#multiple versions of the same person within the same universe but spread over time…

[tf2heritageposts]

So, there’s been a big buzz about Team Fortress 2 after the prodigal son of Comic 7 came to us, and ya wanna know what the buzz is about, hm? this post will be a guide to the basics of getting into tf2, and becoming more familiar with the fandom, from a dude who's been in it for bout fourish years

INTRO

Well, to start things off, TF2 is a game created by Valve in 2007, aka the creators of the video game marketplace Steam and the extremely popular video games Half-life and Portal. There are also some theories that they all exist in the same universe, but this only is canon to HL and Portal some people will say it also contains tf2 but ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

The video game is free on Steam, that is with a massive asterisk as it does contain in-game purchases with real money,for  which you have to purchase a pass at 2 dollars to be able to talk in game or use voice commands. Valve says this is to protect against bots but the bot problem has been over for months and it still hasn’t been solved so what are ya gonna do? For much cheaper, you can go into the mann co store in game and purchase a vitasaw for .22 cents and viola you can talk now!

Something to note is that you do not need to play the game to engage with the fandom. I’ve been running a semi-popular TF2 gimmick blog for almost three years now and I’ve noted that maybe 20-30% of the fandom has never touched the game or even has steam. All of the fancy lore is purely supplemental material found outside of the game through comics, and you could easily just watch videos containing all of the voice lines if you truly wanted to know what the men you were drawing and writing sounded like. 

THE ACTUAL GAME

Regardless, TF2 itself is a first-person shooter with game modes such as payload, king of the hill/control points, and capture the flag if you’re feeling spicy. If you’ve played overwatch, this is that but it won’t trigger epilepsy by playing it. There's also alterate gamemodes such as payload race where both teams are trying to get a payload to the other side, medieval mode where basically any guns are banned and you are slapping people with swords and fish, as well as pass time which nobody plays but has an extremely obscure and complicated achievement attached to it.

There are also community servers where there are extensively more options for playing, such as casual+ servers where the goal is creating a “better” version of the casual servers. This usually means no crits, changes to bullet spread, aka stuff most non comp players Within these community servers, there's many different gamemodes you can play, such as 10x servers where the damage weapons do gets increased 10x 100x 10000000000x etc etc. There are also “fun” servers where the server owner has put about 100 different plugins and you are just having fun non-serious times. It’s fun. 

There are way more community game modes out there for you to enjoy; such as vs Saxton Hale/freak fortress, dodgeball, prop hunt, and plenty more. Explore that community tab to your heart's desire :]

Also! TF2 has a game known as Mann vs Machine(usually called MVM) where you and six other people all kill thousands of robots who are trying to get a bomb to the other side of the map throughout multiple rounds. It’s good fucking fun man. If you want the chance for loot/an extremely rare form of a weapon if you play a map enough, it’s 72 cents per ticket…….but if you don’t care and just want mindless fun, go boot camp and play for free. Boot camp also has way more maps, and often has charity drives hosted by the community where you can earn a neat little badge.

The game also has an extensive player player-driven economy, but unless anyone asks for a post with the basics since I know more about the economy than I’d like, I’ll just say you don’t need to worry about it. lollichop stocks

THE VIDEOS

Now, for the part, most people know about TF2, aka the Meet the Team series of videos. These are a series of 1-3 minute videos on the Valve YouTube channel that introduce the mercs through a consistently inconsistent format. A few of the videos are formatted like an actual interview with the mercs, while others are formatted more like mini TV shows. They’re all wonderfully entertaining and the source of multiple extremely popular memes, meaning even if you don’t know it you’ve been exposed to the videos before. Most famously, it’s the source of the “professionals have standards” image as well as “he could be any one of us”.  It’ll take you around 15 minutes to binge all of the videos. Even if you aren’t interested in getting TF2, I’d heavily recommend watching the videos due to how funny they are, plus genuinely good-looking 3d animation. The link is right here

There’s also Expiration Date, aka the pilot of the canned TF2 adult swim show. It’s also up on the valve’s channel and is around 15 minutes. It is probably one of the best things Valve has made for TF2, as well as being probably one of the most quoted shit on this godforsaken internet. It’s where the “dear god, there’s more” meme is from. Watch it. Right now. it's only like 15 minutes, what else are you doing with your time?

THE COMICS

This is where all that juicy lore is. Over the last 17 years, the valve has released free comics to go along with the major updates of TF2, as well as a main series of comics called “mann co no More”. The last comic in this series, which only took about 7 years to come out, aka the length of time someone could have a child and then have that child be in elementary school, was released a few weeks ago as of writing out. 

Something to note is that while the update comics are all mostly goofy and do contain some *very important lore*, they’re not serialized and can be from anywhere within the TF2 timeline. Meanwhile, Mann Co No More is a serialized comic and is trying to be a consistent story. It’s an extremely goofy story with about 40% serious and genuinely interesting plot and 60% whatever the fuck soldier is doing at any given moment

It’s all very good fun. Fair warning though if you try to become a TF2 loremaster you will go insane. I sure as hell did. 

And now that you have all of the official stuff out of the way, it’s time for

TF2 YOUTUBERS

For your beginner in the fandom, there are three main YouTubers I would personally recommend 

Lazypurple, my personal favorite TF2 YouTuber, is most famous for his series of videos “How it FEELS to play __” where he goes over what it's like to play any given class. Except medic. He’s still working on that one. Give him time. https://www.youtube.com/@LazyPurple

Another I’d recommend is Soundsmith, most well known for his guide series on playing the soldier subclass(aka alternate game style) of troldier. And also his cosmetic stereotypes series but he doesn’t like that one these days. He also has a series of videos called “A mann’s guide to the __” where he goes over a more obscure or not very used weapon in TF2. Don’t let the title fool you, it is in no way an actual guide. As a quick warning, Soundsmith sometimes uses the R slur in his older videos. He no longer uses it but just as a warning. https://www.youtube.com/@SoundSmithTF2/videos

Finally, there’s Uncle Dane, most famous for his guides on playing Engineer in the most optimal way possible. If you want to main Engie or even have a passing thought about playing him ever, watch him. https://www.youtube.com/@UncleDane

For some other picks on favorite tf2tubers of mine:

jontohil2: https://youtube.com/c/Jontohil2 most famous for his spy psychology series and guides on playing spy

solar light: https://youtube.com/@SolarLight?feature=sharea most famous for his guides on playing the subclass demoknight and also being the best demoknight player par noneelmaxo https://youtube.com/c/elmaxoTF2 most famous for trying to manipulate the steam marketplace that one time and for his playing 100 hours series. He’s retired nowadays but his videos are still good.

and now

TF2 FAN CONTENT

Sfms: 

Source Filmmaker, AKA SFM, is a free animation software developed by Valve originally developed for use in the Meet the Team series of videos that is available for public use. The main draw to the software is the ability to make (easier) 3D animation using premade models that are either built into the software or added in through the steam workshop. Due to TF2 and various other valve properties being built into the software, TF2 is often used as placeholder models for SFM videos. But a good chunk of the SFM community are TF2 fans using it to make fancontent(the most famous ones I will get into later)

Some personal favorite SFM makers mine are:

The winglet https://youtube.com/c/tf2thewinglet most famous for winning every saxxy ever

kostamoinen https://youtube.com/@Kostamoinen?feature=sharea most famous for nothing in particular but just generally being a very good sfm maker

https://www.youtube.com/@SilentManJoe/videos most famous for animating for lythero and not being someone you should watch if you’re under 18 generally

And for some underrated picks:

Misan - https://www.youtube.com/@Misantropico

Hotpockette- https://www.youtube.com/@hotpockette/videos 

Colonel fantzipanzen- https://www.youtube.com/@ColonelFanzipantzen/videos

GMOD:

Garry’s Mod,, AKA Gmod, is a sandbox game made as a mod of half life 2. It’s not meant to be an animation software, but dude to some extensions you can download off the workshop, it can be used as a stop motion software with the ragdolls in the game. This is how people animated before SFM was a thing by the way.

GMOD is most famous for being the source of the most batshit tf2 shit you’ll ever see that also doubles as humorus body horror. TF2’s early fandom humor was based off of gmod. And before you ask, skibidi toilet is an SFM series, not gmod despite the similar humor. 

The most famous GMOD maker is stblackst, who makes some of the highest quality shit you can make in GMOD. However, he often uses the r slur and some of his videos contain some extremely uncomfortable jokes, but unfortunately that’s how it is sometimes. 

Another famous and classic gmod creator is thatgraycartoonpony, most famous for his video “Pyro Paints” that showed everyone that you CAN make pyro funny and expressive. Some of the best. 

Finally in our most famous gmod creator trinity, there’s eltorro64rus, most famous for his absolutely insane gmod videos even for gmod. He’s a classic https://youtube.com/c/Eltorro64Rus

For my personal favorite picks:

Dasmashidx- https://www.youtube.com/@DamashiDX

Crazyscoutfin- https://www.youtube.com/@CrazyScoutFIN

Alxium- https://www.youtube.com/@Alxium

Gooserious- https://www.youtube.com/@GooSerious

FAN GAMES:

Something that’s not talked about a lot for some reason!

The two main fan games I’ll discuss here are both by germanpeter on gamejolt

Overtime- https://gamejolt.com/games/overtime/255028

This one of germanpeter’s two crossover tf2 games. Here it’s a crossover of TF2 and Undertale. A legitemtnly fun experience and a good undertale fangame. Fair warning, the sprites are vaguely terrifying.

Midnight Mercenaries- https://gamejolt.com/games/midnightmercenaries/375928

Another crossover game, this one being a crossover of TF2 and Hotline Miami. One of the most fun fan games ive ever played period. Fair warning, if you know what hotline miami is like tone wise, it’s carried over here. Ending may be a bit too angsty and depressing for some people.  

Capture the Intelligence- https://gamejolt.com/games/gmod-capture-the-intelligence/850383

This one is not made by germanpeter! It’s a short horror game with heavy early 2010s gmod inspiration and is pretty goofy. I haven’t personally played it due to time, but I’ve  heard it’s good.

and now

FANDOM ESSENTIALS

Emesis Blue (and Spy’s disguise)

Emesis blue is a horror film created by the studio Fortress films that came out in 2023. It is one of the most popular sfms in the TF2 fandom ever, and is a full length movie. Seriously, it’s two hours long. I don’t wanna spoil it but I promise it’s good.

However, it’s technically a sequel to another Fortress Film SFM called spy’s disguise. This one is only 20 minutes, and much more humorous than Emesis blue. It is full of body horror though whoops! I would recommend watching it beforehand though. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9MiJWNkmWfs - spy’s disguise https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V0ODG8bFme0&t=4s - Emesis blue

Pootis Engage 

A sfm two part series by the wonderful ceno0 that completely changed the SFM landscape. It is so fucking well animated I can’t stress this enough. It is also extremely horny so I’d only watch if you’re of age. 

Pootis engage - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jl6lee2wyPQ&list=PLvgjnNWlcA0x_WMVzuZquKYwTFVbiBekn&index=1&t=144s&pp=iAQBPootis engage// extreme - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGJBUauU-CE&list=PLvgjnNWlcA0x_WMVzuZquKYwTFVbiBekn&index=2&t=134s&pp=iAQB

The Heavy is Dead

Aka that video we as a fandom are annoying about. A video by the wonderful gmod creator Delak, who doesn’t really do TF2 nowadays, you need to watch it. Not optional sorry

Freak Fortress:

Have you been wondering what the hell is up with those weird edgy looking versions of Tf2 characters? And why some of them consider communion to be literally eating Jesus’s flesh? 

Well, Freak Fortress is a  community of people who make videos using GMOD with community created characters called “Freaks”. You know how SPC is a community/fandom of people who make SPCS and then everyone uses SPCS in their own stories and whatnot? It’s like that. The freaks are usually mercs with specific cosmetics or alterations to their models that act as their own chracters rather than being the mercs.

The most famous ones being

Painis Cupcake - https://tf2freakshow.fandom.com/wiki/Painis_Cupcake

Christian Brutal Sniper- https://tf2freakshow.fandom.com/wiki/Christian_Brutal_Sniper

And Christian Pure Spy- https://tf2freakshow.fandom.com/wiki/Christian_Pure_Spy 

You may notice I linked wiki pages and not videos or playlists. This is due to a few reasons

CPS’s videos are all taken down and you have to watch them through archived channels now, which are pretty hard to find with youtube’s shitty search engine

So many people make different videos with just these three characters, it’s better just to look at the video section of the wiki pages and go through there

If you wanted to get into Freak Fortress, I’d reccomend finding a freak you like on the wiki and then binging all of the videos linked on their page. 

My two personal favorites: 

Soldine -  https://tf2freakshow.fandom.com/wiki/Soldine

Polish Soldier- https://tf2freakshow.fandom.com/wiki/Polish_Soldier

Lil Pootis:

A cute little kind of extremely dark at some points 2d animated series of tf2 videos by the wonderful Quazies. The series is going to be completed for good soon, but as of right now there are nine videos 

and that should be about it. if you have any questions, feel free to ask me. or if you want any gmod reccomendations. i fucking love gmod woo

[jackfrostsander]

Happy 21:21 to little Sander!

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Freak (One Shot)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Warnings: your writer being a dick about the otp

Word Count: this is the first time that I had to remind a therapist about a session. Usually it was me who would forget about sessions or even booking sessions. But that was also because I was scared. Now I know that in order to get better I need to make a few changes with my way of thinking. Bonus? I did not cry during this PMS cycle.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"...in summary, you touch any of my playthings, you will have to deal with the consequences." Kruge wants to pierce those eyeballs out but he has to stop himself in case he is taken a prisoner for harming the new king of Jotunheim on the very first night. "Understood, your grace," Helbindi gives a little bow and waits for Loki to open the door to his chamber before he lets his fangs out in pure animosity for the God.

Loki makes sure to close the door behind him before he closes his eyes and rests his head on the silver frame with a thud. At least he won't have to keep up the facade of being composed all the time in this room. Did I make the right decision? His thoughts are running at a speed that would be considered normal for Pietro. This is the last place Aellae would invade. He inhales a lungful, his mind addressing a hint of lilac in the cold air. That is if she hadn't already done that. And all the fingers are pointing at Helbindi. I am sure Helbindi has something to d-wait...Lilac?

Those computing brows are suddenly furrowing in curiosity while those eyes open to dart around the room in question. At the other end of this immaculate and massive bedroom, you walk out from the direction of the bath, your wet hair a beautiful mess, your skin glowing in the faint light reflecting off the shining frost, your dark blue pyjama shorts showing off those legs that seemed to have toned a little, thanks to the workout this deadly trip has provided. Out of nowhere, winds are blowing into the bedroom from the balcony to bring Loki more of that lilac scent you are covered in right now. Those teasing soft punches of air are doing their best to tickle your exposed skin while teasing the God with a little bit of peek of some more. He does not realise it but Loki's eyes are stuck on you, his throat trying to gulp down whatever is frozen in there, just not ready to digest the poetry unfolding in front of him. Normally he would have scolded you for putting your used towel on that chair, but right now all his brain can comprehend is you raising your leg on his bed to apply some lotion on it. Your head turns in his direction and he is suddenly finding himself running into the sole vase on his right side. He is Loki- the God of mischief- so, of course, it does not take much time to bring that vibrating vase to a standstill. But he still keeps holding for another moment or two, for the fear that it might move again. Any third person witnessing this can tell it is not exactly the vase he is trying to still. "This painting is nice," he murmurs to himself while looking at a pictureless frame decorating the wall to his side, pointing to it and pretending to appreciate it. His hands, though, cannot seem to find a comfortable position. "You're back?" you ask him, still working on your leg. "Hmm?" He pretends to notice you for the first time, still not ready to lock his eyes with you, instead, playing with his fingers. "Oh, yes. Just...had to give a couple of instruction to the...uhh...boys." "I don't like that Helbindi guy-" you screw your nose and Loki seems to lose a couple of ounces of air- "he gives off bad vibes." "Yeah, yeah he does," he agrees with you, walking slowly and calculatingly towards the bedroom part of the room. Your leg switches. "I'm glad that you have the majority though. That too considering you have been away for a looooong time." You raise your head and he busies himself in the ferns kept at the entrance of the bed-chamber before asking himself what his idiotic ass was trying to do. Finally finding the strength, he looks back up at you and nods with a smile. Walk to the other side of the bed, he is practically giving the basic instructions to his brain now. She isn't going out like this, is she? That one part of his brain clad in some dark crevices questions him. That one simple thought seems to raise multiple silent alarms in his body. "So-" he tries to point at you and the door but fails and instead takes his finger to scratch an itch at the back of his neck- "you're going to sleep in now?" That glowy leg worth months of hair growth suddenly drops on the floor. And so does your face. Loki cannot make out what you're thinking because he is busy waiting for your answer. "You want me to sleep somewhere else?" It's just a softly put question. But your eyes seem to glimmer in sadness as if he just betrayed you some way. "What?" he is more surprised by the fact that you did not think of it as a possibility. Why would she sleep somewhere else? We've been doing it the whole trip! Well, the whole trip did not have rooms like this one, balconies like this one and certainly not a view like this one. Loki breathes, opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out for a good few seconds. He is still trying to make his mind look away from all the stray water droplets falling from your hair inside your clothes. "No-" he blinks, bringing his eyes back to yours, licking his lips, he is soft in his speech- "um, you stay here." Loki, you are a God. With the sudden reminder, he clears his throat, straightens his back and brings back that dominating energy in the room. "You stay here," he orders this time. Your quick smile is already melting that robust core of his. And that quick jump on his bed catalysis the effect. "Cool!" You sit there with your legs folded under you, thighs spread, and that shirt not covering as much as it is supposed to. "Woah!" you snapped him out of his trance as you took a little jump on the bed. The sudden glow in your eyes was sending a tingling sensation down his spine. "Oh," you exclaimed, going up and down on your thighs, "we finally have a hard mattress! God, I'm old!" Loki just stood there, watching you arch your back as you went up and down, testing the bed, and at the same time testing his fortitude. Why-why is she not wearing a bra? Loki smacks his inner self. That's what concerns you right now? "Stop that," he growls. One final jump and you are falling on your back with a long sigh. That tingle seems to have subsided but as it is going back, Loki's gaze cannot seem to come off your body- you lying with your limbs spread out as you groan out loud to remove that fatigue from your lungs. That double chin of yours is quite evident when you raise your head just a little to look for the quilt and bring it closer to you with your feet. Who does she think she is? A part of Loki asks. Beautiful, his inner voice answers without a pause, all dreamy eyes for you and your double chin. "By the Norns, you have to stop," the God growled again, making you pause your leg mid-air with the quilt in between your toes. You drop that quilt just like that and turn to rest your head on your palm. "Stop and...?" that low hoarse tone of your mixed with a wicked glow in your eyes lights up a section inside the God he should not be thinking about. Especially when it has the power to take over his brain.  The next time he opens his eyes, you can witness a change in that usually brooding boy to something more...feral? Those bloody eyes of the only Jotun you know are sending you mixed reverberations. By the time you are trying to figure out what it is behind those eyes, Loki's leg is already on the bed and his body over you within two strides. Your hips are locked in by his thighs and he is looking down at you with a simmering gaze.  You are definitely questioning all your freaky actions tonight. But I thought I would tease him a little! You know, to get his mind off serious stuff going outside that door!! And here you are, lying under Loki, your hands clasped close to your chest while your eyes are trying to figure out his next move, all the while unconsciously biting your lower lip. Not gonna lie, this blue version of him kinda looks sex- Loki's hands go down, right between his legs. You are about to catch your breath and cross your legs when his hands yank out the quilt from between the two of you to lay it over you. Your lips are still apart, mouth gaping, breaths at a pause while Loki flattens the fabric out over you till your neck before tucking it on your either side to the point that you cannot escape it even if you wanted to. Your brows furrow in disappointed confusion. Your hands are making that universal gesture of 'what the fuck???' under that damned sheet whereas Loki is proudly looking at his work. "That should keep you warm." “Dude!” Is all you can let out from your lungs before letting your body struggle to get out of this cosy prison. Loki gets up and away from the bed to undo his coat, looking away from you and smiling at this little achievement. “Don’t waste your breath, darling. I learned it from my mother. You cannot get out of that  hold unless you have calmed down enough to-“ His words disappear when he turns back to witness you already deep in sleep; your lips parted, your head practically drowning in the pillow, and little snores already forming in your nostrils. “How exhausted were you to sleep within seconds?” He whispers, never taking his eyes off. I need to teach her not to sleep with her guard down in suspicious places.

.

The coat lay on the floor along with the familiar pants and shirt. Loki sits on the bed in a nightgown, letting his back rest on the bed frame while his eyes gather some much needed light sleep. The night outside is still if not for the periodic interruptions of crows here and there. The chill of this frozen land comes as a blessing for this Jotun, who is no longer regulating his temperature as per the Midgardian ways. His Jotun form too is breathing fine, even feeling better than before. A true blessing in disguise. “Mmm…no…I don’t like it…” you mumble in your sleep, opening Loki’s eyes before he knows what’s happening. His hand automatically reaches out for you, coming to rest on your forehead before realising he cannot use magic to get rid of any bad dreams. So, instead, he softly pats your head. Your sleep laden crinkled brows seem to find some peace from those soothing pats, going back to dreamless sleep and loud snores. Loki cannot help but burst into a silent laugh at those snores. How can someone so small and comparatively frail snore worse than a giant?! That laugh that crinkles the edge of his eyes seems to be slowly melting into a smile; and not any ordinary smile at that. It is bringing a sweet realisation with it; a realisation about this human. Among seven billion humans, this one seems to have brought him the comfort he never even dared to feel. The past few days spent in this human's company were far lighter and chirpier than the most extravagant days spent as a child in Asgard. There was no anxiety, no restlessness. Whenever he was not able to collect his thoughts, looking at this human used to bring everything to a standstill. Knowing that he is not alone this time brought a certain peace to his soul; brought solutions faster and escape routes quicker than his enemies could calculate.  Is this what it's like to have a friend? To have the want to protect them, fight them, tease them, make their life miserable but never let anyone else lay a finger on them? Is this what friendship means?? As if to answer his question, your snores break into a snort before you wiggle inside your duvet to crawl closer to him in your sleep. Your hand stretches out from under the warm cover, take an elongated sigh till it touches Loki's arm and wraps those toasty fingers around his cold muscle. Loki has paused his existence for a second to make sense of this moment. She feels safe with you, a soothing voice inside him resonates in his core and he is watching you in a new light. Some moisture seems to gather at the edge of his eyes before he blinks it away and slides down to rest his head on the pillow right next to yours. He does not realise it but his arm is frozen in that place for you to hold on to it and there is a slight smile on his lips while his eyes are observing every single detail on your face. The God does not seem to notice a bubble being projected out of the bed to overtake the room with a warmth that is emanating from the celestial being himself. And most of all he does not seem to notice the voice hiding in the dark corner somewhere looking at you with heart eyes. I like this human. She can stay.

[chipper9906]

Love Is...

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie 

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 12,016

Status: One Shot - Complete

Summary: 

He could barely see a thing past the rain pounding down on him, soaking every inch of his clothes in as little as a second. The howling wind around him seemed to bite into his skin, the raindrops feeling like small blades as they shot down against his body.

And yet, somehow, he knew. The moment he stepped into this place, the moment he felt the rain atop his skin, he knew.

He had been here before.

* * *

A continuation fic set after the events of the Season 1 Finale. Filled with plenty of angst and comfort, because apparently, I enjoy writing about pain - so long as that pain is eventually healed.

Link To Fic

OR

Click Below To Keep Reading

Perhaps, in another time, another him, he would have told the story of this moment differently. He would say that he stared upon that looming statue, the impassive stone face of ‘He Who Remains’, and he did not tremble. He looked into the face of the man he knew he was to take down, and he got to work.

But he’d be lying if he’d said that. 

He had looked up to that statue in horror. He had stood there, wishing he was looking at the statues of the timekeepers, instead. Because he knew that, the horrors of all that happened before? That was going to be nothing, nothing, compared to what was coming. 

The room he was sat in now was almost familiar. The same type of nearly every interrogation room that the TVA had, but there was something… off about it. Perhaps a slightly different shade of orange compared to the previous TVA’s color scheme. Or… or perhaps the font they used for the number plastered on the wall was different?

What was familiar was the collar locked in place around his neck. ‘Purely for safety purposes’ they had told him as TVA security swarmed him, all but picked him up by his arms, and hauled him off into this room. He had been sat on this hard, uncomfortable chair for… actually, he still wasn’t too sure how time worked in the TVA. All he knew was that it had been too long already. 

It had barely been a moment. The change had happened so fast. Too fast. He had tumbled back through that time door, and… time itself had erupted. Chaos, just as ‘He Who Remains’ had told them it would. And this was just one. One branch of what was going to be infinite - some good, and some very, very bad. But it didn’t even matter if there were good ones. Because ultimately, the bad ones were coming. The bad ones were out there, and this time, they were going to do everything in their power to make sure their timeline came out on top.

And somehow… he had to stop it?

No… No, not just him. 

Perhaps… perhaps he can find a way out of here. Steal a TemPad, perhaps? No, no, that wouldn’t work… There was only one TVA, wasn’t there? So, that meant… Mobius was truly gone. His Mobius, anyway. The one who was going to burn this place to the ground. The one that was going to spread the truth. Now, he was… just another variant. The same Mobius he had first met, who was just trying to do his job. Maybe he could do this all over again, find a way to get Mobius to believe him. 

Or... Or what if there were multiple TVA's now? All those branches were no longer just branches, but entirely new timelines. New universes that would, ultimately, clash with one another. So maybe, somewhere out there, was the true Mobius from his timeline. Perhaps, if he explained everything to them, to this TVA - tried to find a way for them to understand that his timeline was the only one that didn't involve all-out chaos? 

But it seemed unlikely. This was… different. There were no more lies about the TVA in this timeline, it seemed. No timekeepers. Just him. They might already know that ‘He Who Remains’ is in control of everything. And… what exactly is this version of ‘He Who Remains’ like? Was this one that had already planned for eons of chaos? 

Was this TVA already planning for a multiversal war? 

No, perhaps the TVA wasn’t the way to go. He… he needed to go back there. To that place in the void, beyond the end of time. He… he had to go find her. He needed to find Sylvie. 

Simply thinking of her name lodged a hard rock of messy, almost unidentifiable emotions down his throat. Loki’s nails dug into the soft flesh of his palm as he squeezed his hands together atop the cool surface of the table, his eyes scrunched shut as he struggled to get his thoughts back under control. This pain was… new. And horrible. Dull, like a heavyweight pushing down on him, yet simultaneously sharp like a dagger being plunged through his chest. He knew what it felt like to be on the other end now, he supposed. 

It wasn’t fun, to say the least. 

Would she still even be in the citadel? In whatever time had passed, surely she would have… actually, he doesn’t know. Neither had she. The plan she had meticulously crafted her whole life had finished with slaying the one responsible for all her suffering. And now it was done… what else would she do?

‘Maybe… we could figure it out… together?’

‘Maybe…’

Loki shakes his head vigorously, trying to push away the memory that seemed to echo around the room. He had to focus. Sylvie could be…

Oh. Oh, but… this TVA had a new ruler. The one consistent factor among all the branches, was the same TVA. Which surely meant the same place at the end of time. The same citadel. And if that was the case, then…

Would everything have changed within? Would the new variant of ‘He Who Remains’ already be shacked up in his office?

Would Sylvie still be there?

Was she even alive in this timeline?

No. She couldn’t… It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t think like that. She was still out there, somewhere, he knew it. But… but where? If she had grabbed that TemPad, then… then she could be anywhere. There was only one place he could start looking, though. He had to go back to the citadel. 

“You doing any better?”

Loki startles at the familiar voice, looking up from the table he was sat on to the door that had been pushed open. He can’t help the small jolt of hope that rushes through him at the sight of Mobius, but the reality of which Mobius he was looking at quickly drains it away. 

“Happens more often than you’d think,” Mobius tells him with a soft chuckle, stepping into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him. Loki keeps a cautious eye on him as he strides over to the table, sitting down on the orange chair opposite with a tired-sounding grunt. Mobius pulls out the wooden clipboard he had tucked under his arm, placing it down onto the table and tapping his hands against it like a drum. 

“What happens more often than I’d think?” Loki asks, not even trying to hide the miserable tone seeping into his voice. 

“Cracking under pressure,” Mobius picks up the pen tucked neatly away within the clipboards holder. “This is a stressful job. We know of the importance of our work - the fact that you’re going through this now shows just how much you care.”

Loki barely holds back a snort of laughter. He had no idea…

“Can I… get you some water or something?” Mobius offers. “Sorry about doing things all… you know, like this. Treating you like some sort of variant-,”

He can’t help it. The laughter does push out of him this time - though the way none of his smile reaches his eyes definitely puts Mobius on edge. 

“No… No, I wouldn’t like any water,” Loki finally speaks once his short burst of laughter is over. “And to answer your earlier question? No. I am not doing better. In fact, I am quite far from anywhere near okay-,”

“Alright, alright…” Mobius stops his rant, hands held up in defense, as if it would somehow calm Loki down. “That’s why I’m here, okay? We’re gonna figure things out.”

“Figure what out?”

“First of all, it’d be good to know who exactly you are.”

Loki’s brow scrunches in confusion, his eyes flickering between Mobius’s peering stare and the file clipped onto the clipboard. “You’re telling me you haven’t figured it out already?”

“Well, we tried looking you up in our database,” Mobius’s hands go to the insides of his jacket, pulling out the rectangular appliance Loki was all too familiar with by now. “Weird thing, but uh… you didn’t come up on our employee register. Not a thing. Now, I know there’s a lot of us here - partly why I wasn’t too worried when I didn’t recognize you from anywhere. But… there should be some record of you here.”

Loki’s eyes were drawn to the TemPad Mobius still held in his hands. Mobius took notice of the direction of his stare, his eyes narrowing by just the slightest as he safely tucked the TemPad back into his jacket pocket. It was only as his hand went into his pocket, moving the side of his suit away from his body, did Loki catch sight of the pruning stick holstered by his side. 

“How about we start with a name?” Mobius asks. 

He could lie here. Spout out some random name, send Mobius searching for the records once again. It could give him more time, put together at least some semblance of a plan. And yet, on the other hand… There was that urge, that nagging feeling deep down to tell the truth. He still wasn’t sure what the rules of this new reality were exactly. There could be a chance, however small, that the Mobius he knows still exists somewhere within the stranger sat opposite him. Maybe, if he told him his name… Mobius might get that slight tickle of ‘I know this person'. Perhaps even enough for him to go looking for secrets that change his view on the TVA forever. 

It was worth a shot. 

“Loki,” Loki answers, his eyes searching deep into Mobius’s face for any sign of familiarity. “My name is Loki.”

But there’s nothing from Mobius. No light-bulb-over-the-head moment of realization he was hoping for. He simply shakes his head in a nod, before scribbling down his name upon the record sheet in front of him. 

“And it seems you already knew who I was,” Mobius mutters as he finishes writing something down that Loki can’t see from this angle. “Though, not too sure how. I mean, it’s not like…”

Mobius pauses, an almost curious look on his face as he looks at Loki. “…Have we met before? No offense, but I meet a lot of analysts in my work, and… I can’t say I remember us ever meeting.”

Loki gave Mobius a strained smile. “What’s the point? You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, anyway.”

That got Mobius’s attention. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, leaning forward in his chair. “Try me.”

Loki was about to shake his head. Moments away from spouting out some other lie, something to get him out of this mess. But then his eyes are drawn back to the pruning stick he knows is hidden behind Mobius’s suit, and he realizes… there’s only one way this can go. He needs to get back to the citadel, and to do that, he needs to go back to the Void and - somehow - enchant Alioth again. It was a stupid plan, he knew that fully, but there was no other choice. He needed to find Sylvie - and this was the only way to start looking for her. 

Either Mobius believes him, or he prunes him.

Win-Win. 

“We messed it all up,” Loki confesses once more. “The sacred timeline. The original one - the one I’m from. That’s where I was before I was sent here.”

“The original one?”

“Yes. We were… we were trying to set everything free. The timelines, the variants, the TVA, everything. We needed to bring it to an end, bring him to an end, and-,”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait just a second,” Mobius stops him, holding out a hand. “You needed to bring who to an end?”

“Your leader. I believe your strange clock mascot likes to call him ‘He Who Remains.’ But, where I’m from, you all didn’t know he was your leader. He created these androids, three reptilian creatures he called ‘The Time-Keepers’. You all false fully believed to be doing their work, but you weren’t! It was all his! He was lying to you, to all of us, and… He… he offered us something. A way to… to stop the timeline from erupting into chaos. We thought he was lying, that the whole TVA was a lie, but… it wasn’t. It’s already happened, don’t you see? We killed him. We killed him, and it started all of this. And I did know you - a different you. But now it’s all changed, and you… you’re not the you I know, anymore.”

The silence that stretches on between them is almost unbearable. Mobius still looked as calm as ever, quite the difference to Loki who had become worked up, leaning far enough across the table that it dug into his stomach, hands outstretched almost in pleading. 

“Okay…” Mobius was the first to speak, picking up his pen once again. “You said ‘we’ a few times in there. Who’s ‘we?’”

Loki opened his mouth, ready to let her name roll off his tongue, but it remains frozen in place. He didn’t know where exactly this whole conversation would end. The very last thing he wanted to do was send another version of the TVA on a manhunt for Sylvie - again. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Loki said hurriedly. “You need to understand - your leader? He’s not the only one of himself. It’s all because of him, that this whole thing started.”

“You’re telling me that ‘He’ is just a variant?” Mobius’s voice was tense, clearly struggling to keep up his professionalism here. Loki could already tell he didn’t believe his story in the slightest - and he certainly didn’t appreciate Loki calling his leader a ‘variant’.

“It’s the whole reason he started this place,” Loki continued on anyway. “The other versions of him? All they want to do is conquer. They want to rule over every other timeline there is. And they won't stop. There will be all-out war, Mobius. Across all the different timelines.”

Mobius only nodded at him, his expression impossible to read as he reached back into his pocket again. The TemPad was back into his hands, and Loki’s vision filled with the memory of being trapped in that time-loop, reliving the same memory over and over again. Mobius tapped lazily at the screen, glancing up to Loki a few times, switching between the screen and him. 

“Look, I get it - you don’t believe me,” Loki stretched forward, and Mobius immediately pulled himself away. “But just-,” Loki frantically gestured to the ugly little computer monitor sat in the middle of the desk. “Look me up! Look up my name, and you’ll see. You’ll find my file-,”

“I’ve already looked,” Mobius interrupted him. Something in his expression had changed. He was still guarded, still looked just as disbelieving as he did prior, but there was also… a general sense of uncertainty spread across his face. “Just now, I mean.”

“Right? And?”

“Well, it’s… it’s a strange thing…” Mobius uttered softly, stuffing the TemPad back into his pocket, staring at nothing as he found himself lost in his own thoughts. “You have no file, Loki.”

It felt like his heart had come to a sudden and abrupt stop. It… it wasn’t possible. How was that possible? Mobius had told him, hadn’t he? He was one of the most frequent, pain in the arse variants they had to deal with. And now… he wasn’t on their files?

In this timeline, did he… not exist?

“What?” Loki spluttered out. 

“Mean’s that someones messed up their job-,” Mobius says with a pinched expression, the chair screeching as he stands up from it. “Someone must have brought you in when they didn’t need to - took you from the timeline you were supposed to be on. No wonder you’re confused-,”

“I don’t-,”

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this,” Mobius promised, scooping the clipboard up from the table. “We’ll find whichever Hunter brought you in, get you in front of the judge - they’ll make sure you get back to your timeline. You haven’t done anything wrong; there was probably just some kind of mix-up with the confusion of all these new branches and-,”

“DON'T YOU GET IT!” Loki shouted out to Mobius, one last desperate attempt to convince him. Mobius startled at the sudden yell, stopping any movements he was about to make. “This is because of me! If I was brought in by your workers from my timeline, then why the hell did I come wearing one of your TVA uniforms?! I even had the damn Variant jacket for crying out loud - that you gave me!”

“Calm down - you’re just confused-,”

“I can’t calm down! I… I need to go back. I need to go back to the edge of time, the end of the void, and fix this! I… I don’t even know how, but… I have to try. I have to.”

Loki hated the look Mobius was giving him right now. He much preferred the cocky, equally as manipulative interrogator he got from his Mobius. This Mobius was just looking at him with… with pity. Like he was saddened by the poor, pathetic Variant who was losing his mind.

“We will fix this, okay?” Mobius assured him, soft and quiet, and Loki felt close to ripping his hair out in frustration. He was already beginning to turn away from him, one foot in front as he moved towards the door. “We’ll get you home-,”

Mobius didn’t even see the movement as Loki lunged forward, turning around and looking on in disbelief as Loki grabbed hold of the end of the pruning stick sticking out from his suit jacket. Mobius scrambled to dig his TemPad out from his jacket, just waiting for the moment that the Variant in front of him would activate the pruning stick and prune him with it. 

Only… his fingers still, frozen above the button on his TemPad as he sees Loki step away from him. There’s a look of both dread and utter determination on Loki's face as he activates the pruning stick and then - to both Mobius’s disbelief and horror - holds the pruning stick towards him, ready to self-prune. 

Loki’s view shifts. One second he’s staring at Mobius’s shocked face, the stick in front of him held primed and ready. Then Mobius’s fingers slam down on the TemPad, and the world shifts around him. He’s suddenly right back where he was a second ago, stood right in front of Mobius. There’s not enough time to react, not expecting the shift in position, but Mobius was prepared; grabbing hold of the stick once more, he yanks it back towards him whilst simultaneously shoving the hand holding the TemPad into Loki’s chest, sending him sprawling onto the floor. 

Mobius holds the pruning stick close to his side, staring down at Loki in bewilderment at what just happened. Loki doesn’t even bother to get back up. He doesn’t even look at Mobius. He remains sitting on the floor, head hung low and eyes closed tight.

He was so very, very tired. 

“What…” Is all Mobius can say at first, looking down to the weapon he held in his hands, and then back over to Loki. “You were… you were about to prune yourself…”

Loki doesn’t answer him. He didn’t see the point anymore. 

“...Why?”

Loki just about glances up at Mobius. It wasn’t like he’d understand. “It’s the only way. I need to find her.”

Mobius still looked just as baffled - not that he could blame him. “What do you mean it’s the only way? And who the hell is her?”

Loki feels his jaw clenching involuntary, the pressure of it rumbling in his ears, teeth squeaking and creaking in protest. “Just… get it over with. You prune all the other damn variants anyway, so why not me? Prune me, throw me in a time loop again - I don’t care anymore.”

“Again? I hadn't even met you before 'till-,”

“PRUNE ME!” Loki yells from the floor, his voice sounding unnatural to even him as it echoes back towards him. 

The fight drains out of him just as quick as it comes. Mobius still has that same damn pitiful look on his face, and he can't stand to look at it anymore. Loki drops his head into his hands, pushing his fingers through his hair and grabbing hold of clumps of it, yanking tight until he felt the sharp pain of it across his scalp. 

 “I’m not gonna prune you,” Mobius says so quietly, Loki nearly misses it. “Least, not till I figure out exactly what’s going on here. This could all still be a simple mistake-,”

“It’s not,” Loki interrupts dejectedly, his head still buried in his hands. “Not that it matters if I’m telling you the truth. No one seems to believe me when I tell it, anyway…”

The silence he gets in response is almost stifling. Enough time passes with nothing said in response that Loki pulls his head back up, only to be greeted by… nothing. The room was empty, and Mobius was nowhere in sight. He had somehow managed to sneak out of the room without making a noise. 

Alone again.

* * *

He might have fallen asleep. He wasn’t sure. It certainly felt like he had drifted in and out of consciousness - but there’s a good chance he just found himself sinking in and out of his thoughts, instead. He had managed to move from the center of the room - but not far enough to get himself back up on the chair. He had found his way to the wall, finding some sense of comfort in the wall pressed against his back. A sense of… security.

‘Well, I never sit with my back to a door.’

The sounds of commotion from outside the door snap him out of his memories. He scrapes up what little energy he had left to look to the sound; of pounding footsteps and muffled shouts getting closer and closer. Something was going down. It was only a matter of time before they stormed through that door, and-

Something shifts out of the corner of his eye. A dot, golden and gleaming, suspended in mid-air. He knows what it is before it even expands, jumping to his feet with a burst of energy he didn’t even know he had left. The time-door shimmers just in front of him, inviting him into the unknown beyond. The sounds of chaos from beyond the door had only grown more frantic, coming closer to the door with every second he remains standing in place

He makes up his mind.

Loki reaches forward, jumping through and into the time-door just as the physical door behind him slams open. He doesn’t even get a chance to see who was coming for him before he’s gone from the TVA.

Loki stumbles forward as he exits the time-door, his rushed entrance kicking up pools of water beneath his feet. There's a click, and suddenly his neck feels a whole lot lighter, the TVA collar around his neck falling into the soaked pavement below. He could barely see a thing past the rain pounding down on him, soaking every inch of his clothes in as little as a second. The howling wind around him seemed to bite into his skin, the raindrops feeling like small blades as they shot down against his body. 

And yet, somehow, he knew. The moment he stepped into this place, the moment he felt the rain atop his skin, he knew. He had been here before. 

Loki looks back to the time-door, waiting for the inevitable moment the TVA burst through it. But he only lays eyes on it for a few seconds more before it collapses in on itself, leaving him in nothing but the faint glow of the neon signs ahead.

And there, hidden within the shadows, was where he saw her. Sensed her. She was nothing more than a dark silhouette at this distance, watching him carefully from afar. 

“Sylvie…” Loki whispers, mostly to himself, unable to be heard past the storm raging around them. The sense of relief, of pure joy that overtook him was something he had never known before. His feet are moving forward before he even realizes it, picking up in pace the closer he gets to her. And, miraculously, she was walking towards him, too. 

The instinct of it was overwhelming. Every part of him screamed to get back to her, to be back by her side. He wanted, needed to know that she was okay. He wanted to grab hold of her, to hold her in his arms and-

He stops. So does she. Loki’s eyes fixate on the blade held limply in her hands, the dark liquid he sees coating its end steadily dripping onto the ground as the rain hits it. No doubt the blood of him, he knows. On that same hand he could see the TemPad secured snuggled around her hand, its few cracks of gold in its marble-like surface shining through the darkness. 

She didn’t seem to be holding it like she planned on wielding it against him. They were close enough now for him to see her face in the glowing light of the supermarket’s signs. He knows full well that the droplets of water running down her face are not only because of the rain- mostly because he himself feels the burn of a few stray tears escaping his eyes. 

It was all still so vivid in his mind; the sharp bite of her steel against his neck; her trembling arms underneath his hands as he begged her; a type of euphoria he’s never known as she closed the distance between them, foolishly sinking into the feeling of ‘rightness’ at the taste of her against his lips, eagerly chasing them as she tried to bring it to an end. 

But the pain… oh, he vividly remembers that too; of the shock of feeling himself be flung back by her magic, unable to scramble back to the time-door in time before she had shut it - shut herself- from him. He didn’t know what to do with that pain. He was used to pain - harnessed it, even. It was easy to let the pain turn to anger, to drive him towards his goal. But he had been drowning in this pain, one had never had to experience before. There was… nothing. The world had been sucked out from underneath him, everything that had started to make sense taken away, and he could do was nothing but… sit. Sit, and replay that moment over and over again. What could he have done differently? What did he do wrong? 

What did he need to do for her to trust him as much as he had trusted her?

And worst of all... Why didn't he feel angry? He should be bitter, should be clinging onto that sting of betrayal. But it simply wasn't there. Not anymore. Not with her just a few paces away from him. He didn't care about what had happened, or what she had done to him. All he cared about was that she was here, and she was okay. 

And that scared him more than anything. 

Loki started forward again, closing the gap between them in just a few strides. It's of great relief that she doesn't push him away - or stab him if he's being honest - as he all but collides into her. He pulls her into him, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tight, pulling her close until she was all but engulfed into his chest.

"Sylvie," He breathes her name in relief, not even bothering to hide the tears that squeezed past his closed eyelids. "I was... I was terrified something might have happened, that you... Oh, thank the gods you're okay..."

Sylvie's arms have a weak grip around him, her entire body tense as she's pinned under his embrace. He pulls her away from him, holding her at arm's length as his eyes furiously scan across her face, as if to reassure himself that she was indeed okay. 

“Seems we’re both a fan of the dramatics,” Loki can’t help but say, gesturing to the supermarket behind her with the smallest of smiles. “You’re not going to try and strangle me with a hoover again, are you?”

"Don't-," Sylvie starts, her voice clipped and strained. "Please, just... No jokes." 

Lightning strikes somewhere nearby, a particularly large fork that he's half-convinced could only be conjured by his brother. The strike lights up the darkness that enveloped them, allowing him the briefest of glances of every detail of her face through the murky gray of the night. The twist of pain on her face is the first thing his mind notes. Yet, despite the pain, his chest still constricted tightly at the beauty of her that shone through. . He had never felt so torn, so overtaken by the need to comfort, battling against the sting he still feels at the reminder of their parting. 

"Why here?" Loki asks her. Standing out in the pouring rain with an apocalypse-level hurricane looming nearby wasn't exactly the best place for a conversation. "Why did you take us back to where we met?"

Sylvie glances down at the TemPad on her wrist. "I don't know. I just knew I had to pick an apocalypse, and... This was the first one I thought of."

He nods at her answer, the movement getting a few soaked pieces of hair to plaster onto his face. 

"Aren't you going to say something?" Sylvie suddenly snapped, and he found himself taken aback by the sudden hostility. "I know you want to. You... You have to be angry at me. Want to yell at me, say I told you so-,"

Loki could only blink down at her in surprise for a few moments, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly as he struggled to come up with a response. "I...what? Is that why you brought me here? For me to yell at you?" 

"No-,"

"Then... Why did you bring me here?" Loki can't help but let a little bit of frustration slip through into his voice. "I thought that... That after what happened, this was it. That you were just...done with me. Didn't need me anymore. And now, I… What do you want from me?" 

Sylvie flinches somewhat at his use of words, reminded of the night he had said those very words in this very place. Sylvie swallows harshly, looking away from him for a moment and to the ground. She shakes her head, holding her head high as she looks back to him. "I need you to tell me I did the right thing,” The confession comes out shakier than she probably intended to, judging by the flash of annoyance he sees on her face. “I did the right thing.”

Loki wasn’t too sure if she meant to say that as a statement, or a question. She certainly didn’t sound too sure of herself right now. “Would you believe me if that’s what I told you?”

The look she shot up at him made the weight in his stomach sink heavier. It was the same look she gave him when she thought he wanted the throne. He wanted nothing more for that look to be gone. “No. No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”

Loki sighed softly, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see her disappointed face anymore. He took a deep breath through his nose, taking a risk and reaching out, gently wrapping his hands around her upper arms. She didn’t immediately pull away, or smack his hands away, so he counted that as a success. 

“You did the right thing-,” Loki began carefully. Sylvie frowned up at him, mouth partly open to point out that she had already said he wouldn’t believe him, but Loki carried on before she could get anything out. “-For you. And I get it, okay? I understand why you did it-,”

“No, you don’t-,” Sylvie spits out, one hand shooting up to grab hold of his hand on her arm. “You got to live most of your life. You had a chance to grow up in your home, with your family. You’ve only had to deal with the TVA for a few days; I’ve been up against them nearly my entire life. And it didn’t even matter! Everything I did, every attack I made against the TVA, was apparently supposed to happen! I had no free will! No one does but him! And I stopped it! I freed everyone!”

“Yes, you did,” Loki agrees with her, trying to keep his voice calm to temper the heat in hers. “And I’m not saying that that part of all this is a bad thing. People deserve to have their freedom, the decision to do whatever they want with their life.”

“Then why the hell did you try and stop me?” Sylvie asks, making an attempt to rip his hands off her. “If that’s the way you felt, why did you-,”

“Because I didn’t want you to make the same mistakes as I have!” Loki exclaims, fighting off her attempts at shaking him off, digging his fingers in, and giving her a slight shake. “Making that decision right then and there, after everything He told us; I could see it in your face, Sylvie. The hate you felt for that man, all that pent-up rage you had kept buried down, fueling you your entire life - that’s all you could focus on in that very moment. And I know what that feels like! And I know what that awful, all-encompassing regret feels like after. That’s why, Sylvie. I just wanted you to take a minute, a moment outside of all your emotions - and I know that’s easier said than done. I thought that… maybe you would trust me enough to at least listen. And… I don’t blame you for it; for everything you did back there. But I wanted… I wanted to do what I could to make sure you didn’t have to live with the same regrets I have.”

“Why?” Sylvie whispers, not trusting her voice enough to speak any louder than that. “Why do you care?”

“I wish I knew,” Loki says, chuckling despite the tears that continued to build in his eyes. “I’ve never felt this way. Not like… this. My whole life, I only ever focused on myself. Looked out for me. And now, for the first time in my life… that’s no longer the case. Now… all I care about is you.”

Sylvie gave him a strained smile, shaking her head slowly from side to side. “I am you, remember?”

The corner of Loki’s lips hitched up in the slightest of smiles - one he didn’t really mean. “Yes… except, you’re the one who said that I’m not you.”

Even Sylvie winced at the reminder of her last words to him. It was strangely reassuring to him that she looked pained at his pain. Surely, that must have meant she cared about him in some capacity, right?

“I meant what I said back there,” Loki let his hand slide down the soaked material of her sleeve, his hand coming to a stop at the base of her wrist. His thumb lightly brushes against her pulse-point, able to feel the pounding of her heart and the rush of blood around her body, same as his. “I wanted you to be okay, and when I thought of you killing Him, and the guilt you would have to carry if he was telling the truth, and we doomed infinite amounts of timelines? I knew you weren’t going to be okay.”

Sylvie could only look at him, taking in the earnest, pleading look he was giving her. She wanted nothing more than to believe him, to take that risk and fall straight into the undying trust he so easily seemed to have in her. But trust didn’t come easy. There had never been anyone else but herself to trust. 

“But, if you had taken that moment?” Loki continued, catching her off guard. “If you had just talked to me, thought about it - and you still came to the decision you needed to kill him? If you thought that that was what was going to make you okay? Then I would have handed you the dagger myself.”

Sylvie could only shake her head at him, her fruitless attempts to keep her tears at bay infuriating her as she feels them slide down her face, mixing with the rain that quickly washed them off. “I couldn’t take that risk. He might have been telling the truth, or maybe he was lying just like the rest of them, and you were-,” A gasp catches in her throat as his hand slides further down, his fingers fitting perfectly between her own as he holds them in a comforting grip. “-You were supposed to be on my side. And then you weren’t. This whole time, every moment we spent, it felt like… like you had just thrown it all away. I knew that, with any other person, I should have killed you right then and there.”

Loki can’t fight back the shiver that ripples through his body, one he knows full well isn’t because of the chill of the storm around them. It had felt like his blood had run cold at her words, throat tightening painfully at the thought. 

“But I couldn’t,” Sylvie admits to him, and it sounded like it pained her to do so. “Because you were saying all those things, and… and I believed you - because I felt it, too. I didn’t want to hurt you, and… and I wanted to be okay, too. I couldn’t kill you, but… I couldn’t let you stop me, either.”

The thunder from above is almost deafening, the power of it rumbling against the pavement underneath their feet. It was strangely comforting to hear. It reminded him of home, of family. 

“And so you did it,” Loki states the obvious. “You did what you had set out to do. You killed He Who Remains.”

Sylvie nods, and the blank look in her eyes sends a dagger through his chest. This was a moment where she should have felt triumphant. If things had been different, they would not be here. Not like this. They would have been celebrating, felt accomplished at doing what was the right thing for once - not just for them, but for the entire Universe - and every other Universe out there that had been deemed unsuitable to exist by a single dictator.

But this wasn’t that moment. 

“I saw Mobius.”

Loki feels himself freeze up involuntary at the name. He hated it. He hated that his memories of his friend had been tainted, now nothing more than… a stranger. Perhaps even a potential adversary in the near future… 

“After I…” Sylvie trails off, swallowing harshly with a painful clench of her throat. “After I killed Him, I… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t feel better. I... I couldn’t get you out of my head. I wondered if… maybe you were right, but I… I didn’t want to admit it to myself. Even when I managed to pick myself back up, and saw the space outside the citadel, within the void at the edge of time, and what I saw-,”

“What? What did you see?”

“It looked like stars…” Sylvie whispered, her eyes unfocused as she replayed the scene in her mind. “The timeline, all those branches… There were so many… And I should have been thinking about all those people in those timelines that would never have to live with the fear of taking a step out of line and finding themselves, their family, everything they ever knew taken from existence. But I didn’t. I thought about how many of him were out there. How many would be scrambling to get right back into that damn office to claim their throne once again…”

Her eyes came back into focus, swiveling up to meet his unwavering gaze. “And then I thought of you. I thought you would be safe in the TVA. Safe away from me. But once I saw all those branches, I realized that… I could have sent you anywhere. I might have just killed you myself.”

“You didn’t,” Loki rushes to assure her. “Granted, I’d much rather you hadn’t pushed me through that time-door in the first place - the fall quite hurt, actually-,”

“Loki,-”

“Right, no jokes. Sorry.”

The weary look on Sylvie's face is one he's seen many times before whenever people are subjected to the torture that is interacting with him. "When I made my way back, and you weren't there, I thought that I... That it might be too late."

Loki's lip hitch into a half-smile. "You seem to forget that I am capable of looking after myself."

Sylvie narrows her eyes at him, and it was enough for him to doubt any and all of his combat and survival skills. "Says the guy who planned on running towards a giant cloud that ate everything in its path and stabbing it." 

"In my defense, that usually works."

"Oh really? So it worked on Thanos too, then?" 

Loki placed a hand over a heart in mock hurt and... well, perhaps a little bit of hurt considering that's the only death of his where he was destined to die. "Now that's just cold, Sylvie."

He doesn't mind the hurt too much, though. Not when his over-the-top reaction pulls a small yet genuine smile out of Sylvie, one he finds himself mirroring without much of a thought. He knew that he wanted to do all he could to keep that smile on her face for the rest of their lives. 

Oh, he really was in deep... When he finds his brother once more somewhere out within the multiverse - his version of his brother - he knows he's going to be set for days upon days of teasing and ridicule.

Or...witness the terror on his brother's face as he's confronted with two Loki's...

Their small carefree moment doesn't last long, though. The weight of the situation comes crashing back down on them, wiping the smile from Sylvie's face as quickly as it had come. "The TVA is... In shambles right now; which is what I always wanted, but... I saw that... That statue, of him, and I just knew, I... I knew it was all so much worse now."

"I take it that was you that caused all that commotion outside my door, then?" 

Sylvie nodded her head, and Loki was surprised to see that pained look back on her face again. "It's because I tried talking to Mobius."

Loki grimaces at the reminder. The hurt of what had happened never seemed to lessen. "Yes, I... I might have made the same mistake."

"They seemed a tad bit preoccupied with everything going on, but... Mobius definitely seemed on edge."

"Well, it was twice in one day that someone he didn't know came up to him spouting nonsense and claiming they know him. I think he might be smart enough to realize something's not right."

"Considering the security that swarmed me, I'd say so," Sylvie huffs. "Quickly realized it wasn't a situation I was going to fight my way out of."

"How did you find me?" Loki asks. 

"Mobius," Sylvie answers, and the guilt that crosses her features makes his stomach clench uncomfortably. "I... I had to take him hostage. Was the only way to stop their hunters from surrounding me. Opened up a time-door and just... dragged him through with me."

"Is he...?" Loki didn't even want to finish that sentence. 

"He's okay," Sylvie's answer helps to loosen the knot in his stomach. "I enchanted him. He fought back a bit, but... I got through in the end. Found out where they were keeping you, and... Opened up another time door to get you out of there."

"And... What did you do with Mobius?" 

"He's in a time-loop," Sylvie says, the smile on her face no way near malicious. "It's a good one. I think there was a jet ski?" 

Loki huffs out a laugh of relief. "Good, that's... That's good."

"I told him, you know," Sylvie says, the serious tone to her voice catching his attention. "I told him the truth - about him being a variant. How everyone that works for the TVA is a variant."

"Did he believe you?" Loki asks. 

"He already knew," Sylvie tells him, and it feels like another blow. "Whatever this version of the TVA is, and whatever version of Him rules it, it seems he was a bit more truthful with his workers than the last one," The frown on Sylvie's face deepens more and more with every word she speaks. "They just... don't care. They believe they were selected for a higher purpose - like it makes it okay they were ripped away from their lives."

"Ah... I suppose that might make it a bit more difficult to sway Mobius onto our side again," Loki says, his overwhelming feeling of dejection seeping into his voice. 

Sylvie's eyes drop down to the ground, suddenly finding herself unable to meet Loki's gaze. Loki frowns as he notices her avoidance of him, craning his head down to try and meet her gaze once more, only to find her stubbornly focusing on a drenched piece of paper as it floated by. "Sylvie...?" 

"Loki, I..." Sylvie starts, closing her eyes from the sight of what she could only describe as 'sad puppy eyes'. "I... I still don't know what to do."

"About... What?" 

"Everything," She forces out. "I should feel accomplished now, shouldn't I? Satisfied, that I finally killed the man who took my life from me?" 

Loki barely pushed down the urge to reach out for her again. He had a feeling she wouldn't take too kindly to physical attempts at comfort right now. "I take it that means you don't feel that way?"

"No," Sylvie whispers, and Loki could tell she hated to admit that. "I just felt... Empty. Because if he was telling the truth, and... And you were right? There's just gonna be a bunch more of Him out there. It feels like I've done nothing. Nothing but-," 

The sentence gets stuck in Sylvie's throat, forcing her mouth shut with an aggregated shake of her head. Loki lets his instincts guide him, taking a step towards her, arm outstretched ready to comfort. But then Sylvie takes a step away from him, just a small single step, but it feels like she's trying to put miles and miles of distance between them. 

"What are you doing to me?" Sylvie gets out between clenched teeth, threading her fingers through her hair in a way that Loki knows he does when he's stressed. 

"I... I don't know?" Loki said, sounding rather baffled by her exclamation. It wasn't exactly like he wanted to aggregate her further - far from it - rather... There was something about the way his heart leaped up to his throat, wondering if whatever she said to him next would reignite that small spark of hope still burning in his chest, or extinguish it before it can fully catch aflame. 

"This isn't - wasn't - who I am. I've never needed anyone in my life! This whole time, it's been only me. Me who kept me alive, me who's been carrying out this plan for years. And then I did it. I accomplished that, and... I didn't think about the victory I had earned. I didn't think of how I was finally free to live my life, make my decisions and know they're solely my own. All I could think about was you."

Loki froze in place. He didn't dare move, didn't even dare breathe. To say he was transfixed was an understatement. It seems he was wrong, in the end. She had found her own way to enchant him...

"I've never had... Companionship. I've never known what it's like to have someone by my side, someone who... Who understands. When I pushed you through that time door, I thought that I'd be okay. I'd been alone my whole life, I was used to it. But when I was sat there, alone in that office, and I wasn't okay. I was lonely, in a way I've never been before, and I didn't want to, but... I missed you. And... I wanted - needed - for you to be okay, too.

"Now, it's... it's all so complicated. After... After what I did, it's... I feel like I can't even trust myself anymore, let alone..." Sylvie trailed off, bowing her head down so Loki wouldn't see the tears that were ready to spill again. Not that he even needed to see them to know they were there. He could feel the pain radiating off her in waves as much as he could feel his own. "I'm sorry."

Loki nearly couldn't hear that last part. Whether that be because of the overwhelmingly strong blast of wind that knocked down the weather battered sign above the supermarket, or because she had purposefully uttered it so quiet like she didn't want him to hear it. He was fairly certain it was the first time he had heard her say those words to him. 

They don't come very often from a Loki, that he knew for sure. 

"I'm sorry, too," 

Sylvie nods her head, still bowed, her face pinched as she struggled to bury her emotions back down. 

"You know, back in that interrogation room, I had time to think," Loki starts, giving her a sad smile in preparation for what he's about to say next. "I, um... I thought over that dagger metaphor I said before, and I think I've got something." 

The confusion of what he's doing at least manages to distract Sylvie a little. She still eyes him with understandable caution as a burst of lime green light manifests a dagger into his hands, but the wary look in her eyes disappears almost immediately as he holds the dagger out for her to hold. She slowly reaches out, wrapping her hands around the thin handle and lifting it out of his grasp. She raises an eyebrow at him, eyes flickering between him and the new blade she held. 

"Love... Is like a dagger," Loki couldn't help but smile, brought right back to that day on the train, with everything a little a lot dizzy, and warm, and nice. 

"It's a weapon to be wielded far away, or up close," Loki continues, gesturing to the weapon in her hands, still pointed at him. "You can see yourself in it. It's beautiful... Until it makes you bleed. But ultimately, when you reach for it-" 

Loki's hands shifted in a blur of movement, taking Sylvie by surprise. His hands had shot out to reach for the dagger - but not for the handle. Instead, he had wrapped his hands around the blade itself, the sharp edges of the weapon biting into the soft flesh of his palm. She jumped at the rapid movement, but found that - to her surprise - she had not responded by trying to move the weapon out of his reach. She had instead dropped the sword she held in her other hand, the clang of it hitting the concrete below echoing around the parking lot. Her now free hand had shot up in an attempt to stop him from cutting himself on the blade, looking up to him in utter bewilderment. 

"You reach for it too quickly-," Loki didn't even wince at the sharp sting across his hand. He slowly pulled his hand away from the blade, suppressing a shiver at the feel of her hand partly covering his. He held his hand out to her, revealing the shallow cut as a thin stream of blood oozed from the newly opened wound. "-And you only end up hurting yourself."

For the most part, Loki had been expecting for Sylvie to call him an idiot for cutting his hand open. Which, while he had no doubt she was probably thinking that, wasn’t at all what she did. She shot him the tiniest of smiles, removing her hand -that of which she had used to try and stop him from doing said idiotic move - from the blade, revealing a slice in her own palm that mirrored his. “And more often than not, you both end up getting hurt.”

Sylvie could already see the blame Loki was placing on himself as he saw her wound, unable to fight back the bubble of warmth at the clear concern on his face as he took her hand in his, completely disregarding his own wound. There was another burst of light from his magic, and that bubble of warmth only grew at the sight of the bandages he had materialized. His hands were methodical yet oh so gentle as he applied the bandage around her hand, pressing his fingers into her palm tenderly once he was done, as if he wished he had the power to magic away her injuries. 

“Probably should have done that after you bandaged yourself,” Sylvie says, biting back a smirk as she gestured with a pointed look of her eyes down to his handiwork, handing him his dagger back.

The dagger disappeared back to where he had manifested it from, glancing down to the bandage he had applied around her hand and seeing his own blood smeared across the once pristine white material. “Right… I wasn’t really thinking about that.”

She shook her head at him, though this time with nothing but fondness for the man in front of her as she slid the other piece of bandage he had left from his hand. Despite the fact that he had just done it for her, Loki still looked baffled as he watched her begin to bandage up his hand just as carefully as he had, like the thought of her returning the favor would have never crossed his mind. 

Sylvie finished tying the knot to his bandage, giving his hand a soft pat as she does so. Her hand begins to slide away from his, and almost on instinct does Loki reach out to grab hold of hers once more. Her hand seems to fit in his like a mold, his thumb gently caressing across her knuckle whilst her thumb comes to a rest at the base of his wrist. Typically… touch wasn’t a thing she welcomes. Touch usually meant a tight grasp around her wrist, dragging her from her home. Touch usually meant the hard rack of knuckles across her jaw, or a swift kick of a boot to her ribs. Touch usually meant meaningless nights with no name strangers, trying to feel something other than the desire for revenge that kept her going, as worlds upon worlds came to an end. 

But with Loki… touch was the feeling of his hand under hers, letting her make the first move as they stared out to the lake, waiting for their coming death. Touch was his back against hers, letting her know that he - quite literally - had her back; letting her know that she wouldn’t have to fight the TVA alone. Touch was his hands wrapped around her arms, the lightest of touches that told her that as much as he wanted to hold her, he would let go if she asked him. Touch was the first set of lips against her own that wasn’t one of end-of-the-world desperation; the first to make her heart pound against her ribcage as she pulled away from him, only for his lips to chase hers once again - and letting herself fall straight back into him. 

“So, love is… something that can be twisted without meaning to. You might reach for it too quickly, and in doing so… you only end up hurting one another,” Loki broke her out of her thoughts. Sylvie’s eyes danced across his face as he spoke, though Loki’s stare was still fixated on her hand in his, and the wound he knew that lay just below his own, parallel with one another. “But… you can learn that, despite the pain…You can always find a way to heal. Together.”

His words were at least enough to pull another smile from her lips, which at the end of the day, seemed to be the only mission he wanted to succeed in. Sylvie took a deep breath in through her nose, returning his comforting squeeze on her hand with one of her own to prepare him for the coming blow. 

“I still think it’s a stupid metaphor.”

The burst of laughter that escaped Loki seemed to catch them both off guard, as close to a snort as Sylvie thinks she’s ever heard from him. 

“Well, to be fair, I was very drunk when I came up with it.”

“I thought you said you were ‘just very full’, not drunk?”

Loki’s mouth shifted into a rather comical ‘o’ shape as he tried to come up with a response, only to find that there simply wasn’t one he could use to defend himself. 

“Okay, so maybe I was drunk-,” 

Sylvie does snort at his answer. Loki huffs indigently, though the smile plastered on his face gives away the illusion of irritation. “Well alright then; what’s your metaphor for love?”

This gets her to stop laughing. Loki hadn’t entirely been expecting for her to take his question seriously, but judging by the calculated look in her eyes as she looked into his, it was something she was giving considerate thought. 

“Love…” Sylvie begins softly, the syllables of the word rolling off her tongue like she was testing the way it felt in her mouth. “Love is… a song sung to a crowded room that feels like it’s being sung to you; of words that remind you of home.”

Sylvie felt Loki’s grip on her hand tighten for just a moment, though she could tell he was being careful not to touch the tender wound on her palm. “Love is… lingering glances where you both don’t care to hide it, even as the world falls apart around you.”

Sylvie didn’t know if it was Loki that shuffled closer to her, or if she shuffled closer to him. Not that it mattered much. They always just seemed to be drawn to one another like magnets. 

“Love is… knowing that you care about someone as much as you do yourself. And the terrifying realization that… you may just care more.”  Sylvie’s voice quietened with every word she spoke, as if inviting Loki to move even closer on the excuse that he couldn’t hear her. “Love is… pretending to be cold - despite being frost giants - just to find an excuse to huddle close under a blanket; which, for the record, I’m still convinced is some kind of drapery you stole from a dining table.”

Loki tries to hide his bashful smile by bowing his head down, but it doesn’t escape Sylvie’s gaze. She placed her fingers under his chin, forcing his head up to look him straight in the eyes.

“Love isn’t a damn metaphor,” She whispered to him, savoring the sight of his Adams' apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. “Love is whatever the hell we decide it to be.”

The gap between their mouths was so small that she barely had to lean forward, her entire body melting into his as their lips slotted together. His body had seemingly turned to putty under her hands, one of them sliding up his arm to rest on his shoulder, trying to pull him even closer until his body was flush against hers. 

This one was different than the last. There was no painful tug in her chest in knowing she needed to turn him around, to get to the TemPad and get him out of the way without hurting him. She did not feel the wetness of his tears as they slid down to their joined lips; only the droplets of rain that ran down from the drenched strands of his hair. 

She did feel that same curling, burning heat in the pit of her stomach, similar to the pleasant burn of her skin wherever his hands trailed, leaving a trail of goosebumps as they moved up the back of her neck, threading his fingers through her hair. She could feel his reluctance to end this any time her lips left his, even for a moment of air, as he quickly swooped back down to reclaim her lips. The feeling of his lips were feather soft, warm, yet with a firm and addicting pressure as they slid against hers. It wasn’t until she felt the swipe of his tongue across her lips, a pleasant invitation - an eager ask for permission - that she found herself separating from him with a shaky gasp for air. Her entire body seemed to be buzzing with the after-effects of adrenaline, taken aback by the sensation of her body trying to overtake her thoughts, screaming at her for more. 

Loki’s chest heaves just as much as hers as he takes in deep gulps of air that their kiss had deprived them of, too busy with breathing in the alluring scent of each other to remember such a basic necessity. The rain still had yet to let up - which it wouldn’t, her oxygen-deprived brain reminded her - and she briefly wondered how many humans shacked up inside the supermarket behind them were watching them here, standing out in the pouring rain, kissing like -

Well… like the world was about to end.

Loki moves forward again, at first she thinks to re-initiate their kiss. Instead, she feels the comforting warmth of his forehead pressed against her own, and they both find their eyes sliding shut, any pent-up tension left in their bodies seemingly draining away. She could feel the warm puffs of air against her face every time he breathed out, matched with her own; and she had no doubt that if their breathing was matched, then the way her previously thumping heart was starting to slow down could only mean that their heartbeats were matching one another, too.

Loki’s hands had dropped down to wrap protectively around her waist, eyes still closed as he savored this moment of peace. Sylvie placed her hand delicately on his chest, though this time not to push him away. She felt the reassuring thud of his heartbeat beneath her hand, unable to suppress the satisfied smile that pulled at her lips at the way his heartbeat sped up as she dragged her fingers across his chest, curling her fingers underneath her palm. 

“We will figure this out,” He whispers down to her. Her eyes flick up to meet his, believing his sincere gaze. “Truthfully… I don’t know where to start, either. I mean, I know you spent your whole life running from them, but…”

“The TVA,” Sylvie completed the sentence Loki was clearly reluctant to speak. “You want to go back?”

“Good God, no, not that one. But… But somewhere out there is the one we know, surely? The one that our Mobius was in the middle of transforming? A TVA made of variants that didn’t know they were variants - until now.”

“And should be rightfully pissed,” Sylvie guessed with a knowing smirk. “Maybe enough to get revenge?”

“Maybe,” Loki agreed, mirroring her grin. “And I’m sure they’ll be eager to meet the person who freed them from their controlling dictator.”

Sylvie’s smile wavered at that, poking the tip of her tongue out of her mouth to wet her lips - a nervous gesture from her he’s noticed every now and then, making him wonder if he does the same thing without knowing. “And created infinite amounts of that same controlling dictator - who was apparently the best version of him…”

Loki’s eyes softened at the sight of her guilt as it began to dig its claws into her. He knows too much of that guilt, felt it too often; failed to fight off the way it tried to drag him down to that pit of self-doubt that took him eons to climb out by himself - more often than not because he refused the help of anyone that offered. 

But Sylvie won’t have to fight her way out of this alone. He’ll make sure of it. 

“An infinite amount of universes to search through, huh?” Loki wonders out loud, giving a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “No problem.”

Sylvie rolled her eyes at his confidence - even if she knew he was greatly exaggerating it right now. “And I suppose that means an infinite amount of us are out there now, too?”

“And an infinite amount of our brother…”

“Wait, our brother?” Sylvie asked, head jerking back in surprise. “Thor is your brother?”

“Um, yes?” Loki frowned down at Sylvie, wondering what she was getting so caught up on. “Why - isn’t he yours?”

“Uh, she certainly isn’t my brother, no.”

Loki’s eyes widened as his mind caught up with what she was saying. “Oh…” He dragged out the syllable, looking out to the stars above in mock horror. “So your Thor is your… your sister?”

“Yep.”

Loki bent his head back with a bellow of genuine laughter, already picturing the glorious scenario of his brother meeting Sylvie’s version of him… Oh, what a sight would be to behold… Actually, the look on Thor’s face would probably be quite similar to the look on his face the moment Sylvie pulled the hood off her head and showed him her face for the very first time. 

“Oh, we need to get them together as soon as possible,” Loki said gleefully. “Four of us together? We’d make quite the team.”

“Do you… do you really think she’s out there somewhere?” Sylvie asks, and the vulnerability he hears in her voice stops his laughter altogether. “I barely remember her, you know. After the TVA pruned my timeline, and… and everyone with it, I had to accept that I’d never see her again.”

“If what He Who Remains was telling the entire truth?” Loki says with a shrug of his head to the side. “Then anything’s possible now. Every possibility you can think of, every step that could have been different…”

“An infinite amount of butterfly effects,” Sylvie finished for him.

“It’s almost overwhelming, isn’t it?” Loki drawls with as much sarcasm as he can muster. “Perhaps we should… break it down step by step? First things first being to find Mobius-,”

“-And find the old but improved TVA,” Sylvie adds.

“- And see just how riled up and ready for revenge they are,” Loki agrees. “And… I suppose we should probably find some more powerful allies to help us…”

Sylvie raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. “No offense, but do you even have any other allies?”

“Well… not exactly,” Loki said with a wince. “But I’ve been acquainted with a few… highly powerful individuals. Should probably go and find the versions of them that haven’t met us before, though…”

“Hmm - I imagine they’d be a bit more willing to help when you haven’t tried to claim leadership over their home?”

He probably shouldn’t have been too surprised that she was able to guess that. 

“Something about all this still feels so… so strange,” Sylvie tells him. 

“Yes, that’d be the feeling of the need to do the right thing for others, and not just yourself,” Loki says with a grimace. “Strange feeling, I know-,”

“Oh, piss off,” Sylvie cursed with a shove to his arm, though the smile on her face took out any venom from her words. “I wasn’t trying to kill the leader of the TVA just for myself, you know.”

“And now you get to do it all over again,” Loki said with a grin, gesturing to the TemPad on her wrist; that of which had already begun glowing with a faint golden light that streaked through its surface like bolts of lightning. “He’s the one that started all of this, right? Then it shouldn’t be too far out of the question that he’s the one that can end it.”

“He did say he’d be seeing me again soon,” Sylvie mumbled, sliding her fingers across the surface of the TemPad. A door sprung to life under her command, manifesting a portal to a dimension that… well, that of which they didn’t know. The second they stepped through that door, they’d be whisked away to a universe beyond their knowing; one that could be infinitely better than the one they were currently in, or one that could be much, much worse. 

Their hands found each other once more, fingers sliding together like lock and key as they face the door together. Loki turns his head to face Sylvie the same time she does, matching shaky smiles of both nerves and anticipation on their faces. 

“Ready for another adventure?” Loki asks, and the squeeze of her hand in his gives him all the answers he needs. 

Whilst they didn’t know what would be waiting for them on the other side of the door, they had been certain that, as they stepped through the Time Door hand in hand and they disappeared out of sight as the warm glow of the portal faded, that the memory of what happened here would only belong to them as the wrath of nature let out her anger on the small town of Haven Hills, Alabama. 

But what they didn’t know was that this wasn’t the Haven Hills they knew. This was the version of Haven Hills that didn’t find itself wiped off the map, miraculously avoiding the complete and utter destruction the hurricane was predicted to inflict. It was here, for years and years later, the survivors that had taken shelter in the nearby Roxxcart would tell the stories of the mysterious strangers in the rain; who seemingly appeared together from thin air, shrouded by a veil of golden light that came and went with their arrival and exit. 

Rumors would be spread of these two people. As was such in the more religious southern state, the tale of these two strangers would be twisted into one of two angelic beings who had appeared in the glow of Heaven’s light with golden halo’s atop their head, the sheer sight of their loving embrace seemingly bringing God’s wrath to a stop. 

There were many iterations of such a story, but there was one consistent detail that remained in every iteration of this timeline's story of them: that the two of them were heroes, who had risked their lives to save the lives of many. 

And what else they didn’t know was that this was a story that would spread across multiple worlds, in multiple universes. A beacon of hope in even the dreariest of lands, the legend of these two saviors was one of whispered fantasy that wasn’t quite as much fantasy as some thought; the description of the two figures whose heads were adorned with angelic halo’s slowly changing to ones with protruding horns, no longer the devilish image that such a sight once brought. 

These hushed stories would, over time, be reduced to one word. A single word, whispered out by those in the most dire of situations, as if praying to the only God they’ve ever known. This word, this name, would reach the ears of a single man, of every version of this one man, spanning across billions upon billions of timelines. And - despite never having have met the subjects of these stories - he would speak the name out loud to himself as if it were the name of an old friend, waiting for the day they try and stop his work and he gets to greet them personally; of the two beings many people had promised would bring him down with their last, dying breath.

Loki. 

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

Episode 133: Dewey Wins

“But...I’m hurt.”

I started reviewing the Week of Sardonyx in late 2017. It was slow going thanks to grad school and student teaching and licensing tests and my job (boy do I not miss those days), but I’d clawed my way through Cry for Help in October and Keystone Motel on the first Sunday of November. In those reviews, I wrote at length about how this was the most devastating arc of the series, a massive argument spanning multiple episodes with no easy answers.

Then the Friday after my Keystone Motel post was uploaded, Cartoon Network dropped the Breakup Arc on us all at once, and I had to make some edits.

There’s no official name for the span of episodes between Dewey Wins and Kevin Party, but considering it features not one but two breakups, with only one reconciliation by the end, I think my nickname is apt. Just under a fifth of Season 5 is devoted to six consecutive episodes designed to make us miserable, and on top of being an outstanding sequel to the Week of Sardonyx, it’s the best precursor we’ve got to adolescent trials of Steven Universe Future. 

The Week of Sardonyx is strengthened by numerous previous episodes where Pearl does bad things without consequence, making it something of a shock when her actions are finally addressed. In a similar way, we’ve been taught from Log Date 7 15 2 and Kindergarten Kid and The New Crystal Gems that emotionally draining arcs are followed by cooldown episodes, and Dewey Wins sounds like the name of a fun adventure with our goofy mayor. There’s no situation where the Breakup Arc would be a pleasant affair, but the pattern adds an extra layer of angst as our anticipated relief period ends up more stressful than the arc we needed relief from.

But not every big arc gets a cooldown. Our very first, ending with Jailbreak, is followed by one of the Breakup Arc’s major prequels: Full Disclosure, an episode about missed phone calls and the importance of keeping friends in the loop regarding space adventures. The ghosted party is flipped, as Connie now refuses to talk to Steven, and watching his struggle gives an even greater appreciation for Connie’s own turmoil (not just from Full Disclosure, but Steven’s reckless self-sacrifice).

We know something’s wrong from the moment we see her, in a way that’s different from Greg and the Gems’ wide-eyed concern. Her discomfort manifests just as it did in Mindful Education: a downcast expression and curt demeanor made more apparent by Steven’s cheery chattiness. But because she’s the only one of them that has truly taken the lessons of that episode to heart, she soon expresses her feelings outright (after a brutal “Of course I’m happy to see you”—Grace Rolek only needs one scene to be the episode’s MVP). Her complaints are all valid: this is not the first time she’s been left on Earth, and her sense that Steven isn’t taking her seriously is confirmed when he can’t even take her seriously within the conversation. She’s as direct as she can be, but when Steven refuses to acknowledge her pain, her anger takes over and she shuts him out. Lion’s side-eye is icing on the cake.

My biggest issue with Dewey Wins, however, is Steven. I’m torn, because it’s easy to justify his behavior throughout the episode as a result of recent trauma and the relief at surviving such a harrowing experience (and, later, the same sleeplessness that made him snap in Rose’s Room and Warp Tour). It makes sense that his martyr complex is intensified by his experience with Lars, that he falls back on helping others at the cost of his own well-being on instinct. But his flippant dismissal of Connie’s emotions still feels off, especially because it comes with a heretofore unseen swagger about his own heroism. She pours her heart out, making it clear that she wants to keep being Jam Buds but he’s making it really difficult, but every word goes right over his head. This is a version of Steven that somehow doesn’t get that “hurt” can refer to emotions instead of physical damage.

Throughout the episode, but particularly in this opening scene, Steven feels exaggerated for the sake of honing Connie’s argument. Perhaps it’s necessary, considering how easy it is in first viewing to see his sacrifice as noble rather than selfish; we need to see a more extreme version of his behavior to understand that going it alone was a bad move, or else Connie’s arguments seem small against the scale of the stakes. It’s further complicated by the fact that Steven’s sacrifice was noble, even if it was selfish at the same time. This isn’t a case where Steven is fully right or fully wrong, so it’s bound to be confusing to hear that his traditionally heroic move wasn’t as great as he (or we) first thought.

So yeah, I get why Steven is acting this way for the sake of the show. And, again, I can find reasons to explain his sudden emotional idiocy, making it leagues better than a true Annoying Steven episode. But it still comes across as clumsy to me; I can see the wheels turning to move the plot along in a way that’s normally hidden better on this show. His final monologue where he realizes that Connie felt the way he feels about Dewey abandoning the race feels like something from another show, a show that’s way more on-the-nose than Steven Universe is at its best. It was probably the right move, because as much as I can’t stand it when media is patronizing to young audiences, this lesson is complex enough that it’s worth a little clunkiness to ensure that the message gets through to smaller viewers. But compared to the elegance of our recent space adventure, Dewey Wins sacrifices polish for clarity when we usually get both.

But enough about what doesn’t work for me, because so much of this episode works for me. Even if his behavior feels forced, Steven provides seamless in-universe exposition recapping his space adventure. His follow-up conversation with Sadie has the same kind of douchey detachment that he shows Connie, but in a way that’s far more consistent with his character: dismissing Connie’s emotions is out of left field for him, but it makes plenty of sense that he’d see Lars as “okay” despite being trapped in space, considering the alternative was a very real death. And, of course, there’s the matter of the episode’s actual hero.

Nanefua Pizza has been my everything since Beach Party, and it’s thrilling to see her gain more prominence in the tail end of the series. Her beef with Mayor Dewey has been running since Political Power, the Dewey episode that established all the flaws that drive him out of office in Dewey Wins. Then, she responded by rallying rioters to tip over his truck, but now she takes a more civic-minded approach to effect real change. Still, she’s driven by the same anger at Dewey, and can only become a true force for good when she gains a new appreciation for his struggles.

While the correlation between Dewey and Steven is obvious well before Steven straight-up says there’s a correlation (a moment that’s made easier to swallow when Dewey points out he has no context for Steven’s friend troubles), the general conflict between Nanefua and Bill(iam) is a more fascinating study on blame. At first, both candidates believe in the power of blame, with Nanefua laying all the city’s troubles on Dewey’s inaction and Dewey arguing that taking the heat is his greatest strength: in his mind, there’s not much he can actually do about the cosmic misfortunes that befall Beach City, but giving its citizens somebody to blame gives them a sense of control that’s necessary in a chaotic world. And both of these viewpoints can be found in Steven’s self-image.

Steven, like Nanefua, is quick to lay blame when anything goes wrong. But Steven, like Dewey, sees the absorption of blame as a virtue. So he loops between those two positions, looking for someone to blame at the drop of a hat and only finding himself. The ensuing guilt make him want to fix the problems of others to atone, rather than focus on the underlying cause of his own issues, and if that sounds familiar it’s because Steven Universe Future is entirely about how important it is to break this loop.

But obsessing over fixing things is also how Pearl tries to solve her argument with Garnet in the Week of Sardonyx: she focuses on finding Peridot instead of doing anything about her own actions until she has no choice but to talk things out. And, as I said back in my Friend Ship post, it evokes something Pearl once said about humans (which it turns out applies to Gems): 

“They want to blame all the world's problems on some single enemy they can fight, instead of a complex network of interrelated forces beyond anyone's control.”

When was this said? In Keep Beach City Weird, in regards to Ronaldo. The same Ronaldo who poured gas on the fire in Full Disclosure by presenting the idea that heroes are aloof and keep their friends at a distance. So in a way, the Breakup Arc can be chalked up to ignoring the good Ronaldo lesson but taking the bad Ronaldo lesson to heart. But more on him in Gemcation.

Steven’s turmoil lends a somber edge to Nanefua’s powerful change of heart, where she rejects her past choice to blame Dewey. She apologizes for her own part in pointing fingers, because blame is a lousy substitute for getting things done, and forgives him for not being perfect. She pitches the act of helping as a community effort, rather than something that any one person must do alone; she remembers that the lyrics are “we can be strong in the real way.” She’s giving Steven all of the answers well before Steven Universe Future shows how much his guilt loop will continue to plague him, but he isn’t ready to listen yet, and leaves the debate dejected instead of empowered. (Considering Jenny’s appeal to taking breaks during trying times in Joy Ride, and an adventure with Kiki about not spreading yourself too thin on behalf of others in Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service, this is the third time a Pizza woman’s fantastic advice has gone ignored by our hero.)

Even Dewey seems better off than Steven, accepting defeat by acknowledging that Nanefua would make a better mayor. And he’s right! She sets up actual services to account for alien threats, services that end up changing the universe in a way Dewey’s brand of keeping the peace never could. He may need a new job (Sadie foreshadows both his fate and her own imminent career change in one fell swoop), but there’s a sense of calm as he passes the torch after a full episode of Joel Hodgson’s hammy anxiety.

I appreciate that Dewey is allowed some points in his favor even as he flubs his way out of office. Yes, he should be more thoughtful and attentive: his vow to find a new donut shop kid when presented with news that Lars is trapped in space is even broader than Steven’s reaction to Connie’s pain, but the mayor has always ridiculous so I don’t mind at all. Yes, he should try and do something to address the concerns of his citizens beyond saying everything will be fine. But it’s not lost on the show that it isn’t easy running a town that’s a lightning rod for alien encounters, so Dewey remains sympathetic even if his ineptitude must be addressed. After all, if he’s gonna stand in for Steven in a metaphor that’s clear enough to be monologued about, it’s important to point out that it’s okay when you fail against impossible odds. Neither Dewey nor Steven can do everything on their own, no matter how much power they wield.

Steven might skip a few crucial lessons of Dewey Wins, but he at least learns one. Perhaps in an earlier season, that would be enough to mend fences with Connie. But time makes you bolder, children get older, and she’s getting older too. She’s been more than patient with being treated like an afterthought, so the moment she’s had enough is bound to be a big one. Thus, we end with a cliffhanger, one that pulls Steven into the same landslide that’s surely consuming the rest of the town after his kidnapping. The Barrigas are missing a son, and Sadie’s missing a romantic friend. Bill Dewey is no longer Mayor Dewey, and Nanefua has a whole new set of obstacles to face. Greg and the Gems have their son back, but his kidnapping was traumatic for them as well, and Connie gets that trauma on top of her stated complaints. And Steven had learned two lessons instead of one: it’s important to take your friends seriously, and timing is everything.

It’s gonna be a rough week.

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

I do like it, really. But Steven’s behavior takes it down a few notches, regardless of my ability to find ways to explain it. Great episodes don’t require the audience to seek ways to justify a character’s weird behavior. There’s more good than bad here, but I’d be lying if I said I loved Dewey Wins.

Top Twenty-Five

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

Last One Out of Beach City

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Mindful Education

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

Steven’s Dream

When It Rains

The Good Lars

Lars’s Head

Catch and Release

Chille Tid

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Back to the Moon

Kindergarten Kid

Buddy’s Book

Gem Harvest

Three Gems and a Baby

That Will Be All

The New Crystal Gems

Storm in the Room

Room for Ruby

Lion 4: Alternate Ending

Doug Out

Are You My Dad?

I Am My Mom

Stuck Together

The Trial

Off Colors

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Bubbled

Adventures in Light Distortion

Gem Heist

The Zoo

Rocknaldo

Dewey Wins

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

Know Your Fusion

Future Boy Zoltron

Tiger Philanthropist

No Thanks!

     6. Horror Club      5. Fusion Cuisine      4. House Guest      3. Onion Gang      2. Sadie’s Song      1. Island Adventure

(No official promo art for most of the Breakup Arc, given the way they were released, but I can’t be too mad when we get brilliance like this from ajora.)

[princessbilliam]

Otaku Nation: Anime's Effect on American Pop Culture

The modern age of Anime arrive in Japan in the 1960s, and within the course of the following decade or so prospered to the giant robot, distance battle genre bender that we would soon realize as the anime of now.

Evolving within the next 30 years or so, it reached a summit where it could start to overtake and eventually become an essential component of different cultures, similar to the Hollywood of the 1930s quickly grew to encompass the remainder of the planet and inform their pop culture. In precisely the exact same fashion, American pop culture becomes increasingly informed by the trends and cult reaction to anime.

On the other hand, the national awareness as to where these shows came from as well as the poor marketing of the shows made them forgettable and rather than a jump in point, they behave as a nostalgic reminder. Know more NaijaVibe is a pop culture and entertainment website

When Speed Racer came, the beginnings of a true understanding that Japan was producing something fresh and exciting started to install. The prevalence of Speed Racer was never that of its American contemporaries, but it created at a established fanbase the openness to devour newer offerings in the future in Starblazers and Robotech (a convoluted perversion of multiple animes, but nevertheless a comparative success in the countries ). Nonetheless, the effect was largely underground.

From the 1980s, the addition of Beta and VHS made it possible to join together with friends and watch more varying forms of anime. When Akira arrived in 1989, the effect was real. People who knew of Akira were lovers for life, eagerly awaiting their opportunity to partake more and more of the developing tendencies out of Japan.

For Japan's role, this age was a period of major expansion, a veritable boom in the company. The 1980s saw the success of shows such as Gundam and Dragon Ball overgrow the national consciousness and become runaway sensations. The explosion of the manga sector before hand, with serializations of works by Akira Toriyama and Katsuhiro Otomo in the early 80s simmered in the childhood of Japan and finally seeing the commercial possibilities of those functions, creating in the process a major conglomerate of companies in the Akira Committee to bring the huge funding of Akira to fruition.

By the 90s anime was the mainstream in Japan, and the result was that the ramping up of production and increased output of shows. In part because of the simple, streamlined art style, multiple artist were able to work on a single project and create episode per week for years at a time, leading to monumental runs such as the case of Dragonball (156 episodes) and Dragonball Z (276 episodes). The ability to serialize and turn a story into something that millions of youths would tune into each and every week made firms billions (of yen) and secured the sorts of industrial sponsorships and funds necessary to undertake extraordinary jobs that would require huge sums of cash to finish.

Back in America, a few executives were starting to see the impact that these shows were having in Japan. Slowly and very carefully they began taking the hottest, Dragonball Z and Sailormoon by way of example and finding timeslots first in the afternoon, before the daily retinue of American cartoons, testing the waters of marketability. In 1995, the trickle of anime into the states was only that, a relative trickle. Sailormoon aired every morning in syndication, but sliced and missing key seasons to relate the endings of significant storylines. Dragonball Z ran an equally mild run early on Saturdays in syndication that was abruptly cut when the rights to the show have been lost by the initial company and bought by Funimation.

All the while, works from Japanese specialists like Hayao Miyazaki were being overlooked, passing undetected through limited release in the countries, while making him a God of his own craft in Japan. All the while firms like Manga, Funimation, and Viz were buying up licenses and releasing small known, untraceable reveals that no one knew the origin of. The shows were treated badly, often dubbed and cut up to accommodate American audiences. Viz even launched the very first Anime magazine in 1993 using Animerica, primarily reviewing their particular products but still giving a view of this civilization that nobody knew anything about.

Butin 1995, the release of the shows in the Usa along with the premiere and rave reviews of Neon Genesis Evangelion at Japan, Otaku curiosity abroad began to spike. Otaku is a bid of a misnomer as it is a little bit of a insult in Japan, a mean spirited way to call someone a nerd. Here though, it normally signifies a purveyor of Japanese pop-culture and with all the Otaku so in fashion right now it's less of an insult than the clique. The early 90s was a time of massive growth of interest from the little known import of Anime however, and the American marketplace was not slow to react.

In 1997, tv programs made broad sweeping moves to bring displays to the mainstream. The Sci-Fi station had always needed a small market in its own latenight line up for cult classics like Vampire Hunter D, but Warner Bros finally brought the genre to primetime. And in 1998, a small known video game for the Game Boy exploded at the American market, bringing along with it its whole arsenal of marketing ploys, including the childish, but enormously popular Pokemon anime. Finally, kids throughout the nation were gluing themselves to the tv series as earnestly as their Japanese counterparts had for nearly a decade earlier hand.

Miyazaki's new film played to better reception, receiving a proper release through Miramax. Princess Mononoke has been a success in the terms of the time, even receiving the coveted two thumbs up (let alone an overview whatsoever ) out of Siskel and Ebert. Movies started to arrive in America more liberally, still finding small release, but release at least. And the shows started to pour into. At the time, the fansub scene was more or less the only way to get access to some of the more obscure titles being released in Japan. But since the market thrived, so did the licensing by major companies, and it really started to become prohibited to fansub certain shows since they might be published by a company eventually.

Thus began the closing and full assimilation of Japanese pop culture into American. The DVD format sped up the process, as more episodes of a series could be packaged into a disk than a VHS and production prices plummeted, removing a lot of the financial threat of an untested foreign product in the American marketplace. Cartoon Network surfaced its Toonami afternoon cartoon slot, in which they showcased anime that had been in existence for just a time, but was able to appeal to a much larger demographic and spread the word about these great narrative driven cartoons from throughout the ocean. An whole generation grew into the expanding popularity and became entranced by the epic storylines, amazing storytelling and capacity to show in a cartoon what many considered adult topics and much more mature perspectives on matters like competition and personal success. The Japanese ability to cross genre as well as the extremely higher production values which started to enter displays made in the late 90s and outside supposed amazing shows that appealed not only to children but to adults and outside.

What began as a crossover, gradually began to actually alter the manner in which American's promoted their tv to kids. Shows with more adult articles appeared, and in some cases emulated the Japanese structure. The authors at Pixar crafted brilliant, more maturely themed animations with no ridiculous musicals of Disney ago, and Disney even dissolved their attempted format in favor of much more adult, stories that were complete. The devolution of American quality in animations though as they attempted to match the output signal meant even more Japanese entries in the market. Now, if you flip on Fox kids in the morning you'll find more than half of those shows on are animes. And Cartoon Network nevertheless presents multiple entrances themselves, with much more adult offerings in their Adult Swim block late at night.

These days, you will find anime oriented t-shirts anyplace, an entire aisle devoted to DVD releases at Best Buy (compared to the 1 row only seven years ago) and the achievement of this Anime Network, a channel solely devoted to Anime programming. Magazines like Newtype, a Japanese trade magazine to the Anime sector is now translated and released in America every month with previews of new shows, and American directors like James Cameron are looking to direct live action versions of manga like Battle Angel Alita.

Now, we view new releases from Japan within seven weeks, and the fansub community has to scramble to keep up with what is legal and what's not legal to offer through their services. The internet itself has made it a huge community, in which a show can be recorded on Japanese television, ripped and subbed, subsequently uploaded within a couple hours for the entire world to view. There is no place over, and new displays are immediately available. And it's evident in the universities too. Japanese is one of the most pursued languages, filling up instantly with a lawn long waiting list each year, and much more segments being added each year.

[sciencespies]

Interstellar travel could make human language evolve beyond recognition, study says

https://sciencespies.com/space/interstellar-travel-could-make-human-language-evolve-beyond-recognition-study-says/

Interstellar travel could make human language evolve beyond recognition, study says

It’s a captivating idea: build an interstellar ark, fill it with people, flora, and fauna of every kind, and set your course for a distant star! The concept is not only science fiction gold, its been the subject of many scientific studies and proposals.

By building a ship that can accommodate multiple generations of human beings (aka. a Generation Ship), humans could colonize the known Universe.

But of course, there are downsides to this imaginative proposal. During such a long voyage, multiple generations of people will be born and raised inside a closed environment. This could lead to all kinds of biological issues or mutations that we simply can’t foresee.

But according to a new study by a team of linguistics professors, there’s something else that will be subject to mutation during such a voyage – language itself!

This study, “Language Development During Interstellar Travel“, appeared in the April issue of Acta Futura, the journal of the European Space Agency’s Advanced Concepts Team.

The team consisted of Andrew McKenzie, an associate professor of linguistics at the University of Kansas; and Jeffrey Punske, an assistant professor of linguistics at Southern Illinois University.

In this study, McKenzie and Punske discuss how languages evolve over time whenever communities grow isolated from one another. This would certainly be the case in the event of a long interstellar voyage and/or as a result of interplanetary colonization.

Eventually, this could mean that the language of the colonists would be unintelligible to the people of Earth, should they meet up again later.

For those who took English at the senior or college level, the story of Caxton’s “eggys” ought to be a familiar one.

In the preface to his 1490 translation of Virgil’s Aeneid (Eneydos) into Middle English, he tells a story of a group of merchants who are traveling down the Thames toward Holland. Due to poor winds, they are forced to dock in the county of Kent, just 80 kilometres (50 miles) downriver and look for something to eat:

“And one of them named Sheffield, a merchant, came into a house and asked for meat and, specifically, he asked for eggs (“eggys”). And the good wife answered that she could speak no French. And the merchant got angry for he could not speak French either, but he wanted eggs and she could not understand him. And then at last another person said that he wanted ‘eyren’. Then the good woman said that she understood him well.”

This story illustrates how people in 15th century England could travel within the same country and experience a language barrier. Well, multiply that to 4.25 light-years to the nearest star system and you can begin to see how language could be a major complication when it comes to interstellar travel.

To illustrate, McKenzie and Punske use examples of different language families on Earth and how new languages emerged due to distance and time. They then extrapolated how this same process would occur over the course of 10 generations or more of interstellar/interplanetary travel.

As McKenzie explained in a UK press release:

“If you’re on this vessel for 10 generations, new concepts will emerge, new social issues will come up, and people will create ways of talking about them, and these will become the vocabulary particular to the ship. People on Earth might never know about these words, unless there’s a reason to tell them.

“And the further away you get, the less you’re going to talk to people back home. Generations pass, and there’s no one really back home to talk to. And there’s not much you want to tell them, because they’ll only find out years later, and then you’ll hear back from them years after that.”

An example they use is the case of Polynesian sailors who populated the South Pacific islands between 3,000 and 1,000 BCE.

Though the roots of these sailors are traced to Taiwan (ca. 6000 BCE) this process of expansion led to the development of entirely new cultures by the 1st millennium BCE. The Polynesian languages that emerged bore little resemblance to the ancient Austronesia language (aka. “Formosan”) of their ancestors.

Similarly, the authors cite language changes that take place within the same language community over time, using the example of “uptalk.” Also known as “High Rising Terminal,” this phenomenon involves statements ending with a rise in intonation.

While it is often mistaken for a question by those who are unfamiliar with it, the convention is actually intended to indicate politeness or inclusion.

As the authors note, “uptalk” has only been observed in the English language within the past 40 years and its origins are unclear. Nevertheless, the spread of it has been noted, particularly by members of the Baby Boomer generation that use it today, but did not in their youth.

Another issue they identify is sign language, which will require adaptation from the crew since some crewmembers will be born hearing impaired.

Without someone keeping track of changes and trying to maintain grammatical standards, linguistic divergence will be inevitable. But as they note, that might be irrelevant, since language on Earth is going to change during that same time.

“So they may well be communicating like we’d be using Latin – communicating with this version of the language nobody uses,” said McKenzie.

Last, but not least, they address what will happen when subsequent ships from Earth reach the colonized planets and meet the locals. Without some means of preparation (like communication with the colony before they reach it), new waves of immigrants will encounter a language barrier and could find themselves being discriminated against.

Because of this, they recommend that any future interplanetary or interstellar missions include linguists or people who are trained in what to expect – translation software ain’t gonna’ cut it!

They further recommend that additional studies of likely language changes aboard interstellar spacecraft be conducted, so people know what to expect in advance. Or as they conclude in their study:

“Given the certainty that these issues will arise in scenarios such as these, and the uncertainty of exactly how they will progress, we strongly suggest that any crew exhibit strong levels of metalinguistic training in addition to simply knowing the required languages. There will be need for an informed linguistic policy on board that can be maintained without referring back to Earth-based regulations.”

Just for fun, let’s see what kinds of linguistic changes could take place.

For starters, let’s assume that a generation ship does take a full ten generations to reach its destination – in this case, Proxima b. Ten more generations pass before the next ship arrives, bringing people from Earth who still speak modern English.

Using the language evolution-simulator Onset, and an English-IPA translator, we can get a small taste of how a simple English-language greeting, and a common request (if you’re in a 50s sci-fi B movie), would change over twenty generations:

“Helluhuh fret, goot tu’uh be’yat yu. Took be’ye to’o u’ul ley’eru, pley’yaz.”

As you can see “Hello friend, good to meet you. Take me to your leader, please” comes out a little different after twenty generations of separation.

How about something more complicated, but no less familiar? Here’s a famous speech that fans of space exploration and history should recognize. After twenty years of interstellar travel, here’s how that speech would sound:

“Wu’eh cho’oz to’o go to’o too Bo’od! Wu’eh cho’oz to’o go to’o too Bood id teez dey’ich udh do’oh tey’e de uttur teedgz, dot biga’ozz tey’e ar ey’ery’eh, boot biga’ozz tey’e ar hard; biga’ozz tat goal wool surve to’o olgoodiez uhd bez’hur too bezt oov uhur eluree’iaz uhd skeelz, uhd biga’ozz tat chaludi iz wuhd tat wu’e ahr wooleet to’oh igsept, wuhd wu’e ahr udu’illid to’o postbode, ohd wuhd wu’e iddet to’o wud.”

Can you guess what speech that is? Keep in mind, this is just a basic simulation of how the English language might change for a group of colonists, never mind people here on Earth.

And when you take time to consider all of the spoken language and dialects spoke today, and that any combination of these will be brought with the colonists to the stars, you can see how confounding it all could be!

There is a reason why the myth of the Tower of Babel remains embedded in our collective unconscious. Language barriers have always been a hurdle for human interaction, especially where long stretches of time and space are concerned.

So if humanity plans to “go interstellar” (or interplanetary), we’ll be taking that hurdle to a whole new level!

In the meantime, you can check out several other articles we’ve done on the subject of generations ships, how big they would have to be, and the minimum number of crew they would need.

This article was originally published by Universe Today. Read the original article.

#Space

[misssophiachase]

A while back the lovely @megansarah11 asked for a Klaroline drabble prompt inspired by Sybil and Tom from Downton Abbey (modern-day version). Apologies I never got to it love but I’m so excited about the movie coming out tomorrow so thought I’d finally write something : ) Hope you like it. Lyrics by Tracy Chapman.

He’s an Uber driver she wants to hate, she’s the daughter of an influential person he wants to hate but a mutually beneficial arrangement might change all that. 

Fast Car

You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere

“Five minutes late,” she muttered from the backseat, stabbing at the buttons on her cell phone. “And one less star for lack of decorum.”

He’d picked her up outside Columbia University but given it was peak hour and hundreds of students milling around campus he’d struggled to see her even if it was her responsibility to place his license plate first. 

Glancing at the impressive looking college in the distance while he waited, Klaus wished he could afford to study there. His GPA was impressive so too his SAT scores during high school but he couldn’t afford college and scholarships were few and far between. 

Klaus Mikaelson didn’t drive an Uber for fun, in fact, he only drove because he needed the money to support his family not rude commentary from passengers mid-trip. 

This type he’d seen before, the epitome of a spoiled princess, although Klaus had to admit she was easy on the eye; blonde waves, porcelain skin, pink lips and legs for days encased within that leather mini-skirt. Daddy’s little girl had obviously decided putting the Uber driver out of business would be a fun distraction on the way out with friends. 

“Five minutes late is reasonably good for New York traffic, although I’m sure you know that already, but what exactly is wrong with my decorum?” He asked, probably against his better judgment but Klaus was bored and needed some entertainment to pull him out of his Friday night funk. 

“Lack of decorum you mean and last time I checked that was none of your business.”

“Well, if you’re going to review my services aloud, it’s a little difficult to ignore,” Kaus offered, looking at her in his rearview mirror curiously, noting those expressive blue eyes widening in shock.

She didn’t respond immediately, obviously thrown off by his reply. Instead, she proceeded to punch at her cell with more vigor and Klaus knew he’d lost at least another star in the process. He wasn’t phased and decided he’d much prefer music than her thoughts anyway.  

“What the hell is this?” She growled, finally finding her voice as the music reverberated loudly through the speakers. 

“It’s called music, sweetheart.”

“I’m aware it’s music,” she growled, “and don’t call me that.”

“It’s the Clash.” 

“Well, the name seems fitting given the lack of musicality,” she shared. Before she could eviscerate him again via review Klaus replied. 

“I should have known I suppose.”

“Should have known what exactly?”

“That someone so uptight and privileged wouldn’t understand punk rock.”

“I understand it perfectly,” she huffed. “In fact, I admire the way the genre has pioneered political messaging over the decades.”

“Really? You do?” He inquired, not expecting that response from the princess in his backseat. He decided she must be taking a few political electives and thought she knew everything.

“Yes, and, while we’re at it, everyone knows the Clash. I didn’t think you’d be so easily fooled.”

“Well, excuse me if you don’t look the type.” 

“You got me,” she admitted, his crimson lips curved into a smile knowing he’d won the argument. “I’m actually more of a Ramones fan if I’m to be completely honest.”

“Figures, you’d pick the band with the conservative guitarist.”

“I was more of a Joey fan, not Johnny if you must know. I ought to really address your judgmental tendencies in my review.” Klaus had to admit she knew her punk rock and the fact brother Joey was far more liberal than his older brother Johnny. 

“Well, given that, my tardiness and lack of decorum at least I’m consistent, love.”  

“I’d be curious to know just what your other passengers think about typecasting their musical tastes and political beliefs. And, by the way, you’re down to one star, buddy.”

Klaus could tell by consulting the rearview mirror she hadn’t bothered to look down at her phone once and a sly smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

She was enjoying this and Klaus had to admit he was too. It also didn’t hurt just how cute she looked twirling a blonde lock in her fingers and biting the right corner of her bottom lip either. 

“I’m amazed I still have one star,” he teased, realizing he had nothing to lose at this point. “Daddy must hate that his daughter is a Democrat.”

“You have no idea, not that I’m trying to entertain your stereotypes at all,” she mumbled, laying her head back, her blonde waves fanning out across the seat. “I think he’d disown me if I wasn’t his only child.”

“Well, then I’m sorry I judged you,” he offered, his eyes meeting hers briefly. “I definitely deserve that review.”

“Well, there’s still time to prove yourself,” she smiled deviously. “How about we make a detour and you can make it up to me?”

Maybe we make a deal

“You brought me to Central Park?” Klaus shivered, trying to ignore just how frozen his toes were and hoping it didn’t spread to other much-needed regions. 

Klaus had been unable to help himself, offering his jacket to his passenger who was less clothed and insisted they visit the Bethesda Fountain. It was empty given the season and this time of night.   

“If this is a frostbite competition, I give in,” he chuckled whilst trying to battle the chill. 

“This is my favorite place in the city,” she shared, looking upwards. The sky was clear tonight, the moon barely visible but multiple stars twinkling in the distance. “I like to come here when no one else is around.” 

“Well, you certainly chose the optimal time.” He agreed, hoping she’d get to the point sooner rather than later. As a driver, it wasn’t his role to get out of the car but for some reason, she’d enticed him into the cold. Klaus decided to blame it on his need for a good review, well in case anyone asked. “Don’t you want to meet your friends?”

“Maybe later,” she replied, taking a seat on the edge of the fountain and patting the spot next to her. Klaus wasn’t one to come on command but he’d long abandoned his usual routine when she’d jumped into his car. “I’ll pay extra and up your stars, promise.”

“It’s not about the money or the review,” Klaus admitted, probably too quickly. “I just like all my appendages working at full capacity.”

“Looks pretty good to me,” she shot back, a cheeky smile crossing her features as her eyes grazed his crotch. Klaus thought he’d pegged her when she jumped into his car but was finding it difficult to concentrate given just how unpredictable she’d proven.   

“You were not what I expected at all.”

“I have that effect on people,” she grinned. “My father doesn’t like it all that much, usually has one of his drivers take me around the city so as to avoid anything untoward.”

“And that’s not a nice, fatherly thing to do I assume?” 

“He does it to spy on me,” she growled. “It’s like I’m eight years old all over again and he’s chasing Liam O’Neil out of my treehouse.”

“What exactly were you doing in said treehouse?”

“We were playing doctors and nurses,” Klaus smirked knowingly, causing her to jab him in the ribs. “Get your head out of the gutter it was all above board. If anything it made me realise just what a bad nurse Liam made.”

“So, why no driver tonight then?”

“I snuck out before he arrived,” she admitted. “I wanted to spend my night my own way.”

“My curiosity is piqued, who exactly is your father?” 

“Republican Congressman for the 2nd District,” she murmured. “Talk about a total buzzkill. He has this tendency to put a dampener on my life in general and not just because of his choice of political party.”

“Wow, that was not who I was expecting at all when we started our discussion.”

“Oh, is that what you call it? From memory, it was all about you questioning my musical tastes and insulting my beliefs.”

“We haven’t even scratched the surface of a real political debate and you know it, Caroline.” For some reason that made Klaus smile in anticipation of a rematch.

“You said my name,” she smiled. “And here I thought I’d forever be known as love or sweetheart or whatever you call all the women you pick up.” Klaus didn’t miss her double meaning. 

“Assuming I pick up all these women, love,” he smirked flashing his dimples, noticing her creamy skin flush a cute shade of pink as he did. 

“So, any chance you’d consider driving me around?” His eyebrows shot up curiously wondering how they’d moved from pick-ups to fully-fledged driving.  “Urgh not in that way,” she groaned, jabbing him again. Klaus had to admit he was quite enjoying throwing around double entendres especially if it warded off the chill. 

“What? You mean like a chauffeur? It’s not really my thing and I’m not sure your father would approve,” he whistled. “We don’t exactly run in the same circles.”

“He doesn’t need to know that. I just need more space and this arrangement could be mutually beneficial.”

“And what do I get exactly?”

“You get money and I get freedom,” she shot back. “Seems like the perfect arrangement.”

“Except for the obvious,” he said, “Your father probably has the most stringent vetting process in place for the position of driving around his only daughter.”

“Just leave it to me.”

“Why does that worry me?”

“Because for the most part, and not that I want to prove your earlier assessment correct, my father does most things I ask. It’s either because he loves me or doesn’t want me to make a scene. Either scenario works I suppose.” Klaus could tell by the hurt in her voice that she cared about what he thought more than she liked to portray. “You’re English, surely we can sell you as some Margaret Thatcher-loving Tory who came to America to discover his dream.”

“Of being a chauffeur?”

“Of being a chauffeur who is saving for college to become a lawyer at a private equity practice in Washington DC and then the next Attorney-General in a Republican White House.”

“Sounds exactly like me,” he joked. “It seems like you’ve offered this position to others before me.”

“No, that’s just pretty much every guy my father has tried to set me up with since I was eighteen.”   

“I think that will be a tough sell, love.”

“But just think about all the money you could make, Uber driving would be peanuts in comparison.” 

Klaus wasn’t motivated by money but given his mother’s health problems he knew the extra cash would make a difference with her treatment. He’d be stupid to pass up an offer like that and if it meant more time to discuss politics with Caroline Klaus certainly wasn’t complaining. 

Maybe she needed more freedom and maybe he needed more money but for some reason, there seemed to be an underlying reason neither had verbalized. 

It was as if she wanted an escape just as much as he did.

Maybe together we can get somewhere, any place is better

[wickednerdery]

Title: FrostBitten: Blood Runs Cold Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Marvel Pairing/character: Loki x Reader x Jotun!OC Rating: Explicit Summary: “It’s time.” Notes: This is the official finale (not including epilogue to come) of my series/multi-chapter fic - Masterlist Here. Ulfr is a Frost Giant, more clearly so than Loki, and “played” by Lee Pace. The whole thing in general is dark, this piece (which covers the same time as the last one, then continues on from it) is mostly just violent. For that and length it gets a “Read More”.

He knows Loki’s “invite” is the first step back down the spiral to Hel. Loki gets this he’ll keep pressing and pressing until it’s as bad, worse than, it was before. Ulfr can either stop him now or let it all go to shit for himself, you, the baby, and everyone else in Loki’s path. So, really, he doesn’t have a choice. It’s now or never.

The split is quick, easy for him, this time; as one steps out to follow you into whatever trap Loki’s laid, the other slips off to contact Dr Strange.

Over the months Strange grew increasingly wary of Ulfr. Not for fear of his mind, his control, but in his abilities. In once raw power now honed without the limits of morals or consideration for others. When they meet now, Strange keeps his distance, his guard up, and rarely lets the other get too close...even in the mirror dimension.

“It’s time.” Ulfr declares.

“Why’s that?”

“You wanna stand around debating or stop Loki before he does any more damage?” He smiles. “We don’t have time for both.”

"We can’t afford to act without consideration...like before.” When Ulfr set their plans back by months in touching The Tesseract. “And, if you can’t...”

Ulfr’s mirage fades and Strange tenses. Where is he? What sort of trap is this...and whose is it? Loki’s or Ulfr’s? The sorcerer spins; Ulfr grabs and slams hard enough the wall refracts in multiple directions preventing additional injuries. The doctor’s vision blurs, head spins, as the other hits like a sledgehammer, doubling him over, before he can recover enough to fire Ulfr back and throw up shields. The Frost Giant fades away again...And Strange sees his folly. He didn’t intend to fight, only distract. No more Sling Ring and while the Eye of Agamotto remains, its falsehood is sensed. One doesn’t have to contend with protective spells if he’s switching rather than stealing...

“Fuck,” Strange groans out.

Loki spins in his rise, firing from the scepter as he does, only for the blast to shatter door-frame and ice-wall. He tries again and again Ulfr throws up arm to block the blast, then breaks and bends shield into blades that he casts in Loki’s direction. One clips the end of cape, another dings shin-guard, as Loki throws up his own magic shield. He grins. “Do you truly think you can defeat your king, a god?”

“Yeah, I do,” Ulfr grins back before light flies in his direction. It cracks across his shoulder like a hot whip, one whose burn burrows under skin, muscle, and into bone. He hisses, growls, as ice soothes wound, patches up torn armor, and grows into spikes across the Frost Giant’s form.

Both men charge, allowing rage, frustration, and testosterone to fill them, fuel them, to mad battle...

You’re in the living room, but...not. The place is blurred, your breath echoes, and while you can hear both men they sound miles and miles away. You’re fully dressed, armored in something akin to a sleek version of an Iron Man suit, but utterly bewildered as to where, exactly, you are.

There’s a crash as Loki flies through the wall, landing a few feet from you in an enraged heap. Red streaks down his face from hairline to chin and he flicks blood from his hair to glare about with blackened eyes, but he looks through rather than at you. Grunting up on his feet his scepter fires through the hole his body made, lighting up the bedroom in red. He’s blue, lined...full Jotun. Just like Ulfr who steps through the hole, pink-tinged armor reforming as fast as it melts. “I am your king!”

“I don’t care,” Ulfr states, taking wide strides in approach to a scrambling Loki. With a flick of his wrist he sets Loki’s insides on fire and the man begins to seize and twist, gasp for air through burning throat. “You killed your king, your father...My family...You’re a traitor....Murderer of your own kind!” His voice begins to shake in pure rage, loathing...then pain as the magic he uses causes his own Jotun skin to crack and bleed. “NÍÐINGR!!”

“Ulfr, no!” You give a scream, it echoes back without reaching either man’s ears. “Stop!!” It isn’t that you want either to win; you don’t want either of them to lose. They can be terrible, terrifying, but that they could kill each other horrified you. That they might leave you and your child, their child, alone in whatever this world has become shakes tears from your eyes.

Loki times it perfectly, the blade appearing just as Ulfr goes for the kill. It slips in red hot, severing the roots of tree, and Ulfr howls in agony. Muscles tense, fight the intrusion, as the god’s wrist twists, yanks, and more flesh opens to the shock of the gutted. Loki chuckles darkly as hand once ready to strangle hits the floor to keep the Frost Giant from collapsing outright.

Ice armor melts, Seiðr spills with blood, as Ulfr fights to heal over everything else. The heat of Loki’s cursed knife spreads, burns the core of him, even after it leaves his body. Fiery poison pumps through veins, boiling blood both within and spilling across the floor. He’s been a fool, indulgent in vengeance, and now he’s lost as Loki stabs again, pushing him off with the blade itself.

“Loki!” You scream as the pocket universe Ulfr tucked you in melts with your armor. “STOP!! STOP YOU’RE KILLING HIM!!” You rush forward, then stop short as the god’s eyes flare up at you.

All semblance of humanity is gone. “Yes...well that is the point.” The maniacal look leaves in a gasp as ice impales his chest. He looks down, sees Ulfr’s blood-caked grin, before going to grab the Eye of Agamotto for himself. He’ll heal later, but first the stone. The moment his hand touches the pendant Ulfr’s hands latch over his.

“STOP!!!” You beg as the two enter an impenetrable battle of wills; as they grab, hit, and stab each other in the struggle to get the upper hand before their death. “Fuck....” Your mind races for a distraction, anything to get them apart and away from that stupid necklace. Then you hit on it and wail as if in pain. “THE BABY!!!“

It gets their attention...sort of. They look to you, but both men keep hands on jewelry and, in seeing nothing wrong, Loki only laughs before yanking hard. He gains control of the Eye, but loses balance in the process and tips back. Hand releases the gold chain in instinctive favor of staying upright and the pendant crashes against the wall.

Desperate to end this, in hopes they can be saved both physically and mentally, you dash forward before either’s collected themselves. The gold chain is knotted, gilded cage cracked and broken, and a short ways off is the glowing green stone that’s slipped out. You reach down to pick up it...

“NO!!” They both roar.

The second you touch it agony seizes your entire being...an incomprehensible, raw, burn of energy that makes you wail like a flaming animal. It pulls you apart on a molecular level, body and mind and soul. Through blinding light both men rush forward. Ulfr’s body wraps around you, grabs the stone to funnel energy into himself, and Loki follows after, but you know this is it. This is the end...

“Think of before...” you hear their voices mix in your mind more than ear. Weak, desperate, pleading, dying with you.

The stone flames itself into your palms as you try to focus on the life you had before all this. Before Ulfr, before Loki, before New York and your world fell to the bitter cold of their conquering...

This is, in fact, not the end. There will be at least one epilogue showing what’s happened to these three after. My ability to write fight scenes sucks so sorry if it was confusing, but I couldn’t find an easier way to write it, lol! Also Dr Strange is fine, it’ll just take him a bit to get out of the mirror dimension and back to his current time and place, LMAO!! (That I finished this tonight is a holiday miracle and I really hope you all enjoy it, LMAO!!)

Side Note: Níðingr means “villain, vile person” in Old Norse.

(Top gif made from two found on Google, bottom found on Google - ignore the surroundings, focus on “Ulfr” and their hands, lol!)

Tagged: @succumb-to-your-king @chibiyanai @wadeyouwitch @creedslove @lady-crowned-with-stars @moonfaery @annievvv7  @ladyfluff @holykryptonitekitten @lokilvrr @janebrownnie @lokis-little-kitten @alexakeyloveloki @theangelsfightwithdevils @the-blue-tiefling @lokis-lady-death @dangertoozmanykids101 @prometheasmother @vethrvolnir  @wintertink @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes @drakonwild @starscreamloki @judas-bby @hiddles-rose  @the-lady-witchitery @galaxies-inside-my-head @jackheart180 @lukeevansandjdmobession @endlessstairway @lanabanana-86 @tom-fucking-hiddleston-1981 @lovekrystina @madoka73  @lokikingofasgardslover713 @partiallyinthecloset @ultrarebelheart @gravitational-anomaly @manip-loki @my-world-of-imagines …Think that’s everyone!

[chipper9906]

Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 1: Love Is...

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 12,073

Overall Word Count: 12,073 (In Progress)

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (1/?)

Fic Summary: 

It was insane when he thought of how much had changed in such a short amount of time. How much he had changed. His perspective had shifted entirely, becoming the kind of man he used to laugh at. Love was weakness. Love was giving someone else the opportunity to take advantage of you, distract you from what truly mattered. Love was something that turned you soft, that made you think twice before doing what needed to be done.

Oh, how he was wrong. Love was… power. Love was giving yourself to another person -- not relying on that other person to make you whole, but to better one another, to strengthen the weaknesses you thought were buried and hidden.

Love was… everything that she was.

* * *

I had initially made this is a single one-shot after the Season Finale, but it kind of just... kept going? More and more scenes came to life in my head, and now here they are; A multi-chapter continuation fic following Sylvie and Loki as they try to get a start on mopping up the multi-verse whilst trying to work out these messy, confusing feelings they have for one another.

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AUTHORS NOTE:  If you've already read my one-shot Sylki fic 'Love Is', then you can skip straight to the next chapter because this first chapter is just that fic.

* * *

Perhaps, in another time, another him, he would have told the story of this moment differently. He would say that he stared upon that looming statue, the impassive stone face of ‘He Who Remains’, and he did not tremble. He looked into the face of the man he knew he was to take down, and he got to work.

But he’d be lying if he’d said that. 

He had looked up to that statue in horror. He had stood there, wishing he was looking at the statues of the timekeepers, instead. Because he knew that, the horrors of all that happened before? That was going to be nothing, nothing, compared to what was coming. 

The room he was sat in now was almost familiar. The same type of nearly every interrogation room that the TVA had, but there was something… off about it. Perhaps a slightly different shade of orange compared to the previous TVA’s color scheme. Or… or perhaps the font they used for the number plastered on the wall was different?

What was familiar was the collar locked in place around his neck. ‘Purely for safety purposes’ they had told him as TVA security swarmed him, all but picked him up by his arms, and hauled him off into this room. He had been sat on this hard, uncomfortable chair for… actually, he still wasn’t too sure how time worked in the TVA. All he knew was that it had been too long already. 

It had barely been a moment. The change had happened so fast. Too fast. He had tumbled back through that time door, and… time itself had erupted. Chaos, just as ‘He Who Remains’ had told them it would. And this was just one. One branch of what was going to be infinite – some good, and some very, very bad. But it didn’t even matter if there were good ones. Because ultimately, the bad ones were coming. The bad ones were out there, and this time, they were going to do everything in their power to make sure their timeline came out on top.

And somehow… he had to stop it?

No… No, not just him. 

Perhaps… perhaps he can find a way out of here. Steal a TemPad, perhaps? No, no, that wouldn’t work… There was only one TVA, wasn’t there? So, that meant… Mobius was truly gone. His Mobius, anyway. The one who was going to burn this place to the ground. The one that was going to spread the truth. Now, he was… just another variant. The same Mobius he had first met, who was just trying to do his job. Maybe he could do this all over again, find a way to get Mobius to believe him. 

Or... Or what if there were multiple TVA's now? All those branches were no longer just branches, but entirely new timelines. New universes that would, ultimately, clash with one another. So maybe, somewhere out there, was the true Mobius from his timeline. Perhaps, if he explained everything to them, to this TVA – tried to find a way for them to understand that his timeline was the only one that didn't involve all-out chaos? 

But it seemed unlikely. This was… different. There were no more lies about the TVA in this timeline, it seemed. No timekeepers. Just him. They might already know that ‘He Who Remains’ is in control of everything. And… what exactly is this version of ‘He Who Remains’ like? Was this one that had already planned for eons of chaos? 

Was this TVA already planning for a multiversal war? 

No, perhaps the TVA wasn’t the way to go. He… he needed to go back there. To that place in the void, beyond the end of time. He… he had to go find her. He needed to find Sylvie. 

Simply thinking of her name lodged a hard rock of messy, almost unidentifiable emotions down his throat. Loki’s nails dug into the soft flesh of his palm as he squeezed his hands together atop the cool surface of the table, his eyes scrunched shut as he struggled to get his thoughts back under control. This pain was… new. And horrible. Dull, like a heavyweight pushing down on him, yet simultaneously sharp like a dagger being plunged through his chest. He knew what it felt like to be on the other end now, he supposed. 

It wasn’t fun, to say the least. 

Would she still even be in the citadel? In whatever time had passed, surely she would have… actually, he doesn’t know. Neither had she. The plan she had meticulously crafted her whole life had finished with slaying the one responsible for all her suffering. And now it was done… what else would she do?

‘Maybe… we could figure it out… together?’

‘Maybe…’

Loki shakes his head vigorously, trying to push away the memory that seemed to echo around the room. He had to focus. Sylvie could be…

Oh. Oh, but… this TVA had a new ruler. The one consistent factor among all the branches, was the same TVA. Which surely meant the same place at the end of time. The same citadel. And if that was the case, then…

Would everything have changed within? Would the new variant of ‘He Who Remains’ already be shacked up in his office?

Would Sylvie still be there?

Was she even alive in this timeline?

No. She couldn’t… It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t think like that. She was still out there, somewhere, he knew it. But… but where? If she had grabbed that TemPad, then… then she could be anywhere. There was only one place he could start looking, though. He had to go back to the citadel. 

“You doing any better?”

Loki startles at the familiar voice, looking up from the table he was sat on to the door that had been pushed open. He can’t help the small jolt of hope that rushes through him at the sight of Mobius, but the reality of which Mobius he was looking at quickly drains it away. 

“Happens more often than you’d think,” Mobius tells him with a soft chuckle, stepping into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him. Loki keeps a cautious eye on him as he strides over to the table, sitting down on the orange chair opposite with a tired-sounding grunt. Mobius pulls out the wooden clipboard he had tucked under his arm, placing it down onto the table and tapping his hands against it like a drum. 

“What happens more often than I’d think?” Loki asks, not even trying to hide the miserable tone seeping into his voice. 

“Cracking under pressure,” Mobius picks up the pen tucked neatly away within the clipboards holder. “This is a stressful job. We know of the importance of our work; the fact that you’re going through this now shows just how much you care.”

Loki barely holds back a snort of laughter. He had no idea…

“Can I… get you some water or something?” Mobius offers. “Sorry about doing things all… you know, like this. Treating you like some sort of variant-,”

He can’t help it. The laughter does push out of him this time, although the way none of his smile reaches his eyes definitely puts Mobius on edge. 

“No… No, I wouldn’t like any water,” Loki finally speaks once his short burst of laughter is over. “And to answer your earlier question? No. I am not doing better. In fact, I am quite far from anywhere near okay-,”

“Alright, alright…” Mobius stops his rant, hands held up in defense, as if it would somehow calm Loki down. “That’s why I’m here, okay? We’re gonna figure things out.”

“Figure what out?”

“First of all, it’d be good to know who exactly you are.”

Loki’s brow scrunches in confusion, his eyes flickering between Mobius’s peering stare and the file clipped onto the clipboard. “You’re telling me you haven’t figured it out already?”

“Well, we tried looking you up in our database,” Mobius’s hands go to the insides of his jacket, pulling out the rectangular appliance Loki was all too familiar with by now. “Weird thing, but uh… you didn’t come up on our employee register. Not a thing. Now, I know there’s a lot of us here – partly why I wasn’t too worried when I didn’t recognize you from anywhere. But… there should be some record of you here.”

Loki’s eyes were drawn to the TemPad Mobius still held in his hands. Mobius took notice of the direction of his stare, his eyes narrowing by just the slightest as he safely tucked the TemPad back into his jacket pocket. It was only as his hand went into his pocket, moving the side of his suit away from his body, did Loki catch sight of the pruning stick holstered by his side. 

“How about we start with a name?” Mobius asks. 

He could lie here. Spout out some random name, send Mobius searching for the records once again. It could give him more time, put together at least some semblance of a plan. And yet, on the other hand… There was that urge, that nagging feeling deep down to tell the truth. He still wasn’t sure what the rules of this new reality were exactly. There could be a chance, however small, that the Mobius he knows still exists somewhere within the stranger sat opposite him. Maybe, if he told him his name… Mobius might get that slight tickle of ‘I know this person'. Perhaps even enough for him to go looking for secrets that change his view on the TVA forever. 

It was worth a shot. 

“Loki,” Loki answers, his eyes searching deep into Mobius’s face for any sign of familiarity. “My name is Loki.”

But there’s nothing from Mobius. No light-bulb-over-the-head moment of realization he was hoping for. He simply shakes his head in a nod, before scribbling down his name upon the record sheet in front of him. 

“And it seems you already knew who I was,” Mobius mutters as he finishes writing something down that Loki can’t see from this angle. “Though, not too sure how. I mean, it’s not like…”

Mobius pauses, an almost curious look on his face as he looks at Loki. “…Have we met before? No offense, but I meet a lot of analysts in my work, and… I can’t say I remember us ever meeting.”

Loki gave Mobius a strained smile. “What’s the point? You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, anyway.”

That got Mobius’s attention. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, leaning forward in his chair. “Try me.”

Loki was about to shake his head. Moments away from spouting out some other lie, something to get him out of this mess. But then his eyes are drawn back to the pruning stick he knows is hidden behind Mobius’s suit, and he realizes… there’s only one way this can go. He needs to get back to the citadel, and to do that, he needs to go back to the Void and – somehow – enchant Alioth again. It was a stupid plan, he knew that fully, but there was no other choice. He needed to find Sylvie – and this was the only way to start looking for her. 

Either Mobius believes him, or he prunes him.

Win-Win. 

“We messed it all up,” Loki confesses once more. “The sacred timeline. The original one -- the one I’m from. That’s where I was before I was sent here.”

“The original one?”

“Yes. We were… we were trying to set everything free. The timelines, the variants, the TVA, everything. We needed to bring it to an end, bring him to an end, and-,”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait just a second,” Mobius stops him, holding out a hand. “You needed to bring who to an end?”

“Your leader. I believe your strange clock mascot likes to call him ‘He Who Remains.’ But, where I’m from, you all didn’t know he was your leader. He created these androids, three reptilian creatures he called ‘The Time-Keepers’. You all false fully believed to be doing their work, but you weren’t! It was all his! He was lying to you, to all of us, and… He… he offered us something. A way to… to stop the timeline from erupting into chaos. We thought he was lying, that the whole TVA was a lie, but… it wasn’t. It’s already happened, don’t you see? We killed him. We killed him, and it started all of this. And I did know you -- a different you. But now it’s all changed, and you… you’re not the you I know, anymore.”

The silence that stretches on between them is almost unbearable. Mobius still looked as calm as ever, quite the difference to Loki who had become worked up, leaning far enough across the table that it dug into his stomach, hands outstretched almost in pleading. 

“Okay…” Mobius was the first to speak, picking up his pen once again. “You said ‘we’ a few times in there. Who’s ‘we?’”

Loki opened his mouth, ready to let her name roll off his tongue, but it remains frozen in place. He didn’t know where exactly this whole conversation would end. The very last thing he wanted to do was send another version of the TVA on a manhunt for Sylvie. Again. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Loki said hurriedly. “You need to understand – your leader? He’s not the only one of himself. It’s all because of him, that this whole thing started.”

“You’re telling me that ‘He’ is just a variant?” Mobius’s voice was tense, clearly struggling to keep up his professionalism here. Loki could already tell he didn’t believe his story in the slightest – and he certainly didn’t appreciate Loki calling his leader a ‘variant’.

“It’s the whole reason he started this place,” Loki continued on anyway. “The other versions of him? All they want to do is conquer. They want to rule over every other timeline there is. And they won't stop. There will be all-out war, Mobius. Across all the different timelines.”

Mobius only nodded at him, his expression impossible to read as he reached back into his pocket again. The TemPad was back into his hands, and Loki’s vision filled with the memory of being trapped in that time-loop, reliving the same memory over and over again. Mobius tapped lazily at the screen, glancing up to Loki a few times, switching between the screen and him. 

“Look, I get it; you don’t believe me,” Loki stretched forward, and Mobius immediately pulled himself away. “But just-,” Loki frantically gestured to the ugly little computer monitor sat in the middle of the desk. “Look me up! Look up my name, and you’ll see. You’ll find my file-,”

“I’ve already looked,” Mobius interrupted him. Something in his expression had changed. He was still guarded, still looked just as disbelieving as he did prior, but there was also… a general sense of uncertainty spread across his face. “Just now, I mean.”

“Right? And?”

“Well, it’s… it’s a strange thing…” Mobius uttered softly, stuffing the TemPad back into his pocket, staring at nothing as he found himself lost in his own thoughts. “You have no file, Loki.”

It felt like his heart had come to a sudden and abrupt stop. It… it wasn’t possible. How was that possible? Mobius had told him, hadn’t he? He was one of the most frequent, pain in the arse variants they had to deal with. And now… he wasn’t on their files?

In this timeline, did he… not exist?

“What?” Loki spluttered out. 

“Mean’s that someones messed up their job,” Mobius says with a pinched expression, the chair screeching as he stands up from it. “Someone must have brought you in when they didn’t need to - took you from the timeline you were supposed to be on. No wonder you’re confused-,”

“I don’t-,”

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this,” Mobius promised, scooping the clipboard up from the table. “We’ll find whichever Hunter brought you in, get you in front of the judge – they’ll make sure you get back to your timeline. You haven’t done anything wrong; there was probably just some kind of mix-up with the confusion of all these new branches and-,”

“DON'T YOU GET IT!” Loki shouted out to Mobius, one last desperate attempt to convince him. Mobius startled at the sudden yell, stopping any movements he was about to make. “This is because of me! If I was brought in by your workers from my timeline, then why the hell did I come wearing one of your TVA uniforms?! I even had the damn Variant jacket for crying out loud – that you gave me!”

“Calm down, you’re just confused-,”

“I can’t calm down! I… I need to go back. I need to go back to the edge of time, the end of the void, and fix this! I… I don’t even know how, but… I have to try. I have to.”

Loki hated the look Mobius was giving him right now. He much preferred the cocky, equally as manipulative interrogator he got from his Mobius. This Mobius was just looking at him with… with pity. Like he was saddened by the poor, pathetic Variant who was losing his mind.

“We will fix this, okay?” Mobius assured him, soft and quiet, and Loki felt close to ripping his hair out in frustration. He was already beginning to turn away from him, one foot in front as he moved towards the door. “We’ll get you home-,”

Mobius didn’t even see the movement as Loki lunged forward, turning around and looking on in disbelief as Loki grabbed hold of the end of the pruning stick sticking out from his suit jacket. Mobius scrambled to dig his TemPad out from his jacket, just waiting for the moment that the Variant in front of him would activate the pruning stick and prune him with it. 

Only… his fingers still, frozen above the button on his TemPad as he sees Loki step away from him. There’s a look of both dread and utter determination on Loki's face as he activates the pruning stick and then – to both Mobius’s disbelief and horror – holds the pruning stick towards him, ready to self-prune. 

Loki’s view shifts. One second he’s staring at Mobius’s shocked face, the stick in front of him held primed and ready. Then Mobius’s fingers slam down on the TemPad, and the world shifts around him. He’s suddenly right back where he was a second ago, stood right in front of Mobius. There’s not enough time to react, not expecting the shift in position, but Mobius was prepared. Grabbing hold of the stick once more, he yanks it back towards him whilst simultaneously shoving the hand holding the TemPad into Loki’s chest, sending him sprawling onto the floor. 

Mobius holds the pruning stick close to his side, staring down at Loki in bewilderment at what just happened. Loki doesn’t even bother to get back up. He doesn’t even look at Mobius. He remains sitting on the floor, head hung low and eyes closed tight.

He was so very, very tired. 

“What…” Is all Mobius can say at first, looking down to the weapon he held in his hands, and then back over to Loki. “You were… you were about to prune yourself…”

Loki doesn’t answer him. He didn’t see the point anymore. 

“...Why?”

Loki just about glances up at Mobius. It wasn’t like he’d understand. “It’s the only way. I need to find her.”

Mobius still looked just as baffled – not that he could blame him. “What do you mean it’s the only way? And who the hell is her?”

Loki feels his jaw clenching involuntary, the pressure of it rumbling in his ears, teeth squeaking and creaking in protest. “Just… get it over with. You prune all the other damn variants anyway, so why not me? Prune me, throw me in a time loop again – I don’t care anymore.”

“Again? I hadn't even met you before 'till-,”

“PRUNE ME!” Loki yells from the floor, his voice sounding unnatural to even him as it echoes back towards him. 

The fight drains out of him just as quick as it comes. Mobius still has that same damn pitiful look on his face, and he can't stand to look at it anymore. Loki drops his head into his hands, pushing his fingers through his hair and grabbing hold of clumps of it, yanking tight until he felt the sharp pain of it across his scalp. 

 “I’m not gonna prune you,” Mobius says so quietly, Loki nearly misses it. “Least, not till I figure out exactly what’s going on here. This could all still be a simple mistake-,”

“It’s not,” Loki interrupts dejectedly, his head still buried in his hands. “Not that it matters if I’m telling you the truth. No one seems to believe me when I tell it, anyway…”

The silence he gets in response is almost stifling. Enough time passes with nothing said in response that Loki pulls his head back up, only to be greeted by… nothing. The room was empty, and Mobius was nowhere in sight. He had somehow managed to sneak out of the room without making a noise. 

Alone again.

* * *

He might have fallen asleep. He wasn’t sure. It certainly felt like he had drifted in and out of consciousness, but there’s a good chance he just found himself sinking in and out of his thoughts, instead. He had managed to move from the center of the room, but not far enough to get himself back up on the chair. He had found his way to the wall, finding some sense of comfort in the wall pressed against his back. A sense of… security.

‘Well, I never sit with my back to a door.’

The sounds of commotion from outside the door snap him out of his memories. He scrapes up what little energy he had left to look to the sound of pounding footsteps and muffled shouts getting closer and closer. Something was going down. It was only a matter of time before they stormed through that door, and-

Something shifts out of the corner of his eye. A dot, golden and gleaming, suspended in mid-air. He knows what it is before it even expands, jumping to his feet with a burst of energy he didn’t even know he had left. The time-door shimmers just in front of him, inviting him into the unknown beyond. The sounds of chaos from beyond the door had only grown more frantic, coming closer to the door with every second he remains standing in place

He makes up his mind.

Loki reaches forward, jumping through and into the time-door just as the physical door behind him slams open. He doesn’t even get a chance to see who was coming for him before he’s gone from the TVA.

Loki stumbles forward as he exits the time-door, his rushed entrance kicking up pools of water beneath his feet. There's a click, and suddenly his neck feels a whole lot lighter, the TVA collar around his neck falling into the soaked pavement below. He could barely see a thing past the rain pounding down on him, soaking every inch of his clothes in as little as a second. The howling wind around him seemed to bite into his skin, the raindrops feeling like small blades as they shot down against his body. 

And yet, somehow, he knew. The moment he stepped into this place, the moment he felt the rain atop his skin, he knew. He had been here before. 

Loki looks back to the time-door, waiting for the inevitable moment the TVA burst through it. But he only lays eyes on it for a few seconds more before it collapses in on itself, leaving him in nothing but the faint glow of the neon signs ahead.

And there, hidden within the shadows, was where he saw her. Sensed her. She was nothing more than a dark silhouette at this distance, watching him carefully from afar. 

“Sylvie…” Loki whispers, mostly to himself, unable to be heard past the storm raging around them. The sense of relief, of pure joy that overtook him was something he had never known before. His feet are moving forward before he even realizes it, picking up in pace the closer he gets to her. And, miraculously, she was walking towards him, too. 

The instinct of it was overwhelming. Every part of him screamed to get back to her, to be back by her side. He wanted, needed to know that she was okay. He wanted to grab hold of her, to hold her in his arms and-

He stops. So does she. Loki’s eyes fixate on the blade held limply in her hands, the dark liquid he sees coating its end steadily dripping onto the ground as the rain hits it. No doubt the blood of him, he knows. On that same hand he could see the TemPad secured snuggled around her hand, its few cracks of gold in its marble-like surface shining through the darkness. 

She didn’t seem to be holding it like she planned on wielding it against him. They were close enough now for him to see her face in the glowing light of the supermarket’s signs. He knows full well that the droplets of water running down her face are not only because of the rain – mostly because he himself feels the burn of a few stray tears escaping his eyes. 

It was all still so vivid in his mind: the sharp bite of her steel against his neck, her trembling arms underneath his hands as he begged her, a type of euphoria he’s never known as she closed the distance between them, foolishly sinking into the feeling of ‘rightness’ at the taste of her against his lips, eagerly chasing them as she tried to bring it to an end. 

But the pain… oh, he vividly remembers that too – of the shock of feeling himself be flung back by her magic, unable to scramble back to the time-door in time before she had shut it – shut herself – from him. He didn’t know what to do with that pain. He was used to pain. Harnessed it, even. It was easy to let the pain turn to anger, to drive him towards his goal. But he had been drowning in this pain, one had never had to experience before. There was… nothing. The world had been sucked out from underneath him, everything that had started to make sense taken away, and he could do was nothing but… sit. Sit, and replay that moment over and over again. What could he have done differently? What did he do wrong? 

What did he need to do for her to trust him as much as he had trusted her?

And worst of all... Why didn't he feel angry? He should be bitter, should be clinging onto that sting of betrayal. But it simply wasn't there. Not anymore. Not with her just a few paces away from him. He didn't care about what had happened, or what she had done to him. All he cared about was that she was here, and she was okay. 

And that scared him more than anything. 

Loki started forward again, closing the gap between them in just a few strides. It's of great relief that she doesn't push him away – or stab him if he's being honest – as he all but collides into her. He pulls her into him, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tight, pulling her close until she was all but engulfed into his chest.

"Sylvie," He breathes her name in relief, not even bothering to hide the tears that squeezed past his closed eyelids. "I was... I was terrified something might have happened, that you... Oh, thank the gods you're okay..."

Sylvie's arms have a weak grip around him, her entire body tense as she's pinned under his embrace. He pulls her away from him, holding her at arm's length as his eyes furiously scan across her face, as if to reassure himself that she was indeed okay. 

“Seems we’re both a fan of the dramatics,” Loki can’t help but say, gesturing to the supermarket behind her with the smallest of smiles. “You’re not going to try and strangle me with a hoover again, are you?”

"Don't-," Sylvie starts, her voice clipped and strained. "Please, just... No jokes." 

Lightning strikes somewhere nearby, a particularly large fork that he's half-convinced could only be conjured by his brother. The strike lights up the darkness that enveloped them, allowing him the briefest of glances of every detail of her face through the murky gray of the night. The twist of pain on her face is the first thing his mind notes. Yet, despite the pain, his chest still constricted tightly at the beauty of her that shone through. . He had never felt so torn, so overtaken by the need to comfort, battling against the sting he still feels at the reminder of their parting. 

"Why here?" Loki asks her. Standing out in the pouring rain with an apocalypse-level hurricane looming nearby wasn't exactly the best place for a conversation. "Why did you take us back to where we met?"

Sylvie glances down at the TemPad on her wrist. "I don't know. I just knew I had to pick an apocalypse, and... This was the first one I thought of."

He nods at her answer, the movement getting a few soaked pieces of hair to plaster onto his face. 

"Aren't you going to say something?" Sylvie suddenly snapped, and he found himself taken aback by the sudden hostility. "I know you want to. You... You have to be angry at me. Want to yell at me, say I told you so-,"

Loki could only blink down at her in surprise for a few moments, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly as he struggled to come up with a response. "I...what? Is that why you brought me here? For me to yell at you?" 

"No-,"

"Then... Why did you bring me here?" Loki can't help but let a little bit of frustration slip through into his voice. "I thought that... That after what happened, this was it. That you were just...done with me. Didn't need me anymore. And now, I… What do you want from me?" 

Sylvie flinches somewhat at his use of words, reminded of the night he had said those very words in this very place. Sylvie swallows harshly, looking away from him for a moment and to the ground. She shakes her head, holding her head high as she looks back to him. "I need you to tell me I did the right thing,” The confession comes out shakier than she probably intended to, judging by the flash of annoyance he sees on her face. “I did the right thing.”

Loki wasn’t too sure if she meant to say that as a statement, or a question. She certainly didn’t sound too sure of herself right now. “Would you believe me if that’s what I told you?”

The look she shot up at him made the weight in his stomach sink heavier. It was the same look she gave him when she thought he wanted the throne. He wanted nothing more for that look to be gone. “No. No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”

Loki sighed softly, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see her disappointed face anymore. He took a deep breath through his nose, taking a risk and reaching out, gently wrapping his hands around her upper arms. She didn’t immediately pull away, or smack his hands away, so he counted that as a success. 

“You did the right thing-,” Loki began carefully. Sylvie frowned up at him, mouth partly open to point out that she had already said he wouldn’t believe him, but Loki carried on before she could get anything out. “-For you. And I get it, okay? I understand why you did it-,”

“No, you don’t-,” Sylvie spits out, one hand shooting up to grab hold of his hand on her arm. “You got to live most of your life. You had a chance to grow up in your home, with your family. You’ve only had to deal with the TVA for a few days; I’ve been up against them nearly my entire life. And it didn’t even matter! Everything I did, every attack I made against the TVA, was apparently supposed to happen! I had no free will! No one does but him! And I stopped it! I freed everyone!”

“Yes, you did,” Loki agrees with her, trying to keep his voice calm to temper the heat in hers. “And I’m not saying that that part of all this is a bad thing. People deserve to have their freedom, the decision to do whatever they want with their life.”

“Then why the hell did you try and stop me?” Sylvie asks, making an attempt to rip his hands off her. “If that’s the way you felt, why did you-,”

“Because I didn’t want you to make the same mistakes as I have!” Loki exclaims, fighting off her attempts at shaking him off, digging his fingers in, and giving her a slight shake. “Making that decision right then and there, after everything He told us… I could see it in your face, Sylvie. The hate you felt for that man, all that pent-up rage you had kept buried down, fueling you your entire life – that’s all you could focus on in that very moment. And I know what that feels like! And I know what that awful, all-encompassing regret feels like after. That’s why, Sylvie. I just wanted you to take a minute, a moment outside of all your emotions – and I know that’s easier said than done. I thought that… maybe you would trust me enough to at least listen. And… I don’t blame you for it, for everything you did back there. But I wanted… I wanted to do what I could to make sure you didn’t have to live with the same regrets I have.”

“Why?” Sylvie whispers, not trusting her voice enough to speak any louder than that. “Why do you care?”

“I wish I knew,” Loki says, chuckling despite the tears that continued to build in his eyes. “I’ve never felt this way. Not like… this. My whole life, I only ever focused on myself. Looked out for me. And now, for the first time in my life… that’s no longer the case. Now… all I care about is you.”

Sylvie gave him a strained smile, shaking her head slowly from side to side. “I am you, remember?”

The corner of Loki’s lips hitched up in the slightest of smiles – one he didn’t really mean. “Yes… except, you’re the one who said that I’m not you.”

Even Sylvie winced at the reminder of her last words to him. It was strangely reassuring to him that she looked pained at his pain. Surely, that must have meant she cared about him in some capacity, right?

“I meant what I said back there,” Loki let his hand slide down the soaked material of her sleeve, his hand coming to a stop at the base of her wrist. His thumb lightly brushes against her pulse-point, able to feel the pounding of her heart and the rush of blood around her body, same as his. “I wanted you to be okay, and when I thought of you killing Him, and the guilt you would have to carry if he was telling the truth, and we doomed infinite amounts of timelines? I knew you weren’t going to be okay.”

Sylvie could only look at him, taking in the earnest, pleading look he was giving her. She wanted nothing more than to believe him, to take that risk and fall straight into the undying trust he so easily seemed to have in her. But trust didn’t come easy. There had never been anyone else but herself to trust. 

“But, if you had taken that moment?” Loki continued, catching her off guard. “If you had just talked to me, thought about it, and you still came to the decision you needed to kill him? If you thought that that was what was going to make you okay? Then I would have handed you the dagger myself.”

Sylvie could only shake her head at him, her fruitless attempts to keep her tears at bay infuriating her as she feels them slide down her face, mixing with the rain that quickly washed them off. “I couldn’t take that risk. He might have been telling the truth, or maybe he was lying just like the rest of them, and you were-,” A gasp catches in her throat as his hand slides further down, his fingers fitting perfectly between her own as he holds them in a comforting grip. “-You were supposed to be on my side. And then you weren’t. This whole time, every moment we spent, it felt like… like you had just thrown it all away. I knew that, with any other person, I should have killed you right then and there.”

Loki can’t fight back the shiver that ripples through his body, one he knows full well isn’t because of the chill of the storm around them. It had felt like his blood had run cold at her words, throat tightening painfully at the thought. 

“But I couldn’t,” Sylvie admits to him, and it sounded like it pained her to do so. “Because you were saying all those things, and… and I believed you, because I felt it, too. I didn’t want to hurt you, and… and I wanted to be okay, too. I couldn’t kill you, but… I couldn’t let you stop me, either.”

The thunder from above is almost deafening, the power of it rumbling against the pavement underneath their feet. It was strangely comforting to hear. It reminded him of home, of family. 

“And so you did it,” Loki states the obvious. “You did what you had set out to do. You killed He Who Remains.”

Sylvie nods, and the blank look in her eyes sends a dagger through his chest. This was a moment where she should have felt triumphant. If things had been different, they would not be here. Not like this. They would have been celebrating, felt accomplished at doing what was the right thing for once – not just for them, but for the entire Universe – and every other Universe out there that had been deemed unsuitable to exist by a single dictator.

But this wasn’t that moment. 

“I saw Mobius.”

Loki feels himself freeze up involuntary at the name. He hated it. He hated that his memories of his friend had been tainted, now nothing more than… a stranger. Perhaps even a potential adversary in the near future… 

“After I…” Sylvie trails off, swallowing harshly with a painful clench of her throat. “After I killed Him, I… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t feel better. I... I couldn’t get you out of my head. I wondered if… maybe you were right, but I… I didn’t want to admit it to myself. Even when I managed to pick myself back up, and saw the space outside the citadel, within the void at the edge of time, and what I saw-,”

“What? What did you see?”

“It looked like stars…” Sylvie whispered, her eyes unfocused as she replayed the scene in her mind. “The timeline, all those branches… There were so many… And I should have been thinking about all those people in those timelines that would never have to live with the fear of taking a step out of line and finding themselves, their family, everything they ever knew taken from existence. But I didn’t. I thought about how many of him were out there. How many would be scrambling to get right back into that damn office to claim their throne once again…”

Her eyes came back into focus, swiveling up to meet his unwavering gaze. “And then I thought of you. I thought you would be safe in the TVA. Safe away from me. But once I saw all those branches, I realized that… I could have sent you anywhere. I might have just killed you myself.”

“You didn’t,” Loki rushes to assure her. “Granted, I’d much rather you hadn’t pushed me through that time-door in the first place. The fall quite hurt, actually-,”

“Loki,-”

“Right, no jokes. Sorry.”

The weary look on Sylvie's face is one he's seen many times before whenever people are subjected to the torture that is interacting with him. "When I made my way back, and you weren't there, I thought that I... That it might be too late."

Loki's lip hitch into a half-smile. "You seem to forget that I am capable of looking after myself."

Sylvie narrows her eyes at him, and it was enough for him to doubt any and all of his combat and survival skills. "Says the guy who planned on running towards a giant cloud that ate everything in its path and stabbing it." 

"In my defense, that usually works."

"Oh really? So it worked on Thanos too, then?" 

Loki placed a hand over a heart in mock hurt and... well, perhaps a little bit of hurt considering that's the only death of his where he was destined to die. "Now that's just cold, Sylvie."

He doesn't mind the hurt too much, though. Not when his over-the-top reaction pulls a small yet genuine smile out of Sylvie, one he finds himself mirroring without much of a thought. He knew that he wanted to do all he could to keep that smile on her face for the rest of their lives. 

Oh, he really was in deep... When he finds his brother once more somewhere out within the multiverse – his version of his brother – he knows he's going to be set for days upon days of teasing and ridicule.

Or...witness the terror on his brother's face as he's confronted with two Loki's...

Their small carefree moment doesn't last long, though. The weight of the situation comes crashing back down on them, wiping the smile from Sylvie's face as quickly as it had come. "The TVA is... In shambles right now, which is what I always wanted, but... I saw that... that statue, of him, and I just knew, I... I knew it was all so much worse now."

"I take it that was you that caused all that commotion outside my door, then?" 

Sylvie nodded her head, and Loki was surprised to see that pained look back on her face again. "It's because I tried talking to Mobius."

Loki grimaces at the reminder. The hurt of what had happened never seemed to lessen. "Yes, I... I might have made the same mistake."

"They seemed a tad bit preoccupied with everything going on, but... Mobius definitely seemed on edge."

"Well, it was twice in one day that someone he didn't know came up to him spouting nonsense and claiming they know him. I think he might be smart enough to realize something's not right."

"Considering the security that swarmed me, I'd say so," Sylvie huffs. "Quickly realized it wasn't a situation I was going to fight my way out of."

"How did you find me?" Loki asks. 

"Mobius," Sylvie answers, and the guilt that crosses her features makes his stomach clench uncomfortably. "I... I had to take him hostage. Was the only way to stop their hunters from surrounding me. Opened up a time-door and just... dragged him through with me."

"Is he...?" Loki didn't even want to finish that sentence. 

"He's okay," Sylvie's answer helps to loosen the knot in his stomach. "I enchanted him. He fought back a bit, but... I got through in the end. Found out where they were keeping you, and... Opened up another time door to get you out of there."

"And... What did you do with Mobius?" 

"He's in a time-loop," Sylvie says, the smile on her face no way near malicious. "It's a good one. I think there was a jet ski?" 

Loki huffs out a laugh of relief. "Good, that's... That's good."

"I told him, you know," Sylvie says, the serious tone to her voice catching his attention. "I told him the truth, about him being a variant. How everyone that works for the TVA is a variant."

"Did he believe you?" Loki asks. 

"He already knew," Sylvie tells him, and it feels like another blow. "Whatever this version of the TVA is, and whatever version of Him rules it, it seems he was a bit more truthful with his workers than the last one," The frown on Sylvie's face deepens more and more with every word she speaks. "They just... don't care. They believe they were selected for a higher purpose – like it makes it okay they were ripped away from their lives."

"Ah... I suppose that might make it a bit more difficult to sway Mobius onto our side again," Loki says, his overwhelming feeling of dejection seeping into his voice. 

Sylvie's eyes drop down to the ground, suddenly finding herself unable to meet Loki's gaze. Loki frowns as he notices her avoidance of him, craning his head down to try and meet her gaze once more, only to find her stubbornly focusing on a drenched piece of paper as it floated by. "Sylvie...?" 

"Loki, I..." Sylvie starts, closing her eyes from the sight of what she could only describe as 'sad puppy eyes'. "I... I still don't know what to do."

"About... What?" 

"Everything," She forces out. "I should feel accomplished now, shouldn't I? Satisfied, that I finally killed the man who took my life from me?" 

Loki barely pushed down the urge to reach out for her again. He had a feeling she wouldn't take too kindly to physical attempts at comfort right now. "I take it that means you don't feel that way?"

"No," Sylvie whispers, and Loki could tell she hated to admit that. "I just felt... Empty. Because if he was telling the truth, and... And you were right? There's just gonna be a bunch more of Him out there. It feels like I've done nothing. Nothing but-," 

The sentence gets stuck in Sylvie's throat, forcing her mouth shut with an aggregated shake of her head. Loki lets his instincts guide him, taking a step towards her, arm outstretched ready to comfort. But then Sylvie takes a step away from him, just a small single step, but it feels like she's trying to put miles and miles of distance between them. 

"What are you doing to me?" Sylvie gets out between clenched teeth, threading her fingers through her hair in a way that Loki knows he does when he's stressed. 

"I... I don't know?" Loki said, sounding rather baffled by her exclamation. It wasn't exactly like he wanted to aggravate her further. Far from from it. Rather... there was something about the way his heart leaped up to his throat, wondering if whatever she said to him next would reignite that small spark of hope still burning in his chest, or extinguish it before it can fully catch aflame. 

"This isn't – wasn't – who I am. I've never needed anyone in my life! This whole time, it's been only me. Me who kept me alive, me who's been carrying out this plan for years. And then I did it. I accomplished that, and... I didn't think about the victory I had earned. I didn't think of how I was finally free to live my life, make my decisions and know they're solely my own. All I could think about was you."

Loki froze in place. He didn't dare move, didn't even dare breathe. To say he was transfixed was an understatement. It seems he was wrong, in the end. She had found her own way to enchant him...

"I've never had... Companionship. I've never known what it's like to have someone by my side, someone who... Who understands. When I pushed you through that time door, I thought that I'd be okay. I'd been alone my whole life, I was used to it. But when I was sat there, alone in that office, and I wasn't okay. I was lonely, in a way I've never been before, and I didn't want to, but... I missed you. And... I wanted – needed – for you to be okay, too.

"Now, it's... it's all so complicated. After... After what I did, it's... I feel like I can't even trust myself anymore, let alone..." Sylvie trailed off, bowing her head down so Loki wouldn't see the tears that were ready to spill again. Not that he even needed to see them to know they were there. He could feel the pain radiating off her in waves as much as he could feel his own. "I'm sorry."

Loki nearly couldn't hear that last part. Whether that be because of the overwhelmingly strong blast of wind that knocked down the weather battered sign above the supermarket, or because she had purposefully uttered it so quiet like she didn't want him to hear it. He was fairly certain it was the first time he had heard her say those words to him. 

They don't come very often from a Loki, that he knew for sure. 

"I'm sorry, too," 

Sylvie nods her head, still bowed, her face pinched as she struggled to bury her emotions back down. 

"You know, back in that interrogation room, I had time to think," Loki starts, giving her a sad smile in preparation for what he's about to say next. "I, um... I thought over that dagger metaphor I said before, and I think I've got something." 

The confusion of what he's doing at least manages to distract Sylvie a little. She still eyes him with understandable caution as a burst of lime green light manifests a dagger into his hands, but the wary look in her eyes disappears almost immediately as he holds the dagger out for her to hold. She slowly reaches out, wrapping her hands around the thin handle and lifting it out of his grasp. She raises an eyebrow at him, eyes flickering between him and the new blade she held. 

"Love... Is like a dagger," Loki couldn't help but smile, brought right back to that day on the train, with everything a little a lot dizzy, and warm, and nice. 

"It's a weapon to be wielded far away, or up close," Loki continues, gesturing to the weapon in her hands, still pointed at him. "You can see yourself in it. It's beautiful... Until it makes you bleed. But ultimately, when you reach for it-" 

Loki's hands shifted in a blur of movement, taking Sylvie by surprise. His hands had shot out to reach for the dagger, but not for the handle. Instead, he had wrapped his hands around the blade itself, the sharp edges of the weapon biting into the soft flesh of his palm. She jumped at the rapid movement, but found that – to her surprise – she had not responded by trying to move the weapon out of his reach. She had instead dropped the sword she held in her other hand, the clang of it hitting the concrete below echoing around the parking lot. Her now free hand had shot up in an attempt to stop him from cutting himself on the blade, looking up to him in utter bewilderment. 

"You reach for it too quickly-," Loki didn't even wince at the sharp sting across his hand. He slowly pulled his hand away from the blade, suppressing a shiver at the feel of her hand partly covering his. He held his hand out to her, revealing the shallow cut as a thin stream of blood oozed from the newly opened wound. "-And you only end up hurting yourself."

For the most part, Loki had been expecting for Sylvie to call him an idiot for cutting his hand open. Which, while he had no doubt she was probably thinking that, wasn’t at all what she did. She shot him the tiniest of smiles, removing her hand – that of which she had used to try and stop him from doing said idiotic move – from the blade, revealing a slice in her own palm that mirrored his. “And more often than not, you both end up getting hurt.”

Sylvie could already see the blame Loki was placing on himself as he saw her wound, unable to fight back the bubble of warmth at the clear concern on his face as he took her hand in his, completely disregarding his own wound. There was another burst of light from his magic, and that bubble of warmth only grew at the sight of the bandages he had materialized. His hands were methodical yet oh so gentle as he applied the bandage around her hand, pressing his fingers into her palm tenderly once he was done, as if he wished he had the power to magic away her injuries. 

“Probably should have done that after you bandaged yourself,” Sylvie says, biting back a smirk as she gestured with a pointed look of her eyes down to his handiwork, handing him his dagger back.

The dagger disappeared back to where he had manifested it from, glancing down to the bandage he had applied around her hand and seeing his own blood smeared across the once pristine white material. “Right… I wasn’t really thinking about that.”

She shook her head at him, though this time with nothing but fondness for the man in front of her as she slid the other piece of bandage he had left from his hand. Despite the fact that he had just done it for her, Loki still looked baffled as he watched her begin to bandage up his hand just as carefully as he had, like the thought of her returning the favor would have never crossed his mind. 

Sylvie finished tying the knot to his bandage, giving his hand a soft pat as she does so. Her hand begins to slide away from his, and almost on instinct does Loki reach out to grab hold of hers once more. Her hand seems to fit in his like a mold, his thumb gently caressing across her knuckle whilst her thumb comes to a rest at the base of his wrist. Typically… touch wasn’t a thing she welcomes. Touch usually meant a tight grasp around her wrist, dragging her from her home. Touch usually meant the hard rack of knuckles across her jaw, or a swift kick of a boot to her ribs. Touch usually meant meaningless nights with no name strangers, trying to feel something other than the desire for revenge that kept her going, as worlds upon worlds came to an end. 

But with Loki… touch was the feeling of his hand under hers, letting her make the first move as they stared out to the lake, waiting for their coming death. Touch was his back against hers, letting her know that he – quite literally – had her back, letting her know that she wouldn’t have to fight the TVA alone. Touch was his hands wrapped around her arms, the lightest of touches that told her that as much as he wanted to hold her, he would let go if she asked him. Touch was the first set of lips against her own that wasn’t one of end-of-the-world desperation, the first to make her heart pound against her ribcage as she pulled away from him, only for his lips to chase hers once again – and letting herself fall straight back into him. 

“So, love is… something that can be twisted without meaning to. You might reach for it too quickly, and in doing so… you only end up hurting one another,” Loki broke her out of her thoughts. Sylvie’s eyes danced across his face as he spoke, though Loki’s stare was still fixated on her hand in his, and the wound he knew that lay just below his own, parallel with one another. “But… you can learn that, despite the pain…You can always find a way to heal. Together.”

His words were at least enough to pull another smile from her lips, which at the end of the day, seemed to be the only mission he wanted to succeed in. Sylvie took a deep breath in through her nose, returning his comforting squeeze on her hand with one of her own to prepare him for the coming blow. 

“I still think it’s a stupid metaphor.”

The burst of laughter that escaped Loki seemed to catch them both off guard, as close to a snort as Sylvie thinks she’s ever heard from him. 

“Well, to be fair, I was very drunk when I came up with it.”

“I thought you said you were ‘just very full’, not drunk?”

Loki’s mouth shifted into a rather comical ‘o’ shape as he tried to come up with a response, only to find that there simply wasn’t one he could use to defend himself. 

“Okay, so maybe I was drunk-,” 

Sylvie does snort at his answer. Loki huffs indigently, though the smile plastered on his face gives away the illusion of irritation. “Well, alright then, what’s your metaphor for love?”

This gets her to stop laughing. Loki hadn’t entirely been expecting for her to take his question seriously, but judging by the calculated look in her eyes as she looked into his, it was something she was giving considerate thought. 

“Love…” Sylvie begins softly, the syllables of the word rolling off her tongue like she was testing the way it felt in her mouth. “Love is… a song sung to a crowded room that feels like it’s being sung to you, of words that remind you of home.”

Sylvie felt Loki’s grip on her hand tighten for just a moment, though she could tell he was being careful not to touch the tender wound on her palm. “Love is… lingering glances where you both don’t care to hide it, even as the world falls apart around you.”

Sylvie didn’t know if it was Loki that shuffled closer to her, or if she shuffled closer to him. Not that it mattered much. They always just seemed to be drawn to one another like magnets. 

“Love is… knowing that you care about someone as much as you do yourself. And the terrifying realization that… you may just care more.”  Sylvie’s voice quietened with every word she spoke, as if inviting Loki to move even closer on the excuse that he couldn’t hear her. “Love is… pretending to be cold – despite being frost giants –just to find an excuse to huddle close under a blanket; which, for the record, I’m still convinced is some kind of drapery you stole from a dining table.”

Loki tries to hide his bashful smile by bowing his head down, but it doesn’t escape Sylvie’s gaze. She placed her fingers under his chin, forcing his head up to look him straight in the eyes.

“Love isn’t a damn metaphor,” She whispered to him, savoring the sight of his Adams' apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. “Love is whatever the hell we decide it to be.”

The gap between their mouths was so small that she barely had to lean forward, her entire body melting into his as their lips slotted together. His body had seemingly turned to putty under her hands, one of them sliding up his arm to rest on his shoulder, trying to pull him even closer until his body was flush against hers. 

This one was different than the last. There was no painful tug in her chest in knowing she needed to turn him around, to get to the TemPad and get him out of the way without hurting him. She did not feel the wetness of his tears as they slid down to their joined lips, only the droplets of rain that ran down from the drenched strands of his hair. 

She did feel that same curling, burning heat in the pit of her stomach, similar to the pleasant burn of her skin wherever his hands trailed, leaving a trail of goosebumps as they moved up the back of her neck, threading his fingers through her hair. She could feel his reluctance to end this any time her lips left his, even for a moment of air, as he quickly swooped back down to reclaim her lips. The feeling of his lips were feather soft, warm, yet with a firm and addicting pressure as they slid against hers. It wasn’t until she felt the swipe of his tongue across her lips, a pleasant invitation – an eager ask for permission – that she found herself separating from him with a shaky gasp for air. Her entire body seemed to be buzzing with the after-effects of adrenaline, taken aback by the sensation of her body trying to overtake her thoughts, screaming at her for more. 

Loki’s chest heaves just as much as hers as he takes in deep gulps of air that their kiss had deprived them of, too busy with breathing in the alluring scent of each other to remember such a basic necessity. The rain still had yet to let up – which it wouldn’t, her oxygen-deprived brain reminded her – and she briefly wondered how many humans shacked up inside the supermarket behind them were watching them here, standing out in the pouring rain, kissing like--

Well… like the world was about to end.

Loki moves forward again, at first she thinks to re-initiate their kiss. Instead, she feels the comforting warmth of his forehead pressed against her own, and they both find their eyes sliding shut, any pent-up tension left in their bodies seemingly draining away. She could feel the warm puffs of air against her face every time he breathed out, his breathing matched with her own, and she had no doubt that if their breathing was matched, then the way her previously thumping heart was starting to slow down could only mean that their heartbeats were matching one another, too.

Loki’s hands had dropped down to wrap protectively around her waist, eyes still closed as he savored this moment of peace. Sylvie placed her hand delicately on his chest, though this time not to push him away. She felt the reassuring thud of his heartbeat beneath her hand, unable to suppress the satisfied smile that pulled at her lips at the way his heartbeat sped up as she dragged her fingers across his chest, curling her fingers underneath her palm. 

“We will figure this out,” He whispers down to her. Her eyes flick up to meet his, believing his sincere gaze. “Truthfully… I don’t know where to start, either. I mean, I know you spent your whole life running from them, but…”

“The TVA,” Sylvie completed the sentence Loki was clearly reluctant to speak. “You want to go back?”

“Good God, no, not that one. But… But somewhere out there is the one we know, surely? The one that our Mobius was in the middle of transforming? A TVA made of variants that didn’t know they were variants – until now.”

“And should be rightfully pissed,” Sylvie guessed with a knowing smirk. “Maybe enough to get revenge?”

“Maybe,” Loki agreed, mirroring her grin. “And I’m sure they’ll be eager to meet the person who freed them from their controlling dictator.”

Sylvie’s smile wavered at that, poking the tip of her tongue out of her mouth to wet her lips – a nervous gesture from her he’s noticed every now and then, making him wonder if he does the same thing without knowing. “And created infinite amounts of that same controlling dictator, who was apparently the best version of him…”

Loki’s eyes softened at the sight of her guilt as it began to dig its claws into her. He knows too much of that guilt. He felt it too often, failed to fight off the way it tried to drag him down to that pit of self-doubt that took him eons to climb out by himself –more often than not because he refused the help of anyone that offered. 

But Sylvie won’t have to fight her way out of this alone. He’ll make sure of it. 

“An infinite amount of universes to search through, huh?” Loki wonders out loud, giving a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “No problem.”

Sylvie rolled her eyes at his confidence, even if she knew he was greatly exaggerating it right now. “And I suppose that means an infinite amount of us are out there now, too?”

“And an infinite amount of our brother…”

“Wait, our brother?” Sylvie asked, head jerking back in surprise. “Thor is your brother?”

“Um, yes?” Loki frowned down at Sylvie, wondering what she was getting so caught up on. “Why, isn’t he yours?”

“Uh, she certainly isn’t my brother, no.”

Loki’s eyes widened as his mind caught up with what she was saying. “Oh…” He dragged out the syllable, looking out to the stars above in mock horror. “So your Thor is your… your sister?”

“Yep.”

Loki bent his head back with a bellow of genuine laughter, already picturing the glorious scenario of his brother meeting Sylvie’s version of him… Oh, what a sight would be to behold… Actually, the look on Thor’s face would probably be quite similar to the look on his face the moment Sylvie pulled the hood off her head and showed him her face for the very first time. 

“Oh, we need to get them together as soon as possible,” Loki said gleefully. “Four of us together? We’d make quite the team.”

“Do you… do you really think she’s out there somewhere?” Sylvie asks, and the vulnerability he hears in her voice stops his laughter altogether. “I barely remember her, you know. After the TVA pruned my timeline, and… and everyone with it, I had to accept that I’d never see her again.”

“If what He Who Remains was telling the entire truth?” Loki says with a shrug of his head to the side. “Then anything’s possible now. Every possibility you can think of, every step that could have been different…”

“An infinite amount of butterfly effects,” Sylvie finished for him.

“It’s almost overwhelming, isn’t it?” Loki drawls with as much sarcasm as he can muster. “Perhaps we should… break it down step by step? First things first being to find Mobius-,”

“-And find the old but improved TVA,” Sylvie adds.

“-And see just how riled up and ready for revenge they are,” Loki agrees. “And… I suppose we should probably find some more powerful allies to help us…”

Sylvie raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. “No offense, but do you even have any other allies?”

“Well… not exactly,” Loki said with a wince. “But I’ve been acquainted with a few… highly powerful individuals. Should probably go and find the versions of them that haven’t met us before, though…”

“Hmm, I imagine they’d be a bit more willing to help when you haven’t tried to claim leadership over their home?”

He probably shouldn’t have been too surprised that she was able to guess that. 

“Something about all this still feels so… so strange,” Sylvie tells him. 

“Yes, that’d be the feeling of the need to do the right thing for others, and not just yourself,” Loki says with a grimace. “Strange feeling, I know-,”

“Oh, piss off,” Sylvie cursed with a shove to his arm, though the smile on her face took out any venom from her words. “I wasn’t trying to kill the leader of the TVA just for myself, you know.”

“And now you get to do it all over again,” Loki said with a grin, gesturing to the TemPad on her wrist, that of which had already begun glowing with a faint golden light that streaked through its surface like bolts of lightning. “He’s the one that started all of this, right? Then it shouldn’t be too far out of the question that he’s the one that can end it.”

“He did say he’d be seeing me again soon,” Sylvie mumbled, sliding her fingers across the surface of the TemPad. A door sprung to life under her command, manifesting a portal to a dimension that… well, that of which they didn’t know. The second they stepped through that door, they’d be whisked away to a universe beyond their knowing – one that could be infinitely better than the one they were currently in, or one that could be much, much worse. 

Their hands found each other once more, fingers sliding together like lock and key as they face the door together. Loki turns his head to face Sylvie the same time she does, matching shaky smiles of both nerves and anticipation on their faces. 

“Ready for another adventure?” Loki asks, and the squeeze of her hand in his gives him all the answers he needs. 

Whilst they didn’t know what would be waiting for them on the other side of the door, they had been certain that, as they stepped through the Time Door hand in hand and they disappeared out of sight as the warm glow of the portal faded, that the memory of what happened here would only belong to them as the wrath of nature let out her anger on the small town of Haven Hills, Alabama. 

But what they didn’t know was that this wasn’t the Haven Hills they knew. This was the version of Haven Hills that didn’t find itself wiped off the map, miraculously avoiding the complete and utter destruction the hurricane was predicted to inflict. It was here, for years and years later, that the survivors that had taken shelter in the nearby Roxxcart would tell the stories of the mysterious strangers in the rain who seemingly appeared together from thin air, shrouded by a veil of golden light that came and went with their arrival and exit. 

Rumors would be spread of these two people. As was such in the more religious southern state, the tale of these two strangers would be twisted into one of two angelic beings who had appeared in the glow of Heaven’s light with golden halo’s atop their head, the sheer sight of their loving embrace seemingly bringing God’s wrath to a stop. 

There were many iterations of such a story, but there was one consistent detail that remained in every iteration of this timeline's story of them: that the two of them were heroes, who had risked their lives to save the lives of many. 

And what else they didn’t know was that this was a story that would spread across multiple worlds, in multiple universes. A beacon of hope in even the dreariest of lands, the legend of these two saviors was one of whispered fantasy that wasn’t quite as much fantasy as some thought, the description of the two figures whose heads were adorned with angelic halo’s slowly changing to ones with protruding horns – no longer the devilish image that such a sight once brought. 

These hushed stories would, over time, be reduced to one word. A single word, whispered out by those in the most dire of situations, as if praying to the only God they’ve ever known. This word, this name, would reach the ears of a single man, of every version of this one man, spanning across billions upon billions of timelines. And – despite never having have met the subjects of these stories – he would speak the name out loud to himself as if it were the name of an old friend, waiting for the day they try and stop his work and he gets to greet them personally. The two beings many people had promised would bring him down with their last, dying breath.

Loki. 

Next Chapter - - ->

[elegantshapeshifter]

Who Was Aradia? The History and Development of a Legend

The Pomegranate: The Journal of Pagan Studies, Issue 18, Feb. 2002.

by Sabina Magliocco California State University, Northridge

The author wishes to thank Ronald Hutton and Chas S. Clifton for their helpful critiques of an earlier draft of this work.

Aradia is familiar to most contemporary Pagans and Witches as the principal figure in Charles G. Leland’s Aradia, or the Gospel of the Witches, first published in 1899. Leland presents her as the daughter of Diana, the goddess of the moon, by her brother Lucifer, “the god of the Sun and of the Moon, the god of Light” (Leland, 1899, 1998:1), who is sent to earth to teach the poor to resist the oppression of the wealthy classes through magic and witchcraft. Through Leland’s work, Aradia’s name and legend became central to the Witchcraft revival. Between 1950 and 1960, “Aradia” was probably the secret name of the Goddess in Gardnerian Craft (it has since been changed), and she has also given her name to numerous contemporary Witchcraft traditions (Clifton, 1998:73).

Leland’s Aradia also inspired a number of 20th century works of Pagan literature. In a privately published electronic document entitled The Gospel of Diana [which according to Silvio Baldassare originated as a spoof of the Gnostic Gospels (Baldassare, 1997:15)], Aidan Kelly expands on Leland’s idea of Aradia as a religious leader and heroine of an Italian peasant resistance. Kelly’s Aradia, however, is a notably erotic character; according to her teachings, the sexual act becomes not only an expression of the divine life force, but an act of resistance against all forms of oppression and the primary focus of ritual. Kelly’s document has not achieved broad diffusion in contemporary Pagan circles, however. Much more influential in the perpetuation of Aradia’s legend is the work of Raven Grimassi. Grimassi, the author of a series of popular books on Stregheria, or Italian-American Witchcraft, presents Aradia as a wise woman who lived in Italy during the 14th century, and who brought about a revival of the Old Religion. He claims to practice a tradition founded by Aradia’s followers (Grimassi, 1995:xviii). In Hereditary Witchcraft, Grimassi expands on Leland’s version and the material he presented in Ways of the Strega by adding a chapter on Aradia’s teachings (Grimassi, 1999:191-201), which include a series of predictions about the future of humankind and the return of the Old Religion (1999:207-208). After Aradia’s mysterious disappearance, her twelve disciples spread her gospel, explaining the diffusion of the Old Religion throughout Italy and Europe (1999:203-210).

But who was Aradia? Was she the legendary figure of Leland’s Gospel, or a 14th century teacher of the Craft, as Grimassi proposes? Or is her story more complicated? In this paper, I explore the roots of the legend of Aradia, and in the process attempt to shed light on the formation of some of the most important motifs in the legendcomplex surrounding witchcraft, both traditional and contemporary. While my conclusions differ from those of Leland, Kelly and Grimassi, they may reveal a surprising possibility underlying the legend that has not been considered before. My approach is grounded in the academic discipline of folklore, which regards stories about historical or alleged historical figures as legends. A legend is a story set in the real world about an extraordinary or numinous event. Legends are typically told as true, with many features that root them in a specific time and place and lend them authenticity; but they are not necessarily believed by all who tell them. In fact, according to legend scholars Linda Degh and Andrew Vazsonyi, it is the tension between belief and disbelief that keeps legends alive and circulating, as each new listener must decide “Is this true? Could this have happened?” (Degh and Vazsonyi, 1976). Within any given community, there are legend believers and disbelievers; our community is, of course, no exception when it comes to this particular legend. The truth content of legends—that is, how closely they correspond to actual historical events— can vary widely; although some contain a kernel of reality, many legends are “true” only in the most metaphorical sense, in that they are an accurate reflection of popular attitudes, values and morality at a given time and place.

Legends can take many forms. Most typically, they occur as narratives, either in the first person (“This actually happened to me”) or third person (“This actually happened to a friend of a friend/ long ago, etc.”). Logically, many legends start out as first person accounts and become third person accounts; but just as often, a narrator may retell a third person account as though it had actually happened to him/her, making the story more vivid for the audience. Legends can also exist as simple statements (“The house on the hill is haunted”), and occasionally become dramatic enactments known as “ostension” (Degh and Vazsonyi, 1986), which I will describe later at some length. Legends appear in multiple variants; no one variant is any more correct than any other. At times, legends may cluster together to form what folklorists call a legend complex: a group of interrelated legends and beliefs centered around a particular theme. The multiple legend complexes centering around witchcraft are among the most enduring in Western history. Legends are extraordinarily responsive to social change; in fact, they are one of the most sensitive indices of transformations in cultural values and worldview (Dundes, 1971; Magliocco, 1993). For that reason, it is imperative to understand them in the cultural, political and social context in which they appear. In considering the development of the legend of Aradia, I will be applying all of the above principles, but especially the latter. My goal is to show how each successive historical era added and subtracted elements to this tale in keeping with the cultural preoccupations of the time, giving us not only today’s concept of Aradia, but also a much broader legend complex surrounding the nature of witchcraft itself.

ORIGINS: HERODIAS AND DIANA

The origin of the name “Aradia” is veiled in mystery. I have not been able to find it in written form before the publication of Leland’s Gospel in 1899. However, Leland himself equates Aradia with the legendary figure Herodias, a central character in the development of the witchcraft legend complex in Europe (Leland, 1899/1998:1). According to the Gospel of St. Matthew, Herodias was the sister-in-law of King Herod, the wife of his brother Philip (Matthew 14:3-12). Apparently she hated John the Baptist, and asked Herod to arrest John when the holy man was found in his dominion. But Herodias wanted John dead, so she concocted a plan in which she urged her daughter Salome to dance for King Herod. In exchange, the girl was to demand the head of John the Baptist on a platter. The plan worked: Salome danced, Herod delivered, and here the gospel stops. But according to an early Christian legend derived from the gospel, when Salome saw the head brought before her, she had a fit of remorse, and began to weep and bemoan her sin. A terrible wind began to blow from the saint’s mouth, so strong that it blew the famous dancer into the air, where she is condemned to wander forever (Cattabiani, 1994:208). Since in Roman usage, the wives and daughters of a house were commonly known by the name of the male head of the household, it is easy to see how Salome became confused with her mother Herodias. In medieval Italian, Herodias is rendered as “Erodiade,” only a short linguistic step away from Aradia.

One of the earliest mentions of Herodias is in the work of Raterius of Liegi, Bishop of Verona (890-974 CE). He laments that many believe that Herodias, wife of Herod, is a queen or a goddess, and say that one third of the earth is under her charge (Bonomo, 1959:19). Herodias gets linked with Diana in the Canon Episcopi, a document attributed to the Council of Ancyra in 314 CE, but probably a much later forgery, since the earliest written record of it appears around 872 CE (Caro Baroja, 1961:62). Regino, Abbot of Pr¸m, writing in 899 CE, cites the Canon, telling bishops to warn their flocks against the false beliefs of women who think they follow “Diana the pagan goddess, or Herodias” on their night-time travels. These women believed they rode out on the backs of animals over long distances, following the orders of their mistress who called them to service on certain appointed nights. Three centuries later, Ugo da San Vittore, a 12th century Italian abbot, refers to women who believe they go out at night riding on the backs of animals with “Erodiade,” whom he conflates with Diana and Minerva (Bonomo, 1959:18-19).

In each of these cases, legends about women who travel in spirit at night following Herodias or Diana are being recorded by clerics whose agenda is to eradicate what they see as false beliefs. It is difficult to gauge whether these reports represent a wide diffusion of the legends in north-central Italy and southern Germany between the 9th and 12th centuries, or whether the authors of early medieval decrees and encyclicals simply quoted each other, reproducing the same material. However, the work of German historian Wolfgang Behringer demonstrates that legends of night-flying societies, including followers of Diana, were in oral circulation in the western Alps (a region that now includes parts of Germany, Switzerland and Italy) in the 16th century, and probably well before it as well (Behringer, 1998:52-59). Herodias appears in these legends, as in the New Testament, as a symbol of wantonness (so she remained; as late as the 19th century, prostitutes in Paris were euphemistically referred to by Eliphas Levy as les filles d’Herodiade, “the daughters of Herodias”)—but also as a tragic figure, condemned to wander through the air forever as punishment for her sins. Regino equates her with Diana, and Ugo adds Minerva; we cannot know, based on the evidence, if this was their own interpretation, formed as a result of their educated knowledge of Roman mythology, or whether tellers themselves were merging Herodias with other Roman goddesses in their narratives. It is telling, in any case, that pagan goddesses are being syncretized with one of the most wicked characters in the New Testament.

Whether the association was of scholarly origin or arose from oral tradition, Herodias and Diana are linked in folk legend from the 9th century CE onward; and it is through Diana that the connection to witchcraft is formed. The goddess Diana is associated with witchcraft from early Classical Roman literature. She was often conflated with Selene (a deity from Asia Minor) and Hecate, all three of whom were associated with the moon. Hecate was also the queen of the spirits of the dead, present at tombs and at the hearth, where pre-Roman peoples buried their ancestors. At night she would appear at crossroads, followed by her train of spirits flying through the air and her terrifying, howling dogs (Caro Baroja, 1961:26). Folklore about Diana’s night rides may be a permutation of earlier tales about Hecate and the rade of the unquiet dead, which survived in Europe well into the middle ages and, in northern Europe, fused with the legend of the wild hunt. All three goddesses were known for helping witches: Horace, writing about the witch Canidia, has her invoke “night and Diana, ye faithful witnesses of all my enterprises” to assist her in thwarting her enemies (Horace, Epode 5, vv.49-54; cited in Caro Baroja, 1961:26). In Roman times, women of all social classes worshipped Diana on the kalends of August at her sanctuary near Lake Nemi. Her rituals were conducted at night; the lake was ringed by torches. Archeologists have found votive offerings of tablets seeking Diana’s aid as well as clay statuettes of mother and child (Diana protected women in childbirth) and of uteri, as well as horned stags representing Actaeon, the youth whose desire the goddess punished by transforming him into a stag. Since the rites were women’s mysteries, little information remains to us about their nature (Bernstein, 2000:154). However, we do know that men were often suspicious of women’s mystery rites, and may have circulated legends about them like those cited by Juvenal about the rites of the Bona Dea, another goddess worshipped in secret exclusively by Roman women. According to this 1st century BCE Roman author, men imagined the rites to be of a sexual nature, with feasting, dancing and wild orgies (Juvenal 6.314, cited in Bernstein, 2000:220). It is important to remember that this is a male fantasy of secret women’s rites, rather than a description of their actual content, and that Juvenal was writing about the rites of the Bona Dea and not those of Diana. Nevertheless, it is not impossible that similar kinds of stories circulated about many women’s mysteries, including the rites of Diana. The motif of rites of sexual pleasure may thus have become associated with the legend of Diana and her followers. This motif surfaces again centuries later in association with the witches" sabbat.

Christian legends of Herodias, the flying dancer, may have begun to merge with those of the pagan goddess Diana because of their shared theme of night flight. With the merging of the two traditions, additional motifs become part of the legend complex: a connection with the moon; the practice of witchcraft; the presence of additional spirits, i.e. the spirits of the unquiet dead from Hecate’s rade; and gatherings of women that included feasting, dancing, and sexual license. By the 10th century CE, legends of Diana and Herodias were in wide circulation in Europe, and this continued well into the 12th century. At this point, the legends began to incorporate material from yet another legend complex.

THE FAIRIES

During the 12th century, authors begin to report folk legends about spiritual beings, variously called bonae res (“good things”), dominae nocturnae (“night women”) or fatae (“fairies”), that would visit homes at night to feast. If food was plentiful and the house was in good order, these visits were thought to bring good luck, since the bonae res would restore everything they consumed before the night was out. The bonae res could also punish householders whose homes were not orderly, or who did not have plenty to eat and drink, by withdrawing their blessing. The spirits were sometimes said to be led by a queen who had different names, depending on the source of the legend: Bensoria, Diana or Herodiana (combining Herodias and Diana) in Italy; Satia and Dame Abonde in France; Holde or Berchta in what is now Germany (Bonomo, 1959:22) These female figures were the protectors of spinners and of orderly homes, distributors of fertility and plenty who rewarded the good and punished the lazy. Diana and Herodias became identified, in parts of Europe, as leaders of these spiritual assemblies (Bonomo, 1959:29).

In 1249, William of Alverina, Bishop of Paris, discussed beliefs in night rides by the followers of “Domina Abundia,” who brings abundance and good luck to the homes she visits if there is plenty to eat, but whose followers abandon and scorn houses where they receive no hospitality (Bonomo, 1959:22). Vincent of Beauvais (1190-1264) reports an instance of ostension involving this legend: a group of young men forced their way into the home of a rich farmer, helping themselves to whatever was lying around while dancing and singing “unem premes, cent en rendes” (“we take one, return a hundredfold”). The thieves ransacked the place while the credulous farmer told his wife to keep quiet, for the visitors were bonae res and would increase their riches a hundredfold (Bonomo, 1959:25-26).

A similar story appears in Boccaccio’s Decameron (1348-54) as the “Queen’s Tale” (#9). Two common laborers, Bruno and Buffalmacco, explain to a learned doctor that despite their poverty, they are able to live happily, because they go in corso (“on course,” “on a journey”). “From this we draw anything we want or need, without any harm to others, and from this comes our happy lifestyle which you see,” explains Bruno. The doctor wants to know what this is all about, but Bruno tells him it is a great secret, and that he could never reveal it. The doctor swears he won"t tell a soul, so at last Bruno confides the details to him. He and Buffalmacco are part of a brigade of 25 men with a captain and two council members elected every six months, guided by two disciples of a great necromancer. Twice a month, the brigade assembles; each person states their wishes and all are provided for. The assembly then feasts on delicious food and fine wine, while sweet music plays and beautiful women are available for erotic fun. The doctor can"t wait to go “in corso” himself, and begins to ply the laborers with gifts and money, hoping they will take him. Finally they agree. They tell him that on an appointed night, a dark, hairy beast will appear and carry him to a secret location, but he must not mention God or the saints. On the designated night, Buffalmacco and Bruno appear dressed in a bear-skin and carry the gullible doctor on their backs, leaping and yelping, until they dump him into a sewage ditch while they escape, laughing at his foolishness.

Legends about fairies who reward neatness and plenty and punish want and slovenliness seem to address issues of class conflict and social inequality in pre-modern Europe. One family’s good fortune could be explained as the result of supernatural intervention. At the same time, such legends also gave hope to the lower classes that if they keep a neat enough house, they too might be blessed by the bonae res. In this sense, the stories acted as a form of social control, reinforcing values of orderliness and hospitality while threatening sanction against householders who violated them. The stories also contained compensatory fantasies for the lower classes, a theme that will appear again a few centuries later. For people whose very survival depended on subsistence farming, and who often suffered from hunger and privation, the idea of breaking into the homes of the wealthy and enjoying some of their benefits, even in spirit, must have been a compelling one indeed, especially as the food magically restored itself by morning. It is not surprising that instances of ostension like the one described by Vincent of Beauvais occurred.

These versions also demonstrate that legends about night-time travels in the company of spirits had both believers and skeptics. Moreover, there may have been class differences between the two: lower classes were more likely to know about them and believe in them than the educated classes, for reasons I explained above. In Boccaccio’s tale, the learned doctor, who has never heard of the legend, is taken advantage of by shrewd laborers, who themselves are non-believers, although they are familiar with the legend. They successfully fool and humiliate the learned doctor, reversing the usual power relationships between social classes. However, nowhere in Boccaccio’s version is there mention of a company of women, or of a female leader of the spiritual assembly; instead the company is led by a great necromancer, and the doctor is told he will be borne to the assembly by a hairy beast, perhaps a reference to the diabolization of these legends that was taking place during Boccaccio’s lifetime.

In all accounts discussed so far, the point of view of the Canon Episcopi prevails: the night travels are spiritual journeys; they do not take place in the flesh. The stupidity of the gullible is exactly that they mistake a spiritual tradition for an actual practice. Moreover, while the clerics decried belief in these legends because they diverted parishioners" attention away from God, they were not taken as evidence of the practice of witchcraft, nor did they have any diabolical content. But as the 12th century advanced, a new view began to emerge and compete with that of the Canon. According to this emergent worldview, the women’s nightly journeys were not spiritual, but real. At the same time, older legends about the Society of Diana and Herodias, the bonae res and Dame Abonde begin to merge with tales about maleficent witches. These legends took on a menacing tone. Combined with new attitudes about the nature of the night journeys, they became the building blocks of the witches" sabbat in the subversion myth of diabolical witchcraft.

FAIRIES, HEALING AND SECRET SOCIETIES

Until the 11th century, legends of the society of Diana or Herodias existed side by side with legends about a very different kind of character: women who entered homes at night in sprit form to harm the inhabitants by sucking blood, eating bodies and cooking them before restoring to them the appearance of life. Their victims eventually became ill and died. These are related to the Classical Roman legends of striae, women who could transform into birds of prey to fly out at night and eat their victims, often infants, in their beds (Bonomo, 1959:33). Their victims often appeared perfectly healthy, but over a period of time sickened and died: their souls were thought to have been eaten and, in some cases, cooked by the maleficent beings.

In some parts of Sicily, Sardinia, and Friuli, these two strains still existed separately as recently as the 19th century. In Sardinian folklore, cogas (lit. “cooks;” vampire-like witches) and janas (fairies; from dianas, “followers of Diana;” cf. Neapolitan ianare) are very different types of creatures: while cogas are uniformly malevolent, janas live in caves or Neolithic shaft tombs in the mountains, are expert weavers and singers, and can interact with and even marry humans (Liori, 1992:107- 111). The 19th century country doctor and folklore collector Giuseppe Pitré reported that Sicilian peasants distinguished between the vampiric, maleficent witch (stria, nserra) and the donna di fuori. Sicilian donne di fuori (“women from the outside”) or belle signore (“beautiful ladies”) documented by Pitré are creatures somewhere between fairies and witches. They appear as beautiful women who can enter homes at night through the keyhole. If all is in order, they reward the householders, but they punish dirt and disorder. They love babies, but too much attention from the donne di fuori can also harm children (Pitré, 1889: iv:153). Gustav Henningsen, in his careful review of Spanish Inquisition documents from Sicily, reveals that during the 16th century, the term “donne di fuori” referred to both fairies and people of both genders who were believed to ride out with them at night (Henningsen 1993:195). These individuals were usually folk healers who could cure illnesses caused by the fairies, often as a result of some unwitting offense against them (Henningsen, 1993:195). The usual cure involved a ritual supper offered to the fairies by the victim. The fairies, accompanied by the healers in spirit form, would come to the victim’s home on an appointed night where they would dance, celebrate and spiritually consume the food, thus curing the afflicted person (Henningsen, 1993:200-01).

These medieval Sicilian beliefs have interesting parallels throughout the modern Mediterranean. In rural Greece, as recently as the 1960’s, certain folk healers specialized in curing ills brought about by the fairies, known as exotica (“those from outside;” cf. donne di fuori) (Henningsen, 1993:210). Anthropologist Vincent Crapanzano, working in Morocco in the 1960’s, documented a belief system centered around the jinn (fairies) and their human followers, folk healers belonging to religious brotherhoods who could cure illness by performing a trance-dance to special music. The queen of the jinn, known as ëA"isha Qandisha, could appear either as a beautiful woman or a hideous hag, but always had a non-human feature, such as camel toes. Healers consulted ëA"isha Qandisha in their dreams, where she explained the cause of the illness and its cure (Crapanzano, 1975:147). In the 1970’s, folklorist Gail Kligman documented Romanian brotherhoods of trance dancers who specialized in curing ailments thought to be caused by iele (fairies), whose patron saint was Diana or Irodeasa [cf. Erodiade] (Kligman, 1981). And in Sardinia in the 1980’s, folklorist Clara Gallini studied argismo, a belief system based on the idea that the (often metaphorical) bite of certain insects could be cured only through ecstatic dancing, done to music played by groups of specialized musician-healers (Gallini, 1988). There may also be parallels to tarantismo, the folk belief system documented in southern Italy, especially Calabria, by folklorist Ernesto De Martino (1961); but this is a topic beyond the scope of this paper.

The broad diffusion of similar motifs in the circum-Mediterranean suggests that we are dealing with a belief-system of significant antiquity which may once have existed in many parts of Europe. It involved beliefs about illnesses caused by fairies or spirits, folk healers who specialized in communicating with these spirits through dreams and trances, and the enactment of ritual cures, which may have included special meals, music and trance-dancing. In many cases, healers themselves belonged to a society which may have met either in spirit or in actual ritual enactments of the cures.

THE DIABOLIZATION OF A LEGEND COMPLEX

But in most of Europe, belief systems involving night-time spiritual journeys, folk healers and fairies began to change during the 12th century, merging with motifs about maleficent witches and with the growing diabolical interpretation of witchcraft generated by the Church. John of Salisbury (1110-1180) combines the two by attributing to Herodias the leadership of night-time cannibalistic banquets, where babies were offered to the lamiae, female-headed serpents of Classical provenance. By the 14th century in Italy, Jacopo Passavanti first mentions the tregenda (sabbat) in conjunction with his merging of the two legendary strains. In his description, demons take the place of humans at these gatherings, leaving humans asleep in their beds. The intent of the demons is diabolical: to lead people astray. He mentions that certain women believe they travel with this company, and that its leaders are Herodias and Diana (Bonomo, 1959:64).

An examination of some Italian trial records shows the gradual transformation of legends about the society of Herodias/ Diana into diabolical sabbats, where feasting, drinking and dancing are accompanied by sex acts and cannibalism. Two early trials which have captured a great deal of scholarly attention are those of Sibillia and Pierina of Milan (Bonomo, 1959; Caro Baroja, 1961; Muraro Vaiani, 1976; Ginzburg, 1989). Both trials took place in the late 14th century; both women were probably first identified and persecuted because they practiced divination or folk healing (Muraro Vaiani, 1976:153). Sibillia’s first trial took place in 1384. Accused of heresy, Sibillia confessed to having believed in and told legends about the games of Signora Oriente (“milady of the East”), not thinking it was a sin. Signora Oriente or La Signora del Giuoco (“the lady of the game”) presided over these gatherings, where there was feasting on all manner of delicacies, music and dancing; she could predict the future, reveal secrets and resurrect the animals that had been eaten by the assembly, so that in the morning, all appeared exactly as before.

In 1390, Pierina de Bugatis, also of Milan, confessed under questioning to participating in the “game of Erodiade.” The gatherings would slaughter and feast on livestock, whose bones Signora Oriente would put back into their skins before resurrecting them with her magic wand. The party would visit the homes of the wealthy, where they would eat and drink; they would bless homes that were neat and clean. Signora Oriente instructed her followers about the properties of various herbs and answered their questions about illness and thefts. But the followers were sworn to secrecy. To attend the assembly, Pierina would call upon a spirit named “Lucifelus,” who appeared in the form of a man to take her there.

The tales told by Sibillia and Pierina illustrate the merging of a number of motifs from different traditions into a single legend complex: the night journeys, the company of women led by a female leader, who seems to control both abundance and rebirth, as well as revealing the future and dispensing advice on healing; the magical feasting in which appetites are satisfied; the resurrection of dead animals after the banquet; the fairy visits to the homes of the rich, where hospitality is rewarded and all returns as before at the evening’s conclusion. In Pierina’s version, we have the first appearance of “Lucifelus,” a variant of Lucifero, or Lucifer, as the agent of transport to the games—a minor figure, at this point, who is diabolical in name only.

Italian historian Luisa Muraro Vaiani believes the judges hearing these depositions had a hard time understanding their nature. The women at times spoke as though they were reporting folklore, while at other times they spoke as though they themselves had experienced these night journeys—a characteristic of legend performance I have already remarked upon, and one which makes sense if we accept the hypothesis that both women were folk healers who continued an ancient tradition of consulting with spiritual beings for healing advice. Their tales were dreamlike, mixing familiar elements with supernatural ones. To us, they may even suggest events that took place in an altered state of consciousness, and like many such experiences, they alternate in perspective between the self and a kind of detachment from the self. But the judges, working with a binary system of opposites in which illusion and reality were mutually exclusive concepts, didn"t know what to make of these dream-like visions that seemed so real to the accused. They ended up assuming they were real. Sibillia was sentenced to prison at her first trial for having believed in and told people about the society of Diana, acts that were considered apostasy, not witchcraft. But at her second trial in 1390, she was sentenced to death for recidivism and for having actually participated in the games. Thus, the transition between attitudes of the Canon and later ones hinged on the understanding of legendary material as fact (Muraro Vaiani, 1976:137-142)—a critical transition which had ominous consequences in the development of the witchcraft persecutions.

One of the best-known of the Italian witch trials took place two centuries after Sibillia and Pierina were tried and executed. In 1540, Bellezza Orsini of Colle Vecchio (Perugia), a widely respected folk healer who cured using herb-infused oils, was accused of poisoning. At first she swore her innocence, but under torture, she confessed to being part of a secret society of witches. The secret society she described was a hierar- chical one in which the initiate-to-be apprenticed with a master strega. Initiation involved a formal renunciation of Church teachings, a renegation of baptism, and the invocation of the devil, who was called Mauometto (“Mohammed”), and appeared as a handsome man dressed in black. At the time of Bellezza’s trial, the Islamic Ottoman empire was expanding its reach towards Europe. The use of the name “Mohammed” for the devil reflects widespread popular fear and prejudice towards Muslims in16th century Europe. Sexual intercourse with the devil was part of the initiation. Afterwards, the assembled company would fly off, with the help of flying ointment, to the magic walnut tree of Benevento where they would dance with other devils. Initiates chose new, non-Christian names so they could be used when members got together again. Orsini described witches as organized into teams according to their place of origin. Each team was led by a captain with 20-30 students under her. A “witch queen,” called Befania, ruled over all the teams. Each November 1, there was a “reconciliation,” or gathering of witches, during which a new witch queen would be elected. According to Orsini, the members of the witch society were sworn to help one another, and to help less fortunate teams by sharing baby-meatballs and other ingredients. By then, witch gatherings included cannibalistic feasting, and the dead were no longer brought back to life.

It is evident that drastic changes had taken place in the Diana/Herodias legend complex between 1390 and 1540. Gone are the earlier legends of all-female societies of revelers whose presence brought good luck to the homes they visited, and where all that was consumed was magically restored—a kind of compensatory fantasy for the poor not unlike other contemporary portrayals of utopias of plenty, such as Cuccagna and Bengodi (Del Giudice, 2001). By 1540, Herodias and Diana are no longer players in the dangerous “game.” Instead, it has acquired menacing, diabolical elements introduced by ecclesiastical revisions which interpreted all deviations from Christian doctrine as evidence of a world-wide diabolical conspiracy whose agents were witches. The witch gathering is now presided over by the devil, whose name is identical to that of the Islamic prophet Mohammed—evidence of the demonization of Islam in the popular imagination by the 16th century. Besides the devils" followers, the women present include the witch-queen Befania, a corruption of the word epifania (“epiphany”), and witches who initiate their charges into the diabolical society. According to Cattabiani, there may well be a connection between Befana, the Italian Christmas witch, and earlier legends of Herodias. This link is preserved in the names for the Befana in the region of the Italian Alps near Belluno, where to this day she is known as “Redodesa,” “Redosa,” or “Redosola"—possible corruptions of "Erodiade” (cf. Romanian “Irodeasa”) (Cattabiani, 1994:13). The witches gather at Benevento and fly around the magical walnut tree with the help of flying ointment; cannibalism and sexual intercourse with the devil are integral features of their assemblies. The witch society is a secret society; initiates are brought in by a teacher, and secret names are used to conceal everyday identity. November 1 is now a recognized time for witches" gatherings. Bellezza Orsini’s confession reveals the growing diabolization of the legend of the night journeys, as well as the crystallization of certain folk motifs which continue to be central in contemporary revival Witchcraft: secrecy, the use of ritual names, initiation through a teacher, and the importance of October 31/ November 1 in the year cycle. The transition in the content of the legends was accompanied by a change in the attitudes of the clerics and the elite: material previously understood as legendary was now being understood as fact. The tension between belief and disbelief that had kept the legends circulating was beginning to solidify into an acceptance of the witches" sabbat as an actual event. By 1525, the Canon Episcopi was being called into question: Paolo Grillando writes in De sortilegiis eorumque poenas that the Canon was mistaken about the illusory nature of the witches" sabbats, and that they were in fact real (Bonomo, 1959:110). 

BETWEEN DREAM AND REALITY

But what if the judges were right? If the games of Diana/ Herodias were in fact experiences of the imagination, whether dreams or other alternate states of consciousness, why did many women confess to having attended them? Is it possible that the Society of Diana/ Herodias was a real secret society of women, and that Sibillia, Pierina and Bellezza were members? Could Herodias/ Erodiade/ Aradia have been the secret name of an actual leader of such a society, who then became legendary? If this were true, it would give us an intriguing source for Leland’s legend of Aradia, as well as revolutionizing our understanding of the history of the witch trials and our sense of gender relations in Europe during the middle ages. Let us carefully examine the evidence both for and against this hypothesis. First, it is important to remember that not all women confessed to the reality of their experiences; many maintained their dream-like nature to the bitter end. Other confessions, like Bellezza’s, were produced under torture, and are thus unreliable as historical evidence. Victims would often confess to outrageous acts under torture because the narration of fantastic episodes brought respite from agony and bought the accused time. A strange compact often developed between judges and their victims which may have led some women to manufacture diabolical details they thought would satisfy their accusers, leading to the creation of fantastic trivia such as the baby meatballs in Bellezza’s confession. Other details might have been drawn from the victim’s knowledge of everyday reality; for example, the complex organization of the witch society described by Bellezza parallels the organization of other medieval social institutions such as trade guilds and religious fraternities and sororities, which were led by elected officials chosen at yearly assemblies. These guilds and fraternities functioned as mutual aid societies, much as Bellezza describes for the secret society of witches. Thus we need to be selective in interpreting the nature of these narratives. Some details suggest that certain aspects of the Society of Diana/ Herodias may have been real. The women who reported on it constituted only a small minority of all those accused of witchcraft. Moreover, the narrators had an important element in common: they were folk healers and diviners. A key function of the night-time journeys was the obtaining of answers to divinatory questions and information on cures. This structure parallels that of similar belief-complexes about spirits, healers and night journeys from the circum- Mediterranean. In several of these examples, we know that folk healers indeed were members of a society that convened in the flesh to play music, dance ecstatically and conduct healing rites. In other cases, the societies reported by healers existed only in spirit, and included spiritual members, whether fairies, jinn, exotica or iele. These details, shared with other circum- Mediterranean healing traditions, suggest that the accused may indeed have been part of a secret society of folk healers—either actual, spiritual, or both.

At the same time, other legend elements have content that is clearly dream-like and fantastic: all wishes are granted; food magically regenerates; humans fly. These motifs point to the spiritual nature of at least some of the experiences. Additional elements suggest the creation of a legendary peasant utopia: there is food and drink aplenty for all assembled; humans and nature exist in harmony; death is followed by resurrection or rebirth; relationships, though hierarchical, are based on mutual trust and dignity; knowledge is available to all members; gratification is ubiquitous, and the Christian notion of earthly pleasures as sinful is completely absent. These descriptions suggest a kind of utopia, an “imagined state” whose conditions inversely reflect those of its source (Del Giudice and Porter, 2001:4-5). Muraro Vaiani suggests that Diana/ Herodias was to her followers as Christ was to his, albeit in a parallel universe: the Lady did not judge or deny the Christian universe, but offered an alternative (Muraro Vaiani, 1976:153). Legends of the secret society may have constituted a kind of compensatory fantasy for women— one in which women had power and the ultimate authority rested with a benevolent supernatural female leader. Through legends and perhaps even dreams, they may have offered solace and compensation to women whose real-life experiences reflected the hardships of gender and class oppression in medieval Europe, much as narratives of earthly paradises such as Cuccagna and Bengodi, where rivers flowed with wine and mountains were made of cheese, were created by Italian peasants whose everyday lives were filled with hunger and privation (Del Giudice, 2001:12).

How can we better understand the nature of these narratives, which even after six centuries seem to take place in a world between dream and reality? I would suggest that it is not unreasonable to assume the existence in medieval Italy of legend complexes similar to those in other parts of the circum-Mediterranean, concerning fairies, spiritual journeys and healing. As we have already seen, aspects of these belief systems existed in parts of Europe and North Africa until the end of the 20th century. Henningsen’s work confirms the existence of similar beliefs in Sicily during the 16th century, and Behringer documents their presence in the western Alps. If Sibillia, Pierina and Bellezza were indeed members of such a society, their stories begin to make a certain amount of sense. This is especially true if we consider two additional tentative assumptions: the idea of ostension and that of the autonomous imagination. Ostension is Degh and Vazonyi’s term for the enactment of legends. For example, a Halloween haunted house may portray legends about ghosts, vampires and werewolves, or a Pagan ritual may dramatize the legend of Robin Hood. Ostension always derives from a pre-existing legend: the legend precedes the existence of its enactment. Thus, for instance, legends of contaminated Halloween candy predated the finding of actual contaminants in treats by at least ten years (Degh and Vazsonyi, 1986/1995). Individuals who placed needles, razor blades and other dangerous objects in treats as pranks engaged in a form of ostension. The theory of ostension explains how easily certain elements can pass from legend to ritualized action. Hypothetically, legends about spiritual journeys to dance with the fairies and receive healing can easily be transformed by creative individuals into healing rituals with food offerings to the fairies and ecstatic dancing to special music. What if some women, inspired by utopian legends of the Society of Diana/ Herodias, decided to try to replicate such a society in medieval Europe? Though we have no proof such a society ever existed, it is not inconceivable that a few inspired individuals might have decided to dramatize, once or repeatedly, the gatherings described in legends. The use of the term giuoco (“game”) by Sibillia and Pierina suggests the playful, prankish character of ostension. A “game” based on legends of Diana/ Herodias and the fairies would probably have been secret and limited to the friends and associates of the creative instigators, who might well have been folk healers. One or more women might even have played the role of Diana or Herodias, presiding over the gathering and giving advice. Feasting, drinking and dancing might have taken place, and the women may have exchanged advice on matters of healing and divination. The “game” might even have had a healing intent, as was the case for many comparable circum- Mediterranean rituals, and may have involved trance-dancing. This is one possible explanation for the remarkably consistent reports of Sibillia and Pierina, tried within a few years of each other. The existence of ostension in connection to these legends could also mean that Grimassi’s claim that Aradia was a real person may, in fact, not be entirely out of the question; a healer who was part of the society might have chosen to play the part of, or even take on the name of, Erodiade.

However, it is important to remember that even if a group decided to enact aspects of the legend of Diana/ Herodias, it would not have been a revival of pre-Christian paganism, but an attempt to act out certain ritual aspects described in the legends. Moreover, the more magical aspects from the trial reports—night flights on the backs of animals, ever-replenishing banquets, resurrection of dead livestock—could not have been achieved through ostension. We need to consider these as fantastical legend motifs, reports of experiences from trances or dreams, or both.

One way to explain these motifs is to consider the role of the autonomous imagination in blending cultural and personal material. This term, coined by anthropologist Michele Stephen, refers to a part of the human imagination that operates without our conscious control (Stephen, 1989:55- 61). It emerges in dreams and in alternate states of consciousness such as vision trances and religious ecstasy. The visions it produces are vivid and detailed, appearing “more real than reality” to experiencers. They seem to arise independently of any conscious volition on the part of the subject. The autonomous imagination is more creative and synthetic than ordinary thought processes, easily combining elements from the subject’s personal life with cultural and religious material. Thus dreams and visions seem to speak directly to our most intimate concerns, but also bring religious and cultural symbols to bear upon them. Furthermore, the autonomous imagination processes time and memory differently from ordinary conscious thought. Past, present and future events may blend together; personal memories may combine with cultural material in unusual ways.

It is possible that some of the experiences of the Society of Diana/ Herodias described by the accused are attributable to the autonomous imagination of the experiencers. Please note that I am not claiming that the accusers invented the experiences; in fact, I am saying quite the opposite. To women such as Pierina and Sibillia, the experience of flying out to the games of Herodias may have seemed more real than ordinary, everyday reality if it took place in trance visions. While it is possible that vision trances may have played a part in a hypothetical, ostensive Society of Diana/ Herodias, it is also conceivable that women who were active narrators of these legends as well as folk healers might have experienced altered states of consciousness, either through the use of herbs or by using meditative techniques. This is consistent with the discoveries of Behringer, who studied the trial transcripts of Conrad Stoeckhlin, a 16th century horse herder from Oberstdorf, in the western Alps, who was executed for practicing witchcraft. Stoeckhlin, a folk healer, reported that an angel led him on a series of trance journeys and gave him advice on healing and divination (Behringer, 1998:17-21; 138). We also know that some contemporary Italian folk healers used such techniques well into the 20th century, and that they reported contacting spirits who helped them with their healing (Henningsen, 1993; De Martino, 1961, 1966; Selis, 1978; DiNola, 1993:41).

Of course, spiritual experiences (and their interpretations) vary widely according to culture and historical period. It is not unlikely that contemporary legend material about Diana, Herodias and the fairies may have made its way into the trance visions of medieval Italian folk healers through the mechanism of the autonomous imagination, giving rise to their reports of actually participating in the game of Herodias. The healers were telling the truth; their experiences were real. Both Behringer, in his research on the visionary horse herder Stoeckhlin, and Stuart Clark, in his monumental study of early European demonology, propose early modern European folk culture did not always distinguish sharply between experiences that took place in dreams, ecstatic visions or trances and reality (Behringer, 1998:158-59; Clark, 1997:193-96). The dualistic conception in which “dreamtime” was opposed to “reality” was a product of medieval Church reforms that culminated in the formation of the myth of diabolical witchcraft. Here we must return to Muraro Vaiani’s hypothesis that it was the judges who did not know how to understand the ecstatic experiences of the accused because they fell outside of their dualistic conception of the nature of reality. Therefore, they interpreted them as sorcery—the only mechanism they understood through which illusion could be made to seem real. 

CONCLUSIONS

What can we conclude from this evidence about the legend of Aradia? The evidence I have examined and presented here suggests that the legend of Aradia has roots in archaic, pre-Christian materials concerning societies of healers who trafficked with spirits in order to cure. Healing may have involved trance-journeys as well as ecstatic dancing. These ancient materials combined with Classical legends of Diana and Hecate, and during the middle ages became attached to the New Testament story of Herodias, the eternal dancer. By the 11th century, these elements had become part of a widespread legend complex in Europe that may have involved episodes of ostension, or the enactment of certain legend motifs, probably for the purposes of healing. As clerical and popular attitudes towards the nature of nighttime spiritual journeys changed, these legends merged with parallel folk materials about maleficent witches, and became the building blocks of the subversion myth of the diabolical sabbat, responsible for the death of tens of thousands of innocent women and men between 1300 and 1750.

What Leland collected from Maddalena may represent a 19th century version of this legend that incorporated later materials influenced by medieval diabolism: the presence of “Lucifero,” the Christian devil; the practice of sorcery; the naked dances under the full moon. While there may have been instances of ostension regarding this legend, the evidence does not support the idea that Aradia was an early teacher of the Craft, although some women may have called themselves Erodiade during ostensive episodes. There is no evidence of a widespread revival of pre-Christian religion as a result of the proliferation of this legend. In fact, it is ironic that a compensatory legend that envisioned a society led by women, featuring relationships based on equality, access to knowledge for all, and the fulfillment of all earthly desires became twisted into the subversion myth of the diabolical sabbat, which was responsible for the murder of so many innocent women during the witch craze.

Legends and beliefs about healing, fairies and nighttime spiritual journeys may have continued to exist in pockets throughout Italy until the late 20th century. Because legends always change to reflect their social environment, they became Christianized, and incorporated references to saints. In some cases, saints may have replaced the earlier fairies. Some version of this legend complex may be at the core of both Leland’s discovery of a “witch cult” in Tuscany in the late 1800’s, and Grimassi’s claims that his family practiced a form of folk healing that involved spirits, dancing, and the goddess Diana (Grimassi, pers. communication 8/25/00). These were not, as Leland suggested, survivals of Etruscan religion, but elements of great antiquity reworked into systems that made sense for Italian peasants of the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. Some parts of these belief systems may even have survived the journey to America, forming the basis of Stregheria, or Italian American revival Witchcraft.

Folklore, of course, seldom dies; it transforms itself according to new paradigms and cultural discourses. So it is not surprising to read new versions of this legend emerging today. Grimassi’s expansion of Leland’s materials must be understood in exactly such a context—as the continuation of the legend begun so long ago. It is intriguing to note that while both Leland’s and Grimassi’s versions may appear to be strictly Neo- Pagan in content, both also contain very strong Christian influences. In the Gospel of the Witches, Diana sends her only daughter Aradia to earth to teach people to resist their oppressors just as in the New Testament, God sends his son Jesus to earth for much the same purpose. In Hereditary Witchcraft, Grimassi describes Aradia as having twelve disciples—six male-female couples—who help spread her teachings after her mysterious disappearance. Do these elements invalidate the legends? Quite the contrary, I would argue. They simply demonstrate how easily legend material absorbs motifs from the surrounding culture. These elaborated new versions show that the legend of Aradia is a living tradition that continues to evolve today, changing to adapt to the individual needs of the narrator as well as the larger changes in society.

REFERENCES CITED

Baldassare, Silvio. 1997. Review of R. Grimassi, Ways of the Strega. In Songs of the Dayshift Foreman: Journal of a Rainforest Witch 69: 12-16.

Behringer, Wolfgang. 1998. Shaman of Oberstdorf. Translated by H.C. Erik Midelfort. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press.

Bernstein, Frances. 2000. Classical Living. San Francisco: Harper.

Bonomo, Giuseppe. 1959. Caccia alle streghe. Palermo: Palumbo.

Caro Baroja, Julio. 1961. The World of the Witches. Translated by O.N.V. Glendinning.Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Cattabiani, Alfredo. 1994. Lunario. Milano: Arnoldo Mondadori.

Clark, Stuart. 1997. Thinking with Demons: the Idea of Witchcraft in Early Modern Europe. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Clifton, Chas S. 1998. “The Significance of Aradia.” In Aradia, of the Gospel of the Witches, by Charles G. Leland, translated by Mario Pazzaglini and Dina Pazzaglini, 59- 80. Blaine, WA: Phoenix Publishing.

Crapanzano, Vincent. 1975. “Saints, Jnun, and Dreams: an Essay in Moroccan Ethnopsychology.” Psychiatry 38:145-159.

Degh, Linda and Andrew Vazsonyi. 1976. “Legend and Belief.” In Folklore Genres, ed. by Dan Ben Amos, 93-124. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press.

_____. 1995 [1986]. “Does the Word “Dog” Bite? Ostensive Action: a Means of Legend Telling.” In Narratives in Society: a Performer-Centered Study of Narration, 236- 262. Helsinki: Finnish Academy of Sciences. (Reprinted from Journal of Folklore Research, Fall 1983)

Del Giudice, Luisa. 2001. “Mountains of Cheese, Rivers of Wine: Paesi di Cuccagna and Other Gastronomic Utopias.” In Imagined States: Nationalism, Utopia and Longing in Oral Cultures, ed. Luisa Del Giudice and Gerald Porter, 11-63. Logan, UT: Utah State University Press.

_____ and Gerald Porter. 2001. “Introduction.” In Imagined States: Nationalism, Utopia and Longing in Oral Cultures, ed. Luisa Del Giudice and Gerald Porter, 1-10. Logan, UT: Utah State University Press.

De Martino, Ernesto. 1987 [1966] Sud e magia. Milano: Feltrinelli. _____. 1961. La terra del rimorso. Milano: Feltrinelli.

Di Nola, Alfonso. 1993. Lo specchio e l’olio: le superstizioni italiane. Bari: Laterza.

Dundes, Alan. 1971. “On the Psychology of Legend.” In American Folk Legend: a Symposium, ed. by Wayland Hand, 21-36. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Gallini, Clara. 1988. La ballerina variopinta. Naples: Liguori.

Ginzburg, Carlo. 1989. Storia notturna: una decifrazione del sabba. Tornio: Einaudi. _____. 1993.. “Deciphering the Sabbath.” In European Witchcraft: Centers and Peripheries. ed. by Gustav Hennigsen and Bengt Ankarloo, 121-137. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Grimassi, Raven. 1999. Hereditary Witchcraft. St. Paul, MN: Llewellyn Press.

_____. 1995. Ways of the Strega. St. Paul, MN: Llewellyn Press.

Henningsen, Gustav. 1993. “"The Ladies from Outside”: An Archaic Pattern of the Witches" Sabbath.“ In European Witchcraft: Centers and Peripheries. ed. by Gustav Henningsen and Bengt Ankarloo,191-215. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Kelly, Aidan. 1992. The Gospel of Diana. Privately published manuscript on disk.

Kilgman, Gail. 1981. Calus: Symbolic Transformation in Romanian Ritual. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Leland, Charles G. 1899, 1990. Aradia, or the Gospel of the Witches. Blaine, WA: Phoenix Publishing [reprint of original edition].

Liori, Antonangelo. 1992. Demoni, miti e riti magici della Sardegna. Rome: Newton Compton.

Magliocco, Sabina. 1993. "Eels, Bananas and Cucumbers: a Sexual Legend and Changing Women’s Values in Rural Sardinia.” Fabula 34-½, 66-77.

Muraro Vaiani, Luisa. 1976. La signora del gioco: episodi della caccia alle streghe. Milano: Feltrinelli.

Pitré, Giuseppe. 1889. Usi, costumi, credenze e pregiudizi del popolo siciliano. Palermo: Giuffé.

Selis, Luisa. 1978. “Prime ricerche sulla presenza delle streghe in Sardegna oggi.” In L"erba delle donne: maghe, streghe, guaritrici. Roma: Roberto Napoleone Editore, 137-147.

Stephen, Michele. 1989. “Self, the Sacred Other and Autonomous Imagination.” In The Religious Imagination in New Guinea. ed. Michele Stephen and Gilbert Herdt, 41-64. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press.

Sabina Magliocco is Associate Professor of Anthropology at California State University - Northridge. She has done fieldwork in Sardinia (Italy) as well as among contemporary Pagans in the San Francisco Bay area, and is the author of a forthcoming book Neopagan Sacred Art and Altars: Making Things Whole (University Press of Mississippi) and a number of articles. She is a Gardnerian initiate.

www.AradiaGoddess.com

[theworldisourcliche]

The Queen Has Arrived |Noora x William|

Request by @youhaveworldofchances : “Someday you asked if anyone had anything they want to see about Noorhelm in your fanfic and now I have one guest to you. I always wanted to see noora with the penetrators squad, like they having a social reunion/party, all them and she was with william and them too and she would be like a friend to them, they will treat each other like they know as well and like each other. It doesn’t have to be a real party, just like a reunion in their apartment. What you think? Btw your fic is my fav ever :)“

I have’t gotten around to write oneshots, since I’ve spent all my focus on “271″, but I finally got around to write one! I loved this idea and I finally got the time! Hope it turned out somewhat like you imagined! If not, then feel free to hit me up again! I might do a different version of the same idea then.

Though they’d graduated from Nissen a year ago, leaving Russ and the Penetrator-title behind, the boys had not lost contact. Of course Chris and William, being best friends, saw each other almost weekly. This also meant that a few weeks ago, as they were working out at the gym, they’d come up with the idea of a little reunion-party. The plan was to get everyone together, at William’s place, and have some drinks and old-fashioned fun. After him and Noora had decided to wait to move in with each other, William had decided to stay in the old apartment and make the best out of it. He knew it was only temporary and turned it to something good. This mean that he didn’t have to worry about breaking anything, when he threw a party, because he did genuinely not care. Though he hadn’t really hosted huge parties ever since leaving high school, moving on to university, he liked the idea of having the option.

There were officially 28 Penetrator-guys, 26 attending the party, since Johannes and Carl were both studying abroad. They’d have to be spread throughout the entire house, luckily the big kitchen went right to the living room, meaning that everyone would be within the same walls.

William had set everything up. Music was playing from his speakers, alcohol and chips took up the entire centre of the kitchen table and a set of playing was waiting for someone to come up with some kind of drinking game. When the clock hit 8PM, the boys started arriving. Half an hour later, the apartment was filled with music, laughter, clinking glasses and the smell of cigarettes. This definitely felt like a Penetrator-party.

“William!” Julian yelled from his seat by the kitchen table at the very end of the table, already tipsy. “Where are all the girls?”

William chuckled as he took a sip of bear, sitting at the very opposite end of the long table, where he was talking to Chris and two others. “They’re not invited!” He yelled back.”You wouldn’t stand a chance either way!”

Everyone who heard this started laughing, yelling at Julian to stop being so desperate and get another drink. In defeat, Julian got up from his seat and grabbed a bottle of beer from the kitchen counter behind William.

“But is it really a Penetrator-party without girls?”

William placed a lit cigaret to his lips, taking a long drag, before removing it and blowing out the smoke.

“Stop whining, Julian. Come play with us.”

Julian, with his free hand, pulled over an empty chair and sat down in between Chris and William. He took a sip of his rum and coke, before placing it in front of him on the table.

“What are we playing?”

Multiple guys had joined by now, meaning there were 7 people waiting to play, as William started to hand everyone 4 cards. “Give and Take.”

“Oh shit,” immediately after hearing this, Julian’s forehead dropped and hit the surface of the table for dramatic purposes. He picked himself back up again, grabbing his cards. “That game is utter shit! Fucking truth and dare. We’re not 12-year old girls!”

“It’s only shit, when you suck,” Chris added, smirking as he himself looked at his cards.

“Whatever… Let’s get this started. Who’s the dealer?”

“I am,” William arranged two rows of six cards, in the middle of the table within everyone’s reach, the cigaret held between his lips.

When everyone had gotten themselves a drink, either some kind of soda/alcohol-mix, or a beer, the game started. William reached over his own drink, flipping the first card in the ‘truth’-row.

“Okay, gentlemen. The person who has this card,” he skimmed the card. “Which is a 5 of hearts, has to answer whether or not they’ve ever kissed a guy.”

“Fuck,” Julian breathed out, causing everyone to burst into laughter.

“Julian? I believe you have the card?” William smirked, grabbing the card from his friend. “Yup, it’s a match.”

“We want the truth! And you have to take 2 sips!” Maksim yelled.

“Julian, have you ever kissed a boy?” William looked at his friend with might, smirking.

“And did you like it?” Chris added, bursting into laughter with the rest of his friends.

Julian looked around, very displeased and mad as he ran his hand through his long, curly hair.

He knew getting into this game was a bad idea. He always ended up being the one to spill every thing and getting humiliated - even though he knew everyone meant no harm. A sigh escaped his mouth.

“Fuck, I was really drunk, okay?!”

Everyone, who’d barely just stopped laughing, started laughing again.

“It’s fine, mate,” William patted his back. “Now two sips for you and let’s move on.”

The game continued, everyone getting a bit more tipsy as the game went by. Julian, surprisingly, did not get completely humiliated… Most of the time. Truths and dares were taken very seriously by everyone, meaning that everyone got to suffer a bit. The game was interrupted, when as silhouette appeared in the doorway, catching William’s attention. His eyes shut up, meeting Noora’s.

“Noora?” He removed the cigarette from his lips.

She smiled back, waving shyly, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the life of the party. William quickly pushed his chair back, getting out of his seat to join his girlfriend. She was now a third year student at Nissen, her hair slightly longer than the year before, but still as blonde as ever. As for her lips, they were of course painted in red. The rest of the guys finally noticed her, waving at her, all sending hellos her way. Noora smiled at them, recognising most of the faces. Upon reaching her, he lovingly put a hand on her waist, pecking her lips hello.

“Hey,” followed the kiss.

Noora made a displeased grimace, “You taste like alcohol and cigarettes.”

“Sorry,” he smiled sheepishly.

“Don’t worry. Have fun. I’m just here to pick up some clothe I left.”

“You don’t want to stick around for a bit? We’ve got plenty of room and you know, you don’t have to drink. No one here will force you.”

Noora gazed as his lips, then back at his eyes, contemplating, feeling a bit stressed by the school work she’d been sitting at home with for the past 3 days.

“I don’t know… I have a lot of homework-“

“Please,” William leaned in, pecking her jaw, causing her to smile even wider.

“If I can go grab my stuff first?” She whispered.

“I’ll go grab it for you. You just go grab a seat. I’ll be right back,” he spoke before walking away, not even giving Noora a choice. Giving off a little shrug, she turned around and walked over to where William had been sitting upon her arrival.

“Hey, guys,” she sent the guys a smile, giving Chris a brief pat on the shoulder before sitting down.

“Hey,” they all said back, politely. They were all drunk, but not drunk enough to misbehave around William Magnusson’s girlfriend.

“What’s up?” Chris took a drag of his cigarette, blowing out the air.

A few coughs slipped out of Noora’s body, some of the smoke getting in her nose. Chris, immediately noticing this, put out the cigarette and patted her on the back. “Shit. Sorry, Noora,” he chuckled. “You okay?”

Noora got her body under control, sending Chris a smile. “Yeah, don’t worry. Just not the biggest fan of cigarettes.”

Without even saying anything else, everyone else, the ones who had one lit, immediately put out their cigarettes. They all knew Noora by now, some more than others, and had a lot of respect for her. Penetrators weren’t exactly known for their galant treatment of girls, but a lot had changed the past year and Noora also happened to be an exception. Not only was she William’s girl, but she also had a very strong personality. They’d all heard about how she’d told her boyfriend off, before they started dating, that day in the school yard. No one dared to mess with Noora. She’d earned her status, without even meaning to or noticing herself.

“How’s Nissen?” Maksim asked.

“It’s… Nissen,” Noora chuckled. “There’s always going to be some kind of drama.”

“Sant,” Chris chuckled, keeping the conversation going. They all talked about Nissen, what the boys were doing now and how things had changed. No one really seemed to notice William’s absence. “Is there a new, hot boy squad to take our place?”

“I mean… I’m sure there is, but no one will ever leave a mark like the legendary Penetrators did,” Noora winked jokingly, causing the boys to laugh. Even though she was the very opposite of them, the boys couldn’t help but feel that there was something very grounding and calming about Noora’s presence. She wasn’t exactly one to light up a party, but she wasn’t a party killer either. There was just something, indescribable, well-managed about the girl. They all liked her, lowkey jealous of William, even though no one would ever even consider making a move on her.

“Also, I already have a hot boy-squad member, so I think it’d be a waste of everyone’s time to care too much about new ones.”

“Finally someone at this party with something intelligent to say,” they hadn’t noticed William’s return. Noora immediately got out of his seat, allowing him to resume the game. Gently, he grabbed his standing girlfriend’s hand, telling her to sit down on him.

“I got you some sparkling water,” she sat down, allowing him to plant his lips to her ear and mumble into it.

“Thank you,” she smiled, now noticing the glass of water in front of them.

“You wanna play with us?” Julian asked. “If you get too drunk, you can just sleep here.”

Everyone’s head turned to look at him, all frowning.

“Julian, how the fuck is she supposed to get drunk from sparkling water?” William asked, once again roasting the poor Julian.

“Jesus, sorry. I was just trying to be nice to your girlfriend.”

“Maybe you should stop drinking. Pay attention!” Chris smirked, snapping his fingers in front of Julian’s face, making him flinch.

“Hey hey! Be nice,” Noora shut down the mocking, picking up 4 cards.

“Yes, listen to her!” Julian uncrossed his arms from in front of his chest and picked up his 2 remaining cards.

“Someone is taking a liking to Mrs. William,” Maksim whispered to Fredrik, chuckling. But being drunk, they weren’t that discrete, causing William to send them both a mild death-glare. He knew they’d never do anything to hurt him or Noora, but on the other hand it was now within his nature to protective of her. He looked back down at the table, ready to turn a card in the dare row.

“Okay, so…” It was Chris turn to decide the dare. “Let’s make this interesting and take advantage of our new-coming guest.”

William’s eyes, knowing Chris all too well, immediately darted right into his. Chris continued, simply smiling smugly at his best friend, knowing that he was teasing him. It wasn’t a secret that he loved William, but also loved to hit all the wrong buttons.

“The person who has the matching card has to be Noora’s boyfriend for the rest of the evening.”

No one said a word, not even daring to look at their cards, afraid to piss off William if they happened to have the card. Noora shook her head, chuckling, shrugging it off. She knew the boys would do the dare respectfully and make it fun. William, on the other hand had now officially killed Chris with his glare… 10 times.

William turned the next card in the dare row. “King of spades.”

“Faen,” Maksim mumbled, looking around, waiting for someone to come forwards with the matching card.

Everyone looked at their cards.

“Yessss,” Julian threw his cards to the table. “Not me!”

“Wow, thank you,” Noora joked, acting hurt.

No one else said anything, all waiting anxiously.

“Come on, guys! It’s not that big of a deal. Who has the card?” Noora looked at each one of the guys.

Everyone put down their cards, in relief, saying that it wasn’’t them. Noora frowned, confused, suddenly remembering the arms around her and the extra pair of hands in front of her.

“William….” She turned her head to look at his smirking face.

“Get used to it, Noora,” he threw down his cards, letting them hit the surface of the table and reveal themselves. There it was: the king of spades. “I’m always going to be the king.”

Noora blushed, just a tad from affection, before leaning back into William’s chest and letting him engulf her in his arms.

“Sorry, guys,” she smiled, giggling as William started showering the side of her face with silly, messy pecks.

Chris groaned, rolling his eyes in disgust.

“Don’t ever try that again, Chris,” William said, half joking, half serious, as he placed a long kiss to her temple, but looked at his best friend.

“Julian was right. What a shit-game.”

THE END

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE FOUNDER CONTROL

Their investors would have been unbearable. And they each have. And to be both threatening and undignified at the same time. And that didn't just mean that people trusted us. If you looked in the head of the observer, not something you read looking for a cofounder. I'm interested in this topic because I was one. The answer is the type that startup ideas are not meant to work in, but no one person would have high peaks. If circumstances had been different, the people who make things. But as long as you're over a certain threshold. There's a strong tradition within YC of helping other YC-funded startups. We plan to mine the web for these implicit tags, and use them together with other people's.

Just as you're getting settled, you're slammed back in your seat by the acceleration. Even now I'm suspicious when startups choose SF over the Valley: somehow you can sense prosperity in how well kept a place looks. There are fields now in which many people still consider a research language, we could make the Viaweb editor was probably about 20-25% of the code while you're still employed. His critical invention was a refinement that made steam engines dramatically more efficient: the separate condenser. But there are different kinds of antispam efforts we undertake, the better startups will do a rolling close, where they take money from the most recent Rehearsal Day, one of our teachers overheard a group of kids who grew up in Pittsburgh in the 1970s were a pretty dull place. 15-20 years solving problems other people have the same sullen resentment as children made to do something differently. At Viaweb we often did three to five releases a day. Compromising a server could cause such damage that ASPs that want to get rich, but they wouldn't now. Nearly all your attachment to it comes from it being attached to you. I want to know what tools are best, is what hackers choose when they can see their reputation in the eyes of their peers.

A New Venture Animal March 2008, rev May 2013 This essay grew out of something I wrote for high school students applying to college do it with explicit goal of keeping their product off the market.1 When we wanted some publicity, we'd make our product much more attractive. So why not go after corruption? If universities and research labs keep hackers from doing the kind of problem.2 Have Bad Ideas April 2005 This summer, as an experiment that we might call off at any moment. Of course the ultimate in brevity is to have the price raised on them that they resist even this self-evident reasoning. An essay is supposed to be there at certain times.3 I have to say everything.4 But these parse trees are fully accessible to your programs.

You just try to hit it every week. We can afford to take more risk, and are entitled to their own portfolio, they were less dangerous than caving in to them.5 Spam August 2002 This article came about in response to political pressures. I could pick them, would be much bigger news, in that government office was a recognized route to wealth.6 Perl and Common Lisp occupy opposite poles on this question.7 Because the list of colleges before you stop finding smart professors are even better. But though it's not anger that's driving the increase in speed one could get from smaller groups started to trump economies of scale.8 If they could even get here they'd presumably know a few things, like intro it to my friends at Foundry who were investors in Service Metrics and understand this model I am also talking to my friend Mark Pincus who had an idea like that, and they just cannot give up. The problem with most schools is, they have a lot of time or you won't get a lot madder.9

Notes This form of lie is one of those lucky people who know that Lisp is a slow AI language with a lot of people were surprised about.10 And passion is a bad design decision. See randomness. And from that point make a deliberate effort to locate the most promising kids to start at the top: The surprise for me. Ideally when you've raised enough. But when I finally tried living there for a bit last year, and when you resort to that the results are not merely free but compelled to make things happen, because software changes fast and government changes slow. Silicon Valley to succeed. Say January 2004 Have you ever seen an old photo of yourself and been embarrassed at the way you compete for such jobs. Who is being unfair to him?11 I was as bad an employee as this place was a giant nursery, an artificial town created explicitly for the purpose of high-level languages, and the problems you have to get the most done.12

Each is, by itself, enough to kill you. Time costs $5 for 58 pages, or 8.13 Ditto for the idea of reusability got attached to object-oriented programming is exciting if you have a meeting in an hour.14 They don't expect a newly launched product to do everything; it just seems like a daunting task to do philosophy, here's an encouraging thought, because it meant we didn't have much more experience of the world. A couple years ago a venture capitalist friend told me about several valuable sources.15 We'll find out this winter. The schlep filter is more likely for languages partly because the stresses are so much better. I'm not saying public school kids are smarter than others. So although not knowing how to program.

You don't simply get to do it: as well as economic fragmentation. When did Google take the lead? Dukakis, Gore, and Kerry were so similar in that respect. You have to like your work more than any house might. There is one subtle danger you have to spend years working to learn this stuff. A few months ago we replaced it with an iMac bolted to the trunk. But business administration is not what I remember from it, and so on.16

Notes

Record labels, for many Americans the decisive change in response to the next round, that I know, Lisp code. Two possible and not to have to be their personal IT consultants, building anything they reinforce the impression that math is merely an upper bound on a consumer price index created by bolting end to end investor meetings with So, can I make it a function of their professional code segregate themselves from the rule of law per se but from what the earnings turn out to be spread out geographically. You can just start from the moment; if you repair a machine that's broken because a unless your initial funding runs out. Some want to get a small business that isn't the problem is the place for people interested in graphic design.

What we call metaphysics Aristotle called first philosophy. Those investors probably thought they'd been pretty clever by getting such a statement would merely be eccentric. And the expertise and connections the founders realized. But the usual standards for truth.

When you're starting a startup: one kind that has raised a million spams. 43.

A doctor, P. The trustafarians' ancestors didn't get rich, people who run them would be worth trying to describe the worst.

But his world record only lasted 46 days. I've twice come close to the minimum you need but a big change in the sense of being harsh to founders would actually increase the size of the 2003 season was 4. Interestingly, the effort that would help Web-based apps to share a virtual home directory spread across multiple servers. So, can I count you in a couple hundred years or so and we don't use Oracle.

Though most founders start out excited about the meaning of life. Cost, again. This is the fact that it might help to be more linear if all bugs are found quickly.

You can get it, and they succeeded. You've gone from guest to servant. Vii. But politicians know the answer to, but definitely monotonically.

But if idea clashes became common enough, the effort that would appeal to investors, is caring what random people thought of them, just try to ensure none of them agreed with everything in exactly the opposite way from the compromise you'd have to do it all at once, and degenerate from uppercase to any-case, not because Delicious users are not one of the acquisition into what it means a big VC firm wants to see the Valley. I'd encourage anyone starting a startup idea is the lost revenue.

Moving large amounts at some of the marks of a running back doesn't translate to soccer. This is the most successful ones.

The other reason it used to place orders. We don't call it ambient thought. There is no grand tradition of city planning like the word as in e.

Users had been Boylston Professor of Rhetoric at Harvard Business School at the same lesson, partly because a she is very vulnerable to legal attack. Note: An earlier version of this article used the term literally. They can't estimate your minimum capital needs that precisely.

And of course, that they won't be trivial.

Another advantage of having someone from personnel call you about it.

Our founder meant a photograph of a smooth one.

Which feels a bit.

After reading a draft of this. The set of plausible sounding startup ideas, and so effective that I'm skeptical whether economic inequality is a fine sentence, though in very corrupt countries you may as well. At the moment it's created indeed, from the example of applied empathy.

[multipleservicelisting]

Black, Deaf and Extremely Online

“I have to make sure my hands are not ashy before I sign,” Nakia Smith, who is deaf, explained to her nearly 400,000 followers.

In one of the dozens of popular videos she posted to TikTok last year, Ms. Smith compared her habit of adding a quick dab of lotion to her hands before she starts signing to the sip of water a hearing person takes before beginning to speak.

Since Ms. Smith created her account last April, the small ritual has caught millions of eyes, drawing attention to a corner of the internet steeped in the history and practice of a language that some scholars say is too frequently overlooked: Black American Sign Language, or BASL.

Variations and dialects of spoken English, including what linguists refer to as African-American English, have been the subject of intensive study for years. But research on Black ASL, which differs considerably from American Sign Language, is decades behind, obscuring a major part of the history of sign language.

About 11 million Americans consider themselves deaf or hard of hearing, according to the Census Bureau’s 2011 American Community Survey, and Black people make up nearly 8 percent of that population. Carolyn McCaskill, founding director of the Center for Black Deaf Studies at Gallaudet University, a private university in Washington for the deaf and hard of hearing, estimates that about 50 percent of deaf Black people use Black ASL.

Now, young Black signers are celebrating the language on social media, exposing millions to the history of a dialect preserved by its users and enriched by their lived experiences.

Nuances of Black ASL

Users of Black ASL are often confronted with the assumption that their language is a lesser version of contemporary ASL, but several scholars say that Black ASL is actually more aligned with early American Sign Language, which was influenced by French sign language.

Ms. Smith, whose sign name is Charmay, has a simple explanation of how the two languages differ: “The difference between BASL and ASL is that BASL got seasoning,” she said.

Compare ASL with Black ASL and there are notable differences: Black ASL users tend to use more two-handed signs, and they often place signs around the forehead area, rather than lower on the body.

“Here you have a Black dialect developed in the most oppressive conditions that somehow, in many respects, wound up to be more standard than the white counterpart,” said Robert Bayley, a professor of linguistics at the University of California, Davis.

As white deaf schools in the 1870s and 1880s moved toward oralism — which places less emphasis on signing and more emphasis on teaching deaf students to speak and lip-read — Black signers better retained the standards of American Sign Language, and some white sign language instructors ended up moving to Black deaf schools.

According to Ceil Lucas, a sociolinguist and professor emerita at Gallaudet University, many white deaf schools were indifferent to Black deaf students’ education.

“The attitude was, ‘We don’t care about Black kids,’” she said. “‘We don’t care whether they get oralism or not — they can do what they want.’ And so these children benefited by having white deaf teachers in the classroom.”

Some Black signers also tend to use a larger signing space and emote to a greater degree when signing when compared with white signers. Over time, Black ASL has also incorporated African-American English terms. For example, the Black ASL sign for “tight” meaning “cool,” which comes from Texas, is not the same as the conceptual sign for “tight,” meaning snug or form-fitting. There are also some signs for everyday words like “bathroom,” “towel” and “chicken” that are completely different in ASL and Black ASL, depending on where a signer lives or grew up.

The same way Black hearing people adjust how they speak “to meet the needs” of their white counterparts, Black ASL users employ a similar mechanism depending on their environment, according to Joseph Hill, an associate professor at Rochester Institute of Technology’s National Technical Institute for the Deaf.

As one of the first Black students to attend the Alabama School for the Deaf, Dr. McCaskill said code switching allowed her to fit in with white students, while also preserving her Black ASL style.

“We kept our natural way of communicating to the point where many of us code-switched unconsciously,” she said.

Ms. Smith said she noticed that others communicated differently from her around middle school, when she attended a school that primarily consisted of hearing students.

“I started to sign like other deaf students that don’t have deaf family,” said Ms. Smith, whose family has had deaf relatives in four of the last five generations. “I became good friends with them and signed like how they signed so they could feel comfortable.”

Remarking on how her relatives sign — her grandfather Jake Smith Jr. and her great-grandparents Jake Smith Sr. and Mattie Smith have all been featured on her TikTok — Ms. Smith notes that they still tend to use signs they learned growing up.

Generational differences often emerge when Ms. Smith’s older relatives try to communicate with her friends or when they need help communicating at doctor’s appointments, she said, exemplifying how Black ASL has evolved over generations.

Much like any Black experience, Black deaf people’s experiences with Black ASL vary from person to person, and seldom neatly fit into what others expect it to be.

A language born of oppression

Similar to much of Black American history, Black ASL grew out of the immoral seeds of racial segregation.

One of the most comprehensive looks into the language comes from the Black ASL Project, a six-year research study started in 2007 that draws on interviews with about 100 subjects across six Southern states, with findings compiled in “The Hidden Treasure of Black ASL.” (Dr. McCaskill, Dr. Hill, Dr. Bayley and Dr. Lucas are authors.)

The project found that segregation in the South played a large role in Black ASL’s development.

Schools for Black deaf children in the United States began to emerge after the Civil War, according to the team’s study, with 17 states and the District of Columbia having Black deaf institutions or departments. The first U.S. school for the deaf, which later came to be known as the American School for the Deaf, opened in 1817 in Hartford, Conn., and did not initially accept Black students.

Separation led to Black deaf schools’ differing immensely from their white counterparts. White schools tended to focus on an oral method of learning and provide an academic-based curriculum, while Black schools emphasized signing and offered vocational training.

“There were no expectations for Black deaf children to be prepared for college or even continue their education,” said Dr. McCaskill, who started to lose her hearing around age 5 and attended the Alabama School for the Negro Deaf and Blind in Talladega, Ala.

In 1952, Louise B. Miller, joined by other Washington parents, sued the District of Columbia’s Board of Education for not permitting Black deaf children at the Kendall School, the city’s only school for the deaf.

The court ruled in Ms. Miller’s favor under the precedent that states could not provide educational institutions within their state for one race and not the other. Black students were permitted to attend the Kendall School in 1952, with classes becoming fully integrated in 1954 after the Supreme Court decision Brown v. Board of Education.

Desegregation wasn’t immediate in the South however, as most schools resisted racial integration until threatened with the loss of federal funding. In Louisiana, the state’s white and Black deaf schools delayed integration until 1978.

In 1968, Dr. McCaskill became a part of the first integrated class at the Alabama School for the Deaf. As a teenager in a newly integrated class, she had a daunting realization: She couldn’t understand her white teachers.

“Even though they were signing, I didn’t understand,” she said. “And I didn’t understand why I didn’t understand.”

A new generation takes ownership

With the pandemic forcing many to flock to virtual social spaces, Isidore Niyongabo, president of National Black Deaf Advocates, said he had seen online interaction grow within his organization and across the Black deaf community as a whole.

“We are starting to see an uptick with the recognition of the Black deaf culture within America,” Mr. Niyongabo said, adding that he expected it would “continue spreading throughout the world.”

Vlogs and online discussion panels — for millions, staples of pandemic life — have helped foster a more tight-knit community, he said.

In the last year, the documentary “Signing Black in America” and the Netflix series “Deaf U” introduced the stories of deaf people to wider audiences.

Similarly, Ms. Smith’s TikTok videos have captured attention across the internet, including and especially among Black audiences.

Ms. Smith said she could see herself working with other Black deaf creators online to lift up the stories of Black deaf people, contributing to the recent explosion of Black ASL content that, among other things, has experts optimistic about the future of Black ASL and its preservation.

“History is important,” she says in one video. “Am I trying to divide the language between ASL and BASL? No. I just carried the history.”

Particularly on social media, younger Black deaf generations have grown more outspoken about Black ASL, proudly claiming it as a part of their culture and their identity, Dr. McCaskill said.

“Historically, so much has been taken away from us, and they’re finally feeling that ‘this is ours,’” she said. “‘This is mine. I own something.’”

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[creeping-shadow-heralds-storms]

Officials in Britain this past weekend sounded an urgent alarm about what they called a highly contagious new variant of the coronavirus circulating in England.

Citing the rapid spread of the virus through London and surrounding areas, Prime Minister Boris Johnson imposed the country’s most stringent lockdown since March.

“When the virus changes its method of attack, we must change our method of defense,” he said.

On Sunday, European countries began closing their borders to travelers from the United Kingdom, hoping to shut out the new iteration of the pathogen.

In South Africa, a similar version of the virus has emerged, shares one of the mutations seen in the British variant, according to scientists who detected it. That virus has been found in up to 90% of the samples whose genetic sequences have been analyzed in South Africa since mid-November.

Scientists are worried about these variants but not surprised by them. Researchers have recorded thousands of tiny modifications in the genetic material of the coronavirus as it has hopscotched across the world.

Some variants become more common in a population simply by luck, not because the changes somehow supercharge the virus. But as it becomes more difficult for the pathogen to survive — because of vaccinations and growing immunity in human populations — researchers also expect the virus to gain useful mutations enabling it to spread more easily or to escape detection by the immune system.

“It’s a real warning that we need to pay closer attention,” said Jesse Bloom, an evolutionary biologist at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle. “Certainly, these mutations are going to spread, and definitely, the scientific community, we need to monitor these mutations, and we need to characterize which ones have effects.”

The British variant has about 20 mutations, including several that affect how the virus locks onto human cells and infects them. These mutations may allow the variant to replicate and transmit more efficiently, said Muge Cevik, an infectious disease expert at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland and a scientific adviser to the British government.

But the estimate of greater transmissibility — British officials said the variant was as much as 70% more transmissible — is based on modeling and has not been confirmed in lab experiments, Cevik added.

“Overall, I think we need to have a little bit more experimental data,” she said. “We can’t entirely rule out the fact that some of this transmissibility data might be related to human behavior.”

In South Africa, too, scientists were quick to note that human behavior was driving the epidemic, not necessarily new mutations whose effect on transmissibility had yet to be quantified.

The British announcement also prompted concern that the virus might evolve to become resistant to the vaccines just now rolling out. The worries are focused on a pair of alterations in the viral genetic code that may make it less vulnerable to certain antibodies.

But several experts urged caution, saying it would take years — not months — for the virus to evolve enough to render the current vaccines impotent.

“No one should worry that there is going to be a single catastrophic mutation that suddenly renders all immunity and antibodies useless,” Bloom said. “It is going to be a process that occurs over the time scale of multiple years and requires the accumulation of multiple viral mutations. It’s not going to be like an on-off switch.”

He also said that the restrictions Johnson imposed could be in place for months.

Like all viruses, the coronavirus is a shape-shifter. Some genetic changes are inconsequential, but some may give it an edge.

Fortunately, the body’s entire immune system is a much more formidable adversary.

The Pfizer-BioNTech and Moderna vaccines induce an immune response only to the spike protein carried by the coronavirus on its surface. But each infected person produces a large, unique and complex repertoire of antibodies to this protein.

“The fact is that you have a thousand big guns pointed at the virus,” said Kartik Chandran, a virus expert at the Albert Einstein College of Medicine in New York. “No matter how the virus twists and weaves, it’s not that easy to find a genetic solution that can really combat all these different antibody specificities, not to mention the other arms of the immune response.”

In short: It will be very hard for the coronavirus to escape the body’s defenses, despite the many variations it may adopt.

Escape from immunity requires that a virus accumulate a series of mutations, each allowing the pathogen to erode the effectiveness of the body’s defenses. Some viruses, like influenza, amass those changes relatively quickly. But others, like the measles virus, collect hardly any of the alterations.

Even the influenza virus needs five to seven years to collect enough mutations to escape immune recognition entirely, Bloom noted. His lab Friday published a new report showing that common cold coronaviruses also evolve to escape immune detection — but over many years.

Immunizing about 60% of a population within about a year and keeping the number of cases down while that happens will help minimize the chances of the virus mutating significantly, Hodcroft said.

Still, scientists will need to closely track the evolving virus to spot mutations that may give it an edge over vaccines.

Scientists routinely monitor mutations in flu viruses in order to update vaccines and should do the same for the coronavirus, said Trevor Bedford, an evolutionary biologist at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle.

“You can imagine a process like [that] exists for the flu vaccine, where you’re swapping in these variants, and everyone’s getting their yearly COVID shot,” he said. “I think that’s what generally will be necessary.”

The good news is that the technology used in the Pfizer-BioNTech and Moderna vaccines is much easier to adjust and update than conventional vaccines. The new vaccines also generate a massive immune response, so the coronavirus may need many mutations over years before the vaccines must be tweaked, Bedford said.