#Reaching towards a dream even when the act of dreaming is expressly forbidden to him

[signofthestriking]

Me: gee my leg is bothering me today tf did I do

My knees hurlting towards the hardwood floor of my room at mach 5 speeds every time I get to that one part of Locked Out Of Heaven:

[sweetsunflora]

“The only way that we can live, is if we grow. The only way that we can grow is if we change. The only way that we can change is if we learn. The only way we can learn is if we are exposed. And the only way that we can become exposed is if we throw ourselves out into the open. Do it. Throw yourself.” ― C. JoyBell C.

0 years old / June 20, 1823 :

Emma-Rose is born to Carter Hartfield ( the only heir to Hartfield Trading Co. ) and Josephina Flores in Manila, Philippines.

She is born lucky ( on a sugar plantation mansion belonging to her father’s family ) and loved ( with all the affections and devotion of two parents who adored each other and her ).

3 years old / 1826 :

Children of other plantation owners are being kidnapped and held for ransom. Worrying for the safety of their only child, Emma-Rose is taken to France to live a safer and better life. Only her father accompanies her as her mother is expressly forbidden by Elias Hartfield—the reining patriarch and her paternal grandfather.

3-17 years old / 1826-1840:

With one hand firmly grasping her father’s, she arrives in France—afraid and with minimal knowledge of French.

She is sent to live on a lesser Hartfield estate just outside of Paris. And despite Elias’ extreme distaste of his grandchild, she is given an education like any other male successor would be. Tutors and professors are brought in to educate her in all areas of art, literature, science, and mathematics. And she takes to it quickly and hungrily. She learns piano and singing. She studies classical art and painting. She pours over philosophical works and rhetoric. She fascinates over natural history and the study of flora. There is never a moment where she does not have ink on her sleeves or a book in her hand.

Eventually, at only 15 years old, she discovers Naturalism. It marries so much of her loves together that it is only natural for her to be hooked instantly.

For a time, she has almost everything for a happy life: a passion to live for, a comfortable home, and close friendships ( Albeit with only two people. But do you really need any more than that? ).

The only blemish in her paradise is her grandfather, whose indignant disapproval persists even into young adulthood. She can be an artistic talent and an academic prodigy but in his eyes, she is forever affixed as the ‘filthy child’. The half-Oriental bastard who holds his legacy hostage.

It should embitter her. And it does. ( What has she ever done to him besides exist? ) But Carter pleads with his daughter to instead turn the other cheek. To meet Elias’ racism and bigotry with grace and forgiveness. If she can love crawling, creeping, insects and slimy slugs surely she can love her own grandfather.

So her anger morphs into ambition. If she cannot spit his poison back in his face, she will ingest it, purify it, and make it fuel.

She will make herself undeniable—the best heir he could have ever imagined. Intelligent, accomplished, kind, graceful. She may even push herself to be bold, even if it is wholly against her nature.

But she knows this for certain. She will garner his praise, even if it is against his will.

18 years old / July 1841 : 

Her first encounter with tragedy occurs as the death of a dear friend.

Quentin Ross: A prolific painter who was so often the life of the party. He was born into old money but he never sneered at her less than perfect pedigree. He saw her for so much more than that. He had always felt restless for most of his life but when he met her…it was if the world settled to a comfortable and happy stillness. ( She had that affect on most of the people she was close to. ) And whenever Emma was fearing that her life ( and her in turn ) was becoming too boring, too simple, too meaningless, Quentin would spin her around and make her dance with him. He was enthusiasm and joy personified. He loved life to the point of fearlessness.

When he is arrested and jailed for sodomy, she quickly makes plans to get him out. However, she is foiled when Elias hears of her association with the newly disgraced painter. She hurries to work around this new obstacle, but all too soon, her plans lose their purpose. Quentin dies in jail and grief renders her inconsolable for weeks.

She crawls into herself deeper, reaching for her work as distraction. She uses it as a reminder of all the beauty that is still left in the world, even if that world is now without him.

18 years old / December 1841:

Despite being in pain, the months following his death are quite productive for her academic career. Naturalism is the only thing that she does not lose desire for. Instead, she finds a renewed hope in it. Quentin’s beauty is gone but perhaps she can preserve the rest of the world in her writing. The universe seems to pity her and— in exchange for her suffering—is rewarded with a few notable publications of her work.

Still, she does not escape the unexplainable effects of grief. Losing a loved one, it changes your insides and turns you unrecognizable. It makes you half-crazed with loss, urging you to actions you never dared to do before.  

When she hears of a scientific exploration set to embark into the China Sea and Indian Ocean, she knows—deep in her soul—that she cannot let the opportunity pass. Or more accurately, the opportunity will not let her pass. The idea of discovery grips her, possesses her.

In an act of pure rebellion, she boards La Favorite with no permission from her family.

18-20 years old / December 1841- January 1844:

It is a reckless thing, to join an expedition on a whim. It doesn’t even occur to her that her safety is not guaranteed. However, whatever higher being that exists seems to smile down on her. The expedition is blessed with minimal conflicts and good sailing conditions for most of the trip. On this endeavor, she works under the tutelage of another more seasoned naturalist and she learns a great deal from them. Being away from France, from the place of her grief, seems to heal her. And the open salt air and new locations, gives her the drink of freedom she never even knew she wanted. Once again, she is a blooming sunflower. She finds even more importance in being a kind and gentle force in the world.

There is already so much pain in existence. Why add to it?

20 years old / February 1844:

All dreams, no matter how good, must end. She returns to Paris to meet the ire of her father and, more significantly, her grandfather. She had left with only a letter, telling them vague details of the expedition as so to keep them from thwarting her plans once again.

She knows she will meet some sort of punishment, but she underestimates her grandfather’s anger.

Marriage to Louis François Barbineaux. A man she doesn’t know. A widower in search of a new wife to act as mother for his four young children.

Elias holds the threat over her head like a guillotine.

Marriage would be the end of her and he knows it. Her freedom, her work, her accomplishments, her birthright and inheritances, would all fall into her husband’s possession. She would turn into nothing once again.

With haste, she finds it in herself to propose a deal. If they want her to go down the aisle, they will have to drag her—kicking and screaming. She will disgrace their good name to all of France if she must. Or they can allow her one more expedition. One that is mutually beneficial.

She has heard of the Agathe—which is set to sail into the Arctic to find a passage to China. It would give Hartfield Trading a great advantage to know of such a thing, she claims. And when I return, I will gladly and calmly marry whoever you choose. Just let me have this last one.

In truth, she has little care for trade routes. The Arctic is unexplored, ripe for a naturalist to discover. If she could get there first, her name would go down in history. With the uniqueness of her research, a publication of this content wouldn’t just make her famous. It would make her rich. Rich enough to leave her family’s control and live her life as she wishes.

With her father’s convincing, Elias allows Emma-Rose her deal.

21 years old / March 1845:

She sets sail once again. On her first expedition, she was running away from grief. Now, she is sailing towards freedom. Hope courses through her and she truly believes that all her dreams will come true in the tundra.

22 years old / June 20, 1845: 

Her birthday is a joyous occasion as she celebrates with found friends on the Agathe.

22 years old / June 21, 1845: 

The universe delivers the worst birthday present ever.

[realityhelixcreates]

Needs

Chapters: One-shot Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Avengers Movies Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Loki x Reader  Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader, Thor,  Additional Tags: Spans From Avengers-Post Endgame, Post Loki Series, Sadder Than My Usual, Not Quite What The Summary Might Seem To Promise, Kinda Angsty, Kinda Clinical In Tone? It’s Supposed To Feel More Hollow IDK Summary:   You are a new worker at the Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S. facility the day Loki shows up to steal the Tesseract. Like Agent Barton and Dr. Selvig, he decides to steal you too.

It had only been four days.

All the transfers, and patience, and working your way steadily up through the ranks of your peers. Finally making it to the proper clearance to do the one thing you had dreamed of doing, ever since you had learned of its existence: Working with the fabled Tesseract.

It hadn’t even been a week.

You’d been warned this could happen, of course. The free world had many enemies, and S.H.E.I.L.D. sometimes had to act as a barrier against them. But there were only supposed to be scientists here, and whatever Agent Barton was. Some kind of bodyguard?  The place was hidden underground even! Who could get in here? Who could know it was here?

Four days of your dream career.

The alarms blared, but only shortly, before everything except emergency power went out, leaving you in a dark hallway, carrying the coffee you were going to offer everyone as the sounds of gunfire and shouting echoed all around you.

You flattened yourself against the wall, as even those sounds ceased, leaving you encased in darkness and eerie silence. You were no combatant, and you certainly had no weapons, only the hot coffee in your hands.

The sound of footsteps reached you, and quiet voices, only one of which you didn’t recognize. A soft glow came into view, and you squinted, just barely able to make out a handful of shadows in the darkness. The footsteps stopped abruptly.

“Sir?” Someone asked. That was Barton. That might be a good sign.

“Someone is there. I can see you.” This was a voice you had never heard before, but it set off alarm bells in your head, the way a tiger’s growl would. The glow intensified, revealing Agent Barton and Doctor Selvig, and also an oddly dressed man you had never seen before. He seemed unhealthy, maybe even injured, but he was carrying an unusual object; not quite a spear and not a club either, it was bladed and socketed with a glowing crystal of some kind. The blades were bloody.

“Oh, that’s _____.” Doctor Selvig said. “She transferred here a few days ago to begin working on energy fields.”

“She’s harmless.” Agent Barton tacked on quickly.

“Is everything all right?” You asked quietly. “I heard a lot of noise just now.”

“Yes.” The strange man said, after a moments hesitation. “But only if we all leave, now.”

“Sir?” Agent Barton asked.

“You work hard, don’t you?” The strange man asked you, stepping forward. “You are a person who gives much of herself?”

You felt like you should run, but Barton was right there. You shouldn’t really be in danger. You just nodded.

“Good. Because I have many needs.” He closed the distance between you and, before you could drop the tray of coffee you had been gripping so tightly and run, he jabbed the tip of the blade gently into your chest. You froze, all thoughts of running draining away-

-After all, why run away from your best friend in the whole world? The man you adored more than anything? He needed you. And you would fulfill those needs. Every single one.

                                                                              *****

You began almost immediately, the very instant you all reached a safe place, away from the destruction in the desert. A small, cheap, roadside motel. It wasn’t really proper for accommodating a king, but he had welcomed it, for the time being.

You had filled the ice bucket and raided the vending machine for snacks. It would make a poor supper, but Loki had accepted it all with ferocious charm. He sent the other two out on their own specific orders, but you he kept close by. He needed things from you.

He allowed you to care for him freely, in whatever ways you deemed appropriate, so you gave him ice for his bruised eyes, used a cool, damp wash cloth to wipe the sweat from his face and soothe his burning skin. You were even blessed with permission to care for his hair, and massage his scalp.

Because he asked, you spoke to him about your work on energy fields, and how much you had hoped to study the Tesseract. Because he asked, you told him everything you could about yourself, your hobbies, your dreams for the future. Because he asked, you swore eternal fidelity to him. You would have no other king.

He kept you close whenever he visited the underground lab. S.H.I.E.L.D. had many enemies, and Loki didn't want you involved with any of them. He also didn't want to share. Just because you fed and pampered him, did not mean he allowed anyone else to take advantage of those services. You still expressed the occasional bit of curiosity about the Tesseract, but he usually just shushed you, in his firm way, and told you about the great things he would do for the world, once he was king.

Petty conflicts would be laid to rest, and resource hoarding would become a thing of the past. There would be no more scrambling for fortune or fame. Everyone would have an equal place under the king. Everyone would have a job, and their basic needs would be met. Everyone who could, would be trained in the defense of the planet, from any outside enemies.

He spoke also of worrying things; of shackles he needed to throw off, of his birthright, of the dangers of the universe that were closing in on your beautiful planet. Of contingency plans, and royal responsibilities.

You couldn't help but notice the underlying tone of loneliness in everything he spoke of. He never once mentioned family. Never named a friend. In everything, he was alone.

                                                                                *****

You didn't speak any German, but that was alright. You wouldn't be here long. You had only one job to do here, and it didn't involve talking to anybody.

You lounged on a bench outside the museum the men had sneaked into. Some kind of soiree was going on inside, but not for much longer.  When the doors burst open and people poured, screaming, into the streets, you leaped up and joined them, running all willy-nilly, crying out in faux terror. Loki's illusory doubles materialized all around, herding the people into a small area; only you knowing for sure that they weren't real. When his command to kneel rang out, you were the first to do so. The others followed your example, just like he had predicted they would, their confusion and fear convincing them to mirror what they saw as an outlet to safety.

It was only supposed to be a distraction, Loki had told you so. While Barton and the others escaped with the real prize, you would help Loki create a ruckus, a lure for the team of heroes Loki was so curious to test. It was just supposed to be a show of power, Loki standing tall over kneeling subjects, delivering a soothing speech...but then the old man had stood up. He spoke back defiantly and you wanted to shush him, but you could not risk your cover by speaking. Stomach churning, you watched Loki raise his scepter to the old man, fearing what was to come. Death was inevitable in any regime change, sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. You just had to remember that. Defiance couldn't be tolerated, not right now. There had to be ruthlessness now; Fairness would come later.

The blast never hit home, reflecting instead at the very last moment and striking Loki instead, bowling him over. You cried out in real fear this time, at the sight of your king thrown to the ground like that. But dutifully, you dashed away from the sudden battle, instead of towards him. You had been expressly forbidden from entering combat, instead, you escaped into the back streets and returned to the designated meeting place, to be extracted to the secondary meeting place.

Loki did not return.

This was, of course, part of the plan. He was exactly where he wanted to be now, up, up above the clouds, on one of the largest structures to ever fly. Everyone on it was at his mercy, and unfortunately, some of them would die in the mayhem he meant to unleash up there. Sacrifices had to be made. But after this, there would be peace, as Loki took over for the failed governments of the world and put an end to the pointless fighting and bottomless greed. Earth would become a respected galactic power.  Just a few sacrifices to be made.

                                                                               *****

You infiltrated the helicarrier with the rest of Loki's allies, dressed as a S.H.I.E.L.D. Operative and wearing a magical device that your king had left with Barton to give to you. It changed your appearance to that of a large, rather generic man who looked rough enough that others might give pause before tangling with. You could not wear your own face, having been labeled M.I.A., or possibly dead after the collapse of the Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S. Facility. It was alright. You didn't have any family to worry over you.

Your orders were to make your way straight to the glassy cell your king was being held in, where  he provided you the code to free him. Then he commanded you to hide behind the console.

“Thor will be coming, I know it.” He said. “Nothing must come between him and his new suite. It is my gift to him.”

You'd heard of Thor-who hadn't? No amount of cover-up had managed to keep his existence quiet. From what you had heard, there was no safe place if you were in his way. He'd go right through you without even pausing.

You huddled down behind the console with Loki, as the rapid thudding of heavy footsteps rushed towards you. The Thunder God burst into the room, shouting and rushing a false image of Loki, falling head first into his trap. So easy. Loki clearly knew the other god quite well.

The two of you left your hiding space, Loki gloating and toying with the other god while you watched the door. Thor railed at him, even managing to crack the glass.

Fearful that he would break free, you kept your gaze firmly on the door. Surely Loki could handle it.

You were so fixed on your task, that you didn't realize someone had come up behind you until he cracked you across the head, sending you into instant darkness.

                                                                                                ******

You awoke in an outlying New York suburb, in the small home of an elderly couple your king had commanded to see to your health. Your head hurt, but he assured you that nothing had been broken. He assured you that the man who hurt you had been permanently dealt with. He assured you that revenge had been taken for your pain.  

He seemed pleased. He'd dropped the Thunder God thousands of feet, torn the great helicarrier from the sky, unleashed a monster, wrought chaos!  It didn't matter that Thor survived, that the helicarrier hadn't actually crashed, that the Hulk was no longer rampaging, or even that he had lost Agent Barton in the fray; the chaos remained. His plans were coming together, and he reveled in it.

When you were fully awake, and certain that you weren't injured, he allowed you to dote on him once more, sharing a small meal, sitting in his lap and massaging his scalp. He sighed, his eyes drooping closed from the pleasure of it.

He was so beautiful, so perfect, so radiant. You would happily do anything for him.

You leaned in and pressed your lips to his, ready to offer anything.  He flinched away at the suddenness of it, but you followed the movement of his head, and within moments, he was holding you tightly, hungrily claiming you lips, your mouth, your tongue. It was all his, your everything, all his.

He lifted you effortlessly, laying your down on the bed you had just left, writhing against you while keeping claim of your mouth, and swallowing your happy whimpers until he just stopped. He drew back from your face, staring right into your eyes as you gazed up at him with adoration.

His expression changed then, as he looked down at you, and for just a few seconds he looked like a different person. Younger, more vulnerable than you had ever thought he could look. Sympathetic. Guilty.

“No.” He said finally. “I don't have to. They're coming together now, I don't have to do anything worse in order to galvanize them. This is a line I don't have to cross, a monster I don't have to become.”

He rose, retreating to the door, while you sat up in the bed.

“No, your Majesty?” you wondered.

He shook his head. “Not this day. Perhaps some other time, under better circumstances. Depending, of course, upon which of my plans bears fruit. But for now, you must stay here. Do not venture outside, not for anything but my express summons. The Jensens will take care of you until I return. Or until I don't, in which case, my orders will no longer matter.”

He left then, to make his grand takeover a reality.

Through the Jensen's radio you heard disturbing news. Holes opening in the sky, from whence poured unknown, alien beings and horrifying creations. Tremendous destruction and mayhem in the middle of the city. All defenses being easily overturned, and only a handful of people were able to hold them back at all. The Iron Man was doing what he could, the monstrous Hulk had been spotted again, only a year after the terror he rained down on Harlem, and the near legendary Captain America had somehow risen once more. Thor, God of Thunder, and a few, unknown others were all locked in battle, but the radio announcer could give few details beyond that.

And so, you stayed quietly where you were, awaiting your kings triumphant return.

It came upon you very suddenly, a breaking sensation. A cutting off, a departure, a sudden absence. Whatever it was that had cast its veil over your mind and steered your thoughts was gone, and you were alone inside your own head once again.

You hardly had time to realize what it meant, before the elderly Jensens, no longer coerced into helpfulness, ran you out of their home in fury over how they had been used.

You wandered the streets for hours after that, drawn to the city center, wraith-like in the emptiness of your thoughts, until the police picked you up. When they questioned you, you found yourself unable to lie, unable to argue, unable to do anything but obey. The things you said caused you to rapidly find yourself back in S.H.I.E.L.D custody, truthfully answering every question posed to you, faithfully following every order given to you.

It was quickly surmised that you had been altered by the influence of the scepter Loki had carried, the thing he used to control the minds of all he touched with it. That control had been broken when the Hulk had 'broken' him, so to speak, but it left its victims different than they had been. Dr. Selvig, for instance, had grown so hypersensitive, that he could no longer think hard with his clothes on, the texture of the cloth preventing him from concentrating.

As for you, you could no longer deny anyone anything. If you were ordered, or asked, or even suggested to, you automatically obeyed, to the letter. You could not say no, could not protest, could not voice displeasure. You couldn't even feel hesitant, you simply acted.

S.H.I.E.L.D kept you in yet another of their research facilities, testing and trying to find some way to return your independence, but as years passed with little success, you slipped further and further into the background. By the time the Calamity occurred, you had been shuttled away into the psyche ward, and left there, gently cared for, but no longer worth the effort to fix.

When everyone disappeared, you almost starved to death. You had long ago been told you couldn't leave by yourself.

Some surviving members of S.H.I.E.L.D finally came to the facility, in search of any living agents, and took you away with them, finding you harmless and obedient.  Over the next five years, you did everything you were told, no matter how unsavory or uplifting. Time melded together, until you almost couldn't remember that you used to be a brilliant researcher, who worked on energy fields for the enrichment of all mankind. Until you almost couldn't remember that you'd used to be anything.

S.H.I.E.L.D still provided for you, since you hadn't actually quit, and the insurance plan was amazing, so you did have a place to live, and your basic needs met, though, because of your emptiness, you had little to no social life.  Many people had difficulty understanding the depths of your delicate condition, and far too many of those who did took advantage of it.

The Return was a time of celebration, and of great confusion and upheaval. For you, it was a time of staying inside, and not talking to anyone until things got sorted out, and you could be guaranteed safety.

It was likely because of this that nobody noticed when he returned to you.

You still watched the news and used the internet, albeit with every adblocker available installed.  You knew that the people of Asgard had relocated to Earth after the terrible loss of their homeland. You knew Thor was there, but you, like everyone else, thought that Loki had died.

But he was there in your apartment one day, looking older, softer, and incredibly penitent.  

“Please don't be afraid.” He said. And so you weren't.

“Please tell me what happened.” He said. And so you did.

There were tears in his eyes by the end of it, his hands trembling with the strength of his regret. Since you were not afraid, he was able to approach and hold you tenderly.

“Let me make this up to you.” He pleaded, and you had no choice but to agree.

He took you away from your apartment-the first time in months that you had left-and he brought you to a young, red-haired woman.

“Is there anything you can do for her?” He asked, after explaining what the problem was. She seemed very put out with him, and he took her accented sarcasm with contrition, but she eventually agreed.  Then she touched your head, and you went to sleep.

                                                                                            *****

You awoke after what felt like a decade of the most refreshing sleep you'd ever had, and feeling better than you had in years. The layer of molasses that had covered your thoughts for so long seemed to have thinned; you felt sharper than ever.

Loki was there, waiting eagerly.

“How do you feel?” He asked.

“So good.” You replied. “You bastard.”

He looked taken aback.

“Tell me what happened!” You demanded. “Tell me everything!”

You knew inside that you hadn't exactly been cured. If you were ordered, you would still obey. But you could think now. You could talk back, you could refuse requests that weren't orders. You could give orders of your own.

Loki was grinning wide. You still found him beautiful.

He told you everything; about escaping with the Tesseract, and traveling far and wide, only to return and find out that, somehow, he had never left. That, while he was off adventuring, learning, healing, there was another him, still here, who had lived entirely different experiences. That version of him had apparently been defined by loss and sacrifice, to the point where he had actually died.

This Loki wasn't without understanding  of why his other self would take that direction in life. He felt terrible remorse for the things he had done, helpless to do anywhere near enough to make up for it.

“But I have thousands of years to fix what I've done. I can do so much more with my life than I can with my death.  And as for that: May I help you? I want to make this up to you. I want to make the rest of your life comfortable. Idyllic, if I can. Would you want me to do that?”

You were actually able to think about it. To contemplate refusal. You could walk away, you could tell him to never visit you again. But he owed you. He owed all of mankind a debt, and helping you was a start for all the payback he owed. So you agreed.

And he began taking care of your needs.

                                                                                *****

For someone with such a reputation for trickery and lies, Loki was as good as his word, and perhaps better. He gave you everything you requested, up to and including his affection. You knew it was fueled by his great remorse, but sometimes it felt like love. Neither of you believed yourselves to be fully capable of that emotion anymore, though he stayed with you most nights, and the friendly domesticity between you felt close enough.

You never asked for marriage, believing that it would prove ultimately false, but you lived as a couple, and allowed him to dote on you as he saw fit. That Loki had never been in a long-term relationship was clear, but he showed no frustration over the arrangement. Instead, he often thanked you for teaching him. He often expressed his fear that his efforts at reparations were not enough.

Dr. Selvig's research had been funded for years to come. Agent Barton's children would be going to college on Loki's donations. He put great effort into the continued rebuilding of downtown New York, volunteered information about advanced Asgardian technology, and the universe. He became, in general, the very image of the good king who went out among the people to commit charitable acts, but he still felt that it wasn't enough.

Even as you grew steadily older, and he saw more to your health and companionship needs, he never commented on the graying of your hair, never showed a drop of resentment. He remained gentle and steadfast until the night you had to leave.

Nestled in his arms, you knew he was watching you sleep, as he always did. You had been particularly foggy and calm today. You knew it was time.

You hadn't said anything to him about it, Loki, who looked at you with the same beautiful eyes you had seen every day since you were still young. He would have frantically done everything he could to prolong the inevitable, but you didn't want it. You had said goodnight, like you always had, let him tuck you gently into bed, and settle down beside you, just like every night. If it wasn't love, it was at least comfortable.

You gazed upon his lovely face once more, as he pressed a goodnight kiss to your forehead, and then let your eyes flutter closed for the very last time.

A short time later, you lifted yourself back out of the bed, light and airy, and for the first time in decades, completely free. Somehow, you managed to look back for just a moment before moving on entirely, to behold him tenderly embracing your empty body, begging forgiveness, and knowing, like you both had always known, that it would never be enough.