“And who knows what they’d do if we stole from them,” Darek added.

“Or knowingly hindered one of their own,” Vale heard herself say. The thought was fresh, but the idea that by one of them she meant Aiden still felt wrong to her, and unendingly weird.

Nonetheless, Vale raised a hand and watched as her fingers graced the pages of the diagram in front of her, almost as if she were an onlooker watching as her limbs acted of their own accord. She tore the page from the wall, and handed it to Orex.

“He knows about the holocrons,” she said, her voice hoarse and low. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Orex plucked the loose page from her hand, squinting at the paper as if he had never seen anything other than a datapad before - and maybe he hadn’t. After a moment, he looked back up at her, brows furrowed, as he handed the page off to Darek. Asra looked over the Zabrak’s shoulder, glancing at Vale all the while.

Mission’s eyes darted between the three of them, finally settling on Zaalbar as she stated, “I’ll contact my people.”

Her tone was still serious despite the youthful melody of her voice, and the Twi’lek ducked out of the cargo bay and back into the cockpit.

“I don’t like this,” Vale started, “I don’t like any of this.”

“Neither do I,” Asra returned to her side, placing a calm hand on her shoulder like she had earlier that day, even though it felt lightyears away by now.

Vale placed a hand over Asra’s, reveling in her warmth. She avoided close contact with others for a reason, and the reason made itself known like a plague of guilt welling within her. It was borne of an unspoken fear that she would ruin everything, just as she had with Revan and Alek, with Kavar and Atris, with Aiden and everyone else.

It was strange, really, how Vale had avoided making any connections whatsoever for the past nine years, and yet in a mere 48 hours had formed such strong bonds with the people surrounding her that she could not possibly imagine a life without them now. It was not unlike the war. As many memories resurfaced, the feeling of comradery was the eeriest. She made friends easily at the Academy, though the Masters remained wary of her, and the soldiers that fought alongside her were easy to follow her lead. There was never any question. For others, bonds were made as easily as they were broken - but not with Vale, not with Eden Valen. Bonds were made for life. She could tell in the way Orex still looked to her for guidance and approval, even though he assumed the role of leader himself now. And she could tell in the way Aiden spoke to her after all this time, after all that had happened. And the silence that spanned the time between.

But this would not last for long. It couldn’t. Nothing ever did.

Aiden’s ship yielded little more information in the way of where it had come from, exactly, and who he answered to. All they managed to find during their time in hyperspace were more notes on ancient artifacts, both boring and long-forgotten (as they most often were), and a series of coordinates to previously visited sites – though some coordinates remained encrypted, but for what reason they could not surmise. Vale managed to steal a collection of notes and uploaded as much as she could to her datapad, for safe keeping and further investigation.

Despite what happened at Anchorhead, Vale could not help but feel sentimental. Perhaps it was the fact that she had grown to trust those around her in so short a time and already mourned their inevitable separation, or perhaps it was because she was not quite over her falling out with Aiden and never would be. Perhaps it was both.

Aiden would always be family, if not more than that. He was her twin, and he was once very much her other half. Of all the beings that remained in the galaxy, he was probably the one who knew her the most, despite all that had happened between them. As twins, they had always been able to harness an unspoken insight into the other, as if they knew what occupied the other’s mind, the other’s heart, without ever asking. They just knew.

In spite of the all the questions that dogged her, Vale had a feeling she understood Aiden more now than ever before. But now was not the time to dwell on such things. There was work to be done.

Orex pored over what little else Vale could gather from her brother’s otherwise airtight hard drive. She was able to bypass most of his passwords, having guessed their contents within a matter of moments, but the rest of his files were more delicately encrypted, as if he had anticipated her perusal.

“Korriban,” Orex uttered, identifying a sketched map of the main Sith site at first glance, “And Dxun.”

The adjoining diagram outlined the Temple of Freedon Nadd, and the exact altar they had extracted the first set of ancient holocrons from.

Orex squinted at them with his good eye, discerning the notes and citations, but undoubtedly perturbed by the amount of detail divulged.

“We sent these to Revan and Revan alone,” he said gruffly.

“And Revan turned Sith,” Vale replied, “Whatever runoff there was after the war, Aiden must have joined them. This sort of information may have been common knowledge to initiates, or at least easily accessible. Especially since these things were Sith in origin, or so we guessed.”

Vale almost wanted to laugh. Aiden had cursed her decision to defy the Jedi Council, and yet here he was, a loyal follower of the Sith that followed the heretic Revan’s rebellion. If they ever met again, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. She was sure of that.

“So, it’s just as I feared,” Orex muttered, “There are more of them, who knows how many.”

Vale considered him, scars and all. Orex was as ordinary as they came, compared to a Jedi at least. Orex was as far from Force sensitive as you could get without being completely inanimate, and even still the Jedi Code taught that all living things were influenced by the Force, regardless. But from her time with him, Vale knew that Orex relied on his gut and his gut alone. There was no mystical force supporting his beliefs or swaying his actions, and yet…

“I don’t like knowing they’re out there,” Orex replied, as if reading Vale’s thoughts, though her train of thought was easy to guess by the silence that followed, “After what we saw, after what-“

Orex stopped himself. Vale hadn’t been around for all of it. Dxun was a nightmare, but she could only guess what came after or what Revan’s Sith forces were like. She had no idea.

“We’ll figure this out,” Asra rejoined, her eyes eager and alight with determination, “This isn’t over yet.”

We. Vale’s skin warmed at the sound of the word. Moments earlier, she had slipped. She said we, referring to herself and the Jedi, but now Asra said we and she meant them - here, now - and that felt more real than anything Vale had known since the war.

“We’ll have to, the galaxy is in enough trouble as it is.”

Darek spoke this time, his voice soft and soothing. His even tone, though characteristic of the Zabrakian race, was earnest, and it set Vale at ease. There was enough to set her on edge, and the Twi’lek’s insistence on calling her General Valen wasn’t helping any. At least Orex had the sense to continue calling her Vale.

“What?”

Asra’s hand reached for Vale’s arm again, her eyes narrowing with concern.

“Nothing, nothing,” she replied, aside from the abundant somethings that troubled them. It was good to know that the Jedi weren’t the only ones that cared about what happened to the galaxy at large, and that they weren’t driven by doctrines or long-standing traditions to do so. Vale wondered how many more like Orex or Asra remained in the galaxy, veterans or otherwise, but stopped herself lest she become distracted.

“I’ll talk with Mission,” Vale said, “Make sure we’re squared away before we dock.”

Saying goodbye in her shop was unexpectedly difficult, but knowing she’d have to part ways again was another story. Vale swallowed whatever emotion overwhelmed her and entered the cockpit for the first time since take-off.

Mission sat in what seemed like a daze, gazing at the ship’s controls from afar, mouth open in awe. She jerked slightly at Vale’s entrance, embarrassed for a moment before finding her resolve.

“How are y’all holding up?” Mission asked after a moment.

Vale shook her head, looking for the right words. “Good for now,” was all she managed, looking everywhere but directly at Mission.

The Twi'lek nodded in reply, gathering her thoughts and taking a breath before standing up again and looking at Vale straight in the face.

“I never thought I’d see one of these again,” the girl admitted.

Vale looked at her now, cocking her head. Mission shrugged, and after a moment surrendered.

“I saw the Star Forge. I mean, the real deal.” Mission laughed nervously, perhaps hoping to ease the tension mounting in her chest. “I imagine you knew her? Revan, I mean."

Vale couldn’t help but smirk, but not because she was happy. She was smug, if anything. Everything always comes down to Revan.

“Of course,” Vale responded, crossing her arms, looking out at the marble white-blue of hyperspace, “But the question is, how do you know her?”

Mission inhaled, the labor obvious and almost exaggerated as if she needed to gather an extensive amount of energy to tell the tale and buy herself time before figuring out where to start.

“I met her on Taris," Mission finally exaled, "But back then she was going by Nevarra.”

Nevarra. Vale had used that name, too. The girl didn't notice, and Mission continued without pressing the issue.

“I didn’t know who she really was, none of us did. I suspect you heard about what the Jedi did to her?”

Vale nodded soberly.

“She was just, I don’t know, a Republic soldier, trying to do the right thing. She did right by me. She-“ Mission stopped herself, looking away before continuing, “She helped me. She was… she was a true friend.”

Though she had said little, Vale could feel the weight in Mission’s words.

“She has that sort of effect on people,” Vale said, moving closer to the navicomputer on the side wall. Her eyes scanned the read-out of nearby planets, realizing that this was the most she had traveled in quite some time, and wondered where Revan was now. She had been on Tatooine, yes, and Vale had a feeling she was merely following in her old Master’s footsteps. This encounter was only further evidence.

“Did you-?” Mission asked, trailing off before she could finish.

Vale turned to find Mission looking up at her wide-eyed and apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry but-?”

“Did I follow Revan?” Vale conjectured, “No.”

Mission didn’t say anything in response, only cocking her eyebrow in confusion.

“When I knew Revan, she was, I don’t know how else to say it… but she was Revan. I followed her to war, yes. But not after. Something changed towards the end, before Malachor. She wasn't the same. A lot of them weren't.”

The Twi’lek dropped her gaze, inhaling deeply.

“You haven’t said much, but if anything, maybe Revan was more herself after whatever the Jedi did to her than she was before.” Vale wasn’t sure where any of this was coming from. Maybe it was to ease whatever uncertainty plagued the girl before her, maybe she was just guessing. Or maybe it was for herself. “Before they left for the Unknown Regions, Revan and Alek were my friends. I trusted them with everything, and they trusted me. But when they came back, they came back with secrets and no intentions of sharing them. With anyone.”

Mission locked eyes with Vale again as she continued.

“I always wondered what made them change, what happened to them. I have a feeling that whatever we found on Tatooine has something to do with it. I have no idea how it fits into the puzzle, but part of me just knows. I don’t know..." Vale trailed off, "But you do see why it’s important that we transport this cargo, uh, delicately, right?”

Mission nodded, though she seemed caught in a thought, her gaze not entirely intent while searching her memory.

“We went to Tatooine, too, y’know,” Mission eventually said, “Revan had been there before.”

“We ran into some Jawa not long ago, and they mentioned her as well," Vale added,"And the Star Forge.”

The Twi’lek nodded.

“Nevarra- uh, Revan – shared these visions with Bastila. She-“

“Bastila? Bastila Shan?”

Mission’s eyes widened, surprised by the interjection. She nodded, affirming.

Bastila, a few years her junior, had been one of Vale’s classmates - a rival, in fact. While the Masters feared her ability to form Force bonds, they revered Bastila for her gift of Battle Meditation. They were not as different as the Masters made them out to be, or so Vale believed, but despite their similarities, their experiences at the Academy could not have been more different.

“I knew her,” was all Vale managed to say, before asking, “She traveled with you?”

Mission nodded, “We rescued her, actually, though according to her it’s the other way around.”

Vale almost snorted.

“Sure sounds like Bastila.”

The girl sighed, nodding exasperatedly before continuing, “She and Revan shared these, I don’t know, visions of where these star maps to the Forge were, I guess. I think Revan and Malak found them before or during the war, I can't remember.”

Star maps. The Jawa spoke of those too. Vale had known about the Star Forge, but only after the fact, and Alek had refused to tell her the details.

“Were you ever-?”

“I was close with them, once,” Vale said, “but never that close.”

The realization had wounded her back then, but she couldn’t say she was surprised. Revan and Alek had already formed an unbreakable bond by the time Alek had recruited her, and despite their willingness to teach her and call her their protégé, they remained closer with one another, never quite extending the same closeness to her. She craved their approval, and the slight only hurt her further, inspiring her growing suspicions. Yet it was her wariness that saved her. Vale wasn’t sure which was worse.

Mission took her at her word, and did not ask that she elaborate, “I don’t like sounding suspicious about her, I hadn’t been before. But with her disappearing, no word, and then all of this-“ she gestured about vaguely, “I just don’t know. I don’t know if I should even be telling you any of this.”

Vale shrugged.

“I don’t know either, but I then again I don’t know much of anything these days," The bitterness was far more evident in Vale's words than she intended, but it was too late now. “Can you at least take care of these guys? They’ve been through enough hell."

Mission didn’t say anything at first, but she nodded, her gaze intent and understanding. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said finally.

Vale hadn’t thought a lot about any of this on purpose - about Revan, about her brother, about Alek (though she forced herself to call him Malak, lest she get sentimental), about the war, the Jedi, the Force and the unknown plan it had laid out for the universe and everyone in it. Vale couldn’t say that she had been happy these past nine years, but she had managed to find contentment in her time alone. Yet here it was, fast dissolving before her very eyes, and as the coincidences piled up she knew she was never meant to stay away from Republic Space for long. She was right back in the mess.

“About Revan-” Vale began again, unsure of what words might find her lips. Multitudes upon multitudes of questions had hounded her since Malachor, and before, all of them about Revan. Vale couldn’t be sure which one might escape.

Mission looked up at her again, wondering.

“Did she-“ Vale inhaled, “What was she like?’”

The Twi’lek fidgeted with her left lekku, stroking it before placing it behind her shoulder as she searched for the right words.

“I can only speak for myself,” Mission explained, “But she was… she was kind, curious, and infuriatingly stubborn.”

Mission laughed, looking away.

“She understood me, she gave me a chance. She believed me when I said I could handle myself, and she let me. She trusted me, and other than Big Z, no one else ever had. Though, I don’t know how much I’d trust Zaalbar’s initial impression of me, anyway, given Wookiee traditions and life debts and all.” Mission shrugged, “She changed that much, huh?”

Vale nodded. “I was right though,” she managed a small smile. “The Revan you knew sounds more like the one I did.”

Despite everything else still unanswered, a quiet calm settled over Vale as she exhaled again. Mission observed her, smiling in return after a few silent moments.

“She goes by Nevarra now, actually.”

Nevarra, there it was again. After everything, this couldn’t just be another coincidence.

“Nevarra-?”

“Nevarra Draal.”

Vale’s skin prickled, suddenly cold.

No. Not a coincidence at all.